THE VAN Warning: this is a graphic story about rape and murder. Please don't read if you aren't into these fantasies. More importantly, don't mistake fiction for reality.
If you are contemplating something like this in real life, you need to take into account that you will be caught and sent to jail, where you will be brutally killed in a manner befitting your victims. Seriously, I don't ever want to hear about this story inspiring a true killing, it would ruin my life, yours, and your victim's. The three of us had been waiting in the van for over three hours.
Mark and Jean seemed calm enough, but they had done this before.
I, on the other hand, had not, and I was getting fidgety. I kept wiping the lens of the camcorder with my shirt, although it was perfectly clean. God, what I would have given for a drink right then. "Relax," Mark said, noticing my discomfort. "If everything isn't perfect, we'll abort. You can't keep doing this for as long as we have if you don't know what you're doing." "You're not having second thoughts are you, Juan?" asked Jean from the front seat.
Mark and I sat in the back, out of sight, on a dirty old mattress. "No, no," I replied. The last thing I wanted was for them to lose trust in me. "I'm good to go." After another fifteen minutes, I turned on the camcorder and began narrating.
"It's about 3:00 in the morning. We're parked across the street from a rural bar about two miles from the college." I pointed the camera through the small circular porthole window on the side of the van to the bar. There were only a couple of cars still in the parking lot. "We've been here for maybe four hours, waiting for the girl to leave. As you can see (or maybe you can't see, the lighting is pretty bad) the bicycle she rode in on is still parked outside." I turned the camera to Mark, getting a close up of his face.
"What are you thinking about, if you don't mind my asking?" He never did. Mark and Jean both enjoyed the attention. Otherwise they would never let me document their story. It was far too dangerous. "Actually," he said, "I was just wondering what kind of nipples our little friend has. I hope she doesn't have the big puffy areolas. I've never cared for those." I shuddered. It wasn't my place to judge him; I was just here to record him.
"Do you think… Do you think you'll be successful tonight?" "Tonight or tomorrow night, or next week. We'll get her eventually." "Well, it looks like it won't be tonight," said Jean from the driver's seat. She had a better view of the bar from her position and was the first to notice the girl leaving. "She's picked up an admirer, from the looks of it." Mark rushed to the porthole window.
"Fuck!" he said. I moved into the passenger seat to get a better view. I recognized the girl immediately.
She was outside the bar, talking to a man. Suddenly the man tried to kiss her, simultaneously grabbing her ass. She pulled away and slapped him. He started yelling at her. We couldn't hear any of it because, as I later learned, Mark had had the van all but soundproofed. Jean rolled her window down an inch and we all heard the man shout, "Bitch!" "This is promising, honey," said Jean.
The man got into his car and sped away. The girl got onto her bike and started for home. "We're on!" said Mark. "Remember," he said, looking me in the eye, "stay in the back, out of site. And don't interfere. You can help us if you want, but you'd better not get in our way." "I'm just here to observe," I said, trembling.
"Good. Cause that young cunt is going to die tonight no matter what, and I'd hate to have to bury both of you." "Don't be rude," Jean said. "You know we can trust him." Mark smiled. "I know. Just covering our bases, big guy.
Nothing personal." We gave the girl a ten-minute head start, then started up the van and began the pursuit. As we drove I found myself hoping that we would somehow lose her, that she would get off the road for some reason and disappear into the forest. But there were no exits, not even residential driveways, along this stretch. After about two minutes, the girl appeared in our headlights, peddling away.
She moved to the shoulder to let us pass. "Remember, stay in the back," said Mark. Jean pulled up parallel to her and slowed, rolling down her window. "Excuse me, Miss," she said, "can you help me with directions?" The girl came to a stop and so did Jean. "I'm trying to get to the freeway," said Jean. She got off her bike and walked it up to the van. "Sure thing," she said. She had a sweet voice.
I felt bad for her. At that moment Mark slid the van door open and ran out. He grabbed her, cupping a hand over her mouth before she could scream. The bicycle fell over. "Shit, I didn't think about the bike!" Mark said, dragging the girl to the van.
"Juan you've got to get it. Get it and put it in the van." "But I'm not supposed to get involved, this-" "Get it or we could all go to jail! The cops will know she's in trouble quicker and they'll know she was kidnapped from this spot! Do it now!" I was really afraid of him at this point, and I wasn't thinking clearly, so I grabbed the bike and stowed it in the van.
Mark forced the girl in, and shut the door. "Let's go!" he said, and Jean pulled back onto the road. "Well done everyone," said Mark. "And I'm sorry, Juan. But you did a good job." As he said this, he was rubbing at his crotch. "You want to be filming this, don't you?" I realized that in the confusion I had dropped the camera.
I picked it up and trained it on Mark and the girl. It was still running. Mark seemed content for the moment to hold her in his lap with one arm while he rubbed his crotch with the other.
She was scared, of course. Her chest heaved erratically, her breathing choked with sobs. She was so young and pretty. I knew from what Mark and Jean had told me that she was a 19-year-old sophomore at the local college. I didn't really want to know much more about her. They had been stalking her for about three weeks, and I had been filming them for all of it. At first it never occurred to me to follow them out on one of their "hunts," as they called them.
My plan was just to live with them for a few weeks, interviewing them and getting to know what made them what they were. I pitched it to them that they would be the stars of a groundbreaking documentary. Their faces and voices, and any other identifying information, would of course be edited out.
They let me ask them anything. In fact, some of the most compelling footage, up to now at least, came when they offered up their thoughts unsolicited.
But still I felt I was missing something. When they told me about their new target I was conflicted. I felt that perhaps I was getting in too deep.
But then again, if I wanted to show these people as they really were, I really needed to see them at work. So I started coming with them as they stalked the girl. They pointed out that she had recently wrecked her car, and thus rode a bicycle to class. She went out quite a bit at night, and although she often got a ride with friends, half the time she would just go by herself, either on the bike or on foot. Mark and Jean knew from the beginning that it was only a matter of time before they would have her.
And now that time had finally come. She was sitting not four feet from me, and I realized that before the night was through I would watch her die. It was the first time I had seen her up close. She was really quite a beauty in her short running shorts and tight fitting t-shirt. About 5'3", 110lbs, with a cute little nose and big liquid eyes. Mark held her in his lap, playfully biting her ear, one arm around her stomach, the other squeezing her bare knee.
It occurred to me to get a shot panning up her body. I started at her low cut sneakers and slowly moved up to her slender ankles, then past her calves where I held the shot for a few seconds on the hand on her knee, then beyond to her naked thighs… Before I could finish what I'm sure would have been a great shot, she started to scream.
It was like she was coming out of shock and realizing how much danger she was in. She tried to bolt for the door, but Mark was ready and pulled her back to the floor.
"You'd better secure her before you start playing with her," advised Jean.
"And don't forget to lay garbage bags on the mattress to catch any cum or blood." Mark laid her out on the mattress, pushing her onto her stomach and sitting on her ass. With one hand he held both her wrists behind her back. With the other hand he expertly wound what appeared to be piano wire around them, eventually fashioning some kind of sailor's knot. "Let me up!" the girl screamed. "Let me up! You can't do this!" "Where did you learn to do that, Mark?" I asked. "This?" he asked, indicating the knot.
"I picked that up from years of killing. I use fishing line used for sharks. It's strong as hell. Also it's painful, and I like that." Satisfied with his handiwork, he flipped her onto her back.
"Oh God, don't kill me!" she cried. "Please!" "Famous last words," said Mark with a wink. Perhaps I was growing accustomed to his callousness, because it didn't affect me. "So, what are you going to do with her now?" I asked. "First I'm going to shut her up," he said. "Hold her head up for me for a second." I hesitated. I didn't want to get any further involved, but I had already helped with the bike and I didn't think I could say no. Plus, it wasn't like anything I did now would alter the night's outcome.
I lifted the girl's head from the mattress. Mike took a roll of duct tape and wrapped it around her mouth a few times. "Okay," he said. I released her head. "So what now?" I asked. "Now I fuck, torture and kill this young lady while my wife drives us to a nice secluded spot where we can bury her corpse." The girl sobbed, closed her eyes, and clenched her knees together in the fetal position.
"So you go through all this work to get her, then you kill her after only a few hours?" Mark didn't respond. He was running his hands over the girl's legs and up her shorts. "That's my rule," explained Jean. "I don't mind him taking a woman from time to time, but I won't let him ruin our lives over one." "Are you afraid he'd run off with a victim?" The girl screamed, a muffled "Mwwwaaa!" through the duct tape. Mark had pulled off her shoes and was now yanking her shorts down. He got them past her feet and tossed them aside.
She looked so vulnerable, clad only in her t-shirt and panties. "Not really," Jean replied. "He knows what these girls are for better than anyone. But keeping a slave-girl is dangerous.
The longer you keep one alive, the greater the chances she escapes and tells the police. Also, there's the cost to consider. Girls have to eat something. They can't live on cum alone." Mark was now sitting on the girl. He had pushed her t-shirt up and was roughly kneading her breasts. I hadn't noticed, but at some point he had taken his cock out and it now rested, half erect, on her bare stomach. He started touching himself, rubbing the head of his cock against the girl's bellybutton. As he did this, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small object.
He pushed a button and there was a glint of light as a small blade appeared. I realized it was a pocketknife. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed. "Is this it? Is he doing it now?" Jean turned and looked back.
"Godammit, Mark!" she yelled. "Take two seconds and lay some garbage bags under her!" Mark was lost in his own world, or else he chose to ignore her. He laid the flat edge of the blade against the girl's cheek, then ran it down her neck and over her breasts. "Okay," yelled Jean, "then you'd better be prepared to clean up your mess, because I sure as fuck won't be doing it!" "Is he going to kill her now?" I repeated in a whisper. Jean was clearly upset, and didn't immediately respond.
"No," she finally said. "Not with that thing, it's too small.
DID YOU HEAR ME?" she added pointedly, raising her voice, "I SAID IT'S TOO FUCKING SMALL!" Mark ignored her. He pushed the point of the blade gently against the girl's right breast, not yet breaking the skin.
He left it there for what must have been five seconds, pressing it into her flesh, then with a quick snap of the wrist, as if he were throwing a dart, he raised the blade and jabbed it in and out of her flesh. She let out a high-pitched squeal of pain and indignation, the sound of which clearly aroused Mark.
His erection was now at full strength, yet still he didn't penetrate the girl. Instead he repeated the process, this time jabbing a narrow wound perhaps a half-inch to an inch deep into her flat stomach. By this point her face was streaked with tears, her cheeks and nose flushed red from crying. Mark brought his face close to hers, looking into her terrified, innocent eyes.
Then he slowly ran his rough tongue over her smooth cheek, licking away her tears. "Hey Jean," I said, still filming her husband. "You said something about Mark knowing how to use girls, girls like this one I guess. What exactly did you mean by that?" She shrugged.
"Some girls are just born to be snuffed. Mark and I understand that." I found myself getting indignant, even angry, but I fought to maintain my composure. "But you don't know anything about this girl. I mean… she has hopes and dreams, I'm sure… just like the rest of us. For all you know, she could have cured cancer… or been the first female president." Jean scoffed.
"Obviously not." "Why not?" "Because she's going to die tonight." This was frustrating. "But if she didn't die tonight… you can't tell what she might have been. Even if she was only destined to became a mother, that's great in its own right. Don't you think you should be letting God decide who lives and dies?" She took a deep breath. "First of all, this chick wasn't going to be anything unusual. She would have had kids, gotten a good job and settled down.
But even that's not true, because she was never meant to live. You say that we're playing God, but that's impossible… Listen, God has a plan, and Mark and I are a part of that. So is this girl. We couldn't do anything against His will even if we wanted to." "So God wants you to murder this woman?" "Ultimately, God created her for that end, yes.
To give pleasure through her death." "You can justify anything that way," I said. Mark took no heed to the debate taking place in the front of the van.
He had flipped the girl onto her stomach again and was sitting between her legs, which he had forced apart. She was still wearing the t-shirt and panties, but the panties had been pushed to the side and Mark was probing the fingers of his left hand deep into her pussy. In his right hand he still brandished the pocketknife, which he used to slash shallow cuts into her round ass and firm thighs, red lines of blood seeping up through the tanned skin a half second after the incision was made.
The van slowed and stopped. "We're here," said Jean, engaging the parking brake. I looked out the windshield. We were far out in the desert, nothing but scattered vegetation for miles around. Then I noticed a few feet away hole in the ground, about six feet long by three feet wide by four feet deep.
"Even if you don't believe in God," continued Jean, "think of nature. Many species give birth to hundreds or thousands of young, out of which maybe only ten percent survive. The rest are born to be devoured. There are other young women who can become mothers and astronauts.
This one has a simpler purpose." I didn't want to argue anymore. Besides, Mark was ready for sex. He pushed the girl once again onto her back. Using the knife to cut a small hole in her shirt, he then reached his fingers into the hole and ripped the shirt off her body.
Her otherwise perfect chest and breasts were covered in small cuts. He then pulled her panties down and threw them in the corner. The girl was now completely naked.
Mark on the other hand remained clothed; he merely pulled his pants down. Sporting an erection that was no doubt viagara-enhanced, he put his hands on her knees, eager to penetrate her. She was trying to keep her legs together, but he easily pried them apart. I had planned to film the rape/killing as tastefully as possible, but when the moment arrived I changed my mind. After all, it was a lurid act, and the only honest way to film it was luridly. So, like a porn director I hovered the camera inches from the girl's body, preparing for the money shot.
Having apparently forgotten to bring lube, Mark improvised by spitting a couple of times on the girl's hairless pussy. Then, placing the head of his cock against her vaginal slit, he pushed himself into her with an audible "squick".
I held the close-up of their coupling for a few seconds, then slowly zoomed out to capture the entire scene. It occurred to me that when this poor girl left the bar to go home, this was the last way she imagined her day (and indeed her life) would end, with some old freak's dick in her. And yet here she was.
Mark fucked her slowly at first, as if he were testing her out He ground away methodically, his fingers digging into her tanned thighs, his prick leisurely exploring every inch of her womb.
I have to admit, to my shame, that a part of me was excited to see this girl die. I realized that my 'documentary' was quickly becoming a snuff film. So be it, then. It would be a great snuff film.
Inspired, I shot the girl from every angle I could think of. I got close-ups of her face, breasts, feet, and of course cunt, hoping to please the widest possible audience of fetishists. As Mark began to fuck her more violently, he brought his big hands to her slender neck and squeezed down hard. Her beautiful eyes went big with panic as her airway was immediately constricted.
After a few seconds she started making choking sounds. Mark was fucking her furiously now, pumping her cunt like a piston in a high performance engine. At the same time he kept his fingers firmly planted in her delicate throat. After ten minutes of this (he had admirable stamina), the girl's face had turned a deep red, as had her over-fucked pussy. From time to time her tongue would dart wildly out of her mouth, desperate for air.
Her eyes began to roll in her head. "It won't be long now," commented Jean. The girl began to kick. Impulsively, I grabbed one of her slender, shapely legs and held it for a moment, enjoying the sensation of her flesh. She was past caring at this point, if she even still knew what was going on. I focused the camera back on her face, eager to capture death in her eyes. I was rewarded soon enough.
She died with Mark still fucking her. Her final expression was one of confusion and terror. Mark continued fucking her for a couple minutes after she died. Finally, he ejaculated with a loud moan, then fell forward onto the corpse, exhausted.
He rested there for a moment, then extracted himself from the dead girl, his now limp cock trailing a string of semen and vaginal fluid behind. "That was good," he said simply. Now it was clean-up time.
Mark and I dismantled the bicycle and fit it in the grave, then tossed the girl's ruined clothing on top of it. Finally, Mark carried the naked corpse to the grave and tossed it in. "What did you think?" he asked me. "Pretty interesting?" "Uh… It was pretty powerful." "I can see that," he said, pointing to the bulge in my trousers. "Do you want to have a go at her?" I blushed.
"No, no thanks…" "Come on, don't let her go to waste. Use her while she's still warm." But I wasn't ready to cross that line yet. "No," I said. "I'm just an observer."