Chapter 7 Cal
Cal
Killing her was always the plan, but the way it happened last time definitely wasn't.
That's why when I get the 'out for delivery' notification this time, I don't drug myself with a pill.
I don't need it to make me insatiable...
I already am. It's been months since the last time, and those months have been the longest of my life.
I had to figure out how to dispose of a body without enlisting my best friend's help, and I had to practice self-control.
It feels like I share my body with a murder-y toddler some days, when I find myself acting on a whim instead of being careful.
I've spent all that time honing my ability to focus, training my mind to resist the impulse to make snap decisions, and being methodical.
It's why I'm better prepared this time, why I don't act on the need to shove my dick into one of her holes the minute I've secured the snakes inside their terrarium.
I've grown fond of them, amazingly. I built them an entire little kingdom in the dungeon, the length of one wall.
The lights inside cast shadows across the room as they tangle over one another.
I leave the light on as I move back up the stairs to open my present, excitement pulling at the restraint I've worked so hard for. When I lift the false bottom out of the box and reveal the present, everything inside of me clenches, like my heartbeat is skipping.
I think I even forget to breathe in my excitement.
She's divine.
I reach in to pull her out with shaking arms, barely able to contain my excitement as I prepare to meet my new toy.
It's not just the idea of having a new plaything that's got me unable to contain myself, but the thrill of having chosen her completely blind adds an extra element of need to the moment when I lay her out on the floor and sweep the hair from her face to get an unobstructed view of who I was sent.
Just like last time, there was no name on the listing.
This time, though, I opted to go about it differently.
I paid a premium for a curated service, assured that I wouldn't be receiving someone else's leftovers in the place where I was supposed to get a shiny new toy.
I was explicit in my instruction that I wanted her untouched this time; I couldn't care less if they gave me a church mouse or a whore, but I was very intentional when I said I don't want her to show evidence of her abuse.
And, to my utter astonishment, they listened.
She's small, probably because they only choose girls who are tiny enough to be shipped in a crate, but she's well-developed.
Her tits will undoubtedly overflow my palms, and her thighs and stomach have just enough cushion to make cuddling her body plusher.
The last girl that was delivered to me was already on death's door, her skin wrapped tightly over her bones. But this slice of heaven is perfect.
Despite being clean, bits of straw hang in her hair, and the aroma of the shipping crate and the wood chips in the box clings to her.
“What a beautiful mess.” I murmur, stroking her cheek. I'm surprised by her warmth, the texture of her skin.
They knew what they were doing, not ruining her face.
It's impeccable. She's like an angel, her soft lips so kissable.
They feel like velvet when I run my fingers over them, imagining them wrapped around my cock.
I don't know how long I'll keep her or if I'll get around to doing more than fucking her cunt, but I add it to the list of things I want to do to her.
Her hair is dark, and I can tell it's been washed recently. It slips through my fingers, silky to the touch, soft, and betraying a hint of burgundy beneath what I thought was simply dark brown.
Whoever this woman was before she became mine, she was well cared for. That sentiment delights me all the more. I've gotten myself a precious gift, something finer than silver or gold... something I'd trade everything to possess.
I stare at her, appreciating her beauty for a minute, the way she's so effortlessly gorgeous. She doesn't have to do anything, doesn't have to don any makeup or turn on a certain charm. Instead, she's got a face that could make the devil fall to his knees.
The fringe of her dark lashes is settled, assuring me she’s deep in her state of unconsciousness.
She doesn't move as I explore her, rubbing my thumb across her lips, luxuriating in the supple, velvety feel.
I press on the bottom one just gently enough to get a look at her perfect white teeth, her warm and wet mouth tempting me to put something more than my thumb against her silky tongue.
I breathe through the need strangling my cock and focus on appreciating her beauty.
With her delicate skin and her unique bone structure, she looks like the sort of woman men compose sonnets about.
I don't doubt for a second that she was some man's muse, the source of all his inspiration in the world.
And now she's mine. She'll be my canvas to paint her with blood and sweat and cum, bite marks when I can't get enough, and bruises when I can't control myself. She's mine until she dies, until I take her last breath.
Though she seems to be clean enough, I don't like the way she smells.
It's medicinal, like they washed her down with disinfectant before they shoved her in the box and dropped her on my welcome mat.
It's wrong, not a scent that matches how she looks.
She should smell like cookies or vanilla, maybe juicy and ripe like peaches.
I have to bathe her, to wash away the scent that clings to her skin, ruining the moment.
I actually enjoyed my last bath, so it doesn't take long for me to wash her hair, soaping it up with an apple-scented lather, and then soaking her strands in conditioner that I bought specifically for her.
I wanted to be better prepared this time, and that preparation extended to thinking about the little things—shampoo and conditioner, her own toothbrush, and a few different outfits so that I can change her depending on what I want to see her in at any given moment.
I even bought her tampons, just in case she gets a cycle before I get rid of her.
I'm not bothered by blood, obviously, but I can't imagine the continuous leaking is comfortable.
When I slip into the bath behind her and let her back rest against me, I breathe out a little of the need that's gripping me and tell myself to relax.
I won't kill this one until I mean to...
I need at least a week with her. I've told everyone at the office that I was taking a trip to visit my sister in Vegas.
Dex was the only one who questioned it, but he was placated when I explained that she'd begged for me to come visit. She didn't, of course. I haven't talked to the bitch in years, and I couldn't care less if she was standing one foot off the edge of the roof; I wouldn't go running.
But Dex fell for it, ever determined to believe the best of me.
My deceit bought me a full week of no interruptions to enjoy my time with my sweet treat.
One whole week without responsibilities, without anyone to come calling, without anywhere to be. I may just spend the entire thing buried deep inside her cunt... depends on if I like it that much. But how could I not? Everything about her is amazing, and I have barely even skimmed the surface.
Even without any outward bruises, her body is a testament to pain.
Faint scars mar her creamy skin, pink or nearly white in various places.
I see them shining beneath the light overhead, resolving to memorize every last one of them later.
She's a mosaic of pain, and yet here she is, so docile, so unaware, so. .. responsive.
I swipe her dark hair off her shoulder, letting the ends fall into the water as I clear the space, helping myself to a handful of her breasts and groaning at the perfect fit of them, the way they move so easily beneath my touch, her nipples hardening under my palm.
I move to the other side, repeating the gesture until I'm covering both of her breasts, cupping them beneath my hands.
She whimpers a little as I stroke my thumb over one, and I wonder if I imagine the way she seems to press her back against me, arching it to give me more of her other breast, as if making sure I don't play favorites.
I wouldn't dare.
I move out from behind her and hold her neck so that she doesn't slip under the surface.
As much as I enjoyed the spasms the last time I did this, I don't want to tempt my beast into claiming her life so soon.
I've not even gotten to play with this one yet.
To lose her prematurely would be a waste of time and money, and it would kill me.
Really, what are the chances of getting another one that's as beautiful?
The first woman was pretty, but this one?
I lose my breath just watching her, studying her face for any signs of awareness, any sign that she's not as deeply drugged now that she's here with me.
But she's completely, absolutely out of it.
I am equally disappointed and grateful, happy to have this time to get to know her body without her fretting over what I want from her.
The truth is, I want everything from this one. Her pain, her pleasure, her submission. And I will have it all in due time.