Page 3 of Bleed
By the time of last call, and the clicking on of the overhead lights, I’ll be long gone, a ghost that no one saw nor recognized. It’s the perfect kill, and I’m smiling broadly to myself as I step outside and walk down the street in a slow and satisfied stroll.
Two blocks down, parked ass to the curb sits my bike, Luna, a GSXR750 in all her blood orange and white glory. With her four-stroke, in-line, four-cylinder engine, and 125 horsepower, she’s a beautiful specimen of sportbike machinery, and the best, well, only girl currently in my life.
“Hello baby, did you miss me?” I ask the bike, stroking my hand down the red fairings, wiping away imaginary dust. I would never let her get and stay dirty, not her, she’s my princess. “I missed you.” I tell her as I pull my helmet off her handle bar and slap it on my head, tightening the chin strap under my auburn beard.
Her engine roars to life between my legs as I turn the key and flip the ignition switch with my thumb. She screams her “welcome back” to me as I twist the throttle, revving her up before I kick up the kickstand, shift her into first gear, and take off down the otherwise quiet street away from my crimes, and towards my solace. Home.
Chapter Two
The sun is still hours from rising when I pull into the multi-level parking garage of my apartment building, sliding Luna into her slot numbered 34 and turning her off, making her rumbles and roars cease, stopping the echoed announcement of my arrival. I really should walk her in quietly, so I don’t wake up any of the neighbors, but fuck it.
They don’t give two shits about me, so the feeling’s mutual. I’m just the rebel biker in the otherwise affluent community. Little do any of them know that I make way more money than probably all of them combined. I just choose to live simply. I like things plain, clean, and easy, unless of course it’s sex or death, those I like messy and wet.
The elevator dings its arrival, and I step in, noticing the red blood on my tattooed right hand and arm has dried. It’s become a dark brown mess on my skin and the cuff of my rolled up white shirt sleeve. I stare at it as the car silently moves up towards the floor where my abode is, with fascination and a stirring in my already snug jeans.
Such a pretty little stain.
I’m tired but the evidence needs to be removed from me, and I need to relive my evening alone, so as I exit the elevator on my floor and step into my apartment, I immediately strip off my clothes and stuff them into a paper bag. I’ll burn them in the fireplace after my shower.
Setting the brown bag down on the kitchen island, I walk around it, grab a bottle of water from my large stainless-steel fridge, and down it while I make my way to the bedroom down the hall and to the left. My shoes are silent on the cream-colored carpet, and I can’t see the mess that I am in the darkness until I flip up the switch on the off-white wall.
Soft light illuminates my simplistic bedroom, and the black and white bedding stretched neatly over my queen-sized bed. Black curtains block out the outside view, keeping it nice and private as I strut around bare ass naked, covered only by the now flaking blood on my skin. Clicking on the bedside lamp, I turn off the overhead light and head into the large, ensuite, all white bathroom.
The steam from the showerhead fills the room quickly, billowing above the glass doors and fogging up the square mirror of the medicine cabinet above the vanity. I can barely see my reflection in the haze and must wipe it away with my hand to see my tired, yet satisfied face.
Staring back at me is the notoriously feared reaper. The five foot ten, muscled man with a smooth, bald head and mottled hazel eyes. My face and neatly trimmed auburn beard have blood splattered on them, and with my fingernail I pick at the largest spot just under my right eye.
“Another one bites the dust.” I say to myself, walking away from the sink and stepping into the shower stall as I feel my cock rising at the images of tonight’s events filling my mind.
The head wasn’t anything to reminisce about, that was boring and plain, with no enthusiasm, but the way she spit at me before I plunged my blade into her, God, now that was beautiful.
The hot water pelts down on me like little daggers as I latch the magnetic door closed and bow under the spray. I love the way it feels on my scalp, and I rub my hands vigorously over it, massaging it, letting the blood wash from my hand over my face and body. The water running off me is bright red, then fades to pink before it washes down the drain at my feet, leaving the shower floor white and unmarred.
I can taste it as it pours past my face, dripping off the tip of my nose, and small drops land on my lips. It’s metallic and delicious, and it makes my dick even harder, until it’s thumping in need.
“Motherfucker, that’s so good.” I groan, wrapping my hand around my cock and stroking it slowly, closing my eyes, leaning back on the cool tile wall.
I watch behind my closed eyelids how her pupils blew out and her body curled in on itself as I drove into her hard enough to chip bone with my knife. I inhale the warm air around me, still smelling the copper and iron of her blood that is no longer on my skin. It fuels me to rub my cock harder and faster, feeling the veins on it roll under my fingers and palm.
“Oh, yes.” I moan loudly, going quicker.
I can feel it all the way down in my toes as I rub myself hard, my hand moving rapidly over myself, my fingers squeezing around my dick like a tight little cunt.
The feel of my engorged cock is almost as good as the way her lips felt against my other hand, just a short time ago. I can still appreciate the sensation of her hot breath on my palm, all moist and erratic, and as I envision the final, gasped breath leaving her body, I stroke even faster.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I grunt, squeezing the base of my cock hard to stop the climax from coming too soon.
I want to enjoy this, to savor it, to make it last as I go over the scene in my mind over and over again, until there’s nothing in my head except her death and the utter mess I made with my favorite blade.
The money I’ve earned is insignificant compared to the pleasure I get with the kill, but it is an added bonus that makes me smile as I jerk myself hard and fast again at the images of what I’ve done. Am I fucked up? Yep. Do I care? Nope.
“Mmmm, fuck yes.” I pant, wrapping my fingers around my shaft tighter, squeezing as I rub, making the head of my dick all shiny and a deep purple from the pressure.
I can feel the climax roll through my body like a disturbance across the ocean’s surface, getting larger until the white cap forms. When the first wave erupts from the head of my cock, splattering on the tile wall across from me, my eyes roll back and my toes curl into the tub in ecstasy. It’s a release that I need, expelling all the pent-up aggression, lust, and stress mixed with the fucking joy of my work and the kill.
The mess rolls down the shower, dripping off the handle for the faucet and lands in globs that swirl in the water then wash away, just like the blood and the evidence of my crimes.
It’s a cathartic end to the night, a completion of the last mission and a new beginning. I’ll start tomorrow, fresh and clean from my murderous ways, ready to start the next project they have for me. It could be anything, and I love the suspense.
