Subway Slicer

I hurry along the street, clutching my long coat against the storm that's descended on the city. I let out a sigh of relief upon seeing an entrance to the subway, carefully skittering down the wet stairs and trying to not break a leg in my heels. The platform is all but empty, only the homeless who seem to congregate in such places sharing it with me, and I drop onto a bench. It takes a few minutes for a train to rattle up to the platform and I squeeze through the doors onto a carriage after glancing at the route map on the side of the vehicle.

A young man is reclining against the other side of the carriage, his eyes flicking towards me for a moment. He has a certain charm and I shyly smile at him as I find a seat, peeking over at him when the train lurches back into motion. The lights dim as the train enters the subway, the carriage illuminated by intermittent flashes of light, and I shrug off the coat, placing the soaked garment over the back of the seat next to me. I'm aware of the man glancing at me, checking me out and no doubt wondering what I look like beneath my blouse and skirt. I'm used to the attention, nature blessed me years ago with curves I could make plenty of money off, and casually undo the top button of my blouse.

His eyes narrow as I expose my slender neck, glancing around in case there's someone else in the carriage, and I can see him trying to work up some courage.

"I don't bite." With a gulp he stands and, like a series of blinks, crosses to be at my side. I scoot to one side to let him sit, peeking at him as he relaxes, and smile. "I'm Cara."

"Damien."

He glances at my breasts as I shift my coat but has the decency to blush when he notices I've caught him looking. A part of me is surprised when I undo the next button down, revealing the creamy upper slopes of my best feature, but my love life has been virtually non-existent for a while.

I continue to tease as the train rockets onto a bridge spanning the river, working my skirt up my thighs until my panties are almost visible. It's a rush, this power I have over my fellow passenger, and I lead him into the train's nearest toilet cubicle. He's a mess as he fumbles with his belt and trousers, cursing as the leather catches, and I reach out, taking hold of the belt as I smoothly lower myself to my knees. I glance up as I extract a long cock from within his boxers, smile at the clenched expression on his face, and lick its tip. I squeak as he suddenly takes hold of my head, takes control of the situation, and a newspaper headline springs into my mind.

There aren't any pictures of the Subway Slicer but plenty of his victims'. When I lift my gaze he's looking down at me, a harsh grin on his face, and I gulp around his hard flesh as he uses me like a toy. After a minute though the blowjob bores him and I'm manhandled, moved to be sitting on the surface by the sink. With force my blouse is ripped open, buttons flying everywhere as he ogles my breasts and toned stomach. A starburst tattoo encircles my navel, a relic of misspent teenage years, but he smiles upon seeing it, reaching into a pocket of his trousers and producing a switch-knife.

"The papers call me the Slicer but you've got too much of a perfect target. Care to see?"

I cry out as he shoves the switch-knife directly into my bellybutton, the blade popping through my guts. I look down when he steps back, feeling the dull ache and seeing blood stain the waist band of my skirt.

He lets me lean back against the mirror, pushing at my skirt until it's just a wide strip of rumpled fabric. It isn't the way I wanted our encounter to end, not exactly, but I'm resigned as he cuts my panties away and rolls a condom onto his cock. He's an enthusiastic fucker but not particularly good, thrusting away like he's always about to explode, and I groan as I feel his condom expand when he cums. There's a sneer on his face as he backs away and a cold feeling that has nothing to do with my mangled bellybutton appears in my stomach...

---

Damien swipes his switch-knife across the woman's throat, neatly side-stepping the initial spray of blood. She looks at him with pleading eyes but he ignores her, using her discarded panties to clean the blade before tucking both into a pocket. She'd invited him to this, wanted him. Why shouldn't both of them get what they wanted from their meeting?