He did me in the dark where I always knew I would snuff it. I am fading now - the worst of it done, going numb everywhere but me throat, belly, and twat. I can’t even feel the ropes anymore, just that I’m trussed tight, and even though it’s dark, I know I’ve gone blind seeing only grey smudges and sparkly lights. But I can still hear me pathetic choking squeaks and him straining as he pulls tight on the rope looped through the ring on the ceiling. Fuck, this has all been so brilliant, but I’m going ... going ... almost gone ...
Ever since I was a wee bairn I’ve had the same dream. When I was little it was a nightmare and I’d wake up gasping and shreiking and me mum would be there and hold me and shush me and tell me it was nary but a bad dream. She’d hold me snug and rock me back to sleep.
In the dream I didna’ know where I was, I only knew it were pitch dark and I was tied up, trussed like a wee lamb about to be slaughtered. I was bein’ strangled, fighting for breath, squirming and gagging and spitting vomit, feeling me heart slamming in me chest, the veins throbbing in me face.
But then puberty took me and me diddies started to swell up and me gash started to drip, and me dream changed. In most things t’was the same - still trussed in the pitch dark, still strangled, still knowin’ I were being killed, but I weren’t alone. I couldna’ see him - the one that were killing me - but I knew he was there in the shadows, and I knew he were watching me and enjoying it. And the queer thing was, I was taking joy in being watched - a dirty, gingin, sexual joy - especially when he’d pull on the rope and gag me harder and make me cum.
Instead of waking up screaming I’d come out of me dream finger-banging me swampy stinking fud like a glakit hoore cunt until I cum hard and sweaty, me young body rigid and me legs straight and shaking like a horror. At 12 years old I lost me virginity to me own fingers because of the dream.
I used to have to stuff one of me socks up me twat so I didn’t leak and get me girl stink into me mattress. I remember me mum comin’ in me room on Saturday morns to collect up me laundry and saying; “Ooo! You’re a randy little thing, aren’t you?” as she sniffed me laundry bag. We’d laugh - it was our little secret and that made it precious.
When I wasn’t having the dream or bringing meself off, I was mostly sad. Not sad from anything specific, just sad and low. Me parents were worried and took me to a psychiatrist who said I had dysthymia - a low-grade depression. He said it would probably last me whole life, and gave me pills to help it. I took them for awhile, but they didn’t really help much and they made me mouth so dry, yeah? So I stopped them and flushed them down the loo each night and pretended to be happy so me parents wouldn’t worry themselves. Then I discovered sex with boys and that made me happy while I was being rogered at least.
I had to move away from Glasgow before I finished sixth form because in me stupid punk days I did two boys on camera for a lark and one choked me while I was being rogered by t’other. It was one of the best orgasms of me life, but one of the arseholes sent it round to his mates’ cell phones and me reputation went to shite. So, I moved down here to London and let me hair grow out natural so I could start a new life, but the dream came with me.
I had an affair with the Top Man in the shop I worked at and he played at choking me, but t’weren’t the same. In the dream I knew me mystery man was going to snuff me and it set me belly to quivering, but Top Man was just playing at it. Even after he rogered me hard and choked me to orgasms all evening, when left to go home to his wife I’d have me dream that night and wake up needing to fuck meself all over again I was so horny.
I tried tying meself up and frigging meself off while chokin’, but again t’weren’t the same as me dream. I needed to find a man who wanted to do it all the way - truss me and strangle me to death while I had me last desperate orgasms.
It took two years, but I found him - a bleedin’ plumber no less.
We met at a horror-show sex party in Kentish Town - I went there with a girl from work on a lark, and when she went knee’s up with a couple blokes, I found meself being chatted up by this rather nice bloke. He wasn’t all hands and ham like the other men there, and he had a sense of humour.
He didn’t use any of the crude lines I’ve heard a million times, he just said I made him laugh and he’d like to see me again. I told him he probably wouldn’t get on with me on account I’m different than other girls, but he persisted in a way that made me giggle, so I told him;
“Well, me luv, I’m kinkier than most girls.”
“Spanking? Tickling? Taking the whole hand?” he said, holding up his large hands and making an oh-me-god face.
“Far kinkier.” I laughed, “I’d probably scare you.”
“I don’t scare easy, lass.” he assured me. I gave him a friendly side-eye.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Yeah.” he said.
“What if you met a girl who wanted to be snuffed? Like right proper killed dead in a special way?” I asked him - and yeah, I’d had a few too many Black Velvets by then.
“Then I’d say it’s a match made in heaven.”
“Shove off.” I nudged him and we laughed.
“Were you serious?” he said, leaning in.
“Were you?” I asked, feeling a sudden coldness in me belly. He just smiled at me and handed me his business card, “Give me a ring if you are.” he said and downed his drink.
“I’ve had a lovely time, lass.” he said as he kissed me cheek and left.
I put his card in me purse, me hand trembling. Could me dream be comin’ true? The thought soaked me knickers and scared me badly all at once.
Because of me dream I also had a fascination for dark places, and one night explorin’ the old building where me flat was, I found a thick old door almost hidden in the cellar that opened on to some old stone steps leading down even deeper. I had me torch with me and pushing through dusty cob webs I found that it led one of those old cold rooms from back in olden days before refrigerators when the building was a posh manor house. It was so deep you could hear the tube trains shushing past through the walls. It was damp and dark and echoey, and I knew I found the place from me dream.
When I got home in the wee hours that night I went down there and sat on the dirt floor, me hand up me skirt, fingering meself as I imagined me plumber doing me. Could I go through with it?
I ended up calling me plumber and we met for tea. Then for dinner. Then had it off all desperate and messy in an alley after a night in the pub when I told him about me dream and the dark place I’d found. He said he could do it that night, but I said I wanted to do it cold sober, yeah?
He said I should call when I was ready and that we couldn’t see each other again in public because when I was gone the coppers would come lookin’ for me steady bloke.
For three nights I thought about it, feeling the shivers run up and down me belly thinking about having him really do me.
I called him on the forth night and here we are.
I was only in me bathrobe when he came and I was tremblin’ as I led him down to the cellar.
“You’re scared.” he said.
“Yeah.” I agreed.
“But you want it.”
“Aye. Don’t mean I’m not afraid of dyin’.” I told him.
When we got to the deep dark place he set down his carry-bag and unzipped it and I saw all manner of things in it; ropes; a big vibrator; a big knife. The knife made me nervous.
“You’ll do me the way I ask, yeah?” I asked him.
“Of course, lass.” he said, “It’s what gives me pleasure - making wishes come true.”
“Are you going to fuck me during?”
“Nah, lass.” he assured me, “This part is all for you and I’ll make it good. Besides; I like afters.”
“Aye, after you’re gone, when your body’s all soft.” he looked up at me and smiled, “D’ya mind?”
“Nah.” I said, and I didn’t. Once I was gone and knew no more, what did I care what he did to me body.
I did what I was told after he got the ropes out; standing still as he opened me robe and pulled me knickers down and off; then onto my knees while he tied me ankles to me upper thighs and me wrists behind me back; then round me tits so they were trapped between ropes and made bigger than they really are. Then he sent another rope up through a ring in the ceiling and down to a loop he put round me throat, pulling me hair free so it didn’t pinch. He tightened up the rope just enough so I could feel it and tied it off to an old pipe on the wall.
“Oh! So, you’re serious?!?” I said.
“Wha? You were jokin’?” he looked shocked, his eyes wide like a bairn caught with his hand in the sweets jar.
“No, I wasn’t.” I said and shook me head, smiling.
“Ohh ... teasin’ me.” and we shared our last laugh.
He put his hand against me back and reached down then and slid two fingers into me swampy twat, curling them so it felt good. Then he did something I’d never had done to me before; he started pumping his hand hard and fast, up and down, finger-banging me violently. I could hear how wet I was, making all manner of squishy sounds and I was shocked as I felt me orgasm rise up fast in me belly.
“Wha’s that?” I cried out, then; “Yeah?” as I came.
He stayed with it and I started cumming over and over like I’d never cum before, waves and gushes of orgasms so desperate and intense it were almost overwhelming. It was nice being deep underground and being able to make as much noise as I wanted;
“Ohhh! FUCK!” I cried out loud and slutty, “OH! Oh, fuck! Yeah!”, and on like that as me belly came alive, going from loose and wobbly to clenched tight in cycles from me orgasms.
“Ooooo ... keep going ...” I groaned breathless like a greedy slag as he slowed to rest his arm. I only cared about me own pleasure and I wanted as much as I could get before I snuffed it, “... ohhhh ... keep going ... ooooo ...”
At last he stopped leaving me still randy as hell, me twat stretched and loose.
“Ohhh.” he growled, “Fuck yeah.” I could smell the sweat on him as he bent and pushed the fat vibrator up me cavernous gash and turned it on. It kept me arousal high as it started humming inside me.
“Ohh.” I moaned as he stood up and took hold of the rope between where it was tied off on the pipe and the ring above me head, “... mmmm .... oh, yeah ...”
He pulled down on the rope and it tightened on me throat making be give out a little choke before he eased it down again.
“Oh, yeah!” I gasped, sounding whiney and weak and scared, “Yeah!”
Then he pulled it tight and lifted me bum off the floor, the loop tight just under me jaw line. I felt a rush of fear tingles running up me body from me bum and twat, up me back and belly and over me tits.
This was it!
Me sweet plumber was going to do me now!
I expected to get choked out black pretty quick like when I did it with the lads in Glasgow, but me sweet plumber was a master. He played me like making love to me, choking me hard, then easing off so I could gulp down some air to keep me going. Making the pleasure and the terror last me.
I was a long time dying.
The waves of orgasm slammed the shore of me belly, crashing in an ancient rhythm that shook me to me core, and in the gullies between waves; flashes of terror, knowing that I was going to snuff it here and now - that I would never again completely fill me lungs.
I was aware of so many things as I were dying; of the sounds of me own choking and his grunts as he strained to play me perfect in this willing murder; the sounds of the tube trains on the other side of the wall rushing people to their destinations - all of them focused on their own lives, not knowing as they passed that a girl was being snuffed only feet away; and I was aware of me own body changing with me strangling - me arsehole opening like a loose fleshy ring, me farts lost in the sounds of me dying - me fanny swallowing the whole end of the vibrator like a snake swallows a whole egg - me nipples tight and puckered and tingling like mad things as I cummed and cummed and cummed.
Me belly undulated through it all, like it couldn’t contain all me orgasms, and me stomach clenched and rolled as I gagged and heaved, feeling the liquid vomit gurgling up and down me gullet, only little squirts making it past the tightness in me throat to coat me tongue with its bitterness.
But it was all right.
All of it was all right.
And when I started to fade and he synched me tight to end me, the only thing I missed was feeling me mom holding me close and shushing me softly as I snuffed it down here. Turned out I would get to be held tight by me sweet plumber but too late to feel it.
When I was done - me last squeaks out of me and me face swollen and purple - he left me trussed and hanged as he stripped off his trousers and took up his big knife. He settled himself astride me thighs so his cock was pressing me softness just below me belly button. He took his big knife and pushed it deep into me lower belly, cutting a new twat there, and pushed himself inside and rogered me there, his cock sliding back and forth inside me, stirring me guts as he stared at me horror-show purple face; me droopy eyelids, me bulging tongue dripping the vomit that made it up me throat.
Getting more excited as his cock hardened and curved like a banana inside me, he wrapped his arms around me body and slammed me belly harder and deeper. His humping getting violent and desperate, thumping me belly, making it all wobbly like a bag of jelly, until he cried out like a little boy and pumped his cum inside me body - holding me so, so tight and shuddering as all of his seed splashed in the barren places in the tangle of me guts.
I wish I could have felt that - his cock and his cum in me belly, him holding me tight like he loved me - like me mom did - but I'd had me fun and it was his turn. Like he said to me; "I like afters."
He left me there, me body still hanging by me throat; still trussed, still soft and loose, blood and cum oozing from me cut-open belly.
I imagine no one had been down in that place for a hundred years, and it will be another hundred before the next visitor. First me body swelled up, me belly growing huge like I was full on preggers, the pressure of the gasses inside me pushing me rectum and twat out of me fanny inside out. Then me fanny burst, and the fluids leaked out of me like I was sitting in me own muck. But time rolled on as it does and me body dried slowly over the years, until I looked like one of them old mummies from the pyramids, body gone thin and brittle, skin like leather stretched across me skull and bones.
I felt a little sad for a time that he didn’t come back to visit me, but I suppose that’s not what smart killers do - return to the scene of the crime. But all in all I’m snug and happy down here in the dark where I always knew I would end up, still feeling the faint shadows of horror-show orgasms and terror that float around me like little phantom moths and give me peace I never knew in me nineteen years alive.
Oh, he did me good, me sweet plumber.