Sylas.

[MissPhoenix]

Prologue

At forty-nine years old, I had been alive long enough to know how life worked. The innocent were so often victimised – the guilty so frequently walked free. Lucky me.
I often find myself wondering, how did I get to where I am today? What was it about my psyche that drove me to thrive off the suffering of others, as I watched them take their last breath? I never came up with a conclusive answer, of course. I had long grown to accept that I got my kicks in a much different way than normal people – mostly in the form of rape and murder.
Not once had I been suspected as the killer of a long list of young girls - usually virgins, or at least those incredibly naïve and innocent. Trusting. That’s usually where they went wrong. If only they’d known in advance that trusting me would lead to their deaths.
My name? Sylas.

Chapter 1

The first girl I ever killed was a complete accident. It was nineteen years ago, when I was thirty years old. Her name was Jennifer – ah, sweet little Jenny, 16 years old, barely out of high school. She was a model student – the quiet type. She had been a virgin, at least until I got my hands on her. I only intended to rape her, to pull her into the trees, my face hidden by a balaclava, to fuck her and steal her virginity in a horrific way that she would never forget. But that’s not what happened.
Ever since I was barely a teenager, I had had fantasies about raping girls – taking them completely by force, watching the terror in their eyes as they realised there was no escape from the man who had chosen them as his victim. Of course, I didn’t start committing rapes as a teenager. I put off my first rape until I was twenty years old. Probably a good thing, too - I imagined that I wouldn’t have been so careful back then. Getting caught committing rape as a teenager would have meant the lack of my completely clean criminal record, the façade that I hid behind to this day, which allowed me to continue my string of violent crimes.
It was getting late, on the day that I committed my first murder. It was just after 9pm, however, due to daylight saving time, it was still quite light outside. Jenny was heading home from her part-time job at the local supermarket. Having watched her for a while, I knew her shift patterns, and I knew when to expect her to pass the area where I waited so silently for her. Today was special for me. I had been carefully planning it for weeks. On this day, 27th July, 10 years ago, I had committed my first rape. A girl named Janine. Ah sweet Janine, how I had thrived upon her desperate struggling, her muffled sobs, the unadulterated fear in her eyes. Of course, I’d had my balaclava on to cover my face, and I had no criminal record whatsoever, so there was absolutely no way for the police to know it was me. That is, if poor Janine had even reported the rape.
But yes, today was special to me. It was the tenth anniversary of my first rape, and of course, I was going to celebrate it. Ever since I’d had that first rush of adrenaline as I stole precious Janine’s virginity, I’d struggled to find the same rush again. The second rape I committed didn’t have quite the same effect on me. I tried to solve this problem by increasing the level of violence that I used upon each passing victim. I didn’t know it yet, but on the day of my tenth anniversary, I would surpass even the rush of adrenaline I had felt on that very first day.
Hidden amongst the trees on the outskirts of our quiet little village, I pulled my balaclava down over my face. Little Jenny was due to walk by any minute, and I was going to be ready for her. I checked my watch, it was 9.10pm. Jenny’s shift finished at 9pm, and it took her twenty minutes to get home – ten minutes to get to where I was waiting, hiding.
Suddenly I spotted her, just down the street, heading towards me. Oh the fun I was going to have with her, and she didn’t even know yet. She walked slowly, probably enjoying the fact it was still fairly warm out. Her hair was dark brown to match her eyes, and it was cut to just past her shoulders. She was pretty in an unconventional way, and her shy innocence was what appealed to me the most.
As she moved closer, I felt the adrenaline start to stir. Poor Jenny was about to have an experience she would never forget for the rest of her life, or so I thought.
As she walked by where I hid, just close enough for me to smell her sweet perfume, I made my move. Stepping out just far enough to make my grab, I clapped one hand over her mouth and the other around her waist. I felt her body tense beneath me as she tried to cry out in surprise. I pulled her back quickly, into the trees, and spun her around so that I was staring directly into her eyes, those fear-filled, beautiful eyes. I kept one hand clapped over his mouth, and with the other I pulled out a flick-knife.
“Make one peep, and it’ll be the last sound you ever make, understand?” I said in a whisper, so she’d never recognise my voice. Her eyes still wide with terror, she nodded her headed slowly. She understood, oh good, this was going to be easy.
Taking my hand from her mouth, I ripped open her button-up shirt, popping all of the buttons. I buried my head in her neck, biting it hard. She let out a squeak, desperately trying to stay quiet as I used my knife to cut her skirt and tights off her. The poor girl would have to run home practically naked after I’d finished with her.
I folded the knife away, slipping it back into my pocket. I grabbed Jenny by the throat with one hand, as I unbuttoned my trousers with the other. The fear on her face as she realised what was coming just drove me further into my excited frenzy, as I pulled my trousers down, freeing my now desperate cock.
“Stop, please,” she gasped, trying desperately to breathe whilst my hand was tight around her throat, “I won’t tell anyone.”
“That’s what they all say,” I growled, “We both know that isn’t going to happen, Jenny.”
Her eyes widened as she realised I knew her name. Before she could question whether she knew who I was, I scooped my arm under her leg, pulling it up into the air and forcing her back onto a fence.
“This might hurt a little,” I spoke softly still, but with a menace in my voice. I pushed up into her, taking no care whatsoever as I forced my way into her tight virgin pussy, destroying her hymen in one strong thrust. The look of pain on her face as she struggled to breathe drove me crazy, and I started to thrust into her, harder and faster as her breathing grew shallower.
The poor girl was sharp running out of oxygen. Her eyes were partly closed as I fucked her hard – usually I’d let go right about now, but the excitement of having cute little virgin Jenny at my mercy, after all my planning and all my fantasising, was just too much.
As I thrusted my cock into her, deeper and deeper, she stopped breathing, falling unconscious. I barely noticed, concentrating fully on fucking her tight virgin pussy. I forced myself into her, rough and fast as I felt my orgasm growing. The pleasure only caused me to grip tighter around her throat, so far into my passionate frenzy that I had no consideration for her life whatsoever.
I groaned as I came, shooting my cum into her battered pussy. I took my hand from her throat, using both hands to grip her thighs, pulling her onto me and forcing myself as deep as I could go.
As my orgasm faded and the adrenaline lessened, I pulled my cock out of her, realising for the first time that she was unconscious. I let her legs down, putting two of her fingers to my neck to feel her pulse. The adrenaline flared back up, stronger than anything I had ever felt, as I realised what I had done. She was dead – I was a murderer. I had never felt so powerful in my life.
I lowered Jenny to the floor, laying her down on the grass and fallen leaves. I covered her partially with her torn skirt and ripped shirt, before I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. A locket, around her neck, small and gold with the letter ‘J’ carved into it. She had an imprint on her neck from the locket – as I choked her, I must have pushed it into her hard enough to leave a mark. I pulled the locket from around her neck, and stashed it in my pocket – my first trophy, to mark my first killing.
Buttoning up my trousers and removing my balaclava, I left her there, as her body cooled, never to breathe the fresh summer air again.
Poor little Jenny.

[MissPhoenix]

Chapter 2

Back in the present day, I sat in the conservatory on the back of my house. I had a wooden rocking chair, which sat by the front near the window, overlooking my huge, lush back garden.
My house was large, beautiful and Victorian. I had inherited it from my father, who had died when I was just a boy, along with a very generous sum of money. My mother died in childbirth, so when my father passed, his sister - my single and childless aunt – had moved into the house to raise me as her own. Of course, when I reached an age that I could look out for myself, she moved out and left me alone to enjoy the house and its beautiful views. I assumed that she thought I was going to meet someone and start a family, but that had never been my plan. Although she meant well, my aunt had been such a pain during my teenage years that I never wanted to have a woman to answer to. Maybe that’s why I loved the power of having a woman answer only to me. Nothing turned me on more than having complete control over a girl, and having her know that she was completely at my mercy.
I also enjoyed the peace of having the large house all to myself. I had three bathrooms, five bedrooms (two of which I had converted, into a study and a library) and there was nothing quite like the crisp silence during a calm summers day. My garden was beautiful, with flowers blooming in all different colours, and the silence was so that you could almost hear the flapping of a butterfly’s wing. Yes, I appreciated nature, don’t get me wrong. I may have had a twisted mind in the eyes of the majority, but I could definitely appreciate the finer things in life.
I leaned forward, picking up a very important piece of pottery from a nearby table. It was a large blue and white vase, fitted with a lid, with beautiful floral patterns and a gold trim. It had belonged to my mother.
I removed the lid, setting it down on the table, and poured the contents into my lap. Out of the vase fell jewellery of all different types, sizes and metals - my trophies. You see, at first, the reason I took Jenny’s necklace was because I wanted to remember the mark I left on her neck as I strangled her to death, but eventually, as my list of victims grew, collecting their jewellery became habit, and I eventually came to think of it as the ultimate insult – as if taking their lives wasn’t enough, I had to take something else that had been precious to them.
I scooped up the fading gold locket with the ‘J’ carved into it. As I held it in my hand I almost felt like I had been transported back nineteen years, and I was standing in the shrubs where I had committed my first murder, standing over Jenny’s naked body and holding the locket prize that would be the first of many.
I wondered what Jenny’s life would be like now, had she still been alive. She would be thirty-five, she would probably have a life of her own. I assumed she’d be married, possibly with children. I imagined a daughter – long brown hair, to match her beautiful deep brown eyes. She’d probably be about sixteen now too, or so I imagined.
I dropped Jenny’s necklace back into the jar, then started looking through the rest of the jewellery. I picked up a ring, the trophy I had acquired from my second murder victim. It wasn’t just any ring – it was an engagement ring. It had belonged to a girl named Louise. Oh, Louise had been beautiful. There was no wonder she was engaged at nineteen. Her hair, the most beautiful shade of red, fell to halfway down her back, her eyes, the most piercing yet captivating shade of green.
It had been six months since I had accidentally killed sweet Jenny, and the buzz over the discovery of her naked body, raped and asphyxiated, had finally died down. However, my mind had not. Ever since that evening, when I had arrived back at my house, locket in hand, I had not stopped thinking about the power I had felt when I took the life of another human being. As soon as the adrenaline and realisation that I had murdered young Jenny had worn off, I realised that I needed more. In my entire life, I had never felt anything quite like the feeling of taking another’s life. It was addictive – even more so than the power I felt when I committed a rape, more addictive than the look of fear in their eyes, more satisfying than the way they fell to the ground, sobbing, after I had violated them completely.
As the weeks and months passed, I tried to stave off my compulsion to kill again. Raping girls was one thing, but murder was a whole different ballpark. I had killed Jenny by accident, and I had got away with it, but that didn’t necessarily mean I would keep getting away with it.
However, the longer I put it off, the more desperate I became. I started to dream of killing. The dreams started off with gentle deaths, such as Jenny’s slow asphyxiation, but then they started getting more violent – stabbings, snapping necks. Eventually I got to the point where I found myself wandering the village, eyeing up young girls and fantasising about how I would kill them if I managed to get them alone – and then I saw her.
She was walking through the village, hand in hand with her sweetheart. Her face shone with happiness, and she kept lifting her left hand up, examining her ring. She was newly engaged and completely content with life. I smirked, thinking to myself, you know what they say – the higher you climb, the further you fall, and fall she would, into my sadistic and unforgiving hands.
I followed them, and they led me right to Louise’s home. Presumably she still lived with her parents, as her fiancé kissed her goodbye at the front gate. I pretended to walk by, as innocent as can be.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, with a smile. He kissed her.
“Have a good night, Louise. I love you,” he told her.
“Love you too,” she smiled again and then hugged him, before turning and walking up to her front door. She turned and waved, and he waved back. Ah, young love.
Now that I’d found my victim, and knew her name and where she lived, it was easy to watch her house. I hid amongst some trees across the road from her house, staying completely hidden from the sidewalk.
A few nights after I’d first seen her, I was across the road, just watching, waiting. It was January now, and the nights got dark early. I was about quarter past eight when she came out of the house alone, and turned left, walking in the direction away for the village. Perfect.
I slipped out of my hiding place, staying a fair distance behind her as she walked. I knew there was a small park up ahead, so I timed myself just right, walking quick enough to catch up to her just as she reached the park. I quickly slipped into the gate, making it look as though I was just coming out of the park.
“Excuse me, miss,” I called out to her. She turned around, looking at me, surprise in her striking green eyes.
“Yes?” she asked, simply.
“I was walking through the park, and I saw a little cat, stuck up a tree,” I said calmly, “I think it’s scared of me, but I don’t wanna just leave it there. Do you think you could try to coax it down? It’s just over there,” I pointed to a tree not too far into the park, so it didn’t seem like I was trying to get her to come deeper into the park with me.
“Uhh, I’m not sure,” she said, looking into the park, looking at me, and then looking along the path, clearly wanting to get back to her route, “I should really be getting to my fiancé’s house.”
“Oh come on, I’m sure it won’t take long. The poor thing’s crying, it’s scared to come down,” I smiled in a friendly manner, as I tried to make her feel guilty enough to leave the security of the lit pavement, and coax her into the dark, empty park, when – unsurprisingly – no stranded cat existed.
“Alright, I love cats,” she said, nervously, “I hope its okay.”
“I’m sure it will be,” I assured her, “I hear cats are good at getting down from high places, it just needs a little encouragement I think,” we walked over to the tree that I had pointed at initially, and I pointed up into the tree again, “It’s just up there, can you see it?”
Louise let her guard down, holding both of her hands above her eyes to try to see more clearly. I took my chance, moving up quickly behind her, using the same method I had used to secure Jenny – one hand around the waist, the other over the mouth to stop her screaming. Louise instantly reacted, struggling violently, trying to fight me off. I pushed her face-forwards against the tree to stop her struggling so much. I pressed my mouth to her ear, whispering, “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. If you scream, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
She nodded. Of course, I was going to kill her anyway, but she didn’t know that. I took my hand from her mouth. I could tell that she was still thinking about screaming, trying to decide the chances of anyone actually coming to her rescue if she did. However, she kept silent.
“Good girl,” I cooed, pulling a rope from inside my coat. I grabbed both her arms, forcing them behind her as I bound her wrists together, “Now keep behaving, and I’ll let you go when I’m finished with you.”
“”What do you mean, finished with me?” she asked, with dread in her voice. I didn’t answer. She knew what I meant.
Louise was wearing a skirt too, with thick tights and knee-high boots. I grabbed her tights and her underwear (a black thong), forcing them down to her knees.
“No, don’t, please,” she quietly begged, starting to cry, “Please let me go.”
With one hand still pressing her against the tree, I unbuttoned my trousers with the other, forcing them down just enough for me to pull my cock free.
“Now just behave, and this won’t hurt as much,” I grabbed her waist with one hand, and her hair with the other, pulling her back as I forced myself into her. Her pussy was tight, and it had reacted to the situation – she was starting to get wet.
“Ohh, you’re wet, you know what that means? It means you’re enjoying it, you little slut. You want me,” I mocked her, as I slowly pumped my cock in and out of her.
“No, I don’t, stop it,” she begged, and then she changed her tune, “My fiancé will kill you for this.” I pulled her hair so that he head was forced back.
“Oh will he now? Don’t threaten me, you little whore,” I pulled her back off the tree, and then pushed her down to the ground. She collapsed face first, her hands still tied behind her back, crying out loudly in pain. I got down onto my knees behind her, and pushed her head down, into the ground.
“I thought I told you not to scream, Louise, you fucking little slut?” she gasped as she heard her name, “I told you I’d fucking kill you, didn’t I?”
“I didn’t scream, I’m sorry,” she begged through her tears, “Don’t hurt me please. I won’t tell anyone.” Oh, yet again, the age old attempt to bargain with your attacker. Beg them to let you go, promise you won’t say anything. How fucking stupid did they think I was?
I forced her over onto her back, kneeling between her legs. Then I mounted her, forcing my cock deep into her again, fucking her harder than before. I tightened my hand around her throat, as I’d done with Jenny all those months ago. I kept thrusting into her, waiting until she had so little oxygen left that she wouldn’t be able to scream, no matter what I said or did to her.
“I told you not to scream, and you didn’t listen. All you had to do, was play my game,” I spoke gently to her as she gasped for air, “But you didn’t. So now, because you broke the rules, you’re going to die.”
The fear in her eyes was like nothing I’d ever seen before. She started desperately trying to struggle again, trying to scream, but she was powerless. I fucked her as I watched the life leave her eyes. Suddenly her body fell limp; her beautiful green eyes were empty. I kept my grip tight on her throat until I felt her pulse slow into nothingness. The adrenaline returned as I realised poor bride-to-be Louise was dead at my hands, and I forced my cock deeper and harder into her until I came, groaning as I filled up her limp pussy.
I pulled out of her, standing up and fastening my trousers again. I bent down, forcing Louise’s lifeless body over onto her front. I unfastened my rope, concealing it once again inside my coat.
As I reached for her left hand and slipped off her engagement ring, I thought of her fiancé. I had taken his future wife from him, and now I’d taken the beautiful, expensive ring he’d proposed with, too.
Pity.

[MissPhoenix]

Chapter 3

I was the type of serial killer that liked to keep the newspaper clippings, whenever the disappearances or murders that I caused became village news. I kept a scrapbook, with a page dedicated to each victim; the earlier girls being purely rape victims, leading further into the more spotlight stealing cold-blooded murders. I also kept the obituaries of each girl I had killed, and even the obituary of one of my earlier rape victims who had eventually committed suicide, Hannah. That one had hit the news pretty hard, and strangely I didn’t feel the pang of guilt that might be expected. I didn’t feel guilty for any of my crimes.

It had been on a quiet summer evening, June 14th, twenty five years ago. This rape was one of my more unplanned ones. I occasionally liked to walk through the village, visiting the locations of my crimes one by one. People would walk past me, and I’d get a kick out of knowing they thought I was just anyone. I’d take my balaclava with me, carrying it in my coat, just in case I saw an opportunity that I wanted to take advantage of. On this evening, I just happened to come across a golden opportunity. I was walking through the same park in which I was to kill Louise, 6 years into the future. The girl was alone, presumably cutting through the park on her way to wherever she was headed. I quickly concealed myself behind a tree, waiting for her to approach me.

I pulled my balaclava over my head, and as she passed the tree I was hiding behind, I stepped out, quickly placing a hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming. I forced her down onto the ground, hissing my usual threat that if she screamed, I would kill her. With her assured silence, I pulled her thin jacket off her, and then tore open her shirt to expose her chest.

“Stay quiet and don’t struggle, and this will be over pretty soon. Got it?”

The girl nodded, her eyes wide with terror. I ripped her tights off her, and then forced her underwear off. I then slipped the underwear into my jacket pocket, before unbuttoning my own trousers, forcing them down along with my boxers. I rubbed my cock against her pussy, which was dry and unwelcoming. This didn’t phase me; I pulled my balaclava up so that it was just high enough to show my mouth; I moved my head down to her pussy, forcing her skirt up and then forcing my tongue into her. She didn’t struggle at all, but as my tongue pressed into her I heard her gasp, and then sob. Her submission and devastation just turned me on even more, and I ate her pussy out for a good five minutes before moving back up and forcing my cock deep into her.

As I pumped my cock in and out of her tight, wet pussy, she kept her eyes tight shut and gasped quietly every time my cock reached its deepest point. Tears streamed down her face. I remained silent, there was no need for me to insult her and humiliate her as I often did with my other victims; I knew by the way she reacted to my rape that she would torture herself for months or even years after my attack. I was right.

I sprayed my come deep into her as I pumped my cock into her for the last time. I groaned loudly as I filled her pussy up, and when I’d finished I ordered her to use her mouth to clean my dick off. She obeyed, and when she’d finished I threw her jacket at her. She kneeled on the ground, holding her top, which was in shreds. I left her there, kneeling on the floor, and headed home.

A few days later, there was an article in the newspaper about another girl being raped in the village, this time the rape had taken place in the park. The article did not state the girl’s name, but I learned on the grapevine that her name was Hannah Adams, and that she was 19 years old. I cut out the article and stuck it into my scrapbook, with the heading “Hannah Adams, 19” and under it I wrote the date I had raped her.

As the months went by, I had nearly forgotten about poor Hannah, being one of my more uneventful rapes, but when I went into the paper shop one morning 9 months after the rape, I learned from the front page of the newspaper that Hannah Adams, a 20 year old girl who had just became a mother through the traumatic rape she had endured the previous year, had committed suicide due to a mixture of post-rape depression, post traumatic stress disorder, and post-natal depression.

As I read the article on my way home from the paper shop, I felt no remorse. All I felt was the amusement that I had impregnated Hannah, and that I now had a daughter, somewhere in the village.

Soph xxx