Perfectly Wicked, Chapter 8
Perfectly Wicked
By Jason D. Karl
Author's Note:
This story is dark, twisted, erotic fantasy fiction about a gay vigilante killer with paranormal abilities. It is the product of the author's imagination and should not be construed as real in any way. This should be read only by adults of legal age. The story contains explicit gay sex and the type of violence found in vampire stories. Don't try this at home or anywhere else. That said, I hope you enjoy my twisted tale.
Link to character images for this story.
Chapter 8: The Worst Person in the World
According to Kushim, with just three months' training, Kyle had progressed to the level most Erkek needed 600 years to reach. His telepathy (which Kushim called 'mind-riding') had grown the most. He'd gone from only being able to do it near the full moon to reading minds anytime he liked. He'd picked up other mental skills too, such as how to get the sense of a place or situation by simultaneously sampling tidbits from numerous nearby minds instead of probing deeply into just one. The only thing Kyle had trouble with was shapeshifting, which he couldn't do at all. Yes, he could conceal himself so well that he didn't even have a reflection, but he couldn't change into a different form. He'd tried, again and again, but shapeshifting was beyond him.
Besides training, Kyle still had his other work. As one of the highest-earning licensed sex workers in Pior Fossa, the city's escort agencies and brothels kept making him generous offers to work for them. But it wasn't as if he could ask for time off so he could go murder someone, so he had turned down all such offers of employment. It was better if he stayed independent.
This afternoon he would be taking the virginity of Alejandro Seiver who'd just turned 18. His father had initially tried to hire Kyle to be his son's first sex partner about a year and a half ago. Kyle, of course, had explained that he didn't do children. But now that Alejandro had turned 18 (and had himself confirmed he wanted it) Kyle was only too happy to take the 1000 he was getting paid. On top of that, having learned that his Mana protected him from contracting any infections, Kyle was planning to bareback this particular client.
He met Alejandro in a luxury hotel suite that smelled faintly of mint and vanilla. The kid--well, man now that he'd turned 18--was adorkable with his glasses, kinky hair, and nervous grin. This wasn't Kyle's first virgin, so he sort of had a routine. He settled onto the sofa next to Alejandro and asked, "Do you smoke pot?"
Alejandro shook his head. "No. When I turned 16, my dad gave me a cigar to smoke with him. I didn't like it and haven't smoked anything since then."
Kyle produced a joint. "Want to give it a try?"
"No."
Kyle sighed and took out a Ganja Mart brownie. "You need to loosen up, or you won't enjoy it. This only has a little pot in it. It won't get you too high; it'll just take the edge off your nerves."
Alejandro nodded and took the brownie. Kyle made some small talk with him while they waited for the marijuana to kick in. Then Alejandro asked him, "Doesn't it bother you, having to do this for money?"
Kyle shook his head. "I don't 'have' to do this. I want to. Yeah, most sex workers are just desperate, but I chose this line of work. I love it. Besides, last year I made over 600 thousand." (Kyle omitted the fact that some of that money had been taken from the corpses of his victims.)
"Wow! I didn't know you could make that kind of money doing this."
"Most rent boys can't, but I'm the best."
Kyle used a little magic to help the virgin relax and led him into the suite's bedroom. He gently pulled Alejandro on the bed, kissed his neck and began to undress him. Soon they were both naked. Kyle took a moment to admire Alejandro's form--his slender frame, the soft curve of his belly, and his 18-cm cock. He kissed Alejandro deeply, who was passive at first but soon started using his tongue and kissing back. It was clear he was a novice, but it was sweet in its own way. He'd certainly had worse.
When he felt Alejandro was ready, Kyle kissed down his chest and tongued his navel. He took Alejandro's cock in his mouth. Kyle had to use his magic to keep him from cumming too soon. Had Alejandro been with anyone else, the show would have been over in 45 seconds. But Kyle wanted to give the kid a great first time, so he edged him.
Sensing the newbie wanted to taste some cock, Kyle positioned himself in the 69 position and started giving Alejandro instructions. Once his client was sucking him at an acceptable level for a first timer, Kyle sucked his cock and tongued his balls.
After a while, they repositioned so Kyle had easy access to Alejandro's ass. He didn't typically rim his clients because they usually hadn't prepared themselves. But it was clear Alejandro had douched and bathed back there, so Kyle gave him the deluxe treatment. He was soon howling and oh-my-godding and begging Kyle to fuck him.
Kyle sent a little magic into Alejandro's anus to get it to open up. He lubed his cock and pushed the 18-year-old's legs up to his chest. Alejandro tensed up, so Kyle sent tendrils of magic out which swirled around and gave him a magical prostate massage. Then Kyle slowly pushed in all the way. Soon, they were moving together. Kyle took his time and didn't thrust too hard. It was actually a bit quiet as far as butt fucking goes. Well, Kyle could fix that. He pulled out abruptly.
"What?" Alejandro half-said, half-moaned.
"Oh, that was just the warm-up."
Kyle quickly lubed his own ass and Alejandro's cock. Then he taught the now ex-virgin what a power bottom could do. Kyle rode his cock fast and hard. He was still using his magic to keep Alejandro right at the cusp of cumming while still holding him back.
Alejandro's moans grew louder, but Kyle didn't stop. He wanted Alejandro to know what it felt like to be fucked to oblivion and just get over himself. For an entire hour Kyle switched between bottoming and topping before finally letting Alejandro cum just as he was filling the ex-virgin's ass with steaming seed.
Kyle pulled out, leaned down, and kissed him gently. "Now aren't you glad you're gay, 'cause straight guys never get this?"
"Yeah. It's good to be gay." Then, after a while, he asked, "What happens now?"
Kyle sighed. No good ever came when a john started crushing on him. Better nip it in the bud. "Now, I leave. Get yourself a boyfriend or a daddy or something. Just don't expect them to be as good in bed as I am."
Alejandro nodded. And there came the puppy-dog eyes. Shit.
Kyle started getting dressed. "Listen, I'm glad I could make your first time as good as possible, but you need someone who'll actually love you. Do you think you could handle having a boyfriend who's a high-priced whore who fucks hundreds of other men?"
Alejandro shook his head no.
Then Kyle got an idea. He picked up his phone and texted something to Alejandro. "That's another guy I devirginized a couple of months ago. You both have that nerdy-but-sexy thing going on. I think you'd make a cute couple. Just tell him I sent you."
"Thank you."
Kyle finished dressing.
§§§
It was dusk when he left the hotel. While Kyle preferred committing murder during the witching hour, he hadn't killed anyone all week and didn't think he could hold out much longer.
One of the shadow-riding skills he'd recently learned involved, rather than specifying a particular location, just directing the shadows to take him to someone malicious, wherever they happened to be. It was that technique that pulled him from an alley near the hotel. He emerged from the shadows someplace that clearly wasn't Pior Fossa. It was suddenly daytime, perhaps around noon, but it was much colder. Not freezing, but chilly.
He sampled the minds nearby to get his bearings. This city was Auckland. He'd fucking traveled to the other side of the world, all the way to New Zealand. Who could be nasty enough to pull him this far?
From additional mind-sampling, he realized that the building he was standing in front of was a domestic abuse shelter, though they called it something else. He could feel a very sick and twisted mind inside. Checking that his stealth field was concealing him, Kyle used the shadows to pass directly into the shelter without using the door.
He was in some manner of common room, or perhaps a waiting room, that was filled with women and children. But the mind that had drawn him here wasn't any of them. No, that mind was in an office labeled "Intake Counselor." He let the shadows take him unseen into the office.
A Maori woman with a bruised face and torn clothes was telling the counselor about the abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her brother. Kyle quickly realized that his target was the counselor, whose handwritten name tag identified as "Margaret." She was a pasty white woman wearing gaudy jewelry and a knockoff pant suit. She wasn't asking the usual social worker questions. Having been raised in foster care, Kyle knew the routines all too well. These were not those sorts of questions. No, the counselor was deliberately picking at the Maori woman and asking her to go into unnecessary details about the beatings.
Then he noticed it. At first he thought it was just some nervous tic, but it wasn't. Still in stealth mode, he looked behind the counselor's desk. Holy shit! She was secretly masturbating under her desk while making this victim recount every detail of the abuse.
He waited until the "intake interview" was over. The moment the Maori woman left the room, he touched the counselor and instantly pulled her through the shadows. She didn't even have time to scream before they were on an uninhabited islet. He threw her down onto the damp sand. The counselor's hand was still buried in her crotch when Kyle used his magic to hold her in place.
"You sick fuck! You enjoy their pain, don't you? You get off on it. You were flicking your goddamn clit to it!"
Margaret babbled incoherently. She was obviously trying to come up with some excuse, but Kyle wasn't in the mood to listen. "Turns out, I'm a sick fuck too. But, unlike you, my victims are all pieces of shit who deserve what they get."
"What are you?" she managed to say.
"Perhaps you've heard about a serial killer in Pior Fossa?"
"The one they call 'The Bleeder'?" she stuttered. "Everyone's been talking about it online. The reports say he's killed eighteen people."
"Pleased to meet you," Kyle said. "But you know what? I've been killing since I was six years old. I'm afraid I don't know how many; I lost count after fifty."
Her eyes went wide. "W-why?"
"Why? Because I can. Because it feels good. So let's treat this as a learning opportunity. Hmm? Today's vocabulary word is 'Schadenfreude.' Do you know that word?"
She answered, "It's a loan word from German. It means pleasure derived from someone else's pain."
Kyle nodded. "Correct. For example, you experience Schadenfreude over the suffering of victims of domestic violence. Now, can you guess what gives me Schadenfreude?"
"Please," she begged, "I'm sorry. I'll never do it again. I'll help these people. I swear."
"Answer the fucking question!"
"I... I can't. I just... I just can't believe it."
"No! The correct answer is that I experience Schadenfreude from eating motherfucking assholes like you while they're still alive!"
With that, Kyle bit into her shoulder. He took a chunk of her flesh, chewed it slowly, and then spat it out on her face. He used his magic to force Margaret to stay alive and conscious as he feasted.
An hour later, he finally let what was left of her die. Kyle used his magic to absorb the blood and viscera. He'd thoroughly enjoyed killing the bitch, but he hadn't orgasmed. Come to think of it, he'd never climaxed when he murdered a woman. Interesting. He almost always came when he killed a man, so why not with women? Maybe he should ask Kushim about it.
Whatever the case, slaughtering Margaret had whetted his bloodlust rather than slaking it. Better kill somebody else, then. Who? He had a long list of men back home on his to-kill list, but they could wait. On a whim he directed the shadows to take him to the worst person in the world. They responded.
Suddenly, it was late at night, and the air felt noticeably warmer. He must be somewhere in the Western Hemisphere. Nice neighborhood. Not uber-rich, but definitely moneyed. Looking around, he saw signs in English and French, so this must be Canada.
He felt the mind that had drawn him here. It was in a house that wasn't quite as garish as its neighbors. And what a mind it was. He'd encountered some twisted people before, like the sick fuck he'd just murdered. None of them were even in the same league as this mind. With a nudge, the shadows pulled him into the bedroom of the worst person in the world.
Kyle felt his stomach drop. What the actual fuck? For a moment, Kyle just stood there and stared at the sleeping form of a boy, not older than four.
There was no question of it. This boy wasn't the monster's victim or anything like that. No, this little kid was the monster. The malice, the absolute venom emanating from this child was the most intense he'd ever felt.
Holy fucking shit!
Kyle was wicked. Perfectly wicked. He knew that. Hell, he was a goddamn serial-killer! But he didn't fuck children, and he sure as hell didn't kill them. So he did the only thing he could think of: he rode the shadows to the one person who might understand.
When he arrived at the apartment hidden beneath La Chien Royal, Kushim was poring over some papers. He looked up, and, apparently seeing the expression on Kyle's face, said, "What's wrong?"
Kyle couldn't hold it in. "I... I told the shadows to take me to the worst person in the world. But he's just a little kid."
"And?"
"I couldn't do it. I just couldn't."
"Sorry, I don't understand. Why didn't you kill him?"
"Because he's a fucking kid, Kushim! I can't just go around killing little kids!"
"And if you could go back in time and kill Pol Pot or Hitler as babies, would you do it?"
Kyle's jaw clenched. "That's hypothetical shit. This was real."
"The Erkek cull the malicious. That is our purpose," Kushim said calmly.
Kyle started pacing about. "Not a fucking child! He's not even done anything yet! He's just a little boy with fucked up thoughts. Maybe there's a chance to save him."
Kushim sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "The Skapararnir created us to prevent species from driving themselves to extinction. I've seen worlds where the Erkek failed. Would you like me to take you to one? Seeing them really puts things in perspective. We aren't priests or philosophers: we exist to do a job. If this child's malice was strong enough to draw you to him, no matter how innocent he might seem, you can be sure he harbors the sort of mind that will one day destroy countless lives."
"But what if you're wrong? What if he changes? What if he doesn't turn out like that?"
"This species is already close to annihilating itself. Do you dare gamble the existence of an entire species on 'what if'?"
Kyle stopped pacing and faced him. "You're thousands of years old, Kushim. Why didn't you kill Pol Pot or Hitler? Or for that matter, Leopold II? They were monsters!"
"We didn't find them in time. Once someone becomes a world leader, we cannot touch them. Killing people like that draws a lot of scrutiny. Even if we make it look like natural causes, it would risk revealing ourselves; and our very existence is a secret we must protect at all costs. Imagine the chaos if humans knew that beings like us existed and were killing their leaders."
"But what's the point of having power if you can't use it to stop people like that?" Kyle argued.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you! Kill the fucking boy so he doesn't get that chance!"
Kyle started pacing Kushim's office again but said nothing.
Finally, Kushim offered, "Your Mana core is still leaking, Kyle. You must feed or you'll die. Whatever else that boy might be, he is nutritious."
"Then I'll just die! Fuck you, fuck the Erkek, fuck humanity, fuck the Skapararnir, and fuck me too!"
"No!" Kushim's shouted and lunged for Kyle, but he was too late: Kyle had departed into the shadows.
Kyle went on a rampage. All over the world he killed, taking just a few seconds each time. He appeared from the shadows, killed brutally and efficiently, and then disappeared. A rapist in Croatia, a cult leader in Ecuador, a child molester in Italy. There was no savoring it, no taunting the prey. Just an apex predator gone mad. He couldn't think. He couldn't stop himself. In just under an hour he killed perhaps 300 people. But the rage wouldn't abate. Not until he killed a particularly psychotic little boy in Winnipeg.
§§§
Later, Kyle floated naked in the open sea. He could think again. The Mana he'd absorbed from all the other murders he'd committed the previous night combined didn't hold a candle to what he'd gotten from killing the worst person in the world. He'd killed the kid. He hadn't been able to stop himself. Shit.
Kushim had, of course, warned him about raging, about how the Skapararnir had designed it to make sure the Erkek did what they were created to do. Now that he'd experienced it, Kyle knew he would never again attempt to defy his nature. If his magic or Mana, or whatever the hell it was, locked onto someone for him to kill, then he was sure as hell going to kill them.
Fucking Skapararnir.
The thing was, he could feel that the leak in his Mana core had shrunk. It was still there, but it was definitely smaller. Kyle supposed it was his "reward" for killing the worst person in the world. If so, he was not grateful. Kushim would probably know, but he didn't feel like talking to Kushim anytime soon.
He was maybe 50 kilometers off the southern coast of Pior Fossa. With the amount of Mana he had right now, Kyle was sure he could swim all the way there. He wouldn't bother trying. Instead, he decided to just see if he could sample the minds there. He could. He did this for hours. Then he felt an urge from his Mana. There was somewhere he needed to be.
He didn't want to dash in naked to Señora Navarro's place, so he rode the shadows to the small apartment he kept for meeting his more clandestine clients. He dried off the seawater, quickly dressed, and let the shadows take him wherever it was he was being drawn to.
He emerged, hidden by his stealth field, in a backroom that smelled of stale cigar smoke. Kyle knew this place. He used to come here when he was a teenager to sell stuff he'd stolen. It was a pawn shop owned by Ignacio Ferreira, who was the boss of one of the Brazilian cartels.
Ferreira sat at a round table with a bottle of whiskey and three tumblers. Across from him was none other than Detective Klootzak. The third person at the table was the real surprise: Reverend David Jackson of the Family Values Tabernacle and Worship Center.
Ferreira said, "You know what happens when you don't pay your debts, Reverend."
Jackson didn't so much as flinch. "I hired you to kill my worthless son. You didn't. The police," Jackson motioned toward Klootzak, "informed me that it was The Bleeder who did it. So, unless you can prove to me that The Bleeder works for you, I'm afraid I won't be making that particular payment."
"You think you can play games with me, Reverend?"
Jackson was unperturbed. "Furthermore, our deal was that it would be made to look like he was killed by known homosexuals, a crime I would then have used to run for Mayor. So, even if your men did kill my son, they didn't do it in the agreed-upon fashion. Either way, you didn't deliver on your promises, so I owe you nothing for that particular deal. Still, I see no reason why we can't continue to do our usual business. We have need of four sufficiently-white babies for our adoption ministry."
Without waiting for Ferreira to reply, Jackson turned to Klootzak. "And speaking of The Bleeder, how is your little investigation going?"
Klootzak took a sip of whiskey. "Well, Reverend, we haven't made it public knowledge, but The Bleeder is somehow sabotaging cameras, wiping them clean. We think it is some sort of black-market gadget. So we're trying a new tactic."
Jackson didn't seem impressed. "And what might that be?"
"Social media. Facial recognition AI of people the victims had public contact with the last year of their lives. You'd be surprised how much security cameras record and what people put online."
Ferreira looked skeptical. "What does that have to do with finding this killer?"
Klootzak turned to address Ferreira. "We looked for anyone who might have some connection to all of the victims. The only person who came up was the Reverend's son, David. He knew them all. But since he got killed too, it obviously wasn't him."
Jackson's expression remained neutral, as if this wasn't about the murder of his son. "Indeed, quite the puzzle."
Klootzak nodded, "No one else can be shown to have known all of them. But there are a few members of your church that knew at least half of them, including you yourself, Reverend."
Jackson's hand tightened around his whiskey glass. "Are you implying that I have something to do with this serial killer?"
Klootzak laughed. "No, there'd be no profit in it for you."
Ferreira interrupted them, "Any other possibilities?"
"Well, we did find one other person who'd met over half the victims. A male prostitute by the name of Kyle Truhan. But we've already checked him out."
"And?" Jackson said.
"At the time of your son's death, Truhan was talking to the police about... Well, I'm not at liberty to say exactly what, but it was an unrelated matter. So that rules him out."
Ferreira then offered a suggestion. "Maybe there are two killers working as a team? That way they could make sure one of them always has an alibi."
Jackson perked up. "If you could pin at least some of these murders on him, it would be a blessing for my campaign. The people of Pior Fossa crave a leader who will stand against the moral decay of our society, and what could be worse than a sodomite whore butchering god-fearing men?"
Klootzak answered, "Framing a man for multiple murders doesn't come cheap. Witnesses have to be bought, physical evidence has to be manufactured. All told, I'd say we're talking half a million."
Jackson's expression soured. "Ridiculous!"
"Consider it an investment in your political future," Klootzak said.
Kyle clenched his teeth as he listened. The irony of being framed for crimes he'd actually committed didn't escape him. These men all had to die, but he needed to be smart about it. Just killing them wouldn't get his name off the potential-suspect list.
He needed time to think.
Thank you for reading my story. Please let me know if you think I should continue it. Comments and suggestions are welcome.
My other series on Nifty is A Hankering for Pecker which is a comedy about an 19-year-old who comes out to his hillbilly father. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/a-hankering-for-pecker/
I also have a standalone story on Nifty called The Boys Who Loved. It is a sweet fairytale about two boys who fall in love at a tender age and how their parents deal with it. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/the-boys-who-loved.html
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