Sex and Murder Magazine

By Charles H. Black

John stood over the motionless body sitting in the chair. It was strapped down with belts, rope, anything he could find to keep his victim from moving. He was still unconscious. No blind fold or duct tape. John swung his arm back as far as he could, then forced an open hand across the man's face. He made a drowsy groan; the horse tranquillizer had not yet worn off. The man looked around confused for a moment. Then his eyes caught John's petite frame in a white doctors' lab coat. He looked up to the young pallid face and thick glaring glasses.

"What the hell is this? John?"

No response.

John walked towards the back of the basement and grabbed a scalpel from a box he used for work at the clinic. He turned and walked back towards his victim. The man's expression snapped into panic.

"What are you doing?" he asked stuttering. "I…I have money. I can give you $50,000 right now. Just let me go to-"

"I don't want your money." John said chuckling. As he continued to walk closer the man began to tremble. His eyes were locked on the gleaming scalpel John was holding.

"Help! Somebody help me! I'm down in-"

John forced the scalpel into the man's hand; it went completely through only stopping at the wood of the chair. A pain-filled scream echoed through the silence of the cold basement; he began to cry. John grabbed his gray hair and pulled it back.

"Now listen. Listen closely." he said quietly. "Scream again and I'm going to cut your eyes out with that scalpel." John let go of the man's hair. He quickly removed the blade from the blood covered hand; his victim made a small shriek. The man continued to cry.

"Please just let me go. I won't tell anyone I swear."

John slowly shook his head and smiled.

"I'll let you go-when I'm done with you."

He shut off the lights and walked upstairs into the house.

About ten minutes later John opened the basement door. It was still pitch black. He cut on one light and closed the door with the same hand; in his other hand was a hamburger. He walked downstairs to find the man still in the chair, turned on its side. He picked it up and sat the chair upright. The man was still securely strapped in, sitting silently. John took a bite out of the burger.

"Don't try to escape again." He swallowed then put it to the man's mouth. "Try some."

The man didn't move; he stayed silent.

John kneeled down to make their eyes level. "I'm not asking again." John said.

The man looked at him then at the burger. "No."

A fist went across his face. His teeth were red with blood.

John smiled. "Care to answer again?"

"I don't know what's in that!" his victim screamed.

John moved closer to him. "I just bit into it genius. Eat it."

They both were silent for a moment. The man hesitantly opened his mouth. John forcefully pushed the burger in and he bit down. Ketchup was smeared on his face. John took another bite then went to a corner of the basement to grab another chair. He set it a few feet in front of the man then placed himself. John looked into his fearful eyes as they both chewed.

"Good huh." He took another bite then studied the burger. "You know, there isn't even any meat in this; it's mostly soy. I'm a vegetarian. You know that right?"

John stood up from the chair and walked closer to the man. "By the way, how's your dog Buck doing?" he asked. "You two haven't showed up for a checkup in a while."

The man didn't respond. The chewed up food was still in his mouth.

"Swallow." John commanded.

His victim hesitantly complied.

John continued. "How does it taste?"

The man looked to the floor and shrugged his shoulders. "Fine I guess."

John slowly paced the room finishing his meal. "So, exactly what is the process of making a burger?" John asked.

His victim shook his head. "It's a long process."

John chuckled swallowing his last bite. "Yes. I assure you it will be."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two latex gloves. He began to put them on.

"You know, a lot of you guys go about it humanely, quick and painless."

He nodded his head.

"I respect that. It shows that they at least care enough about the food to not let it suffer before it's sent to slaughter."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of surgeon's scissors.

"But people like you"

He paused and shook the scissors towards the man.

"People like you just don't care about anything but the dollar."

The fear was no longer in the man's eyes. "It's a business," he said coldly.

John started to cut off the man's pants. Once he removed them he began to cut away his shirt.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

John didn't respond.

He took the shirt and tossed it aside. He walked away from the man again and returned with a small metal pole. He stared at the man who was now only in his underwear.

"What am I holding?" John asked.

His victim took a while to answer.

"A cattle prod," he replied.

"Good."

He began to scream as John forcefully stabbed the tip of it against his chest. The electric shock was burning his skin. A sadistic expression of satisfaction was smeared across John's face. He began to laugh.

"Now did that feel good?"

The man didn't respond. He was breathing deeply.

John put his ear up to him.

"Hmm…I didn't quite catch that."

He jammed the prod deep into the man's stomach, twisting the tip of the electric stick deep into his skin. Hard cries escaped from his lungs. He was out of breath. John put the prod an inch from his face. The tip of it was blue with small sparks.

"Did that feel good?" John yelled.

"No!" the man screamed.

A smirk was on John's face.

"I thought so."

He threw the prod down to the floor and studied him. There were blackened burn marks where he was stabbed with the prod.

"You seem to be missing something," John said. He picked up the prod then walked upstairs back to into the house.


After John was gone for about ten minutes the man tried to escape again. He twisted his wrists to loosen them. One was free. He reached over to loosen the other on his left hand. He froze as he heard the basement door open. He tried to slip the strap back on his wrist before John saw him. He got it on just as he was at the bottom of the staircase.

John stepped in front of him with an iron brander in his hand. It was still hot and glowing red. At the end of it was a large J. The man could feel the heat escape from it. John's voice was cold with no emotion.

"I told you not to try escaping again."

His victim's eyes grew big and his breathing increased.

"No wait I-"

John pressed the glowing red metal to the left side of his chest. The man screamed; his voice was getting horse. The rancid stench of burning flesh and smoke drifted throughout basement. The smoke disappeared; the man was still screaming. John spoke low under the screaming voice.

"Now I officially own you."

He dropped the rod; it was still glowing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long needle about 1/4th of an inch in diameter. In his other pocket was a small metal ring.

The man's cries were now low groans.

John took the ring out and put it close to his victim's face. "Why do you use these?"

The man's eyes were pointed downward. He slowly shook his head.

"Go to hell." he said quietly.

John snatched his hair up to look at him. "I didn't quite catch that."

The man spat in John's face. His voice crescendoed. "I said go to hell!"

John didn't move. He slowly nodded his head. A smile slowly formed on his face. "Okay. I guess it's time for the main event." John wiped the spit from his face then formed a large amount of his own in his mouth. He spat back at him then walked upstairs.

A few minutes later he returned with a large pair of gardening scissors. His victim was still angry.

"You don't have the balls to let me out of this chair and fight me like a man do you!"

John continued to walk down the stairs.

The man was still screaming. "Do you!"

John walked up to the man and picked up the smaller pair of scissors and began to cut his underwear.

"Oh you're a fag too?" the man screamed. "You're a freaking fag!"

John started to laugh.

"It's funny how you say I don't have any balls. We'll see who doesn't have any balls in about five minutes."

The man's underwear was off.

"What!" he screamed.

John continued to laugh.

"What did you say?" the man yelled again. He struggled to get out of his chair; it rocked back and forth. He freed the arm he loosened during his escape attempt and grabbed for the gardening scissors.

John stepped back and picked up the cattle prod. He forcefully stabbed him in the neck. The electric shocks made his screaming voice quiver heavily.

John retracted the prod and retied the belt onto his wrist. "Isn't that what you do to them?" John screamed.

The man was still in panic. "Please, please just kill me!"

John got down on one knee; he used both hands to unhinge the scissors.

"You don't deserve that luxury."

In a fraction of a second John was done. One snip. No anesthetic. Followed by alcohol.

There was a pool of dark red blood underneath the man's chair. He was a statue. Drool fell from his mouth and his eyes were glazed over.

John pulled out the metal ring he'd shown him earlier.

"Let's try this again. Why do you use this?"

The man didn't respond.

John picked up the cattle prod.

"It's a leader!" he said suddenly. "We pierce their noses and attach a chain to it."

John dropped the prod. "Why lead them by their noses? Why not their heads or torsos?" he asked.

The man sighed. "Their noses are a sensitive part of their bodies. They won't try to struggle for the risk of tearing it off."

John nodded his head slowly. "Ah, so there is a reason. You take advantage of the animals' weakness." He grabbed the long needle and put his hand on the man's head to hold it steady.

"That's just sick." He skewered the lower part of his nose then entered the metal ring. The man's face winced.

John walked upstairs and returned with something large and rectangular behind his back. "You really should see yourself." John said smiling. He showed him the large mirror and placed it in front of the chair. His expression was of both embarrassment and horror.

Naked and castrated his eyes could not turn away from the frightening image. The branding and nose ring really made him look like a bull.

John walked to a corner where a large chain lay welded to the wall. He unhooked the starting piece and walked back towards his victim. He dragged the chair the man was sitting in towards the chain. He picked the chain up and attached it to the leader on the man's nose. He used a small key lock to secure it. He took a shorter separate chain and locked it around the man's waist over the chair.

The man sat in silence with a hopeless expression.

John spent about ten minutes modifying the chair, cutting off the legs, trimming the back and seat of it. When he was done he released the man's arms and legs. He modified the chair in a way that didn't allow him to stand upright. He was forced to walk on all fours like an animal. John picked up the chair scraps and took them upstairs.

He returned with two large bowls. He put the bowls roughly six feet away from the man on the floor, as far as the chain would allow. The entire time he sat motionless in a zombie-like state. John gave him a portable toilet but he didn't bother to use it; he defecated on himself.

He cleaned up the bloody mess that was on the floor then filled the two large bowls he'd placed for his pet. In the first bowl he poured cold water.

"Your meal should be ready." He went upstairs and returned with a large piece of meat on a plate. He slapped it down into the other bowl.

"How do like your steak?" John asked.

He began to walk back upstairs. His victim sat on the hard floor mumbling quietly like a mad man.

"It's well done." He was at the top of the staircase.

"I'll be back sometime tomorrow. You know Dave right? The commercial pig farmer?" He paused and slowly nodded his head smiling.

"I think I want to show him how bacon is made."

John cut off the lights and locked the basement door. His victim was still at the bottom of the pitch black basement mumbling at a whisper. He slowly picked up the meat, still warm, and began to eat his steak.