Mary

In a quiet rural village on the night of October that year, they first saw Mary's body. It was a big deal for the entire year in that poor village. It was the roots of all gossip old ladies sing while talking with each other in their small yet beautiful church. Mary is undoubtedly the kindest girl in this town. So when they found her cold body stabbed to the town's celebrated century-old oak tree, everybody wept!

He's mocking them, indirectly saying: "I will desecrate every beautiful thing you know and loved in this shitty town!" To be fair to our killer friend, it is a dramatic statement if I do say so myself. She was the first victim of this lust-driven psychopath in this small town that we will leave unnamed, and ever since then, he never stopped.

Nobody in that town really knew what happened to Mary. That's why it's such a fascinating case! The only thing the town folks know is that she was missing for two weeks, and when they found her body, it was as clean as ever, and her clothes were as vibrant as the gleam of all the heavenly bodies in the sky. The only dirt on her is the bloodstain from the wound on her chest.

Her face, her body, everything was unscratched, as if nothing happened to her, as if she was not harmed, only killed. Everybody clung to the belief that the pure Mary slept peacefully in that beautiful tree and that she was always away from harm. They all talked among each other whenever they spoke of her death regarding their belief that whoever killed Mary did not hurt her because, as they all repeated time and time, God is with her. They would speak never-ending tales as to how she is the very icon of purity in their village, and all are proud to say that they are the witness of this!

But we all know that's bullshit. A part of everyone in the village knew that Mary is a slut. She's a whore, that's why everybody loves her! Mary is pure, or so they say, but the way this girl opens her legs for other men is no divine secret. Everybody knows Mary is a stuck up bitch who fucks men, and she wouldn't ask money for it. But if they do slip a few dollars in her cleavage, then it's appreciated, but not necessarily needed.

I mean, why would the most celebrated woman in this pleasant old town be an easy target for a serial killer? Because she wasn't a target, there was no need to have a witch hunt for her; Subject 1 did not even stalk her to her home! She came on her own accord to him. She knocked on a murderer's door, not knowing that this is the gateway to her demise. But she still did. Mary is not a saint; everybody knows that but she's kind, so kind, everybody knows that too.

On the other hand, they also know that she's a whore. Everyone also knows that this is a massive contributor behind her untimely death. All of the people living among the peaceful community know this as a fact, but nobody has the guts to say this out loud for reasons we will discuss later, so hold on to that thought.

Never the less, Mary played stupid games, and she got stupid prices. Our team merely wishes to convey the fact that even if she didn't deserve it, she still had it coming.

The man tied her to his bed, wiped her with warm water every day, fed her with meals he made himself, made love to her every day, and impregnated her every night. The man worshipped Mary's silky skin, he longs for her ecstatic moan that gets better every day, he craves for her submissiveness, but he loathes the fact that every man in town already used her on a daily basis. Subject 1 also doesn't like her boorish attitude of acting like a spoiled little kid. More than anything in this world, the man hates spoiled people, and the intensity of his anger towards her strengthens every day that passes.

He despises the reality of Mary, but oh, does he love the idea of her: a saintess that will be there for him no matter who he is or no matter what he wants from her. However, he can't always cling to an idea, he knows that, and that realization tires him. He gets bored fast, after a week, he doesn't want Mary anymore, but the man is afraid that he won't be able to get a chance like this again! A beautiful woman offers herself to be his slave until she dies. He wanted to cling onto this opportunity for as long as he wanted. It was a reassuring idea, but the euphoria it brought upon him only lasted for just a week.

In the second week, he doesn't want her anymore.

"You've been my bitch for a while, but the only name I call you is 'slut.'" The man said, putting the blunt end of an object inside of Mary's loose opening.

"That's fine, that's totally fine! It makes me happy, master! Oh, fuck, it makes me happy when you call me 'bitch!'" Mary, with a blindfold on her eyes, yelled, as she raised her waist so the blunt object would go in deeper.

"What's your name, girl?"

"My name is Mary, sir!" Mary gasped and moaned with a broad smile on her face.

"Do you want to know what I'm putting inside you?"

"Yes! I mean, no. I mean, yes, yes, yes, I want to know! I want to know what you're using to fuck my pussy, sir!"

The man pulled the blunt object from inside of Mary, making her moan loud from the suddenness of what he did. "It's a knife."

"Excuse me?"

The man with a saddened expression pointed the knife towards Mary's chest. "Poor Mary." And with it, he stabbed her. The sound of her heart as he breaks it apart gives the man an odd feeling of what he could only describe as bliss in its purest form. Mary screamed, but not for long. Her blood was everywhere; it made a massive mess on the man's bed. Some of it even spilled to his face until she finally blew her final breath.

He couldn't see the pain in Mary's eyes, but the loud screeching she made is enough for the man to know how painful it is for her. Her face that once had an ecstatic expression enveloping it now had nothing but sweat and saliva dripping from all directions of her distorted appearance. Unsurprisingly, till the very end, Mary's vagina is still gushing wet.

"Poor, poor, cum dump." He said, licking his lower lip, tasting his salty sweat.

When the man dispatched Mary's body towards the fabled oak tree, he was wondering deep within the crevices of his mind just how much he enjoyed the act of killing a frail creature like Mary. He felt no remorse for her, and he felt no need to protect her feeble body. He wanted to crush her, and he did so without a second thought in a heartbeat. A voice inside of him is so eager for more, and nothing is stopping him from abiding by the desire of his subconscious self. He wants so much more than just a two-week experience with a used whore. The sensation of having her may have been long gone, but it was still a feeling the man wouldn't be able to forget for a while. He wants someone undefiled, something pure. Really pure. Someone unused, unscratched, and willing to be owned.

So he set his eyes on kidnapping the perfect candidate. However, something, no, someone, thwarted his plans. A man. His name is Chris.