“Oh such pretty, young lips…just begging for their first kiss.” Miss Simpson slowly lowered her head between the girl’s thighs, savouring the moment before she would have that long dreamt of taste of her untouched sex.
“Please, Miss. I’m bursting for the toilet.”
Jennifer tried to scuttle away, her knee accidently catching the woman under her chin.
The lust in the teacher’s eyes was suddenly replaced by rage once more. “You need to empty your bladder do you, Jennifer?”
The girl nodded, trying to get to her feet.
“Well let me help you with that…” Miss Simpson thrust her left hand to Jennifer’s chest, squeezing hard on a breast, pinning her to the floor. At the same time, her right hand grabbed the pot of knitting needles from the desk, spilling the contents onto the polished floorboards. She grabbed a needle and, with an elbow pushing on Jennifer’s thigh to open her legs, hooked her fingers under the girl’s left labia, pulling the lip brutally to the side to expose her urethra. The teacher probed the delicate opening for a second with the tip of the steel needle before thrusting the implement in as deep as it would go.
Jennifer screamed as the needle punched through the neck of her bladder, a trickle of warm urine running out along the length of the steel. Miss Simpson gave a delighted squeal as she caught the drips on her fingertips before inserting the wet digits into her mouth, relishing the taste…
BLOOD.
The word was crisp and clear. Miss Simpson stared at Jennifer, assuming the word had issued from her mouth, but her sweet lips were occupied by wet sobs.
BLOOD!
Louder this time, insistent.
The woman scanned the room, searching for the source of the voice. No one else was present. The girl seemed not to have heard it.
I WANT BLOOD!
The voice was inside her: echoing in her skull, twisting in her gut. The voice was in her and of her. Both imperative and desire. Her hand reached for another needle and quickly thrust it into the girl’s abdomen, piercing her bladder, a spray of warm liquid spurting from the wound as the teacher withdrew the implement and stabbed at the girl’s belly a second, third and fourth time, urine and blood streaming from the wounds.
MORE! MORE BLOOD!
The voice resonated deep within her, exerting a pressure inside her skull that forced her gaze back between Jennifer’s legs.
VIRGINS BLEED…
Miss Simpson understood.
She grabbed a handful of the sharp needles, half a dozen or more, and thrust them between the girl’s legs. Jennifer shrieked as the needles penetrated her. The woman ignored the agonised wails and continued pumping the steel implements into the girl, tearing at her vaginal walls, pulverising her cervix. Blood pumped from between Jennifer’s labia as the assault continued, the knitting needles penetrating deeper with every thrust. One needle penetrated the neck of her cervix, perforating her uterus over and over, stabbing at the hearts of foetuses that would never be.
Blood and urine pooled on the floor, soaking into the teacher’s dress. Laughing and squealing, the woman pulled the garment over her head, tore off her brassiere and splashed herself all over with the warm fluids. The cocktail of blood and piss trickled from her tiny breasts, flowing over her belly and soaking into her underwear, the heat of the liquid between her thighs sending her into a frenzy of blood-crazed lust. She grabbed more needles, jamming them repeatedly into the girl’s breasts, her slender neck and those beautiful, sapphire eyes, before thrusting a hand into her own gore-stained knickers and rubbing herself to a shattering climax.
Miss Simpson stared down at the lifeless body, at the blood that was spreading out across the floor, some trickling between cracks in the varnished boards. Her clitoris still throbbed dully between her thighs but her lust had been sated. As she stepped over the dead girl a floorboard groaned under her foot. The teacher started at the sound, glancing down at the two circular knots in the wood that glared back at her through the bloody footprint she had left and she shivered a little as if sensing the stare of unseen eyes.
There was just one more thing left to do…
She plucked the knitting needles out of Jennifer’s eyes, almost blind to the spurts of vitreous fluid that squirted from the punctured orbs, and returned to the chair behind her desk. She sat and held the needles, blunt end down, against the wooden table.
Slowly lowering her head, she inserted the tip of a needle into each nostril and, with eyes closed, head-butted the desk as hard as she could.
4
“I’m watching that bloody speedo.”
Dan Nelson glanced at his wife. He was starting to lose his patience.
“What?” he snapped.
“I’m watching your speed. You’ve sped up fifteen miles an hour over the last few minutes. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
He let out a long breath, trying to stifle the anger he could feel building within him, but, like a spasm of vomit rising in his gullet, he eventually had to let it erupt from his mouth. “For Christ’s sake, woman – will you get off my fucking case!”
“Don’t you dare use that kind of language in front of Sam!”
“Fuck off!” The response was muted as Dan made a pretence of rubbing his face as he spoke, the merest hint of a grin on his lips.
Maria slapped at her husband’s arm making him jerk the steering wheel.
“Christ, Maria. Watch it!”
“Well you should keep both bloody hands on the wheel then, shouldn’t you? Jas…” she cut herself short, her cheeks flushing.
“Oh go on,” Dan goaded, “go on – say it.”
“Say what?”
He put on a mocking tone. “Jason always keeps both hands on
