- Joined
- Nov 18, 2025
Nice surprise for the hitman
By Dlavoc
Nel was in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, holding a steak knife. She looked at her reflection, her left hand absently caressing her right breast.
"You're a fucking mess, Nel," she murmured to herself. The room felt oppressively warm, and she was sweating. It wasn't from fear or nerves; it was from the intense arousal that had been building inside her for hours. The knife glinted in the harsh light of the vanity lamp, and she took a deep breath, pressing it against the soft flesh of her chest.
The tip pierced her skin, and she gasped, her eyes widening as the pain shot through her body. But it wasn't just pain, it was a strange, exquisite sensation. Her legs trembled, and she leaned against the sink for support. Without thinking, she brought her other hand down to her clit and began to rub it furiously.
The pain grew as she pushed the knife deeper, and she could feel the warmth of her own blood trickling down her body. The pleasure grew too, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Her right hand moved in time with the left, the blade sinking into her flesh as her fingers danced over her clit. She was so lost in the moment that she didn't even realize she'd stopped breathing.
With a final, desperate thrust, she pushed the knife into her lung, the metal grating against ribs. She felt a strange sense of relief, as if she'd been waiting for this her entire life. Her legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps around the handle sticking out of her chest. The room swam before her eyes, but she managed to drag herself to her feet, the knife still embedded in her body, and stumble into the kitchen.
Her hand reached for the pack of cigarettes on the counter, her trembling fingers fumbling with the lighter. She brought the flame to the tip and inhaled deeply, the smoke mixing with the coppery tang of blood in her mouth. A strange sense of euphoria washed over her as she exhaled, and she couldn't help but smile, running her tongue over her teeth to taste the iron.
It was then that she heard the footsteps. She turned, the cigarette dangling from her lips, to see a man in a black suit standing in the doorway. His eyes were cold, and a cruel smile played on his lips as he raised the silenced pistol in his hand.
"Hello, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Your boss sent me. Seems you've been naughty."
Nel smiled, and she took another drag. "I've been waiting for you," she murmured, her voice husky with lust and pain.
The hitman took a step closer, his eyes flicking down to the knife in her lung, then back up to hers. He raised an eyebrow. "Is that your idea of a warm welcome?"
Nel's laugh was a wet, gurgling sound, blood bubbling from the corners of her mouth. She took the cigarette from her mouth and held it out to him. "Would you like a drag?" she offered, her voice a seductive purr despite her condition. "I've got a feeling this is going to be quite the evening."
He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers, and took the cigarette. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?" He took a drag before passing it back to her. "But you're also a dead woman walking. You know why I'm here."
Nel nodded, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "I do," she said, her hand moving to the handle of the knife. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves." She leaned back against the counter, her breasts heaving with each labored breath. She enjoyed the knife inside her lung and wanted some more.
The hitman sent a 22 caliber bullet through her left tit, the small hole appearing like a dark star in her pale skin. She gasped, arching her back as the pain melded with pleasure. "Surprise," he murmured, watching the blood bloom around the entry wound.
Her hand flew to the new source of pain, and she began to masturbate again, her eyes glazed with desire. "Again," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. He complied, sending another bullet into her right breast. She moaned, her legs buckled, but she remained standing, her body shaking with the force of her climax.
The hitman watched her, his own arousal growing. He'd never had a target react like this. It was...exhilarating. He holstered his gun and stepped closer, his hand reaching out to caress her cheek. "What's your name?" she asked, her voice a raspy whisper.
"Call me Jack," he said, his voice a low growl. "And what's a pretty thing like you doing in a mess like this?"
Nel coughed, blood spattering the floor between them. "Just settling some old debts," she said, her eyes still locked on his. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd make it...a little more interesting."
Jack raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her request. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade, flicking it open with a satisfying snick. "I think I can manage that," he said, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "How about a couple more, just to keep things spicy?" Nel nodded eagerly, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. He placed the knife at the breastbone and sliced down, opening her up from navel to sternum. Her guts spilled out, a wet, warm mess.
The pain was intense, but it only served to fuel her arousal. She reached down, her hand slick with her own blood, and began to pull her guts out. The hit of cool air against her insides was surprisingly erotic, and she moaned in pleasure.
Jack watched, his eyes wide with disbelief and a growing sense of excitement. He hadn't expected this kind of response. "You're a fucking lunatic," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.
Nel managed a smile, her breathing ragged. She brought the cigarette to her mouth and took a deep drag, the cherry burning bright in the darkness. With her free hand, she reached back and pushed two fingers into her own ass, gasping as they slid in easily, lubricated by the blood that was now pooling around her feet. The knife in her lung was a constant, thrumming reminder of her impending death, but she was living in the moment, relishing every twisted sensation.
Leaning against the fridge for support, she began to fuck herself with her fingers, her movements slow and deliberate. "You're not so bad yourself," she said, her voice thick with blood and desire.
Jack's gaze was glued to her, the sight of her fingering herself turning him on more than he ever thought possible. He hadn't come across someone like Nel in all his years in the business.
Nel's hand moved faster, her body tense with the effort of staying upright. She could feel her orgasm building again, the pressure of her insides against her fingers adding a new level of intensity. "Fuck me," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Fuck me… before I… die."
Jack's control snapped. He reached up, his hand wrapping around her throat. He squeezed gently, watching her pupils dilate as she leaned into the touch. He stepped closer, as he thrust his hand into her sliced belly, feeling the warm, wet flesh give way.
Nel's eyes rolled back in her head, and she gasped, her body spasming around his hand. The cigarette fell to the floor, forgotten, as she pushed back against him, begging for more. "Please," she whimpered, her voice hoarse from the blood filling her lungs. "Please, Jack… I need it."
Jack didn't need any more encouragement. He turned her to face the wall mirror, his hand still buried in her guts. The sight of her blood-covered body, the bullet wounds in her firm, round breasts, the knife handle sticking out of her chest, and the desperate need in her eyes was more than he could resist. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard and eager.
With one hand still in her guts, keeping her open, he used the other to guide his cock into her pussy. She gasped, her eyes watering with pleasure. She could feel every inch of him filling her up. He began to thrust, slow at first, then faster, harder, his hand still deep inside her.
The mirror was a macabre canvas, reflecting their twisted pas de deux, his hand in her stomach, her hand wrapped around the knife handle. The room was filled with the wet sounds of flesh on flesh, the slickness of blood.
He stabbed her again with the knife, this time in the ribs, and she screamed, the pain so intense it was almost unbearable. But she didn't want him to stop. She wanted more. More pain, more pleasure, more everything. He left the knife stuck in her side, a silent partner in their dance of destruction.
Jack leaned over her, his breath hot against her ear. "You like that, don't you?" he murmured, his voice filled with a dark, primal lust. "You're a fucking masochist."
Nel nodded, her eyes never leaving their reflection. She could feel herself getting closer to the edge again, her body tightening around him. "Again," she gasped. "Stab me… again."
Jack ignored her, and kept fucking her pussy. His hand moved in and out of her open belly with a wet, squelching sound that was both repulsive and incredibly erotic. He watched her face in the mirror, the way her eyes rolled back in her head as she climaxed, her mouth open in a silent scream.
As she came down from her high, she reached out for the cigarette pack on the counter, her hand shaking. She managed to grab one, bringing it to her lips with a trembling smile. "Could you light it for me?" she asked, her voice still thick with desire.
He pulled his hand out of her belly and did as she asked, the flame from the lighter casting flickering shadows on their twisted reflection. She took a deep drag, the smoke mingling with the scent of blood and sex in the air. The hit of nicotine hit her like a sledgehammer, but she welcomed it, the pain a sweet counterpoint to the agony in her chest.
Her hand slid down her body, the cigarette dangling between her lips. She reached her stomach, her fingertips brushing against the warm, wet flesh. The new knife was still lodged in her ribs, the handle sticking out at an obscene angle.
With a twisted sense of satisfaction, she pushed her hand into the hole, feeling her insides shift and pulse around her. It was like dipping her hand into a warm, wet bag of meat. She moaned, her body shivering with the sensation. The pain was incredible, but so was the pleasure. The cigarette dropped from her lips.
Jack watched her, his own arousal reaching new heights. He'd never seen anything so depraved, so beautifully fucked up. He couldn't believe she was still standing, let alone asking for more.
Nel turned her face to him, her hand still buried in her stomach, her eyes glazed with a mix of pain and pleasure. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "For making this...so good."
The hitman, now fully engrossed in her macabre performance, kissed her deeply, tasting the blood and smoke on her lips. His hand slid down her body, his fingers finding her clit, which was still swollen and sensitive from her previous orgasms. She moaned into his mouth, her hips jerking as he began to rub her again.
Her hand inside her belly moved in time with his, her own blood coating her fingers as she played with her own guts. She was close, so close, and she could feel the end approaching like a runaway train. But she wasn't ready to go quietly into the night. Not yet.
She pushed him away, stumbled back, her body a mess of blood and guts, and leaned against the wall, panting heavily. "I want...more," she whispered, her voice a hoarse rasp. “But I… dropped my cigarette. Can I… have another?”
Jack took in her ruined form. He'd never met anyone like Nel, so beautifully broken, so eager for pain. He pulled another cigarette and lit it, handing it to her. She took it with trembling fingers, bringing it to her lips and inhaling deeply. The smoke curled around them like a lover's embrace, and she leaned back, one hand above her head, the other inside her own belly. Her guts hung from her sliced body like a grotesque necklace, each breath a testament to her refusal to die.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of her collarbone, then down to her stomach. He could feel her pulse, erratic and weak, beneath the slickness of her blood. He slid his hand lower, pushing aside her intestines to find her clit, already swollen and slick with her arousal.
Nel moaned, the sound a guttural growl that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. She pushed her hips forward, grinding against his hand, her eyes never leaving his. The pain was a living thing inside her, writhing and pulsing with every beat of her heart. But it was her heart that was winning the battle, beating faster, stronger, demanding more.
Jack's cock was a steel rod against her thigh, and she reached down to grip it, her hand slippery with blood. She began to jerk him off, her movements slow and deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world. His eyes closed, and he groaned, his hand moving faster on her clit.
The room was a symphony of pain and pleasure, their breaths ragged and desperate. They were two lost souls, dancing on the edge of oblivion, and for a moment, it was almost beautiful.
Jack's hand worked her clit with a frenzied passion, his own need building like a storm within him.
Nel turned around and leaned back into him, her back arching as she pushed her ass out. She guided his cock to her blood-slicked anus. He didn't hesitate, pushing into her, the sound of their wet, ragged breaths echoing off the kitchen tiles. The knife in her ribs was a constant, pulsing reminder of the edge they were dancing on, but she didn't care. She craved more, her body greedy for the pain, the pleasure.
The mirror reflected their twisted embrace, her guts spilling out like a crimson waterfall, the knives sticking out of her like macabre accessories. Her hand remained in her stomach cavity, moving in a sick parody of masturbation as she began fingering her pussy with her other hand. The cigarette dangled from her lips.
Jack's thrusts grew harder, his hand tightening around her throat as he watched their reflection. He'd never seen anything so depraved, so utterly mesmerizing. Her body was a canvas of pain, and he was the artist, painting with her blood.
The pressure built, a crescendo of agony and ecstasy that threatened to consume her. She could feel her orgasm approaching like a runaway train, each stroke of his cock pushing her closer to the edge. The bullet wounds, knives in her chest and ribs were a dull throb, a distant reminder of the life she was leaving behind.
With a final, desperate push, she shuddered, her body convulsing around him as she came. The cigarette fell from her mouth, forgotten, as she cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. He followed her over the edge, his seed filling her as she slumped against him, her hand slipping from her stomach.
The room was silent for a moment, save for their harsh, panting breaths. Then, with a wet, sucking sound, she pulled out the knife from her lung, the blood gushing out like a fountain. She dropped it to the floor, the sound echoing through the room.
Jack stepped back, his cock still hard, watching her in awe. He'd never seen a woman so alive, even as she bled out before his eyes.
Nel turned to him, her face a mask of blood and ecstasy. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "Thank you for...everything."
He nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He knew what came next, his job wasn't done until she was dead. But for a brief, shining moment, he almost regretted that he had to finish it. Almost.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching for the knife she'd dropped. She watched him with a detached curiosity, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.
Jack placed the blade at her throat, a silent question in his eyes. She nodded, her eyes never leaving his, and leaned back, giving him complete access. With a swift motion, he sliced through her neck, the blood spraying across the kitchen floor.
Nel gave a gurgling gasp, her eyes widening as the pain hit her like a freight train. But even as she felt the life draining from her body, she turned away, guiding his cock again into her ass. The sensation was overwhelming, the pain, the pleasure, the warmth of her own blood, and she reveled in it.
In the mirror, their reflection was a twisted masterpiece, his cock buried in her ass, her hand still in her stomach, the knife in her ribs. Her head lolled back, and she gurgled
He began to move, his hips thrusting into her. The pain was unbearable, but so was the pleasure, and she could feel herself teetering on the brink of oblivion.
Jack watched her in the mirror, his orgasm building. He could see the life draining from her, the light in her eyes fading. And yet she kept pushing, her body moving with a desperation that was almost heartbreaking.
"I'm gonna cum inside your ass," he growled, gripping her hips harder. Blood squelched between his fingers as he drove deeper into her ruined body. Nel's response was a wet gurgle, drowned by the blood filling her throat—as she arched back into him.
Her vision tunneled, black creeping at the edges, but she focused on the hot pulse of his cock twitching inside her. Blood dribbled from her mouth as he began to flood her ass with thick ropes of cum, an obscene intimacy that made her ruined body convulse. She shoved two fingers knuckle-deep into her pussy, rubbing hard against her g-spot through the slick mess of her own blood and torn flesh. The dual sensations sent her over the edge with a wet, choking gurgle.
Nel's orgasm hit like a sledgehammer, her body seizing violently enough to make the knife in her ribs shift. Dimly, she registered the scrape of metal against bone, but it was secondary to the white-hot pleasure scorching through her veins. Her fingers worked furiously, the squelch of her own fluids mingling with Jack's ragged breathing behind her. The mirror showed her split throat gaping obscenely, but her eyes stayed locked on their reflection.
The hitman pulled out, his cock slick with blood and gore. He took a step back, his chest heaving, and watched as she slid to the floor, her lifeblood pooling around her. It was over, the dance of death they'd shared, and he felt a strange mix of relief and loss.
He leaned over her. "You were...something else," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Nel managed a weak smile, her eyes glazed with the haze of death. Her hand reached up, her fingers brushing against his leg, leaving a crimson streak. Then, with a final shudder, she was still.
Jack stood there for a moment. He'd killed countless people before, but none of them had thanked him for it. None of them had looked at him with such...gratitude. He took a deep breath and tucked his cock away, his mind racing.
As he stepped over her body, leaving a trail of crimson footprints, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of twisted world had produced a woman like Nel. A world where pain was pleasure, and death was a sweet release.
By Dlavoc
Nel was in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, holding a steak knife. She looked at her reflection, her left hand absently caressing her right breast.
"You're a fucking mess, Nel," she murmured to herself. The room felt oppressively warm, and she was sweating. It wasn't from fear or nerves; it was from the intense arousal that had been building inside her for hours. The knife glinted in the harsh light of the vanity lamp, and she took a deep breath, pressing it against the soft flesh of her chest.
The tip pierced her skin, and she gasped, her eyes widening as the pain shot through her body. But it wasn't just pain, it was a strange, exquisite sensation. Her legs trembled, and she leaned against the sink for support. Without thinking, she brought her other hand down to her clit and began to rub it furiously.
The pain grew as she pushed the knife deeper, and she could feel the warmth of her own blood trickling down her body. The pleasure grew too, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Her right hand moved in time with the left, the blade sinking into her flesh as her fingers danced over her clit. She was so lost in the moment that she didn't even realize she'd stopped breathing.
With a final, desperate thrust, she pushed the knife into her lung, the metal grating against ribs. She felt a strange sense of relief, as if she'd been waiting for this her entire life. Her legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps around the handle sticking out of her chest. The room swam before her eyes, but she managed to drag herself to her feet, the knife still embedded in her body, and stumble into the kitchen.
Her hand reached for the pack of cigarettes on the counter, her trembling fingers fumbling with the lighter. She brought the flame to the tip and inhaled deeply, the smoke mixing with the coppery tang of blood in her mouth. A strange sense of euphoria washed over her as she exhaled, and she couldn't help but smile, running her tongue over her teeth to taste the iron.
It was then that she heard the footsteps. She turned, the cigarette dangling from her lips, to see a man in a black suit standing in the doorway. His eyes were cold, and a cruel smile played on his lips as he raised the silenced pistol in his hand.
"Hello, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Your boss sent me. Seems you've been naughty."
Nel smiled, and she took another drag. "I've been waiting for you," she murmured, her voice husky with lust and pain.
The hitman took a step closer, his eyes flicking down to the knife in her lung, then back up to hers. He raised an eyebrow. "Is that your idea of a warm welcome?"
Nel's laugh was a wet, gurgling sound, blood bubbling from the corners of her mouth. She took the cigarette from her mouth and held it out to him. "Would you like a drag?" she offered, her voice a seductive purr despite her condition. "I've got a feeling this is going to be quite the evening."
He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers, and took the cigarette. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?" He took a drag before passing it back to her. "But you're also a dead woman walking. You know why I'm here."
Nel nodded, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "I do," she said, her hand moving to the handle of the knife. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves." She leaned back against the counter, her breasts heaving with each labored breath. She enjoyed the knife inside her lung and wanted some more.
The hitman sent a 22 caliber bullet through her left tit, the small hole appearing like a dark star in her pale skin. She gasped, arching her back as the pain melded with pleasure. "Surprise," he murmured, watching the blood bloom around the entry wound.
Her hand flew to the new source of pain, and she began to masturbate again, her eyes glazed with desire. "Again," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. He complied, sending another bullet into her right breast. She moaned, her legs buckled, but she remained standing, her body shaking with the force of her climax.
The hitman watched her, his own arousal growing. He'd never had a target react like this. It was...exhilarating. He holstered his gun and stepped closer, his hand reaching out to caress her cheek. "What's your name?" she asked, her voice a raspy whisper.
"Call me Jack," he said, his voice a low growl. "And what's a pretty thing like you doing in a mess like this?"
Nel coughed, blood spattering the floor between them. "Just settling some old debts," she said, her eyes still locked on his. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd make it...a little more interesting."
Jack raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her request. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade, flicking it open with a satisfying snick. "I think I can manage that," he said, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "How about a couple more, just to keep things spicy?" Nel nodded eagerly, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. He placed the knife at the breastbone and sliced down, opening her up from navel to sternum. Her guts spilled out, a wet, warm mess.
The pain was intense, but it only served to fuel her arousal. She reached down, her hand slick with her own blood, and began to pull her guts out. The hit of cool air against her insides was surprisingly erotic, and she moaned in pleasure.
Jack watched, his eyes wide with disbelief and a growing sense of excitement. He hadn't expected this kind of response. "You're a fucking lunatic," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.
Nel managed a smile, her breathing ragged. She brought the cigarette to her mouth and took a deep drag, the cherry burning bright in the darkness. With her free hand, she reached back and pushed two fingers into her own ass, gasping as they slid in easily, lubricated by the blood that was now pooling around her feet. The knife in her lung was a constant, thrumming reminder of her impending death, but she was living in the moment, relishing every twisted sensation.
Leaning against the fridge for support, she began to fuck herself with her fingers, her movements slow and deliberate. "You're not so bad yourself," she said, her voice thick with blood and desire.
Jack's gaze was glued to her, the sight of her fingering herself turning him on more than he ever thought possible. He hadn't come across someone like Nel in all his years in the business.
Nel's hand moved faster, her body tense with the effort of staying upright. She could feel her orgasm building again, the pressure of her insides against her fingers adding a new level of intensity. "Fuck me," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Fuck me… before I… die."
Jack's control snapped. He reached up, his hand wrapping around her throat. He squeezed gently, watching her pupils dilate as she leaned into the touch. He stepped closer, as he thrust his hand into her sliced belly, feeling the warm, wet flesh give way.
Nel's eyes rolled back in her head, and she gasped, her body spasming around his hand. The cigarette fell to the floor, forgotten, as she pushed back against him, begging for more. "Please," she whimpered, her voice hoarse from the blood filling her lungs. "Please, Jack… I need it."
Jack didn't need any more encouragement. He turned her to face the wall mirror, his hand still buried in her guts. The sight of her blood-covered body, the bullet wounds in her firm, round breasts, the knife handle sticking out of her chest, and the desperate need in her eyes was more than he could resist. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard and eager.
With one hand still in her guts, keeping her open, he used the other to guide his cock into her pussy. She gasped, her eyes watering with pleasure. She could feel every inch of him filling her up. He began to thrust, slow at first, then faster, harder, his hand still deep inside her.
The mirror was a macabre canvas, reflecting their twisted pas de deux, his hand in her stomach, her hand wrapped around the knife handle. The room was filled with the wet sounds of flesh on flesh, the slickness of blood.
He stabbed her again with the knife, this time in the ribs, and she screamed, the pain so intense it was almost unbearable. But she didn't want him to stop. She wanted more. More pain, more pleasure, more everything. He left the knife stuck in her side, a silent partner in their dance of destruction.
Jack leaned over her, his breath hot against her ear. "You like that, don't you?" he murmured, his voice filled with a dark, primal lust. "You're a fucking masochist."
Nel nodded, her eyes never leaving their reflection. She could feel herself getting closer to the edge again, her body tightening around him. "Again," she gasped. "Stab me… again."
Jack ignored her, and kept fucking her pussy. His hand moved in and out of her open belly with a wet, squelching sound that was both repulsive and incredibly erotic. He watched her face in the mirror, the way her eyes rolled back in her head as she climaxed, her mouth open in a silent scream.
As she came down from her high, she reached out for the cigarette pack on the counter, her hand shaking. She managed to grab one, bringing it to her lips with a trembling smile. "Could you light it for me?" she asked, her voice still thick with desire.
He pulled his hand out of her belly and did as she asked, the flame from the lighter casting flickering shadows on their twisted reflection. She took a deep drag, the smoke mingling with the scent of blood and sex in the air. The hit of nicotine hit her like a sledgehammer, but she welcomed it, the pain a sweet counterpoint to the agony in her chest.
Her hand slid down her body, the cigarette dangling between her lips. She reached her stomach, her fingertips brushing against the warm, wet flesh. The new knife was still lodged in her ribs, the handle sticking out at an obscene angle.
With a twisted sense of satisfaction, she pushed her hand into the hole, feeling her insides shift and pulse around her. It was like dipping her hand into a warm, wet bag of meat. She moaned, her body shivering with the sensation. The pain was incredible, but so was the pleasure. The cigarette dropped from her lips.
Jack watched her, his own arousal reaching new heights. He'd never seen anything so depraved, so beautifully fucked up. He couldn't believe she was still standing, let alone asking for more.
Nel turned her face to him, her hand still buried in her stomach, her eyes glazed with a mix of pain and pleasure. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "For making this...so good."
The hitman, now fully engrossed in her macabre performance, kissed her deeply, tasting the blood and smoke on her lips. His hand slid down her body, his fingers finding her clit, which was still swollen and sensitive from her previous orgasms. She moaned into his mouth, her hips jerking as he began to rub her again.
Her hand inside her belly moved in time with his, her own blood coating her fingers as she played with her own guts. She was close, so close, and she could feel the end approaching like a runaway train. But she wasn't ready to go quietly into the night. Not yet.
She pushed him away, stumbled back, her body a mess of blood and guts, and leaned against the wall, panting heavily. "I want...more," she whispered, her voice a hoarse rasp. “But I… dropped my cigarette. Can I… have another?”
Jack took in her ruined form. He'd never met anyone like Nel, so beautifully broken, so eager for pain. He pulled another cigarette and lit it, handing it to her. She took it with trembling fingers, bringing it to her lips and inhaling deeply. The smoke curled around them like a lover's embrace, and she leaned back, one hand above her head, the other inside her own belly. Her guts hung from her sliced body like a grotesque necklace, each breath a testament to her refusal to die.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of her collarbone, then down to her stomach. He could feel her pulse, erratic and weak, beneath the slickness of her blood. He slid his hand lower, pushing aside her intestines to find her clit, already swollen and slick with her arousal.
Nel moaned, the sound a guttural growl that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. She pushed her hips forward, grinding against his hand, her eyes never leaving his. The pain was a living thing inside her, writhing and pulsing with every beat of her heart. But it was her heart that was winning the battle, beating faster, stronger, demanding more.
Jack's cock was a steel rod against her thigh, and she reached down to grip it, her hand slippery with blood. She began to jerk him off, her movements slow and deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world. His eyes closed, and he groaned, his hand moving faster on her clit.
The room was a symphony of pain and pleasure, their breaths ragged and desperate. They were two lost souls, dancing on the edge of oblivion, and for a moment, it was almost beautiful.
Jack's hand worked her clit with a frenzied passion, his own need building like a storm within him.
Nel turned around and leaned back into him, her back arching as she pushed her ass out. She guided his cock to her blood-slicked anus. He didn't hesitate, pushing into her, the sound of their wet, ragged breaths echoing off the kitchen tiles. The knife in her ribs was a constant, pulsing reminder of the edge they were dancing on, but she didn't care. She craved more, her body greedy for the pain, the pleasure.
The mirror reflected their twisted embrace, her guts spilling out like a crimson waterfall, the knives sticking out of her like macabre accessories. Her hand remained in her stomach cavity, moving in a sick parody of masturbation as she began fingering her pussy with her other hand. The cigarette dangled from her lips.
Jack's thrusts grew harder, his hand tightening around her throat as he watched their reflection. He'd never seen anything so depraved, so utterly mesmerizing. Her body was a canvas of pain, and he was the artist, painting with her blood.
The pressure built, a crescendo of agony and ecstasy that threatened to consume her. She could feel her orgasm approaching like a runaway train, each stroke of his cock pushing her closer to the edge. The bullet wounds, knives in her chest and ribs were a dull throb, a distant reminder of the life she was leaving behind.
With a final, desperate push, she shuddered, her body convulsing around him as she came. The cigarette fell from her mouth, forgotten, as she cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. He followed her over the edge, his seed filling her as she slumped against him, her hand slipping from her stomach.
The room was silent for a moment, save for their harsh, panting breaths. Then, with a wet, sucking sound, she pulled out the knife from her lung, the blood gushing out like a fountain. She dropped it to the floor, the sound echoing through the room.
Jack stepped back, his cock still hard, watching her in awe. He'd never seen a woman so alive, even as she bled out before his eyes.
Nel turned to him, her face a mask of blood and ecstasy. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "Thank you for...everything."
He nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He knew what came next, his job wasn't done until she was dead. But for a brief, shining moment, he almost regretted that he had to finish it. Almost.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching for the knife she'd dropped. She watched him with a detached curiosity, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.
Jack placed the blade at her throat, a silent question in his eyes. She nodded, her eyes never leaving his, and leaned back, giving him complete access. With a swift motion, he sliced through her neck, the blood spraying across the kitchen floor.
Nel gave a gurgling gasp, her eyes widening as the pain hit her like a freight train. But even as she felt the life draining from her body, she turned away, guiding his cock again into her ass. The sensation was overwhelming, the pain, the pleasure, the warmth of her own blood, and she reveled in it.
In the mirror, their reflection was a twisted masterpiece, his cock buried in her ass, her hand still in her stomach, the knife in her ribs. Her head lolled back, and she gurgled
He began to move, his hips thrusting into her. The pain was unbearable, but so was the pleasure, and she could feel herself teetering on the brink of oblivion.
Jack watched her in the mirror, his orgasm building. He could see the life draining from her, the light in her eyes fading. And yet she kept pushing, her body moving with a desperation that was almost heartbreaking.
"I'm gonna cum inside your ass," he growled, gripping her hips harder. Blood squelched between his fingers as he drove deeper into her ruined body. Nel's response was a wet gurgle, drowned by the blood filling her throat—as she arched back into him.
Her vision tunneled, black creeping at the edges, but she focused on the hot pulse of his cock twitching inside her. Blood dribbled from her mouth as he began to flood her ass with thick ropes of cum, an obscene intimacy that made her ruined body convulse. She shoved two fingers knuckle-deep into her pussy, rubbing hard against her g-spot through the slick mess of her own blood and torn flesh. The dual sensations sent her over the edge with a wet, choking gurgle.
Nel's orgasm hit like a sledgehammer, her body seizing violently enough to make the knife in her ribs shift. Dimly, she registered the scrape of metal against bone, but it was secondary to the white-hot pleasure scorching through her veins. Her fingers worked furiously, the squelch of her own fluids mingling with Jack's ragged breathing behind her. The mirror showed her split throat gaping obscenely, but her eyes stayed locked on their reflection.
The hitman pulled out, his cock slick with blood and gore. He took a step back, his chest heaving, and watched as she slid to the floor, her lifeblood pooling around her. It was over, the dance of death they'd shared, and he felt a strange mix of relief and loss.
He leaned over her. "You were...something else," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Nel managed a weak smile, her eyes glazed with the haze of death. Her hand reached up, her fingers brushing against his leg, leaving a crimson streak. Then, with a final shudder, she was still.
Jack stood there for a moment. He'd killed countless people before, but none of them had thanked him for it. None of them had looked at him with such...gratitude. He took a deep breath and tucked his cock away, his mind racing.
As he stepped over her body, leaving a trail of crimson footprints, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of twisted world had produced a woman like Nel. A world where pain was pleasure, and death was a sweet release.
