#rebecca is like shoveling women into her arms and i love it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sending-the-message · 6 years

Text

Fifty Ways Holesome (Final) by ByfelsDisciple

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

I drove down the highway in a daze. I know that people would be judging me if they were here, but I just don’t give a fuck right now. Until you’ve mercy-killed a stranger that was supposed to be next on your serial killer-husband’s to-do list, you don’t have a clue.

It wasn’t a great day.

I was so dazed that it took me twenty minutes to realize that the itching sensation on my chest was because I had forgotten that I was wearing nipple clamps. I didn’t do anything about them, though.

I just drove. Byron continued to grip the knife.

At least he’d put on pants. That was nice.

I drove over a pothole, and the body bounced around in the back. I distantly thought about how nice it was that her blood had been drained out. It wouldn’t stain the trunk.

“You’re doing just fine, Rebecca,” Byron sneered. “We’re almost at the empty field. My coworker Mikey will meet us there.”

I nodded vaguely. I didn’t know he’d had a coworker named Mikey. There were a lot of things I didn’t know about my husband, it turns out.

“I’d originally wanted my friend Gordon to help me out – that broke bastard would do anything for a buck. But he disappeared a few weeks back, probably doing something stupid.”

I had known about Gordon, but just didn’t care at the moment.

“Why are you doing this, Byron?” I was crying silently.

His arms were trembling. Byron tried to appear confident, but it wasn’t working; he looked like he was going to throw up. It came out as tears instead. He turned away from me. When he spoke, it was with the warbled imbalance of a breaking man.

“I’m scared for you, Becca. I’m scared of me.” He took in a trembling gasp. “I’d destroy the world for you.”

My knuckles stayed white.

“Turn in here.”

I pulled off of the highway and followed a two-lane road with no buildings on either side. Five minutes later, he signaled the turnoff to a dirt path leading into a field.

A smiling man was waiting with a shovel.

They didn’t make me dig, but I wish they had. I wanted something to distract me from Mikey’s constant leering at my chest. I realize that the clamps must have been prominently poking through my top, but I wasn’t about to let him see me pull them off.

I tried to distract myself by peering around the field. The sky was steel-gray, and there were no trees nearby. I looked at the ground. I wish I hadn’t.

It took me a minute to realize what I was seeing. Some of the earth was hard packed, but there were interspersed patches of freshly-turned loam at frequent and irregular intervals. My stomach lurched when I realized that this was my husband’s burial ground.

I felt woozy and imbalanced. I tried to steady myself when I looked down.

The imbalanced feeling had come from the fact that I was standing on fresh, uneven soil. I was in the middle of a patch that was six feet long and three feet wide. As I tried to steady myself, my pumps just sunk deeper into the dirt.

I staggered and nearly fell. Mikey cackled. “That’s one of the fresh ones! Careful, those have the most worms!”

I’d heard of “seeing red” plenty of times in my life, but that moment was when I realized the phrase could be quite literal.

That was the moment.

I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and waited for them to finish digging.

I forced myself to watch as they dragged her body from the trunk. It moved like a potato sack, devoid of all the correctional balances that a warm human makes even in sleep. Her arms flopped like rubbery cheese as they rolled her into the ground.

They didn’t close her eyes.

When they were done, Byron slipped a roll of cash to Mikey, who didn’t count it. How could he, when his eyes were fixated on my ass?

Byron’s eyes never left the ground. Byron never said a thing.

They slid one shovel back into the trunk and slammed it closed. Mikey slung the other over his shoulder and flashed us a yellow-toothed grin.

“Don’t worry, pal, I walked. No license plates to be seen, no nothin’.” He smiled wider. His breath smelled like musty cabbage.

My husband turned without a word, and indicated that I should get in the driver’s seat.

It dawned on me that I could have driven off without him before this, and likely would have escaped his knife. But I simply had no idea where to go or what to do.

At least, not until I saw red.

I got in the car and started driving out of the field. I went slowly at first, then began to pick up speed. I wanted to get out of there.

I wanted this to be over with.

I don’t think that my husband truly understood my wants.

I knew that Mikey didn’t, at least not until I floored the gas and slammed into him at sixty miles an hour.

God damn, a human body can fly high up in the air.

I didn’t check to see if he was dead. In truth, I hoped that he wasn’t.

At least not immediately. He would die eventually; I had hit him too hard to doubt that.

But I thought it would do him good to feel a little pain. It can be quite a thrill.

Byron hadn’t said a word. He simply stared at me, slack-jawed, as I turned on the windshield wipers to clean the blood.

Without looking, I slid my hand over his crotch. He didn’t resist.

Then I yanked the knife out of his hand, and tossed it out the window as we were crossing a bridge.

It didn’t take them long to find Mikey’s body after a stray dog carried a severed human hand into a nearby town.

The rest went as expected. The shovel led the authorities to dig up the field, and they found the corpses of twelve women.

When they were alive, they had all looked like me.

Mikey had traces of the most recent woman’s DNA on him. His whereabouts were unknown during all of the murders. The shovel near his broken body had clearly been used to dig the graves.

His personal history wasn’t working in his favor, either. He’d been caught while stealing panties from a nursing home, and it turns out that you can only be arrested for public masturbation so many times before society considers you to be an irredeemable weirdo.

That, and there haven’t been any murders since his body was found.

As for Mikey – well, he wasn’t disputing the story. To the public, the Richmond Strangler had been found.

The truth is a funny thing, though. It really depends on your perspective.

And there are many shades of gray.

Before you judge me, think of my predicament.

Byron was a bastard. But turning him in would devastate my world. How does someone recover from being ‘that girl who married a serial killer’?

She doesn’t.

On the other hand, the victims’ families deserved closure. They needed someone to blame.

In addition, the world had to to be safe from Byron. He couldn’t be trusted to be free in society. Not when he was afraid of himself. Not when everyone else should be afraid of him.

And above all, he needed to be punished.

Yes, Byron was a bastard. But he was my bastard.

Mikey’s death took care of the whole ‘closure’ and ‘blame’ issues quite nicely. No one looked too deeply past the idea that this one panty-stealing fucker had killed all those women by himself.

Frankly, everyone was eager to move on.

But the rest of those issues were up to me to solve.

“Hi Byron,” I called casually as I walked in the door after work. “How was your day?”

“Same as always,” he muttered in a bored tone.

“That’s nice, dear,” I mumbled back, dropping my briefcase and keys on the table before walking into the bedroom. I kicked off my shoes, reached under my skirt, and dropped my panties to the floor. “How’s the catheter working?”

He sighed. “Fine. It’s better than holding it in all day.” He looked down at my feet as I stepped out of the panties. “Look, I’m not really in the mood right nnnnyyyaaaAAAHHH!”

I pulled back the electric prod and watched his penis grow to full staff. It sprang easily through the wider opening that I had sawed into the cage.

Actually, there had been plenty of time to make preparations after we’d gotten back to the house that day. Can you believe that he fell for the ‘paint can to the head’ routine twice?

I’d restrained him immediately the second time, though. I’m a fast learner.

“Look, Becca, I think that you should consider letting me out of this cage for just a little biiiiiiihuuuuhhh…” His voice trailed off as I slid the entirety of his shaft into my pussy. I’d been thinking about him caged in our bed all day, and had neither the time nor the inclination for foreplay.

Of course, I would never let him out of the cage. I control everything about his body now. And you know what?

I think that deep down, he kind of likes it.

Besides, it’s a public safety issue.

And I’m really liking our newly-changed roles. It’s such a fucking thrill to be the one administering punishment.

The sex is tricky, though.

I have to balance my hands and feet awkwardly on the metal bars to position myself above his crotch. Squatting on his caged face is even harder, although it’s made rimjobs somehow more thrilling. And I’m still working out the mechanics of a good pegging, but with time, I’m sure I’ll get it down.

It’s a lot of work to get it just right. And slamming against the metal bars can be quite painful on my ass and thighs. When we finish, my skin is often raw, bruised, and bloody.

But you know what?

I love the bruises the best.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

1 note · View note

thisnerdblog · 7 years

Text

@thassalia asked for the Fanfic Meme:

1. Things that Inspire you?

Music, almost 100% music, art and other authors. Actually honestly nearly anything and everything is inspiring, the littlest thing can can produce an idea at the drop of a hat.

3. Name three favorite writers.

. @thassalia and @handypolymath , when you two get together you make magic, also super fantastic on your own. @ireallyhopethismakesuseven is fantastic and I love all her stuff ❤️

24. Favorite scene you’ve ever written?

From one of my first fics, the Avengers are hanging post battle waiting for the suits to give them the green light to leave. It’s snowing and cold and Hulk wraps one giant meaty hand around Nat’s shoulder keeping her warm. It’s terrible and silly and OOC but it was the first real thing I wrote since middle school and i have a soft spot for it. I suppose it wants me to post the scene here, but it’s more the entire damn fic, and I don’t need to bring that much attention to it 😬

46. Share a scene from a story you haven’t published yet?

I’ve been playing around with a Monster Hunter/ Steam Punk AU for the longest time, it’s something I would love to get off the ground.

Natasha Romanoff, leaned back in her chair, bringing the glass to her lips. The frothy head of the dark sweet beer tickled her lips as she took a long draw. The brew was thick and malty with a hint of honey, more of a meal than an actual drink. Setting the pint glass down she pulled the earthenware bowl of stew closer. The dark gravy was thick with barley and mutton. Peas, carrots, pearl onions, mushrooms, and cubes of potatoes hung suspended in the dark broth waiting her spoon. To the side was a loaf of soft soda bread studded with little raisins, soaked in butter.

To her left her partner sat hunched over his bowl, like a dog guarding a bone, shoveling spoonful after spoonful of stew into his mouth. Clint Barton was a stout man, broad shouldered and thick armed. He wore his blonde hair close cropped, and his heavy brows permanently drawn together. But despite the man’s permanent outward scowl, he was was lighthearted and forever a child.

They sat at a well worn and pock marked table, pushed snugly into the corner farthest from the bar. Despite being in the lonely gray village of Starks Hollow little less than a month, they had quickly claimed the little table as their own. Not only was it located in a prime spot by the ever roaring fire (the cold seemed a permanent thing in Starks Hollow), but it also provided an unobstructed view of the entire establishment. Being in their line of work required establishing certain habits if you wanted to live. It was the particular reason She and her partner where holed up in this little god forsaken Hollow.

There was something in the hills that spooked farmers and fouled their crops and animals. It was Natasha and Clint’s job to find out what. Natasha was fairly certain it was a lone wolf and a whole heaping pile of superstition, but Commander Fury had been adamant they go out and perform a full investigation. So far the duo had come across nothing but old wives tales and school house ghost stories.

Clint was enjoying himself, he considered it his first official on the job vacation, and intended to use Fury’s purse to fund it. Most days found her partner sleeping in until noon, interviewing the prettiest girls the village had to offer, putting on impromptu trick shot shows, and drinking the tavern dry. He was having the time of his life.

Natasha on the other hand felt her talents were being wasted in such a tiny village as Starks Hollow. She much preferred the work that made a difference. Natasha had a very specific skill set, she could blend in anywhere and everywhere using her short stature and fine features to fool just about anyone. She could lull men and women both into her web of false security, letting her prey believe they had the advantage before she would strike. Or on some occasions, place the target just so for her partner to take out with an arrow or two to the back.

A frigid sweep of cool late afternoon air ushered a patron through the door, briefly illuminating the dark bar with the low orange light of the setting sun. The newcomer closed the door quickly and headed straight for the bar. Even with his head low, nose buried into a ragged scarf, she could tell she hadn’t met this fellow before. She had managed to interview just about every citizen of the Hollow, even those secluded farmers, but she didn’t recall this man.

He wasn’t particularly tall, though he did have a full head of dark curling hair that just touched the collar of his coat. He had a scraggly mess of a beard, flecked with hints of silver. Under the beard his cheeks were hallow, the bags under his eyes were dark smudges on pale skin. His coat looked to large and hung off thin shoulders. His clothes were frayed, patched, and travel worn.

She watched as he sat on a stool and flagged down the tavern keepers wife. Frigga was a grand and stately woman, beautiful silver and blond curls elegantly piled atop her head while thin bits of silver dripped from her ears. Her Husband, Odin owned the Raven’s Jig, but Frigga was the woman in charge keeping her husband, two sons and a whole slew of patrons in line. There was none that Frigga didn’t know.

She approached the newcomer and stared him down, from where Natasha sat she couldn’t read the new comers lips, but he must of said something to Frigga. The woman gasped, hand flying to her mouth, a pleased smile slowly crawled across her face. She reached out and gripped the mans thin wrist.

She said something threw her fingers Natasha couldn’t read, reaching out to tweak the whiskers at his chin. He ducked his head hiding his chin back into his scarf.

“Sit tight, Dear. Let me fetch you something warm to eat.” She patted the mans wrist and turned toward the kitchens.

The man slumped back into the stool, hunching his shoulders and wringing one of Friggas cloth napkins.

A fresh pint was sat down in front of she and Clint, frothy head spilling down the side of the glass. Odin and Frigga eldest son smiled down at Natasha as he gathered up the spent pint glasses. With long golden hair and matching beard, Thor was easily the best looking man for miles around. Wide shoulders and even wider grin, the man was as strong as an ox and kind to boot. If he wasn’t already so besotted with Miss Jane Foster the baker, Natasha was inclined to take a page out of Clint’s book.

She reached out and grabbed at his sleeve. Motioning toward the newcomer she asked who he was.

Thor scratched his beard, left hand easily holding all their discarded dishes.

“I’m unsure, though mother seems to know him.” Frigga had returned from the kitchen, heaping bowl of stew in one hand and an over flowing glass of golden cider in the other. She sat down the meal before him and started chatting. Thor threw Natasha a cheeky grin “want me to find out for you?”

“If you don’t mind.” Natasha ducked her own head, tugging at her red braid. Let him think she was interested in the guy, things usually went smoother that way.

Thor’s laugh was like a clap of thunder, his big hand patted her slim shoulder. “Consider it done!”

Clint nudged her elbow, coming up for air. He quirked a heavy brow reaching for his new glass. Natasha jerked her chin in the direction of the man at the bar.

“New guy.”

He nodded, humming. They both watched as Thor sauntered up to the bar, golden braids swinging. He passed off his load of dishes to his dark haired younger brother, who scowled sourly. He swung his tree trunk like arm around his Mother kissing her temple. Frigga laughed, and swatted at her Son. She gestured to the Other man, than back to her Son. Thor stared at the other man, smile slipping and brows pulling together in thought. He studied the man for a moment more, before another exited and slightly disbelieving laugh and grabbing the the man and pulling him into as much an embrace as he could with the bar in the way.

The other man laughed a bit nervously, patting Thor awkwardly on his massive shoulder. Pulling backed Thor set about pelting the dark haired man with a rapid string of questions, which he answered, fingers fiddling with his spoon. The questions would have gone on all night if Frigga hadn’t shooed her Son off.

Thor went about some of his duties, though a giddy energy kept his usual swagger tight. Thor was not a subtle man. He returned to the table, pulling out a chair and settling down with his own pint. He looked like a school girl ready to share a bit of juicy gossip.

He jerked his whiskered chin over his shoulder. “That is Bruce Banner.” He said the name as if of course they should know who that was and be just as excited as he. Clint and Natasha flicked a quick sideways glance at each other.

“ I grew up with him, well we weren’t really close. He and Stark were inseparable, though. I wouldn’t doubt to see Stark storming through those doors in the next few minutes. Close as brothers he and Banner.” His younger brother, Loki passed their table with a disgusted snort. “Well most brothers.” His grin only widened.

“ His Father was Brian Banner and his Mother was Rebecca. I remember her, sweetest lady you would have ever met. Used to keeps sweets in her apron pockets.” He laughed brightly again “ Loki got the lot of us believing she was a Swan Maiden and Mr. Banner was hiding her skin. Stark, Banner, Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral, Sif, Jane, and Pepper, all of us searched those hills high and low for hours. Ohh our clothes got so muddy, we all would have gotten a turn with the paddle if Mrs. Banner hadn’t found us first. “ he took a swig “ cleaned us up and stuffed us with bread and molasses. We told her the whole story, cried that we didn’t want her to stay captured, but that we didn’t want her to leave. She laughed and sang to us, her voice was like silver bells. She told us the even if she was a Swan Maiden she would never leave.” Suddenly Thor’s smile dimmed “She died a few short years later.” He played with the edge of his glass.

“What happens to her?” Clint asked around a mouthful of buttery soda bread.

“Mauled, by some wild beast. No one knows why she was out on the moors so late. But they found her the next morning along the side of the road with her throat ripped and her entire chest pulled apart. Gutted like a fish, not an organ in sight. Most believe she was the first human victim of the Hound.” Here Thor dropped his voice a bit.

Natasha nodded her head, she knew The Hound, it was the reason why she and Clint where stuck here. Supposedly there was a great black Hound, with eyes as red as hell, claws as long as pitchforks, and a howl that froze you to the spot. It was said he slept under the hills until the moon was full, then he would gallop across the moors dragging death in his wake.

Pure poppy-cock in Natasha’s opinion. There is no such creature in any guide book or grimoire she was aware off. At best it was a sick wolf, at worst some faery hound, but nothing she and Clint couldn’t handle.

“Any way, she died, Bruce didn’t take it well. Started quarreling with Brian Banner. It got so bad that one day Bruce had just up and left. We don’t know if Old Brian gave him the boot or Bruce left on his own. But he has been gone now a good fifteen years.”

“Brian Banner, that’s the name of the fellow who went missing?” Natasha leaned forward.

“Aye, he did. Hound came back for him, some think.”

“You don’t sound to sorry about Mr. Banner?”

Thor blushed lightly and look a mite ashamed. “ Ah, well he was” he scratched at his beard, thinking hard. Natasha knew these types, superstition ran deep in their blood. Best not say anything ill toward the dead, else they will rise from their graves and haunt you.

“He was particular.” Thor nodded sagely, proud of his diplomatic descriptor.

So Brian Banner was an unpopular ass hole.

“Was he always particular?” Asked Clint.

Thor nodded and drained the rest of his pint. “Ever since I could remember. Old Brian didn’t much care for children, he would run us off the moment he stepped in from his fields. Makes you wonder just why he would have a child in the first place.”

Clint nodded as well, draining his own glass. Then for the second time the inn door pitched open wide bringing in with it the chill of the night. Thor chuckled and rose from his seat.

“I told you.” He gathered up the rest of their glasses and bowls and headed for the kitchen, back to work.

Tony Stark entered the inn with an extravagant flourish of his long cherry red coat. He made a show of placing his fists on his hips and scanning the crowded tables and bar before landing on Bruce Banner.

“Odin, old man, since when do you serve mangy old dogs!” Odin rolled his one good eye and chewed on his pipe stem. Banner turned in his seat, a small grin painted his lips, dimming the shadows of his face and bringing back a little bit of boyish charm.

Stark gave a whoop and charged Banner, knocking his silk hat from his head as he crashed into the other man, pulling him tight into a brotherly bear hug.

Yo, if anyone want to talk Avengers Monster Hunter/Steam Punk AU, I need all the workshopping I can get!

#Jen rambles #brucenat #hulkwidow #jen's fic #questions #ask meme

12 notes · View notes