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 No.2650

Anyone has the full version of this story saved? I managed to find a copy of it on wattpad(for some reason), but it was incomplete and seemed to have really poor english.

 No.2707

I have 14 chapters saved. I think that's the entire thing

 No.2708

Victimology 101: my favorite class. Professor Riley, who we all call Dr. R, always makes things interesting.

"Today," he announces to the class, "we will learn about what exactly female murder victims go through, but first I will need some volunteers."

The girls, ready to earn good grades, eagerly raise their hands to volunteer. Professor picks five young women.

The first (Megan Williams, 21) is probably the most beautiful girl on campus. Her skinny, tall figure; well-toned, tanned legs; and long blonde hair that flows graciously around her shoulders as she makes her way to the front of the class all combine for supermodel-like visuals.

The second (Abby Reeves, 18) is a smaller girl. Still quite attractive, she has a more down to earth beauty. Her dark brown hair contrasts her pale, unblemished skin, and her think glasses give her a geeky charm.

The third girl (Jeanette O'Leary, 18) is an exchange student from Ireland. She has fiery red hair and her cheeks are covered with freckles. She is also exceptionally pretty.

The fourth (Akari Yagami, 17) is probably the cutest Japanese girl I had ever seen. Her beautiful features are framed by her jet black hair, and her petite frame is perfectly formed.

The fifth and final girl, (Ellie Bradshaw, 19) is the most stand-out to me. She is average build with short dirty blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but her features are exceptionally gorgeous. I have always had a thing for Ellie.

With all five girls standing on the small stage at the front of the class, Dr. R leads each of them to one of the chairs behind them. He straps each of them to her chair at the wrists and ankles before turning to the class, clapping his hands together, and saying, "We are ready to begin."

He begins with Megan. He unbuttons her shirt halfway down and pulls the collar away from her neck. There is stress on her face behind the excitement to participate in one of Dr. R's demonstrations. He walks over to a table with the various weapons that we learned about last class, and chooses and switchblade knife.

"The knife," He begins as he approaches Megan, "is a common instrument used in murders. This is understandable, as its applications are many. Easily concealed and often untraceable, the flash of cold steel is an excellent harbinger of death." He steps behind the girl, pulls back her head by her hair, and slashes her throat in one quick motion with the thin blade. Blood spurts from her neck and a drop of blood lands on my notebook paper (one of the many benefits of sitting in the front row).

"As you can see," he explains as the girl coughs and gurgles in front of him, "a slit throat is a messy ordeal. Right now, her body is going into shock. She can't feel the pain yet, just her hot blood pouring into her lungs with each beat of her straining heart." He pats her hair and twitches in her seat. "Bleeding out can be a long process, so we'll come back to her." Her head drops and her hair obscured her face as he walks back to the weapons table.

He wipes the switchblade clean and sets it back down. "Many murders happen in the victims home," He says as he picks of a large kitchen knife. "A kitchen knife is very lethal, but a little less graceful." Stepping up to Abby, he takes a second to admire her as she strains against the bonds that hold her in place. Then, he steps in close and punctures her belly twice. He raises his voice above her screams that echo through the large classroom. "It will only take a few seconds before her screams subside and her body weakens from the loss of blood." Sure enough, within a ten seconds the blood curdling screams taper off to a pitiful whimper. "Fear," He explains, "often clouds a victims judgement." He motions to the leather straps at her wrists and then pulls her hand out easily. "She was so overcome by fear, she didn't realize all she had to do was relax and pull her hands out." He places her hand back into the leather strap and tightens it down. Her steps away from her slumped body.

"Our next vic-, sorry, I mean volunteer, is lucky." He snickers as he picks up a 9mm pistol and screws on a silencer. "We don't want to disturb the other classes." He explains. Jeanette, seeing what happened to her other two classmates struggles for her life as Dr. R walks slowly toward her. "The pistol, when used properly, will quickly and effectively dispatch a victim, with little chance of survival." He places the gun to the side of her head, and angles it toward the floor, so as not to his the other volunteers. He pulls the trigger, and blood and brain matter blow out the other side, splattering on the floor. "As opposed to the others," he notes as her body twitches in her seat, "her body is still fighting even though her brain is gone. In Megan's case," he walks back over to the first girl and lifts her head, "for the most part, her body has succumbed to death, as you can see by the slow trickle of blood from her throat; however, inside, her brain is still fighting wildly to live." He walks back to the table to set down the pistol. "That's why Miss Jeanette was lucky."

Before proceeding to Akari, he stops in front of Abby and shines a flashlight in her eyes. "Still alive!" he announces. Her ragged breath rattles in the back of her throat and he adds, "But quickly on her way out" before moving on to the trembling Japanese girl. He walks once around her, and then stops behind her. "Another common method of murder, involves no accessories at all. The only weapon used is the killer's own body." Dr. R takes Akari's small head in his hands, one hand tightly over her mouth, and the other at the top. Her eyes are wide with terror for a second, and then in one rapid motion he twists her head around with a loud crack until it is nearly facing backwards. A muffled squeal is the only sound she makes as one violent spasm racks her fragile frame. "Damaging the spinal cord results in interesting muscular reflexes," he explains after her body falls still. He pulls her skirt up to her waist revealing urine soaked panties. "With nerve damage, the victim often looses continence and wets herself. Did you know," Dr. R adds as a side note, "that she can still be sexually stimulated for a few minutes after her spinal cord is severed?" He demonstrates by pulling her panties to her knees and vigorously stimulating her vulva. He slips his fingers inside and they return covered in sticky wet.

He wipes his hands clean and returns to Megan. He brushes her hair back to reveal her face, now pasty white. "Dead." He announces. The blood on her throat is now dark and congealed. He moves on to Abby. He places his fingers at her neck and feels for a pulse. "Another one dead. Now we move on to the final method of death that we are covering today," He picks up a thin cord from the table. "Which happens to be my favorite." Ellie is tense as he approaches her. "Now dear," he says as he wraps the cord around her neck," I want you to take a nice deep breath." She breaths in deeply as he instructs and just as she fills her lungs, the cord tightens. "We want to keep this going as long as possible." For a moment she sits in the chair concentrating on holding her breath. Then, after a few seconds, her mouth opens wide, but only a low choking sound comes out. Dr. R gets a better grip on the cord and pulls it tighter, silencing the girl completely. Her fingers grasp at the chair and her legs move against the bonds at her ankles. Her back arches out of the chair as her body fights for any way to take another breath. "Asphyxiation happens rather quickly." Explains Dr. R. "Right now her body is filling with adrenaline, making her much stronger than usual, but within seconds of losing access to air, there will be a sudden drop in her strength." Her motions begin to slow as he continues strangling her. "A few more seconds and her senses will begin fading. Right now, her lungs will be burning, and her head aching for oxygen that her body is unable to supply." Her mouth is moving, silently begging for air. "Within six seconds she is completely subdued. A few more seconds of oxygen deprivation and her brain begins to die." Her releases the cord but she is completely still. Her head falls back and her mouth hangs open. "Right now, she can hear, see, and feel nearly everything, but her body is unresponsive. Her throat is swollen shut and her heart has stopped. Her nerves are dying, beginning in her extremities, sending a sense of icy pain followed by numbness. It eventually spreads through her whole body." He motions everyone in the room to be quiet. In the erie silence, we can hear the remnants of her last breath making its way through her throat as her body relaxes. "Her brain, still active, is using up its last supply of the oxygen it desperately needs, until finally it too succumbs to a painful death." He lifts her head up to let everyone see as her lovely blue eyes widen ever so slightly, before becoming dull and vacant. "Dead." He declares after a few seconds, and lets her head drop.

"Alright, class time was nearly over." Dr. R steps over to his podium. "Remember, in lab tomorrow each of you will get some hands on experience with these girls and weapons-feel free to mix and match." As he talks, Megan, Abby, Jeanette, Akari, and Ellie walk out from a viewing room in the back. "And," He adds, "Thank you, young ladies for participating; your clones were a pleasure to work with." He turns back to the rest of the class, "Remember, we will have an all new set of young women next week when we demonstrate more murder scenarios, which you won't want to miss. As always, anyone who wants to, feel free to take our in-class projects home with you, a good body should never go to waste, but please remember to return the body bags next class. Don't forget to do your homework. You are all dismissed."

I quickly hop onto the stage and claim Ellie's body (the other advantage of sitting in the front row). I zip her up into the black bag and head back to my dorm, thinking of how much I am really looking forward to lab tomorrow.

 No.2709

Again in the front row, I wait patiently for class to begin. Dr. R arrives and the class quiets down as he steps up to his podium. "As I mentioned last class," he begins, "we will be going through some murder scenarios today. Any volunteers?" Girls across the room raise their hands. "For now, I only need one."

The first girl he chooses (Jenna Stiles, 17) is a high school student taking a few classes at the college. She has a petite frame and curly black hair. Her short plaid school uniform skirt shows off her legs, but most eyes are on her large breasts as she nearly skips onto the stage, part of which is laid out like line of sinks in a common public restroom. "I'm happy to see your enthusiasm," Says Dr. R as he greets her. "My lovely girl," He asks as she moved toward him on the stage, "could you be so kind as to wash your hands." . As she walks over, he explains, "Many murders that take place public restrooms happen at the sink. In order to not be seen by the victim in the mirror, the killer has to stay low, and time the attack perfectly." He stealthily moves up behind her while she washes her hands and fixes her hair in the mirror. "Using a knife, there is a bad way at a good way to kill a girl at the sink. First, I will demonstrate the bad way." She looks down for a second and Dr. R makes his move. He steps up behind her, slips the knife under her chin and rips it through her throat. Blood spurts across the mirror and her head falls forward, cracking the glass before she slumps to the ground. Her hands grab at the counter and she collapses into a heap. A pool of blood spreads across the ground, and her body shudders as she still tries to breath. "She is now completely incapacitated and has no chance of survival unless someone arrives within a few minutes to help her. However, in a public restroom, it is always possible that she will be discovered in time, and I would have little chance of cleaning up this mess without being caught."

He calls a second girl (Victoria Attley, 22) to the stage. She has wavy blonde hair and is wearing dark blue leggings under a short, cream-colored sweater dress. "Can I please have you stand at the other sink?"

He goes through the same motions to position himself behind her. "Now, I will demonstrate a much more tidy method." Like before, he waits for the perfect moment, but this time he instead forces her head down into the sink as he slits her throat. Her arms flail and her knees buckle, but her holds her head down in the ceramic bowl. "As you can see." He talks as he turns on the water and then continues slicing at her throat, "the majority of the blood drains into the sink. If I hold her here for just a few moments, she makes a much smaller mess that is easily concealed in a janitors closet or locked stall." He lets go, and Victoria falls to her knees. For a moment she faces the class; hands clutching her throat; vacant eyes staring blankly at the back wall; dress drenched in blood across her chest. Dr. R gives her a nudge to the back and she falls face forward onto the floor, squirms for a few seconds, then falls still. He now crouches next to Jenna. He rolls her over onto her back and places his ear near her chest. "Right now, she could probably still be saved." Her body responds slightly as her props her up against the wall. "We'll keep an eye on her."

"Now that we have that bit of fun out of the way, I will need three more volunteers." The third girl he picks as a volunteer (Angelina Gonzales, 19) is Latina with an athletic build. Her tan body is toned and fit. The fourth girl to be chosen (Brianna Templeton, 18) is wearing tight jeans and a low-cut t-shirt that highlights her cleavage. The fifth and final girl (Giselle Bynes, 20) is a drop dead gorgeous young woman. With a perfectly formed body, excellently shaped facial features, and a radiant smile, she is nearly the perfect girl. Like the volunteers in our last classroom demonstration, he secures the first two in chairs. However, Giselle is led to an upright panel to which she is strapped at the upper arms, wrists, upper thighs, and ankles.

The weapon Dr. R chooses first is a short iron rod. "The most ancient, primal method of killing and also one of the most brutal: blunt force trauma, I believe, is unpleasant for both parties involved." He lines up the rod to Angelina's head and takes a swing. It connects with a resounding crack. Her head rocks to the side, and her body goes limp. "A blow like that could kill many women, but I don't think this one is dead just yet." He hits her again, and with this strike, blood spatters the back wall. A thin line of crimson runs from her ear down her neck. "Blood spatter" He explains while feeling for a pulse, "only happens with the second hit and following." He then adds, "I think she's still hanging in there." Lining up one last time, he puts more strength into this one. The noise this time is a disconcerting crunch, and her head snaps back further than natural. He lifts her head back up and indicates an indention in her skull. "A depressed skull can pretty much guarantee instant death."

Letting Angelina's head drop forward onto her chest, and moves on to Brianna. Standing behind her he lectures to the class: "Strangulation and suffocation can actually lead to very different deaths." As he talks a removes a clear plastic bag from his pocket. "While strangulation restricts air flow, suffocation can merely be caused by a loss of oxygen." He slips the bag over the girls head and pulls it tight around her neck. At first, she tries to relax and keep her breathing normal, but within a few seconds she begins to hyperventilate. "Her breathing rate naturally increases as the amount of oxygen in the bag decreases. She will try to take deeper breaths but all she gets is the same recycled air." The plastic bag clings to her lips as she begs for more air. "Suffocation can take longer than strangulation, and you always have to be sure she's completely expired before you let her get access to oxygen. "For our purposes, we can tie the bag off and let air go out slowly." Once the bag is secured over her head, he pulls the plastic against her face, allowing us a clearer view of her contorted features as she struggles for a breath of fresh air. Her body senselessly writhes against the restraint, but her undulating abdomen and heaving chest slowly lose strength and cease all movement. Her tense muscles begin to relax, and a wet spot appears between her legs. "Her nervous system is shutting down as we speak," Dr. R says and indicates her fluttering eyelids. "She is losing her motor control and senses. Right now, she is likely unable to hear or see us. Her mind is being consumed by its struggle for oxygen as brain cells die by the thousands every second. Her world at this moment is isolation, pain, and fear." He lets her head drop back, mouth agape, and her body twitches its final movements.

Before moving on to the last girl, he checks on Jenna. Blood no longer flows from her neck and there is a puddle of urine on the floor between her spread legs. "Her physical body is long gone; however, many theorize that the brain is still active for minutes after biological death." He lifts her chin as he continues, "She could still be fighting for her life on the inside, but as far as we are concerned she is beyond saving and completely dead." He lets her head drop. The body slowly falls to the side as he walks away, and I think I can see her fingers twitch as her head hits the floor with a low thud.

Picking up a knife with a long thin blade from the table, he finally moves on the Giselle. She blinks away tears as he stands in front of her trembling body. Buttons scatter across the floor as he rips away her shirt, leaving her in a pink lace bra and low rise jeans over the top of which her matching pink panties are barely peaking out. "This is one of the most disturbing methods of death we will deal with in this class." He prepares us as he cuts off a piece of her shirt. He catches her by the jaw with one hand and stuffs the bit of shirt into her mouth with the other, pushing it all the way to the back of her throat. He unbuttons her jeans and pulls down her underwear, placing the tip of the knife directly between her hips, just above her pubic bone. His hand over her mouth and the gag in her throat keep her screams muffled as the knife slides into her soft flesh. Buried to the hilt, the knife is pulled up through the center of her abdomen, until it reaches her ribcage. Her intestines are already falling out of the slit as Dr. R removes the knife. "Going into shock is one of the body's only defense mechanism against the pain and trauma brought on by evisceration. At this point, her spasms are involuntary and end up doing more damage than good." More organs spill out as she wriggles against the board at her back. Her legs no longer support her and the straps are the only things holding her in place. He pulls open her abdominal cavity and cuts away at connective tissues, holding her insides in place. Blood and other fluids pour out onto the floor alongside her intestines, forming a reddish brown heap of organic matter on the floor. For a moment, Dr. R. looks into her agonized face and says, more to himself, "I almost feel sorry." She still gasps for breath, but the color has drained from her face. "This torture could go on for minutes or, under the right conditions and if I had been careful not to damage too much, even hours. However, since class time is running short, I will give you a two for one special." He turns back to the whimpering girl and feels down her chest with his fingers. He finds the spot he is looking for and buries the blade into the inner edge of her left breast. Her body tenses for a moment; her brow furrows, and her jaw clenches tight. Then, her eyes glaze over and her muscles relax and her head drops, leaving her full weight resting against the restraints. "A knife to the heart is painful, but ends her life quickly by stopping blood flow in an instant."

He wipes the knife and his hands clean, then addresses the class, "If anyone is interested in learning about brain activity after biological death, I will be conducting some experiments that involve taking EEGs of volunteers being stabbed, strangled, and much more. I have a sign up sheet here if any of you are interested. You're all dismissed."

I quickly jot my name down on the list, but unfortunately by the time I am done, all the bodies are already spoken for. I am, however, mildly entertained watching two freshmen girls argue over who gets Jenna's body. After listening to a minute or two of bickering, I approach them and propose Solomon's solution to a similar problem. This, however, results in an argument over who would get which half, as it seems both were mostly interested in the waist up. I ask if we all can just share, and surprisingly they seem open to the compromise. We zip up the corpse in a body bag and head to one of the girl's apartment for some experimentation of our own.
Conflicting modification on September 13, 2013, 15:56:37:
Again in the front row, I wait patiently for class to begin. Dr. R arrives and the class quiets down as he steps up to his podium. "As I mentioned last class," he begins, "we will be going through some murder scenarios today. Any volunteers?" Girls across the room raise their hands. "For now, I only need one."

The first girl he chooses (Jenna Stiles, 17) is a high school student taking a few classes at the college. She has a petite frame and curly black hair. Her short plaid school uniform skirt shows off her legs, but most eyes are on her large breasts as she nearly skips onto the stage, part of which is laid out like line of sinks in a common public restroom. "I'm happy to see your enthusiasm," Says Dr. R as he greets her. "My lovely girl," He asks as she moved toward him on the stage, "could you be so kind as to wash your hands." . As she walks over, he explains, "Many murders that take place public restrooms happen at the sink. In order to not be seen by the victim in the mirror, the killer has to stay low, and time the attack perfectly." He stealthily moves up behind her while she washes her hands and fixes her hair in the mirror. "Using a knife, there is a bad way at a good way to kill a girl at the sink. First, I will demonstrate the bad way." She looks down for a second and Dr. R makes his move. He steps up behind her, slips the knife under her chin and rips it through her throat. Blood spurts across the mirror and her head falls forward, cracking the glass before she slumps to the ground. Her hands grab at the counter and she collapses into a heap. A pool of blood spreads across the ground, and her body shudders as she still tries to breath. "She is now completely incapacitated and has no chance of survival unless someone arrives within a few minutes to help her. However, in a public restroom, it is always possible that she will be discovered in time, and I would have little chance of cleaning up this mess without being caught."

He calls a second girl (Victoria Attley, 22) to the stage. She has wavy blonde hair and is wearing dark blue leggings under a short, cream-colored sweater dress. "Can I please have you stand at the other sink?"

He goes through the same motions to position himself behind her. "Now, I will demonstrate a much more tidy method." Like before, he waits for the perfect moment, but this time he instead forces her head down into the sink as he slits her throat. Her arms flail and her knees buckle, but her holds her head down in the ceramic bowl. "As you can see." He talks as he turns on the water and then continues slicing at her throat, "the majority of the blood drains into the sink. If I hold her here for just a few moments, she makes a much smaller mess that is easily concealed in a janitors closet or locked stall." He lets go, and Victoria falls to her knees. For a moment she faces the class; hands clutching her throat; vacant eyes staring blankly at the back wall; dress drenched in blood across her chest. Dr. R gives her a nudge to the back and she falls face forward onto the floor, squirms for a few seconds, then falls still. He now crouches next to Jenna. He rolls her over onto her back and places his ear near her chest. "Right now, she could probably still be saved." Her body responds slightly as her props her up against the wall. "We'll keep an eye on her."

"Now that we have that bit of fun out of the way, I will need three more volunteers." The third girl he picks as a volunteer (Angelina Gonzales, 19) is Latina with an athletic build. Her tan body is toned and fit. The fourth girl to be chosen (Brianna Templeton, 18) is wearing tight jeans and a low-cut t-shirt that highlights her cleavage. The fifth and final girl (Giselle Bynes, 20) is a drop dead gorgeous young woman. With a perfectly formed body, excellently shaped facial features, and a radiant smile, she is nearly the perfect girl. Like the volunteers in our last classroom demonstration, he secures the first two in chairs. However, Giselle is led to an upright panel to which she is strapped at the upper arms, wrists, upper thighs, and ankles.

The weapon Dr. R chooses first is a short iron rod. "The most ancient, primal method of killing and also one of the most brutal: blunt force trauma, I believe, is unpleasant for both parties involved." He lines up the rod to Angelina's head and takes a swing. It connects with a resounding crack. Her head rocks to the side, and her body goes limp. "A blow like that could kill many women, but I don't think this one is dead just yet." He hits her again, and with this strike, blood spatters the back wall. A thin line of crimson runs from her ear down her neck. "Blood spatter" He explains while feeling for a pulse, "only happens with the second hit and following." He then adds, "I think she's still hanging in there." Lining up one last time, he puts more strength into this one. The noise this time is a disconcerting crunch, and her head snaps back further than natural. He lifts her head back up and indicates an indention in her skull. "A depressed skull can pretty much guarantee instant death."

Letting Angelina's head drop forward onto her chest, and moves on to Brianna. Standing behind her he lectures to the class: "Strangulation and suffocation can actually lead to very different deaths." As he talks a removes a clear plastic bag from his pocket. "While strangulation restricts air flow, suffocation can merely be caused by a loss of oxygen." He slips the bag over the girls head and pulls it tight around her neck. At first, she tries to relax and keep her breathing normal, but within a few seconds she begins to hyperventilate. "Her breathing rate naturally increases as the amount of oxygen in the bag decreases. She will try to take deeper breaths but all she gets is the same recycled air." The plastic bag clings to her lips as she begs for more air. "Suffocation can take longer than strangulation, and you always have to be sure she's completely expired before you let her get access to oxygen. "For our purposes, we can tie the bag off and let go out slowly." Once the bag is secured over her head, he pulls the plastic against her face, allowing us a clearer view of her contorted features as she struggles for a breath of fresh air. Her body senselessly writhes against the restraint, but her undulating abdomen and heaving chest slowly lose strength and cease all movement. Her tense muscles begin to relax, and a wet spot appears between her legs. "Her nervous system is shutting down as we speak," Dr. R says and indicates her fluttering eyelids. "She is losing her motor control and senses. Right now, she is likely unable to hear or see us. Her mind is being consumed by its struggle for oxygen as brain cells die by the thousands every second. Her world at this moment is isolation, pain, and fear." He lets her head drop back, mouth agape, and her body twitches its final movements.

Before moving on to the last girl, he checks on Jenna. Blood no longer flows from her neck and there is a puddle of urine on the floor between her spread legs. "Her physical body is long gone; however, many theorize that the brain is still active for minutes after biological death." He lifts her chin as he continues, "She could still be fighting for her life on the inside, but as far as we are concerned she is beyond saving and completely dead." He lets her head drop. The body slowly falls to the side as he walks away, and I think I can see her fingers twitch as her head hits the floor with a low thud.

Picking up a knife with a long thin blade from the table, he finally moves on the Giselle. She blinks away tears as he stands in front of her trembling body. Buttons scatter across the floor as he rips away her shirt, leaving her in a pink lace bra and low rise jeans over the top of which her matching pink panties are barely peaking out. "This is one of the most disturbing methods of death we will deal with in this class." He prepares us as he cuts off a piece of her shirt. He catches her by the jaw with one hand and stuffs the bit of shirt into her mouth with the other, pushing it all the way to the back of her throat. He unbuttons her jeans and pulls down her underwear, placing the tip of the knife directly between her hips, just above her pubic bone. His hand over her mouth and the gag in her throat keep her screams muffled as the knife slides into her soft flesh. Buried to the hilt, the knife is pulled up through the center of her abdomen, until it reaches her ribcage. Her intestines are already falling out of the slit as Dr. R removes the knife. "Going into shock is one of the body's only defense mechanism against the pain and trauma brought on by evisceration. At this point, her spasms are involuntary and end up doing more damage than good." More organs spill out as she wriggles against the board at her back. Her legs no longer support her and the straps are the only things holding her in place. He pulls open her abdominal cavity and cuts away at connective tissues, holding her insides in place. Blood and other fluids pour out onto the floor alongside her intestines, forming a reddish brown heap of organic matter on the floor. For a moment, Dr. R. looks into her agonized face and says, more to himself, "I almost feel sorry." She still gasps for breath, but the color has drained from her face. "This torture could go on for minutes or, under the right conditions and if I had been careful not to damage too much, even hours. However, since class time is running short, I will give you a two for one special." He turns back to the whimpering girl and feels down her chest with his fingers. He finds the spot he is looking for and buries the blade into the inner edge of her left breast. Her body tenses for a moment; her brow furrows, and her jaw clenches tight. Then, her eyes glaze over and her muscles relax and her head drops, leaving her full weight resting against the restraints. "A knife to the heart is painful, but ends her life quickly by stopping blood flow in an instant."

He wipes the knife and his hands clean, then addresses the class, "If anyone is interested in learning about brain activity after biological death, I will be conducting some experiments that involve taking EEGs of volunteers being stabbed, strangled, and much more. I have a sign up sheet here if any of you are interested. You're all dismissed."

I quickly jot my name down on the list, but unfortunately by the time I am done, all the bodies are already spoken for. I am, however, mildly entertained watching two freshmen girls argue over who gets Jenna's body. After listening to a minute or two of bickering, I approach them and propose Solomon's solution to a similar problem. This, however, results in an argument over who would get which half, as it seems both were mostly interested in the waist up. I ask if we all can just share, and surprisingly they seem open to the compromise. We zip up the corpse in a body bag and head to one of the girl's apartment for some experimentation of our own.

 No.2710

Today is the day my homework assignment is to be completed.

My Modus Operandi: Ligature Strangulation, Postmortem Rape, and Dismemberment completed in her own home.

My victim's surrogate clone model: Emily Bracken, 18.

She was part of a commonly victimized age bracket. The photo of her shows light brown hair that is wavy and long. To identify her, as opposed to the real Emily Bracken, the clone had a tattoo on her chest with a serial number, displaying the date she passed the quality control department of the clone factory she was from. The clone is conditioned with many of Emily's memories and her exact character. Her reactions would be the same as if she was the actual girl.

My assignment is to stalk and kill her in one day with the mindset of a serial killer. My grade depends on how well I complete the task. I will automatically fail if I do not kill the girl or get caught. A good grade is earned by completing the murder using each facet of the MO along with leaving as little evidence as possible. Everyone in the class is assigned a different MO and victim. Dr. R strongly believes in hands on experimentation, and the results do not lie. Nearly all of his students go on to become great detectives.

I was given a date, time, and location that I will first encounter the girl (I am not supposed to think of her as a clone): 9:45 am Tuesday, January 20, 2156, at Applewood's Coffee Shop.

It is 9:43 now and I catch a glimpse of the girl coming down the sidewalk, then entering the coffee shop in which I had been waiting. She brushes back her hair that had blown across her face in the wind, and orders at the counter. She is wearing a light grey, form fitting sweater with a white scarf and pale, worn-in blue jeans. My heart races. This is the moment the serial killer -- the moment I decide she is the one.

I debate whether or not to introduce myself to her and try to start a conversation, but while my indecision holds me back, she gets her coffer as heads back out onto the street. I follow her to her apartment building, and watching from a short distance as she unlocks the door. I memorize the code she uses: 38748.

The door closes slowly behind her, and I wait until the last moment to slip in unnoticed. She uses the elevator, but, knowing she might recognize me if I follow her in, I hang back in the small lobby and watch the numbers rise until they stop at 42. I now know her apartment is somewhere on the 42nd floor. When I reach her floor a few minutes later, I am not surprised to find that she is nowhere to be seen in the hallways. I have to sit and wait, hoping that I didn't miss my only chance. I pull my hat down over my eyes and sit on a chair in the small partition where the elevators are. Im not sure how much time passes before I catch a glimpse of her headed back down the hall. She now wears coverup that one would wear over a bathing suit and carries a towel over her shoulder. I assume she is headed to the indoor pool on the top floor. Still unsure of her room number, I debate whether or not to try to follow her unnoticed, or just wait for her to return. As she waits for the elevator, she suddenly turns around and catches my eye.

"Excuse me, but weren't you at the coffee shop earlier."

Panicking, I try to act natural. "Oh, hi. Yeah, You live in this building, too?" I try to come up with a reasonable excuse for my being here.

"Yeah! Apartment 4223." She innocently tells me. "What about you?"

"Um, 4204." Hoping she doesn't know the person who actually lives there.

"Wow! What a coincidence!" She smiles naively at me. "Would you like to go swimming with me?"

"I would love to, but I am waiting on a friend right now." I can't think of any other reason I would be waiting in the hall. "But," I add, wanting to make the most of this opportunity, "maybe we can get together later this afternoon, I can meet you at your apartment, and we can go out for dinner."

"Sure!" She appears genuinely excited, and I feel slightly sorry for what I have to do to her, even though she is just a clone. Knowing I have to get a good grade on this assignment, I allow myself to find a lustful desire for the slender, toned body standing before me. It is not difficult.

The elevator doors open and she steps in, turning to flash me her bight smile before she is whisked away. With this stoke of luck, I relax a little. "No wonder girls like this get murdered a lot," I think to myself, "they make it so easy."

After finding out that her room has a window overlooking the street, I swing by my dorm room and pick up a pair of high powered binoculars and head to the public library, which is directly across from her building.

I position myself on a reference floor with very little activity. Maybe one person every fifteen minutes walks by, and to them, I appear to be engrossed in the "M" volume of Tiberius Rhine's Encyclopedia of the Modern World. In actuality, I am watching the girl's room for any sign of activity. Two hours into my stakeout, she enters the room, wearing her towel. I can see her serial number, partially covered by her wet hair. She disappears into the bathroom for a short time then reemerges completely naked, slips on a pair of panties, and begins fixing her hair in the mirror. It's already nearly 4:00 pm so I decide to make my move. Perhaps if I catch her off guard, she will go down easily.

I cross the street, enter her code, and, within five minutes, am standing in front of her door. I knock softly and hear a rustle on the other side as she quickly makes herself decent.

"Coming," She calls out from inside before she opens the door wearing a grey lace skirt and a pale pink button up blouse. She looks embarrassed. "Sorry," she says, "I haven't finished getting ready, but you can come in to wait." She opens door wider to let me in. She is all smiles as she motions to the couch for me. "I'll only be a minute." Her ponytail swings as she turns her back to me and walks toward the other room. My heart is pounding; I know this may be my best chance.

She hears me move toward her and spins around to face be, but my hands are tightening around her neck before she has the chance to scream. She tries to pull away, but I effortlessly overpower the smaller, younger girl. I pull her to the ground, resting my back against a couch with her straddling me on my lap. I get a good grip on her neck as her feet kick against the ground in an effort to get away, and for all her endeavors, she goes nowhere. Her fingers grab at my shirt but are unable get a grip as her strength wanes. Her struggles slowly subside.

Her face is now inches from mine. Her irresistible pink lips are parted slightly and I can see her tongue moving in her mouth. Her bottom chin trembles and her light brown eyes widen as her life fades away. Her entire body rubs against mine as she puts up a final fight for air. Beneath my fingertips, I can feel the muscles in her throat, which had been flexing and fighting to open an airway, relax. I squeeze her soft neck as tight as I can, crushing the cartilage in her trachea. I press my lips against hers as she dies. When she falls perfectly still, I let the small, lifeless body collapse against me, her head resting against my chest. I sit for a while taking deep breaths and absentmindedly running my fingers through her think brown hair. The dead girl's head moves up and down with my chest.

Her skin is beginning to become cool to the touch when I finally lay her on her back, arms above her head, and get on my knees between her legs. I pull open her shirt and white lace bra, revealing the pale, nubile body. Her serial number and lack of a belly button remind me that she is a clone, but for the full experience, I try to put it out of my mind. Her once brown eyes are now a dull grey, and her lips have a blue hue to them. Her skirt has ridden up to her waist exposing the full length of her long, smooth legs. I unbutton my pants and pull her panties to the side. She is still slightly moist inside and by hooking my arms under her knees and pulling them up until they are next to her head, I am able to force my way into her. Blankly staring up at me, wide-eyed and mouth open, the dead girl doesn't complain. Her limp body rhythmically moves with mine, until I climax, letting my semen fill her cavity.

The sun is going down, so with no time to loose I drag the violated body to the bathroom and place it in the bathtub. I go to the kitchen and luckily find a medium sized meat cleaver. I figure it will do the job and return to the body in the tub. First, I wash it off with cool water, hoping to remove evidence. When I'm finished, I straighten out her arm, line up the knife at the shoulder joint, and give one strong hack. Surprisingly, the knife cuts clean through, and I move on to her other arm. The legs present more of a challenge and require three hacks each before they come off. I position her appendages so that as much blood as possible drains out. I tilt the head back, exposing her thin neck. The bruising from my hands is a dark purple. The meat cleaver easily slides between her cervical vertebrae, cleanly separating her head from her body. I let the blood drain for a few minutes while I clean the knife with bleach and replace it in the kitchen. I rinse of the dismembered body again, and only a few thin lines of crimson are left. I take the individual body parts and position them on her bed with her head directly between her breasts. I bleach the tub and then leave, locking the door behind me.

The next class I am handed my grade report: A+ along with the note "It was like a work of art."

 No.2711

"Most murder victims know their killer." Dr. R introduced our next homework assignment. "This fact plays into how the murder goes down, and must be determined by detectives using the evidence at the crime scene. For example, if a woman was murdered in her home with no sign of breaking and entering and a little to no struggle, I would be inclined to believe her killer was someone she trusted.

"There is an extremely personal aspect to this type of murder. In order to help you understand this, your next homework project will involve a friend, colleague, or family member. These will be due on Monday."

I check my assignment. I am slightly surprised to see that it's Kimmie Chen, my little sister's best friend. I am pretty sure she is 17, if not 16. I have always liked Kimmie; we would hang out sometimes even if my sister was busy, but I haven't seen her since I started college.

My MO is more vague this time: rape then kill victim while she is home alone.

On Saturday night, Kimmie's parents are away and she is home alone. This is, of course, planned, but Kimmie has no idea. I knock on the door, and after a few moments the girl opens it. I had called earlier so she is expecting me and quickly lets me in. Dressed casually in skin tight jeans and a dark grey tank top, she leads me into the house, telling me how excited she is to see me. Before me stands an innocent young girl. I look at her again and let lustful desire change what I see. I see her long black hair framing her cute features, and cascading over her chest and around her small but perky breasts. Her body is thin at the waist, but widens at the hips and my eyes follow the zipper of her pants to the gap between her skinny legs.

After a moment of silence, she asks if I am OK, and I know I can't risk waiting any longer.

She tries to step back from me as I draw my knife from my pocket, but I lunge forward, grab her by the back of the head, and bury the knife in her belly. She falls against me, and I twist the blade. She moans in agony as I let her collapse to the floor gently and pull the knife out.

Lying still and concentrating on breathing, she appears to be in shock. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, my fingers fumble with the button and zipper of her jeans. Eventually I am able to pull them off along with her panties. In order to keep her noises to a minimum, I stuff her underwear into her mouth, making her gag from my fingers pressing it as far back as possible. Positioning myself between her legs, I can see the fear and pain in her face, and as she looks up at me tears begin trickling from the corner of her eyes. I pull her tank top up over her head to hide the misery of the dying girl. I undo her bra and toss it aside. Her body trembles as I run my hands over her soft skin before unzipping my own pants. I feel skin on skin and then sink into her wet vagina. Fingers interlaced with hers, I pin her arms above her head. Her grip tightens with every thrust into her.

It lasts only a few minutes before I press myself as deep into her as possible and climax. Still inside, I grab my knife and slide it through her exposed throat, hoping to end her agony quickly. I can feel the reaction through every inch of her small frame as blood squirts and bubbles from the slash. Urine dribbles out from between her legs onto me and the carpet she is lying on. I pull out and go to the bathroom to clean up.

I return, hoping to find a dead body, but the girl is still struggling to survive. As Dr. R feels we have progressed far enough, he assigns us clones with conditioning closer to real life: meaning better instincts, mistrust, and a stronger will to live.

I pull the tank top from her face and look down at the unfortunate girl. I had guessed that her petite body would give out within a few seconds of having her throat slit, but at least two minutes have passed and she is still writhing in the puddle of her own blood. I sit, legs crossed, and cradle her head on my lap; her raspy breath still passes through her nose. Her pink panties protrude from between her pale lips, and her blue eyes stare up to the ceiling, unfocused but vibrant and alive. My eyes follow her twisting abdomen down to her legs, gently kicking against the invisible, icy hands of death. Her pale inner thighs are bruised, and the sock on her left foot is the only article of clothing on her body.

I take her hand in mine and watch as her fingers and toes twitch at random. With my free hand, I find my knife on the floor, feel for the right spot on her blood-spattered chest, and forcefully slide the blade through her soft skin, nicking her ribs as its full length sinks into her straining muscles. I pull it back out and blood spurts out from the wound. For a few seconds longer, spasms consume her; then for a moment, every muscle in her body tenses. Her eyes open wider; a gurgle comes from the back of her throat; and then her body goes limp and she falls completely still. The only noise is the barely audible sigh of the dead girl's final breath leaving her corpse. I close the vacant, lifeless eyes, and leave the body splayed on the floor.

The university clean up team will be there in the morning to dispose of the remains and erase all signs of the violent murder that took place.

 No.2712

"I hope all your homework assignments are going well," begins Dr. R, "If any of you need advice or suggestions, feel free to ask me at the end of class today."

Just like the last two classes five female volunteers are picked from the audience.

Addie Jones (22, brunette, 5'2") has a bubbly personality. She is wearing a fuzzy pink sweater and a jean miniskirt. The next girl, Hanna Carlton (18, dirty blonde, 5'6"), is a quiet girl. Dressed modestly in a grey hoodie and jeans. The third girl is Yukio Ichikawa (20, dark brown hair, 5'0"). She is an international student from Japan. Number four is another international student. Isabelle Barnier (25, light brown hair, 5'5") is a French girl. I had hooked up with her last semester after a party. It had been a night to remember. Fifth and finally, Dr. R. chooses Rebecca Troy (21, platinum blonde, 5'9"). A party girl and sorority president, she is known all across campus for her stunning good looks and kinky tastes in bed.

With all five girls on stage, Dr. R has his assistants bring out the tools for today. He leads Addie and Hanna to a small gallows at one end. He instructs them to stand side by side and places a noose over each of their heads, tightening the rope around their necks. Addie is bound at the hands and feet, and a black bag is placed over her head. He leaves Hanna free, but she only looks out at the class nervously. He unzips Hanna's hoodie and asks her to take off her shoes. She stands barefoot in a tight tank top and jeans, visibly trembling.

"Hanging," He turns to the class, "can mean two different things. If dropped from the proper height, a victim can be killed from a broken neck, or if merely suspended by the rope, she will die slowly of suffocation." He signals to his assistant. A lever is pulled and Addie drops through a trap door under her feet. There is a crack as the rope tightens. Still visible from the waist up, we watch her body jerk uncontrollably for a seconds before becoming motionless.

"A broken neck leads to a quick death. However, obtaining the right conditions to snap a victims neck is often difficult for a murderer. Not to mention, it is not nearly as rewarding as watching the girl fight against the rope for as long as possible." As he talks, he motions to the assistant again, who cranks a wheel, lifting Hanna slowly off the ground. First her heels come off, leaving her standing on her tiptoes. Then a choking sound comes from her throat, and her toes are just brushing the floor, reaching out to support herself. She falls silent as she comes completely off the ground. She is only about six inches off the ground when Dr. R signals the assistant to stop. The girl's arms are flailing and legs kicking as she twists and turns in midair. The pain of her burning lungs is on her face, and the rope digging into her stretched out neck. Her mouth is in a grimace, her eyes are wide. She is eye level with the professor. He stands in front of her and she reaches out to him for help, but he steps back until her arms fall back to her sides. "The girl's own weight is what seals her fate. Suspended like this, she is powerless. Her body is beginning to feel heavy. She can no longer lift her arms, and it takes a great deal of strength just to kick her legs. As she loses oxygen, her senses fade, until she is lost in the darkness and pain."

For the time being he leaves the girl dangling and moves on to Yukio. She strips down to her panties and kneels on the stage as Dr. R produces two Japanese samurai blades. The shorter one, a wakizashi, he hands to Yukio. The katana he keeps himself. "Today we are also going to study death relating to different cultures. We will begin with suicide in Japanese culture. Suicide because of lost honor is called Seppuku. This ritual involves the cutting open of one's belly. It is a painful way to go. Luckily for us, Yukio believes she has lost her honor and feels it necessary to perform seppuku." With legs spread wide, butt resting on her heels, and hands trembling on the sword, she is obviously nervous. She shakily draws the blade and presses the tip against her lower abdomen. A trickle of blood runs from where the tip of the sword presses into her skin. She furrows her brow, determination in her eyes, and with a quick jerk, thrusts the blade into her belly. Still in control, she yanks the knife to the side, leaving a horizontal slit about eight inches above her crotch. She pulls the knife out and drops it on the floor. Blood and intestines follow it out of the slit, spilling onto the floor between her legs. Her posture is changing. She begins to sink. Her back, which was straight, now slouches, and her head drops, chin resting on her chest. Her breathing is labored, and a small whimper comes out which each ragged breath. Dr. R kneels beside her as he talks: "If left like this, she may take hours to bleed out and die. For brevity, we will demonstrate a version of the ceremony that utilizes another swordsman." A man walks onto the stage. "This is Ken Iwate. A master Japanese swordsman." Dr. R hands him the katana, then follows him over to Yukio's side. He pulls her hair away from the back of her neck. Her face is obscured by the thick locks of her dark hair. Her shoulders still rise and fall with each breath. Her hands grip her knees so tight her knuckles are white. She jumps slightly when she hears Ken draw the katana. He lines it up inches above her neck before raising it above his head. He holds it for a few seconds until, with a smooth, graceful swing, the blade severs the girl's head from her body. Her head hits the ground with a solid thud and rolls forward a few feet; blood spurts from the base of her neck and hits a couple people in the front row; her body twitches then slumps all the way forward, her small breasts pressing against the floor. Dr. R and Ken bow to each other and the swordsman leaves. Dr. R picks up the head to allow the class a better view. Her girl's pretty eyes are dull and blank and the slack jawed face is expressionless. He placed it next to the body before moving on.

He examines Hanna and declares her dead before bringing Isabelle to the front of the stage. She wears a short blue skirt and white shirt and stands stock still, unsure of what she should be doing. "Did you know," He asks the class as he walks back to the tools, "That the french invented the crossbow?" He picks up an old wooden crossbow from the table, loads a bolt, and fires. The bolt hits Isabelle in the upper part of her right breast and knocks her to the ground. Dr. R sets down the bow and walks over to her. "If you notice, the bolt did not hit her heart and she is still breathing. The bolt is buried in her lung, but with it in there, her lung can still function, albeit very painfully, because her chest cavity is still sealed. She will still eventually die if help is not provided, but it will take much longer than if the bolt is removed." As he talks, her fingers are grabbing at the shaft of the bolt protruding from her chest. Dr. R pushes away her hands. "If she could, she would remove the arrow. This would seal her fate, but her body is acting instinctively. Often in its fight for survival, the body merely speeds its own demise." He crouches next the the girl, places one hand on her breast, and takes the bolt in the other. She cries out as he pulls it from her. As soon as it is out, her breathing audibly changes. Before, though heavy and uneven, her breath was relatively steady. Now she breathes more rapidly by the second and each breath is short and shallow. "With a hole in her chest, her diaphragm is no longer able to create a negative pressure, meaning that it is impossible for her to draw a breath." She gasps for air for a few more seconds, but is unable to sustain herself. She thrashes on the ground, back arched and legs spread, in a last ditch effort to breathe, but ultimately she is unsuccessful. The body lays flat on the ground, and her skirt is up around her waist.

"Our last girl should be quite exciting. How many of you have heard of Vlad the Impaler?" Rebecca Troy is brought out, strapped naked on a type of gurney. Her ankles are tied up next to her thighs and her arms behind her back. "I will need some volunteers to assist me with this one. "Dr. R chooses me and Ellie Bradshaw to help him." We stand one on each side of Rebecca. Dr. R hands me a gag to secure onto the girl. He then brings out a long spike and positions it between Rebecca's spread legs. "Ellie, please place the tip of the spike in her anus." Ellie guides the point into Rebecca. Feeling the wood inside her, Rebecca begins struggling against the bonds that hold her down. Dr. R instructs me to help guide the spike in. I place one hand on the girl's mons pubis and the other next to Ellie's on the spike where it sinks into Rebecca. Dr. R counts down from three and gives the spike a shove. It sinks further into the girl. Once more and there is a tearing sound as it rips into her abdominal cavity. Her muffled screams grow louder. Another jolt and blood starts flowing down the spike over our hands. She writhes as squirms as the spike is driven further in with the squelch of blood and soft tissue. After about two feet of the spike has disappeared into her body, her breaths are becoming cut short. "I assume," Dr. R tells us, "the tip has reached her diaphragm." We unstrap her from the gurney and the three of us hoist her up vertical. There is a stand on the ground that the spike fits in and keeps her upright. "Vlad the Impaler," Explains Dr. R, "would stick captured enemies onto spikes and place them upright, just like this. As time progresses the victim slowly sinks onto the spike. In the interest of time, I have had to skip through most of the time spent in agony as it works its way through her intestines and stomach. We are now at one of the main ways that the victim dies. The spike pierces the victim's diaphragm, likely ending her ability to breathe." He signals to me, and we each grab Rebecca at the shoulder and elbow and pull downward. She slips down further on the spike. "If somehow, she manages to survive for another five minutes, she will encounter another likely cause of death." We pull her down again. "If the spike pierces her heart she will die virtually immediately. If somehow it misses her heart, she will die soon after from either suffocation or blood loss." Again another yank and this time the tip spike begins protruding from the soft spot at the base of her neck between her collarbones. Her body is still fighting so we pull her down once more. The spike pierces the bottom of her jaw, travels through her mouth and her soft palette. I remove the gag and blood pours out of her mouth. Just past her teeth, the wooden spike is visible. As I look into her terrified eyes, she convulses twice, and I hear the crunch of the weak bones protecting her brain as she slips a few inches further onto the spike then stops with a jolt. Her body is now completely still. Streaks of urine and blood run down the girl's inner thighs and drip onto the floor from her knees. The blood that was pouring across her chest and from the corner of her open mouth slows to a trickle before stopping completely.

Ellie and I return to our seats as Dr. R dismisses the class. "I would like to remind you," He adds, "there are plenty of extracurricular activities that you can be involved in, including internships with real detectives on active cases, and studies into how a serial killer chooses his or her victims. Just speak with me if you would like more information. See you all next week."

 No.2713

Victimology 101: Midterm Examination

"Design and execute (no pun intended) a double homicide scenario using two clones and a moderately large two story suburban home. Creativity is encouraged. Please make the murders as interesting as possible while still remaining realistic."

I am already formulating how it was going down as I made my way home, and I e-mail Dr. R my request for approval that night. Dr. R replies the next day with the address and photos of the clones.

Jenna Freemont (Blonde, 17) has bright blue eyes, comely features, and a timid smile.

Andrea Knowles (Brunette, 15) is her best friend. She wears black, rectangle frame eyeglasses and has a bright smile with braces.

It's just past midnight, as I walk up to the back door of the home. Using a lock pick set, I easily get the door open. The house is dark and quiet. I silently make my preparations downstairs before heading to the bedrooms where the two girls are upstairs. I pad quietly up the stairs. I reach the top and look down each hallway.

To my right, there is a door slightly cracked with light coming out. I head left first. The first door I open leads to a bathroom. The next is a bedroom. It is nearly pitch black except for a string of Christmas lights hanging outside the window. Jenna lies partially tangled in her sheets, fast asleep wearing only a large T-shirt and panties.

I sneak up to her, taking my time since I know I only have one shot at this. Inches from her, I can hear her soft, rhythmic breaths. My gloved hands ready, I make my move.

My hands clamp around her throat, cutting off her windpipe before she even realizes what is happening. As she gains her sense, she tries to pull away which only results in her falling to the ground. I worry that the noise might alert the other girl, but for now everything remains quiet.

I find it strangely exciting to feel the girl's body straining under me. With each faint squeak that passes through her begging lips, desire runs through my whole body. I take in everything, from the twinkling Christmas lights reflected in her pain filled eyes, to the feeling of every inch of her struggling body rhythmically rubbing against me. Her breasts bounce as her chest rises as falls, not from air filling her lungs, but from her back arching off the ground. I can feel the muscles in her throat, taut and straining, under my fingertips.

Her blonde hair is spread out on the floor around her head. She tries reaching up toward me, but her fingers merely brush against my face. As her strength wanes, her final emotions cross over her distorted face. Fear and pain give way to sadness, and tears well up in her eyes. Then her face goes blank, and her body is racked by spasms.

For a few seconds she kicks with renewed vigor but soon succumbs to death. Dull eyes open wide, mouth hanging agape, the corpse is silent and still. I let go of her throat and stand up. Everything is going according to plan. I strip her body and drag it downstairs, leaving her spread eagle on the living room floor.

I head back to the room with the second girl and I can see her laying on her stomach on the bed playing an online RPG on her laptop. She wears plaid pajama pants and a tank top. Her wavy dark brown hair obscures most of her features, but her young, thin body spread out on the bed is still alluring. She has her headphones in, and it is surprisingly easy to sneak up on the girl.

Knowing we are the only two in the house beside's the dead body, I know I can be less cautious with this one. I grab her by the ankles and pull her off the bed. First confused, then utterly frightened, the girl jumps back to her feet. She screams, pushes past me and runs for the stairs. Following close behind, I watch as she misses the first step and tumbles down to the landing. She lays for a second, unmoving, and I genuinely hope she did not break her neck in the fall. It would make for a much less entertaining rest of the night.

To my relief she slowing climbs back to her feet and continues down the stairs. She makes her way to the front door, where to tries to unlock it. She is confused when she can't find the bolt lock knob. My first preparation works well. All the door locks are broken and impossible to unlock from the inside. Her terror is evident in her face as she tries the garage door and gets the same result. Her body is tense and her breathing labored and she tries to avoid me. Her adrenaline is clouding her judgement and she stops short as she enters the living room and discovers her friend's dead body. She is paralyzed by fear and too scared to scream as I walk up to her.

The younger girl is considerable smaller and easier to manipulate. I push her to her knees next the corpse. I caress her face with one hand and unbutton my pants with the other. I pull out my cock, and her eyes widen as she realizes what is happening.

"Just don't hurt me." She pleads.

I nod reassuringly and place my finger over my mouth to signal her to be quiet. She is submissive as I pull off her tank top. I can see her pale, quivering breasts. I press my cock against her trembling lips and she loosens her jaw. I slide in on her saliva, and I can feel her tongue moving away from me. I hold the back of her head and press her down further until she gags. It rubs the back of her throat and she closes her eyes tight.

Without her knowing, I slide a knife from my back pocket, press it against her neck, and before she can react, give it a quick slice. I can feel the spurts of warm blood against my cock and it gushes into her throat. When I pull out, a stream of blood runs over her lips and down her chin as she coughs and splutters. I yank her around and push her down against her friend's body, so that her head is resting on the corpse's breasts. I pull down her pajama pants and her bare ass rubs against me as she squirms to break free. I can feel the cool skin of the corpse as I grip both female bodies and slide into the still living girl's vagina. I continue thrusting until I climax. Her body is growing weak by this time, and she is only barely alive when I finish.

I let her bleed out laying against her friend's body, her fingers interlaced with the dead girl's. Her moans and gurgles continue on for a few minutes until I stick my blade into her temple, scrabbling her brains and cutting short her misery. Her body twitches one last time before she expires and again all is quiet in the quaint suburban home.

 No.2714

"Today in lab we will be getting hands on experience with a couple new types of murder." Dr. R tells us as he walks into the lab room. We will be working on drowning and manual strangulation. I decided to just cover these here in lab since on stage most of the impact is lost just watching them. Because downing can get messy, we will start with manual strangulation. As opposed to ligature strangulation, you will be required to use your hands to effectively snuff out your victim; this is a very intimate; difficult; and, for the killer with a personal motive, rewarding experience since it is also especially traumatizing for the victim. If there are any students who don't believe they have the physical strength to complete the task, you may pair up with another student. Now, each of you may pick a workstation and begin. I will make my way around to each of you, to assist or answer questions."

Each workstation, sectioned off by soundproof glass panels, has padded floors and a girl wearing a basic white t-shirt and white cotton pants. The girl at the workstation I choose is platinum blonde, medium build, with a fair complexion and perky c-cup breasts. I approach her, and she greets me with a trusting smile. Her conditioning makes her trust everyone completely. As I try to figure out how I should begin, a female classmate approaches me. I recognize her as Giselle Bynes. The host for the clone that was eviscerated last class. She asks if she can join me and I say that her presence is definitely welcome.

The clone still stares at me as I step up to her. She willingly lets me place my hands around her neck. Her skin is soft and warm. For a moment, I hold her neck in my hands feeling her rhythmic pulse and soft breaths. Her pale pink lips part in a warm smile. My first instinct is to smile back, but instead, I tighten my grip, easily closing off her windpipe. A flicker of fear crosses her face, and her hands try to pull mine away. In vain, she starts struggling to get away.

As she begins to loose strength, Giselle asks if she can try, and I let her step between me and the clone still grasping her throat. Giselle places her hands over mine, and I slip mine out, letting her take control of the girl. A choking noise comes from the back of the girl's throat, and I show Giselle how to place her thumbs at the center of her neck to completely seal off the trachea. I help out by holding the clone from behind, one hand pinning her wrists behind her and the other holding her at the waist to keep her in one spot. I can feel her abdominal muscles flexing as she tries with all her might to breathe. The clone, her mouth now silently moving as she strains for air, begins to collapse, and I help Giselle lower her body onto the ground. Giselle straddles the girl at the waist and puts all her force into crushing the girl's throat. Her legs gently kicking against the padded floor, the girl begins reaching up for Giselle's face. I grab her wrists and hold her arms down, positioning myself facing Giselle, above the girls head, one knee on each side of her head. The girl looks up at us with pleading eyes, before her body shudders and falls still. I look up at Giselle, who is staring back at me, her infectious smile on her face.

"That was kinda fun." She says.

At that moment Dr. R steps in, "Great to see teamwork: good job."

We take a few moments while lab assistants clear away the clones' remains and bring in bath tubs and new clones. Dr. R gives us the go ahead, and Giselle and I team up again.

Our clone this time is a teenage brunette, about 17, with olive skin and rich brown eyes. She is laying, nude, in the warm bathwater. Giselle and I stand behind her, and she appears completely unconcerned with our being there. I crouch beside the tub, and she looks up at me, blinking her pretty eyes. I run my fingers through her hair and she obviously enjoys the caress. She stares at me, coy and innocent. I ask Giselle if she would like to start this one. She eagerly agrees and kneels beside me in front of the tub. She grips the girl by the hair at the top of her head. The girl, now obviously uncomfortable, tries to sit up, but Giselle pushes her into the water, submerging her face. Bubbles come from her nose and mouth. Water splashes over the side as she kicks and flails her arms. As splashes of water hit Giselle, she lets me take over. I take a firm grip on the thrashing girl, placing my right hand at the top of her head and my left on her chest. More bubbles come from her mouth, and then I feel her quivering chest rise, as she attempts to breath. Lungs now full of water, the girl's movements begin to slow and become erratic. Her back arches, and her small breasts breach the surface. My left hand now moves to her contracting abdomen, and I press her gently back into the water. Her mouth and eyes are still wide open, but her body rests on the bottom, rocking gently back and forth.

 No.2715

Dr. R steps to the front of the class and introduces the next section: "The second week of Victimology 101, will cover rape and sexual sadism in serial killings. We will explore what type of females are targeted and why, and how the last moments of the victim's life are played out."

"Today we will start with exploring three of the most commonly victimized groups. First, we will begin with preteens. These girls are often involved in crimes of opportunity." A young girl, no older than 12 with brown hair and blue eyes is brought out onto the stage. "A girl like this can be easily snatched on her way home from school or when out with friends." He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her up next to him, gently caressing her long neck as he continues. "Preteen girls are usually weak and easily overpowered. They can also be naive or easily deceived. Many sexual sadists like young girls because even the act of penetration is often a painful experience for them." Dr. R pulls down her pants, pushes her to the ground and kneels between her kicking legs. He procures a large black dildo that he places against her crotch, rubbing slowly for a few seconds before forcing it deep between her labia. She screams as the full length disappears into her cavity. After a few powerful thrusts, he grabs her throat with his free hand and silences her. He pushes the dildo all the way in and leaves it there. Taking her head in both hands, her snaps her neck like a twig.

The young girl's body falls limp, and her face goes blank. Her body twitches from random spasms as he feels back between her legs. His fingers moving along the rim of her anus. Her body still slightly realty to his touch but it is only in the form of uncontrollable reflexes. Urine dribbles out around the dildo and over his hand.

"Some killers find their young female victims especially attractive, while for others they are merely objects for pleasure," Dr. R explains. "These differences are often evidenced by how the body is treated postmortem. If it is disposed of irreverently and is poorly treated, it was likely nothing more than a play toy for the killer, or the killer had something against her. However, if the corpse is posed or treated respectfully, there was something personal or appealing about her to the killer." As Dr. R speaks, he pulls the sex toy from between her legs, leaving behind trickles of blood dripping onto the floor.

"The next group is the high school girl." A tall, blonde teenager, probably 16, with D cup breasts and wide hips in a schoolgirl uniform makes her way onto the stage. "Adolescents are usually chosen for their sexually maturity and untouched bodies; or like before, because they provide excellent opportunities. Often dressing provocatively, high school girls are objects of lust for many killers. Because they have more sexually developed bodies, these girls can actually find pleasure in a rape if performed correctly, and even if they don't, they provide a more sexually satisfying experience." He begins by ripping the front of the girl's shirt open to expose her breasts supported by a pink lace bra. Then, he binds her hands behind her back, and leans her face foreword over a table. He pulls her skirt up, exposing her panties, which he pulls down to her knees. "Arousal can be achieved in numerous ways including stimulation of the vulva," He talks as he rubs the gap between her legs, "Or by endorphins released when the body experiences pain." He now takes a short whip and strikes her across the legs and ass, leaving red welts. The girl is now sobbing loudly, and he feels inside her. "Still not as wet as she could be, but it should do." The same dildo is shoved into this girl. He rubs her ass and fondles her breasts as he picks up the rhythm. She squeaks and moans, obviously not enjoying it, but she also doesn't appear to be the same pain that the first girl experienced. "Because her body naturally reacts better to sexual stimulation, it is less painful for her." As he continues, she begins relaxing and letting it happen.

"Girls this age will often end up going along with a rape out of fear and a hope that if they cooperate, the rapist won't kill them." He notes her vacant expressionless eyes. "Right now, she appears to be in shock. Her mind will go blank as she tries to distance herself from reality. For the sake of time, we'll end her here. Don't worry though," He pulls out a knife and pushes her down on her knees still facing away from him, "I'll make it interesting." He slides the knife deep through her throat, triggering a jet of crimson. He lets he go and steps away. For a moment she stays kneeling and her legs slowly spreading wider. She is clutching at her throat, blood running over her chest and a mix of urine and wet running down the inside of her thighs. A few seconds later, she falls back and lies convulsing on the ground before making a choking sound and falling still. Her noises taper off to silence, and the doctor moves on.

"Finally for today is the college age girl. These girls often are raped and killed by men they encounter at parties or while out in bars or clubs. They are especially vulnerable if they are drinking heavily and it is not uncommon for them to be drugged before being taken advantage of. Often, however, serial killers may wait for them to regain their senses, because feeling the girl's struggles and seeing her fear are usually an important part of the experience for them."

I recognize the girl they wheel out, tied down by her wrists on a four poster bed, as Brianna Yates. A teacher's pet who always sits in the front row a few seats over from me.

Her thin, toned body is wiggling and trying with all its effort to get free. Her chest is heaving, and she whimpers behind her gag. Dr. R climbs on top and gets between her legs, pushing up her skirt. "This will be out last girl for the day, so if you don't mind, I will make it more realistic." We can see him unbutton his pants, pull out his cock and force it into her. Her noises shift from moans of fear to cries of pain as he roughly rapes the girl, holding her hips tightly. As he continues she begins quieting down, and he turns his head sideways to the class. "Intimate, quick, and quiet, asphyxiation is one of the most common ways to end a girl's life." He continues fucking the girl while beginning to strangle her. Her legs spread wider and he slips further in with each thrust. "Note how strangulation actually adds to her sexual pleasure, while adding to the killer's sexual sadistic pleasure." Her legs begin kicking with all her waning strength. Eyes widen and she begins visibly shaking as she reaches out to to him; her lungs are obviously begging to air. "You could almost say it's a win win," He laughs.

He absentmindedly runs his hands over the girl's body as he talks. "There's something about sealing off the girl's throat as she begs for her finals breaths. Feeling the blood from the last beat of her struggling heart pulse through her neck for a final time. Watching the emotions in her eyes: the terror, pain, and sadness. Being inside her as her body goes limp and the life drains from her, leaving the empty corpse behind. It makes your heart race. It makes you feel alive."

The girl's arms fall to her sides, and her legs lay spread wide and not kicking. His muscles flex as he squeezes her neck as tight as he can for one last moment, pushing as deep as possible into the girl.

He pulls out of the corpse, and rebuttons his pants. He dismisses the class and leaves the bodies to be collected by whomever will have them. I quickly grab the high schooler. "This will be fun." I think to myself.

 No.2717

Homework 4: "As stated before, many murder victims know their killers. A great deal of these are individuals who are murdered by their significant others. For this assignment, you will be assigned a clone who believes you are her husband. She also has been conditioned to believe that she has been unfaithful to you. You, out of anger, kill her. Keep the kill consistent with this type of murder. You will be graded on efficiency and real-world similarity."

I fold the clone information up and put it in my pocket and follow the direction to the address to "our home." It is a small apartment on the fifth floor of a nondescript apartment building downtown. I let myself in with my key. The apartment in quiet and dark. I still have an hour until she gets here, so I take the time to learn the layout of the place. There is a main living room with a kitchen that is open at the back. Off to the side are the doors to the bedroom and a bathroom. I grab a glass of water and a knife from the kitchen, take a seat on the sofa, and wait.

Right on time, the handle to the door turns and in walks the girl. She greets me with a pleasant smile and engages me in small talk about my day as she removes her shoes and coat. She has a well-shaped body with wide hips and large breasts. She wears a loose, light pink shirt with a white camisole underneath and ripped jeans.

She walks into the bedroom and I follow after her. She takes off her shirt and tank top and tosses them into the dirty clothes hamper then resumes talking. I can sense a tension in her voice as she tells me about her day, and I can tell she is obviously trying very hard to keep something from me. I almost laugh out loud at the way she tries to add filler details to make her story believable. As entertaining as watching her fumble through a made up story is, I also want to get the assignment over with, so I pull out the knife and when she turns back around her words trail off.

I see the confusion on her face as I grab her by the back of the neck and thrust the blade into her chest. Her lips trembling, she stares up at me in shock.

"You know what this is for." I tell her.

Her eyes widen and her questioning stare shifts to an expression of pleading and sorrow. She opens her mouth to say something, perhaps an apology, but all that comes out is a low gurgle and a stream of blood. I pull the knife out of her chest and push her back onto the bed. Her legs hang off the side, and her toes barely brush the ground. Her hands come to rest on her chest where blood gushed from the punter wound.

I cut open her jeans and panties, exposing her smooth, shaven vulva. I feel it with my fingers first. It's sticky and wet. Then, I take the knife and let the sharp steel slide into the soft, fleshy slit. Blood trickles out as it cuts into the sensitive tissue. She whimpers as I push it deeper with more force. Following a random urge, I kiss her breasts and abdomen. Her skin is soft, and I can feel her abdominal muscles tense and quiver as I drive the knife in and out. I let it slice and tear deep into her body. Bright crimson blood pours out from between her legs. Finally, pressing down with one hand on her pubic bone, I force the knife as far in as possible with the other, until only the black handle is visible protruding from between her disfigured labium.

I take her head in both hands and look her in her pale blue eyes. Her life is fading fast, but she clings to what remains with all her strength. Short, ragged gasps come through her pale lips. My hands move down around her thin neck and squeeze. The cartilage of her throat bends and cracks, and her breaths are cut off. She squirms for a moment, and then her eyes loose their light and her body goes limp.

I brush away a tear as it rolls down her cheek and trace her cool lips with my fingertips. Then, I wrap the body in a thin sheet from the bed, drag her into the kitchen and force her into the fridge after removing a couple shelves, and leave.

 No.2718

FRIDAY

I had watched the lecture as my physically identical clone had been disemboweled and, to my surprise, I realized it had excited me to watch my own body give into a violent, painful death. I had imagined it actually being me. Just the thought of feeling my life snuffed out had made me physically tremble, my stomach fill with butterflies, and wetness spread between my legs.

I had been thinking about it during lab, the day that I had first felt the life drain out of a body just beneath my fingertips. I had imagined it being me whose senses that were filling with cold pain just before they ceased being forever, and I had nearly come from the vibrations of the struggling body that was between my legs. I almost asked the young man I was paired up with to strangle me then and there, but I had restrained myself. I wanted my demise to be just right.

As I sat in class daydreaming about the many ways my fragile life could be abruptly ended, I realized Dr. R was handing out our next homework assignment.

"This one will be a treat. I've never had a class do this before. Each of you will have a created that will be an almost exact representation of yourself. Your assignment will be to kill yourself, or at least, the clone that is living your life. Hopefully it will allow you to gain a better understanding of what the victim goes through during a murder."

It was in this moment, reading the assignment, that an idea began forming in my mind. Over the past few weeks, a dark compulsion had been growing inside me. That visceral pleasure I had gotten out of killing the clone had been seared in my mind and body.

I still vividly remembered the night after the lab. I remembered the school girl, walking home alone after dark through my neighborhood. It had been all too easy to catch her off guard and drag her, an extension cord wrapped tightly around her throat, behind my house. Writhing in the dirt, the thin brunette in her school uniform blue blazer and miniskirt had put up quite a fight, but she had been inevitably doomed. Once safely out of sight, I forwent the cord and used my hands, pressing my thumbs into the girl's throat, sealing off her trachea just as I had learned in lab. Without air, it had taken only a few seconds for the teenager's body to give in, her life ending with a small shudder. The image of the night sky reflected in light brown eyes, void and staring blankly up into space, was seared in my mind.

I had dragged the body inside, stripped it of the school uniform, and then pushed the heavy head up between my legs. My wet covered the girl's soft, pale lips as I rubbed my vulva against the her mouth and imagined my own corpse used and violated. Then, I pressed the dead girl's cold, stiff fingers deep into my vagina, and, rubbing my free hand over the cool, smooth skin of her abdomen, I came. I had slept with the corpse in my bed that night, wanting to enjoy every last minute I could with the body.

Even though I had gained immense pleasure out of the experience, I knew what I had done was wrong, and had been contemplating suicide ever since. I wanted what I deserved. Now, presented with this assignment, I knew the perfect way for my life to come to an end.

SATURDAY

My clone had been sitting in the plain white processing room when I finally found her that morning. She had yet to be conditioned with my memories, which would have been edited and modified to make her more conducive for my Victimology assignment. The night before, I had used the school laboratory equipment to extract my own memories and switched them out with the ones the clone was supposed to have received from my professor. I had modified the memories slightly. The clone now believed me to be the clone and herself to be the one assigned to kill me.

The assignment would be completed that evening, leaving only a few hours to prepare for what was to come.

The clock read 8 PM and everything so far seemed normal. I had put on my favorite underwear, a pink lace thong, and other than that was only wearing the white button down blouse I had worn to school. I was sitting alone in my room when the power went out. I knew what was coming but still felt a twinge of fear in the pit of my stomach. However, the fear quickly mingled with excitement as adrenaline began rushing into my system. I tentatively stepped out into the dark hallway and saw a dark shadow at the end. I knew it was my clone, dressed in a dark hoodie and loose cargo pants.

"Who are you?" I asked, playing the part of the unaware victim and backing slowly back into my room. I wanted to draw this out. Without a reply the clone strode toward me, following me into the room and cornering me next to my bed.

I could feel myself getting wet, and my fingertips were shaking. The clone closed the distance between me and I let her pin me against the wall. Identical bodies pressed together, I felt her hands move up over my breasts, tear open my shirt, and then move in around my throat. It was only as her hands were sealing off my windpipe that I had second thoughts, but by then it was already too late. My hands automatically shot up to my throat, and my fingers tried to pry away at her firm grip to no avail.

I let myself embrace the sensation of suffocation, and I yearned for something inside me. I wanted to scream out in pain and pleasure. I needed release. She yanked me around and shoved my backward onto the bed, letting go for just a moment. My throat was swollen and painful as I coughed. I backpedaled away from her into the corner, kicking away the sheets on my bed, but she grabbed me by the ankles and pulled me back roughly toward her.

She climbed on top with her legs firmly holding my down. She gripped the hair at the top of my head and pulled my head back with one hand and then used the other hand to continue strangling me. My head ached and pounded, and I could feel my face growing hot with blood as she sealed off my jugular veins.

She disentangled her hand from my hair, and ran it down the center of my abdomen and then into the gap between my legs. She pulled my panties aside and shoved three fingers up into my vagina; a gurgle came from the back of my throat in place of a moan. She rhythmically drove her fingers deeper and deeper with each thrust, until my toes curled, my legs spread, and my abs undulated as I came.

For a moment I was lost in euphoria, but it was short lived. I tried to draw a breath, but my diaphragm only fluttered and my lungs burned for air. The orgasm had left me feeling hollow and weak, and pain tore into my mind as she crushed my throat. I was fading fast. With one final, painful throb, I felt my heart give out, and all my muscles went limp, leaving my limbs heavy and immobile. My vision blurred and I felt warm urine dribbling out from between my legs, and soaking into my underwear. Her hands relaxed their grip on my broken throat. Then, all I could feel was a creeping cold and pinpricks as numbness set in. My vision faded to black, and icy pain ripped through my head as billions of neurons in my brain died every second.

Fingers twitched as her final struggle came to an end. A cold, still body was all that was left.

The next day, Giselle is in class as normal, sitting next to the young man that had helped her make her first kill. No one is any the wiser.

 No.2719

Her teary, doe eyed look says it all. She knows what is coming. I can feel her body trembling under my firm grip, and she whimpers softly as I move my hands around her thin neck. Her hands instinctively move over mine, but she doesn't fight or pull away.

Conditioned to accept her death, the clone had already known she would die. After working with clones that have fought against death, Dr. R had wanted us to experience a different side of victims.

"There are some victims," He had said in class, "that, when they know they are about to die, accept their fate. These individuals tend to express sad willingness in death. This can be disconcerting and uncomfortable for a killer that wants the rush of a struggling victim and sometimes leads to violent rape, torture, or extensive postmortem mutilation."

Our assignment today involves two clones, each accepting of death. My first is laying beneath me, and I realize how strange it is to have her relaxed and still as I strangle her. I squeeze her neck tighter, and her brown eyes bulge. Her eyelids flutter, and tears trickle down her cheeks. Tremors run through her small frame, and her eyes reopen. This time, however, they are distant and unfocussed.

I watch as the light fades from them. I listen for a heartbeat with my ear pressed to her chest, but there is only silence.

The first half of my assignment completed, I move on to the second. The other clone, identical to the first one, is chained by her wrists to the ceiling a few feet from the first. I can already see a hint of fear in her eyes. The assignment requires us to elicit a response from the second clone, through whatever means we can contrive. I retrieve a medium sized satchel that holds the key to my method.

In order to get the clone to respond, I decided to take a guess at a torture method that would play into her fears. I open the satchel and remove a tube of twenty inch long metal needles, each about one sixteenth of an inch thick, with sharpened ends.

I pull out one of the needles and asses the young body that lies before me. Naked vulnerable, she eyes the needle nervously. I can see her bottom lip quivering, and I know already that I hit the jackpot. Her breasts tremble as she takes a shaky breath, and I know my first target. I take her firm, supple left breast in my left hand and with my right, I press the needle into her flesh. Her eyes closed tight, she moans as the needle pokes out the other side. I grab her right breast and press it against the left, continuing to press the needle through. It skewers her right breast and emerges on the other side.

I let go of both breasts and leave them pinned together. I take another needle and press it into the center of her abdomen, just below her ribcage, angling upward to pierce her diaphragm. Her breaths become short and ragged as I press it just over halfway into her. I remove two more needles. These I slide into her thighs. She begins crying as I slide the thin steel into her tense muscle until I hit bone. Twelve total, six symmetrically on each side, find their ways between her ribs. They move up and down with each of her sobs.

She looks at me, and I can tell she is about to break. She looks at me with pleading eyes, as I take another needle and place the tip at the soft spot at the base of her neck.

"Please, no." She manages to get out. All I can do is smile at her. "Please don't do this!" She begs louder. She begins pulling at the chains as I put pressure on the needle. Knowing I have completed my assignment, I let it begin disappearing into her body, and she cries out. I press it all the way into her before picking out another needle.

For this one, I pull her head back and place the tip under her chin. Then, holding the needle in place with one hand, I press down her head with the other and it pierces up through lower jaw and through her tongue. I press it further in and it slides into her soft palate and continues up until it hits bone. Her tongue twitches in her mouth uncontrollably, trying to remove the foreign object. I look into her wide, fear-filled eyes and know the perfect place for the final needle.

She tries to shut her eyes to the thin steel tip, but I hold open her eyelids. She is whimpering with each breath as the needle gets nearer and nearer to her cornea. Then, as she screams a final high pitched shriek, the point pierces through the pupil and goes to the base of her socket. Holding the back of her head, I give it a strong shove, and it cracks through the thin bone and sinks into her the front lobe of her brain.

Her expression immediately changes. She goes from tense and fearful to limp and impassive. Her breaths still come in ragged gasps, but she hangs, supported only by her arms.

I move around behind her, unzip my pants and remove my cock, and, by lifting one of her legs up to her chest, I am able to force myself into her. Her body, barely clinging to life, is still able to respond to sexual stimulation, and I feel her getting wet. Droplets of blood hit the floor from each needle as I thrust myself into her. I grab the needle in her head and, as I come, shove it deeper into her grey matter, ending her torment.

 No.2720

Christina Towley (17, blonde and pink-dyed hair, 5'4"), Heather Frank (21, light brown hair, 5' 6"), Bridget Fowler (20, dirty blonde hair, 5'2"), and Audrey Douglass (19, dark brown hair, 5' 5") sit in chairs next to each other on stage. Dr. R already introduced the subject of strangulation, but today he is explaining different types of strangulation.

"We have already seen most of these in action, but I want to take you through each one so we can see them side by side. For this presentation, I want them all to be killed simultaneously, and then afterwards we will go through the wounds one by one."

Dr. R chooses me to demonstrate the new form of strangulation that we will be leading about--the chokehold--on Christina. Once everyone is set up, we begin. Dr. R slips a noose around Heather's neck and hoists her up into the air; Giselle Bynes, another volunteer, uses an extension cord to seal off Bridget's windpipe; and Cody Towers begins manually strangling Audrey.

For a second I take in the sights and sounds. Heather, her own weight keeping the rope tight around her throat, is silently convulsing in mid-air; the only sound is the creak of the rope and her spasms increase in intensity. Bridget is making a low groan in the back of her throat, and her fingertips claw at the cord digging into her skin. Audrey's twitches and her eyes grow wider as crunches come from her thin neck under Cody's firm grip.

I move my focus from my classmates to the girl in front of me. I move behind her, and place my right arm around her chest. Then, I let it move up under her jaw, until the crook of my elbow begins tightening around her neck. Both of her hands reach up to my arm, and as I begin putting more pressure on her neck, she begins trying to pull it away. My right wrist sits comfortably in the crook of my left arm, and I hook my left hand around behind her head.

Her hair is short and soft and feels nice between my fingers. The left side of her head is partially shaved, so I can see a bit of her face. Her eyes are moving rapidly, and she is beginning to hyperventilate. I put more strength into the chokehold, and her breaths stop. I can feel her chest trembling beneath her loose t-shirt, as she tries to fill her lungs. My head is inches from hers, and I can smell her perfume.

It only takes a few seconds before I feel her strength declining. Her small frame is trembling, and I can see her eyelids drooping. The throb I could feel in her neck from her pulsing heart begins weakening. Her back arches off the back of the chair, and I can see all her toned muscles working to save her life. Her head stretches back until she is looking up toward me, but her blue eyes are glassy and vacant. Her mouth is open, and I can the her tongue piercing moving. However, as her final effort for air wanes, she falls completely still. Her body goes limp, and I watch a wet spot on her light blue jeans appear between her legs she loses continence. Her arms drop to her sides, and I loosen my grip on her. I move to her side, place my ear to her chest and listen for any signs of breaths or a heartbeat. I hear none.

It is only now that I look around. Dr. R is currently letting Heather's body down. Giselle still has the cord wrapped tight around Bridget's neck, but the light has left her eyes and her body is just as still as Christina's. Further down, Audrey is now spread eagle on the ground, her hands palm up next to her head, with Cody standing over her surveying his handiwork.

"We see here," Dr. R begins with Heather, "ligature marks." He indicates dark red marks around her neck. "We know, however, that these are from hanging because of the angle of the lines. The ligature marks reflect that the weight of the body is what causes the strangulation."

He moves on to Bridget. "You can see that these ligature marks are straight across her neck because they were caused by another individual tightening it around her throat," Dr. R explains as he stretches her neck back. "Also, note how a rope and extension cord leave different marks. A murder can often be solved because the ligature mark is a copy of what was used to strangle the victim."

He gets Cody to help him get Audrey back into the chair so that the whole class can see. "With Audrey," He explains, "We can see hand prints on her neck. This is important to notice, because, if the murderer did not use gloves, fingerprints may be able to be taken off her skin."

Finally Dr. R moves on to my victim. "You all have probably seen a chokehold before. You can see large bruises around the sides of the neck. It is a very effective way to cut off blood flow and air flow."

Class is dismissed, and I grab a body bag and pack up Christina's body to take home with me. Once home, I unzip the bag. Her face, ever so slightly swollen, stares up at me. Her eyes are now more of a pale grey and dry. Her skin is cool and pale, but once she is out of the bag and laying on my bed, she looks almost alive. I unzip her urine-stained jeans and pull them off with her panties. I position myself between her legs, and feel her cool, dry vulva. She can't get wet, but I know with a little bit of lubrication, her tight vagina will be easy to penetrate.

First, however, I roll her over and pull her head up between my legs. I pull out my cock and press it into her mouth. Her mouth is cool but still soft. Her limp tongue is easily pushed out of the way as I press head head all the way down over me. I get a good grip in her hair and begin moving her heavy head up and down in rhythm; I can feel the round steel stud in her tongue moving up and down my cock.

Finally, I roll her back over. I lube her and myself up and slide into her. There is a slight squelch as I force myself in, but otherwise, her body is silent. One hand runs up under her shirt, and the other holds the back of her neck. I kiss her cold, blue lips, then look into her pale, expressionless face as I come. My hand moves back down her abdomen, and I feel something that surprises me: a bellybutton.

TO BE CONTINUED...

 No.2721

Unsure of what I would find, I slowly pull the dead girl's shirt up. The first giveaway is the bellybutton; I feel it again and it feels real. I pull the shirt up further: up over her small, round breasts. I have to position her arms over her head in order to fully expose her chest.

It is just as I had feared. Her chest is bare and free of markings, except for a small freckle just above her left breast. I look up at the face, partially obscured by the shirt: the face of a real girl, not a clone. She stares blankly at the ceiling; I pull the shirt the rest of the way over her head then rub at her chest to make sure the serial number hadn't just been covered with makeup or something. I inspect the rest of her body, but every inch of her skin is normal. No sign of being a clone.

I sit with her head in my lap, and absentmindedly take her cool hand in mine, as I try to piece together all the implications of what I had just discovered.

First, the girl I had killed in class was not a clone, meaning she was actually Christina. But she responded to being murdered just like a clone would. Either she wanted to die, or she had her memories replaced by those meant for the clone. Either way, there should be a clone of Christina somewhere.

The next question is more difficult. What should I do about it. The punishment for killing a real girl is high. Even if it was by accident in place of a clone. The rules for killing clones require you to specifically document their serial numbers before you murder them, but we have never had a problem with this, so we usually just do it afterwards. If I am found with the real girl's body in my house, I would be in serious trouble. However, I will also need evidence that it was actually the clone that I had killed. I have to find that clone.

I made my decision, I zipped the corpse back up into the body bag and carried it out to my car. She fit easily into the trunk. My first stop would be the university.

The university's cloning center is easy to access. There is limited staff in the evenings, and I already have a badge that lets me access the majority of the facility. If you move quickly and know where you're going, you won't even see anybody else. The first area I check is the processing center, a large room where clones are installed with memories and conditioned. Christina's clone is not in the here, so I decide to move on to the barracks. I check the roster outside the door to the long hallway of rooms. Her name is listed second to last. She is in room 458.

I walk down the barracks hall. Nearly 100 rooms line the hallway, each with two or three clones. The majority are destined for the testing of experimental weapons or chemicals, a few make it into the lab assistant category, and maybe five or six were commissioned by Dr. R. I reach room 458 and check through the window. Three girls sit in chairs. None look at each other, and they are all quiet. Christina, still with her dyed pink hair, sits closest to the window, but facing away. I unlock the door with my badge, and three heads turn my way.

"Christina," I call quietly.

She stands abruptly, and walks out the door past me then stops in the hallway.

"It's time?" She asks.

She willingly follows me out of the building. I let her into my car, and get in next to her. She smiles at me as I pull up her shirt. Her flat stomach bears no belly button, and her chest is marked with a long string of letters and numbers. At this point I can dispose of both bodies and hide my involvement in the death of Christina, but with the bright eyed girl next to me I have some other ideas. Her green eyes, full lips, and slender form me to spend more time with her.

We leave campus and head for the city's Organic Material Disposal and Recycling Center. As students at the university we have free access to the center as much as we want. Christina and I work together to unload the body bag. We take the corpse into the facility. The deposit area is empty, but the hum of machinery comes from the warehouse area as the remains of dead cones and other biological material is processed and refined to be recycled or used in countless other processes.

Since there is not an area for human disposal, we stop at the clone disposal area. I unzip the bag once more. The clone most likely hasn't even seen a reflection of herself, so she does not even recognize the dead girl. I grab the arms and she grabs the legs as we hoist her into the recycling depository. We let her drop onto the conveyer belt that leads down to a large, loud grinder. I watch as she enters head first. One moment, she could be a girl asleep; the next her head is reduced to a splash of red. The clone had turned her head away, but I can't help but watch as the rest of her body is consumed by the maw of spinning blades and champing steel plates.

I think about pushing the clone in then and there, but her body is beckoning. All I want to do is take her home and have some fun with her.

 No.2722

For the slightest moment her smile falters as I push her up against the wall. Her intense eyes scan my face then close as I move in for another kiss. I pull off her shirt and unbutton her pants, and her clothes drop to the floor in a pile. I direct us toward the bedroom where we fall into the bed. I recline slightly against the headboard and pull her onto my lap backwards, her bare, toned back facing me.

She pulls out my cock and guides it into her. Her posture changes and I slide deep into her moist cavity; her back straightens and then begins arching. She rhythmically gyrates her hips. My left hand moves to the back of her head. Her short hair between my fingers, I get a good grip and pull her head back. She responds with a moan and an increase in speed. My right hand moves over her nose and soft lips.

She gently grips my right forearm for support as she nears climax. I can feel the shift in her muscles as she achieves orgasm. My grip tightens, and I can tell she needs to breathe. She tries pulling my hand away unsuccessfully. Still in orgasm, her body does not stop undulating. I turn her head to the right as far as it will naturally go, and then, with a quick wrench, I twist it further eliciting a loud crack. Every muscle in her body stiffens, and I give it one more tug, cracking bone and stretching the soft skin on her neck. I’m now looking straight into her wide, glassy eyes.

I move my hand away from her mouth. It falls limply open, and a trickle of blood and saliva drips from her bottom lip. Her tongue is moving as if she is trying to say something. She cannot articulate any words, but the look in her eyes asks for her: “Why?”

Her body begin to go limp, but as I support her with my hand on her abdomen, I can feel tremors radiation through her muscles. For a few seconds, under the reflex control of her spinal cord, her body still moves erratically on my cock, but the movements are soon reduced to nothing more than sporadic twitches every few seconds.

I sit up with my chest against her upper back and press my lips against hers. I can feel her respond ever so slightly, and though her eyes are growing dull and unfocused, I can still tell she is here.

Her arms have fallen limply to her sides, and her body has gone completely still. I continue pressing into her, however, and with each consecutive thrust I can see the light in her eyes fade a little more. I move my hand across her chest and grip her misshapen, dislocated neck. As I come inside her, a spasm courses through her body. I watch as her eyelids flutter and her eyes roll back slightly. She lets out a ragged exhale, and I know she is gone.

I grab her waist and lift her off me, letting her fall forward onto the bed. A steady trickle of urine soaks into the bedsheets. I record her serial number for proof and load the remains into the body bag. All I have to do is dispose of her, and no one will be any the wiser.

 No.2723

Squeeeeeee!

<.< I'm happy to have this one back. Thank you.

 No.2729

Pretty sure there was more, the last chapter had him murdering a lady in church with an icepick.

 No.2730

That and more.
Assignment 4
Dr. R: “I’d like to introduce out next project…”

I step into St. John’s Church of the Holy Trinity. The service is only just starting. I see her sitting on a row near the middle of the left side in the end seat. I walk up, smile politely, and she scoots over to make room for me.
“Thanks,” I murmur in an undertone.
She flashes me a bright smile.

She’s a girl from class. Eighteen years old. I can see in her eyes that she thinks I’m attractive. Her posture changes, too. She sits up straighter and a few times every minute she I see her steal a glance my way.

She’s still a little uncomfortable, so in undertones I introduce myself.
“My name’s Kendra,” she replies in a barely audible whisper. “Nice to meet you.”
The service continues. Songs are sung, and I listen to her soft, angelic voice next to me. I find myself wishing that I could hear her lovely voice scream out her final moments. But, unfortunately, that would conflict with the assignment.

Dr. R had presented the topic of the next homework assignment in class the day before. He described a crime he had investigated as a detective with the police department. A woman had been stabbed and eviscerated on a public city street at noon. There were no witnesses. Eventually the man was caught from an image captured by an ATM’s security camera. “For how difficult it is to kill someone in public without drawing attention to yourself, it happens a lot more than you would think,” He had said.

Now I’m sitting next to my target in a crowded church on Sunday morning. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a braid behind her ears. She is wearing a sky blue dress and a cream colored cardigan. The dress shows off her well-developed breasts. It cut off mid-thigh, revealing thin, tanned legs. Her hazel eyes catch mine and she quickly glances away with a shy smile. I find myself smiling, too. Her combination of her coyness and beauty is rare in girls her age, and I can’t help but find it attractive.

The service is drawing to a close, and I can feel the adrenaline pumping into my bloodstream.

The minister stepped down from the stage and asked everyone to bow their heads and close their eyes. “This is now a time of invitation. Come forward to pray with me, others, or by yourselves.” A few individuals stepped out into the aisle, but most, including Kendra stay seated.

This is the moment I have been waiting for. The young girl next to me is seconds away from discovering whether or not the afterlife she believes in is real. Her head is facing down toward her folded hands in her lap. Her eyes are closed and breathing is slow and steady. My right hand slides into my pocket and grips the wooden handle of the cheap ice pick. I had bought with cash earlier tonight.

The music continues and I steal a glance around. Everyone in the vicinity has their head down. I prepare myself for potential fallout. If anyone catches me in the act I am unsure how everything will go down. This is not the time to falter though. My opportunity will pass any moment.

I slip my arm casually around her and pull the ice pick from my pocket. She looks up at me for a second with an expression of surprise. In that moment I realize something: everything about this girl has captivated me. The next second I’m gripping her by the back of the neck, forcing her head down. As her head drops below the level of the pews, I plunge the short metal spike of the ice pick into her temple as quietly as I can.

She goes stiff. A wet spot of urine appears on the wooden pew in the narrow gap between her legs. I work the pick around, scrambling her brains for good measure, until the twitching in her muscles stop. Then, I remove the ice pick and wipe away the droplet of blood that appeared in the hole it left. I pull her back up to a sitting position and let her chin rest against her chest. A thin line of saliva drips from the pink lips onto her left breast. She appears more or less to be sleeping.

I take it in for a moment. The music plays on. People around me are in silent meditation and the last woman praying with the minister is returning to her seat. I stand up, step into the aisle, and walk calmly to the back doors. Two ushers open the doors for me and wish me a nice day.

“I’ve got to get me one of those.” I mutter to myself as I reach my car.

Sixth Lecture.
Dr. R stands up in front of the class: “As you have probably noticed, I prefer working with intimate, time-intensive methods of murder. I feel it gives better insight into the final moments of a victim and a connection that really lasts. The cases I remember the most are the ones where the killer obviously spent a lot of time with his victim.

“Our next homework assignment will be a time intense project that will require you to get creative. I’m really excited to see how you all do, but first we are going to spend some time with the ‘shock and awe’ deaths you may have to deal with. These—shootings, explosives, blunt force trauma for example—are all very common. They can be premeditated or they may just happen in a moment of rage. Victims can be specifically targeted or just opportunistic kills.

“Today, I want to start with a couple guns. The first is a fully automatic LSAT machine gun. I think most of you will have heard of one of the cases I worked on a few years ago: the Kenworth killings?

“John Kenworth, a Marine at the time, massacred nearly 50 people at three different shopping malls with a few of these guns. He would walk nonchalantly to the middle of the most crowded section and open fire. The high capacity of the gun allowed him to maintain a continuous stream of bullets going for about two minutes, but by the time police officers arrived on the scene his weapon would be there, but he was nowhere to be found. We eventually found that he would cover himself in his victims blood and escape in the confusion officials trying to help the wounded.”

As he loads the gun, three young women are ushered onto the stage. Debbie Roth, a 19 year old who was on the tennis team; Hannah Torrez, a 23 year old art student; and Tabitha Stanford, a girl I recognized from my apartment building. Debbie was wearing a pencil skirt that showed off her toned legs, and a light, striped sweater. Hannah, who always dressed a bit tomboyish was wearing cargo pants and a t shirt that was tight enough, however, to show off her large breasts. Tabitha caught my eye as she made her way onto the stage and smiled in slight recognition. She was wearing a green sweater dress with black tights underneath. Her dark brown hair and deep caramel colored skin complemented the dress well.

Dr. R directs them to stand shoulder to shoulder on the stage. “I want to demonstrate the power of a fully automatic machine gun for you all.” He placed the gun on a kickstand set up on a table about twenty feet in front of the three girls. “Well,” he smiles sheepishly at the class, “Here goes.” He squeezed the trigger and the room erupted into a deafening racket.

The gun has already fired off about ten rounds as Dr. R finds his target. The first bullet to strike flesh cuts through Debbie’s shoulder, then is rapid succession three more crush into her chest. Her body responds violently to the shock of ever round. A stray bullet hits Hannah in the gut, then, as she grasps at her stomach another catches her in the forehead. Half of her brains splatter out the back of her head onto the wall behind. Hannah’s body goes stiff, and she falls straight back with a thud just as another few bullets cut out Debbie’s legs from beneath her. She hits the ground face first in a pool of blood.

The only girl left standing is Tabitha. My heart is racing as a mix of emotions rush through me. I almost hate to see such a beautiful body like the other two, but at the same time I am anticipating seeing the innocent girl turned into a lifeless corpse. One second she is standing there cringing at the sight and sound of the girls next to her being blown away and the next second a crack echoes through the hall and her head is reduced to a bloody stump and a splash of organic matter on the wall. The sound of the machine gun dies out, and we watch in near silence as the body stands headless for nearly two and a half seconds before the knees give out and it crumples to the ground in a pitiful heap.

We all turn to see where the shot came from. A military sniper is standing at the back of the classroom, 50 cal. rifle still smoking. Dr. R says, “Thank you, Ed,” and he replies with a “No problem” then leaves.

Dr. R continues his lecture as he walks toward the three ruined bodies: “As you can see, a machine gun does substantial damage, but nothing beats a sniper rifle for sheer power and precision.” He prods Hannah’s head with his foot and another large piece of her grey matter oozes from her forehead.

He steps over to Debbie to observe the damage. “Dead. Dead as a doornail. She may have been able to survive a few hits, but three directly into her chest would be very unlikely. Her heart is probably torn to shreds. Her lungs are collapsed, at least.”



Dr. R moves back to the other side of the stage. “Let’s move onto blunt force trauma. I know I have shown one example in this class, but I was thinking we would try something a little different.

“Beating someone to death with your bear hands is actually a lot harder than many people think. For someone untrained, he or she is more likely to break a finger or wrist bone before doing enough damage to a victim to ensure death. The human skull is very hard and can withstand a surprising amount of punishment.

“That’s why I’ve brought in another special guest, Mixed Martial Artist Herman Chin. His training has given him much experience in hand to hand combat and he is proficient in martial arts ranging from boxing to judo.”

Herman, a bare chested man about 5’ 8” steps onto the stage. “Hello, everyone. It’s great to be here to help you all learn.”

Dr. R continues, “Master Chin, if you would, can you demonstrate various lethal strikes?”

“Of course. And,” He adds, “ I’ve brought a few of my own models for demonstration.”

Five beautiful Chinese girls step onto the stage. Each is naked except for a thong. The first has shoulder length, green hair and is wearing a matching green thong. She is significantly shorter than Chin, about 4’11”; very thin; and fair skinned. Her breasts are small but pleasantly shaped. Chin steps behind her placing his hands on her shoulders. She flinched ever so slightly at his touch.

“There are three main areas I like to use for sure-fire, instantaneous death.” He pulls back her hair behind her ear, and indicates the slight indention on the side of her head. Her temple is a vulnerable soft spot. A firm, well-placed strike will end her life immediately. He steps to her side, rubs his knuckles against her small head. In a short, swift gesture, his hand recoils then connects with her head. She drops lifelessly to the floor.

The next girls steps up readily. She is slightly taller than the last girl, but still petite. Her hair and thong are both red. Her skin is slightly darker, and her breasts are larger. “The second method I like to use is here,” he places his palm against the underside of her nose. “Jamming her nose upward with enough force breaks bones up into her skull.” He gives another practiced blow, and another girl drops dead, a trickle of blood running from her nostrils onto the floor.

“The third and final method of instant death that is my favorite is at the base of the skull.” He has the third girl, with a black thong and black hair, face backward and bow her head forward. He fingers the area where her neck joins the back of her head. “A quick chop here and she’ll be out before she knows what hit her.” Keeping a hand firmly pressing her head down, he lines up his strike. As soon as his hand connects, her body relaxes and falls. Another corpse lands with a muffled thud.

“With the remaining two,” Chin turns to the class, “I want to show you two more methods of killing with your bare hands.” He motions the fourth girl onto the stage. Pure white hair reaches the middle of her back. Her white thong is almost see-through and her skin is nearly as white. She is about 5’4” with plump, perky breasts, a high waist, and bright grey eyes. I am immediately infatuated. She comes to stand in front of Chin. He nudges her chin with his hand so that she lifts her head slightly. “This method,” He explains, “is not foolproof, nor is it instantaneous. However,” He paused as an idea seemed to form, “it is relatively easy.”

He eyes the class, then says something that makes my heart leap. “Perhaps I can get a volunteer?”

Hands shoot up across the class, mine included. His eyes catch mine. He points me out and says, “How about you. Come on up!”

I make my way up the stage to a few audible sighs of disappointment. I step up the Chin and the white haired girl. She is even more beautiful up close. Flawlessly formed and highly customized, I wonder is she is one the humanoids created from Synthetic DNA I have heard about. Her smile is nearly heart stopping as she looks up at me.

Chin demonstrates slowly the strike I am to perform: a quick jab the throat. I line up my fist and my knuckles brush her soft skin. I imagine wrapping my hands around her thin neck and squeezing and the thought alone is exhilarating.

Unfortunately, I am in front of a classroom and am expected to kill her with a punch. I take two breaths to steady my hand, pull back and land the blow. Her head jerks back, silky hair shimmering as it shakes. Her eyes are widening as she stumbles backward. Her hands move up the her neck and she makes one short choking noise before the swelling in her throat closes off her airway. She falls onto her back. Her legs kick away against the ground for a few seconds until she finally shivers and falls still.

“Good job!” Chin said as he good-naturedly clapped me on the back.

I stepped back off the stage and returned to my seat. As he introduced the last girl. Blue hair and a blue thong, she was average height and build with much darker skin than the rest. “I would like to ask my understudy out here to demonstrate this technique for you all. He has gone through much training to be able perform this feat. It is a variation of what many know as the ‘One Inch Punch” made popular by Bruce Lee. This however is a lethal version. It is more like a five-inch punch, but it is still impressive.

“The goal is to convey enough force to the chest of your target to stop their heart. It is not easy by any means with a standard punch, let alone one from five inches.”

The assistant, a young lady in a karategi approached the blue haired girl. She bowed to the class then faced her target. Placing her fist a few inches away from the girl, between her bare breasts. She breathed about five deep breaths. Finally she made two short, loud shouts, and struck. The girl rocked back on her heels. There was pain in her eyes. A whimper passed through her lips and she grabbed at her chest. She coughed and dropped to her knees. A couple streams of urine began running down the inside of both her legs. Her eyes unfocused and she fell face forward.

The assistant bowed again and walked back off the stage.

“Thank you so much Chin.” Dr. R returned to the stage, “Unfortunately that is all we have time for today, class, but I will see you again Thursday, when I will explain our next homework assignment.”



I stood to leave, but before I made it to the aisle, Dr. R called me up to speak with him. He stood with Chin at the front of the class where a cleaning crew had already started taking care of the corpses. Dr. R began: “Mr. Chin here has an interesting opportunity for you I think.”

“Yes, first let me compliment your performance today, that was good for a first timer.”

I just smile and say, “Thanks.”

“Second, let me ask how you liked my models?”

“They’re quite… exquisite.” I say, honestly.

“They are the latest advancements in Synthetic DNA technologies.” I can’t help but smile to myself as he continues: “I own a company committed to providing accurate representations of human life in the most customizable ways. The opportunity is a job with my company, which would involve you testing the characteristics of our models and providing feedback to our SDNA engineers. Your feedback would help further refine the physical and emotional responsiveness of the humanoids we are commissioned to create.”

“That sounds extremely interesting.” I eagerly say.

“Great. I’d like to meet with you the day after tomorrow at my offices downtown to get to know you better and work out some details.” He handed me his business card and excused himself. He turned back as he left. “Oh, will you be home today at three?”

“Um, yes I should be…” I answer, puzzled.

“Good. See you soon.”

*

There is a knock at the door.

A man wearing a black suit and holding a tablet introduces himself as Robert. “I was sent over by Mr. Chin of HC Industries.”

“Oh right, I guess this is why he had asked if I would be home.”

“Ah, yes, well he sent me over to let you create your first model.”

“Create me first model?”

“Yes. HC Industries specializes in customizable imitations of human life.”

“Right. But I get to make my own?”

“Yes, Mr. Chin personally authorized one for you.” Robert hands me the tablet. “The customization program is preloaded. Enter the information for your model then customize its physical appearance to whatever suits your wants or needs. Then you can edit the personality and emotional characteristics.” He smiles, “If you’ll excuse me I have to get back. But my number is programmed into the tablet if you need any help or have any questions. Have fun.”

I sit down on my sofa and contemplate what had just happened. With this tablet, I have the ability to create any girl I can imagine. I think of the girls that were in class: their perfect bodies and bright hair. I think about the white haired girl I killed.

“This is gonna be fun.”


I pull up the app on the tablet to begin the process.

 No.2732

Damn, this was one of the better /lit/ stories back on the old gurochan. Thanks for saving it.

 No.2760

hey! I'm the original author... Thank you so much for saving this!! I never saved it on my computer so I thought it was lost forever!

 No.2762

Can we therefore look forward to new chapters?

 No.2777

>>2760 I hope for more in this series, then. It's always been one of the best around here. Thanks for what you did give us.

 No.3227

Bump to keep alive

 No.3228

Bump to keep alive

 No.3670

I hope this gets more. I remember reading this back in the day.

 No.4616

Bump to keep from losing this

 No.4922

Anyone has the full version of Recycling Rita from Meatlover?

 No.5174

Bump to keep from losing this, and hoping that the original author makes an update

 No.7216

Hey, original author here again. Sorry for not getting back to this sooner. I'm currently in the process of getting this story reorganized with the intention of writing some new material.

I'd love to hear from you guys what some of your favorite parts were, or how you would like to see this story continue.

I've been busy with work and other projects, but I keep coming back to this story with the intention of continuing it so I should be posting something new soon.

 No.7222

>>7216
Maybe continue the customized girl component of the story?

Or how about an offshoot where the military tests out new ammunition and weaponry on clones?

 No.7223

>>7216

I'd certainly like to see you continue the customized girl part. :)

I'd also like to see more hangings and more stranglings. Maybe as more homework, maybe as stuff with the customized girls. I just want more asphyx. :)

 No.7228

>>7223
I definitely second this. More strangling is always nice

 No.7231

>>7216
Some beheadings would be good.
How about a scenario where a jail tests new execution methods on cloned prisoners before actually executing the real prisoners?

 No.7477

I actually finally finished a new chapter!!

I reorganized all my stories and was thinking about making them a bit more connected and posting them in a new thread in chronological order. Does that make sense to do? Idk.

Also, I wrote this on my phone so I hope there aren't too many typos.







Class project 1

The breeze blowing out to sea was cool, but the sand on the beach was still quite warm. I could see the group of kids from where I was standing on the boardwalk that connected the small, secluded parking lot to the beach over the mangrove covered dunes.

Our newest class project pits a small group of students as detectives investigating a murder. They will then be presented a list of individuals with descriptions and information and they then should be able to select the killer based on evidence collected at the crime scene. Based on my consistently high grades, I was selected as one of the killers. My first target is 16 year old Angela Krimshaw. She is currently attending a beach party with her other high school aged friends a couple hundred yards down the beach from where I am.

I had studied her photo in order to be able to pick her out from the crowd. I catch a glimpse of her for a moment in the flickering light of the small fire. About a half dozen kids sit around the fire. One has a guitar and I can catch snippets of music and singing coming from the group over the crashing of the waves beyond them. Laughter breaks out randomly. Kids are always coming and going. A small group start playing a game of football that doesn't seem to be following any rules and couples break off to find quiet, secluded spots to... let's just say "talk."

Finally, I catch sight of Angela again. She's walking from the group down toward the water. She is bare footed, wearing skimpy jean shorts and a big sweater. Her wavy blonde hair is tied up in a messy bun with a few random escaped locks dangling around her face and neck. She's a small girl, a flyer on the JV Cheerleading squad.

I move down the rough wooden steps quietly. I'm trying to stay inconspicuous to anyone who may glance my way. The beach is relatively deserted. I sit on the bottom step and pull out my phone.

Luckily, Angela is wandering my way. She is avoiding the cold wet sand so she has moved beck up the beach out of the path of the waves. She continues past not even glancing my way. She has headphones in her ears. When she's gone a few hundred feet further, I get up and climb back up the steps to the raised wooden walkway that run parallel to the beach. She trudges slowly through the loose sand, lost in her own world. Her hands wave vaguely to the music periodically. I follow a little behind her until she stops and stands, staring out at the waves rolling in.

I slip under the railing and pick my way over the sea oats and scrub brush that hold the dunes in place. I crouch for a moment in the shadows, then make my move.

My heart is pounding now, as I near her. I can smell a hint of perfume in the air as I come up right behind her, and I can't help but admire the smooth, pale skin of the nape of her neck as it curves down to her bare shoulder where her sweatshirt has slipped down her arm. I reach out and touch her arm. She jumps and spins on me.

"Oh my god, Kyle, you scared the shit outta me." She's programmed to recognize me as a classmate.

"Sorry," I say rather unapologetically.

"Where did you come from? I didn't see you at the party."

"You know I don't socialize with those guys. They don't even know who I am."

"Adam was there." Angela smiles bashfully, and I can kinda understand the frustration Kyle is supposed to feel. Less than a minute into a conversation between just to two of them and she's already bringing up her crush.

"Did he actually ask you to the dance or something?"

"No. But he said hi."

I don't say anything.

"He's so dreamy, ya know." She continues.

"You know, um, if he doesn't ask. Um, we could go."

Angela just laughs dismissively.

"Really. I mean it." I/Kyle insists.

"Yeah. I know you do. But seriously, it just wouldn't be right, ya know. You're like. A friend, and it's better that way." She turns her back to me.

"Goodnight, Kyle." She called over her shoulder.

That's my cue.

I close the gap between us quickly, but stealthily. I know that if she gets a scream out, I will risk getting caught. We're on a pretty vacant part of the beach, and from here, the kids by the fire are merely shadowy shapes moving against the firelight. The crashing waves would probably drown out any noises she makes anyway, but I don't want to risk it.

I pull out a short piece of cord I have in my pocket.

In one quick motion loop the cord over her head, and cinch it tight around her neck. The change it her body is immediate. She jolts from shock at first and tries to pull away and turn toward me. When she realizes she can't, she twists and rotates her head, trying to break free from the noose. I merely tighten the rope up under her jaw and this is when she realizes she can't breathe. She's trying to scream, but only a little whimper makes it out. Her back arches and she goes up on her tip toes. She leans her body weight against the cord, but it's too strong to snap against her 100 pounds.

She digs her feet into the sand now and grasps at her throat, trying to get her fingers up under the cord digging into the skin, but I hold it tight. I push her down onto her knees and then face forward into the soft sand.

I drop to my knees over her, straddling her tiny waist. I lean down over her, trying to keep a low profile to avoid being noticed by anyone else on the beach. I can feel her fight getting weaker as she struggles to stay conscious. Her hands flail around in the sand searching for anything to grab onto. She puts up quite a struggle, but it doesn't last long. Within s minute she has fallen still. Her fingers twitch in the sand as her body goes through one final convulsion. I can feel her body relax, and a noise comes from the back of her throat as her taut muscles loosen.

I look right and left down the beach. I don't see anyone nearby. The party seems to have quieted down, with the group of kids just huddled around the fire.

I look down at the girl underneath me. Her arms are over her head, and her messy hair has come loose from the bun and is splayed out on the sand. I pull the rope as tight as I can and tie it in a knot at the back of her stretched out neck. I climb off of the corpse and roll it over. Her swollen, purple face is covered in a layer of sand. There's sand caked in her half-closed eyes and in her nose and mouth, clinging to any moisture.

I brush away the sand from around her mouth and kiss her pudgy, blue lips gently. She responds with the an expressionless, unseeing stare.

Standing now, I grab her by the arms and pull her up toward the dunes. I get down next to her and dig a shallow grave in the sand with my hands.

The killer I am assigned is a young classmate of Angela's who murders out of lust. However, as is common, in the moment, he is not actually able to rape her and, instead, merely spends a few minutes touching the body before getting spooked and leaving too hastily.

Before I push the body in into the hole I dug, I pull up her sweater and pull down her bra to expose her breasts. For good measure, I grab her small, firm breasts roughly and squeeze them. I also unbutton her shorts and pull them down a little. I slip my hand down between her legs and find her pussy dripping wet, likely from urine expelled in her final moments of life.

I wipe my hand on the outside of her shorts and proceed to push the body over so that she falls face down into her grave. I replace the sand on top of her, being sure to leave a couple fingertips of one hand protruding just above the surface.


The next morning, the student "investigators" arrive on the beach where the body was discovered to find a taped off crime scene with a partially excavated body and a couple of "witnesses" standing by ready to answer any questions.

 No.7480

Good to see you're still around.

 No.13694

bump

 No.13703

>>13694
Did you seriously bump a two year old thread? This Story won't get updated anymore just let it die

 No.13705

>>13694
How were you able to even bump a two-year old thread?

 No.14490

Bump

 No.14810

Bump to save from faggot spammer



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