Deceit - Part 8

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Erotic Horror  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Featured Review on this writing by VanillaEssence

Angie, still red-faced, feeling ashamed of herself, embarrassed, is in a hurry to leave.

Braker’s routine is always the same. He meets his client in the bar, goes to the room, has paid sex with her, kisses her goodbye, then rests. Later, he will bathe, shower, and sanitize, removing all traces of her sediment from his body, dress in fresh clothes, and take the early evening train to London.

Angie, still red-faced, feeling ashamed of herself, embarrassed, is in a hurry to leave. Unaware of the threat posed by the crippled woman, she passes Slick in the lift lobby. Slick follows her to the dingy, oily, smelly underground garage where she attacks her from behind. She strangles her victim gracefully, silently, drawing the garotte tightly round her neck. The woman thrashes her head from side to side. Her brittle nails tear out her assailant’s hair. Her elbows pummel her ribs. The victim strains, and stretches, kicks, and bites. But Slick clings on. Until her death. Calmed, the woman relaxes onto Amber’s flat chest. Angie falls asleep one last time dreaming of the time when her gigolo made love to her, pretending to be her dead husband. Her neck still in twine, her sad head flops forward, her dead eyes stare into empty garage space, and she dies.

Amber carefully unwinds the sacrificial wire, with its carved acorn handles, from the corpse’s neck, as if she were peeling nylon sea fishing line off a reel-spool and stows it inside her bucket bag. She locks Angie’s corpse in its new 4x4 jeep casually dropping the keys into a storm drain, leaves the garage, and takes the staff lift to the first floor.

Braker stirs from his slumber, thinking of Angie, playing her fantasy, her dead husband. How she left him asleep, left his fee on the bed, then bolted like a frightened deer. He isn’t surprised. No matter how promising their intentions, clients never stay long once the sex is over. And yet, she found a kind of love with him. He felt sorry for her, more than sorrow, he felt he loved her. He reflects, sadly, on their brief encounter,

Ah well, at least I made her happy.

He hears a gentle knocking on the door, the charming, feminine, squeaking of a stalking bird,

‘Room Service.’

Braker stares at the bottle of champagne lying unopened in the wine cooler. He doesn’t recall ordering any food. He looks at the door, remembering the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, he displayed,

‘Room Service,’ the high-pitched voice repeats, ‘Fresh supply of coffee, tea, milk, and biscuits for your bedroom.’

He checks the beverage tray on the sideboard. It hasn’t been touched. He shrugs his shoulders,

‘Just a minute.’

Martin goes to the wardrobe, takes out a fluffy white gown, puts it on, ties the cord at his waist, then opens the door,

‘No! Please! No!’

He puts up his fists, boxer-style, in a vain bid to defend himself.

Slick is insane. Slick goes berserk. Slick swings the meat cleaver at Martin with all her might, slicing a deep gash in the man’s forearm. Horrified by the sight of blood, his blood, soaking the white gown red, Martin recoils, collapsing, falling to his knees, as if in prayer, praying for his life. Slick swings the cleaver again, slicing into Martin’s neck, again, and again. He keels over, toppling forward.

His final act,

to kiss a cripple’s feet.

The End


Submitted: August 22, 2021

© Copyright 2021 hjfurl. All rights reserved.

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Comments

VanillaEssence

A "quickie" bloodfest.
This is the reason folks watch "Halloween" movies on October 31st.

Sat, August 28th, 2021 12:48am

Author
Reply

So I understand!

Sat, August 28th, 2021 10:27am

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