Authors: Lee Cockburn
Back during Halloween a year ago, the work had a night out at a pub in the centre of Leith, a refurbished boat recently changed to a chic bar and night club. It was furnished with modern but comfortable fittings. Lit with a warm ambience, it was busy with a mixed crowd and the drinks were flowing. John was talking to the lads from his department at the end of the table while the women were gossiping down at the other end. They were dressed to impress and there was a little flesh on show for those who wanted to look. The confident younger lads were strutting their stuff, making any excuse to walk past the ladies, exchanging the usual flirtatious and suggestive banter, a tactic John found degrading and demeaning. He thought it was like begging for their attention and only if the girl decided he was worthy would she encourage further chat and maybe more. John shuddered inside at the power women held just for a guy to get a bit of pussy. Men were so god damn gullible when it came to getting their leg over. John surveyed the pub; there were women barely dressed in his opinion, flaunting themselves and begging for it.
No wonder things happen to them
, he thought, almost visibly grinding
his teeth. He felt uncomfortable, mixed feelings between arousal, jealousy and resentment,
fucking bitches
; his temper was starting to boil and he found himself feeling unable to remain calm and maintain his façade of normality.
Since killing his wife, John could not stop thinking about the arousal and the ultimate power he had felt as he took the most precious gift from his traitor of a wife, her life! He craved that fix again, that power. He wanted to feel his blood surge through his veins once again, pulse racing; feel that stiffness of his cock again as the desperation of another woman to survive thrilled him like never before. He wanted these women in the pub, all of them, he wanted to destroy their beauty one by one, teach them a lesson by taking their confidence away from them. “Sluts, flaunting themselves like that,” he muttered,
they’ll get what they deserve one day
. His body was now tensing up and he began to feel a little conspicuous and tried to relax himself a little, as he knew he didn’t want to raise any suspicions of what he truly was.
“Hey John, do you want another pint?” asked Dave.
“No.” John suddenly snapped out of his thoughts. He turned politely and said, “I’m off, I don’t feel too well and don’t want to get trashed tonight, I’m off home, I’ll catch you all at work next week eh. Cheers.” And he was off, just like that.
He was relieved to be out of the claustrophobic atmosphere. He walked a short distance along by the river and climbed into his car where he sat for a while never. He hadn’t intended to drive home, but he’d only had three pints and he was a big man and reckoned he might just be under the limit, and he certainly didn’t feel pissed. He started the car and began to head home. He did not intend to indulge in anything more that night, but something stirred within him and he decided to change direction and drive along the sea front onto Salamander Street towards the area where prostitutes openly walked the streets touting for tricks. He had never used a prostitute before as he believed he should never have to pay for sex; the fact that a woman got some sex from him should be enough for them. His thoughts turned foul and he decided he was going to find the youngest prettiest little whore and teach her that she hadn’t made the best choice this evening; selecting him for a trick would put her career choice seriously into question and maybe even her life.
He smiled a treacherous smile as his eyes narrowed and he drove with more conviction and purpose.
He pulled onto Seafield Road and there were several women underdressed for the weather, long thigh length boots, basks and the shortest skirts imaginable. John was already hard from his previous thoughts and his desire was becoming overwhelming. He drove slowly past the women and watched, leered at and examined their faces and bodies, memorising every detail for when he made his final choice. He drove by several times and looked to see which of the whores had a pimp in tow and which did not. He didn’t want any male attention tonight, just the ladies; he didn’t want a fair fight, he wanted to instil terror and dominate and control.
He parked up in a street, just off Salamander Street, where he knew there was no CCTV coverage and a safe route out to other streets that avoided the gaze of the lens, areas not covered by the watchful eye of the city’s cameras. The night dragged on as the women were picked up and dropped off; not long for each customer, just enough to get their rocks off.
What a waste of money,
John thought to himself,
I certainly won’t be as quick and I certainly won’t be paying
. The night drew on and his patience was finally rewarded. There was a pretty young Polish looking girl heading towards him. The pimps were nowhere to be seen.
She spotted him sitting in his car, something that didn’t surprise her. Lots of men sat and stared, waiting for them to approach. Her thoughts clouded with the awful things that were expected of them. Men seemed to think if they paid for sex that these girls weren’t worthy of any respect, care or freedom from being forced to carry out depraved acts, which they would never dream of asking their partners to perform. She was really tired, but could see that there was still money to be made and the more she got, the less likely she was to receive a beating from her pimp. If her earnings were up on the night before, she could sneak a little more for herself and pay him enough to keep him off her back, or stop him demanding favours for himself and he wasn’t a kind and caring man.
Hey, what harm can it do
, she thought. There was big business on party nights, men drunk and filled with desire, desire that the women that waited in their homes would be less than willing to fulfil. There
were also men who didn’t have women in their lives, who don’t score very often, coming down for a genuine need to be with a woman, to get some company and a little sexual pleasure before heading for home alone.
Layla was a slim pretty young lady, trim waist, ample breasts and long legs that led to the shortest skirt imaginable, barely covering her panties. She had an unwanted heroin habit, one that was forced upon her by her pimp; this made it possible to control her, because once addicted, he could provide the only thing that she would eventually want and need. She was bright and came to this country with ambition and desire, but couldn’t get a job and was preyed upon by her pimp, masking himself as someone who cared, providing her with accommodation and food, which turned quickly into her owing money and being trapped into a spiral of despair and slavery.
She leant into the window of John’s car but before she could even speak he gripped her throat so tight that she could not make a sound. He pushed her harder and she lost consciousness and dropped to the pavement like a stone, banging her chin as she fell. He shoved her ruthlessly with the door of his car to get it open and quickly bundled her into the rear seat, her chin now stained with blood oozing from the fresh gash on it. He climbed back into the car and was about to switch on the engine when a cop car moved slowly into the street, which was a regular occurrence in that area to try and keep the situation there under some sort of control. John froze, not wanting to be seen sitting in his car in this area; he slumped down and flattened himself to the front seats, hiding his large torso from sight, and hoped the cops in the car hadn’t seen him prior to ducking down, that the patrol car would just pass on by. Layla began to moan in the rear seat and tried to rub her throat and touch the blood on her chin; she let out a scream as she realised it was blood. John could see she was about to sit up in the back of the car and give them away, so he reached through the gap of the seats and viciously gripped her hair, pinning her head. She screamed even louder and he hissed instructions to her, but she ignored him and carried on screaming. The police car was now right alongside their car and the two officers were talking to each other. One appeared to have spotted something up ahead. A man had stopped his car beside a lady of the night just a bit further up the road. The police car sped off
in that direction. John heard its engine revving as it pulled away. He sat up and was now able to savagely punch Layla straight in the face repeatedly, mercilessly until she lost consciousness once again. He muttered to himself, “You’ll regret that, you nearly had me caught, you stupid little tramp.”
John carefully put his seat belt on and followed his planned route away from the area, avoiding the police vehicle parked up further along the road, now booking the kerb crawler. He smiled, but also shuddered at just how close he had come there to being caught. He travelled along the coast and then across the country to a wooded area in the middle of nowhere, not even a farm house within several miles. He was now on a single track road and he hadn’t seen any other traffic on his travels whatsoever.
Perfect
, he thought,
privacy for my next performance.
He stopped the car and violently jerked and yanked at Layla as he carelessly and cruelly pulled her from the rear seat by her feet, and ripped off what clothing she had on, masturbating frantically until he ejaculated all over her; he couldn’t help himself, his arousal driving there was getting in the way of his rational thoughts.
She started to come to and saw him above her; the realisation of the predicament she was in hit her chest almost painfully and she drew in a sharp and noticeable breath and started to crawl backwards as quickly as she could, pain pulsing through her face and her head clouded with the previous assault, she realised how much danger she was now in. He adjusted himself, sorting his fly, and moved towards her, noticing that she had awoken and was going to try to get away; she turned and pushed herself up and started to run from him. She had no clothes or shoes on but she was now in full flight, sprinting into the darkness, not worried about her bare feet and the pain stabbing into them as each footstep landed on undergrowth sharp and damaging; anything to get as far away from him. She could hear him following her and her heart sank further as the light from his torch lit up the area behind her, taking away the cover of darkness. John bellowed out to her and his words echoed through the night, “YOU’RE GOING NOWHERE, I’VE NOT EVEN STARTED WITH YOU YET, BITCH.”
Layla sprinted even faster, wishing for the first time in her life that her brutish pimp would appear from the trees to save her and stop this maniac from hurting her. This was not to be,
and she could now feel the ground cutting into her and branches whipping into her face, slashing her skin and slowing her down. The torch light was getting further behind as her youth and speed put distance between them. She took the chance and dropped down to her knees in a patch of long grass and nettles. They burnt her skin as she crouched there, trying to hold her breath and keep quiet; rasping desperate breaths still heaved from her lungs which were starved of vital oxygen from her frantic flight. She could hear her tormentor heading in her direction. He too was panting from the chase and had now started to walk as he had lost sight of his prey and his paunch was slowing him down. Her heart was pounding so hard, that she feared it could be heard out with her body, her knees and hands trembling uncontrollably with fear and pain. Her skin was slashed to ribbons from the blind run she had just taken, no concern for her physical
well-being
, all effort going in to saving herself from her pursuer. She felt the night had taken a sinister turn and she didn’t think his intention was just purely sexual; she now believed he would kill her, and terror engulfed her and tears rolled down her cheeks at the desperate predicament she was in.
John looked into the trees, but could only see dark shadows. He shone the torch further into the trees and long grass and there was no movement. He held his breath and listened in an attempt to hear her, hoping she would give herself away. Layla could now see him standing at the edge of the trees, shining the torch all around him. She could see his contorted face, and she could now see just how big a man he was, over six foot and strong, although out of breath too, from their chase. She herself was only five foot four inches and of slight build, just the way the customers liked her, but no match for the hunter before her.
John whispered in her direction, sending a chill down her spine.
Shit, shit, shit! Does he know I’m here? Can he see me? What should I do? Run!
John spoke with a sly taunting tone. “I can see you, you vile little whore, I can smell your unwashed body, come to me and I’ll show you a little mercy, DON’T MAKE ME CHASE YOU LADY, YOU WONT LIKE ME IF YOU MAKE ME ANY ANGRIER.”
She was just about to run, thinking he had seen her, when he turned the other way and focused on a noise in the other direction.
He took several large strides away from her and she lost sight of him as he disappeared into the trees. She clutched her knees and rested her face on them; she’d frozen to the spot, all she could hear was the slight breeze rustling in the grass just beside her. It was cold and she had no warm clothes, she started to shiver and could not stop herself. She tried to warm herself by wrapping her arms round her, close to her. Adjusting her position just a little in the long grass, she curled up motionless in an attempt to survive the cold and the predator that was hunting her.
Layla opened her eyes after resting them for what she thought was only seconds. The grass beside her was still rustling in what she thought was the breeze, but the breeze had subsided and suddenly a face appeared right by her side, suspending her breath in terror. All she could see were his gritted teeth in the light of his torch as he lunged towards her with no words, just savage blows to her face and body. He pinned her down and raped her viciously where she lay. She whimpered and begged him to take what he wanted but to spare her life, but he stared at her blankly as he turned her over and violated her once again, holding her face down in the grass and mud. She could barely breathe as he forced himself painfully into her anus over and over. He was out of control and hit her repeatedly with his fists like an ape; he bit her back, tearing away pieces of her flesh. Her screams were loud but unheard by others. He had beaten her so savagely that he was beginning to get tired, and he eventually chose to end the torment by holding her head with all of his weight into the dirt and pushing her as hard as he could until her face was pinned to the ground, sealed to the earth, preventing any air getting to her lungs; her eyes bulged in desperation and eventually her body, defiled, deformed and battered gave in and went limp. His heart was racing with the thrill of what he had just done, no remorse, just a powerful sense of triumph; his conquest lay still, unable to seduce another.