Читать книгу Murder in the first life - Dirk Lützelberger - Страница 5

'A good deed every day', his parents had hammered into him. Mark Stein was happy and in a state of greatest inner satisfaction. Although it was late, he had finally done his good deed for today. Now he was tired. After he had parked his car in the garage, he only wanted to go home and to bed. Mark was tall, about 6'3" and strongly built, not fat, and well trained. His long legs carried him quickly back to the settlement where his small apartment was located. In the old buildings there was no luxury like an underground garage or parking spaces. Whoever came first, was able to get hold of one of the few parking spaces along the road. This luck was seldom granted to Mark and it had always annoyed him to have to walk to his garage before he could drive his car to work, even in winter times and in bad weather.

Well after midnight Mark entered his one-room apartment almost silently as not to wake the neighbours in the house. It was a small but very tidy refuge with everything he needed to live. A small bathroom, sparsely furnished with white furniture from the supermarket, a combined living/bedroom with a pull-out couch and a small kitchen. Mark lived alone since he had moved out of his parents’ house. He could not imagine a woman at his side at the moment. He lived for his job. Day in, day out, always the same routine, but he filled it with pride and satisfaction. He could really do some good here, every day.

Although Mark was tired, he decided to spend a little more time with his friends on the Internet. After all, he had been neglecting them a bit the last few days. But it had been for a good reason. After Mark had entered his apartment, he immediately went to his computer on the small desk and turned it on. While the aged computer booted, he could wash his hands calmly, dress in something more comfortable and get a beer from the fridge. Mark sat down in his old office chair in front of the computer, which was now already waiting for the next commands. Routinely he moved the mouse over the symbol and started the program. Mark rubbed his eyes, stretched himself and when he looked at the screen again, the dazzling world of the Internet had already built up on his monitor and he was able to log in.

His hands flitted across the keyboard in somnambulistic certainty as he entered his username and password. He had done this several hundred times before and his fingers knew the movements by heart without making a mistake.

Username: Miss Gore

Password: ********

The program welcomed him.

Welcome back Miss Gore.

Your last visit was 3 days and 6 hours ago.

A smile came from Mark’s lips as he read the greeting. His full Avatar name was Miranda Gore. But that was too long for him, and he had shortened his username to Miss Gore to reflect his dominant nature. Miranda was the name of his mother. He had learned so much from her. How to behave in society, what to do and what not to do and that you had to do a good deed every day. He had anticipated his parents, and especially his mothers, every wish and always behaved as they expected him to. Already in his school days he had never been a burden to his teachers. He had always done his homework, was at school on time, had never disturbed and was always very devoted to the tasks his teachers gave him. He liked to remember the biology lesson in which they were supposed to dissect a frog. Some of the girls had cried and refused to take part. Other boys had vomited when they saw a drop of blood. Mark smiled at the thought of how he had made the first cut and the teacher praised him in front of the whole class. Somehow the blood didn’t bother him because he had a job to do. He would have liked to become a doctor, but his school grades didn’t allow him to take this step at the end of his school days, so he threw himself into an education instead. Even today he could still remember the teacher’s praise, and this was also decisive for the second part of his username. 'Gore' stood for coagulated blood and the act of slicing. This always reminded him of the poor frog and his open belly after he had precisely placed the first cut.

Let’s see who’s still awake at this time, Mark said to himself and started typing.

[Miss Gore]: Good evening, is anyone here?

A minute passed, then another. Finally, the hoped-for answer came.

[Priscilla]: Oh, yes, my lady, your servant is here.

With Priscilla, Mark has already had fun for a few weeks. In reality, SHE was a HE. Mark had discovered this quickly, especially since he was also of the opposite sex and knew the clues with which the guys usually betrayed themselves. He himself had never made a secret of his true sex. Quite contrary to his fellow players, because they didn’t give a name, no hint of the real sex and no information from their real life. But they quickly gained confidence in Mark and over time this also loosened their tongues. It’s amazing how much people revealed about themselves when they felt safe in the protection of anonymity on the Internet.

[Miss Gore]: Welcome my slave. You’re still awake?

[Priscilla]: Yes, my lady. Your girl couldn’t sleep and couldn’t stop thinking about you.

[Miss Gore]: That’s nice to hear, but why can’t you sleep?

[Priscilla]: My thoughts keep circling around a topic

[Miss Gore]: WHAT DID I TEACH YOU? YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!

[Priscilla]: Lady, please don’t be angry. You have taught your slave that nothing belongs to her. Nor her thoughts. It should’ve said, "Your girl’s thoughts keep circling around a topic, my lady."

The answer was not forthcoming.

[Priscilla]: Mistress, please don’t be angry with your slave girl, it’s late.

[Miss Gore]: YOU PIECE OF DIRT, are you trying to save your skin with excuses and justifications now?

[Priscilla]: Mistress, your slave was very disobedient and deserves a lesson for that.

[Miss Gore]: Finally, some truth from your mouth. Before I make up a lesson for you, let me hear what your thoughts were.

[Priscilla]: That slave girl can’t stop thinking about being eaten by Mistress Gore.

Mark was wide awake again. Had he read correctly? Yes, Priscilla was dreaming of cannibalism. Mark instinctively felt, that he had to help this person. Whoever this really was, Mark had to find it out.

[Miss Gore]: My slave, you know that I can help you make this wish come true?

[Priscilla]: Yes, my lady. Please! In order that your girl can sleep well again.

Mark was thinking feverishly. There had to be a way to figure out who was really on the other end of the line. That he was living in the northern part of Germany had been known to Mark on other occasions. After this expression of will it was now time to find out the exact address. Perhaps the punishment he was begging for was the best way to do this.

[Miss Gore]: Well, you’re just going to have to be a little patient for that. For today, you will be given another task that will help you sleep well. And it will teach you to always follow your mistress’ instructions.

[Priscilla]: Anything Mistress Gore wants; your girl will do it.

[Miss Gore]: I’m glad to hear that. I expect a picture of you hurting yourself. Take a picture with your phone and send it to me. You know the e-mail address. Slash your thigh with a sharp knife. I want to see blood!

Mark wondered whether this was a bit too brisk, while waiting for Priscilla’s answer. He’d had many such conversations. They all followed the same pattern. An offence was confessed or even deliberately provoked. Mark then had to play the outraged mistress and could make up a punishment. Mostly they were tasks that could be done in real life as well as in the game. But no matter, in both cases Mark could assume that his fellow players toyed around with themselves and were aroused in real life. So, the answers took time. Then finally the typing started again, and the reaction appeared on his screen.

[Priscilla]: Of course, my lady. May your slave girl perform the task right now?

[Miss Gore]: Yeah, leave and don’t come back until you send me that photo.

Mark leaned back in his chair with pleasure as he logged out. He stretched, looked at his watch and realized that it had got late again. But he had finished all his tasks for today. With a great feeling he switched off the computer and went to bed.

♦♦♦

Sven Honnick ran his hand through his three-day beard and thought about what he should do now. In his job as branch manager of a savings bank, people expected him to set the tone all week long. Now this bitch from the Internet was giving him orders. But that was exactly what he was longing for. Not always knowing an answer to everything and thinking ahead about the next steps, but to let yourself be guided for a moment. Too many times he had wished for this and now he had finally found someone to give him the direction. He did not want to disappoint her. Sven got up and went quietly into the kitchen so as not to wake his wife and little son.

Gallantly Sven moved forward silently. He was in good shape, in his mid-forties and looked almost ten years younger. His young-at-heart manner came from all the sports he did in his spare time. What he liked best were the endless running routes around the nearby lakes. He lived with his family in a detached house in the northern part of Germany, just outside the state capital of Kiel. Sven and Lara Honnick had moved here eight years ago to start a family. The offered position as branch manager had been decisive for both. So, all they had to do was searching for a new job for Lara. She found it as an educator in a nearby day-care centre. Two years ago, her son Lukas was born. Lara’s job had the advantage that they didn’t have to look for a nanny for the little one, but Lukas was together with his mother in the day-care centre every day.

Sven reached the kitchen and inspected the knifes. Determined, he grabbed a long, slim boning one, which he had sharpened only last weekend. On the way back through the bathroom to his study, Sven again made no noise at all, so that minutes later he was sitting on his desk chair, naked and visibly excited. In front of him on the tabletop he had the knife, a handkerchief and a plaster from the bathroom, as well as his mobile phone ready. He inhaled and exhaled slowly and stroked slowly repeatedly over his stiffening penis. His mistress had demanded that he should make a cut on his thigh. If he had to be big or deep, Sven thought about it, but then decided for the light version. He activated the mobile phone camera in his left hand and took the knife in the other. Then he carefully placed the blade on his thigh. Sven took a deep breath and slowly pulled the sharp blade over his skin. A stabbing pain went through him and his cock twitched from the excitement. Sven pressed the shutter release of the camera. Once, twice, three times. Then he put down the camera and the knife, dabbed the blood drops away with the handkerchief and massaged his aroused cock. He needed only a few more movements before Sven ejaculated into the handkerchief and sagged down in his chair, satisfied.

His excitement quickly subsided, and he single-mindedly realized the next steps he still had to take as Priscilla. In no time the pictures were copied from his mobile phone to his computer and an electronic message was sent to Miranda_1989.Gore@gmail.com. Relieved, Sven shut down the computer, disposed of the bloody paper tissue and put the cleaned knife back into the kitchen. Then he lay down in bed with his wife and stared at the ceiling. What will the next tasks be, Sven rejoiced and fell asleep thinking about them.