I don’t know whether to return tomorrow or not. I could spend all day there as it will be Saturday, or should I leave her until next week. If I can keep away for a while I might just have a corpse to dispose of …
THREE DAYS LATER
I didn’t go back for three days. Finally, I could put it off no longer, I was beginning to worry that she might not have survived that long without anything to drink. Despite searching on the Internet, I could find no news reports about a missing girl cyclist.
So yesterday evening I packed the van with drinking water, some bread, plenty of rope, several 6″ nails and a large broad knife. I still hadn’t decided exactly what I might do with her but wanted plenty of options. It looked like being a dampish dark night with the waning moon not rising until at least 11 o’clock so not good for taking photos to remember her by.
When I got there I parked back up the track as before. All was quite as I approached her hiding place. Even when I shone the torch in under the upturned abandoned boat mould there was no movement from the sleeping bag. I felt for her ankles through the bag and she moaned and struggled slightly as I dragged her out into the open before unzipping the bag to release her. I shone my torch at her face, her eyes looked dull and sunken as they looked apathetically towards me. I removed the gag telling her “just one word and I’ll cut your tongue right out”, showing her the knife. I offered her the water bottle but she drank quite slowly, almost reluctantly.
Removing the sleeping bag from her proved an unexpected problem… the blood, and I think some shit, had made it stick to her skin so it needed to be slowly peeled off her! There was fresher blood where her wrists were bound so she had clearly been struggling to escape. I walked round her inspecting her by torchlight. Although her eyes were sunken in grey sockets the swelling under her left eye had gone down, though her right shoulder still looked a bit swollen and very bruised. The tears from the brambles had made a bit of a mess of her, also removing the sleeping bag must have removed some of the scabs making them bleed again a bit in contrast to the older dried blood.
She certainly stank and I decided she needed a good wash. I first considered washing her in the deep still water flooding the quarry but decided instead that the shallower river water would be safer. As she now seemed so weak and compliant I risked untying her ankles so I could walk her down to the river, unfortunately she seemed too weak to stand so I also untied her ankles and instead tied the cargo strap round her neck and pulled her, crawling feebly on her hands and knees over the sharp quarry waste, down to the rivers edge, taking care not to pull so hard as to strangle her.
The washing exercise turned out to be a complete waste of time as the tide was out so she ended up covered in the sticky dark mud as I dragged her back to the bank, getting shoes, socks and trousers well covered myself. However, the combination of mud, river water and light rain did give a certain glistening eroticism to her body if you understand what I mean. Yes, I decided I would achieve my ambition of crucifying her tonight!
I again bound her wrist to the sturdy fallen branch I had tied her to the first time I raped her. Her dull eyes widened in horror when I returned from the van with the hammer and pressing the point of one large nail into her left wrist raised the hammer ready to strike it. I held the hammer poised ready to strike for at least 30 seconds before I lost my nerve, realising that would certainly be the beginning of the end for her life.
I lowered the hammer and dropped the nail to the ground, then prepared hoisting the improvised cross beam up the trunk of a nearby tree be means of a rope over the ‘Y’ of a large branch about ten foot up. As her arse was hoisted clear of the ground she started screaming at me.
True to my word I grabbed her tongue and tried to pull it out so I could sever it with the knife. On my first attempt it slipped from between my grasping fingers and she shut her mouth tight which at least stopped her screams until I had raised her so that only her toes still touched the ground.
Unfortunately, when I heaved again on the rope so she finally lost all contact with the ground the pain, presumably from her damaged shoulder, her stretched arms and the ropes tearing at her wrists, made her utter an unearthly scream from her gaping mouth. This time I got a firm grip on her dry parched tongue and was trying to get the knife into her mouth to sever it when her jaws snapped shut, teeth sinking deep into her tongue so blood spurted up into her nose and down her chin to drip between her quivering breasts.
Her legs flailed kicking me away, then she tried to uselessly to get a grip on the rough bark trunk with her feet but this just made the cross-beam swing away from the tree. As I shone the torch on her to get a better view, her back arched and her legs flailed uselessly in the air again. As she was boldly illuminated by the flash of my camera I could see her mouth opening wide again to scream but, perhaps fortunately for her, she lacked the strength to exhale from her stretched, expanded rib cage and just a fairly quite pathetic “uuuh” resulted.
I stood back admiring her exquisite writhing, taking plenty of photos, though regretting they would-be poor-quality flash shots. Although she weakened quickly she still seemed to be managing shallow, panting breaths sufficient to keep her on the edge of consciousness.
Her dangling legs now looked as if they were trying to perform some sort of jerky tap dance routine, in an attempt to ease her breathing I grabbed her feet and bound her ankles tightly to the tree trunk about a foot below her buttocks. However, her attempts to relieve the weight on her arms only seemed to result in thrusting her pelvis towards me and I don’t think she managed to breathe any better.
The drizzle was now steadily increasing towards torrential rain so I dashed back to the van intending to get my waterproofs but changed my mind and instead stripped off all my wet clothes, throwing them into the van and stood enjoying the rain lashing my skin. I ran back to her, heedless of the damage to the soles of my feet from the quarry waste and stood looking again at her glistening stretched athletic form displayed by torchlight. I wanked to a climax as her body stopped its involuntary twitching then ran around to cut the rope so the crossbeam fell with her as she crashed face first to the ground because I hadn’t had time to untie her ankles.
As I untied and dropped her feet from the tree she managed to get a couple of panicky breaths and started sobbing weakly. I rolled her onto her back and brushed her wet hair away from her face before raping her again, but much more gently than on the previous occasions.
It took at least half an hour to clear things up, give her some more water to drink then get her back into the sodden blood stained sleeping bag firmly bound and gagged before putting my own equally sodden clothes back on.