Any pub in some dirty corners near Liverpool Street, where yuppies and tourists cannot see. That’s where she is.
Stale beer and dust on the window. She is alone. Her long fingers run on the brim of her glass as people move slowly in the dark. Their steps are quiet on the thick burgundy carpet, and the puffs of smoke make the pub look even more grim. The only light that brightens the emaciated faces of the customers is the yellow one of the screen.
The girl looks at them as they stare at the television, while smoke rings come out of their mouths. It’s going to happen in a while.
24th January 1989. 7 am.
Burn, Ted, Burn.
The girl looks at the screen as a crowd of people shout and cheer in front of the squalid building of Raiford Prison, Florida. They are waiting.
Burn in Hell, Ted Bundy.
Women had sent love letters to him. She had read it on a magazine. People said women loved the bad guys, but not to this point. They had sent him sweet words while he was waiting to die for the worst crime of all.
The girl still can’t believe it.
Burn, Ted, Burn.
The old guy sitting next to her cries and raises his beer. May he burn in hell, bloody motherfucker! His wrinkly face gets redder every time he opens his mouth. He’s drunk, like almost everyone in the room. Except for the bloke in the corner: he’s the one who observes. When the girl sees him, her eyes get a bit bigger.
He’s drinking whiskey and taps his fingers on the table. His gold rings shine in the dark as he smirks. Ted Bundy was put to death. Everyone exults, except for him. The girl can’t see his face properly, but he’s probably dressed in black. Glasses clash one against another. The pig is dead, they scream, but the girl can’t take her eyes off the bloke in black until he gets up. He sits next to her and the dim light of the screen shows a part of his features. He’s still half in shadow as he smokes a cigarette slowly.
Black eyes. She knows he’s undressing her with his gaze. She feels naked on the stool, and almost can sense the cold wood against her thighs. Then, he talks.
So, where should I begin?
She gasps, he smirks.
Later that night, he grabs her by the throat.
He grasps a bit too much, but it’s fine.
Women like bad guys.
As tears run on her cheeks, the girl knows what people meant.
SlasherMonster Magazine 
A bad boy is like a roller coaster ride that takes you to the highest peak and then drops you to your knees. Pain and bliss intermingle, so there’s no separating one from another. Rachele’s story is both terrifying and exciting! It gripped me. I thought of the power that pleasure asphyxiation has on some — potent and dangerous. Loved it!! Bravissima, Rachele. 🌹💋
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The concept you described reminds me of Hellraiser — the relationship between pain and pleasure is often mentioned in the story (and movies). Here’s an interesting article: https://shaneomara.com/2013/11/17/hellraiser-sadomasochism-distributed-and-dismembered-consciousness-and-the-brains-experience-of-pain/
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That was a freaky and fascinating article, but I never considered Clive Barker stories as BDSM at all. There’s not a sexual satisfaction met in his books. Aren’t they mostly about flesh tearing pain? Pleasure or erotic asphyxiation is done to obtain sexual gratification. Anyway, I have no expertise in either methods, but they are fascinating to read about… kinda like your gore porn articles. 😊
I thought your title card was crazy and captures Rachele’s disturbing story perfectly.
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Rachele’s story did all the work!
I think the cenobites in the first book transcended typical sexual desires, but I might be mistaken. I’m also unsure if cenobites derive pleasure from torturing their victims. I certainly never imagined Pinhead being inspired by typical human desires.
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Thanks for sharing your story, Rachele! I look forward to reading more of your work.
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I enjoyed the story—the time and setting were very interesting. The title card is great.
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Many thanks, Sir Og!
~PR
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My God. 11/10
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I like your motto: “I rent you some sin.”
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thank you ;;) it’s actually an anagram from my real name so I also think that it’s kinda cool
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How clever! I am quite slow and didn’t see that. Thank you for pointing that out 😀
~PR
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Hello, thanks so much for reading and for all your words! So happy to be on this magazine. Thank you guys!
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It was a pleasure posting your story! Thank you so much Rachele. ❤
~Rose
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I have read somewhere ( it is not necessarily true) that people experience incredible pleasure in their last moments before they die from asphyxiation. It is why, they say, a victim of suicide won’t free himself even if he changed his mind in the last moment. Scary, isn’t it.
Abusive relationship has a lot in common with asphyxiation.
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Hmm. What a way to die, then — to be transported to a place where pleasure and darkness mingle! I suppose it’s better than dying in pain. Your intriguing words make me ponder.. I wonder… When does one know he/she is a masochist? What if that awareness comes to light when one is yet a child? Can you imagine a parent whipping her son for being naughty, and the boy feels joy; rather than agony? My goodness!
I agree, wise Inese, abusive relationships appear to thrive on pain and pleasure.
Thank you for visiting and bringing your fascinating words into my home. The monsters love seeing you!
~PR
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Thank you 🙂 I don’t think it is a good way to die for many other reasons, but probably it is because I don’t want to die in any way. I want to live forever. Just love living 🙂
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The title itself made my heart stopped bitting…. ohhhh…
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