Stop moving and I will consider you dead
When we were still playing the game that led up to the killing, I badly wanted to fuck her. She was naked, my hands were working on her flesh, but I felt embarassed because of my two colleagues. With their respective victims they were only at arms length from us. However, I did go as far as to stretch her out on the back with parted thighs. I wanted to do it then, but didn't dare. For fear of rejection, I suppose. I compromised in starting to lick her cunt. Sure that wasn't quite what a murderer and rapist would do. It felt rather like submitting to her. Like grovelling even. But this at least I had done before and knew how to do. Anyway, her private part was dry, even spiky, it felt and tasted like crumpled adhesive tape. I'd actually had only one lick, when she said: "Don't do that", and I immediately stopped.
I then started on the throttling, which had been my real business from the start. Gripping her throat with both hands, squeezing, kneading, at times I must have compessed her neck to half its normal diameter, the displaced material bulging out above or below, depending on whether I was gripping near the collarbones or near the chin. It was impossible to kill her. She took it as one might submit to a rough massage.
So occupied it took me a while to notice that the others had already finished their respective tasks and I was now definitely behind schedule. In view of my rather fruitless exertions I told her: "Stop moving and I'll consider you dead". In spite of my fingers sqeezing her throat at that very moment she obstructively and really quite audibly asked, if she was to stop moving and then I would consider her dead. "Yes!", I affirmed in exasperation. Now at last she went into mortal agony and that was by far the best of it: to see her shuddering body and tremblig lips, her head turning in a terminal spasm to the extreme right position. Of that at least she made a good job.
Oh God, but she doesn't play fair. – Already I see her moving again.
© Anthony Thwaites