history is made at night.
when august 2014 where arkansas what gemma ( then known as ‘gwen’ ) and a friend take a night too far a/n done for task two - the first time. 2300 words of murder porn. literally. triggers oh boy. murder, obviously. prostitution. sex. knife play. cutting. violence. vague domestic violent acts.
Summer in Arkansas was unbearable. The heat was undeniable, and for those working at the local bar, drinking between customers was expected. The twang Grace had picked up was another affection of her new personality - Gwen, she called herself down here, a redhead with a propensity for whiskey, a little loud, a little slutty, and definitely not local.
She’d settled in well enough - found a roommate, found a girlfriend, pierced her navel and eyebrow and got a tattoo on her hip of a bird. Generic, cheap - Gwen could be all of this and more. And it was her girlfriend - Phoebe, though if that was her real name, Grace’d be damned, but who was she to judge? - who showed her how powerful it was to sell her body to a man. To take his money, show him a good enough time, and know that they were merely putty in your hands.
Empowering. Most would frown upon sex work - god knew, if her parents ever found out what their darling Grace was doing, they’d disown her immediately. And it wasn’t like she needed the money - no one questioned that her credit cards still said Grace Mack when she told them her name was Gwen - but it was still...liberating.
Sometimes they sold themselves as a pair. Gwen and Phoebe, two for the price of one. Guys went nuts for it, especially the locals who’d never admit to spending their hard earned cash on the cute bartenders at the pub. Not to their friends, and definitely not to their wives. And while Phoebe definitely needed the money more than Grace, she refused to let her have it all. The one time she tried to take more than her cut, she’d wound up with a bruise on her face that she told people she managed to get from tripping down the stairs.
Typical excuse for a typical small town. The fact that she was gay only made it more confusing - small little Gwen couldn’t have landed a punch like that, left a mark like that. But they didn’t know what Grace did - seeing her girlfriend crumbled up in a corner of the room, crying and begging her to stop, was the most intoxicating feeling in the world.
It was everything.
But she wanted more. Going after Phoebe on more than the rare occasion wouldn’t be enough - no, and if she went missing, the people of their town would take note. And Grace - well, she could run, but Gwen would definitely be a suspect. She needed to find someone who wouldn’t be traced back to her.
She propositioned Phoebe with a gift - a trip to Texarkana, a reprieve from their day to day hell. A vacation of sorts, for those who could ever look at a spot on the map in the middle of the Bible Belt and call it a vacation. They could find someone new, a third who they could both use for their own advantage, and get a lot more cash than they were getting from the hometown boys who were hiding their own latent sexualities in hookers and booze.
It was easy enough; find a popular trucker stop, wear a short dress, wait for the interest to come. When Grace told the man she was one half of a pair, his eyes lit up - an extra $500, no problem, he was in. Two nubile young girls, barely old enough to be on their own, much less violate - he’d pay for them.
The motel room was chosen by Phoebe. Grace was ready to do it there in the parking lot, but Phoebe at least had the thought to remember that cameras were everywhere. A problem Grace had to contend with if she wanted to keep living as Gwen, or anyone else for that matter.
The trucker wasn’t the worst looking guy, but he definitely wasn’t going to get Grace wet enough to fuck. It was the thought of what was coming that turned her on, that made her blood flow, her skin tingling with anticipation. She let him kiss her, touch her, alternating between herself and Phoebe on the other side of the bed, pulling her dress over her head.
“Sometimes we like things a little more dangerous,” she cooed in his ear after a little while, his dick in Phoebe’s mouth as Grace trailed her fingers over his chest. “A little rougher.”
“Oh, I can go rough,” he promised, but she shook her head, nose crinkling in amusement - she turned just enough to open the nightstand drawer, pulling out a knife they’d taken from the diner they’d been in just an hour before. “Oh,” he blanched, Grace smiling innocently as she ran it through her fingers, “you mean like - rough, rough.”
“It’s easy,” she promised, kissing him gently as she passed it over to Phoebe who pulled herself away from their toy for the night to settle herself between Grace’s thighs instead. “You can watch us first, if you want.”
He nodded, a little apprehensive, but Gwen and Phoebe had done this a hundred times over - small scars lined both their bodies, and Phoebe traced one on Grace’s thigh with her tongue, dangling the knife dangerously in her hand. But Phoebe knew the consequences of going too rough on Gwen - things could turn at the drop of a hat if they needed to.
( grace so desperately wanted the excuse for them to. )
Grace let out an exhale as soon as the knife touched her skin - a little cool, the sharp edge just teetering against her. She nodded, and Phoebe smiled as she let the knife drag into Grace’s skin, a bright red line of blood exposed as Grace hissed; it was almost enough to let the energy inside of her come out, but tonight she’d get so much more. Still, the air made the cut sting, and Phoebe’s tongue lapped at the cut as she placed the knife down, Grace moaning in relief and desire. The man next to them had his cock in his hand, stroking himself as he watched them, and for a moment, Grace let Phoebe raise herself higher, her tongue against Grace’s clit, a finger buried inside of her, her mouth coated in blood and spit and a small orgasm rippled through her, one hand around the knifes handle and the other groping her own chest.
“My turn?” he asked when Phoebe sat back on her knees, wiping her face off with the back of her hand and Grace laughed, nodding slightly, the manic feeling taking a hold of her.
“Your turn,” she promised, pushing herself up ( the sting of the cut as it folded against her skin striking, Grace ignoring it as she sat up ) to straddle his waist. “Where do you want to feel it?”
“Oh, uh, I thought I could like - for you, not - “
“Tsk, tsk,” she shook her head while Phoebe laughed, leaving the bed just to ensure the door was locked and the window curtains were closed. She turned the air conditioner on, Grace’s skin erupting in goosebumps as the cold air hit them, the noise rattling loudly enough that no one would hear them.
( there was no one around to hear them, really. )
“Don’t you want to be a good sport,” Grace asked, letting the knife rest easily on his collarbone, dragging it down his sternum before letting the point just barely break flesh above his navel. “We all get to bleed here.”
“I dunno,” he sounded nervous, his attention diverted between Grace and her knife, Phoebe crawling behind her and kissing her neck and the wedding ring on the nightstand. “I mean, I don’t - my wife - “
“You’re a trucker,” Grace promised, her voice smooth as honey, leaning forward just enough to pull his attention back to her. And he did seem distracted - though whether it was because her knife dug a little deeper or because he was staring at her breasts, she didn’t really care. “Just say it was an accident. A fight.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re both very hot but - “
Grace lost her patience, her eyes rolling as she let out a huffy sigh. “Get me the duct tape.”
Phoebe was up and moving before he even seemed to realize what was happening - a plea, an argument, but Phoebe dutifully did her part, silencing him with a few pieces of well laid silver tape over his mouth, panic officially settling in. And he was big, but there were two of them - Grace let her knife clatter to the floor for a moment while they tied his hands up against the bed, the knots secure from weeks of watching youtube tutorials online despite his thrashing.
“The more you panic, the more she loves it,” Phoebe whispered to him, and Grace was touched, that in such a short amount of time her girlfriend had learned so much about her. About her darker tendencies, the thrill of violence. She paused long enough to give her a kiss, offering the handle of the knife as they broke away.
“Do you want the first slice?”
“This is your dream, baby,” she breathed, and Grace smiled wider, the manic look in her eyes reflected in the adoration of Phoebe’s. “You do it.”
So she did.
A nice, thick slice down his thigh first - a tease, really, something she’d done to Phoebe dozens of times, and girls before her who were looking for a little help for self inflicted violence. But he shuddered, trying to scream behind his gag and Grace just let out a laugh, shaking her hair out of her eyes as she spread the cut apart with her fingers, letting Phoebe taste it off of her as he watched in horror. And from there, it was almost like a serene peace washed over her - every line on his body let out another frustration she’d had bottled up inside of her, another day she could look forward to in peace before the need hit her again.
When they were done, she wasn’t sure who bore more blood - them, him, or the mattress underneath of him. But that was expected - she wouldn’t bother cleaning up after herself, had let Phoebe check them in, had stayed completely undetected the entire time. And as she stared at him, eyes wide in terror and mouth still covered with duct tape, she smiled peacefully to herself. It was an urge, a desire she’d held as long as she could remember, and now she’d done it.
Murder. It wasn’t as hard as everyone made it seem - at least, not emotionally. Physically, she had to admit she was a little sore.
“I’m going to shower,” Phoebe said, her voice wavering a little. She’d ridden the high of the act for as long as it lasted, but Grace could see her wavering now. The small frown tugging her lips down, the way she kept avoiding eye contact.
She would freak out. It was inevitable. She’d panic, and tell, and while she didn’t know enough about Grace’s real identity to put an alert out, it would still raise alarms.
Grace didn’t think twice.
She’d packed gloves just in case, and she let Phoebe shower as she washed off the knife - evidence of herself, as best she could. They’d be able to tell there were multiple blood types, but Grace’s would be minimal compared to their victims and Phoebe’s. And without fingerprints, they’d assume the stage was set for what Grace wanted it to be - a murder suicide of a type, panic and nerves overtaking Phoebe as she took a John in a motel in the middle of nowhere. Gwen would die with her - she’d have to hitch to a new town, find some hair dye, pick a new name. But that was okay - Gwen was done with, and someone new was emerging inside of her.
“Baby?” Grace called, Phoebe sticking her head out of the bathroom with her bottom lip worried between her teeth. “Come here.”
Phoebe started blubbering almost immediately, but Grace had always been unaffected by tears. She nodded, pretending to listen, the blood soaked into her skin hardening, turning a dark brown from the violent red that had coated her earlier. She led Phoebe to the bed, and if her girlfriend noticed the gloves, she said nothing. Her voice was high pitched, nervous as she spit out question after question - what if someone saw them, what if someone was looking for him, what if they didn’t cover their tracks well enough - and Grace listened to her for a few moments while she assessed her.
In the end, it was even easier than their original intention - he had been a game, but this was business. And after one too many questions, Grace merely raised the knife to her throat, slicing it before she could even question what was happening. She let the knife clatter to the floor, Phoebe’s eyes searching her own as the life trickled out of her. Grace merely smiled at her, kissing her forehead before removing the gloves she’d put on without Phoebe paying attention.
“You were amazing, sweetie,” she promised, a glazed look starting to appear as blood slipped out from her throat. “You just were never going to be permanent. But thank you, really. You’ve given me the best gift I could ever ask for.”
The only thing Grace decided to clean was herself; she ensured there was no evidence of herself anywhere, pulled the cash out of their truckers wallets and whatever Phoebe had had left. It was enough to get her to Missouri, maybe, or Florida. Maybe she’d go north - Michigan, or Minnesota.
Whatever she did, as she let the door close behind her and she slipped into the darkness, she knew this wouldn’t be the last of it. The bloodlust had been satiated, calmed, but not diminished. Not forever.
One day, she’d do it again. Whether that was as Georgia, or Gia or Gloria or Gabriella, she didn’t know. But she knew, with absolute certainty, that she’d found her calling.
