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You voted for the writing prompt “ it was the first time I killed a man” so Didi and I responded. This is OVER 18 READING!  The prompt was both of our favourite, so thank you! We’ve had a ball, remember we never discuss the way the story should go. Author A writes her part and hands it to author B to finish. I just wanna say, I personally am so happy my path has crossed with Didi. I enjoyed her novel Aggravated Momentum and she is an excellent thriller and suspense writer.  I hope we are life long practice writing buddies to perfect our craft in our genre no matter where our careers take us. What caught our attention over each other’s suspense novels? The writing style! LOL.  Can you guess who wrote what? Comments and feedback welcome!

One thing Didi and I love are strong women, no matter the age, race, sexuality we salute them all! … we present  to you a woman that falls into this category no matter what she has done in the past, she’s strong and powerful in her own way…. it’s Lisa Vanacilli!

Enjoy

It Was the First Time I Killed a Man…

 

Scene One – Author A

June 1962, New York Supreme Court.

 “Look at her she’s so full of herself. She did it John, trust me she’s guilty as sin.”

“Hmm, yeah I agree. But the jury that’s the problem buddy. We got a couple-a Hispanics, one Jamaican and an Italian-American, they’ll probably be on her side. Their kind always stick together.”

“Fuck that, and fuck them. We got this we’re the best prosecution attorneys this side of New York.”

 

I sit in the witness stand with my hands cuffed behind my back, sandwiched in between two cops. A lopsided menacing smile slowly creeps across my lips, as I stare out at the jury in front of me.  I glance over and see ‘em whisperin’ again. Look at these two smart ass prosecution attorneys tryin’ to pin shit on me. What- a pair-a dicks! My wrists are freakin’ killin’ me. Exactly how far do they think I can run with my hands and feet shackled together?… But then again, last time I was here I gave them every reason to anticipate an escape, with my “erratic” behavior as the judge called it. This time they cuffed me. Bunch-a schmucks.

 

The court house is packed today, seems like everyone this side of the Brooklyn Bridge came out to witness my fate. The first woman on trial for first degree murder, in the state of New York. I guess that makes me a celebrity ‘round these parts. I laugh out loud at my own private joke.  The jury look up at me wonderin’ what my outburst of laughter is about, they can go ta’ hell, kiss my ass for all I care. With unsettled looks on their faces they stare. I smile my sweetest sarcastic smile for them, right before I put my poker face on show. There’s no emotion, just pure hatred. Look at them, they make me sick all of them. The women sit an’ fan themselves, with their faces pinched up like there’s a bad smell in the air an’ their shit comes out smellin’ roses. With their cheap shoes on show, who the fuck are they to judge me? They could at least dress for the occasion, before they sit there and play God with my fuckin’ fate. I stare hard at their pathetic faces, there’s no smell in this joint it’s me. That’s the effect I have on women these days, given everythin’ they read in the headlines ‘bout me. A distasteful slut, that’s how the see me. To them I’m the kinda woman you lock your husband up from. As for the men, well I guess I still look cute in my orange jumpsuit and unmade up face. I see them watchin.’ For my own amusement, I give the short fat juror, with the bald patch an’ badly fitted brown suit on the back row a wink across the court house. He shifts with embarrassment in his seat. Ha!  I still got it.

 

I raise my chin and pout, with attitude I flick my frizzy blonde mane of hair back as I shake my head. My eyes dart around the stuffy court house, with its dirt brown walls and worn out seats. I watch one of the prosecuting attorneys adjust his tie and wipe the perspiration from his brow. That’s right, sweat you piece-a shit. I glance over to the left, I watch the judge shift his paperwork and then pick up his pen. He looks out at the courthouse over his glasses…It’s show time.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury all rise please.”

“All rise please. That includes you, Ms. Vanacilli.”

I tease the judge.

“Sorry I mus-ta  been in my own lil’ world, sir.”

“Ouch not so rough Mr. if you wanna handle me like that big guy … now’s not the time or place.”

I giggle as I flirt with the cop on my right, tugging at my arm forcing me to my feet.

“Ms. Vanacilli! May I remind you’re in a court of law, and your best behavior is expected at all times. Now please rise.”

I smile sweetly at the judge and get to my feet, as the cop next to me grabs my shoulder. The judge turns his attention back to the jurors.

“Juror number one please step forward.”

Some Italian broad with bright pink lipstick, and a skirt a few inches too short, eases herself slowly out of her chair. Nice shade, I wonder what range her lipstick is from? I remain confident they got nothin’ on me, I’ll be out and head over to Macey’s to check out all the latest lipsticks. I’ll see if I can get me a shade just like hers. The thought makes me smile as I look juror number one up and down, admiring her knee-high boots and beehive hairdo.

Juror number one shuffles out toward the stand. She looks over at me, she’s scared. I can tell when fear is oozing from a person, now that shit turns me on. Men, women, don’t matter, there’s just something about a certain frightened vulnerability in a person’s eye that heats up my core. The judge’s flat tone rings out across the courtroom.

“How do you find the defendant Ms. Lisa Vanacilli, guilty or not guilty of first degree murder?”

The judge fixes the juror with a stern look as he folds his large hands, and then rests his elbows on the table. Suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked from the room, as everyone holds their breath. Now if this snatch makes the wrong move, I swear to Lucifer I’ll kill the bitch. I’ll get her mama too she better come correct. All of them dumb fucks better have fallen for my sweet lil’ miss innocent act.

“Sir, we the jury find Ms. Vanacilli … guilty of murder of the first degree by an unanimous vote.”

With a stone cold stare my eyes penetrate right through juror number one. My unbrushed bleach blonde frizzy mane with dark roots, and menacing stare scare the shit outta her. She moves her eyes away from me quickly as she shuffles back to her seat. Fuckin’ traitor, I should-a known. It seems like us Italians don’t stick together no mo’.  Right there and then in the packed courthouse I lose my shit. With my hands behind my back I cry out in protest over this dumb bitch’s verdict.

“Guilty? Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me?”

“Ms. Vanacilli can you refrain from such language and pipe down!”

I ignore the bald douchebag judge, and address the jury personally. I turn to them and spit my venom as the cops hold me back.

“Guilty my fuckin’ ass. Yo, let me tell ya’ll you ain’t got NO FREAKIN’ idea ‘bout the shit he put me through.”

I hack up a load of phlegm and spit, aiming for that bitch juror. I miss and hit the prosecuting attorney right on the shoulder. Good, he’s dead too, the schmuck.  Sitting there with that smug look on his face. I’d like to see that look change when he wakes up in a bathtub of hot water, with yours truly holdin’ an electric radiator over his fuckin’ dumb shit for brains face and body. I’d then make sure he’s unrecognizable as I burn his face off, before send him home to his slut of a wife. That’ll wipe that smile off his face. The vision and thought arouses me again. God, I wish I could touch myself, I gotta’ control myself, I squeeze my thighs together and smirk. Yeah, I got plans for you if I ever get out of this joint Mr. Attorney.

The cops restrain me and wrestle me to my seat. My breathing gets deeper as the anger rises within me. I feel it from the tips of my toes, to the last strand of my fizzy mane.

The judge turns his attention back at me. I ignore him as I stare out every one of the jurors who had the balls to find me guilty. Okay, so I did do it… I killed him. But that’s our secret for now.

 

“Ms. Vanacilli on June 19th 1962, at New York Supreme Court you’ve been found guilty of murder in the first degree.”

I move my eyes back over to the judge.

“Yeah, no shit. I heard ya’ the first time smart ass.”

The judge impatiently pinches the bridge of his nose and pauses his lips.

“Ms. Vanacilli, I sentence you to the death penalty. Capital punishment, by means of electrocution.”

My raspy deep voice echoes across the court room as everyone releases their breath.

“The death penalty, ah c’mon don’t fuck around you gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Take her away, gentlemen.”

The judge waves his hand and dismisses me like a fly buzzing around a piece- a dog shit on the hot New York sidewalk. Dumb and dumber drag me out of the courtroom kickin’ and screamin’ language so obscene…. it be a sin to repeat it. The cunts. They’re all gonna pay every one of ‘em.

 

 

January 1972, Federal Medical Center Carswell, Fort Worth Texas

 

I bring my mind back to the present day after I relive my day in court ten years ago, upstate in New York. I was just thirty years old at the time. Now I’m a forty year old woman and I look every year of it. Gone are my bleach blonde locks and high cheekbones. I’m a dull brunette, salted with gray, and the wrinkles came on strong years ago. This place ages you, the same ol’ same ol’ day in day out. For the last ten years I’ve been rooted here in this piss hole of a hospital, awaiting my big death day. With all the bullshit politics and capital punishment changes, my case has been tossed around for years. Who knows what they’ll do. They didn’t ban the electric chair ‘til after my trial, but I still lucked out on that. Now they’re probably just keep me alive, waitin’ around for ‘em to grow the balls to finally stick some poisonous needle in my fuckin’ arm.

I move my eyes over the cops an’ camera men behind the screen, separatin’ me an’ the pretty lil’ reporter sitting in front of me. I’ve lost count over the years how many times I’ve been asked the same questions. Why did I do it? What made me do it? Now, I’ve got Ms. Prissy with her pink lipgloss and perfectly styled hair in front- a me, tryin’ ta’ break me for a confession. She’s cute, I wonder where she’s from. She looks Latino to me.  I like them ethnic ones. Somethin’ a lil exotic and curvy. I wouldn’t mind kissing off all that lipgloss she has on. My eyes move over her perky tits in her silk white blouse, wonderin’ if they’re as perky without a bra. Humm, I admire the curve of her tits as she blushes. I spy a nipple poking through the silk of her blouse. I lick my lips and pout, I like this one. I wonder if her lil’ hot spot tastes as good as she looks.

Don’t mind me, ten years with nothin’ but lady curves on display in an all-female maximum security hospital, for the “criminally insane” as they like-ta call yours truly or those with anti-social personalities, makes you see a woman differently. I never looked at another woman sexually, before they locked me up in this joint. Over the years, the reporters have thought up all kinda shit to sell papers, an’ paint a picture of me as a female murderer on death row. The notoriety I have among the new young female inmates, who hear about me on the outside before they were dumb enough to get caught doing whatever shit it was that got them here is a thrill. I convert ‘em all, one by one. It’s a personal pleasure for me ya’ see. The young ones swagger in here, thinking they’re the shit, tough and ball-breaking.  Give ‘em a month­­— if that. I’ll have my way with ‘em when the lights are out. Down on their knees in front of me, with my legs spread and their pretty faces buried between my thighs worshiping me like their life depends on it, tellin’ me how good I taste. They aint so tough then, they’re like putty in my hands as I tame ‘em, show ‘em who is the alpha female. I love-ta groom ‘em so they know how to please a demanding bitch like me. There’s nothing more satisfying than a woman’s touch, her tongue is much more in tune with how to please a woman’s pussy. I like them long, slow, licks both givin’ and receivin.’ Thoughts of what I’d do with Ms.  Lipgloss run through my mind as I give her my full attention while she questions me.

“Ms. Vanacilli, can you tell me a bit about your background? You’re an Italian American I understand, your family immigrated to Brooklyn when you were just one years old. Are you in contact with your family?

I ignore her question. I raise an eyebrow and blow her a kiss, like I said I’m feelin’ this pretty one.

“What shade lipgloss do you have on?  Ms… I never caught your name.”

Ha! I watch the heat rise within her at my unexpected question. Even with her beautifully tanned skin I can see a pink glow move across her face. She smooths over her jet-black curls, and clears her throat. She tries to gather herself as I eye her tits lustfully.

Hmm, she looks so good I almost feel weak. You don’t get ‘em this fine on the inside. I bet she smells real fresh an’ clean. I look her up and down from behind the glass. She’s well- groomed in appearance her makeup is perfect, I remember when I use- ta look like that. Her legs are crossed at the knee an’ a tight black skirt nicely hugs her. I wonder if she’ll part her legs for me? I’m not greedy, just a bit so I can see what’s between her thighs. I imagine she’s got a nice pair-a lace panties on for me. I gotta thing for women in lace lingerie, I cut out all the pictures from the magazines an’ stick ‘em on my wall. Blonde, brunette, Asian, African- American, Latino I take ‘em all, I got me a girlfriend for every night a-the week on my wall. Stockings an’ suspenders are my favorite, with a pair-a the highest heels and no bra. Shit, I’m ganna make myself explode. In a low voice she pushes again.

“Ms. Vanacilli, if you could answer the question, tell me about you?… And why did you do it?”

“Is that what you think, I did it? You don’t believe my story? When I was on trial sweetpea, you were probably barely out of high school. Have you done your research?”

Again she blushes.

“Yes Ms. Vanacilli––”

I cut her off.

“Call me Lisa, don’t make me feel old with this Ms. Vanicelli bullshit.”

I smile sweetly and move my eyes back down to her tits.  She crosses her arms across her chest to hide herself, as she pulls herself up straight in her chair. She looks me in the eye. What a brave heart she is, reminds me of the young female inmates I tame, can’t resist them.

“Lisa, please if you could please answer my questions.”

She has nice eyes, green not bad. I wonder how old she is? I sigh, I’ll drop the insane murderer guard, just once and give her somethin’ to work with. Somethin’ to run back and type up a report on. Or sell to the magazines. I lean forward and dramatically eye her deep cleavage once more before I lock eyes with her.  Have you ever stared into the eyes of a murderer? Would you be fazed? Ms. Lipgloss holds her ground, can’t beat a strong woman.

“No sweetpea, my family disowned me years ago. My father’s probably dead by now or buried in some tramp’s pussy. My mom’s was always strung out on some kinda drug with her mouth locked around whatever pimp’s cock she could find to feed her habit. No matter what they tell you, or what you read, none of the stories ‘bout my perfect family are true. The mean streets of Brooklyn raised me. You wanna know what happened? You wanna know why I did it.. I’m ganna tell you a tale, it was the first time I killed a man.

Scene two Author B

And no, I’m not talkin’ about that cock suckin’ woman beater that I got locked away for killin’ either. That ship has sailed.”

Ms. Lipgloss perks up in her chair, her big green eyes suddenly widen. I can see the wheels turning in her head. She wasn’t expecting that bombshell. The apparent excitement in her face starts heatin’ me up in the middle. Fuck it. I’ve already been denied any kind of appeal, and all my attempts at escape so far have ended very bad for me. I guess it’s time to accept my fate. I’m already on death row, what more can they do? If I’m ever going to tell my secrets, it might as well be to this sexy ass reporter. All the rest have been dull, uptight bitches. Ten whole years and all they’ve ever sent to interview me are nasty old hags or fat sloppy men who probably couldn’t even keep their cocks hard for more than a couple a’ pumps.

“Lisa, are you telling me there are more?”

She leans forward with the question, allowing me to see even farther into the depths of her chest. I lick my lips before looking back up into her excited face. Apparently, I hit some kinda’ nerve. There’s a spark of adventure in her eyes. It’s the exact same spark I saw written all over the first woman I ever bent from straight in this place. That bitch was perfect. She tasted like a fuckin’ ice cream cone. I lean back in my metal chair with a smirk. I put my hands behind my head as my chains crash around on the tiled floor beside me. Should I really give it to her? Should I get Ms. Lipgloss the big break she’s been lookin’ for?

“I aint tellin’ you nothin til I get your name.” I push her even further, “and a peek of ya tits while we’re at it.”

“Excuse me?”

Clearly she’s both offended and intrigued.

“I’m not showing you anything.”

“Well then sweetpea, I’m not tellin’ you anythin’.”

“Damnit.”

She mouthed to herself.

Little Ms. Lipgloss shakes her head slightly in disbelief. Sitting on my side of the glass, I enjoy the show. This story’s gunna’ be huge for her. I know it will be. I’m the first female murderer on death row, and there’s shit even the cops don’t know ‘bout. It’s 1962 an’ all ‘em female serial killers that follow will salute me! I’m fuckin’ God to the tabloid papers of New York, I’m the first fuckin’ lady. The names Vanacilli straight outta Brooklyn, New York don’t forget it.

I’ve thought about what I’ve done every day for nearly fifteen since my first kill. The look in all their faces as I bled ‘em out. If I’m gunna’ set this little tart up for a mind blowing career then she’s gotta’ give me somethin’. My life and my secrets don’t come without a price.

“Isn’t there anything else we can arrange?”

She pleaded.

“Off the record, Lisa, I need this fucking story. What do you have to lose?  I can try and get you anything you want. Isn’t there some kind of food, or entertainment you want before they knock you off anyway?”

“Do I look like I give a shit ‘bout bein’ on or off record?”

She shook her head no.

I raise my voice and get up close to the glass.

“Nope, that’s right. All I care ‘bout right now is seein’ your tits sweetpea”

I reply with a full grin. I lower my voice. The pleading is so damn sexy, an’ I don’t wanna scare this sweet thang too much.

“You’re welcome to keep beggin’ too though. I like watching your mouth move.”

I give her a wink.

A new side of this sexy reporter finally comes to the surface. There’s a take charge air about her an’ I can feel myself wetten under this fuckin’ orange jumpsuit. God I wish there wasn’t any glass between us. I’d lick her entire body first like a creamsicle, an’ then I’d show her what a real orgasm feels like. I nearly lose my shit again, with excitement as I watch the girl start barking orders at the rest of the news crew. Of course on the outside I keep my cool, poker face persona I’m so well known for.

“Turn off all the damn cameras.”

She demands.

“Look away, and you all better edit out every fucking part of the conversation leading up to now. Everyone understand?”

I glance around the room before me. Eger nods of encouragement and excited smiles meet the faces of her crew. There are three men with her. These bunch-a dicks don’t deserve to be blessed with a look at her perfect tits, jealously boils within me. Each one’s standin’ behind bulky cameras on giant wheeled tripods, ready to capture every angle of myself an’ of her. They came here hoping for a success, but they have no damn clue what they’re actually in for. I’m not sure yet if I’m gunna reveal one kill or all five. I can’t wait to see these nosey men cringe at my past.

After tossing her notebook onto the piss yellow tiles of the floor, she stands up. Black four inch heels laced to her feet add length to those perfect legs. They’re toned an’ tan. Even through her skirt I can tell she’s got a slight gap between her thighs. It’s my favorite shape of a woman.

“My name is Tiffany. And, are you sure there isn’t some other way?”

Her voice cracks slightly, heavy with irritation and nerves.

“Don’t be shy sweetpea.”

I tell her, I lean forward to press my cuffed hands against the window.

“I wanna’ see ‘em both. And I want you to push them up on the glass too.”

The guard behind me coughs loudly into a closed fist before barking orders in my direction.

“Keep your hands in your lap Ms.Vanacilli!” bitch.

“It’s fine,”

Tiffany tells my guard.

“Whatever gets me this story is fine. Let’s just please keep this quiet, okay?”

I watch closely as my pretty little glossed lip puppet complies to my request.  She stands up in her four inch heels and tight black skirt. I watch as she removes her white silk blouse, and white lace bra, her tits fall out. I bark at her.

“Get up to the glass sweetpea an’ push ‘em up nice an’ close. Raise ya hands above ya head for me too. Keep ya legs nice an’ wide, there’s a good girl.”

From behind the glass I get up close again an’ look her in the eye. I press my cuffed hands against the glass as I lick where her perfect tits are placed. She looks down an’ watches me. I give each one a long, wet, slow ice cream cone lick. My hands travel down the glass to her hot spot an’ I drop to my knees.

“Ms. Vanacilli get back now!”

I roll my eyes an’ bark over my shoulder.

“Fuckin’ party pooper! You pissin’ on my party or what, huh?”

“On your chair, please.”

The guard shouts.

Now if it were not for my guard, Ms. Lipgloss be bent over touching her ankles so I can get a look at her Latin curves from behind, in that tight skirt. Them Latinos are my weakness, they swagger in here to start their time as female inmates with their curvy asses and I wanna touch myself every time.

I sigh and get to my feet as my chains crash against to floor.  I soften my face as I look into her eyes and whisper.

“Pucker up sweetpea gimme a kiss.”

She presses her lips up to the glass without hesitation, I think she likes the attention. I kiss Ms. Lipgloss on the mouth from behind the glass and look her square in the eye, she breathes deeply. With her hands above her head still and her tits pressed up against the glass. In just her black skirt an’ heels I watch the rise an’ fall of her shoulders an’ chest.

As I sit back in my seat my hands move back to my lap, but they’re far from still. I press a couple fingers on my clit through the thick cotton fabric of my jumpsuit. With heavy breath, I push and swirl while I stare at the meaty flesh pressed up against the window. Even her nipples are perfect, tiny little things. Her voice rings in like a bell, much softer than everything else she’s said so far. It’s as if she’s finally given into me – accepted the connection.

“Are we done?” She asks my permission to put her own tits away. She’s a damn fast learner my permission is needed, that’s right.

I nod up at her first, and then I lean my head back and close my eyes. I use the buildup of the moment, and let it carry me away. As I continue to give myself pleasure. I let my mind wander to a different time. A place from my past that I often visit in memory just as I’m on the verge of crashing into orgasm. It’s the story I’ll tell her. My first and all-time favorite kill. The cause of my death addiction. The reason I’m here in the fuckin’ first place. Finally, my body explodes from the inside out. I open my eyes back up, catch my breath, and let my mouth mold into a satisfied grin.  Ms. Lipgloss looks at me stunned, they all fuckin’ do. I laugh out loud and blow her another kiss.

“Alright it’s show time sweetpea, grab ya paper an’ pen.”

 

 

August 1957, Manhattan night club. Five years before the murder trial.

 

The place is thick with a fresh sweaty stink mixed with a swirl of Vodka and expensive perfume. It’s a classy little dance club, with the most beautiful jazz music blaring from a small corner stage. It’s not usually my style to let rich drunk men rub up against me on a dance floor. Especially after dousing myself in sticky glitter skin paste, and while tripping over my own feet in tall bulky platforms. I can hardly stay standing, and every time I trip over myself I get more and more pissed off at the evening.

I let a girlfriend-a mine talk me into comin’  here, to hook up with some douchebag she met while servin’ cocktails a few nights ago. He promised to bring a friend for me, an’ said I wouldn’t have to buy any a’ my own drinks all night. So fuck it, I couldn’t pass up the free alcohol.

I glance down the length of the bar at my date as he pushes through the crowd in ma’ direction. He’s a slob. Just ‘cause he’s got money don’t make him any better than all the rest of the perverted violent dicks I’ been with. After a lifetime of public groping and countless trips to the emergency room after a good beating, I’ve pretty much come to terms with the reality of men. Or at least the men I always wind up exposed to. I wanna kill one. I always have. I’ve been witness to a few murders and nothing after came outta it. Most men deserve it, especially one like my date. They have it coming.

His name is Steven, an’ he reminds me of a boyfriend I had just outta’ high school named Ramone. Steven has the exact same frame. He’s wide in the shoulders with lengthy legs an’ a broad arm span. Ramone taught me the hard way ‘bout how hard a man with long arms can throw a punch. He also introduced me to the painful feel of a ribcage kick delivered by the foot attached to such long muscular legs. Those beatings usually happened only moments before he raped me repeatedly. Sometimes even in front-a  his careless pig friends. I grimace at the memory then swallow my double shot a’ Tequila in one gulp. It’s my fourth one so far, an’ I’m already startin’ to feel it.

The more I drink, the more I fantasize ‘bout it, every single time. Especially when I drink Tequila. I watch Steven move, his tight pants exposing the outline of his cock. I picture it as Ramone’s, jabbing into me while I slipped in and out of consciousness. Fuck Ramone, and fuck Steven too. Tonight, might be the night. I think I’m finally gunna to do it. The image of a knife slicing across Steven’s neck causes a heavy pulse between my legs, an’ my nipples harden with excitement.

Steven is finally able to close the gap between us. He slips a large arm ‘round my waist then forces his big curious hand ‘round my ass cheek and squeezes – too hard. This dick has no clue what he’s in for. One more ass or tittie grab, an’ I’m doing it. Fuck it. I been dreamin’ this long enough.  It’s time for action.

Steven turns his attention to the bar tender.

“We’ll each have another double, sexy.”

“Sure,”

She beamed at him like some kinda fuckin’ groupie.

“What do you say we get outta here?”

He breathed heavily down my neck.

This is my chance, I thought, it’s now or never.

“I’d love to.”

I grinned.

“My apartment’s actually within walking distance.” I lied.

“Just let me use the bathroom first, an’ I’ll meet you outside.”

“Then do it. I’m ready to fuck you already!”

Steven said as he smacked my ass hard enough to nearly knock me over an’ started for the door.

I take a giant step forward an’ grab ahold of a barstool to keep my balance. What a schmuck. An eerie excitement starts poolin’ in my belly as I take a piss. I’m finally gonna’ do it. Tonight’s the night I’m gonna take a life, my mind is made up. I’m gonna’ kill this ass grabbing disrespectful piece-a shit. The steps I need to take swirl round my head. I have to be smart ‘bout this. One can’t just go on murderin’ people without a plan.

Sounds of the pulsating music blast through the air. Confidently, I use the baby blue ceramic soap dish by the sink to shatter a corner of the large mirror on the wall. I slip a decent sized chunk of glass under my skirt, secure in place against my skin by the elastic of my panties. It’ll be easily accessible when the timin‘s right, yet no one’ll ever notice it. The bulky belt over my skirt does a great job at keepin’ the glass outta’ sight.

After findin’ my friend an’ tellin’ her a lie ‘bout my date leavin’ me for another woman. I promise her I’ll be careful.

“It’s fine.”

I shout at her over the beat.

“I’m just ganna find a ride an’ go home.”

“Are you sure?” she yelled back.

“Ya! You just have fun! There’s a buncha’ cabs lined up outside.”

She bought the story an’ brushed me off without any more thought. She just keeps swaying intimately with the cocktail douche. They haven’t even taken their eyes off each other all night. It’s fuckin’ sick if you ask me.

I find Steven waiting by the side of the club. He’s already wandered off, away from any crowd unnoticed. Not a soul has seen us together outside the place, an’ as far as his buddy knows, he left with another girl a long time ago. Fuckin’ easy. The Tequila runs wild in my veins an’ I’m surging with a drunken anticipation. The broken glass in my panties’ elastic I felt with every step I took, it practically burned a hole in my flesh. I smiled to myself. The very second I approached him, the degrading began. It’s just enough to confirm my decision.

“I hope you’re good at sucking cock.”

He says, but not before giving a breast a hard enough squeeze to leave bruises on the top side. He leaned into me, pressing my body against the brick frame of the club. We’re in the alleyway an’ it’s dark. Very dark. I’m tempted to do the job right here an’ now, but I restrained myself.  Too risky here. Steven kisses my neck an’ then bit it.  Not quite hard enough to break skin, but it hurt nonetheless. A deep moan rumbled in his throat. I wiggled out from beneath him and force a wanting smile.

“Of course I know how to suck cock.”

I told him, my secret stuck to the back of my mind.

“Let’s just get to my apartment, Steven, an’ I promise you’re in for a surprise.”

I flashed him the most seductive smile I could conjure an’ then I started walking farther into the alley, away from the club. Steven followed me like an excited puppy. He’s ready to get his cock wet, an’ I’m ready to experience my first kill.

“Steven. Can I wear your jacket, until we get there?” I asked.

“It’s freezing out here an’ this outfit aint covering much.”

“Ugh,” he groans, wholly irritated.

“I guess, are we getting close?”

“Ya, almost there.” I lied.

I turned down another dark alley just two blocks from the club. His jacket now hanging from my shoulders. It reached all the way down to my knees, coverin’ my clothing completely. This is perfect! I turned and look at him.

“You know what. Why wait?”

I motion him over to me with a curled pointer finger.

“Why don’t you just come over here, an’ fuck me now?”

Steven doesn’t say a word at my invitation. He only smiles and then shoves me with both hands against another dirty brick wall. My back slammed against it causing the wind to unload from my lungs in one painful huff. He buried his face in the curve of my neck an’ collarbone, breathing heavy an’ reaching for the backs of my thighs. I unbuckle his pants as quickly as my hands will go an’ then reach up the front of my own skirt. I’m able to grab the piece of glass, using the sleeve of his jacket to conceal it in my tiny hand.

I then let Steven rip my panties to the side an’ force himself in. I’m so wet from the excitement an’ anticipation, it doesn’t take me long to teeter the edge. Just as my stomach pools with the buildup an’ my body begins to crash ‘round him, I use every bit of strength I have to force the broken glass into his neck. One quick jab, ‘nd the entire arm of his jacket is soaked with the wet scarlet fluid. It shoots from his neck in pulses. My leg twitched as I finished up, while watching the shock and pain in Steven’s face.

He dropped almost instantly to his knees, his cock pulled outta of me in the process. Quickly I stepped aside, giving him room to lay flat an’ twitch his final movements. The last thing I needed was this piece of shit’s blood all over these stupid fuckin’ platform shoes.

The cover up is easy. Much easier than I ever even dreamed of. I drop his jacket to the ground beside his dead body and stepped away clean. No blood seeped through, my clothing was spotless. The quick walk back to the club is made in no time at all, an’ I took a cab home, just like I told my friend I would in the first place.

I sit in the back seat of the car, wholly satisfied in every way. I move my eyes back over to Ms. Lipgloss. Her mouth is open in complete shock and her eyebrows almost reach the freakin’ ceilin’.

“And that, sweetpea was the first time I killed a man.”

Who wants part #2?? we loved creating this crazy ass woman 🙂

By Kim Knight Romantic Suspense and Thriller Author  ( London, UK) & Didi Oviatt Suspense and Thriller Author ( Utah, USA).

 

Next week: Hop on over to Didi’s author site, she’ll be in the drivers seat with the voting poll. The poll will be up on Wednesday 24th May 2017. Please join in and vote in our next writing prompt to deliver next Tuesday. 🙂