Chapter Thirty Nine

Sheryl Harmon had proven to be the epitome of the ultimate kill, and not a bad lay either. That…well, that had been the fucking ultimate. That had been bucket list shit, right there.

All that bullshit about fruits and vegetables and the flirting in between had been heavenly. And he’d fucked this one real good, too. Somewhere in between oh that feels so good and hey not so hard and why are you doing this, he’d wrapped his hands around her unsuspecting neck and choked her until she’d passed out. Then the real fun had begun. And the best part? She was married. Oh yeah, life was so fucking good.

The way she had side-eyed him on the produce aisle like she was trying to pretend he wasn’t flirting with her, and then the way she’d shyly glanced over at him sending the message that maybe she was flirting too. He had been able to tell that it had been a long time since she’d felt like a man wanted her. And boy had he ever wanted her. In the worst sort of way.

He hadn’t been able to control his dick’s reaction when she gave in and decided to take a walk on the wild side, but, as it turned out, that seemed to have worked in his favor. With his dick at full attention, she’d gotten a hint of what he was packing down south, and she’d practically salivated. He didn’t have a particularly thick dick, not at all, but it was plenty long; so long, in fact, that most women balked at the prospect of taking him deep. That’s why he tended to take the decision out of their hands. Problem solved. It had been the most satisfying kill he’d had in a long, long time…

 

“Bet your husband never touches you, does he? Never eats your pussy. Not like this.” His words were muffled and indistinct, which was not surprising considering he had a face full of Sheryl Harmon’s pussy.

She shook her head frantically. “No, no, he never goes down on me. He’s hardly touched me in months. He’s, um, never tied me up though. I don’t know about this…”

He smacked the side of her hip as hard as he could, leaving a vivid red palm print. She gasped at the stinging impact and tried to shimmy away, but he wouldn’t have it. “Shut up. This is how I do it.”

He yanked her back against his face and issued another stinging smack to her backside. She took a deep, shuddering breath and winced as she pursed her lips and held it. Harold had never spanked her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

She didn’t want to like what Brian was doing with his mouth, but it was hard to ignore the slithering work of his tongue against her folds and around her clit, especially when she’d thought for so long that those sensations were a thing of the past. Harold never ate her out and when he did it was like he had no idea where her clit was. Before she could gather her wits to express her discomfort about being spanked, however, he abruptly stepped up his efforts between her legs. His tongue fluttered and swirled around her clit, erasing all her anxiety about being spanked. It had been so long since Harold had gone to any trouble to please her sexually. And it felt so good. Really, she could hardly say no.

But he wouldn’t let her come. Every time her muscles tightened when she got close, he would stop. It was maddening. She was soaking wet down there. Her flesh craved the release and she was starting to get frustrated. She launched into a whiny tirade about needing to come, needing to get home, needing to start dinner, needing…whatever. Her needs didn’t fucking matter and it was time she knew it.

That was when he spread her legs wide and started fucking her in earnest, ramming his full length deep inside her in a single thrust. She yelped as the end of his dick bottomed out and demanded entry beyond her limits. He pistoned his dick into her frantically, knowing that the pain usually reduced them to weeping and whimpering, which was fine with him.

But not her. No matter how hard he fucked her, this one wouldn’t shut up. He wrapped his hand around her neck in warning, but she still wouldn’t shut up about not liking it, about needing to get home to Harold’s pot roast. So he choked her until she passed out. He didn’t want her to die, though; not quite yet. Not until he was really ready for her.

When Sheryl came around some time later, she was groggy and, understandably, confused to find herself on the floor of his bedroom, unable to move as he stared down at her. He was fully dressed and she had been…shrink wrapped?!

With her arms straight at her side and her legs pressed together, she was immobilized by layer upon layer of tightly wound gauze. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t move a muscle and slowly realized that something else was layered directly against her skin, something that didn’t allow her to loosen the fabric that covered her body. Brian believed in being consistent and had started with a thick layer of plastic kitchen wrap, topped by a layer of bandage gauze that had her looking like…a mummy.

Her terror-filled eyes slowly lifted to his smug ones. As the truth of her plight became obvious to her, as the certainty of her demise settled around her like a shroud, her bottom lip wobbled. Mummy Man had wrapped her so tightly that she could barely breathe. She was starting to feel overheated and sweaty, which only added to her distress.

“M-Mummy Man. W-Why?” she rasped on a shallow exhale before drawing another ragged breath. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad, little wifey. At least you can still breathe. You know what’s worse?” he asked, his tone belligerent. “Being a bad boy, so bad that my bitch of a grandmother didn’t just make me stand in the corner or put me in Time Out. Oh no, she rolled me up in her smelly old Oriental rug and shoved me under her bed. And I had to stay there all night, until I could be her good boy again. At least you can still see, still breathe. You’ve got nothing to fucking complain about.”

She frowned as he knelt down next to her head. As he unzipped his pants, his gaze roamed over her tightly bound curves with smug satisfaction. He reached inside his pants and made a show of stroking his cock, running his index finger and thumb up and down the long, slim shaft.

He dropped to his knees and straddled her shoulders, then sat on her chest, laughing softly as he looked down into her horrified, panicked eyes. He stroked the tip of his dick along her lips as if he were painting them, smiling at the glossy trail of pre-cum on her skin. “So pretty,” he whispered. “Let’s see how you look when your mouth is full of me.”

For the next few minutes, he braced on his hands and knees as he used her mouth. He had learned long ago that there was nothing like being bound from head to toe to make a victim cooperate. But he had other plans and was growing impatient. He pulled his length from her gasping mouth and moved down to straddle her tightly bound thighs.

He slid his free hand between her legs, pressing his finger into the hole he’d left in her bindings, just over her pussy. Enthralled by her panic-stricken eyes and gasping breaths, he smiled sweetly at her wide-eyed horror and shoved his finger inside her.

“Oh, now, don’t worry, Sheryl. I’m good at this. You’re wrapped up tight, yes, but I can still get inside you,” he cooed as he added a second finger. “Fuck, yes. You’re nice and tight with your legs together like this.”

“You’re crazy! Let me go! My husband will be looking for me.”

“That’s right,” he said conversationally, nostrils flaring as he fed his long, skinny erection into the hole in the gauze. “He will probably look. But he won’t find you.” He began pushing his way inside her. When she instinctively tried to squeeze her legs tighter together to somehow block his entry, that was all it took for his demeanor to change. He became unrecognizable.

He lifted her head slightly and awkwardly worked to wrap a length of plastic wrap around her head to cover her mouth. He left her eyes and nose free, though, in the interests of making her final moments more…personal.

“That’s it. That’s it…” he grunted as his dick bottomed out inside her, over and over. He soon grew tired of her muffled noises of distress, so he pinched her nose closed. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, he savored the moment when she began to panic in earnest. He glanced down at her and his eyes narrowed. Her eyes were leaking tears, then the whites of her eyes began to strain as tiny capillaries began to burst.

But she was still alive. Her bulging eyes pleaded with him as she struggled and jerked beneath him.

“Stop it!” he bellowed, slamming his hips against her for all he was worth. “Stop looking at me!” he snarled. “I can’t come when you’re looking at me.”

His thighs were burning and tingling with the prolonged effort, even as his dick throbbed with pleasure that threatened to consume him. He groaned in frustration as he glared at her. “Why. Won’t. You. Die?!” he bellowed. He wrapped his free hand around her neck and squeezed with all his strength. He had already cut off her air, true, but the extra effort made him feel like he was doing something to help things along.

Later he would wonder if he might have blacked out briefly. When he looked down at her again, his dick was still hard as ever inside her, but the whites of her eyes were a bloodshot mess as she stared off at nothing.

“Finally,” he sighed, smiling happily to himself. He rested his weight on his elbows and struggled to catch his breath. Then he relaxed and savored the utter stillness she had achieved in death. “I don’t have to be a good boy. I can do whatever I want. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be cold and raw—just like poor old Harold’s pot roast. No wonder he never touched you. All you do is lie there.” Laughing at his own joke, he settled in to enjoy the ride.

 

Thinking back on his interlude with Sheryl Harmon, a tinge of regret tugged at his chest. Maybe he should have kept her. Maybe she was the one. No, she couldn’t be. Could she? He really felt like Teegan was the one. Definitely. Taking Teegan was the right thing to do for two reasons: she was the only one for him and that fucker Thomas was the enemy.

Thomas had the audacity to deceive her with his worldly riches. She had been so innocent until he came along. Men like Thomas didn’t deserve to live. They didn’t get their women with true love. They lured them with promises of money, promises of prestige and a Happily Ever After. No woman could resist that bullshit.

He hadn’t made up his mind about whether he would kill Teegan or not. It all depended on whether or not he could win her over. Deprogramming, basically. He’d read about that in crime novels and he believed he could do it.

He missed her. That bastard was keeping Teegan under lock and key in that fortress he called a house. The fucker was obsessed with her. Brian recognized the emotion because he felt it too. The more inaccessible she was, the more he wanted her. That was the moment the reality hit him: Thomas Wentworth was as sick and depraved as he was. They were two men cut from the same serial killer cloth. No wonder he was such a formidable opponent. This was going to be even more interesting than Mummy Man had first anticipated.

It all made sense now. No wonder he and Thomas were in love with the same woman. They were the proverbial two peas in a pod.

He sat down at the computer, typing in the website for Black Rose, grinning as he saw the familiar poem posted on the blog’s cover page.

 

Though a single black rose ‘tis his kiss of death, for her it holds no power. For when she doth receive, ‘tis not a mere black rose but a bouquet thereof.

 

Could it be? Was Thomas Wentworth the killer known as Black Rose? No, too many killings over too many years. But it could be his father. That would certainly explain why Thomas had all the traits of a serial killer: he had been raised by one.