It had taken only six days for the supplies he asked for to arrive. He was lead into an empty gray room as stark as the words he would be writing. One table. One chair. His shackles scrapped against the concrete flooring, the only sound in the room besides the rasping of his breath. Twenty-five years of smoking did that to you.
There was no need to reply to the short statement. It wasn’t expected. Permanently nicotine-stained fingertips brushed over the pristine white of the paper stacked neatly in front of him. One ball-point pen waited for his efforts. He supposed he could jam it through his temple before the guards could reach him, but what would that get him?
Nothing but nothing.
But on these blinding-white pages, he could secure his place in history. He could ensure that whoever read his words would never forget Donald B. Camrooney. He would live forever, perhaps he would even inspire a following. Now wouldn’t that be something?
He flexed his hands, enjoying the short respite from the cuffs around his wrists. He slowly leaned his head to the right and then to the left, relishing the loud crunching releases of air between joints that followed.
Then, he began to write.
* * *
Seems like a lot of people want to know why I killed Loretta Halscott. The police wanted to know why, the reporters wanted to know why. Maybe even you — the you reading these words right now, want to know why. Why?
Because it was my right. Because she was my property. Because she was my possession. Because. Because. Because, I just wanted too. Because I could. Because she wanted it just as much as I did.
I met Etta in an online chatroom. It was pretty easy to pick out the needy ones. They whimper and whine and spread their legs, hoping that someone is going to rescue them from their boring lives in the real world.
I picked Etta because she had a link to her real picture. Who would think that a looker like that needed to come online to find love? You’ve all seen her by now. I’m sure there will be pictures in this article when it’s published. Would you have turned down legs for miles and an ass shaped like that? Tight as a fucking drum, I can assure you.
Well, it’s not hard online to feed people all the lines they need to hear. They are just waiting to hear how you are different. They want a strong man. Maybe their husbands or their boyfriends are slobs who won’t work, who won’t take them out on the odd Saturday night. See, Etta needed a man who was going to treat her like a lady. Treat her like the female she is. Know what I mean? She wanted me to be who I was. A man’s man. Her man.
So, I played the part. I seduced her with all the right words and promises, told her that I was trained to be a Master and that she was the epitome of a natural submissive. She liked that, it made her feel special. Everyone likes to feel special, right? It was easy online to make her fall for me, long before the first phone call, months before she’d come out to meet me. She was my nasty, begging, slut of a thing. My property. She wanted that. I would make sure it would come true for her.
It was eight months after I found her online, that she flew out here to meet me. I told her if she was truly my slave, to come off that plane in a leather jacket with nothing beneath, a short black skirt, heels, and no panties.
I had my hand up her skirt before we made it to the luggage pick-up. She was as wet as if I’d had her spread with my tongue up her pussy. I fingered her while we waited in line. She squirmed and groaned. I probably could have fucked her right then and there if I had wanted to.
She was as hot as any of her pictures had predicted. All that long blonde hair and those big blue eyes. I’d had her on a special diet for the last five months. Nothing but fruit and vegetables, only water to drink. She was into yoga and pilates and all that other new-age shit that I never cared for. I have to admit, that bitch could bend anyway you wanted her to. And Brother, did I make her bend. Of course, I ain’t no lightweight. You’ve seen me on television. You’ve seen my pictures. I can bench three-eighty easy.
In the car-ride to my house, I had her suck my dick. So there she is, bare ass up in the air for all to see, my hand between her legs, fingering her pussy, and her mouth sliding up and down my prick like she hadn’t tasted dick for years. I took the long way home.
During that first visit, I was her dream come true. You see, you don’t reel them in by scaring them off the first time. You have to seal the deal. I treated her to dinners, movies, clubs. I gave her baths and washed her hair. I whispered all the sweet nothings she could take into her ears while I fucked her every which way you could imagine. She liked it from behind, never heard a bitch wail and moan the way she did when I’d hammer it in.
Nope, I never so much as bruised her on that first visit. You save the good stuff for later.
You have to introduce the good stuff nice and slow to a pet. Train them with diligent patience. You pretty much train all bitches, human or canine, the same way. Before you know it, you could sell her shit on the street corner and she’d bring all the cash straight back to you and beg you to allow her to kiss you in thanks.
I let Etta come out two more times, the last is when I started introducing her into the hard play. I’d gag her, bind her, blind her, and then beat her for an hour. She wanted those bruises. Brother, let me tell you, she begged for them. I took my time with Etta. She was the best slut I’ve ever had. Tight little twat, titties that would bounce with each strike. She truly was a submissive. She loved making me dinner, bathing me, sleeping on the floor in a dog collar. Of course, she resisted when I started making her sleep outdoors in the dog house. I told her if she really loved me and if she was really a slave, she’d do whatever I told her to do and enjoy it. She did it. I rewarded her with a pillow and blanket. God knows, Michigan nights can get cold.
See, there’s a small thing called consent. Even a guy like me has his pride. I would have let her go at any time, if she asked. Any time.
I never once did anything to Etta she didn’t consent to. I made sure of that. I just made sure that Etta loved me enough to consent to anything I ever wanted. So, it wasn’t a surprise when she started telling me she would die for me. By this time, she’d moved in with me permanently. Left her job, her home, and come to me. She was mine, in total. I had her branded with my initials, never had heard a squeal like that before in my life. Got me hard and I fucked her with her flesh still steaming.
So, we’d been together about two years and one night, while I was fucking her, I asked her. Would you die for me, Etta? She said she would. She swore it in a moan right when she was coming on my dick. I just smiled and said she was a good bitch.
I introduced breath-play to her. First, with my hand. I’d choke her until her cheeks flushed and her eyes looked about ready to pop right out of her skull. I choked her with my prick. I held her face down into the mattress while I fucked her ass. She got off on all that shit. Etta was just as kinky as I was. People are acting like Etta never had a say in anything. But, I made sure she loved everything I did to her. People don’t offer to die for you unless they mean it.
So, I decided Etta deserved what she always swore she wanted. To die for me.
I made sure it was a special day for her Etta. I brought her into the city and had her hair and nails done, bought her a slinky black dress that did all the right things for that round ass and great tits. I made her dinner, first time since she’d moved in with me. I told her tonight would be a night to never forget.
I enjoyed making love to her that night. I tried to make it like something out of a movie. I took my time. I undressed her slowly. I kissed every inch of that perfect body until she had come three times before I ever slipped my dick into her. She sang when she came that fourth time. She told me she loved me afterwards. You know, I felt like I loved her, too. You can’t own such an obedient pet and not come to have some sort of affection for them. And, well, she was going to die for me. There would never be another like Etta.
I had thought about all the possible ways I could kill Etta. I imagined slitting her from ear to ear, or from her throat down to her pussy. I thought about breaking her neck in a noose. The thought of watching her dangle there for me was kind of hot.
But, in the end, because I did have such a sweet feeling for my Etta, I chose to smother her.
I tied her at both ankles and wrists until she was spread out over the bed like an X. I stared at her body and into those blue eyes for the longest time. I asked her again would she die for me? She whispered yes. She loved me. I owned her. She wanted anything I desired. I told her tonight, she was going to give me everything.
I started with my hand around her throat as I fucked her. I was taking my time, trying to memorize the snug feel of her cunt wrapped around my meat. I came inside her when she was almost unconscious. I let her catch her breath and then had one last throat-fuck, too. I couldn’t resist.
Then I straddled her, bunching up a fluffy pillow into my hands. She was worn out from our fucking. She looked content and starry-eyed.
“Etta, will you die for me?” I asked her. Consent, Brother. I made sure of it.
“I will.” She had whispered. So sweet.
She must have struggled under that pillow, and under me, for a good ten minutes. I knew it was over when the small twitches in her body were gone. When I slid the pillow off her face, her eyes were wide-open and staring straight up at me. Her mouth was gaping.
I don’t know why, but I started to cry. I was gonna miss that bitch. I do. Best fucking slut I ever found online. The others had all left me, but Etta, she was true blue. She said she wanted to die for me and she did.
So, I guess you could say I killed Etta because she wanted it. But, in the back of my mind, I always knew that she didn’t really want to die. It was just an expression of how deeply she loved me. It was just proof of how well I had played the game.
I guess you could say I killed Loretta Halscott out of ego. I killed her because I wanted to. Because I could.
* * *
“Yeah, all right. I’m done. Make sure that gets over to Rita Durant at the Times.”
“Sure, Camrooney. I bet you can’t wait to be a star.”
© 2005 Daina Blue. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Bio: I write fiction because I love to tell a story. Sometimes they’re sweet, sometimes they’re not. My hope is that the words linger with you long after the last word is read.