Getting Away with Murder Chapter 7 - Inglorious

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Isabella hung limply in the two hot storage room, her arms pulled back behind her and cuffed in place, and for the life of her she couldn’t remember the last time they had been free. If she hadn’t been completely numb, the pain in her swollen wrists and strained arms would have been unbearable, but that hadn’t been a problem for a while. These days, everything was numb. Numb or sharp agony, anyway… there was nothing in between. Her cute nose was swollen, having been broken… was it a day ago? A few days? A few weeks? She couldn’t remem ber… she wasn’t sure how long she had been here. Her eyes were all but swollen completely shut and her lips were one big bruise. Every muscle of hers ached and there was more bruised or welted or cut skin than there was untouched.

The disgraced cop leaned unmoving against the wall, hurting. Her holes were gaping, raw, and bleeding. She struggled to think anymore, to focus on anything at all. Her treacherous former partner had fucked her throat several more times with that cruel dildo, and at this point her raw neck had been abused so much Isabella wasn’t sure she could even talk… not that she had tried in quite a while. No one cared what a cunt had to say.

That’s what she was. She was cunt, or bitch, or dyke, or fuckhole. Not Isabella. Isabella had been fucked to death already… days ago? Weeks ago? She really couldn’t remember. She thought that this was maybe her second week here, but she couldn’t think straight enough to be sure. Not that it mattered. Not that she mattered. She was just a disposable set of holes, a worthless fuckdoll.

She hadn’t even noticed at first when her former partner showed up to rape her again… sinking her cunt down onto her face, riding her. Grinding against her broken nose just to enjoy the screams and hope they made her cum. She to breathe instinctively, panicked at the way she was being suffocated on the other cop’s pussy. She felt it when Zahira’s body convulsed on top of her, felt it when her thighs tightened, then her vision went dark as she blacked out again… going limp beneath her former partner, another fragment of what was left of Isabella snuffed out for her pleasure.

Hours passed. Days passed. Grant and Zahira came and went, fisting, beating, kicking, and fucking her. There was very little of a person left inside her now… no amount of struggling had ever gotten her anything. They were going to kill her, and the human being inside her was the only thing that felt like it was left. She only dreamed of a chance to take either of them down with her. Grant, however, was always careful. She never had access to a gun, was never unbound, was never free. Any time he took her mouth, she was always gagged, her mouth held open and helpless. She wasn’t sure if she even could bite anymore, but it was probably the one bit of resistance left in her… the one thing he hadn’t taken, and the ruins of what had once been Isabella was curled around it in a fetal position.

When they killed her, she would die with this shred of dignity.

Zahira slapped her favorite toy, the hard plastic strap on against Zahira where the wreck of a police officer on a table. Her legs lay most of the way limp… closing them, even to protect her, seemed like an arbitrary and far too difficult level of effort. “I can see why you like this so much Grant,” the Indian woman said, slapping her faux cock down against the bruised and raw hole that she once would have called her pussy.

Out of the corner of Isabella’s eyes, she saw Grant step inside, a small toolbox dangling from one hand. She hadn’t even noticed him leave, but she definitely saw it when he came back with that damn box that had caused her so much pain over the last days… weeks? Months? “Don’t mind me, you two.” Grant smirked, setting the toolbox on the bed next to Isabella’s head and flipping it open. Pliers, screwdrivers, needles, knifes, and wrenches jostled together inside, all neatly organized and polished, and a sudden thrill of fresh adrenaline rushed through Isabella’s heart as the sight and the memory of what he could do to her with them.

Her senses came into sharp clarity just as Zahira pushed the strap-on into her sensitive pussy, driving a pained yelp from her lips. She tensed, her fists trying to clench behind her and failing in pain. If her hand had ever had a chance to heal properly, Zahira had ended that with a hammer on the third day, and it hurt just as badly now as it had that first night here. The dildo was long and hard and unyielding, and Zahira thrust it into her with no sense of how deep or hard it stabbed, not any care. The hard tip slammed into Isabella’s cervix with every thrust, causing her strong legs to tighten and jerk against Zahira’s hands.

Grant hummed to himself, grabbing a plain pair of pliers from the toolbox and giving them an experimental flex. He arched a brow down at Isabella, watching her pained expression until he was certain she’d seen the tool in his hand.

“We’ve had a lot of fun together, haven’t we Detective,” he asked conversationally. “You remember what I said? About that luck in a dyke’s eyes that could get me hard in an instant?” Grant smiled. “You’re almost there. Not quite, though… are you? You’re a strong-willed woman, Isabella… I can respect that. You might be my favorite I’ve ever had.” He stroked her cheek with his other hand. “Thing is… you’re not all the way gone yet. I imagine that if I were to stick my penis between those little pillow lips of yours, you’d happily bite it off and choke on it.” He paused, arching a brow. “What do you think?”

Isabella’s gaze flitted between the pliers and his eyes. The implication was not only obvious, but terrifying. In a moment, Isabella saw that she had been lying to herself… holding onto her promises to herself to emasculate this master. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t suffer for it. A worm didn’t kill a god, after all. Isabella whimpered, shaking her head frantically, straining to push words out past the burning in her throat and the scabs on her lips and the rhythmic, stabbing pain of Zahira’s strap-on battering her cervix. “N—no,” she croaked. “I w—won’t. I’ll d—do what y—you want… y—you can d—do w—what y—you want to m—m—me. P-please…”

Grant’s grin widened. That same, smug grin that Isabella had hated so much during his confession now filled her with a cold, clammy fear. His eyes weren’t cold and emotionless like she’d always imagined a psycho killer’s would be. They were warm. Excited. “See Detective… I’d like to believe that, but I just don’t know if I can trust you. You’ve spent so much breath already promising how you would hurt me, pretending you were tough when I was the one in handcuffs. I just don’t think you’re telling me the truth. But that’s alright.” He reached down slowly, grabbing Isabella’s jaw as she tried to look away and wrenching it back towards him. “We’ll fix that for you. Now open your mouth and be still. If you fight too much I may crack a tooth, and that’ll hurt far worse.”

Zahira watched the little interaction with wide eyes, biting her lip and grunting as she put more force into every thrust. She kept ramming against the barrier between cunt and baby oven like she wanted to hammer her way through, and Isabella had no doubt her partner knew exactly how much it hurt… could feel it the way Isabella’s body tensed with every thrust… she had already confessed many times that it made the sympathetic vibrations of impact tingling over her clit that much better. The plastic dildo slid in and out of Isabella’s cunt with loud, sloppy shlicks, and Isabella swore it went just a little bit deeper every time. She went as deep as she could and held herself there, making little circles with her hips, grinding the tapered tip of the cheap cock against the entrance to the brutalized Latina’s womb.

Isabella couldn’t pay attention to that, though… her eyes were only for Grant as he grabbed her chin and pulled, straining to force her lips apart. “Open up, cunt!” he purred, pleased with himself. She shook her head vehemently, moaning protests through tight lips. He shook his head, eyes glittering. “There you are, Isabella…” he purred. Then Grant slammed his fist into her jaw, then again, unleashing a rapid barrage of brutal strikes across her pretty face. He pummeled her until her face began to swell with ugly purple bruises and blood streamed down her face in rivulets, her lips cut on her teeth in several places.

When Isabella was limp and dazed, only then did Grant force her mouth open, ignoring her weak moans and grabbing one of her pretty white teeth with the pliers. He had some experience with this, so he took a moment to get a good grip and angle — not out of any concern for her, but because he knew a broken tooth would still have to be removed and was twice as much hassle — and pulled.

Isabella shrieked. Her legs kicked wildly in Zahira’s arms, and her shoulders flexed and heaved as her hands instinctively fought her bonds to come protect herself. Animal panic warred with the pain that flooded her mind as she bucked her hips and arched her back, her perky breasts bouncing wildly and a rush of urine spurting out past the strap-on as she pissed herself.

Zahira kept tight hold of Isabella’s legs, fucking the struggling slut through it all. There was a brief respite as the first tooth came free and Grant shoved it to the back of her throat, forcing her to swallow, only for the fight to redouble as he went back in for the next one. At some point she forced herself all the way in, Zahira’s chocolate thighs slapping wetly against her ass. The pain in her Isabella’s cunt was excruciating, but she barely noticed it beneath the blinding agony of having her teeth pulled out one by one.

Zahira threw her head back and screamed in pleasure as she came, grinding her clit against Isabella’s and churning her old partner’s womb the strap on. Femme cum streamed down the inside of her thighs, pooling between her feet as she stood on her tiptoes and leaned forwards, her eyes squeezed shut and cute little pants of lust escaping her lips. When the waves of ecstasy washed over her and she opened her eyes, three more bloody teeth had been dropped down Isabella’s throat into the fucktoy’s slender belly.

Time flowed together for all involved. Grant worked quickly and efficiently, singularly focused on his work, but for each of the women the mere seconds he took to pull each tooth from Isabella’s mouth felt like hours. Isabella’s eyes rolled back, white-hot pain filling every nerve. If she’d had enough conscious thought to pray, she would’ve prayed for God to kill her, but at the moment the only thing running through her mind was the deep, overwhelming instinct to escape the pain. By contrast, Zahira was letting herself drift from one orgasm to the next, heart pounding in her chest and long howls of ecstasy escaping her lips. She kneaded her tits and slid a hand to find other places on Isabella’s body to molest and abuse, shuddering and panting every time she came down from her high.

At some point Isabella became too weak to fight. Her screams faded to pathetic moans and her violent struggles to weak twitches, and though from the outside she seemed almost peaceful, she was going through just as much pain as before. Zahira leaned down over her, rubbing her face against Isabella’s sweaty abs and kissing at her bloodied nipples, still lost in the addictive wave of constant orgasm and grinding her entire body against Isabella’s. “Oh, I love you Isabella…” she whispered. “I wish I had come onto you, sweet thing. That way, when I did this, it would have hurt even more…”

It was quite a while before Grant finally stepped back with a satisfied sigh. Isabella groaned up at him, eyes unfocused, her beautiful smile reduced to a swollen, fuckable hole. He’d done a perfect job this time, not a single broken tooth, and he was proud of himself. His dick was already stiff from her suffering, eagerly anticipating what came next. “Good. Very good.” Grant let the pliers clatter to the floor. He stuck two fingers into Isabella’s mouth, shoving them back until his knuckles bumped up against her busted lower lip. She gagged weakly, throat squeezing around his fingers. “Now then. Zahira?”

Zahira answered with a husky groan, stepping back and discarding her strap-on. Her pussy was flushed red and swollen with excitement, visibly twitching in time with her racing heart and drooling cum. She gave Grant a breathy nod as she grabbed Isabella’s calves and dragged her off the bed, letting her back slap wetly against the wood floor.

Isabella put up no fight as she was hauled into the open spot between the table and the door. She only blinked blearily as Zahira grabbed her hair and pulled her up onto her knees. She sucked in haggard breaths, staring blankly at the wall as spit drooled down onto her abused tits, painting runny pink paths through her breasts.

Grant stepped in front of her. He leaned down to her level, looking into each of her unfocused eyes in turn. “Detective?” he said, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. “Come back to us, Detective.”

Isabella coughed. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, gaze focusing on Grant’s cocky grin. She knew she hated that grin, but the aching, overwhelming exhaustion filling her bones was like a fog, suppressing every emotion.

“There you are.” He smiled at her. “Do you still want to live, Detective?”

Did she? She’d suffered more in the past couple days than she’d thought was possible. So many times before she had begged to die in the depths of her mind… hoping that this would be the time they ended her, and been disappointed when it never was. Even if she lived, this experience would haunt for the rest of her life, and that didn’t even account for the physical after effects. She could feel the broken things inside her, nerves complaining with every breath. It would be so easy to just lie down and die.

But there was a difference between saying she wanted to die, and choosing to… and despite herself, Isabella Rodriguez was not a woman who laid down and died.

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, aware she looked pathetic and not caring. She nodded, slowly.

“I thought so. Alright. I’ll let you live,” Grant said, straightening up. His dick bobbed gently in front of her, proud and strong. “If you suck me off, slut.”

He didn’t mean it. Isabella knew he didn’t mean it. This was the exact same offer he’d given to the lesbian couple: suck a little dick, shame yourself on your rapist’s cock, and he’d let you go. He’d been lying then, and he was lying now. Zahira bit her lip excitedly, anticipating the response. Everyone in the room knew it was a lie.

…but what if it wasn’t?

“Think about it, Detective. What else are you going to do? Are you going to try and ambush me again, with your broken hand and your repulsive toothless maw and eyes half-swollen shut? You can barely handle kneeling and breathing as it is. I’ll tell you this for sure: if you don’t do it, I’ll shove a rake so far up your cunt it comes out your mouth and leave you for Zahira’s parents to discover when they next go on vacation. It’d break their hearts, I imagine.”

Grant paused, taking a thoughtful breath. “But don’t worry about them. What about you? This is your chance, dyke slut. If you say no, you get to die a proud woman… a woman who fought to the last.” He smiled at her broadly. “No one will ever know that. You’ll die here, alone and miserable and in as much pain as I can possible inflict on you until your heart gives out. But if you say yes…” He snorted, grabbing his cock and giving it a little stroke. “You still have a chance. You can make it out of here. You don’t have to die just to make a statement nobody will ever learn about. And all you have to do—” He pushed his hips out, pressing the rounded head of his dick against her lips. “—is be the good little cocksucking dyke slut we all know you are.”

He was lying.

…but what if he wasn’t?

Several seconds passed. Zahira held her breath.

Isabella opened her lips, leaned forward, and took Grant’s dick into her mouth.

She didn’t have any tears left to shed. She sniffled, wrapping her lips tight around his shaft and swirling her tongue along the underside as she began to bob her head in slow little pumps. Inside, she screamed at herself. What was she doing? How could she give in to him like this? She knew he was still going to kill her! She was humiliating herself, giving him everything he wanted, for nothing! But she wanted to live. Under all the tough talk and threats, she knew the truth… knew he was right about her in this way. She was just a slut afraid to die, grappling onto even the tiniest chance of survival. She wanted to tell him no, to die with some semblance of pride, but she very literally couldn’t bring herself to. Her body moved on its own as her mind drew back into a small, quiet corner.

Grant laughed, clapping his hands in satisfaction before placing one gently on her head. “There we go! That wasn’t so hard, was it? Just imagine how much easier this could have been if you just dropped to your knees in the interrogation room instead.”

Isabella wished she wasn’t thinking about that, that there wasn’t a part of her that agreed it would have just been less painful and better. She began to suck with more energy, almost urgently, as if she subconsciously hoped that doing a better job would increase her odds of survival. She sobbed quietly, her expression blank and distant as she leaned forwards and buried her face into his groin, her throat massaging his cock with a slow rhythm. She enveloped his entire length in the warm embrace of her mouth as his masculine scent filled her senses.

“Lick my balls, cunt,” Grant instructed. “And look at me! Let me see your eyes!”

She responded immediately, gagging slightly as she struggled to open her mouth wide enough to accept one of his smooth nuts into her mouth. She looked up at him, gazing blankly at his face. She didn’t focus on either eye, or anything at all. In many ways, she’d already left.

Grant pursed his lips and worked his jaw side to side, nostrils flaring as his grip on her head tightened and his eyes took on a dangerous light. He’d broken her, utterly, completely, and the thought made his cock flex powerfully inside her throat. This was exactly where she belonged, the stupid bitch, between his legs, choking on cock and suckling his balls. He groaned loudly, his cool facade giving way to a lustful eagerness. He could’ve waited for her to suck him off herself, and it probably wouldn’t have taken that long with how aroused he was just then, but now that she’d surrendered herself he wanted to indulge more than ever before. “Zahira… do your thing.”

“Yes, sir,” she moaned happily as she knelt behind her partner, grabbing her head in both hands… and then slamming her head forward, bashing her head against his hips, her broken nose smacking painfully against his pubic bone. Muffled gags and glucks filled the room, her throat bulging with every thrust as her arms stayed limp in the cuffs. He glared down at her, breathing hard, picking up speed with every forceful thrust Zahira forced on her, causing her bruised tits to bounce and sway as spit and blood dripped across them. Salty daubs of pre leaked from his tip, pausing on the back of her tongue before dripping down her throat as he met the eyes of his new lover and partner in crime, seeing the lust and anticipation shining in her eyes.

This was it. He’d beaten her. He’d walked straight into a police station with a confession on his lips, and barely any time later he’d tamed this upstart whore who thought she was something because she could squeeze her perky tits into a uniform and shoot a gun. He’d even collected her sexy partner to keep as a pet. Zahira moaned with lust as she slowly killed her partner with Grant’s cock, eyes half lidded with lust. One of her hands moved around to knead at Isabella’s tits from behind, her head lowered to kiss the Latina’s slender neck. She looked up at Grant adoringly, leaning past Isabella’s shoulder to apply a few tender licks and kisses of her own at his cock. Zahira raping the other cop’s face like the horniest psychopath she had ever heard of… she had no intention of letting her partner breathe again until Grant was satisfied. “You don’t come up for air until he’s spilled his cum down your throat,” she purred like a lover into Isabella’s ears, twisting one of her bleeding nipples…

And her tongue actually started trying to work harder.

That was all it took. Grant let out a prideful roar as his balls tightened, his cock swelling with the most powerful orgasm of his life. He kept his gaze focused on Isabella’s face as he pumped the first rope of thick cum down her gullet, hilting deep down her throat and letting his balls churn against her chin. Zahira cooed, holding her head to the base on her lover’s dick. She wrapping her own lips around Isabella’s distended throat, feeling his manhood flex with every shot of cum through her sweat-and-blood-soaked skin. Grant gasped for breath, surprising even himself with his virility, white flashes of warm ecstasy racing up his spine and causing his muscles to bulge as his body tensed. But still he didn’t look away, drinking in the broken, empty expression of the ex-detective beneath him.

“Ffffffuck!” He hissed, heart pounding against his chest. He watched Isabella’s eyes roll back into her head as her cheeks began to blue, felt her throat begin to squeeze tight around him, desperate to push him out. The convulsions traveled agonizingly slow up his shaft, starting at his tip and then rolling all the way his cock in a way that made his toes curl. Isabella’s broken fingers spasmed, a loud retch causing her tits to bounce.

Finally, after long, slow seconds, conscious thought returned to Grant. He groaned, muscles relaxing once more, blinking down at the broken woman quietly asphyxiating on his cock. If he pulled out now, she would likely survive, albeit probably with some brain damage… but what did a whore need a brain for, anyway? Grant entertained the notion for a moment, considering. Perhaps that would be better, an even greater torture to let her live. He could take her with him, another plaything… or just leave her to stew in the knowledge of what she really was, what she’d done in the end. Zahira looked on in lustful anticipation. His cock was shrinking slowly, giving her back her oxygen. Her felt her neck pulse as she drew in the first tiny whisper around him…

Then, smiling down at her eyes, Grant relaxed his bladder. Letting out a deep, low groan, he let a long, stinking stream of piss down flood downIsabella’s throat. Her gagging convulsions grew weaker as she started to drown in what he relieved himself of, her body weakening further as her air gave out. Grant gently caressed her cheek with one hand. Some of his urine bubbled back up, escaping out her nostrils with a few drops of cum and meandering down her cheeks.

In her final moments, Isabella felt the cold creeping in from her fingertips, up her arms and legs, sinking into her bones. She knew she was dying, and she accepted it with a distant peace. Even the desperately proud woman screaming for revenge inside her had given up. There was nothing left.

Her last sensation was of Grant’s warm urine settling into her gut and into her lungs. It felt no better than she deserved.

Grant let Isabella slide off his cock and thump limply to the floor. Her head lolled side to side, a frothy mix of blood, cum, spit, and piss bubbling out of her lips and dripping down either side of her blue face. She twitched faintly, tits bouncing a final time, and then laid there… still.

Grant sighed in satisfaction. He took a deep breath, smiling at Zahira, who earnestly climbed over Isabella’s limp carcass, slid up his body, and pressed her lips against his. She shoved her tongue into his mouth, rubbing her perky nipples against his chest and caressing his back with her hands. “I fucking love you,” she panted, pulling back after several seconds.

“Good.” Grant nodded, pushing her back. “Now get dressed. We’ve got one last job to do.”

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They found her on the steps of the courthouse when he had gotten off.

The beautiful hue of her skin and bruises was somewhat diminished by the harsh dawn light as it covered her posed body on the granite steps, her cold fold stiff and unmoving. Isabella’s baton had been forced down her throat, the rigid stick clearly outlined in her slender neck and acting as a sort of surrogate spine, keeping her back straight and her tits out where she knelt. Her broken hands still cuffed behind her kept her posture stiff enough to keep her up with the baron. Her bosom was bruised and bleeding, visible bite marks prominent around her nipples and a deep cut running the breadth of one curving breast. Her police badge, it’s cleanness almost surreal against the grotesque backdrop of her bloodied corpse, was pinned over her left breast, the needle pushed straight through her nipple. Her legs were spread wide and her gun had been shoved up her ass to the grip. Cum dripped from her used cunt in thick globs, pooling beneath her, with even more sliding down the curve of her cheek or staining her belly and tits. Later DNA tests had found Grant’s sperm, but also samples from dogs, horses, and at least one pig… as well as, amusingly, at least one other person… presumably a homeless man who had seen her that night and couldn’t help but adding his own load to her toothless mouth.

She’d been propped up in a sitting position against one of the big marble columns. The letters on her belly in dark, black ink read simply “Dyke Whore,” and directed onlookers to her facebook and instagram pages. Her eyes were still open, neither peaceful nor horrified in expression.

The autopsy later confirmed what was obvious at a glance: she’d been raped, tortured, and killed. Her social media, as it turned out, contained uploaded videos of her rape by the Sapphic Killer. They were taken down almost immediately, of course… but nothing on the internet ever goes away forever, and the news story was high profile enough that there was no shortage of people looking for the video of some of the pretty detective’s final days. Certainly no few other police officers and detectives looked at a video for its evidential value… many times.

It was assumed that Zahira had been killed as well, and the police searched for two weeks for her to no avail. For years, every time a lesbian turned up dead in the city, it drew headlines questioning if the Sapphic killer was responsible.

Grant and Zahira, though, didn’t much care. They didn’t bother tuning to any news stations or listening to the chatter on the radio about the mysterious man that had fucked and murdered his way through the city and came out the other end. His identity was known now… but hers wasn’t, and she was a better lure to find lesbian women to play with than he ever could have been alone. The two lovers drove from town to town, enjoying the sights, fucking in every hotel, Grant whispering his plans for the next poor woman they decided to abduct next into Zahira’s ear while she bounced breathlessly on his cock and came her brains out.

Someday, maybe he would kill her, too, after he had gotten everything he wanted from her. For now he found her endearing, like a hunting dog. Someday, maybe she would kill him, after he had taught her everything he knew and she no longer needed him to satisfy her desire for violence.

But that was for later, if ever. For now, both killers were content to relax, to travel the world… to find prey.

There were plenty of fish in the sea, after all.

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