Ajax Delacroix was a cruel and sadistic man. At the time of his arrest, he was thought to have sexually abused and murdered more than a dozen woman. Hookers and junkies, they had vanished from the city's streets, only to be discovered when one of them finely escaped from his mountain retreat.
HIs last victim, a little slut named Dora Bradford, would have certainly joined the others in a shallow grave had he not allowed her to slip away. The media, being as oblivious as always, hailed her as a hero, never realizing they were being duped. Because of them, Ajax Delacroix became one of the most infamous serial killers in modern memory.
What neither the police nor the media ever suspected was that those they found were nothing more than bait; female vermin he'd caught over the years for the express purpose of seeding his myth. I have no doubt he enjoyed their torment, but they were nothing to him, and he left no record of their demise. Nothing beyond their remains, anyway. To him, they were throw-aways, human refuse he felt unworthy of the ritual he so carefully crafted for his intended prey.
His true body count was many times the paltry number discovered by the police . I know this to be true because Ajax Delacroix was my father, and I have the tapes to prove it. Since his death, I have watched them all, often marveling at my fathers infernal creativity.
The old man was deservedly proud of himself. Even at the end, he had given the police nothing but scraps, sending them scurrying on a wild goose chase over a hundred miles from where, under an assumed name, his true lair was actually hidden. Their CSI teams frantically poured over that compound, never suspecting this location ever existed.
Here, in a walled villa on the shores of his own, private lake, my father perfected the art of sexual sadism. For three decades, he successfully kidnapped and slaughtered over fifty young women, carefully recording their torture and deaths with the skill of an obsessed psychopath.
He left hundreds of tapes behind, and of all those, this video was the one that mattered most. Shot in 1991 on VHS, it's grainy, standard definition image hadn't held up well compared to the live, HD stream I could now upload from that very same cell.
The woman he filmed that day was a beautiful creature. The tapes poor quality couldn't deny her that. Her long, dark hair was mussed, and her face dirtied with days of grime, but all of that made her more desirable to my dad. Her hauntingly familiar eyes were filled with fear, and she gazed into the camera as if it were the last thing thing on Earth that might ever again bring meaning to her life.
"She was the one," he'd told me when I was old enough to understand. Of all the women he'd taken, she was the only one he felt worthy of giving him a son. Caressing the screen, I gazed back in time to a year before my birth. "Hi Mom," I whispered to the terrified girl. Even then, she couldn't possibly know what my father would do to her.
Flicking the screen to my live feed, I gazed with hunger at the women who now occupied my mothers cell. My blood grew hot and my gut filled with anticipation as the moment came for me to claim my fathers legacy.
Her name was Margarita Flores. She was a slim, delicate, Latina beauty, with stunningly thick, raven hair and brown eyes that were so luminous a mans heart could get lost in them. Her light, chocolate brown skin was glowing with youth, and my cock rose in angry threat as she struggled against her restraints. It was a moment worth savoring.
Up to then, I'd only watched my fathers old videos; decades-old specters of girls who were now nothing more than fading memories even to their own families. It occurred to me their very existence had become meaningless to all until I offered them resurrection through my arousal at their torment. They were ghosts, and even their screams were nothing but echos from the past.
Margarita was alive and at my mercy. Damn, the thought of touching her, of feeling her fear up close,.had my heart pounding in my chest. At just twenty-two, she was a nursing student at the local University. It was at a frat party that I'd first noticed her. She was vibrant and full of life, the kind of girl everyone wanted to be with. She was absolutely radiant that night and I could barely take my eyes off of her.
Enthralled, I began watching her, tracking her schedule until I knew exactly when she would be alone. With my van parked next to her apartments assigned spot, I only had to wait for her to come home. Just as she shut her car door, I slid open the Van's side door and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back and crushing the chloroformed cheesecloth into her face.
Damn, it was exhilarating! Margarita struggled violently at first, her muffled screams hopelessly absorbed by the cloth as her strength faded away. Less than a minute later, I had her arms cuffed and her legs bound at her ankles. I had barley secured the sack over her head before she woke, but by then, her fate was sealed. Tucking her smallish body into a ventilated rubber tub, I sealed the lid and was on the road back to my villa by the lake. My heart was racing as the adrenalin surged through me. Kidnapping her was the most incredible thing Id ever done and all I could think about was what I was going to do to her once I got her home.
Pulling out my cock, I began stroking myself as I watched her suffer in the suffocating captivity of her cell. I had stripped her of course, but instead of leaving her nude, I left her a tiny pair of panties and a thin Tee that was so tight her nipples could be plainly seen poking through the cloth. I would like to have believed her excitement was making her nipples so hard, but I knew it was more because of how cold that cell was.
Angled at forty-five degrees to the wall, she was bound to a body board with her arms above her head and her ankles forced apart by a three foot spreader. She could stay there safely all night long, suffering in fear from the horrors she could, as yet, only imagine. When the door to my observation chamber opened, I didn't have to look to see who it was. I felt as much as heard the movement behind me until a soft, meek presence knelt at my feet.
"She is a pretty one, Anton. Are you goin to keep her long?"
Gazing down at the nude woman at my feet, I smiled, caressing her cheek. "I don't know, mom. She is beautiful, but I'm not sure how long I'll be able to control myself once I start. Right now, all I can think of is how much I want to hurt her."
My mother, the afore mentioned girl in my fathers video, gazed up at me with a resigned acceptance of the monster I had become. Your father was the same way." Her eyes glazed for a moment, and a shiver ran through her as she relived some private torment she witnessed, or perhaps was forced to endure.
Not for the first time, my gaze passed over her body, making mental notes of the many burns and scars my father left on her skin. The worst of these, a deep red line across her throat was given her shortly after my birth. Father once said he had interned to kill her that day, but relented in the last second. For some reason, she was the only woman he couldn't bring himself to kill. Over time, she had become more than a captive. She was his wife, if that term fits at all. She also became a reluctant observer to his craft. Now, the time had come for me to take his place, and my mother didn't hesitate in serving me, just as she had my father.
Slipping down, she took my rampant cock in her mouth and began to suck, drawing my orgasm out as slowly as she could as I watch the last pain-free minutes of Margarita's life unfold on the monitor in front of me.
I knew well how skilled mom had become in sucking cock. She teased me with care, slowly caressing my length with a wet softness that let her lips glide up and down without pushing me over the edge too quickly. My gaze remained fixed on the girl on the screen. The way her chest heaved as she cried made her breast press more tightly into the tight cotton of her tee. She was still fighting the ropes, causing her body to writhe erotically against her restraints. She was terrified and confused, and I had no doubt longing for someone to come to her aid while being equally horrified that someone might be the monster who kidnapped her.
It was all making me hard as fuck, and the slow suction of moms mouth was causing my balls too churn. Grabbing her head, I forced her down, driving my cock into her throat like a fleshy spike. I was choking her with it, filling her throat as the seconds ticked by. I knew she couldn't breathe, and I toyed with the idea of letting her pass out or die unless I blew my load down her throat before she could. How many times, I wondered, had father come close to killing her like this. I was sure she wondered each time this happened if it would be her last, yet she never fought to survive. She was surrendering her life to me just she had him. All I had to do was decide to take it and she would be gone forever.
I had two lives at my disposal the night, and I was sure to take one of them. In that moment, i knew it would be the younger girl who would die. Her innocence was what I craved, and though mom may never have had a choice, she had seen far too much to ever be considered that. Grimacing, I drew back, letting my mother breathe and stroking my slick shaft as she coughed life back into her lungs.
Her face was red by then, her eyes bloodshot and watering from the strain of being choked on my cock. I had her hair clenched in my fist and I pulled her head back just to see the growing fear in her eyes.
Sadly, there was little fear left in her to be seen. She was a woman who had long become accustomed to abuse, and she submitted completely, fearing only to resist in any way regardless of how I might choose to hurt her. Standing, I drew my her back on my cock and fucked her skull, sliding my cock down her throat until my orgasm began to grow. The sounds of her gurgling breath, and the wet slosh of my hard prick plunging into her mouth was enough to set me on fire. My thighs grew tight, and my ass clenched as my cum exploded, filling her mouth before I drew back and sent another hot blast into her face. Pushing her away, I sat back and leveled a steely gaze at the slave who happened to be my mother.
“I could have killed you just then,” I mused. “I was actually considering it. Tell me, why didn’t dad ever finish you off? What made you so different?”
Mom was crumpled on the floor and could barely shake her head as she tried to respond. “I don’t know, Anton. I hoped he would. I even begged him too, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to let me go.”
Most likely he didn’t kill her simply because he knew she wanted to die, but there was no point in telling her that. As oddly as it might sound, I had no hatred for her or the one I had in the cell. I would easily kill either of them , but that was solely for my pleasure, not because I has some irrational hate for the fairer sex.
“I probably will, someday." I told her. "You should know that. I don’t have his soft spot for you. But right now you get to live, and you will as long as you make me happy.”
Rising, I cinched my black, silk robe around my waist. “I can’t say the same for Margarita. I want you to stay here and watch, just like you always did. It will be more fun knowing I have an audience.”
***
Father bought this particular estate partially for its private lake, but also because the house was built on a large, rocky outcrop on its northern shore. This allowed him to have his dungeon excavated underneath, protected by several feet of solid stone. There could be no escape, and no scream from inside would ever be heard in the fresh air above, even in the unlikely event a stranger approached undetected.
As I made my way down the rough hewn steps toward the dungeon, I couldn't help but wonder what old Ajax might have done to poor little Margarita. He was a skilled man with a knife and extremely creative in his mastery of torture, but he was overly direct for my taste. For all his genius, he lacked subtly, relying only on fear and pain to draw his pleasure from his victims.
To me, that was too easy. I could go down there and cut the girl into pieces. I might even eventually do just that.But before I did, I would strip her of hope, one layer at a time. I wanted to rape her mentally, until she gave her body to me in the vain hope it might save her life. Only then, would I truly let her suffering begin.