He glanced up and down the dark street and saw no one. Shrugging the overcoat's collar higher up his neck, he slipped into the alleyway's shadows. Once hidden from prying eyes, he took the mask from his pocket and put it on, adjusting it to ensure that he could see without interference. He leaned back against the rough brick wall. And waited.
His thoughts wandered to the delights he would soon partake. The wide-eyed fear, the
mouth gaping open to scream just as he crushed the lips against the teeth. Blood flowing between his fingers would be a pleasing touch. He mused about some kind of wrapping with sharp edges for his hands, perhaps gloves with barbed wire. Embedded glass would be too difficult to attach.
The sharp rap of high heels broke his reverie and he pressed closer to the shadowed wall.
Yes, tight skirt practically exposing her buttocks, low-cut blouse plunging down to her
artificially enhanced cleavage. Just what he wanted. And, so soon. A bonus.
He stepped forward and with practiced ease wrapped his arm around her neck and
pushed his palm against the bright red lips. The struggle was good. She writhed, and he
could hear her rasping as she tried to breathe around his hand. Three fingers across the
mouth with thumb and forefinger pinching her nostrils shut. He'd worked long and hard to
make this move work every time. The effort paid off as he felt her heaving body pressed
against his.
Closed his eyes and shuddered. Too soon, too soon. Gritting his teeth to slow his
pounding pulse and quiet his lust, he dragged the near limp body deeper into the dark
alley. Holding still, he waited for the chest to quit heaving, seeking air. He laid the body
down, almost tenderly and drew the scalpel from its hiding place. Slipping its edge under
the top button of her blouse, with a twitch of his wrist, the button flew away into the
darkness.
Work slowly, he thought, no need to rush. Savor every moment. He sighed. It took so little time these days. He was too practiced at his art. Maybe something different. Should he start at the bottom, just for variety's sake?
Kneeling beside her, he looked down her legs to her feet. Smooth. White. Red toenails.
Perfect. He lifted the edge of the short skirt, exposing lacy red panties. Crotchless. How
crude.
Using the scalpel with finesse, he sliced open the skirt and the panties exposing her
shaved pubes. He imagined her dressed in a schoolgirl outfit. Plaid skirt and a white
blouse. He sighed.
Pressing the scalpel down just above her slit, he started to cut upwards on her soft belly.
An arm wrapped around his neck and snapped his head backwards. Twisting to look
down at the whore's face, he couldn't quite make it out. She was no longer lying flat on the ground; she was sitting up with a strong forearm strangling him.
He dropped the scalpel and tried to raise his hands, hoping that would be enough for her
to let him go, to run away. Instead, she pulled him up and his feet no longer touched the filthy cement of the alley. Held up by his neck, he gasped trying to draw air into his lungs. The grip on his neck was too tight. Lack of air turned his vision red as his eyes bulged. The last thing he heard was a howl close by his ear. A howl that would turn blood cold, a howl calling a pack to fresh meat.
