Slut

See that girl over there? She's a whore. She has six boyfriends, all of whom she swears faithfulness to, and here she’s dancing with eleven boys she doesn't even know. She will sleep with three of them, and then never speak to them again.

How do I know this? Simple. You can see it in the clothes she wears, the way she moves her hips, and the way she glances at the door occasionally.

Sluts usually aren’t intelligent enough to choose a place one of their boyfriends doesn’t go to. It’s like they want to be caught.

It is time for me to take a hand in this. As I walk over and offer her a dance, my mind is already swimming with ideas. Dark scenarios are playing themselves out, almost before my eyes.

I casually tell her that I am behind the Davis murders 8 years ago.

"Oh, wow. It's thrilling to be dancing with a murderer!" She giggles, vapidly, her cheeks turning red as she thinks of all the excitement the night has bestowed upon her when I walked up.

While we dance, I run my hand over her blond streaks, against the brown, silky hair. Unfortunately, she doesn't treat it well. The hair is greasy from weeks of neglect. Her seemingly clear skin is pocked underneath my fingers, as though she is wearing endless layers of make-up to hide the acne that her teen years have cursed her with. Her bra is strangely soft, as though padded, hinting that her breasts are smaller than they appear. Even her vapid giggle is fake, merely hiding the sinister whore underneath it all, masking this insufferable slut.

I take her into the washroom, the lady's room. We sneak in, and grab a stall, and she is giggling the whole time. Her pants cling to her thighs, skin-tight, as I try to rid her of them. They’re a size 3 when she’s at least a 7, and I can barely hide my smirk. They make one last attempt to stick to the girl before I finally take them from around her ankles, pausing to run a finger over the orange thong calling her "Wild" before I continued. Her shirt comes off easy, as it only really covered her breasts anyway. I toss the small black thing to the ground and undo the strapless bra, finding out it is indeed padded in the process. She puts her arms over herself, as if to be coy, but she is merely hiding that she is smaller then the bra would have you believe. Next, skipping the skater shoes with their pink laces, I move to her thong, removing it, watching as the thin string of the back comes out from between her cheeks with a minuscule snap.

I stimulate her, flick my tongue over her nipples, and let my fingers caress the soft spot of her clitoris. She moans and covers her mouth, blushing at the thought of people hearing us. I run my hands over her naked body and I push her down so she will take off my pants and boxers and wrap her mouth around my erection. Her motions are jerky, as though no one has ever told her to be smooth, but I don't mind. I bring her up, grasp her thighs and lift, and push myself inside her, drawing out another shrieky moan. We fuck, right there in the stall, and when we are done, her games end and mine begin.

Of course, I have been playing with her since I caught her eye three hours ago.

I put on my pants as though we will simply walk out of here and call it another night. As she turns away to get her thong, my switchblade comes out and I lift her again, touching the blade to her mouth. Her lips spread open, the gloss on them smeared now, and her brow furrows. You can see the small hairs she’d plucked out growing back from this close. She is confused. Before she can scream, I pry her mouth farther open and push my blade in, ripping her tongue off with a small tearing sound. I make it so she’ll never tell a fucking lie again, she’ll never tell a man she loves them. She doesn’t even know what love is! As she stands there, what used to be her tongue slipping from her lips, choking on her own blood, I am feeling myself grow erect again. I push her into the side of the stall and I draw the blade across her nipples, her breasts, scarring them, telling her she shouldn't have lied to me with that extra cotton shoved inside her bra. She’s squirming underneath me, only now has she become hesitant! See, slut, this is what happens when you fuck with strangers. She tries to scream and all that comes out is a thick gargling noise. I take the blade and push it inside her dirty whore's cunt, watching her writhe in agony as I dig as deep as it will go, more blood then a lifetime of menstruation could cause. Licking my lips slowly, I smirk up at her. She’s trying to collapse, but I’m holding her up. I want her to suffer; I want her to feel sorry for ever having stepped out of her virgin shell. I want her to cry out to God for forgiveness and absolution before her inevitable death, knowing that only Hell awaits the likes of her.

When I am done, when I have ripped her apart, I sit her delicately on the toilet seat, blood oozing from her every orifice. I place my blade in one eye socket and pull, leaving the nerve attached so one eye was simply hanging. Perfect.

I depart, and have left the nightclub without a trace before the sirens can even be heard.