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introduction to ORIGIN

4/21/2017

INTRODUCTION

Serial Murder: The unlawful killing of two or more victims by the same offender(s), in separate events.

Serial killer. Speaking those words in my mind, I try them on like a dress at the department store.

   Serial killer. I think of Jack the Ripper, Ted Bundy, and Hannibal Lecter. I imagine my name on that billboard in bright yellow lights.

   Am I a serial killer? The FBI insists that I am and this applying of labels and definitions falls under their jurisdiction, but I must admit to not knowing the first thing about all that. I have killed, plural, or multiple, I can never get the grammar to agree or work.

   Did I kill in a similar fashion or choose my victim for certain reasons? I don’t see any of that in the definition so I can’t tell you if it’s part of the whole sordid affair.
It all started with my father, but if you’re reading this book you likely know that fact. But, the first kill doesn’t make you a serial killer, my dear readers. One must kill again, in a separate event to be labelled under the FBI definition.

   I make no attempt to explain any of it in these pages. These are my stories that may or may not help you to understand how I came to be named serial killer by the FBI. Was it nature or nurture or some combination of both? I can’t answer that and leave it to the clinical psychologists and professionals to argue the semantics.

This book contains some of my earliest writings, the pieces that survived my capture and incarceration. Take a journey into my mind and try not to go crazy, dear readers. Some have said my stories caused them nightmares. I won’t lie, that makes me happy. I hope to carve a space in your brain and occupy it for later use. Consider yourself warned. Enter at your own discretion.

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The Poet - Part Two - Interrogation

4/2/2017

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INTERROGATION

  Shifting my body on his lap to find a comfortable position, I wrap my arms around his neck to keep from falling off the chair. His erection keeps jabbing into me and he lets out a groan when I press my weight on him. Crossing my legs elicits a yelp of pain and I laugh over the soft sounds of Mozart playing on the stereo.
            “What’s the problem, Paul?”
            He can’t answer and squirms under me, trying to free himself from my embrace. “I…”
            “The prisoners aren’t allowed to pleasure themselves in any way, you see. I imagine Paul is suffering from what men refer to as blue balls. Is that the correct expression?” George refreshes my coffee and takes a spot within an arm length of the chair. “Paul must be in a good deal of pain.”
              “That’s a sad story, Paul. I really need you to concentrate on the lessons. What shall we do about this?”
            Paul closes his eyes and a wave of pain passes over his features when I shift again on his lap. Oh, how fun. I can hear the sound of his teeth grinding over the music. A few beads of sweat gather at his temple and his body shakes under me.
            “Men claim to be so strong, but turn into babies at the least bit of pain.” I reach into his pants and cup his balls with my palm. Squeezing softly, I smile when he howls, head rearing back, eyes tightly shut. I increase the pressure and his body begins to thrash under me, almost throwing me off the chair.
            With a sigh, I stop and let him pant in the afterglow of agony. Unbuttoning his pants, I push the boxers lower to give me better access. “I need you to answer an important question. Can you manage that in your current state?”
            “I…”
            I stop him from speaking by putting my free hand across his lips. “Have you ever been hunting?”
            Removing my hand from his mouth, I wait for an answer.
            “What? No, why would I? I shop at the supermarket.”
            I laugh and give him another hard squeeze, enjoying the scream that escapes his lips. “You must learn to hunt. I will take you later today and teach you how to be a man. You do want to be a man, don’t you, Paul?”
            He doesn’t answer and I squeeze harder. Sweat drips down his face and his skin looks quite pale.
            “I can’t think with the pain.”
            I sigh and count in my mind to keep from getting angry. “When did you last have an orgasm?”
            “The day before I arrived at Holden Farms.”
            Oh? I turn to George and he nods, understanding my question.
            “The men are keep locked at all times in devices that prevent masturbation. We can’t have the prisoners giving in to their base nature. It’s uncivilized.”
            I ease my grip and he groans in relief as the pain abates. “We must do something about this…condition of yours before we go hunting. I need your full attention on the lesson.”
            Gripping his chin, I force him to look at me. He fights the attempt and clenches his eyes shut. “Would you like me to help with your problem?”
            He nods and I turn to George.
            “Bring me the knife from my desk drawer, George.”
            “What?” His eyes snap open and he looks to George as if somehow I’ve misspoken.
            “Right away, Ella.”
            “No,” he says. “I thought you meant…”
            I apply pressure again, more than before and he screams with pain. Shifting my body so I can reach him, I squeeze with both hands. George appears beside the chair and holds Paul’s shoulders to keep him from moving.
            “You want to orgasm before I clip you, Paul?”
            “Don’t.” He begins crying and I roll my eyes.
            Sliding my hand higher, I pull at him slowly. “I’m not going to geld you today, Paul. But you have to stop crying or I’ll cut your throat. I fucking hate that weak shit.”
            He tries to compose himself and wipes a tear with his hand.
            “You aren’t allowed to have orgasms without my permission, do you understand?”
            Nodding, he looks toward the ceiling, face a mask of pain. I continue to stroke him and his body tenses under me. In less than a minute he seizes and bucks forward, thick streams of semen splashing the desk. The orgasm continues on and on, seemingly endless amounts built up from months of being locked in a cage.
            “You got some on my leg.”
            “I’m sorry.”
            I place my hand around his throat and squeeze. “Stop fucking being a bitch. Pretend like you have balls. You’re making me sick. If you can’t pull it together, I’ll have George feed you to the dogs.”
            Paul nods again and I shake my head in disgust.
            “George, have Saul bring my car to the side entrance. It’s time to go into the city for a hunt.”

PURCHASE SIGNED ELLA PAPERBACK

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introduction to ORIGIN

INTRODUCTION

#SerialPlaylist - Mozart The Piano Sonata No 16 in C major

The Poet - Part Two - Interrogation

INTERROGATION

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