Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep
folder
Horror/Thriller › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,850
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Horror/Thriller › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,850
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep
He liked it when they screamed.
It wasn't something he'd expected right off when he'd started. That blind lust, the skin tightening, breath stealing pleasure.
There were folks, supposedly smart scientist types, who claimed that men who raped women did it not for the sex but for the sense of power.
He did it for the sex, pure and simple. There was something about a woman clenching tight around the length of his cock as he pounded into her and stared up at him with fear glazed eyes, always made his breath hitch in his chest and his balls tighten.
he liked a woman's screams like some men liked the sight of their nipples peeking through the thin material of their shirts or the way their clits tasted nestled between soft pink folds of flesh.
He loved women. Honest he did. It was just that most women didn't appreciate his...enthusiasm as much as he thought they should.
Maybe he was sick.
Maybe he was twisted.
At the moment, while he was busy slipping his knee between the legs of the frightened, squirming girl beneath him, he really didn't give a fuck.
“Please! Pleasepleaseplease…oh god--it--shit mister don‘t…”
Fuck she was young. And so tiny.
But she was fast and quick and he’d had a time of it forcing her to the ground beneath him. When she’d kicked him in the gut the lust that had flared through him had been a bright, burning thing.
He’d flipped her over onto her stomach and now his chest pressed flush against her back while his hand stretched around her body to work at the buttons securing her jeans.
The smell of moldy leaves and the cool scent of the ocean cocooned them and he felt a spurt of pleasure at his choice.
The girl had been walking along the path of the nature trail, a path he ran often in the early mornings. It had just so happened that he had been bent over, sweating with exertion and trying to catch his breath when he spotted her.
Tight black shirt that showed no visible breasts to speak of (that was alright though, he appreciated the little things in life). The shirt was ripped in strategic parts, showing a flat, well muscled belly. The pants were a dark blue and slung low on her hips. And when he’d seen the indentions that trailed down to disappear from sight beneath the waistband of her pants his heart had damn near stalled.
He fucking loved women.
This one had red hair, worn long and cut in a style that he could honestly say he’d only ever seen on Myspace. Her left ear had four or five pairings dancing along the outer lobes, the silver metal glinting under the early morning light. Her eyes were heavily kohled, her cheeks were sharp, her lashes long and dark against the golden hue of her skin. No lipstick, no need for any with a mouth like that.
He wanted that mouth. He wanted his hands gripping those hips as he forced her on hands and knees and rammed inside that tight little ass, balls slapping against the folds of her pussy.
He’d wondered if she shaved, if when he took her would he look down to see soft red curls between her legs.
He’d resolved right then to find out.
Now, every time she bucked and screamed out in that sexy, hoarse, little voice of her he felt his erection twitch. As he finally slipped a strong blunt hand down the front of her underwear and cupped her, he rubbed himself against her backside to show her how very much she pleased him.
Then he froze, his eyes widened in amazement and then amusement and he nudged his mouth against the side of her neck as his hand stroked along the length of the cock in his hands.
His little red haired spitfire was a boy.
And she was hard.
“Sorry,” He growled against the young mans scented skin. “I don’t fuck little boys.” He gave him a final regretful stroke and smiled a bit when the young man groaned and rocked his hips forward.
Then he slipped his hand from the heat and pre-cum wetness of the boys shorts. One hand slid along the boys jaw, the other slipping into the thickness of his hair.
Then with a practiced turn of his wrist, and an easy grace that spoke of a hidden strength he snapped the kids neck.
The snap of the spinal cord, the soft cry the boy emitted had his dick jerking in response and he closed his eyes as pleasure rocked through him.
He was blinded by the force of it, the strength that it took him to fight back his orgasm and get to his feet to button his pants back up.
After all. He loved women…honest he did. He liked it when they screamed.
But boys…he especially liked them.
He raped women for the sex.
He killed men for the power.
Maybe that’s where those fancy smansy scientists had screwed up with him.
He tsked sadly as he turned away.
A shame. Just a fucking shame.
It wasn't something he'd expected right off when he'd started. That blind lust, the skin tightening, breath stealing pleasure.
There were folks, supposedly smart scientist types, who claimed that men who raped women did it not for the sex but for the sense of power.
He did it for the sex, pure and simple. There was something about a woman clenching tight around the length of his cock as he pounded into her and stared up at him with fear glazed eyes, always made his breath hitch in his chest and his balls tighten.
he liked a woman's screams like some men liked the sight of their nipples peeking through the thin material of their shirts or the way their clits tasted nestled between soft pink folds of flesh.
He loved women. Honest he did. It was just that most women didn't appreciate his...enthusiasm as much as he thought they should.
Maybe he was sick.
Maybe he was twisted.
At the moment, while he was busy slipping his knee between the legs of the frightened, squirming girl beneath him, he really didn't give a fuck.
“Please! Pleasepleaseplease…oh god--it--shit mister don‘t…”
Fuck she was young. And so tiny.
But she was fast and quick and he’d had a time of it forcing her to the ground beneath him. When she’d kicked him in the gut the lust that had flared through him had been a bright, burning thing.
He’d flipped her over onto her stomach and now his chest pressed flush against her back while his hand stretched around her body to work at the buttons securing her jeans.
The smell of moldy leaves and the cool scent of the ocean cocooned them and he felt a spurt of pleasure at his choice.
The girl had been walking along the path of the nature trail, a path he ran often in the early mornings. It had just so happened that he had been bent over, sweating with exertion and trying to catch his breath when he spotted her.
Tight black shirt that showed no visible breasts to speak of (that was alright though, he appreciated the little things in life). The shirt was ripped in strategic parts, showing a flat, well muscled belly. The pants were a dark blue and slung low on her hips. And when he’d seen the indentions that trailed down to disappear from sight beneath the waistband of her pants his heart had damn near stalled.
He fucking loved women.
This one had red hair, worn long and cut in a style that he could honestly say he’d only ever seen on Myspace. Her left ear had four or five pairings dancing along the outer lobes, the silver metal glinting under the early morning light. Her eyes were heavily kohled, her cheeks were sharp, her lashes long and dark against the golden hue of her skin. No lipstick, no need for any with a mouth like that.
He wanted that mouth. He wanted his hands gripping those hips as he forced her on hands and knees and rammed inside that tight little ass, balls slapping against the folds of her pussy.
He’d wondered if she shaved, if when he took her would he look down to see soft red curls between her legs.
He’d resolved right then to find out.
Now, every time she bucked and screamed out in that sexy, hoarse, little voice of her he felt his erection twitch. As he finally slipped a strong blunt hand down the front of her underwear and cupped her, he rubbed himself against her backside to show her how very much she pleased him.
Then he froze, his eyes widened in amazement and then amusement and he nudged his mouth against the side of her neck as his hand stroked along the length of the cock in his hands.
His little red haired spitfire was a boy.
And she was hard.
“Sorry,” He growled against the young mans scented skin. “I don’t fuck little boys.” He gave him a final regretful stroke and smiled a bit when the young man groaned and rocked his hips forward.
Then he slipped his hand from the heat and pre-cum wetness of the boys shorts. One hand slid along the boys jaw, the other slipping into the thickness of his hair.
Then with a practiced turn of his wrist, and an easy grace that spoke of a hidden strength he snapped the kids neck.
The snap of the spinal cord, the soft cry the boy emitted had his dick jerking in response and he closed his eyes as pleasure rocked through him.
He was blinded by the force of it, the strength that it took him to fight back his orgasm and get to his feet to button his pants back up.
After all. He loved women…honest he did. He liked it when they screamed.
But boys…he especially liked them.
He raped women for the sex.
He killed men for the power.
Maybe that’s where those fancy smansy scientists had screwed up with him.
He tsked sadly as he turned away.
A shame. Just a fucking shame.