Liars Into Lessons Part 3

by Rhys B. Crabtree about a year ago in fiction

Part 3

Liars Into Lessons Part 3

I hum contentedly as I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead and survey the room in the light of the bedside lamp. Taking in the disaster of the room around me, I feel a seed of pride bloom bright in my chest.

It was touch and go for a bit there. My first prey escaping my hold and getting a choked scream out before I broke his larynx, effectively shutting him up instantly. From there it had been mere child's play to incapacitate him so he couldn't run, the pain just great enough to fog his mind but not so much that he passed out.

I push off from the wall with a happy shudder at the fresh memories, forcing down my body's noticeable reaction to what was only the beginning of my game. Wouldn't do for me to run around while hard as marble. Though, if I'm being honest (and I always am), it wouldn't be the first time.

I am a monster after all and the pain of others is the headiest aphrodisiac ever created and my drug of choice.

Taking one last look at the mangled body on the bed, at the torn pieces of muscle slowly sliding down the walls, at the arcs of blood splatter on the ceiling, at a face so mutilated it no longer has defining features save its teeth, I smile. What I had done to him wasn't what I had wanted to do, what I had planned to do, but I didn't regret it, not really. I had gotten furious when he managed to bite my hand and attempted to stab me with a pen hastily grabbed off his nightstand. My plan to take him out quickly went out the window with that fury.

I cross the blood-soaked carpet to the lamp on the bedside table, remembering the rush of pleasure at the first spasm of pain that had wracked his body when I'd dislocated his ankles simultaneously, a scream he couldn't make shredding his already destroyed throat. Recalled how I put the very pen he had tried to stab me with through the soft fleshy part of his left knee before I turned on this very lamp. Because since he had decided he wanted to go down fighting, I was going to make him watch me kill him.

And I had talked the whole time. Scathing remarks of, "Some man you are. Can't even defend yourself properly."

"Did you even try?"

"I expected this of the harlot you're fucking. You, however? Oh, you I had higher hopes for. Not that much higher, but still."

"If disappointment was a human, it would be you."

"Thought I was on your big, bad 'shit list'? Oh, you're all talk and no follow through? Figures."

I wish I had the time to take a trophy but I had spent too much time on this liar as it was and had others to get to before dawn broke. So I would be leaving with only the memory of how delicious it had been to tear him apart.

Closing the bedroom door until the lock touched the jam but didn't engage, I step into the hallway and look right towards where my main targets still sleep soundly, their snores nearly loud enough to wake the neighbors. Provided, that is, if said neighbors weren't shaking the ceiling with their vigorous fucking.

I wonder absently how those frolicking neighbors will react when news reaches the rest of the complex of the bloodbath that's occurring right beneath their feet. I'm sure it will be rife with screams and confusion and denial. And a heavy dose of fear and nightmares.

With a smirk that is nearly as dark as the shadows in the hallway, I make my way to the left and find that the door is cracked just enough for me to see inside. I raise both eyebrows at the sight of the harlot liar on her back on the bed where it's pressed against the far right corner of the room, legs spread wide. The fingers of her right hand work across her clit as her left hand grips a dildo that she's thrusting in and out of her body at breakneck speed. Her breasts jiggle with her heaving breaths, her swallowed moans noticeable now that I'm no longer tunnel visioned with rage.

Of all that I expected when going for her, this wasn't it. Though given what I know of her? I really shouldn't be surprised. Especially since the upstairs neighbors have been at their own sexual Olympics since I'd arrived. Which would explain why she was suddenly awake with the door cracked when I had been certain she had been sleeping with it closed when I went into her boyfriend's room.

I shift silently from one foot to the other to see more of the room, looking for a reason why she wouldn't have heard what had happened right next door. I had not quiet about it but then I had believed that everyone else in the house was a heavy enough sleeper that it hadn't mattered. And that they had all still been asleep while I was working.

I was getting sloppy in my old age.

She shudders hard, hips canting up off the bed, and I notice the laptop opened to hardcore porn that had been hidden behind the rumpled blankets. She flails, hips dropping back down to the mattress and I see the headphones in her ears, the cord leading to the laptop.

That explains how she didn't hear me brutally murdering her boyfriend next door.

Deciding I've seen enough, I push the door open and wait till she notices. When she does she scrambles to sit up, the hand that had been figging her clit flying up to pull the headphones from her ears, her other hand still holding the dildo inside her but no longer moving it. With the headphones' displacement, the moans from the porn she had been listening to are loud and obnoxious.

"J-John?" She asks, sounding so uncertain but the pleasure of being caught masturbating by anyone, even a potential intruder, is obvious in her voice. Her need to cum is palpable and the scent of her arousal makes me want to vomit.

"Always knew you were a cheating whore," I comment blithely as I step fully into the room, closing and locking the door behind me. "But then again, you like the thrill, don't you?"

My voice is pitched just low enough for her to mistake me further for the male that isn't her boyfriend but rather the taken male at the other end of the hall. She just nods, slowly laying back down against the pillows, her legs falling open again in a clear invitation as she begins to move the dildo in and out of her again.

I sneer at her. Besides liars I despise cheaters. There is just never a good enough reason for it. Disgusting filth.

"Too bad the punishment for playing with what isn't yours is going to be a bit more than I think you're prepared for," I continue, taking careful, measured steps across the floor. The last thing I want to do right now is spook her, make her scream before I'm close enough to stop her.

"J-John? I don't understand...what is, what are you...?" I stop a couple feel away from the foot of the bed, waiting patiently for it to click that I'm not John. Her eyes go comically wide when it registers, her hand finally letting go of the dildo. "You're not John!"

My laugh is like the ominous rumble of distant thunder. "Ding ding! We have a winner!" I laugh again, taking a step closer to the bed and delight in the way she flinches, caught like a deer in the headlights.

"Wh-who are you?"

I move along the edge of the bed towards the nightstand and the lamp sitting on it. I let my favorite smile lift my lips as I reach over and turn it on. As the light illuminates my blood splattered form and the smile splitting my face I answer:


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Rhys B. Crabtree

Originally from the Mississippi Gulf Coast (USA), I now live in the Lowcountry of South Carolina (USA) with my husband and three cats. I am currently working on my larger series which can be found at

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