2012. december 22., szombat
Moved
I have moved the novel to a new blog. If you are interested you can follow it here: evenangelsdeservetodie.blogspot.hu!
2012. december 18., kedd
two1
THIS WHOLE SHIT STARTED THREE MONTHS AGO. An early Wednesday morning phonecall had me jump out of the bed, dress up without showering, and driving my superbly restored yellow 1988 Lancia Delta HF Integrale to the Western Railway Station while sipping a cold latte. The sergeant who called me was awfully apologetic, but couldn't or wasn't authorised to give me any feasible information on what I should expect.
The usually jammed streets were still empty, and made it there in ten minutes. My colleagues were discreet. No flashing police cars, no road blocks. I started to feel that this is going to be some routine day. The railway station is shelter for dozens maybe hundreds of homeless, drug addicts, and cheap prostitution is blooming in the dark corners of the magnificent edifice which was built by Gustave Eiffel's company more than a hundred years ago.
I could only see that something happened inside as I parked the car on the Northwestern side of the station. Two police cars, an ambulance and the forensics lab car were parked close to the side entrance. I noticed a couple of patrolmen trying to keep away a crowd of excited people. I race near them towards the inside.
Then I was there at the core area, there was a fifteen by fifteen meters square secured with the white blue striped police tape. Quite a big one for a presumeably - well I was presuming - single victim. One of the scene technicians collecting something inside the area looked up and waved me towards the covered body that lay between the rails, I lifted the tape and stepped inside. As I reached near the body covered with a black plastic pall he grabbed two corners and folded them back.
Next thing I know I am outside the secured area throwing up my only breakfast, the coffee. Stooping and retching painfully. I felt as if a huge nail was hammered into the back of my head. I fell down on my knees. I could see through the heavy tears in my eyes that the coroner is running towards me. Tries to pull me up. I hear him saying something. Shit, shit, shit. I really couldn't restrain myself. The retching just wouldn't stop. "A coke, a coke" I whispered him. I started to breathe slowly and deeply. Breathe in, keep it in, blow it out, wait... I was focused on this pattern for a couple of minutes, my heart rate started to let up. This fucked up panic attack I just experienced started to die down. Fuck, and all this in front of everybody else on the site. The coroner arrived back with my coke.
I had to force myself back into the encircled hell surrounding the body. "Thanks for not destroying any evidence inspector" said the technician when I stepped back inside. "I want to take a look at the victim" I told him. He was looking at me questioningly. I think he was afraid I'll start my little performance again. But I just pointed towards the covered body with my chin. He walked there and lifted the cover again.
Never before have I seen such a heavily disemboweled body. The uncovered remains, that not a long ago apparently were a beautiful woman, looked like something that exploded from the inside. Laid on the back the head seemed untouched, peaceful, the blond hair neatly arranged in sort of aureole. Arms spread wide with the flat of the hand looking upward. Legs straight, the right foot above the left, as if she were on a cross. I closed my eyes for a second. Took out my iPhone and started to take pictures. The torso was the cause of my stomach going haywire. It was cut open. But not simply cut open. The manubrium and sternum - the two bones keeping the chest together - were removed and the ribs were unfolded. Like wretched vestigial wings. And as far as I could observe the heart was removed from the chest.
"Blood eagle" came from behind me. Turned back and realized that the technician was still behind me. "What?" I mumbled and put my phone back in my pocket. "It looks like sort of a blood eagle," he continued "this kind of mutilating was used as an execution method by the ancestors of the Scandinavians." I couldn't give a fuck where he's got this information. I was staring at the body and all I could think of was a rueful little angel. A bloody angel. Inexplicably I started to cry.
To be continued...
Read the Intermezzo here!
The usually jammed streets were still empty, and made it there in ten minutes. My colleagues were discreet. No flashing police cars, no road blocks. I started to feel that this is going to be some routine day. The railway station is shelter for dozens maybe hundreds of homeless, drug addicts, and cheap prostitution is blooming in the dark corners of the magnificent edifice which was built by Gustave Eiffel's company more than a hundred years ago.
I could only see that something happened inside as I parked the car on the Northwestern side of the station. Two police cars, an ambulance and the forensics lab car were parked close to the side entrance. I noticed a couple of patrolmen trying to keep away a crowd of excited people. I race near them towards the inside.
Then I was there at the core area, there was a fifteen by fifteen meters square secured with the white blue striped police tape. Quite a big one for a presumeably - well I was presuming - single victim. One of the scene technicians collecting something inside the area looked up and waved me towards the covered body that lay between the rails, I lifted the tape and stepped inside. As I reached near the body covered with a black plastic pall he grabbed two corners and folded them back.
Next thing I know I am outside the secured area throwing up my only breakfast, the coffee. Stooping and retching painfully. I felt as if a huge nail was hammered into the back of my head. I fell down on my knees. I could see through the heavy tears in my eyes that the coroner is running towards me. Tries to pull me up. I hear him saying something. Shit, shit, shit. I really couldn't restrain myself. The retching just wouldn't stop. "A coke, a coke" I whispered him. I started to breathe slowly and deeply. Breathe in, keep it in, blow it out, wait... I was focused on this pattern for a couple of minutes, my heart rate started to let up. This fucked up panic attack I just experienced started to die down. Fuck, and all this in front of everybody else on the site. The coroner arrived back with my coke.
I had to force myself back into the encircled hell surrounding the body. "Thanks for not destroying any evidence inspector" said the technician when I stepped back inside. "I want to take a look at the victim" I told him. He was looking at me questioningly. I think he was afraid I'll start my little performance again. But I just pointed towards the covered body with my chin. He walked there and lifted the cover again.
Never before have I seen such a heavily disemboweled body. The uncovered remains, that not a long ago apparently were a beautiful woman, looked like something that exploded from the inside. Laid on the back the head seemed untouched, peaceful, the blond hair neatly arranged in sort of aureole. Arms spread wide with the flat of the hand looking upward. Legs straight, the right foot above the left, as if she were on a cross. I closed my eyes for a second. Took out my iPhone and started to take pictures. The torso was the cause of my stomach going haywire. It was cut open. But not simply cut open. The manubrium and sternum - the two bones keeping the chest together - were removed and the ribs were unfolded. Like wretched vestigial wings. And as far as I could observe the heart was removed from the chest.
"Blood eagle" came from behind me. Turned back and realized that the technician was still behind me. "What?" I mumbled and put my phone back in my pocket. "It looks like sort of a blood eagle," he continued "this kind of mutilating was used as an execution method by the ancestors of the Scandinavians." I couldn't give a fuck where he's got this information. I was staring at the body and all I could think of was a rueful little angel. A bloody angel. Inexplicably I started to cry.
To be continued...
Read the Intermezzo here!
2012. december 17., hétfő
2012. december 13., csütörtök
Intermezzo
SHE BEND FORWARD, still clamping my balls to my penis. She was pulling everything towards her, still somehow my foreskin was pulled down my glans. I could feel her wet lips encircling the head of my dick and her tongue stirring around it. Then she started to suck it in, her mouth descended lower and lower, she let my balls slowly into their place, her lips reached all the way down and clasped the root of my dong. She gave me a gentle bite. Then lifted her head slowly. And back down. Dictating a very slow and exaltating tempo. I could hardly withhold myself. I pressed my mouth to her perineum, my upper lip was on her anus my lower lip on the entrance of the vagina. I was breathing deeply. My dick was pulsating in an almost painful manner. She felt my sweet anguish. Jumped off me. Turned and sat on my belly. Her pussy made it all slippery. She grabbed my wrists and spread my arms. I looked like a crucified. Slowly she started slipping down my venter. First to contact my cock was her anus, soaked from her joydrops and my gob. Pushed herself further until the head of my painfully hard dong reached her opening. Then further till her clitoris met with my glans. She slowly rubbed the little head of her clit to my joyous head. And with a small but definite hip movement she slid my penis deep into herself.
To be continued...
Read the one2 here!
To be continued...
Read the one2 here!
2012. december 11., kedd
one2
I LIFTED THE GLASS OF RED TO MY MOUTH. Empty. I was still gazing out the window. Searching in my memory for that tiny detail that I was missing so much for the break-through in this obscure case.
Someone took the wine glass out of my hand and replaced it with a filled one. I noticed this from the weight of it. Did hardly pay attention. Maybe it was one of the waiters... I mumbled a thanks.
But I was completely lost in the pictures that were slideshowing in my head. I have seen the scenes of the crimes in person, I've viewed the pictures taken there and at the autopsy a hundred times. They were all encoded and stored in my brain. I could just take them out of my memory and examine them.
All of a sudden I felt that someone is watching me. My eyes focused back into reality and there she was, my ballerina mistress. Sitting cross legged in the airmchair in front of me. Looking somewhat interested. With a half-smile.
I almost gave a laugh. She must have been the one to swap my wine. Fuck.
"That's quite a way to say thank you" she sais.
She got me by surprise, then I realised that I said 'fuck' out loud. Fortunately her smile didn't disappear.
"That's a fuck I give my thoughts, thank you for the wine" was my reply. I took advantage of her sitting in front of me and tried to quickly explore her physique. My mind was already banging her in the antique, comfy, brown leather armchair.
"My name is not too important" comes the out of context reply. "I've noticed you staring at me like this earlier as well, detective."
Fuck the media. Since this whole rampage started I'm being shown too much on the screen and in newspapers. They couldn't get anything about the killer but they managed to dredge all about me. I see the lunatic I'm chasing guffawing, he surely has a room where the wall is pinned with articles of me. Maybe - surely - even some paparazzi shots he took here and there at crime scenes. Well, everybody knew everything about me, even my school grades. Fuck this. I'll get your ass.
"You seem a bit too quiet, detective" she answers to my silence.
She is a hell of a desirable girl. I should simply use my sudden fame and get her out of here. Out of this world, forgetting anything, just merging myself into her.
"Well nameless miss, I'm leaving and if you want you can come with me. I'll take the glass of wine and will walk down to the stairs at the river. I'll just sit there and let the water flow wash my thoughts. Or maybe let you tattle for me."
"It's not too exemplary from you to swipe out that wine glass from here."
Is this the time of equivocation? Can't she give a proper answer? Anyway, I stood up. Noded to her and walked towards the exit. From the corner of my eye I've seen her standing up, and heard her high heels patter on the marble floor as she followed me.
To be continued...
Read the one1 here!
Someone took the wine glass out of my hand and replaced it with a filled one. I noticed this from the weight of it. Did hardly pay attention. Maybe it was one of the waiters... I mumbled a thanks.
But I was completely lost in the pictures that were slideshowing in my head. I have seen the scenes of the crimes in person, I've viewed the pictures taken there and at the autopsy a hundred times. They were all encoded and stored in my brain. I could just take them out of my memory and examine them.
All of a sudden I felt that someone is watching me. My eyes focused back into reality and there she was, my ballerina mistress. Sitting cross legged in the airmchair in front of me. Looking somewhat interested. With a half-smile.
I almost gave a laugh. She must have been the one to swap my wine. Fuck.
"That's quite a way to say thank you" she sais.
She got me by surprise, then I realised that I said 'fuck' out loud. Fortunately her smile didn't disappear.
"That's a fuck I give my thoughts, thank you for the wine" was my reply. I took advantage of her sitting in front of me and tried to quickly explore her physique. My mind was already banging her in the antique, comfy, brown leather armchair.
"My name is not too important" comes the out of context reply. "I've noticed you staring at me like this earlier as well, detective."
Fuck the media. Since this whole rampage started I'm being shown too much on the screen and in newspapers. They couldn't get anything about the killer but they managed to dredge all about me. I see the lunatic I'm chasing guffawing, he surely has a room where the wall is pinned with articles of me. Maybe - surely - even some paparazzi shots he took here and there at crime scenes. Well, everybody knew everything about me, even my school grades. Fuck this. I'll get your ass.
"You seem a bit too quiet, detective" she answers to my silence.
She is a hell of a desirable girl. I should simply use my sudden fame and get her out of here. Out of this world, forgetting anything, just merging myself into her.
"Well nameless miss, I'm leaving and if you want you can come with me. I'll take the glass of wine and will walk down to the stairs at the river. I'll just sit there and let the water flow wash my thoughts. Or maybe let you tattle for me."
"It's not too exemplary from you to swipe out that wine glass from here."
Is this the time of equivocation? Can't she give a proper answer? Anyway, I stood up. Noded to her and walked towards the exit. From the corner of my eye I've seen her standing up, and heard her high heels patter on the marble floor as she followed me.
To be continued...
Read the one1 here!
2012. december 8., szombat
one1
I WAS WATCHING MYSELF IN THE TV. My little downtown flat was quiet. The heavy curtains blocked the light, leaving me in a comforting semidarkness, and I was sitting on the couch with a glass of luscious Montepulciano d'Abruzzo and feet on the table. The tv set flickering straight into my brain. Media was all over me. The only answers I was able to deliver were mambo-jumbo. I had no clue, no one had any clue, and seemingly everybody was aware of this fact. Still reporters from newspapers, radios, television were asking and asking. The same question, again and again. I was tired. And gave them the same words: at this stage of the investigation I can not give out any information, and as soon as we think that the public needs to know more we will hold a press conference. What a crap. I, or anyone else at the police, had no information at all. We were just floundering in the dark. The media - as usual - was all over us.
Not that I gave a shit. All I had in my mind was the last night... Everything was burned into my memory, into my flesh and senses. When I woke up she was already gone. To my big surprise, as it was only five thirty, just before sunrise. My body was still yearning for dopamine - large amounts were released in the evening, and now the withdrawal symptoms were almost painful -, I had a grueling cupidity for her. Even though we both had quite a few orgasms, and I only slept about two hours, I had to masturbate under the shower. The result was a pathetic little sperm drop. She really got everything out of my balls.
Then I just sat there, with my thoughts on her while the world seemed to go mad. When I should have tried to figure out much more important things. But I couldn't fight that frenzied chemistry. I started to sink into a simple limbic system controlled life form.
She, she, she... I don't even know her name.
The day before, the day I met her I attended the academic inauguration of a few old friends from the Forensics Institute in the grand neorenaissance building of the Academy of Sciences. Leading academics were delivering the usual boring speeches. Not that I paid attention. I was rather captured by the beautiful frescos, marvellous chandelier and greek female statue pastiches on the inner balcony of the ceremonial hall.
Until I've noticed her. Three rows to the right in front of me. At first I could only see her brown ponytail, the shapely shoulders and the stilted posture. She looked like a ballerina, but thoughts escalated quickly in me and I imagined her in skin-tight black leather as a tough mistress - especially when she turned and eyed me. As if she felt my staring. Her face was beautifully carved with just a slight vestige of harshness. It seemed to me that she tried to hide this, maybe she wasn't even aware of this quality, but my always alert senses revealed her little secret at first glance.
I couldn't wait for the end of the ceremony. And the reception to start. I felt an irresistible allurement, like if she's spread her pheromones that were pronouncedly targeting me. Looking around I haven't seen anyone else noticing her. Or at least not the way I did.
Halfway during the event I stood up and left the hall. I had to get out, get away. But then I was just walking up and down the corridor like a lion in a cage. The buffet meant to comfort the academics after the nonsense they were exposed was already open. The sassy waiters were filling the rows of wines. Red, rosé and white. I beetled in the club room. Grabbed a glass of red and nestled myself in one of the sumptuos leather armchairs by the window. For a couple of minutes I was just staring out the window, watching the traffic of the Roosevelt Square in front of the Academy building flowing towards and over the bridge. With the Liberty Hill in the back.
Then my thoughts were back on the case. Staring out of my head, but not perceiving anything from the outside. There is a rapacious predator out there. And I don't even know where to start. He - I'm sure that it's a male - is always steps ahead. Not leaving a trace, not making mistakes. Only lifeless females. Without an apparent pattern. Although I am sure that there is something I, the pathologists, my colleagues do not notice. Something small, but imporant. Still, my mind was idling.
It was about time to get myself together. Damn!
To be continued...
Read the Prologue here!
Not that I gave a shit. All I had in my mind was the last night... Everything was burned into my memory, into my flesh and senses. When I woke up she was already gone. To my big surprise, as it was only five thirty, just before sunrise. My body was still yearning for dopamine - large amounts were released in the evening, and now the withdrawal symptoms were almost painful -, I had a grueling cupidity for her. Even though we both had quite a few orgasms, and I only slept about two hours, I had to masturbate under the shower. The result was a pathetic little sperm drop. She really got everything out of my balls.
Then I just sat there, with my thoughts on her while the world seemed to go mad. When I should have tried to figure out much more important things. But I couldn't fight that frenzied chemistry. I started to sink into a simple limbic system controlled life form.
She, she, she... I don't even know her name.
The day before, the day I met her I attended the academic inauguration of a few old friends from the Forensics Institute in the grand neorenaissance building of the Academy of Sciences. Leading academics were delivering the usual boring speeches. Not that I paid attention. I was rather captured by the beautiful frescos, marvellous chandelier and greek female statue pastiches on the inner balcony of the ceremonial hall.
Until I've noticed her. Three rows to the right in front of me. At first I could only see her brown ponytail, the shapely shoulders and the stilted posture. She looked like a ballerina, but thoughts escalated quickly in me and I imagined her in skin-tight black leather as a tough mistress - especially when she turned and eyed me. As if she felt my staring. Her face was beautifully carved with just a slight vestige of harshness. It seemed to me that she tried to hide this, maybe she wasn't even aware of this quality, but my always alert senses revealed her little secret at first glance.
I couldn't wait for the end of the ceremony. And the reception to start. I felt an irresistible allurement, like if she's spread her pheromones that were pronouncedly targeting me. Looking around I haven't seen anyone else noticing her. Or at least not the way I did.
Halfway during the event I stood up and left the hall. I had to get out, get away. But then I was just walking up and down the corridor like a lion in a cage. The buffet meant to comfort the academics after the nonsense they were exposed was already open. The sassy waiters were filling the rows of wines. Red, rosé and white. I beetled in the club room. Grabbed a glass of red and nestled myself in one of the sumptuos leather armchairs by the window. For a couple of minutes I was just staring out the window, watching the traffic of the Roosevelt Square in front of the Academy building flowing towards and over the bridge. With the Liberty Hill in the back.
Then my thoughts were back on the case. Staring out of my head, but not perceiving anything from the outside. There is a rapacious predator out there. And I don't even know where to start. He - I'm sure that it's a male - is always steps ahead. Not leaving a trace, not making mistakes. Only lifeless females. Without an apparent pattern. Although I am sure that there is something I, the pathologists, my colleagues do not notice. Something small, but imporant. Still, my mind was idling.
It was about time to get myself together. Damn!
To be continued...
Read the Prologue here!
2012. december 7., péntek
Experiment
I'm starting this experiment that should grow into an online serial killer-erotic-pornographic novel. The Prologue can be read here. I am very keen on getting feedback either by commenting here on the blog or by sending a mail to me!
I hope this little story that started to unfold in my head will captivate you as well.
I hope this little story that started to unfold in my head will captivate you as well.
2012. december 6., csütörtök
Prologue
SHE WAS SITTING ON MY HEAD, her clitoris rubbing, her wet lips dripping down my chin. The frilly labias, living their own life, were gently caressing my cheeks. This was enough for me to get as close to an overwhelming catharsis without exploding as possible. Quite something, considering the fact that in the last couple of minutes since I was "working" on - well, under - her she didn't even touch me. God, how did I end up here?
My tongue - long, as KISS singer Gene Simmons's pride - was penetrating her tight and slippery vagina. My nose rhythmically pressed to her rosetta, as she moved back and forth over my face... I could hardly breathe, maybe I didn't even breathe. Her thighs were pressed tautly to the side of my head, and were isolating my ears hermetically, muting almost every sound. Except her groaning that vibrated through her flesh into me.
Then I realised that I have my eyes closed. With just her muffled groan and the colorful firework like twinkling inside my eyelids I flet like in some strange sensory deprivation tank where only my basic oral sexual instincts were allowed to function. I opened my eyes and tried to get a sneak peak of her face... I had to realise she was the other way around, and all I could see between her buttocks was a small glimpse of the street and passing by car lights playing on the ceiling.
Putting my hands around her thighs I managed to reach her neatly trimmed bush strip. Running my fingers between and along the short pubic hair - almost feeling each thread - I've found her clitoris, fruity and pulsating from excitation and furor. My index finger started to toy with the firm little beanie. The moaning transformed into groaning.
Suddenly her spine strained in an arch. Her thigh muscles clenched my head, I almost shuted from pain, she'll squeeze my head like a ripe melon. But it took only a jiffy. She slackened the pressure. I thought she's done (strange short orgasm, I thought), she stopped the rapid breathing. And I realised she just delayed her orgasm. She was practicing combat breathing as she tried to lower the level of her excitement. Breathe in through the nose, keep it in, breathe out through the mouth, wait a few beats. I couldn't hear it, I just felt it through her body lilt.
She quickly relaxed her body and slowed her zest. Leaning forward, she reclined with the flat of her hands on my hip, leaving her wet pussy on my mouth, with a tardy pulsation. The ends of her long hair were caressing gently my chest and abdomen. She paused like this for a couple of seconds. Or minutes, hours, ages? I completely lost myself in her, in time.
Then, slowly, from my hips she started to slide her right hand towards my groin and her left hand up to my chest. She was saying something I didn't hear, didn't understand. Something about me? But then she grabbed the root of my manly package. My balls were pulled up near my dick. She squeezed everything together, pulled it towards her. And I understood what she said earlier. She wanted to come the same time as I...
My tongue - long, as KISS singer Gene Simmons's pride - was penetrating her tight and slippery vagina. My nose rhythmically pressed to her rosetta, as she moved back and forth over my face... I could hardly breathe, maybe I didn't even breathe. Her thighs were pressed tautly to the side of my head, and were isolating my ears hermetically, muting almost every sound. Except her groaning that vibrated through her flesh into me.
Then I realised that I have my eyes closed. With just her muffled groan and the colorful firework like twinkling inside my eyelids I flet like in some strange sensory deprivation tank where only my basic oral sexual instincts were allowed to function. I opened my eyes and tried to get a sneak peak of her face... I had to realise she was the other way around, and all I could see between her buttocks was a small glimpse of the street and passing by car lights playing on the ceiling.
Putting my hands around her thighs I managed to reach her neatly trimmed bush strip. Running my fingers between and along the short pubic hair - almost feeling each thread - I've found her clitoris, fruity and pulsating from excitation and furor. My index finger started to toy with the firm little beanie. The moaning transformed into groaning.
Suddenly her spine strained in an arch. Her thigh muscles clenched my head, I almost shuted from pain, she'll squeeze my head like a ripe melon. But it took only a jiffy. She slackened the pressure. I thought she's done (strange short orgasm, I thought), she stopped the rapid breathing. And I realised she just delayed her orgasm. She was practicing combat breathing as she tried to lower the level of her excitement. Breathe in through the nose, keep it in, breathe out through the mouth, wait a few beats. I couldn't hear it, I just felt it through her body lilt.
She quickly relaxed her body and slowed her zest. Leaning forward, she reclined with the flat of her hands on my hip, leaving her wet pussy on my mouth, with a tardy pulsation. The ends of her long hair were caressing gently my chest and abdomen. She paused like this for a couple of seconds. Or minutes, hours, ages? I completely lost myself in her, in time.
Then, slowly, from my hips she started to slide her right hand towards my groin and her left hand up to my chest. She was saying something I didn't hear, didn't understand. Something about me? But then she grabbed the root of my manly package. My balls were pulled up near my dick. She squeezed everything together, pulled it towards her. And I understood what she said earlier. She wanted to come the same time as I...
2012. december 4., kedd
Types of pussy, part V.
25. Interstate highway pussy. When they built this pussy it was like a dream to drive on the freshly paved asphalt, but overdevelopment of the surrounding areas has led to intolerable sprawl.
26. Anteater pussy. How your grandma’s pussy looks like. Loosening muscle and skin has forced the first couple inches of the vaginal canal to prolapse outside of the body. Grandpa ain’t complaining though… that sly devil.
29. Department store pussy. It looked great when you tried it on in the fitting room, but at home it looks a little off. Maybe it’s one size too small?
30. Morbidly obese pussy. When this pussy gets sick you need to call the special ambulance with the human crane. All hands on deck!
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