Shopping is such a relaxing thing for me. I've been informed that I shouldn't be allowed to go out and buy new toys, but an artist needs supplies. I went out and bought myself a new nail gun. I lost my hammer somewhere in a young man's intestines the other day, and since I had new paintings and curtains to hang for backdrops for my pictures, I missed it dearly.
To make up for this, however, I went out and purchased the most quaint little device called a nail gun. I was so excited about my new toy that I even showed it off to my lover. My lover found this completely uninteresting, and so I had brought it upon myself to show the world how lovely a nail gun can be. I, then, set up my trusty digital camera amidst a set of recently placed red and black velvet curtains. I propped an open coffin (of which I found at this equally quaint little outlet store) up against the wall.
Inside of this pretty little coffin stands a naked and shivering girl by the name of Tiffany. Her light blonde hair is set free around her hips, but that is all of her's that's free. Her hands and feet have been shackled using chains that I took the liberty of attaching to the inside of the coffin with my new trusty, lovely nail gun. I've, also, taken the time to carve a make-shift dartboard upon my subject's stomach with my knife. I then took a washable orange marker and put the letters "BD" through the dartboard. Tiffany was motionless as if I had already killed her by the time I blindfolded her with a strip of the black velvet. I made sure that her hair was laying over the cloth so that it was only to be seen around her eyes, but that her hair was behind her so as to not obstruct the picture I was about to create.
My next step was delayed, because the prospect of the torture at hand was so delicious that I excited myself too much. I left darling Tiffany where she was for a few hours to watch some boring shows on the Vietnam war, but solely because I couldn't risk rushing setting up for my picture.
When I did return to Tiffany, I put my hand upon her cheek to show here I was there. "Sweet girl, you're very lucky. You're going to be famous. I bet you used to dream of being famous when you were little, hm? I did, and I'm going to be famous, too. I'm already a well-known artist. You are about to pose for Bradley "Black Death" Denney. And so it began.
Tiffany did not whimper at my touch, but simply stood there like a beaten dog. She'd been locked in my cellar for at least four days, so her obedience had sunk in due to her hunger. I purposely starved her unlike my other subjects who were lucky enough to get extra portions. I had wanted her to look paler, and lack the energy like one of the dead. I needed her to fit her role, after all.
It was finally time for my fun. I took her arm and pressed her hand against the side of the coffin. I turned off the safety of the nail gun, and then nailed her hand in place. She still couldn't find the energy to scream, and I didn't expect her to, but she did finally whimper. She went to try to kick out at me, but I moved and her shackled held her. When she lost her strength again, I grabbed her other arm and nailed that hand on angle between the side of the box and the roof of the coffin. I turned the roof and crushed her hand, and she seemed to find the energy to scream when I did that. I wasn't quite done with her yet.
With a wide smile stretching across my face, I very calmly took one of her breasts into my hands. Tiffany whimpered again, and she bit down on her bottom lip about the time I pressed the nail gun to the line that separated soft skin from nipple. I fired the gun at that point. I then moved the gun very slightly, and then angled the gun to fire again. I repeated this until I could fit no more nails properly upon that line. So, I moved to the next breast and repeated my actions again. She whimpered and bit her lip until it was bleeding, but she didn't scream for me. I didn't mind. I liked thinking of her as the already dead. She was, after all, at least the dying.
My eyes scanned over the dartboard and so I took a few steps away, firing the nail at a distance. I'd missed a few times and she screamed, but she wasn't dying from the nails. I, luckily, have a very trained aim and guess when it comes to what is murderous and not. I pulled my pink through her blood and traced the orange letters so that her stomach read "BD" more clearly through the use of her blood. An artist needs his signature upon his masterpiece, after all. I was not finished with Tiffany yet, but one must take time with genius.
I was then satisfied with my preparation of Tiffany, but I was not in the least satisfied with the rest of my picture. I left her where she was again, and made my way throughout my house to find an old grandfather clock. I smashed the glass face of the clock with the gun after I moved it to be leaning against the coffin. Tiffany cringed at the noise and whimpered again, but made no more noise as I finished preparing the scene. I nailed the hands of the clock so that they were stuck on midnight. I rather liked the touch the clock made to the picture, but I digress.
I made my way into my cage-lined cellars next to retrieve the next person to accompany this picture. My eyes fell upon a weakly looking girl with brown curls and a pale expression. Her cheekbones were jagged and made her face particularly unattractive, as did her vaguely hooked nose and the cold expression of her face. She'd do perfectly, I decided to myself.
I pressed my face against the cage I kept her in and she slunk back, well aware that my presence in the cages meant it was time to condemn one of the captured to their death. "Hello, my dear, I'm sorry but I lost your name some time when I was drowning in those foreboding green eyes of yours. You're perfect. Your unique, bitter beauty contrasts my other subject wonderfully. I wish to have you pose for me. You'll not disagree, unless you want to die a very painful death. Besides, I don't intend on you dying for this picture. You're going to be assisting. That's all."
"My plot is simple," I continued as she stared up at me with bitter disgust filling her eyes just as I desired. "You see, the plot is envy. Here is your motive: You came home one night to find this pretty blonde whore in bed with your man. You want to show her want it's like to have that heartbroken pain that wells from inside you due to her screwing about with your man. And so you're going to nail her." I chuckled at my own pun, but she didn't seem to understand my genius. I pitied her mentally for missing out on the beauty of my humor, but nevertheless she was submissive to my desires. She put up no protest, and I figured this was either because I still had the nail gun, my knife, and distasteful six shooter, or possibly because she was glad to be free of her imprisonment even temporarily.
"Envious housewife," I jested as I slipped my arm around her tightened shoulders. "I do so love to role-play. Don't you? But if we play, we need to get in costume. It'll be abnormal for someone to be dressed, but as you are not dying it does not matter if you are clothed. Come! Let us play dress-up!"
I pulled her into what was truthfully my bedroom quarters and flipped through the multitudes of clothes I had acquired from my large body count. My victims never wore clothes, so I kept the clothes they did have in a nice red cherry chest next to my bed. The irony is I rarely graced my victims, lured by sexual desire, with the sight of my bedroom, and when they received such rare invitation they were forced to fuck me on the chest. My lover claimed the bed was our domain alone. I played fair, and so I agreed to let that remain true.
The envious housewife stared at the chest as I went through it, but she didn't move from her spot at my side. I pulled out a black mini-skirt, a pair of pantyhose, some boots and a light black jacket that was about her side. I handed them to her, demanding that she put them on. I had guessed them to be around her size, and though they were slightly too tight on her, I didn't mind in the slightest.
I, next, went through the chest and procured a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses that I put on her. I pulled them down just enough that I could half of her evil green eyes over the top of the, and so that the other half mingled against the blue in a dazzling display of the jaded soul. Colors are such important things, after all.
Once that minor task of mine was completed, I pulled her into the curtained room that Tiffany had been staying within. "Here is your fury's domain, my sweet housewife," I whispered into her ear as her eyes went wide. I placed the nail gun into her hand as I continued to whisper. "And here is your fury. Just be a good girl and don't shoot me, because you'll get a very nasty surprise if you do. I don't care if I die, but you might care if you do. Nails aren't always instantaneous after all."
She glared at me in bitter defeat as I suddenly threw her to the floor in front of blinded Tiffany. "Your task, housewife, is to nail her as I have said. I mean it in both senses of the word. Shove up the gun, and fire. Do it again. And again. And again. Until she dies. If you don't, I will kill you and get someone else to do it." To stress my point, I raised my six shooter to point at her head. Her whole body seemed to shiver at the same time as she placed her hand upon Tiffany's trembling thighs.
"I'm sorry, but it's you or me," whispered the housewife about the same time I cocked the gun. Her voice shook as Tiffany managed a low squeaking noise. She gasped in pain as the gun was shoved upwards, and the brunette was muttering apologies left and right.
I didn't like this, however, and so I came forward and decided to use my hunting knife to make a large gash down the brunette's face. She screamed at the sudden cut, and fired the nail gun so that her scream was accompanied by Tiffany's. I moved back and went to my gun, and the brunette's expression changed to rage as she fired again, and again, perhaps too many times because the gun was out of nails quick enough. Luckily, I snapped plenty of entertaining pictures from a number of peculiar angles. I loved it. Sure, the nails could not be seen ripping through her organs, but the gun could be seen inserted in many of them and so I did not personally care.
I took the shaking and crying housewife back to her cell to let her brood upon her sins. She put up no fight, weakened by the weight of her own deeds lined with her fears too much to strike me. I stroked the dead Tiffany's stomach when I returned to her beautiful bloody form. My strokes were meant to tenderly wipe away the letters, and that is precisely what they did.
My next step was a little more of an evolved dart game. I reloaded the nails and moved back to fire. I had a jovial time embedding the nails in the pattern of those famous initials of mine. I sawed off Tiffany's hands on both sides and let her arms drop free. I then pulled the hands free of the confines from being nailed against the edges and threw them into the back of the coffin. I pushed her backwards and closed the coffin.
I buried her like that. She was never found missing according to the news that I religiously watched. As far as what happened to the dear envious housewife, well, that my dears is for a much different occasion. After all, I have all the time in the world to get to that now that I'm locked away.
Bradley Denney crossed his arms and stared at the cops from across the table, both of which had been bitterly silent through this confession of another crime between the twenty-three-year-old's palette. BD set his head on his hands as he smiled calmly to the police, eyeing his lawyer out of the corner of his eye. "If you don't mind now, I have a very extensive visit with needles, a nurse, and a potential screwing. Adieu, gentlemen. Until tomorrow."
He was escorted back from the hospital room as the nurse walked in and she cast him an peculiar grin as he made that comment. Bradley cast her wink, and she gave him an odd smile. When they were out of the policemen's way, Bradley moved to grab the nurse and nip at her neck. "Ahh. You see how beneficial it is to have my nurse as my lover."
Author's Note: Rawr. Ahaha. I love Bradley. The nurse was the lover mentioned multiple times in the story. Woo. If you like that you might also like "Two Thousand Screams" or "A Pictures Worth A Thousand Screams" that also contain my sexy Bradley. Adieu, adieu, and good-bye!