A Bloody Knife, An Ended Life
"Right to begin, left to end". These are the first words of his favorite poem, the poem he tells his victims before he ends their lives. When the poem ends so does his victim's life. He's practicing on them because soon he'll have his real victim under his knife: Georg Listing, his bandmate.
Warnings: Violence, Blood, Bondage, Knife Play, Humiliation, Torture, Character Death (Minor, OC)
He traced the edge of the blade against his submissive’s back, smiling faintly as he completed the maroon letter ‘G’. It had been difficult carving the letter in, his submissive’s back obnoxiously planed with thick cords of muscle, causing all sorts of trouble above the usual struggling.
Perhaps submissive was not the right word. He had taken it from the dominant/submissive culture, enjoying his submissive’s plaintive cries of ‘Master’ but submissives were supposed to be submissive by choice and this submissive was hardly that. Bastard didn’t know when to submit. He had given him fair warning when he said he liked to dominate.
It hardly mattered. This fool would be dead by morning. He had only picked him up to practice his calligraphy for the night, a bit of entertainment before he joined his bandmates back at the hotel.
He smiled as the man struggled against the bit clenched between his teeth, emitting harsh cries that were barely arousing. Useless wretch. The ticking of his watch caught his attention and he glanced at it in boredom, noting the little amount of time they had left for play. He wiped his blade on the submissive’s neck before tossing it into his left hand with ease.
“Right to begin, left to end,” he chanted. “Right for life, left for death. Right for positive, left for negative. Right to begin-“ the knife’s blade cut deep into the submissive’s neck, the hilt shining wetly with fresh blood. “-left to end.”
He nodded satisfactorily as the submissive keeled over, his mouth gasping open as redness spurted out of him. He cleaned the blade on the submissive’s blonde hair as a last insult- he was not so crude as to urinate on the corpse- and wiped it on his thigh before wrapping it in silk and heading out of the low doorway.
He hummed amusedly as he walked down the narrow alleyway, stripping his long leather gloves off. He felt relaxed as he passed a hobo, tossing two two Euro coins into his lap. The wino called a warm thanks after him and he smirked, waving back at him.
It had been a good night.
ØØØ
Bill shrieked happily as he ran through the backstage area, racing in between the crew who were too busy checking wiring and other mechanical things Bill had no name for to so much as look up at the shrieking singer. He half skipped to the couch where Tom, his twin brother, lounged and threw himself onto it, earning a scowl.
“Go away, Bill,” Tom grumbled as he yanked his shirt away from Bill’s clingy grasp. Bill giggled and grabbed at Tom’s watch to check the time. Tom scowled even more. “You’ve got a damn phone for a reason, Bill, fucking use it.”
“But I like your watch! It’s so big and pretty and shiny-”
“My watch is not pretty, you idiot.”
Bill pouted.
“You shouldn’t be mean to me, Tomi. Here I was giving you a compliment and you have to go and be all mean! It’s not fair!” Bill turned to the man sitting next to Tom, his head tilted back and his eyes closed as he listened to an iPod. “Gusti, tell Tomi to stop being mean to me!”
Gusti- whose real name was Gustav, mind you- opened his eyes slowly. Bill looked at him pointedly, an enormous pout commanding his delicate lips.
“No,” Gustav said.
Bill scowled to match his brother and punched Gustav in the shoulder. Gustav did not even flinch and Bill was forced to find someone else to amuse him. His choices were limited, though, now that Tom had stopped speaking to him and Gustav had decided to ignore him. Georg, the remaining member of their little group, was passed out on another couch across the room and so it was him that Bill set his upon.
Bill smiled beatifically. He stood up, more bounced up, really, and made his way over to the sleeping brunette. Bill’s simple mind was all aflutter with excitement at the thought of the myriad possibilities of he and Georg playing together, the singer forgetting for the moment that Georg was very rarely in the mood to play with him and, even when he was, never wanted to do what Bill wanted to do.
You see, Bill’s idea of ‘playing’ was much more along the lines of dress-up and petting than coloring books and tic-tac-toe. And Bill really liked ‘playing’ with Georg. Georg had been his playmate for most of their lives, second only to Tom who was being useless at the moment, so it was perfectly logical for the childish singer to pounce on him. Bill did not consider that Georg might perhaps be unhappy to be woken up for playtime when he was so obviously exhausted; Bill only considered what he wanted and that was to play with Georg.
He crept up behind the sleeping brunette, his fingers making little bunny ears. Bill giggled softly to himself as he moved closer on his tippy-toes. He imagined sticking his bunny ear fingers into Georg’s neck and how Georg would squeal girlishly and sit up. Then Georg would turn around and tickle Bill, and it would be so much fun.
Oh, Billibär, Georg would say, you’re so silly. And Bill would laugh and say, yes, I am so silly.
Bill crept right up behind Georg, his heart pounding in anticipation. He smiled deviously and stilled his breathing. Creeping forward without a sound, Bill stopped and stuck his fingers into Georg’s soft neck.
ØØØ
He tried to hide his disappointment at the night’s prey but he could barely suppress his frustration. He had only managed to ensnare a bone-thin woman with thick blonde hair, hardly worth looking at. She did not even cry out after the first slice, simply whimpered and crouched down on the floor in a pathetic ball.
Useless. Her skin was depressingly pale, her eyes a watery blue. He had thought she was male at first and his heart had quickened in excitement to find such an unusual toy. But it had all been a lie: she was a meatless bitch, so thin her backside was all bony vertebrae and shoulder blades. There was nothing to draw on. She would bleed out quickly once he began to carve with so little flesh to support her.
He sneered at her wide eyes and her gagged mouth.
“Do you like poetry?” he asked coldly. She whimpered, not even trying to form words around the leather bit in her mouth.
“Well, little bitch, I do,” he paused. She made no sound and so he kicked her, landing his boot in her rib cage. She screamed and he smiled. He crouched down next to her, his hamstrings resting on the back of his calves. “I especially like this one poem. Would you like me to tell it to you?”
Her watery blue eyes, already a revoltingly huge size, widened even more and she struggled against the leather cuffs that wrapped her wrists together. He leered down at her.
“You should be more polite, bitch. I’m doing you a favor ending your pathetic life tonight. People will be glad tomorrow when you don’t show up to the club. I’m sure your landlord will be all too happy to clear your apartment out and take all the money you’ve been hoarding away under your mattress, you greedy bitch.”
She began to cry. He wiped the first of her tears away with his finger and licked the salty liquid.
“Vile,” he pronounced, spitting in her face. “You’re hardly worthy of being killed, you’re so pathetic.” He pulled his knife out and ran the blade along her jaw, only slightly thrilled by the way she flinched and attempted to move away. “But I will tell you my little poem anyway. I tell it to all my submissives,” he mused. “And while you’re not nearly good enough to be one of my submissives, I’ll tell it to you all the same.”
He grinned as he sliced through the first layer of skin, filleting down to the bone. Drops of blood began to form, trickling down to pool in the hollow of her neck. She really was too skinny to practice on.
“Right to begin, left to end…”
Still, he needed to practice.
Warnings: Violence, Blood, Bondage, Knife Play, Humiliation, Torture, Character Death (Minor, OC)
He traced the edge of the blade against his submissive’s back, smiling faintly as he completed the maroon letter ‘G’. It had been difficult carving the letter in, his submissive’s back obnoxiously planed with thick cords of muscle, causing all sorts of trouble above the usual struggling.
Perhaps submissive was not the right word. He had taken it from the dominant/submissive culture, enjoying his submissive’s plaintive cries of ‘Master’ but submissives were supposed to be submissive by choice and this submissive was hardly that. Bastard didn’t know when to submit. He had given him fair warning when he said he liked to dominate.
It hardly mattered. This fool would be dead by morning. He had only picked him up to practice his calligraphy for the night, a bit of entertainment before he joined his bandmates back at the hotel.
He smiled as the man struggled against the bit clenched between his teeth, emitting harsh cries that were barely arousing. Useless wretch. The ticking of his watch caught his attention and he glanced at it in boredom, noting the little amount of time they had left for play. He wiped his blade on the submissive’s neck before tossing it into his left hand with ease.
“Right to begin, left to end,” he chanted. “Right for life, left for death. Right for positive, left for negative. Right to begin-“ the knife’s blade cut deep into the submissive’s neck, the hilt shining wetly with fresh blood. “-left to end.”
He nodded satisfactorily as the submissive keeled over, his mouth gasping open as redness spurted out of him. He cleaned the blade on the submissive’s blonde hair as a last insult- he was not so crude as to urinate on the corpse- and wiped it on his thigh before wrapping it in silk and heading out of the low doorway.
He hummed amusedly as he walked down the narrow alleyway, stripping his long leather gloves off. He felt relaxed as he passed a hobo, tossing two two Euro coins into his lap. The wino called a warm thanks after him and he smirked, waving back at him.
It had been a good night.
ØØØ
Bill shrieked happily as he ran through the backstage area, racing in between the crew who were too busy checking wiring and other mechanical things Bill had no name for to so much as look up at the shrieking singer. He half skipped to the couch where Tom, his twin brother, lounged and threw himself onto it, earning a scowl.
“Go away, Bill,” Tom grumbled as he yanked his shirt away from Bill’s clingy grasp. Bill giggled and grabbed at Tom’s watch to check the time. Tom scowled even more. “You’ve got a damn phone for a reason, Bill, fucking use it.”
“But I like your watch! It’s so big and pretty and shiny-”
“My watch is not pretty, you idiot.”
Bill pouted.
“You shouldn’t be mean to me, Tomi. Here I was giving you a compliment and you have to go and be all mean! It’s not fair!” Bill turned to the man sitting next to Tom, his head tilted back and his eyes closed as he listened to an iPod. “Gusti, tell Tomi to stop being mean to me!”
Gusti- whose real name was Gustav, mind you- opened his eyes slowly. Bill looked at him pointedly, an enormous pout commanding his delicate lips.
“No,” Gustav said.
Bill scowled to match his brother and punched Gustav in the shoulder. Gustav did not even flinch and Bill was forced to find someone else to amuse him. His choices were limited, though, now that Tom had stopped speaking to him and Gustav had decided to ignore him. Georg, the remaining member of their little group, was passed out on another couch across the room and so it was him that Bill set his upon.
Bill smiled beatifically. He stood up, more bounced up, really, and made his way over to the sleeping brunette. Bill’s simple mind was all aflutter with excitement at the thought of the myriad possibilities of he and Georg playing together, the singer forgetting for the moment that Georg was very rarely in the mood to play with him and, even when he was, never wanted to do what Bill wanted to do.
You see, Bill’s idea of ‘playing’ was much more along the lines of dress-up and petting than coloring books and tic-tac-toe. And Bill really liked ‘playing’ with Georg. Georg had been his playmate for most of their lives, second only to Tom who was being useless at the moment, so it was perfectly logical for the childish singer to pounce on him. Bill did not consider that Georg might perhaps be unhappy to be woken up for playtime when he was so obviously exhausted; Bill only considered what he wanted and that was to play with Georg.
He crept up behind the sleeping brunette, his fingers making little bunny ears. Bill giggled softly to himself as he moved closer on his tippy-toes. He imagined sticking his bunny ear fingers into Georg’s neck and how Georg would squeal girlishly and sit up. Then Georg would turn around and tickle Bill, and it would be so much fun.
Oh, Billibär, Georg would say, you’re so silly. And Bill would laugh and say, yes, I am so silly.
Bill crept right up behind Georg, his heart pounding in anticipation. He smiled deviously and stilled his breathing. Creeping forward without a sound, Bill stopped and stuck his fingers into Georg’s soft neck.
ØØØ
He tried to hide his disappointment at the night’s prey but he could barely suppress his frustration. He had only managed to ensnare a bone-thin woman with thick blonde hair, hardly worth looking at. She did not even cry out after the first slice, simply whimpered and crouched down on the floor in a pathetic ball.
Useless. Her skin was depressingly pale, her eyes a watery blue. He had thought she was male at first and his heart had quickened in excitement to find such an unusual toy. But it had all been a lie: she was a meatless bitch, so thin her backside was all bony vertebrae and shoulder blades. There was nothing to draw on. She would bleed out quickly once he began to carve with so little flesh to support her.
He sneered at her wide eyes and her gagged mouth.
“Do you like poetry?” he asked coldly. She whimpered, not even trying to form words around the leather bit in her mouth.
“Well, little bitch, I do,” he paused. She made no sound and so he kicked her, landing his boot in her rib cage. She screamed and he smiled. He crouched down next to her, his hamstrings resting on the back of his calves. “I especially like this one poem. Would you like me to tell it to you?”
Her watery blue eyes, already a revoltingly huge size, widened even more and she struggled against the leather cuffs that wrapped her wrists together. He leered down at her.
“You should be more polite, bitch. I’m doing you a favor ending your pathetic life tonight. People will be glad tomorrow when you don’t show up to the club. I’m sure your landlord will be all too happy to clear your apartment out and take all the money you’ve been hoarding away under your mattress, you greedy bitch.”
She began to cry. He wiped the first of her tears away with his finger and licked the salty liquid.
“Vile,” he pronounced, spitting in her face. “You’re hardly worthy of being killed, you’re so pathetic.” He pulled his knife out and ran the blade along her jaw, only slightly thrilled by the way she flinched and attempted to move away. “But I will tell you my little poem anyway. I tell it to all my submissives,” he mused. “And while you’re not nearly good enough to be one of my submissives, I’ll tell it to you all the same.”
He grinned as he sliced through the first layer of skin, filleting down to the bone. Drops of blood began to form, trickling down to pool in the hollow of her neck. She really was too skinny to practice on.
“Right to begin, left to end…”
Still, he needed to practice.