By Larry Sun
Jamal was a good looking man, with a soft, high-pitched, almost girlish voice. He appealed to many women because of his sweet voice and because he had a pleasant baby face. He was thirty-two years old but he looked twenty, what many ladies failed to know was that he was just an angelic face masking the demon—he was a rapist. With his good looks, Jamal could take any woman of his choice to bed as easily as he could create a tune out of whistling. He had tasted women of almost all genres; tall, short, slim, fat, obese. But Jamal was never satisfied with them, taking a willing woman to bed was not what he really craved—he wanted an unwilling woman. His first act of rapery was with a schoolgirl of thirteen years. He had cunningly made the girl follow him into his room before he forcefully penetrated her, and he had felt a sense of accomplishment he had never felt before. Thereafter, he performed with a twelve year old, eleven, ten—and nine, where each time, he would wickedly tear off their hymens with his barrel-like organ. Then again, he was tired of kids, he desired an adult. He had taken a prostitute home one night and had told her plainly that he was going to have her without paying. The prostitute had jumped off the bed as if jolted by an electric shock. For three minutes she moped at him, had she the strength for a fight she would have fought him. But lacking that she rained courses on him before picking up her bag and aiming for the door. Jamal had suddenly drawn her back, gave her a vicious blow on the face and pushed her roughly on the bed before he entered her. The prostitute had screamed, scratched, tossed and turned but Jamal subdued her easily. The cries of his victims; their struggles, innocence, pains—was what turned Jamal on
For two weeks, Jamal shadowed the young woman, he watched everywhere she went; where she did her hair, the time she went out, and when she returned. He was patiently waiting for the moment to attack her. There were many couple of times when Jamal could attack the woman but he didn’t do it. The woman was always alone in the house most of the time, and he could have easily followed her inside and molest her, but Jamal did not.
Tonight was his right moment.
He walked in the rain towards the gate of the building and pushed it; the gate did not budge—it was locked. Jamal expected to find tens of thousands of jagged pieces of glass to have been cemented on the top of the fence to rip off the hand of anyone who tried to scale it, with a triple stand of barbed wire on top of the glass. But there was nothing like that, the fence was just as climbable as a mango tree. He went round the fence to the back, he climbed it and jumped into the compound—it must have been about eleven or some minutes past. He had figured nobody would see him scale that fence in this stormy night, and if anybody had, he wasn’t certain the fellow would challenge his action as he believed the party would be busy getting himself away from the heavy downpour. Moreover, they would assume that clean-cut young men, neatly barbered and beardless, were not always suspected of nefarious attempts. Jamal was not only barbered and beardless, he was of neither tattoo nor earring, neither nose ring nor lip ring, and he had not subjected his tongue to a piercing. No scars, tribal marks, birthmarks, warts, or facial skin growths—except that he had only suffered from verruca plataris at a tender age, but nobody would really be interested in his feet. The rain continued beating on him fiercely, coming down like sheets of silver knives, the dark sky filled with darker masses of swirling black cloud. He walked to the front door of the house and turned the handle. The occupants were not as silly as going to bed and leaving their front door unlocked. Jamal dipped his hand in his pocket and brought out a safety pin which he twisted into a certain shape before inserting it in the keyhole. He wanted to avoid signs of forced entry; however, picking locks was not as easy as it appeared to be in the movies. Neither was seducing a lady or beating up five men or anything. It took him twenty minutes to get the door unlocked; he opened the door quietly and stepped in the room. Without much ado, Jamal went straight towards the bedroom door—this was unlocked. He withdrew the pistol he had tucked in his back pocket and stepped in. He found the couple sleeping under a large blanket; they had fallen asleep like spoons in a drawer. He took a stood beside the bed and sat down, watching as the husband snore. He hated people who snored—the sound disgust him, it angered him. He loomed over the husband and gave him a hard punch on the stomach, the man reared up into a sitting position with eyes wide open, and before he could make a sound Jamal sent him a backhanded blow on the throat which sent him lying back on the bed. Jamal closed his left hand over the man’s mouth and pinned the muzzle of the pistol on his forehead. With one look, Jamal could see fear in the man’s eyes; the wife was still sleeping soundlessly, ignorant of anything happening beside her. The attacker looked around the room and saw an armchair at one corner. Then he faced the husband.
“Shh!” he hushed.
The man nodded.
Jamal withdrew his hand from the man’s mouth and jerked his head towards the chair, “You see that chair over there?” though he was whispering, every word sounded like it was being scraped across a metal file as it left his throat.
The man nodded again.
“Very good,” said Jamal, “Now, you’ll get up slowly from this bed and take a pew over there. Kapish?”
The man obeyed him as one obeys a dangerous madman. He slowly got up from the bed to sit in the chair.
Jamal opened the door of the wardrobe in the room and selected five ties which he knotted together; he went to the husband and tied him in the chair with it. He took another tie and used that to gag him. He stripped himself naked before the man and selected a pair of pajamas belonging to the gagged man. They fitted him like they were his. Jamal looked in the man’s eyes and saw one question written on them—Who is this man?
“Do you know why I’m here?”
The man shook his head.
Jamal smiled, “You should have guessed.” He went over the man and whispered in his ear, “I’m here because I have your wife to rape, and you are going to watch it.”
The man’s scared face instantly metamorphosed into that of rage. He struggled to get himself off the bondage but he couldn’t. The rapist was a professional in the art of tying and knotting; it was impossible for the husband to get off that chair. Jamal saw the husband’s anger and felt a brief pleasure from that. He enjoyed seeing the veins stand out from the man’s forehead. It was like pouring a drop of liquor on a scorpion.
Jamal went to the sleeping lady and tapped her gently on the shoulder. The wife opened her eyes slowly.
“Wake up, darling,” he said, smiling at her. “This is showtime.”
The husband was already sweating profusely and he never stopped struggling to get off the chair, but the rope was not loosening.
The lady abruptly sat up on the bed.
“Who are you?” she demanded, “What do you want?” she became afraid when she saw her own husband.
“What I want, pretty lady, is very simple. Just pull off your nightdress and lie back on the bed. I’ll do the rest.”
She began weeping as the significance of what she was told to do occur to her. “Please leave us alone. You can take anything you want, just leave us alone. I beg of you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jamal breathed, feigning emotion. “I should really leave you guys alone but I can’t. I’m obsessed by you, cute lady.”
Jamal noticed that the woman did not even recognize him. She had forgotten the face of that man who had approached her with sweet words.
Jamal turned to the husband, “I envy you, mister. I can’t imagine how you managed to marry this sexy lady. Did you charm her? I can not just understand. Seriously, it piques my curiosity because this lady is far better off than you in more ways than one.”
“Please leave us alone.” She continued begging him.
“You’re starting to annoy me, young lady. Can’t you just keep your mouth shut?”
“Please…” her voice trailed off.
Jamal rolled his face into a vicious and cruel expression, “This is getting us nowhere.” He muttered. He went to the husband and aimed his gun at his temple; he turned to the woman and said:
“Mrs—it’s either you obey me or I blow your husband’s brain out. This shouldn’t have to be bloody. Just do what I tell you and everything will be okay.”
The woman’s face carried a mask of terror, “Oh, please don’t hurt him, I’ll do anything you say.”
“I’m amazed,” Jamal uttered, “You really love this man, don’t you? Now, get off that bed and stand on your feet.”
The lady obeyed.
“Take off your nightdress.”
Thanks for reading our story. Make it a date next week for another thrilling episode.