Page 8 of The Ecstasy of Sin
“Please,” he begs again, and a shiver runs through me.
Fucking delightful.
Every time they beg, my entire body responds whether I want it to or not. I may not want to fuck him, but that doesn’t stop my dick from hardening at the sound of his desperate pleas. At thedread and despair rattling through him as he shivers and shakes for me, his body weak and running on fumes after our cat and mouse game out here in the woods.
The blood in my body rushes south, and a hot tingle races up my spine.
Fuck. I love this part.
He thought he was safe. He thought he was invincible. Who knew taking a cigarette break in the middle of his night shift—on this massive industrial property out in the middle of nowhere—would end with him on his knees for a complete fucking psychopath.
Iknew. This was premeditated. A week of careful planning coming to sweet fruition.
Although this large piece of land is on the outskirts of a trail system I know almost by heart, it's two in the morning and not a single soul is out here but us. I chased him, dragged him, and forced him deeper and deeper into the woods until I was certain no one from the factory he worked in would hear him scream. No one can hear him as I torment him, and end his pathetic existence.
“I’m begging you, man…” Sebastian whimpers, lifting his shaking hands as if to placate an agitated predator. Fresh tears spill in glassy rivulets down his cheeks, illuminated by the light of the full moon overhead as it pierces the canopy of trees. The sight of those tears makes the maniacal grin on my face beam in the darkness of night.
Men like Sebastian, who get off on hurting those who are smaller and more vulnerable than him, are my favourite kind of prey.
Nothing brings me more pleasure than watching men like him crumble and fall apart for me, and nothing brings me more peace than watching someone that truly deserves it suffer and die under my blade.
“Do you know why you’re here, Sebastian?” I ask as I lift a hand to grip his jaw, angling his face toward mine so that our gazes remain locked together. “Do you remember my face?”
“N-no,” he stutters in response as desperation fills his eyes. Right now, he reminds me of a dying animal reaching for salvation one last time. “I swear I don’t know who you are.”
My fingers grip his jaw tighter, my nails biting into his skin so hard that blood blossoms in the crescents I’ve imprinted into his flesh. “Don’t you fucking lie to me, Sebastian. That’s only going to piss me the fuck off.”
Blood sputters from his lips as another pitiful cry tumbles from the big man’s mouth, and he nods dejectedly. “You’re that guy,” he begins, his sentence interrupted by the blood pouring from the holes where several of his teeth used to be, the wounds agitated from the force I exert on his face. “The guy from the trail with that German Shepherd.”
I smile.
He flinches.
“You punched your dog in the head four fucking times, just because she barked at us as we jogged by,” I seethe, baring my teeth as fresh rage follows in the wake of the memories of that cool summer evening just a week ago.
“It’s just a fucking dog, man,” he bellows like a wounded beast, as though he cannot believe he is here on his knees, suffering for his sins.
The memory of his black Labrador Retriever pancaked in the dirt, trying to be as small as possible as to not encourage further assault, has me clenching my jaw so tightly my teeth ache. “We don’t deserve dogs,” I tell him through clenched teeth, “and you don’t deserve to fucking breathe.”
I reach behind my back to the holster hidden beneath my hoodie, and pull my dagger free, lifting it high over Sebastian’s head. His mouth falls open as his eyes track the movement of my blade.
I pause for a moment to savor the look in his glistening eyes, as every last shred of hope he was holding onto dies right there in front of me.
My hand slams down, driving the brutally sharp blade down at just the right angle to slip through the intercostal muscles between his ribs. The dagger slides into the rapidly beating heart hidden below, finding its perfect home.
I lean in closer, still gripping his jaw tightly with my other hand, forcing his eyes to hold my burning stare. A violent cough surges through him, hot blood splattering across my face, neck, and chest.
A tidal wave of raw, primal pleasure crashes into me and takes my breath away as I push with the blade to open the wound a little more. I sigh deeply as the blood pulses and gushes from around the black and silver steel lodged in his chest, his dying heart malfunctioning as the natural rhythms are disrupted and ruined.
I groan as his eyes roll back, the light of life disappearing as he goes slack. Releasing his jaw, I pull my knife free, and watch as his body slumps and collapses into the dirt at my feet.
Standing, I wipe the dagger on the front of my shirt and sheathe it behind me once again.
I stare down at the now lifeless man at my feet, taking in every detail of his death and committing it to memory. His eyes are empty, but the right lid twitches sporadically as the nerves die. His muscles have relaxed, the putrid scent of urine filling my senses as his bladder releases.
Death is beautiful in its ugliness, a contradiction I find fascinating. What remains after my work is done isn’t what I’m addicted to though. It’s the process a person goes through prior. Pain, fear, struggle, and desperation… until you see the precious light of life slip away from their eyes.
And there’s a moment right before they’re gone—just a split second—of relaxation and resignation that sets my teeth on edge. That moment must last a century for the dying, but it’s frustratingly brief and fleeting for me to witness. The stage where they willingly let go, and sink into blissful oblivion.
