WARNING! This chapter contains strong sexual scenes and violence... it's pretty twisted. Jump straight to the next if you might be offended – don't worry, you won't miss on the plot.

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Chapter 14 – I'm the One Who Loves You When You're Fucking Dead

Yes, those days were great. Except for a certain afternoon... There had to be a distressing episode to spoil my nice week.

Otis and I were in his room, ready for yet another round of sex. How many times so far? I had lost count, but each time had been great. I had reached the point of feeling safe and comfortable around him... almost forgetting the cold-blooded murderer that he was.

"Come here, honey" Otis said, motioning for me to get in bed with him. My blood already racing with the idea, and smiling in anticipation, I joined him, sitting on my knees on top of the mattress. I reached my hand to touch his face, but he held it in the air in a firm grip, saying "Uh-uh! Today we are gonna play a different game" he announced, with a hint of humor on his face. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you" I assured him, without having given it much thought. I wonder if saying "no" would have made any difference.

Smiling, Otis sank his left hand on his pant's pocket, producing a handful of fine ropes, while still holding my hand. "Give me your other hand."

I looked at his expression, and I didn't see a suggestion in there, but an order. "Wha- what are you doing?"

"Give me your hand" he repeated in a condescending and impatient tone, as if speaking to a child. I complied, reluctantly, but not wishing to contradict him, and he began tying my wrists together. I looked at his face, finding it unreadable. I have to admit – although hesitant, I was excited and curious, never having done anything kinky before. What does he have in mind? I wondered.

When he was done with the knots, I tested his work, trying to pull my wrists apart. The rope was narrow and made of a soft material, which was comfortable enough, but the knot was tight and strong and I couldn't undo it.

Otis smiled at that with satisfaction. Then, without warning, he held me below my arms, lifting me slightly and threw me with violence against the headboard. A pillow cushioned the crash, but the ferocity of the gesture was unsettling. It's all right, I told myself. He is just playing a little rough.

He took another rope from his pocket and proceeded to tie my hands to the headboard, as I sat with my back against the pillow. I let him do it, a little scared but too curious, breathing hard with anticipation. He sat back for a moment, looking me up and down with a small, wicked smile. Approaching me, Otis fiercely wrapped his hand around my hair, yanking my head back. He kissed me in a way that he hadn't yet: possessively, savagely in a strange, frightening way. Something didn't feel right, but I still said nothing.

Breaking the kiss and letting go of my hair, Otis reached for his belt and, in a swift movement, displayed before my eyes a large, old, dirty hunting knife.

That definitely broke my passiveness.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" I screamed, nauseating waves of panic hitting me at once. "Stop this right now, this is not funny!" I fought hard to free my hands, but it was already too late. Otis just laughed evilly, playing with the knife in a deliberate way, moving it from one hand to another as if wanting me to see it clearly.

The same knife he had used to slice that woman's throat recently. The blade that had been quickly wiped on his pants, and as I could notice, there was still some dried blood left.

I stared at the knife in horror, then at his face. I saw there a sadistic expression that made me feel sick with fear. That could not possiblybe good. I begged: "Otis... if this is a game, stop it immediately. Please."

I got an amused chuckle back in response. "What makes you think that this is a game? Think you are irreplaceable, uh?" he hissed, running his finger across the dull edge of the knife. As I watched him, wide-eyed in fear and disbelief, he continued: "Well, guess what? I have a room full of beautiful women downstairs, just waiting for me to go there and do anything I want with them. How many more times did you think I would screw you without being bored?"

I was too shocked for words. I deeply wished it was just a nightmare; I willed myself to wake up soon, cozily wrapped in his arms. It didn't work.

"But no worries!" Otis added casually. "I'm not completely bored yet, honey. In fact, I'm very interested. I shall yet find out how you feel when you are fucking dead."

That got rid of my silent shock; I began screaming with all I had, in complete panic and horror. Not that it would help, I sadly realized; no one from that family would give a damn about my fate. They lived in a ranch, meaning: no neighbors to hear my screams and call 911.

Otis forced a hand over my mouth, covering it. "Shut up, bitch!" he yelled angrily. "Nobody is fucking gonna help you, so shut your mouth and don't fucking drive me deaf!" Then, on a normal volume but a threatening tone, he added, placing the blade on the level of my eyes: "Next time you scream like that, I'll shut you up by burying this knife inside your fucking throat. Do you get it?"

I nodded, terrified, not doubting his threats for a second. Otis uncovered my mouth, and I began crying in heavy sobs. "Stop crying for the devil's sake!" he shouted, grasping my hair fiercely. "Shut the fuck up!"

How is one supposed to stop crying? I thought. But I slowly managed to; I had no intention of making matters worse for myself.

"Now," he continued in a calmer tone "we are gonna do things my way. Remember: today you are dying anyway. If you make things easy for me, I'll make things easy for you. You fuck up with me, you are gonna see my worst side – and believe me, you don't want that. Understand?"

"Otis, please..." I attempted once again, weakly.

"Understand?" he repeated with more intensity.

I nodded, my eyes filled with unshed tears, fighting hard to hold my sobs back.

"Good. You're wearing too many clothes, though. Let me do something about that."

At that, he closed his fingers around the fabric of my dress – well, the dress that I had borrowed from that pile – and ripped it with little effort. He tore the entire dress so fast and with such violence, that act itself just terrified me more.

"You have such a pretty skin" he said softly, coming closer and slightly pressing the tip of the knife against my cheek, making me whimper and close my eyes shut. He proceeded to slide it down, carefully, in a cruel teasing. "So smooth, so clean. Flawless. Imagine how it's gonna look like when I'm done with you."

"No!" I pleaded in terror, sickening waves of panic hitting me, one after the other. "Otis, please, don't!"

But saying that was the same as saying nothing.

Grabbing me by the waist, Otis pulled me down on the bed, forcing me to lye instead of sit. The rope holding my wrists to the headboard was too short, so he untied it – I didn't even dare to try and escape at that moment, I knew he wouldn't let me – and tied it again, lower. Moving the knife around on his hands, intentionally trying to scare me – as if I weren't terrified enough! – he kept smiling in that cruel, sadistic way, obviously enjoying my fear. Holding the knife on his right hand, he placed the tip of the blade on my wrist, making me whimper. It was terrifying feeling that sharp, cold metal in such a delicate place. One cut there, and I would bleed to death very soon.

Rationally, I should wish for that to happen; Otis had said that I was going to die no matter what, so I should find myself lucky if it turned out to be fast and painless as possible. But rationality wasn't working well at all with me; I didn't want to die.

Squeezing my eyes shut and holding my breath, I felt Otis softly and slowly running the tip of the blade over the length of my arm. When he reached the side of my breast, the knife made its way upwards, until it reached my throat.

I started to hyperventilate. I was breathing so fast, yet the oxygen didn't seem enough. I concentrated very hard on not moving; any abrupt movement could bring the delicate skin against the sharp blade, and blood would flow freely.

Otis sensed that teasing me in that area was particularly frightening to me, so he took his sweet time sliding the knife up and down my throat. "I could be nice to you," he said in almost a whisper "and finish this real quick. I could press this blade just a little stronger in you," and by saying it, he did exactly so, but not enough to cut "make it bleed, and it would be over before you knew it. What do you think?"

"No!" I cried, still holding back sobs and fighting to breathe.

"Yeah, I guess not, or it would ruin the fun, wouldn't it? Nobody's in a hurry here." He slid the knife towards my shoulder, the wide side of the metal in contact with my skin. Then, in a jerk, he cut one of the straps of my bra, then the other, finishing the work by cutting the center panel and pulling it out of the way. "Uhm, look who came in to play." He gently landed the blade on my left breast, its cold contact making me jump. He chuckled, satisfied. "Sensitive there, huh?" He gently ran the tip of the knife in circles, slowly getting to the center, and finally sitting the wide side of the blade on my hardened nipple.

I cried out, panting as he rubbed the blade in a circular motion, up and down, round and round the sensitive nipple. Finally he removed the knife and closed his lips around it, making me cry out loud and arch my back involuntarily.

Up until that moment, there had been no pleasure at all involved in that situation (to me, that is;) – it only involved fear and panic and horrible feelings. But as I felt Otis' mouth sucking on my nipple, after all the cruel teasing, it all felt so intense as I had never experienced before. In one minute I was terrified for my life; the next, I was subconsciously arching my back toward him, pulling my breasts closer to his face, and moaning in need of more. I wanted for him to continue; he simply couldn't stop.

Otis repeated the same procedure with the other breast, but this time the knife play didn't scare me as much as before; I faced it as a promise that his lips would be there soon, sucking and licking and driving me wild.

When he was done with my breasts, the knife kept trailing down, making me shiver along the way. I was still terrified, of course. But at that point, if I died, I would have died happy. Otis was making sure of that.

The knife reached my stomach, his lips following close; he teasingly licked around my belly button, as the sharp razor rested nearby. The blade went down my navel, turning sideways and down my leg. Otis tried to pull my legs apart, but I made an effort to keep them closed, instinctively. "Open your legs" he ordered, pressing the knife against my thigh – as if saying that I didn't have a choice, and if I didn't open it, he would do so himself.

Obeying, I shakily left him raise my left thigh; soon I felt the tip of the blade touch my skin in the level of my knee, slowly sliding up my inner thigh. And up.

I felt his fingers opening my lower lips, exploring a bit in there. When they found my clit, I jumped with a loud gasp. He touched me there with the cold blade, gently rubbing the wide side of it back and forth. Soon he removed the blade, substituting it with his lips. I was thrashing with need and absolute pleasure.

When my first orgasm came, it was so intense that I saw blackness in front of my eyes; I only didn't faint because I was in an alert state. As I recovered, slowly coming back to reality, I felt Otis positioning himself between my legs, lowering his body and entering me in one deep thrust. He began mindlessly fucking me, and it didn't take long until he had his own orgasm – and I had my second.

Once my need was over and sanity returned, as Otis lye on top of me exhausted, the deep fear returned as well. I was visibly shaking, traumatized. Is he going to kill me now? I wondered, breathing heavily beneath him. He had had his pleasure with me on my living state; if he really intended to rape my dead body, as he had informed me, that was probably a good time as ever to get things started. In my case, ended.

More than that, I was felt humiliated as hell. So much that I almost wished it was over with. I had actually enjoyed it from some point on; that made me feel depraved and loathsome.

Finally Otis rolled over to the side, and slowly supported himself on his elbows, watching me closely. I faced him, too, looking him in the eye. I was almost relieved that this was coming to a conclusion.

I flinched when he sat on the bed and grabbed the knife once again, bending over to me. I closed my eyes shut, praying that it wouldn't be too painful.

And then, to my complete and utmost surprise, I felt a small pressure on the ropes. In a few seconds they were cut, and my hands free. I snapped my eyes open, lowering my arms and staring at Otis, who had the word "GUILT" metaphorically written on his forehead.

He looked like a worried teenager who was about to confess to his parents that he did something really, really, really bad.

I rose to a sitting position, shaking uncontrollably and not taking my eyes off of his, guessing what was coming next.

Looking guilty as hell, after hesitating for several moments, Otis took a deep breath. "You did not enjoy that at all, did you?"

I couldn't believe my fucking ears.

Without a word, I slowly managed to get out of the bed. As I searched for something to wear, Otis broke the awkward silence: "That was a game, Laura. Remember me telling you that it was a game? Remember you saying that you trusted me?"

Fucking bastard son of a bitch. I couldn't believe it.

I fetched a large flannel shirt that was lying on the floor, dressed it without anything else underneath and, without a word or a glance back, I left the room.

Like a zombie, I eventually made it to the small creek. I let my body fall limply to the ground, where I lay quietly for a long time, listening to the nature and feeling numb. When I was ready, I let my emotions take over. Bracing myself, I cried until I could no more.

A while later – I wouldn't know if one hour or four – Tiny guided Otis to where I was. He went on and on explaining himself – he shouldn't have gone so far when I obviously wasn't game, but he thought I may like it anyway, he was way too much into it to stop – and so forth. He said that I could beat him up if that was going to make me feel better. Boy, and so I did. I never attacked someone with such ferocity, punching and slapping and screaming in rage, like a madwoman. Otis let me, without reacting. Of course, as soon as I saw a small bleeding cut on his face (thanks to my nails), I stopped, crying with guilt (I'm completely unaccustomed to violence) and throwing myself in his arms.

Soon enough, we were back as two lovebirds. Sex was great once again. Otis did come up with some new, crazy ideas – but from there on, he made sure to let me know when it was going to be playfully rough. I'd know that it was all role-play, and I was going to be safe, so I trusted him more each time. Talk about a bad episode leading to something good... very good indeed.