A Gilded Game

Chapter 6 Cal #2

I never realized I had a God complex, but it's incomparable, having absolute control like this. I can already tell the power is going to my head—both heads, actually.

I ease out from behind her, careful not to let her slip and nail her head against the porcelain tub. When I'm ready for her to die, it won't be an accident. It will be meticulous, ritual.

I will savor every minute of it. And until then, I will savor every minute of having her body.

When she rests against the back of the tub, I situate myself between her legs, charting a path with my fingers. I've never fucked someone underwater before, so I expect resistance that I don't meet with.

She's not as wet, maybe, but when I push my cock inside of her, it doesn't matter.

She's perfectly warm, squeezing me impossibly tight given that the rest of her body is as good as jelly, pliable under my touch.

Her head bobs as I pull back to get some leverage and then again when I thrust deep inside, establishing a rhythm to fuck her to.

It's not a gentle one.

The water slaps around us, sloshing over the sides of the bathtub with my every move, reaching higher up her chest and splashing against her bouncing tits as I hammer into her.

She moans loud enough to draw my attention to her face, and when I look up at it, it's to see it contorted with what looks like discomfort.

I can only open her up so deep in the bathtub, so there's no room to spread her open, to make it easy for her body to accommodate me.

Maybe that's why the friction feels more intense this time... and maybe that's why I can't quite get there.

Frustration mounts inside me as it becomes clear this isn't working, so I grip her thighs and yank her closer, fitting myself deeper inside of her.

I don't hear what sound she makes as she disappears under the surface of the water, her hair billowing out around her.

Just her nose pokes out of the water, enough for her to still breathe.

It's a happy accident, but I appreciate it regardless, because I wouldn't have had the foresight to make sure she didn't drown.

Not when I'm balls deep inside of her and so desperate to drive her through the porcelain and straight into hell.

We can stay there together; it's the place a monster like me belongs, anyway.

“Fuck, babydoll.” I groan, biting my lip as I watch her below the clear water. She looks like a creature from another world, a mermaid or some sort of siren. She's already trying to lure me to the depths of hell without even opening her eyes, let alone her mouth.

But I'm a goner for her, spellbound by how fucking ethereal she is.

I fold her further and pinch her nose shut, curious what will happen when her air supply dwindles.

It doesn't take me long to find out, because her mouth opens and water rushes in, filling her lungs.

Her choking is immediate, and so is my reaction to it.

Her entire body spasms— and I do mean the entire thing.

Her walls squeeze me tighter, desperate, contracting around my cock like they can siphon oxygen from there to save her.

It's too much, making her squeeze me too tight.

If she were awake, I'd think she was trying to strangle it to punish me for helping myself to her body.

But her eyes are still closed, though the peacefulness is gone from her face.

Her eyes are squeezed shut, like she's fighting to stay asleep, to make the transition to her death that much easier, and her entire body is involved in the fight.

She twists and turns beneath me, seeking air as if she just keeps trying, she'll eventually manage to succeed.

I don't let go of her nostrils until I'm shooting my cum so deep inside her, so hard I feel it could come out her nose. Obviously, I know the anatomy doesn't work that way, but I'm so deep inside of her that it feels like I'm in her chest, her throat.

I'll have to watch her choke on my cum after I've fucked her mouth.

When I'm done, I collapse against her, barely able to hold my head out of the water.

She drowns for a moment longer as I fight to reclaim the energy to move, breathing through the pulsing pleasure deep inside of me.

She's dying, her motions slowing as she gives up the fight.

Let her go, the beast whispers. Let her die and then see how many times you can fuck her before her pussy is cold.

I want to watch her fight until she stops completely. I want to see the last bit of air that her body held onto escape from her lungs as a bubble on the surface of our bathwater. I want to take her life and claim it, to play with her body in ways I can't when she's alive.

But I don't want it to be over yet.

When I wrap my hand around her throat and drag her out of the water, she's already still. I let it go too far, and now all I can do is try to undo the damage. I haven't been CPR certified for years, but my summer as a lifeguard isn't going to fail me now.

I drag her with me over the side of the tub, insulating her head as I drop her flat to the ground. I stack my hands between her breasts, positioned just above her sternum. But I don’t begin compressions. I don’t do anything to save her.

If she dies, I get to do this all over again, and that thought is pretty fucking enticing. The thought of another girl in another box, another toy just for me. It has me hesitating, studying her face.

I want to let her go and bring her back in equal measure.

I wonder what it's like for her, wherever she is right now. It's somewhere between life and death, in a place even more removed from consciousness than her drugged state.

If she's lucky, there's nothing after this... no pain, no pleasure. It means there's no need for anyone to give her the former to get the latter.

Compassion isn't the reason I watch death slip over her.

I'm merciful to let her die like this, but it's not because I believe myself to be a merciful man. I just can't stop it.

It's not simply a need to spill blood or to cause pain, for me.

I'm not a psycho-sadist. My sexual desires may lean a little toward the dark side, but it's not out of some sick fascination with blood.

I just like the control I glean in those few rare moments where my heart beats while someone else's stops.

Having control over death is the ultimate high; I am the one who invited him here tonight.

With a few pumps to her chest and short breaths to her lungs, I could stave him off.

I could save her.

But I'm not a fucking savior.

And I'm not in this for anything other than quieting the static in my head.

So, I grip the knife I abandoned next to the tub and glance over it once, judging whether it's sharp enough to do what I need it to.

I'm hard again when I straddle her waist and look at her serene face. She's a beautiful doll, dead for all intents and purposes. Her identity has long been erased, separated from her before I ever even laid eyes on her.

Now all that's left to do is to make it official.

Her skin is smooth beneath me as I sink inside of her.

She’s not as tight as she was while she was fighting for her life.

Now that she’s given up, a sort of peace has come over her.

But I haven’t been sated yet—the beast is desperate, and I’m still throbbing with a need that nothing can quench.

Not even slipping inside of her tight, warm pussy can stave off the absolute fucking carnal desire I’m gripped with.

Her lips are parted as I know her lungs are still full of water, but I don’t kiss them. Whatever they drugged her with, it's effective. Her survival instincts have been entirely shut off now, leaving her to be the perfect prey.

I place the tip of the blade between her breasts, and my breath grows heavy with the excitement as I slide it slowly left, feeling for the space between her ribs.

She's thin, making it easy work to locate a soft spot.

.. a spot that I drive the blade through with enough pressure to feel the resistance, the crunch as I snag bone, and then the ease as I drive it straight through her heart.

Blood floods out of her chest, red and beautiful.

I can appreciate what it means and enjoy the sight of it when it's incidental to killing.

Just like I can appreciate the way she gasps a little bit, the sound turning to a gurgle around the water in her lungs as the last of the air she'll ever breathe floods into the space between us.

I don't twist the knife, don't pull it out, don't do anything other than bury my face in her hair and breathe her in, my cock desperate for the warmth of her body—warmth that is surely evaporating. I am inside of her when I kill her, and there’s no power more intoxicating than this.

It's a pleasure I've always denied myself... a pleasure I no longer fight. I can't help myself; she's just so perfect.

Perfect and ruined and dead.

I don't let myself think of the mess or how I'll clean it up. I focus on nothing other than my motions, rocking my hips forward, angling myself so I can bury myself as deeply as I can inside her.

The blood is messy, and the warmth fades fast. I'm covered in sweat, wearing my frustration like a cloak by the time I'm digging my fingers into the ground, desperate for release.

I'm so close, but something is holding me back.

The reality of fucking a dead girl is a lot less enticing than the fantasy.

I have to close my eyes and imagine her the way she was before I wrecked her, before I feel my balls tighten with impending release.

By then, I grit my teeth and screw my eyes shut, desperate to be done with her.

The only movements of her body are the ones caused by me, her neck arching off the ground with each shuddering thrust as I drive into her.

When I spill inside her, the relief is more potent than the orgasm. My sweat drips onto her pale face as I collapse on top of her, immediately snared by the regret for what I've done.

Turns out, fucking a dead girl doesn't do for me what I thought it would.

I've just broken my toy by playing with it too hard.

And to make matters worse, her body eases and her jaw slackens at the same time that her eyes roll open.

They're sightless, fixed on the ceiling, but they feel full of accusation, too.

I scramble away from her and rake my hands through my hair, wishing that my sickness was something simpler... something normal. I'd settle for a fucking foot fetish if it would keep me from having to kill them.

She was someone's daughter. A sister. Maybe even a mother.

My eyes fix on the blade sticking out of her chest, which I stare at accusingly.

I know the knife didn't make me kill her... I was going to watch her drown peacefully on my bathroom floor. I just couldn't resist the escalation.

My demon is sated, but I feel sick, full of hatred of myself.

I'm disgusted as I rake my hand through my hair, staring at the dead body splayed out beneath me.

I killed her.

I bought a girl to kill her, to fuck her and then erase her as if she never existed.

I did exactly what I knew I was going to all along, but it doesn’t feel right. This feels like a Band-Aid on a bullet hole.

Next to me, one of the snakes slithers against the shower door, desperately seeking an escape.

I turn to watch him crawl up the glass, his white belly flattening against it like he’s seeking an escape from his new prison.

Me too, buddy.