Thread: Quix's Random Bullshit Thread (Comments Welcome)

RE Quix's writing samples One of my favourite ever stories, which my partner had to leave due to real life commitments. I remain ever hopeful that she'll some day return to pick it back up as I know she wants to, as much as do I. Internet Killers - Thread Quix and Dova Peter Norris wasn't totally surprised by Analise's reaction - or more the point, lack of reaction - to the gun aimed at her stomach, and the threat to gut her with a bullet. In fact he was quite impressed, and his admiration for the woman grew, though of course, he wasn't going to admit to that fact. The only noticeable emotion came when he used the word honey . Pete inwardly chuckled, and filed that piece of information away for future use, as he awaited a response. The man's lips pursed as he attempted to gauge her inner thoughts in the brief time it took Analise to provide it. He'd seen the way she had appraised him, and an eyebrow had raised. What was she expecting? For him to have murdererrapist stamped on his forehead? That image caused his lips to curl into a mocking smile, which remained on his face as she spoke. He didn't issue a word, or react to the touch of her fingers on his skin - not even when they moved to the hand in which he held the weapon - until she was done, and attempted to display no concern or care at her mention of the FBI, or the implicit threat of the nightly patrolman. If Analise could hide her inner emotions so well, Peter Norris wasn't a stranger to doing so either. There was no sign of the nerves he felt, or the chill that ran through his body. His facial didn't expression didn't change, although he developed a tic in one eye, and his neck muscles twitched as he found himself needing to resist the urge to glance at the window and ensure the curtains were drawn. When she'd finished, and with their bodies almost touching, Pete moved. He lowered his gaze to take a long, lingering look at the cleavage which he guessed Analise had deliberately revealed, and placed his free hand over the top of hers, to stop it from plucking the weapon from his fingers. The Police, and possibly the FBI, are already searching for me, Ms Helm. I've murdered three times. What makes you think a fourth would provide them with any more evidence than they have now? His focus left her breasts, and returned to her face. A smirk played across his lips. I'm getting better at this, not worse. As for the patrolman, night is an eternity away. By the time he's due, you'd either be bound and gagged in my trunk, or naked, bleeding and begging for mercy in some dark, cold, lonely place where no-one could hear your screams. If there's one thing I've learned from our chats, it's that I enjoy the chase. The battle of wits and competition has been more stimulating than I could ever have imagined, and all that attention you received on the evening news made me a little jealous. I crave my own. Not that you'd get the pleasure of seeing them capture me anyway, you'd be dead. The man shrugged, and gently pried her fingers loose of the grip they held on his gun hand, so that he could raise the weapon and touch it to her lips. Black, White, Hispanic, Asian, it doesn't matter to me, and whilst I appreciate your offer. The man kept the tip of the gun barrel pressed against Analise's lips for a few moments, before he inched it back and began to run it down her body. The touch was so light, it could have almost been the caress of a lover's fingers. He ran it over the skin of her neck, her throat, her chest, then lower still. It slipped under the material of her bra, and a half-inch of cold blue steel came to rest between her ample breasts. I'm not one to enjoy women who give themselves up too easily. Pete spoke as he began to draw the material back from Analise's body, and lowered his gaze briefly to take a look at his work. It's the chase which arouses me. The resistance. The capture. The pain. Then his head lifted, and he smiled. Nice tits. The smile became a laugh, and the fabric of her bra snapped back into place, as he withdrew the weapon, ejected the cartridges, tossed the gun on the sofa, and stepped back so that they were no longer touching. But that doesn't mean we can't be friends. I don't have many of those. People tend to piss me off. You want us to get to know each other. Ladies first. Why isn't a woman like you married, Ms Helm? Can't find a man good enough? Or was my guess correct, are you a dyke? Immediately the words left his mouth, Pete shook his head and lifted a hand in apology. I'm sorry, that was incredibly rude. I've been awake all night, and that makes me tired and irritable. Why don't we get down to the real matter at hand. All mirth and good humour left his expression, and tone. You want to watch whilst I rape and murder a woman? He paused momentarily, but not for her to respond - the question had already been answered without prompting, Pete was just choosing his next words. He was capable, but was she? Lingering doubts remained. If you truly mean it, if you believe you can handle the real thing, we're going to take a drive after we've finished becoming acquainted. A test run, so to speak. I want you to pick her out. In the meantime, how about you brew us a coffee, and show me the rest of the house. I hope it has a basement? The murderer and rapist proffered his hand, as casually as if he were sealing a business transaction. You can call me Pete. Do we have a deal, Analise?