Part Ten
"Did you really think you were just going to hop in the car and drive
off, handcuffed like that?"
AKA slammed the butt of the pistol he was holding in his right
hand--Keith Landon's own pistol--into the cop's left temple.
"Did you?"
AKA struck the young officer a second time on the same sore spot.
Landon's right leg kicked out in reaction to the pain.
With the knife he was holding in his other hand--AKA's own knife, one of
a set of three he kept in the car--AKA flicked at the young man's tits--those
the-most-beautiful-AKA-had-ever-seen-on-a-guy tits of tits.
Landon tried to flinch away, but AKA followed the movement, catching the
razor-sharp point of the knife right on the sweet pointy peak of the right one.
A tiny bubble of blood sprouted like a small liquid ruby.
"I say when this is over. Haven't you understood that yet?"
AKA once again nicked the tip of the tit.
More blood sprouted.
He lowered the knife to the genitals and lifted the left testicle with
the flat of it.
"How many useless babies had you planned to make with this, I wonder?"
AKA pulled the knife away.
The testicle dropped.
"Or with this one?"
AKA jabbed the point of the knife at the other testicle.
Landon attempted to pull his legs up.
"Don't!" AKA ordered.
The young cop froze, then steeled himself to lower his legs again.
AKA bopped the butt of the knife along the length of the slim, rosy,
touch-tender penis.
"You really need this, though, or it doesn't matter how packed with
sperm your furry little balls are, right?"
The young man trembled, a combination shiver and shake.
Rising up, AKA swung a leg across Landon's body and--facing the bare,
earth-soiled, heaven-pointed toes of the young man's long, slender feet--settled
down onto his terrific (even if not-quite-six-pack) abs.
AKA lay the gun on the ground beside him and playfully coddled the cock
and balls.
"This is a beautiful set. Your fiancee has told you that, I'm sure."
AKA cupped his hand under the perfectly matched, plum-soft pair of
testicles and lifted them up. The slim, flaccid penis rose up as well.
"Let me see. There's gelding, properly understood, and then there's
complete genital castration. But you already know that, I'm sure. Hmmm. Which
shall it be, I wonder?"
AKA tapped the balls. First one. Then the other.
Then he drew the dull edge of the knife along the base of the
fear-shrunken dick.
Young Landon's trembling intensified.
"It doesn't actually hurt that much, you know. I mean I haven't really
done it that often--only twice before in my life, to be exact--but I know from
those two experiences that there's a pretty sharp initial burn, then, fairly
quickly apparently, hardly any pain to speak of at all. That's not really so
bad as torture goes. It's mainly the idea of it that hurts, I guess, not the
actual emasculation itself. That's what both of those other guys told me
anyway. Once they found their tongues again, that is."
AKA switched the knife to his right hand and grappled to grip the root
of the genitals with his left.
Landon's legs flexed along the ground in fear.
His tensed thigh muscles visibly bulged.
"So. What do you think? Shall we count to three?"
AKA glanced over his shoulder at the up-tilted, moon-lit, terror-filled
face behind him.
If eyes could scream, those two blue robins' eggs would be screaming
bloody murder right now. No question about it.
But then that's exactly what was happening, wasn't it? Bloody murder,
that is.
AKA generally had an aversion to blood--in large amounts, anyway--but,
for whatever reason, he had decided to make an exception on this occasion.
"One."
AKA felt even more of Keith Landon's body freeze.
"Two."
There was a ragged intake of breath.
AKA felt the young cop's diaphragm vibrate underneath him.
He tightened his grip on the base of the genitals, pulled the appendage
as far away from the body as he could, and flipped the knife to the sharp edge.
"Th . . . ."
Landon's bone-locked body suddenly heaved like an earthquake.
AKA, just as the young cop had hoped, tumbled right off.
AKA had expected this actually. He was even hoping for it in a way.
Surely the guy wouldn't just lie there and let AKA cut his cock and balls off!
AKA adroitly rolled to his left, the knife clutched safely in his
quickly extended hand.
He actually took his time getting up. After all, Keith Landon wasn't
going anywhere. AKA was sure of that. Besides, if he did make another mad dash
for it, there was always the gun. Not that AKA really wanted to risk the sound
of pistol reports, even in this isolated place, but necessity was often the
mother of necessity--forget the invention part.
Thus, AKA was both surprised and rather impressed, to be honest, when he
came about and saw young Landon doing his damnedest to get the gun, which AKA
had laid on the ground near the cop's right hip, into his frantically grasping,
back-bound hands.
Poor Keith nearly managed to do it too. Another second and AKA could
have found himself doing a weird knife vs. gun death-dance in which his
awkwardly handcuffed opponent tried his best to aim the gun from somewhere near
the base of his spine while AKA, opposing knife in hand, circled to close in on
him from the front.
As it was, AKA's solidly soled shoe caught the desperate, squatting
policeman in that same sore temple he had been battered about before.
The gun went flying, and so did Landon.
AKA moved forward three steps and kicked him a second time.
Right in the stomach.
The young cop grunted through his gag--a fine, satisfyingly deep grunt!
Then he looked as if he was going to retch, but somehow caught his
breath and gulped the badly churning bile back down.
He slowly turned onto his stomach, agony filling his face.
It was just what AKA wanted him to do.
Like some kind of sleek, white-assed, humanoid worm the young cop began
to inch his way across the flat, crunchy, leaf-covered ground.
They were no longer under the pine trees. Oaks rather, AKA thought.
AKA followed along behind for a moment, then bent down, caught a
slender, hard-boned ankle in the act of flexing, and stopped the halting,
half-hearted progress altogether.
Landon's barely lifted head dropped.
His slim body went limp, all ability to resist apparently gone.
For the second time this night, AKA knelt and spread the beautifully
toned, athletic young legs.
For the second time this night, he moved in on the beautifully mounded,
moon-candied ass.
But the ass was not his target.
Yet.
No, it was the cock and balls trailing underneath on the ground in the V
made by the cop's inert, sweat-washed thighs that AKA wanted.
For the moment.
He reached forward, once again gripped the genitals at their root,
stretched them back and up as far as he could, brought the knife in, and . . .
sliced.
It took three strong strokes to remove them altogether.
Three strong strokes accompanied by three--gag or no gag--barely stifled
screams.
There was always something disagreeable about a guy screaming like a
girl. AKA had never gotten used to it, but there were just some things you had
to put up when you played THE GAME for real.
The screams ceased, and muffled sobs filled the void.
But only half the job was done.
AKA plopped the severed genitals in the bony indentation at the base of
the young policeman's spine. They were contained quite nicely there.
He then spread the smooth ass-cheeks--those still muscle-tense, ice-cold
ass-cheeks--located the recently violated, if not fully fucked asshole and drove
the knife into it.
To the hilt.
It was as if young Landon had been given a big fat jolt of electricity,
but then the knife was a fairly thick, wide-bladed affair.
AKA pulled it out and then drove it in again.
The sound young Landon now made was more in the way of a full-lunged,
animalistic bellow.
That's much better, AKA thought. Much more manly than those earlier
girlish screams.
He drove the knife in a third time, held it, then twisted.
Landon jerked and fainted, his body flattening along the ground like a
balloon that had suddenly lost all of its air.
AKA worked the knife in and out several more times.
First this way.
Then that way.
Then he picked up the severed cock and balls, brought them to the now
thoroughly ensanguinated foliate rose of the no-longer-quite-so-virginal
asshole, and proceeded to push them in.
"You wouldn't let me fuck you, so you can just go fuck yourself," AKA
said.
And laughed.
Not that loudly, but with considerable satisfaction even so.
AKA then wiped his bloody hands along the tops of his pants-leg. He
would ditch the pants later on. They were an old pair anyway.
AKA got to his feet.
The time had finally come to hollow out that special third forest spot
for the young policeman.
The kid was far from dead, of course, but he was certainly well on his
way now.
In addition to all the other things AKA stocked in his always
ready-for-action serial-killer kill-car, a short (but totally adequate for the
purpose) shovel was tucked away in the trunk. It took a bit of doing to free it
from the uneven pile of packages that constituted the tidily dismembered whole
of hunky young Jorge, but once that was done, AKA returned to the quiet spot
between the two tall pines where he had first dragged the cop, pushed the thick
layer of pine-needles aside--in order to clear a more-or-less six-by-three-foot
space--and began to dig.
He had clearly gotten a second wind. Fortunately. Otherwise, the work
might have been more than he was up to at this point. It had been an
unexpectedly long and challenging night by any standard. But, once again, the
forest soil proved agreeable, the soft earth generously dark and moist and
giving, and in fifteen minutes--at the max--the shallow grave was dug.
Only the last heavy-duty task remained.
To drag the young (and all-too-foolish!) cop to his final (at least, AKA
certainly hoped and trusted it would be!) resting place.
It's not such a bad deal really, AKA thought as he returned to the still
comatose body lying near the still humming car. To be returned to the bosom of
Mother Nature in such a peaceful forest setting? What more could a guy ask for?
AKA knelt and undid the cuffs. He tossed them toward the car. He would
pick them up when he got ready to leave. The same with the socks he had used to
make the gag. They came off as well. They too were tossed in the direction of
the car.
Then, grabbing young Landon by his ankles, AKA hauled him face-down back
over the now twice-traversed ground to the shallow, waiting pit AKA had prepared
for him.
"You should really thank me for this," AKA said into the vaguely clearer
near-dawn dark. "So you married, had a few babies, grew old, got fat, and then
died quietly in your bed. What a bore! Truly. Or, worse, say you ended up
getting your cute face blown off by some piss-mad whisky-drunk husband during a
wretched little domestic dispute. What an ignominious way to go! I mean it.
But this! To go out this way! Think of the pleasure--the ultimate in
pleasure!--this has been! I mean that!"
Once Landon's body was parallel to the grave, AKA dropped the legs, bent
down, and rolled the cop in.
He landed on his face in a fairly tidy line. AKA did have to lean
forward and adjust the arms a bit. The left one straightened out down the left
side of his body easily enough, but the right one (which was more recalcitrant
for some reason) AKA finally just bent at the elbow and tucked up in front of
the cop's bloody, heavily hissing nose. The legs, on the other hand, were
perfectly straight, the blood-gashed rump the only visibly disfigured thing, if
you didn't count the bleeding nose. Of course, if the body had landed on its
back, there would have been the old scar on the knee and the new hole where the
genitals had been. But, all things considered, even in this condition, Officer
Keith Landon--the Eagle-Scout, Michelangelo-gorgeous
finest-in-Podunk-law-enforcement--still looked unbelievably "hot." But, then,
he had always been that kind of guy, the kind who always look so fucking good,
no matter what they wore! Or, in this case, didn't wear! AKA had seen that
from the start.
AKA lifted the shovel and began to cover the body.
The kid was indeed still alive.
But that was okay.
He soon wouldn't be.
AKA started with the feet and moved up.
Should I whistle while I work? he wondered with an ironic grin.
The handsomely muscled calves disappeared.
Then the smooth, sweat-shiny thighs.
The palely glowing ass-cheeks went under next.
Along with the garishly gashed, obscenely filled asshole.
Then AKA moved on to the slim, flawless, beautifully tapered back.
Then the broad, attractively toned shoulders.
Then the long, elegantly tendoned neck.
Finally, AKA reached the head.
He paused and sighed.
The head was turned on its side, facing right.
It was almost sad to think that such superior young male features were
about to disappear from the world forever, but--hey!--you couldn't have your
cake and eat it too. That--like many another cliche AKA had come across in his
life--had a lot of truth to it.
AKA covered the head.
Once that was finally accomplished, AKA filled in the cracks, made the
mound, tapped the whole thing down, and hurriedly covered it with a thin layer
of forest-pungent pine-needles.
Satisfied at last, AKA straightened up, stuck the shovel in the ground,
and briefly leaned on it.
In order to take a final look.
In order to make a final assessment.
Yes. It looked good. Certainly as good as the other two graves had
looked at this point. Maybe even better.
The rest was now up to Mother Nature.
AKA and the Dark Gods had done their part.
AKA took a deep breath and prepared to turn away.
Imagine his surprise, then, when the ground in front of him moved!
Jesus fucking Christ!
It moved again!
Fuck! The cop was actually trying to rise from the dead!
It was just like something out of a bad horror movie!
The shoulders--it had to be the shoulders--were clearly shoving upward
in an instinctive effort to break through the all-too-recently-packed foot of
earth.
They would have succeeded too.
That is, if AKA had not moved forward and stepped straight up and onto
them.
They immediately sank.
It might have been a trick of the ear, but AKA was almost certain he
heard a muffled, earth-locked cry emerge from the ground below him at the exact
same moment.
Don't you know you're supposed to die, you fucking little
motherfucker??!!
AKA moved one foot forward to where he guessed the head was.
The earth gave.
Good!
AKA shifted about until he felt he was fully on-target.
Yes! That did it! He could tell!
AKA looked over his shoulder.
For a moment there was nothing, then the whole newly-carved
six-by-three-foot plot cracked and shifted--a little here, a little there.
In addition to seeing, AKA could actually feel the frantic, constricted,
subterranean struggle now underway underneath him.
Suddenly the earth rippled a few inches to the right of his right foot.
An untidy clump of pine-needles buckled up into the air.
What the fuck?!
First the tip of one finger, then three fingers, then all five
desperately-stretching digits emerged.
They were quickly followed by the back of a lean, soil-covered,
upward-striving hand.
Another moment, and the dirty wrist appeared.
Then--believe it or not, Ripley!--a few inches of begrimed lower arm.
Give it up, kid!!! Give it the fuck up!!!
AKA shifted both feet to where he was certain the head was and bounced.
He bounced again.
Then again.
The hand suddenly jerked, all five fingers flexing to the limit.
Then--in one slow curl--the eerily exposed fingers quietly closed in on
themselves.
AKA stood and waited, his feet firmly planted on the spot that had
finally done the trick.
He stood that way until he was certain.
Then he stepped away.
What a scream! he thought. What a bloody fucking scream!
Squatting down, ignoring the slight ache in his back, he quickly
re-buried the absurdly protruding arm.
The skin was distinctly warm, even hot to the touch.
Nonetheless, dust to dust and ashes to ashes, AKA silently intoned as he
brushed the soil back over it.
When he was finished, he patted the newly restored earth three times,
then stood back up. Once again ignoring the slight aches and pains all the
recent exercise had engendered.
The dead would now--surely--keep their dead, right?
Forever and forever?
AKA--that Also-Known-As whom oh-so-many-police in oh-so-many-parts of
the country oh-so-wanted to catch (there would now be even more on the hunt as a
result of this night!)--prayed a serious (if unconsciously silent) "Amen."
THE END
