Name: The Romanian
((See also the answerpost below to get an idea about how the Romanian ticks. There it is him who rapes, torments and murders an innocent girl))
Short hair, cold grey eyes. Usually he wears a military look, but he takes it off once he starts to “treat” his victims. He is not above using drugs to enhance his “stamina”. He is not really from Romania, but in order to escape prosecution, he hides out there, before choosing a new city which he can haunt.
The Romanian is an utter sadist and desires to kill his victims in the most horrifying ways possible. He considers himself an artist, but in fact he is into it to rape the women or girls and then murder them, enjoying the feeling of power and lust that he can get from the act. He loves his victims to beg, but he never listens. He also enjoys his victims to know that they will die. He deeply enjoys causing pain, and loves to desecrate the corpses even after death, in order to debase them further.
Scene: You wake up from being drugged by the Romanian. You don’t know where you are, it seems to be a remote place, derelict, and sure enough distant enough so no one can hear you. You are bound. How will he torment, rape and murder you? >>4423
The chain on which Anna’s unconscious body hung rustled, when she made her first attempts to wake up. She was nude, 16, and her flawless skin was sporting the most intense goose bumps I had seen in a long time. Due to the cold in the abandoned warehouse, not because of fear or pain. That would come later. Her nips weren’t bad either.
Once the building had been a meat factory, with cold rooms and long meat processing production lines, of which only some old hooks and hoists remained, which had been kept and used by the later owner. It also had a cellar, where the workers had their locker room, and even 2 more cold rooms. This was 30 years ago, then came the crisis and later the whole building was refurbished into a warehouse. Yet even that was abandoned now. Just another warehouse at the harbour where no one even knew who the owner was. Unimportant enough to keep standing. Too costly to tear down. Those things where you return to a city after 30 years, and they are still there, with more grass overgrowing the concrete floor. It was impossible to even tell, if more graffitis had been added, because on the inside as well as the outside there were no free spaces left. Only tags though, no art.
There was no sense to create something beautiful here, the whole place spoilt it by just... being itself. For terror and fear it was near perfect though.
When I “moved in”, I had repaired the electric network just as much, that I could get the cold room to work again, fed by a stack of car batteries, which in store I recharged from time to time with a generator with gasoline, for which I paid with cash from the wallets of my victims, whose corpses were stored here, in the room for which only I had the key.
I loved it when they stayed fresh for a long time. I always spared the face, although I occasionally cut of their heads. The bodies had been raped, flayed and abused beyond recognition. They were very dead. And pale. And cold. Sometimes I just went down there and looked at their faces, each a testament of the fear and pain they suffered in their last moments, some begging, some dreadfully acceptant, usually crying and horrified. I never washed their faces afterwards, so many sported smeared mascara. And blood. The face exactly as they died. That was important.
Not Anna though. She hung upstairs, at handcuffs slung over an old hook, that was part of a hoist which itself was operated by a crank at a nearby steel pillar. It was the chilly November air that made her hair stick out, and not the artificial deep freeze of the cold storage room below. You went under the earth when you are dead. There had to be principles.
She would be my prize work. Her face was perfect, her reddish-brown hair just the right length and bound to a braid. Her lips symmetric and full, her eyes of the clearest blue I had ever seen. I had seen her first in a club, found out her name as her friend called her. Diverging her up from her friends had been a clever combination of drugs and camouflage. I knew she was visiting the club every Saturday, and I knew it had to be her, who was my masterpiece. Simply talking to her, a few weeks ago, had earned me a “Shut up, creep and hide in the hole from which you crept!”. Which I did, staring at the dead faces of my other victims, until I knew exactly how I would kidnap and then murder her.
It took two drugs: One which made her feel nauseous, letting her call a taxi, the other a slow but strong sleep inducer, from which she was recovering now after sleeping in on the backseat of my taxi. Days earlier I had hijacked a Toyota and repainted it. I had mounted a stolen taxi sign on its roof, and then the only thing I had to do was beat the real taxi to it, once she called for it to go home , because she didn’t feel so well. Easy enough, as I had been the one spicing her drinks, and thus had the shortest way: I was already there when she came out of the club. She was already too tired and nauseous to recognize that the taxi sign wasn’t even glowing. She just entered and sealed her fate.
Now she hung here, nude and vulnerable and the sleep drug I had injecting her with over the last days was wearing off. She moaned as I unpacked the doctors bag: the bullwhip, the brass knuckles and the combat knife, more I wouldn’t use on her, at least until she was dead.
I had whipped her nude body 4 times already, before the adrenaline overpowered the remaining sleep drugs enough to make her scream. Her eyes shot open and she saw me now, circling her, whipping her with the long black bullwhip in my right, which also held the brass knuckles, while my left clenched onto the combat knife. I was nude and sporting a raging hardon, half driven by the arousal that I felt torturing her, knowing that I would rape her soon, half by doping with nice blue pills.
I hit her again, leaving a red bloody gash over her supple tits, and again, this time over her ass. She sobbed and screamed, but the time between each whiplash didn’t give her time to talk. Another whipping, another wailing scream. Tears ran down her face and smeared mascara over its perfect skin. Another whiplash over her belly, leaving a long red mark, another pain filled wail as I flayed her.
“Suffer, bitch... suffer...” I hissed, allowing her to catch enough breath for a sobbed
“Please... mister Noooooahaaahaaaa..” that transitioned into another scream of agony as I hit her again. And again. And again, covering her perfect body with red bloody stripes and gashes.
“It will kill you, Anna...” I groaned as my lust and arousal reached new heights. “I will rape your flayed body, and then I will cut you open...”
I dawned on her. She wouldn’t survive this evening. Terror... disbelief... eyes wide in shock... how could this happen... that was the expression I wanted, and she was delivering. I whipped her further while she wailed in agony:
“No.. Oh God mister*crack*Aaaaaaaaaahhh, ahahahaaaa...pulease*crack*ahaaaahaaaaa...”
she screamed, sobbed, begged... she wanted to live, wanted to find a way, but each time her mind cleared, I drowned it with another wave of pain, giving her just enough time to really suffer the next lash, fear it, regain clarity that she will die today, before the pain would hit her. Again I whip her... Again...
I whip myself into a frenzy. I laugh as I torment her, as I cover her body with marks and bloody gashes. Blood runs in rivulets over her tits and belly, thighs and calves, drips from her feet into the dark grey gravel, colouring it dark crimson, which, in the dim light, looks deeply black. Again I hit her... and then again until her screams became inconsistent and weaker. I walk over to the crank and lower her. Just a little, so I can rape her while standing but preventing her feet from touching the ground, even when stretching. Nevertheless she stretches, tries to reach, moaning weakly as she tries to regain senses in a fog of pain. What an impressive will.
I drop the whip and release the knife, which keeps on dangling on its leather strap as a slope around my wrist.
“Let’s rape you now” I announce, and she stares at me. Fear. Pain. Disbelief. Begging. All these expressions mix in her beautiful face. That was what I wanted to see. I grab her waist, and she groans as my rough fingers press into the gashes that the whip left on them.
“Pleas...Mister... no.. please...” she whimpers.
“Yes. Anna...Yes!!!” I answer and wipe blood from her belly skin to lubricate my cock, smearing it over her belly in the process. “YESSS....” I hiss at her and spit onto her bloody left teat before wiping it off with my other hand to collect more crimson lubricate. After applying it on my raging hardon I massage my cocktip against her slit, probe it. She shakes her head... struggles...
“Nooo...” she wails.
“Yesss” I grunt and hit her with the brass knuckle directly into her belly. She coughs and retches, and I use the time to lift her onto my cock. She struggles further which earns her another hit, another bruise and then another, until I finally manage to push between her legs and penetrate her.
It is hard. She is tight. I stare into her face. She stares back. Shame. That was missing. Now its there.
“No.. not like this...” she groans in her haze of burning pain.
“Yess like this...” I grunt as I realize that she is still a virgin. “Enjoy the only sex that you will ever get” i add and then I thrust., carelessly, uncaring for how much it hurts her. Then again, deeper...
“Nooooahahnooooo” she whimpers, gaze averting mine.
“Yes...Yes...Yes... “ I answer, hitting her chest with the knuckle and pushing the air of her lungs, breaking a rib in the process... at least according to the sound and the feel...
“Yessss... suffer and die while I rape you Anna.”
I shout into her face after turning it forcefully towards me. Held by the chain and supported by my left, I begin to fuck her in a steady rhythm. She groans. Her breath rattles. She bawls and coughs whenever I land another blow with my brass knuckle enforced right on her torso.
“No, please noooo.... please....” she sobs while I rape her pussy.
“yes.. oh yes” I answer, ramming my cock in with even more fervour, just to make her suffer. I grab her bloody waist with both hands and begin to fuck her flayed, bruised and battered body. She cries. I am in heaven.
“I will rape you, and I will cut you open...” I grunt, and while I still keep holding her waist with my right, my left hand now encompasses the hilt of the combat knife, that dangles from the wrist and swung in the rhythm of the rape before. I lead it up to her belly, just between sternum and bellybutton. I make her feel its cold tip. Her face turns for me, transfixes me. She shakes her head.
“Please no... please...please...please” she pleads through sobbing spit bubbles on her lips.
“You are gonna diiiiiiiiiiiiie....” I answer and push the knife down, feeling the resistance which her taut belly muscles provide, while at the same time thrusting her up with a particularly hard thrust of my cock into her sex. The sharp knife glides into her belly and blood gushes from the wound immediately, covering her belly before running down her pelvis and onto our meeting genitals.
“Noarghgggh” she ends a scream with rattling voice, while I fuck her harder and pull the knife down leaving a deep cut that runs down her belly and ends below her belly button. She panics. I see it in her eyes. She will die, she realizes that through pain and shame, and glides into the terror of imminent death. Blood gushes from her belly, her head shakes disbelieving. How could this happen to her?
“mgawwd” she sobs through spitbubbles formed by tears.
“You have no idea...” I grunt, lean forwards kissing her mouth and leaving my own spit on those perfect lips. Then I take out the knife grab her with both hands again to rape her proper, while feeling how the blood that gushes from her belly lubricates the assault with fresh bubbly fluid. Her gaze was that of pure terror, complete disbelief. I knew it, Her mind was receding to a place where all these things weren’t really happening.
“Stay...” i said.
I released the brass knuckle and grabbed inside the open gash in her belly, tearing out her bowels, while still raping her pussy.
“uoorrkkssss” she rattles, retches. She would puke on me now, but she hung here for several days. There was nothing left in her bowels to puke out.
“Mhmmmmm.... yes you felt that” I hissed as her eyes fixated on me again. I grinned and pulled out more and more of her guts, while Anna was caught between retching, rattling breath and groaning.
“You will die here... bitch “ I shouted, as I felt my approaching orgasm.
“Here... feel that...” I added, as my right clasped about her bloody waist, pushing her down on my rigid cock. “Die while being raped”
“Nuarrgggghhlll” she answered.
For a short moment I released her from my grip, yet she was already too weak to struggle anyway.
I held her up by pure virtue of my cock in her pussy... well supported her, as the chain on her hands carried the brunt of her body, that was light anyway. Quickly I pulled out the remaining guts, and cut them off, leaving her lower belly empty besides....
“I am gonna masturbate myself with your cunt... cunt” I grunted, and while again supporting her with my left beneath her bloody ass, my right hand grabbed inside her belly, poked around until l found the soft flesh that was enclosing my rigid cock. I squeezed and she reacted:
“Aaaargggggghhhh..” she answered
“Yes you felt that” I replied, and grabbed around the flesh encompassing my cock. I thrust my hip, and press my hand. She whimpers lowly as I rape her, while at the same time masturbating myself with her pussyflesh, sensing the spongy meat of her womb at the back of my hand while I do it.
Faster and faster I fuck her dying body, staring into her blue, shocked eyes in a face that is simultaneously a grimace of pain, horror and resignation. I begin to feel my own orgasm approach again, almost unexpectedly early, as I really would have liked her to die when I cum. So I release her butt, but keep supporting her body by holding onto my throbbing cock through her vaginal flesh. My left clenches about the hilt of the combat knife again as I lift it...
“NOW I AM GONNA MURDER YOU...” I shout, and ram the knife into her neck, pull it out through the front, and like this release a shower of blood that gushes over us. She retches and her tongue lolls out, but she doesn’t seem to have the strength or nervous connections anymore to pull it back in.
“Die... Anna... Die...” I shout as I rape her further, fixating her eyes to catch the moment when she finally dies and I have succeeded murdering her. I ram the knife into her tit and use it as leverage raping her, then again, again. I hear her shallow breath rustling and rattling through the new holes in her neck and breast as her right lung collapses. I don’t stop. Again I stab her tit, rape her cunt and masturbate myself by it.
“Die... you bitch...diiiiie” I grunt and shove the blade through her tit deep into her chest while fucking her.
She begins to spasm and cramp, all over her body, as her brain, due to blood deprivation, releases some last incoherent orders. Another sensation that drives me towards orgasm. Then her breath stops, her blue eyes widen.... and go expressionless.
She dies, just as I cum in her.
“Yesssss...” I grunt into the chilly air of the abandoned warehouse, finally content.
Later I still had fun with her corpse. First I cut her head off. It really had the perfect expression between fear and pain, disbelief and utter horror, frozen by death like a three dimensional photo that could be touched. Absolute beauty met absolute horror. Her eyes were wide open, her face a grimace of terror, and her tongue had lolled out. She was dead like a doorknob, but that had never stopped me from abusing them further. I fucked her head through the esophagus and came in her dead mouth, aiming to make it look as if she had let the sperm run down her lolled out tongue. It took me some efforts of balancing the head back and forth and shooting two more orgasms through her dead gullet, but in the end I was content. I called this decoration work, even if it was barely work. I just loved how even in death I could debase them further. Now that rigor mortis was setting in it kept her gullet open though, which was a nice side effect, as it worked into my second planned decoration.
I cut out her womb and vaginal channel close to the “entrance”. With some fervor, I then cut off excess meat until I only held the meat pocket with womb and ovaries attached. Inspecting it , and also it’s insides, iI realize that her cervix was high, exposed and round. I had shot my own white juice onto it so I wasn’t sure if any of the whitish mucus was hers, but seeing her cervix I bet it was. So she had been fertile.
“Do you wonder if you already shot your load, Anna?. Do you think my fellas are fertilizing your egg, just so it can die later and join you?”
No answer of course. I had murdered her.
Grabbing into my doctor bag I pulled out thread, needles and a metal counterweight. I led the thread through the counterweight and bound them together. I took two hands length of thread and sewed it to her vaginal meatpocket, before taking up her head again. My sperm had dried on her dead tongue and made one wonder if she had just been a harlot that loved sperm games. Exactly the impression I had been going for. Rigor mortis had locked her mouth open in eternal terror, and because I had fucked it from behind when it set in, her gullet was wide open too. I sunk the counterweight in her throat, and as expected it came out from her open gullethole beneath. It allowed me to pull her cuntcanal through, and sew its entrance to the entrance of her esophagus, giving the bitch a nice neck cunt. I ordered the womb in her mouth, where it stuck far in the back beneath her soft palate. I put one of the whitish ovaries left, one to the right of her teeth to give it symmetry. They still hung on the pear sized womb, whose slimy and bloody top now clogged her gap, leaving her cervix to be somewhere down the back of her throat. Just to keep the impression I masturbated onto her lolled out tongue again, the blood of the wombflesh had wiped away some of my sperm. She was a harlot. She deserved this.
I gave her neck cunt a test drive and another one, unbelievably tight and satisfying, especially seeing her womb and ovaries rock and twitch in her mouth whenever I sunk my member especially hard. At last I open her belly up a little further and stuff her head inside, using the thread and counterweight, which were still dangling from her neck cunt, to line them up against her original cunthole. I sewed them together again, vaginal channel stuck in esophagus, to the opening of her cunt from which it was originally taken.
Then I fucked her. Her dead pale head with the lolled out tongue stared at me from the inside of her belly. Her ovaries in her mouth twitched with every thrust I did, as did the reddish womb. I came. I was in heaven. But my work wasn’t done.
First I carried her corpse down to meet all the other women inside the cold storage room. She really was a masterpiece. But so were the others. Raped and killed in the most horrifying ways possible. Here she would stay fresh until the preparations were finished. It was decomposable art, so every minute counted.
I went into the bureau and wrote a letter on the old typewriter, just as I had done with all the other girls. I wrote about her agony, her fear, her gruesome death in explicit detail, and also left out nothing about what I had done to her corpse afterwards. Her parents would love it. Then I sealed it in waterproof shrink wrap plastic and went back down into the cooling chamber, where I tacked the “report” to Anna’s flayed and bloody body, just like as I had done with all the other girls. She stared at me from her belly. I kissed her goodbye. Number 149. .. the number was on the report. It was important to keep track. Who would have thought that so many corpses could be stored here, when I began my work.
Next Saturday I will bring them all up into the big hall. Anna will be the central piece, hanging, where I killed her, just as every girl will be set up where she was raped and murdered. Then I go to the airport, take my flight back to my homecountry in eastern europe, and once I am there, I will send an anonymous tip to the city police.
There was no sense to create something beautiful in the abandoned warehouse, the whole place spoilt it by just... being itself. For terror and fear it was near perfect though.For my art it was the perfect exhibition room, and soon everyone would see.
I think about returning already. Start a new exhibition. In another city.