Getting Away with Murder Chapter 2 - Confession
- John Drake
- Apr 1, 2022
- 15 min read
The door clicked shut and locked behind them, and once that had happened Isabella felt a little better… he was under their control, now. She shoved Grant into the hard metal chair with his hands cuffed behind him, then Isabella and Zahira sat down opposite him. A single fan whirred slowly above them, and a plain black camera stared at him from a corner, the little red light in its frame flashing on and off.
Neither woman said anything. They stared in silence, giving him ample opportunity to drink them in. The Hispanic detective leaned forward and steepled her fingers in front of her hard face, her brow furrowed in a challenging glare as she pressed record on the box in the middle, feeling his eyes on her. It made her feel… uncomfortable. Unclean. The bronze-skinned woman had an athletic body, one that she should have been proud of. Her black hair shimmered as it hung down her back in a smooth ponytail, and though her uniform covered most of her body Grant could certainly tell that there was lean muscle all throughout her body. She was a model officer of the law, fit and sharp—or as fit and sharp as any woman could be. Her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, but his gaze quickly started making her uncomfortable… after a few seconds she started rolling them down. She was… uncomfortable… aware that she was just his type.
Sick fuck.
Zahira sat beside her, at least. Her partner leaned back in her chair with casualness that Isabella couldn’t match, her arms crossed under her breasts. Her skin looked maybe just a bit paler than normal in here, and her full lips pressed together uncertainly. She had her head cocked at a slight angle as she regarded Grant. Grant, for his part, looked like he was imagining what she would look like with his dick draped across her face.
The silence stretched another few moments. “I suppose I’ll start, then,” Grant said. Neither woman’s expression changed. His smile widened as he went into his story. “Hmm… where to begin…”
As pretentious as it sounds, I suppose they say that every story is best told from the beginning. Not with my youth, of course. I won’t bother you with the details of my upbringing or my struggles, because that’s not what I brought you here for, and not what you’re interested in either way. Who cares about that. More importantly, did you ever wonder who the first girl was? The first victim I ever had? Which of the eleven it was? I’ll tell you a secret… it was none of them.
My senior year in college, the Gay-Straight Alliance held a parade for Pride Month. They held one every year, actually, but I’d never attended. It never interested me when I could spend that time getting drunk with my friends and fucking spaced out college sluts too stupid to turn down drinks from strangers. But my friends were busy with exams or final projects at the time, and I was left alone with nothing to entertain myself. So I thought, fuck it, why not?
I still clearly recall the energy in the air as I stood on a downtown street corner and watched the queers march and dance and sing. They dressed in aggressive colors and sang at the top of their lungs, pounding drums and blowing brass with enough volume to make your ears ring.
I can’t say exactly why I chose her, exactly… why my eyes settled on her. Maybe it was truly random. She was young, probably a freshman. You can always recognize them by their attitude… that optimism they carry when they’re experiencing life away from their parents for the first time in their lives. The innocence of a whole life ahead of them. She had dyed her hair bright pink and cut it a bit short… cheap piercings in her ears and lip. She was dancing with the rest of them. She thought herself a lesbian — I could tell from the plastic wristband she wore that announced as much, as if that was the only important thing she had to say about herself — but sometimes I wonder if she might’ve turned straight before she died. Maybe she’d just never had a real dick before…
“That’s not how that works, asshole.”
Grant blinked. He looked up to Isabella, who was glowering at him with open contempt. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lesbians aren’t just straight women who’ve never had dick before,” she growled. “Though I guess it tracks that you’d be a bigot, too.”
He cocked his head in interest, smirking as he looked between the two detectives. “Really? Honestly, I’m really glad to hear you say so. I’d always hoped that wasn’t the case… it would have made the whole thing much less fun. You certain about that? How would you know, though? You ever let a man fuck you to find out, detective?”
She just glared at him. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Keep going.”
Right. Now where was I?
Ah, yes. Dyed pink hair, lesbian wristband, piercings. She was wearing a pair of capris and a baggy tie dye tank top with a sports bra underneath, but I think what really caught my attention was her tits. She was a skinny girl, all bones and sharp-nosed, but even under the sports bra I could tell she had an impressive rack. Those things were two sizes too big for her, bouncing and swaying around every time she jumped and cheered or struck some silly dance move.
I hadn’t intended to do anything with her, not really. She was just a fun piece of eye candy, you know? Look but don’t touch. I’d wormed by way into bed with all kinds of women but, well, this one wasn’t going to be interested in me at all. My plans changed, however, when she and her girlfriend started arguing, and one of them pulled the other into an alley. Not sure why I did it but on impulse I stopped at the mouth of that alley and listened to them fight with each other, their accusing words as the girlfriend yelled at her for her shamelessness. The pretty one, the one who had caught my eyes, started crying, and her girlfriend flipped her hair and stormed off. She never even noticed me. I’m not sure she would have noticed a train wreck.
I’m not sure what exactly came over me then. It’s not like I went to the parade specifically to rape some random lesbian, but in that moment as I watched her cry in a dirty alley my cock was hard as steel and I knew I just had to have her… and I certainly knew she wouldn’t be interested in me. But it wasn’t like I had ever let a little something like a woman’s consent get in the way of my satisfaction before.
Oh, don’t look so shocked, detective. We all do it. Every single man would take a woman he could get away with. No mean yes, yes means anal… you know, all of that. Of course this wasn’t the first… questionable… notch on my belt. Lock me up, I guess. Oh wait… statute of limitations is up on that, isn’t it? Shame. Anyway, pink haired girl. Right. She made it so easy. I didn’t go to college here, you know… the place wasn’t a big city, exactly, but the alley was plenty dark, perfect for making a naive young girl disappear for a little while. I hesitated for a minute, too long really - expecting someone to come for her, expecting her to leave. She didn’t. She seemed crushed that she had gotten dumped today of all days. The poor thing had lost her partner to enjoy the celebrations with. Luckily I was there to provide.
I made my decision, stepped into the alley, grabbed her, and pulled her deeper in. It wasn’t until her back was pressed against the wall behind the dumpster, out of sight of the street, that she managed to get her wits together enough to start asking questions. “Who are you?” she asked. She had a breathy, high-pitched voice. Very cute.
“Don’t worry about that,” I told her. She tried to pull back, but she was far too weak to break my grip, and for some strange reason didn’t call for help. God, I was so stupid back then. Just imagine, if she had shouted all those girls would still be alive. But she didn’t, and it cost lives. Life is strange.
She whimpered as I pinned her between my arms, her cute little lips quivering with fear. I was head and shoulders taller than her. She was almost so short she could jerk me off with those cushy tits without even having to bend her knees. I grabbed her jaw in one hand and turned her head to the side, leaning in to smell her soft skin. She didn’t wear any perfume, but the smell of her sweat was more than sufficient to turn me on. As I brought my other hand up to squeeze at her breasts through her tank top, she found her voice. “I d-don’t want this.”
It was a shaky whisper, barely audible through the sound of the crowd in the street. I could’ve ignored it, but I chose not to. “I don’t care,” I told her, sliding my hand up to wrap firmly around her throat. “Take your pants off.”
She began to cry, her pretty blue eyes turned up to the sky as if in prayer. I tightened my grip on her skinny neck and she rushed to comply, her strengthening sobs causing her heavy tits to bounce against my chest. Ah, I was already rock hard by then. I wonder if she could feel my cock pulsing against my trousers, rubbing up against her as her fingers twitched down and hooked into the hem of her capris. Of course she didn’t want it, but she was smart enough to obey me. If she hadn’t… then I’m not sure what I would have done. Maybe I’d have bolted. Or Maybe I’d have snapped her neck like a twig right then and had my way with her corpse. No idea, really. All I know is that I lost my patience as her pants fell against her ankles. I pulled her panties down myself, practically ripping them from her thighs, and shoved a finger up into her cunt.
She cried out, and I snarled as I grabbed her shoulder and flipped her around, pressing her face into the hard brick wall. “Shut up,” I hissed, looking around… but the music of the parade was too loud. No one had heard. The slut sobbed out some response about having money to offer, but I didn’t care to listen. I kept one hand on the back of her head, holding it harshly against the wall, while the other grabbed her hips and pulled her ass into my groin.
So I’d ignore a few women telling me no before, but nothing like this, and detective let me tell you there’s something magical about the feel of a truly unwilling woman’s ass cheeks wrapped around my cock. I slid my trousers down to my ankles and pulled my meat out, already painfully hard. I placed it between her soft cheeks and began to grind against her and she was so soft, Detective. Soft and warm, with an ass perfectly sized to pleasure my shaft, her cheeks tensing and rippling around me with every sob. I slid a hand up the front of her shirt, under her sports bra, and groaned into her ear as I felt the bare skin of her tit. I squeezed until she cried for me to stop, and—
“Do you have to be so damn explicit?”
Grant’s grin widened. “It’s only the truth, Detective.” He tilted his head. “Didn’t you just finish failing to prosecute for not having enough… specificity? Needed a little thing called… evidence?”
Isabella narrowed her eyes at him. Her dark fingers tapped irritably against the table. “I don’t need to hear about what gets you hard whenever you rape an innocent woman.”
“No?” Grant leaned back and nodded towards the camera blinking silently in the corner. “You’re sure you aren’t going to take this recording home and touch yourself to it? Imagine what it’d be like to have a man take charge?”
Her lips pressed together and her hands balled up into tight fists, but she didn’t say anything. He spent a few seconds watching her in silence, imagining how she’d look naked. How she’d look sobbing around his cock.
“Well, I guess I’d better get back to it. Unless you’d like me to stop my confession…”
So anyway, there’s something so invigorating about taking a woman against her will. I’d had plenty of sex before then, of course, and so I knew what it was to be a man… to take a woman who is normally tame and modest and reduce her to a shivering mess in the bedroom. Women are weak that way, see. They’re helpless with a cock inside them, enslaved to bodies designed to take seed and give birth. That’s just their nature, to submit and be bred, just as it’s in a man’s nature, in my nature, to dominate and own sexy little playthings like you, but this was the first time I had ever felt the power of truly taking a woman, embracing my natural place in the world. You can’t imagine the feeling unless you’ve been there yourself. This wretched girl wanted nothing in the world more than to be away from me, to be safe and happy, but she would never get that again, purely because I’d willed it. She could only tremble and beg as I held her head against that wall and groped at her tits and lined my cock up with her slit. It was the hardest I had ever been in my life. The most alive I had ever felt. She squealed as I forced my way inside her. She was so tight, no doubt clenching in some misguided hope that she could keep me out, but she was just a woman, and the added pressure only made me groan in pleasure.
To be honest, I don’t remember many of the details at that point. I have no recollection of how much time I spent in that alley, reaffirming my life as a man. I can only remember the sensations, the smells, the sounds. I remember the sound of her voice as she begged me to stop between gasps and sobs, the way it began shrill and frantic and then faded to a quiet, breathless drone as she decided to pray to God instead. But of course God wasn’t there to save her. She should’ve prayed to me.
I remember the sharp slaps of my thighs against her ass, the way that she would tense and clench whenever I tightened my grip around her fat tits or thought to pinch her puffy nipples and rub them between my fingers. I remember the velvety wet embrace of her pussy, the way I had to grunt and struggle to get into her at first, but it became easier as time passed, as her body surrendered and grew wet for me. The feel of her wetness splattering and dripping down my balls, hot and thick. The way her back glistened as sweat dripped down her body.
I remember when her aimless muttering stopped completely. She was so still for a moment I wondered if she had passed out, but luckily not. She instead suddenly burst into motion, her arms flailing awkwardly back, her hands slapping against my shoulders and her trim nails trying to dig into my flesh. When that didn’t work she braced her hands on the wall and lifted her legs, trying to kick at me, but all she did was cause me to fuck her harder when her heels came up and slapped against my ass. And then she drew in a breath and I realized she was finally going to scream, to really scream.
My hand flew up and wrapped tight around her throat. I squeezed, her scream dying before it could escape, and her cunt squeezed around me in turn. She clenched so tight I could barely manage another thrust, but I gnashed my teeth and forced myself balls deep into her unwilling pussy, glaring down into her eyes and reveling in the terror and dismay I saw reflected back at me. There was a moment of clarity as I found myself hilted inside her, my balls twitching, and I held her tight as I pumped my cum deep into her body and claimed her as my own. It was the best moment of my life right then…
Grant stopped talking, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling wistfully. He’d worked himself up, and he wondered if the detectives could see his dick pressing against the seam of his pants. He had closed his eyes as he took himself back to the happy moment, and couldn’t help but let out a quiet groan right there in the interrogation room.
“And then?”
Grant opened his eyes, returning his gaze to Isabella’s. She looked uncomfortable, the hardness in her expression fading as her piercing stare flicked away from him. He saw the other detective, Zahira, leaned against a corner with one hand held over her mouth and her cheeks flushed red. She too looked away from him, running a hand through her hair and biting her lip.
“Imaging yourselves in her situation?” he asked with a wry smirk. “If not for the grace of god go you two? We could do that, you know. I can indulge your curiosity if you take the cuffs off.”
“And I can rearrange of your face with my fists,” Isabella shot back.
“Yes, you can… just like you could last time. Because you had the guns. Because I’m cuffed.” Grant hummed and twisted his wrists, causing the cuffs to rattle behind him. “Could you do that if my hands were free, though? If you were unarmed? You’re a strong woman, detective… You look like you hit the gym every day. I maybe go for a jog every other day, but I bet I could still knock you on your ass with one punch.” He leaned forward, openly leering at her tits concealed within her tight-fitting police blouse. “Why don’t you give me your best shot? See if all your hard work is enough to beat out simple testosterone.”
“I’m not letting you get under my skin that easy,” she said, with too much conviction. “Just get on with your story. You’re obviously enjoying it.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “I am.”
I needed a moment to catch my breath after I emptied my balls into the slut. I let her fall to the dirty alley floor and watched as she curled up and began to sob into her hands. It was a hypnotizing sight, the way my cum dripped down the curve of her thigh, mixed in with a trickle of blood. I had half a mind to take her for another round.
But it was then, with my load spent and my dick softening, that it finally occurred to me what I’d done and just how reckless I was being. I’d done this on a whim, you see… and while I’d done as I pleased with women before it was easy to gaslight them, to convince them they had wanted it or drug them or get them so drunk they would let me do whatever I wanted. There was no way this was going to work with this girl. I wish I could say it was a hard decision… but in the end it really wasn’t. I had to avoid any loose ends… I wasn’t going to let a few minute with some bitch end the rest of my life. Thankfully, in the Boy Scouts they taught me to never leave home without my knife. “Be Prepared,” the motto says… and a knife is a versatile tool like no other. So I pulled out my switchblade, grabbed her shoulder, and rolled her over onto her back.
She didn’t even fight me… she seemed completely stunned. I owned her, and she knew it. She just stared up at me through the tears, still leaking cum from her pussy as I pushed the blade into her throat slowly. She was just so… meek. So pathetic, detective. She let me do it. I watched her eyes flutter and listened to her gurgles as blood began to well up and bubble out from her lips. Her tits bounced as she began to spasm, and I couldn’t resist the urge to rip her tank top open, roll her sports bra up, and watch them ripple as spray flecks of blood landed on her pale, soft skin. I began to get hard again as I straddled her hips and kneaded at her breasts, and I was so distracted that I didn’t think for several minutes as she bled on my knife.
It was a passing car horn from the parade brought me back to my earlier concerns. I pulled the knife out and stepped back to let her legs kick and her hands twitch as her blood spray from the suddenly open wound until, finally, she went still. I recall I was somewhat surprised and amused when she pissed herself in her final moments, but then, the alley already reeked of urine so I suppose it was only fitting.
I cleaned myself on her thigh, pulled my pants back up, and tossed her limp carcass into the dumpster with the rest of the trash. My heart was pounding as I stepped out of that alley and rushed home, unable to believe what I’d just done. I barely left my dorm for weeks. Every time I heard footsteps walking past my door I was certain it was the police coming for me. Then I turned on the television one day and saw the news reporting her body being found, just then, over two weeks after I’d killed her.
“Can you believe it?” Grant shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “Did they not empty that dumpster for two weeks? Or were they just so careless that they didn’t even notice a dead girl in the bin until they finally got around to processing it? Do you think she spent a week lying untouched in some landfill, baking under the sun? Maybe a pack of dogs nibbled at her, or a crow pecked at those blue eyes?” He sighed and leaned back. “I bet the company that handles waste collection for the city barely pays its employees… one of them might have even seen her earlier and decided it wasn’t his problem.”
Isabella felt sick. How could this monster say such terrible things without even blinking an eye, then go off on some tangent about municipal budget without blinking an eye? She exchanged a glance with Zahira, and was concerned to see her partner’s face red like she had been crying. She couldn’t look at Grant, or meet Isabella’s eyes. “Alright, you had your game,” Isabella said. “Rot in hell, bastard.”
“Yup,” Grant said, leaning back. “You’ve got me now. Redemption for you, detective. I’m a rapist, and a murderer, and now you know all about all thirteen of my victims.”
She froze. “…what?”
Grant frowned. “Ah, no. You’re right. Twelve. Twelve, sorry. Twelve… that you know about.” Then he smiled at her. “Don’t you think the parents of lucky number 13 might want to know what happened to their baby girl?”
“You bastard…” Isabella growled.
Zahira, apparently, had had enough. Her partner abruptly stood. “Do you want some water?”
“Hmm?” Grant blinked, then smiled. “Well, it would be nice. I do have quite a bit more confessing to do, after all.” He paused, then added, “It’s sweet of you to be so concerned for me.”
“I wasn’t talking to you!” she snapped, then she stormed to the door, knocking for the police officers on the other side to unlock it. Rising, Isabella followed her partner, and they both stepped out the door.
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