There Ain't No Justice Number 011

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*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* *-* *-* *-* *-* TTTTTTTTTT AAAAAA NNNN N J *-* *-* T A A N N N J *-* *-* T AAAAAAAAAA N N N J *-* *-* T A A N N N J J *-* *-* T A A N NNNN JJJJJ *-* *-* *-* *-* There Ain't No Justice *-* *-* #11 *-* *-* *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. 908/830-8265 *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* -Blood Lust 02: The Consumation- by Anonymous Bosch I awoke to the smell of blood. I'd grown pretty used to that recently, but this time there was something different. Somehow, it no longer elated me. In fact, I was becoming decidedly nauseus. Opening my eyes, I looked down at the mutilated remains of what was once a beautiful young woman. My stomach, which contained only more blood, splashed her corpse with more red. I leapt from the bed, and into the bathroom, where I finished voiding my stomach while trying to come to terms with what had been happening to me. I crawled out into the living room, but there was no help to be found there. Another woman lay scattered in pieces around the room. Someone (could it possibly have been myself?!) had cut her like a fish, draping her intestines around the room like a model train set. My stomach had nothing left to give, so I merely paused for a moment before entering the kitchen. The kitchen was "safe". No blood, no bodies, and a refrigerator that contained, wonder of wonders, Mountain Dew! A purse on the counter contained cigarettes, one of which I lit and drew a deep toke from. First order of business, I thought, was find out where I am. Searching the purse revealed the mother's drivers license, telling me I was in San Bernadino. Switching on the TV, I was greeted by Katie Couric's face & voice, describing the declaration of Martial Law in the Greater Los Angelos area. She went on to show pictures of the rioting, caused by the public's outrage over the police being unable to capture the "Dracula Killer". I was unsuprised when my face was shown next, and the show cut to a recorded interview with the chief of police and then later to an interview with my last girlfriend. Great, I thought to myself. A statewide manhunt, my picture on national TV... There's noplace on this continent I can run to now. Its only a matter of time before they find me, and then its all over. In the back of my mind, I could recall killing... a red haze of joy and ecstasy punctuated by pure pleasure. The thought of turning myself in occurred to me briefly, but I rejected it. I'd killed cops in the last week. After the King riots, I'd never survive to stand trial. Not knowing what else to do, I holed up in the apartment for the next day or so. While reading the newspaper, something in the personals caught my eye. It was a small, one line ad, that read "Did she smile when the end came? Call us! 555-0666" I remembered.... she had smiled. On an impulse, I dialed the number. The voice that answered was neither young nor old, but sounded... experienced, in some odd and inexplicable way. All she said was, "The lust has left you. It will return. When you are ready, come to us.". CLICK. Six months later, I was on a mountainside. The air was good for me. Kept my head clear, and it gave me lots of time to think. Months of living off the land had strengthened me, made me skilled in stalking my prey; months of hiding had made me cautious. What few people I did see were simple hikers, not search parties. I'd been working my way north, hoping to make it to Canada before the snows came in earnest. The knives I'd used to kill so many of my fellow humans now were used solely for skewering fish, and for skinning rabbits. I was doing fine until one November afternoon, when quite by accident, I cut himself while gutting a deer. As before, my attention was rivetted by the sight, and the smell of my own blood. And, try as I might, I could not fight the urge to bring my hand up to my lips, there to taste the redness... In an instant, I was filled once again by the vision of blood. This was what I craved, not meat, not potatoes. Give me BLOOD! I switched my grips on the knives, and began tearing at the deer's carcass, ripping bloody gobbets of flesh loose and eating them raw. When I had eaten my fill, I looked at the moon (which was full, and high in the sky) and I howled. Not the howl of a wolf, but the cry of a tortured soul about to be set free. Sniffing the air, I could smell a town to the east. Somewhere down there, my senses told me, was fresh, warm, human blood. Later the next day, I came to a small town nestled in the valley between two mountains. I picked my vantage point carefully, and watched the townsfolk go about their business while I waited for it to grow dark. I had chosen the house because it was at the end of a cul-de-sac, and because the owners didn't have a dog. It was unusally warm for an November night, so they had left their screendoor open, though latched. My knife parted the fiberglass screening like butter. Searching the house, I came upon the son's room first. I stood over the boy, who couldn't be more than 10, and swiftly cut the boy's adam's apple, silencing any screams he might make. *** The boy's eyes widened with terror as his the strange man began to cut away his pajama top. Wishing he could scream, soft gurgling sounds were the best he could mamage. The man bent over him and looked into his eyes... something in those eyes made him lie very still as the man brought his face down over his neck to gently dip his tongue in the small pool of blood that had gathered there. Something in those eyes blocked the pain of the man cutting his stomach, and scooping out his insides and stretching them out on the bed beside him. He could feel his insides stretching, tearing, but the man's eyes held him rigid, numb to everything that was happening. Those eyes shone like stars in the dim light of his room. He was still transfixed by those eyes when the man brought something red and pulsing to his lips, and the boy's last thoughts were: "Hey, is that my heart...?" I sat there awhile, drinking my fill of the young child's lifeforce. The rush, the feeling of invulnerability were back. No longer would I be the hunted, I would be the hunter! As I crept up the stairs, I could hear someone moving in the kitchen. In the light of the refrigerator, I could see the boy's father reaching for the carton of milk. I took the stairs in groups of three, clearing the top of stairs in a flash, catching the man by suprise. So suprised was the man, that as he opened his mouth to cry out, he was rewarded by having 18 inches of surgical steel shoved thru his soft palette and into his brain. He never felt the blade that punctured his left lung. As he slumped to the floor, I watched my shadow in the light from the refrigerator, as it sillouetted the sight of me licking the blade clean of his blood. Turning away from the father, I was suprised and pleased to see the childseat positioned on the kitchen table. Within was strapped a cooing infant, waving an empty bottle at me. I filled the bottle half full of milk, half full of blood, and gave it to the baby. "Now don't go away..." I said, as I turned and began to search for the master bedroom. The moonlight siloutted her blonde hair where it lay against the pillow, spilling like a waterfall across the silver satin sheets. Her full, pouty lips were curled in sleep, giving her a slightly mischevious look. The flannel pajamas were totally out of place, so those would have to be the first to go. *** She could hear the baby crying, but she was used to that. She felt her husbands side of the bed sag, and she felt a hand carressing her arm, stretching it out and over her head. But, her husband's hands were not nearly so rough, and why were his hands so wet? Her eyes snapped open as the weight beside her shifted, and another rough, wet hand grabbed her other wrist, and pulled that above her head. In the moonlight, she could see a bearded face, darkly smeared with some liquid, clenching a knife between his teeth. She opened her mouth to scream, but then the stranger looked deep into her eyes, and she shut her mouth with a snap. Through the satin sheets, she could feel his erection pressing against her thigh. A drop of blood splashed onto her cheek, and the scent of it sent a shiver throughout her body. The stranger held both of her hands together with one hand, while the other opened the nightstand drawer beside the bed. As he drew forth the velvet covered handcuffs, she wondered for a moment how he could have known, but something in those eyes knew all her secrets. She sighed as he cuffed one hand, and then the other, looping the cuffs through the railing of the headboard. He climbed over her to the other side of the bed, pulled away the sheets, and gently began to cut at the material of her nightgown, shearing it away and revealing the milky white skin beneath. He took the knife from between his teeth and tossed it onto her stomach, and then he began to remove his own clothing. She could see where the blood had run from his mouth and down his neck, intermingling with his chest hairs. He was more powerfully built than her husband, and with a barely suppressed giggle, she raised up her knees while parting her thighs, giving him an inviting view of her pussy. He knelt for a moment, pulling another knife from his boot, and then he gently slid onto the bed and between her thighs. With my left hand, I brought one of my knives down the center of her chest, leaving a deep red line. I followed the line with my tongue, causing her to moan with something not quite pleasure, not quite pain. With my right, I made two light cuts on her nipples, allowing me to suck a mixture of her blood and mother's milk from her breasts. Her legs entwined behind me, trying to draw me inside her, but I backed away from that. "Not just yet, my lovely. You're not nearly ready yet." *** It seemed like hours that he leanned above her, tracing patterns and spirals on her body with the knives, his hot tongue tracing the cuts and sending shivers through her body. Her eyes alternated between his luminous orbs, and the blades of the knives themselves, that glinted magically in the moonlight. She knew she should be revulsed, terrified. She knew that the things he was doing should be excruciating, not sending ecstatic waves of pleasure through her body. Somewhere, she knew that this man had killed her husband, but none of that mattered. She had to have this man. She wanted him inside her, fucking her, even though she knew she would probably not live to see the sunrise. When at last he brought the blade down to her vulva, she shuddered with the feel of the cold, hard steel entering her. And then suddenly, it hurt. As before, my lover jerked and twisted when the blade entered her vagina. Roughly holding her legs apart, I drove the blade all the way inside, giving it a little twist that brought a rush of blood out onto the sheets. I paused for a moment, and brought my head down, licking the length of her pussy and tasting the mixture of blood and her juices. I then reinserted my blade, and began to fuck her with it in earnest. Her eyes had rolled up into the back of her head, and sweat mingled with the blood coating her body. I was really going at it, but then, for some reason, I looked in the mirror above the bed and noticed the sword. It was a paired set, a Japanese katana and wakisashi. I arose from the bed, and her eyes followed me, and her mouth made a little "o" when I unsheathed the katana and guided it to her vagina. When it was about halfway in, I began to encounter some resistance, so I just thrust it home, ramming it in all the way to the hilt. That done, I removed the blade and inserted my penis, and her eyes rolled back at me with a look of utter ecstasy. *** The pain of the knife had subsided once it reached her own body temperature, butwhen he had taken up the sword, she knew that her pain would be threefold. Even after he had withdrawn the four-foot blade still she could feel it inside her, could feel the wetness of where it had driven up past her womb, piercing her intestines, and puncturing her stomach, severing nerves and sinew alike. When at last he removed it, and entered her, she, like he, was caught in the grip of an inhuman pleasure. Her whole body tingled with electricity, even though she knew somewhere inside that she was bleeding to death. The feel of his cock inside her was so totally unlike the knife; while both were hard and long, his cock did not slice at her insides. She could feel the muscles of her pussy trying to grip him tightly, but most were too ruined to do much more than add their blood to the sundered gulf of her vagina. She could feel his climax growing, and she could see it in his eyes. She stared deep into his eyes as he brought the knife down one last time, cutting her throat. The last sound she heard was his bubbling sigh as he buried his face in her throat to drink her life away. I awoke to bright sunlight pouring through the open windows near the bed. The bloodied carcass of last night's kill lay slumped at the foot of the bed. Somewhere in the house, a baby still cried, though fitfully. I arose, wiping my bloodied hands on my chest, and went out to assess the situation. The child was where I'd left it, still in the seat in the kitchen. Its bottle lay on the floor besides it, nearly full. "Guess it didn't like the taste." I thought to myself. Surveying the appliances, I pulled the baby out of its chair, and set it on the counter. A few hours later, lunch was ready. The ground meat wasn't ham, but it tasted just right with a little A-1. Some onion rings I'd made added a bit of color to the meal. And when I was done with my burgers, I reached inside the freezer, and drew forth the baby's head. Using a hacksaw I'd found in one drawer, I removed the top of the child's skull, and had chilled baby brains for desert. I spent the rest of the afternoon in contemplation. I was well fed, and had dined on three souls the night before. I almost felt sated. Some part of me had hoped that with the mating, I would have left the blood lust behind, but I knew that I wasn't past it yet. Remembering the number I had dialed months before, I tried again, only this time a man's voice answered. "Mordecai, is that you?" asked the voice. "How do you know my name?" I asked. "I know a great deal about you, Mordecai. I know what drives you, I know the hunger you feel. I think we should meet face to face." I wondered to myself, is this a trap? But something about the voice made me willing to trust it. "When, and where?" I asked the phone. "Stay where you are. We will come for you." the voice replied. Later that day, a black sedan with tinted windows rolled into the driveway. A young man, and a woman exited, and walked up to the door. Once inside the house, the man promptly spun on his heels and kicked me in the stomach. The woman brought her fists down on my back, dropping me to the floor. From inside his jacket, the young man drew a pistol, and shot me twice in the back. I felt the bullets pierce my skin. I felt them shatter bone, and in my mind's eye, I could feel them flatten and push my flesh before them, causing even more damage. I could feel the bullets blow pie sized chunks of my chest against the floor, slightly lifting my body in the process. What I never expected to feel, was the warm, rosy feeling that overcame me. I could feel the holes in my back close, the bones knit together once more, and I could feel the skin on my chest stretch and pull together to cover the wound. But I also felt, in some indescribable way, a little of the lifeforce I'd drank drain away, I assumed to heal my injuries. They helped me to my feet then, and helped me to the car. As they drove, they said little by way of an apology, except: "We just had to be sure." They drove west from there, through the mountains. That night, while the woman kept me company, the man went out to get us all a bite to eat. He came back with a young prostitute in tow. They bound her, and after moving one of the beds out of the way, they drew a pentagram on the floor. They stripped her of her clothing, and tied her down in the center of the pentagram. As I crossed the threshold of the pentagram, I could feel something about the room change. I could suddenly smell incense, where none had been burning before. The electric lamps began to cast flickering shadows, as if they were candles guttering in the darkness. The man and the woman, who had been dressed in suits, now seemed to be wearing robes of a heavy, coarse material. I shook my head, and the room returned to normal. But still the girl remained. The man handed me a strange, curved dagger, and I skillfully cut out the woman's heart with a twist of my wrist, to the sound of splintering bone. When I drank her blood, it was like the finest wine I had ever tasted. Perhaps these people had something to show me afterall. They repeated the same performance the next night, and the next. Soon we had arrived in Seattle, and the man guided the sedan into an underground parking garage. We took the executive elevator straight to the top floor, where I was ushered into my final destination. The plate on the door said C. Addison. C. Addison proved to be a 40ish man in top physical condition. Built like a dancer, his every move smooth, lithe, and practiced. But what caught my attention instantly were the eyes. Mr. Addison's eyes were the same eyes I'd looked at in a lifetime of mirrors. "We've waited your whole life to bring you to your destiny", Mr. Addison said, adding, "Welcome home, my son." *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. TANSTAAFL BBS:908/830-TANJ *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* Modern Textfiles Inc. The Matrix BBS:908/905-6691 *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-* The Lawless Society Inc. CyberChat BBS:908/506-7637 *-* *-* -also- Terrapin Biscuit Circuit:908/506-6651 *-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

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