THE TROPHY HUNTER

Coming out of the Free Love Sex Lounge in Gordon Street LePage early in the morning, Tina Twelvetrees saw a tall, handsome black American man approaching her. He was eyeing her up and down seemingly liking what he was seeing. Employed at the Sex Lounge, one of the first legalised brothels in Australia, Tina was under strict orders not to take on any private customers outside working hours. But like many of the women at the sex lounge, she wasn't above breaking that order. Since 'How they gonna know' as a friend of hers at the lounge, Eileen, put in.

So as the man reached her Tina smiled her most sensual smile at him, saying: "Hello handsome, looking for a good time?"

"I certainly am," he said in a refined voice: "And I'm willing to pay $200 for it.

Tina tried not to give away her surprise. At the Free Love Sex Lounge, she got $30 a time, not sure how much the clients actually paid.

"Let me see the colour of your money?" she asked.

Polling two notes out of a bill folder he said: "It's green, the same as all Australian $100 bills."

Taking the money, she placed it into a hidden pocket in her skimpy, Madonna c.1983 outfit, then took him by the hand.

"Down here, beautiful," he said leading her down a dark alley."

"Is this safe?" she asked reluctant to go down the alley.

"I've just been down there," he said honestly.

So, reluctantly she allowed herself to be led down the poorly lit alley, where the approaching new morn had not yet reached. Finally, they stopped at a green metal dumpster.

"Up against the wall," he ordered.

"Am I under arrest?" she joked.

"Not this time. But maybe next time we can play cops and robbers."

"I'd like that," she teased.

As she leant back against the wall, he unzipped and slammed his large organ into her making her yelp.

"Hey, go slowly, big man," she said.

"You're my property for the next couple of hours, I can treat you however I like."

"Next couple of hours?" she said.

"What's the problem? I know you only get paid $30 a time at the Free Love Sex Lounge. Even though the customers pay $120 a time.

"What?" she cried, genuinely angry: "Those crooks keep ninety bucks and only give me thirty?"

"Yes, now lie back and take it like a pro."

"Hey, is that meant to be a pun," she said laughing a little. Despite the pain as he slammed into her harder and harder.

After nearly thirty minutes, he finally came, flooding her with seemingly litres of almost glowing white semen.

"Oh God," she said feeling his seed flow into her. "Most men only produced a teaspoonful, if that."

"I'm not most men," he said.

He quickly spun her around and started to grope her Bianca Censori-huge arse, then unexpectedly fingered her sphincter.

"Hey," she protested: "If you want that hole, use some lubricant for Christ's sake."

"Don't use the Lord's name in vain," he said. Reaching round to grab a handful of his semen leaking from her vagina, to start rubbing into her sphincter.

"Hey, the Lord loves all people ... even fallen women."

"How far have you fallen, lovely Tina."

"For two hundred bucks, as far as you need me to," she said, braying at her own joke.

"Good," he said. Having finished, he spanked her huge rear half a dozen times hard.

"Hey," she protested: "Not too hard. I don't mind a little rough stuff."

"Very well," he said, slamming his oversized manhood into her anus.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" she shrieked. Despite expecting it, she had forgotten how big he was.

"Quiet, my little Chiquita," he said, covering her mouth with his semen-stained right hand.

He began thrusting ruthlessly in and out of her sphincter muscle, enjoying the tightness of her anus, and the softness of her Kim Kardashian-large arse cheeks.

He pounded her huge backside for nearly forty-five minutes, covering Tina's shrieks with his right hand. Then he finally ejaculated, again spraying like a fountain as he filled her bowels to overflowing.

"Oh God," said Tina, almost going mad from pleasure. Having climaxed anally for the first time in her life. Despite having been sodomised dozens of times before.

The Trophy Hunter allowed Tina to collapse to a seating position in the alley, turning her as she fell so that her back was toward the redbrick wall.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" gasped Tina, half thinking that she was in love with the hunter. Or at the very least in lust with him. She had never had any positive feelings toward any of her 'Johns', who were just penises to her, not even faces. But she had climaxed front and back to him, something she had never done with any client before. She preferred lesbianism in her private life, although she was technically bisexual. But she was starting to have her doubts now, with The Trophy Hunter having shown her just how good hetero sex could be.

"Oh God!" she gasped one more time. Then the Trophy Hunter stepped forward and slammed his shitty, bloody, semen-coated penis straight into her mouth.

"Not from arse straight to mouth!" she tried to say. It was one thing that she wouldn't do for any amount of money.

However, he grabbed her pretty shell-shaped ears, held them brutally like handles, and started violently pounding his oversized penis in and out of her mouth and throat, almost choking her. As her face started to go blue, he pulled back a few seconds to allow her to gasp down a quick mouthful of air. Then he began fucking her throat again.

Who wants mere head? he thought: When you can have a brutal face root instead! Pounding his manhood in and out of her face. Almost ripping her ears off her head in his uncontrollable lust.

Oh God! thought Tina, as she climaxed again. She'd never had a facial orgasm before. Please don't let it end, God!

But finally, it did end and the hunter withdrew his penis while it was still spraying, drenching Tina's face and hair in semen.

I'm coming again! she thought as he wiped his penis at the back of her hair, then put it away, before walking off to the other side of the green wheelie bin.

He picked up a large travel bag and took out two items, a razor-sharp machete and a resealable thick plastic bag.

While Tina was still climaxing, almost fisting her sloppy vagina in unrelenting orgasms, he walked across to her right side.

Putting down the plastic bag, he took hold of the machete with both hands and swung it at her throat. The first chop severed her jugular vein, killing her as her life's blood fountained out. But even with the machete, it took another three or four swings to completely sever her head from her body.

"At least she died happy!" he said, looking at her beautiful face, eyes clenched in ecstasy, as his semen flowed from her sensual mouth. He placed her head into the resealable plastic bag, then placed the bag and the machete both back into the travel bag.

As he headed off, he said: "You can keep the two hundred dollars, Tina ... you were worth every penny of it!"


An hour later he was at his large two-storey house in Westmoreland. At one stage Westmoreland had been a ghost town, abandoned in 1978, after some disaster, along with neighbouring Wilhelmina. However after the super-inflation in Australia's land and housing prices starting in the early 1990s, land had become too valuable anywhere in the Victoria countryside to be left lying idle. Half a dozen land sharks had moved in, buying the land cheap, building houses on it, and selling them dear, often making four to five hundred percent profit on the deal.

Three of the land sharks had died in mysterious circumstances over the past month. Not due to the Trophy Hunter, but he intended to meet one of them tomorrow to add her beautiful head to his collection.

In the meantime, he headed down to the large, refrigerated cellar in his house. Along three rows of shelves he already had quite a collection of heads. Five beautiful women, one blonde, one brunette, one black, one Asian, one Latina. Tina was a strawberry blonde, so he still needed at least one dark redhead.

On another shelf, he had the heads of beautiful young men. All gay, since he did like to fuck the shit out of his trophies before killing them.

Then a third shelf had hermaphrodites and castrated men.

All except Tina's head he had collected in the United States. But when things had started to get too hot for him there, he had paid some unscrupulous people to smuggle him and his collection into Australia.


Over at Deidre Morton's boarding house in Rochester Road, Merridale, they were enjoying a breakfast of crumpets, porridge, toast, Wheat Bix, and other cereals at 7:00 AM.

Sheila Bennett an orange-and-black-haired Goth chick, the Chief Constable of the local area, was scoffing down her favourite breakfast of five or six Vegemite crumpets. At thirty-five she was the number two cop in the area.

"Boy she loves those veggie crumpets," said Terri Scott, Senior Sergeant, and Sheila's boss.

"Urdo," said Sheila.

"Did she just say something in Urdu?" asked Colin Klein. A tall redheaded Englishman, he was Terri's boyfriend. A London Crime Reporter he was spending his long service leave in Merridale, in the Glen Hartwell to Willamby area of the Victorian Countryside.

"Or oo at," said Sheila.

"Did she just call me a twat?" asked Colin as Sheila blushed guiltily and Terri laughed.

"She can be very rude sometimes," said Tommy Turner, a short, obese retiree with blond hair. A forcibly reformed alcoholic - Deidre Morton had confiscated his stash.

"Alling ottel ack," said Sheila between a mouthful of Vegemite crumpet.

"I think she just said that's the pot calling the kettle black," said Natasha Lipzing. A tall thin grey-haired woman. At seventy she had spent the second half of her life at the boarding house.

"She's not far wrong," said Freddy Kingston. A tall, obese retiree with just a few skerricks of hair left around the sides of his head.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, dear," corrected Deidre Morton. A short, dumpy, sixty-something lady; who put most Michelin Chefs to shame.

"Ho hay," said Sheila.

They had almost finished eating when Jessie Baker and Donald Esk two local police sergeants turned up. Jessie was a huge redheaded man; Donald Esk was a tall man with longish brown hair. He'd brought with him his girlfriend Lisa a beautiful blonde, twenty-eight to his forty. When Terri had once questioned the twelve-year age difference, Don had pointed out that at thirty-five she was thirteen years younger than Colin.

"Sheils, Col, Tezza, and gang," said Jessie.

"So, now we're just the gang?" asked Natasha.

"It's Chief, Terri, or Tare," Terri corrected him.

"Aw, Tezza suits you better," said Sheila.

"She's right," agreed Timmy Turner.

"Okay, Chief then," corrected Jessie: "There's been a headless body of a young woman found in Duchess Lane in LePage."

"Why is it always young women?" asked Deidre.

"They're easier to subdue than men," said Lisa.

"They wouldn't think that if they tried to subdue me," insisted Sheila.

"No one in his right mind would try to subdue you, Sheils," said Terri.

"Damn straight!" said Sheila.


Half an hour later Terri, Sheila, Jessie and Colin were at Duchess Lane in LePage as Jesus Costello and Elvis Green were examining the headless corpse. Jesus, pronounced 'Hee-Zeus' was head surgeon at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. Elvis Green, so nicknamed due to his love of the music of Elvis Presley, was the local coroner.

On orders from Terri, Don Esk had taken Lisa home, to avoid her throwing up on a murder scene.

"Has she been raped?" asked Terri.

"She's had sex ... a lot of sex," said Jesus: "But whether it was rape or consensual is debatable. She does have $200 on her, and it's not far from the Free Love Sex Lounge."

"Best guess so far," said Elvis: "She would've been killed ninety minutes or so after daybreak, so she may have been picked up on the way home from the night at the sex lounge."

"Have you tried them with her photo?" asked Colin.

"Yes, but without a head, they couldn't be sure. Said it might be Tina Twelvetrees, one of their girls."

"Twelvetrees, there's a fine old English name," said Colin.

"Should I change my surname to Redgum?" asked Sheila: "that's a fine Aussie name."

"No ... Coco. You're a big nut," said Colin.

"Sheila Coco?" said Sheila: "I don't know. On the other hand, Coco Bennett works for me."

"Well, if you three nuts have finished," said Jesus, we'll get off to the hospital with our headless lady." He signalled for Derek and Cheryl, two paramedics to put her on a stretcher.

"How do you know she's a lady?" asked Sheila: "She's positively flowing with semen."

"Even a prostitute is a lady when she's been murdered."


The hunter pushed open the louvred doors and flounced into Gay Lords, a gay bar in Gerard Street, BeauLarkin. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and tight pink short-shorts.

As Time Goes By was playing on the jute box while young men were dancing cheek to cheek.

He walked across to the bar where a beautiful twenty-five-year-old man, who looked about sixteen was sitting. Dressed in navy shorts and a woman's pink blouse, he had long black hair, which explained his nickname, Raven.

The Trophy Hunter had been sussing Raven out for days and had decided that it was time to add his beautiful head to his collection.

"Hello," he said in not too sissified a voice, sitting down next to the beautiful young man.

"Hi," said Raven turning away from him.

"He's beautiful but cold as ice," teased the bartender.

"Who asked you?" said Raven.

"May I buy you a drink?" asked the hunter.

"I've got..." started Raven, before noticing that his glass was empty: "Gin and tonic, thank you."

"G&T," said the hunter to the bartender, 'Danny' according to his name tag.

"I'm Evan," lied the Trophy Hunter.

"That's a nice name," said Raven, deciding that the stranger wasn't bad-looking. Nice refined voice, he thought. Unaware of what that refined voice covered up. "I'm Raven."

"Yes, I know."

"You're not some kind of creepy stalker, are you?"

"If I were a creepy stalker, would I tell you? No, I heard someone say it as I came in."

"Oh," said Raven taking a sip of his drink.

For the next three hours, the Trophy Hunter used the softly-softly approach, gradually getting Raven to trust him. Finally, Raven more than a little tipsy, they left Gay Lords together. Leaning against the hunter for support, the short ravenette did not protest, when the hunter put his right hand on his shapely backside while helping him along.

"You like my bottom, don't you?" asked Raven giggling.

"I like all of you," said the hunter, risking kissing his sensual mouth, as he led Raven down Kennedy Alley off Gerard Street.

"Where we goin'?" asked Raven.

"Some place private to get friendly," said the Trophy Hunter truthfully.

"You mean you want to bum me," said Raven, giggling drunkenly.

"I certainly do," said the Hunter honestly. He made it a habit to lie as little as possible so that he wouldn't trip himself up when trying to collect a trophy head.

From time to time the Hunter gave Raven a swig from a large brandy flask that he kept for emergencies, to keep the beautiful young man pie-eyed.

"Don't like brandy," said Raven, taking a long swig, contradicting himself. "Don't like it atall he said," taking another slug to finish the flask off.

"Ah, good stuff," said Raven, needing to be held up by the hunter.

Almost passing out from inebriating, Raven did not resist as the Trophy Hunter undressed him, set him down on his hands and knees in the alley, and then began to grope his butt cheeks cruelly. Unlike Tina, he did not complain as the hunter gave him half a dozen hard spanks on his perfect heart-shaped arse.

"Nice arse," he commented.

"Nish?" said Raven.

"Beautiful arse. Beautiful, like you," he said. Spreading the young man's butt cheeks he spat on his sphincter, then unzipped, pulled out his manhood, and then lunged forward.

"Aaaaaaaah!: shrieked Raven as the Trophy Hunter's massive penis slammed less than a centimetre into his sphincter muscle.

"Knew ya wanta bum me," said Raven. Shrieking again as, holding his butt cheeks almost sadistically, the hunter slammed forward sending the first twelve centimetres of his mighty organ into the young man's bowels. After a second he began using brute strength to force the entire thirty-five centimetres into Raven's rear end.

"Oh God! Oh God! It hurts so good!" said Raven as the Trophy Hunter started to violently thrust his cock in and out of the young man's bowels, fucking him mercilessly. Not caring about anything except his own satisfaction.

"Oh God!" cried Raven, hating yet needing the bowel-shredding agony of the oversized penis thundering in and out of him. "Fuck me! Oh God, please fuck me!"

"What do you think I'm doing, beautiful?" the hunter teased. Increasing his pace to fuck the young man, harder, faster, more ruthlessly, disregarding anything except his own pleasure.

"I always needed this kind of treatment," muttered Raven.

"You were born to be bummed," said the hunter. Which for some reason tickled the young man's funny bone, making him laugh loudly, even as he gasped in pleasure and pain at the continued thrusting in and out of his backside with the massive, wrist-thick penis, loving the pain, needing the abuse. Finally realising that he had always wanted to be sexually abused, not loved. Which is the true reason that none of his previous gay relationships had lasted. Have I finally found my perfect man? he wondered: Or at least the perfect cock to give me the rough fucking that I need?

Finally, far too soon for Raven, the Trophy Hunter stopped thrusting and allowed his testicles to spray up gob after gob of fiery hot semen through the hunter's urethra and into beautiful Raven's much-abused backside.

"Woo woo woo woo woo!" muttered Raven shaking his head from side to side as the scolding semen shooting into him, brought Raven to a raging orgasm, spraying his own semen across his hairless pink chest.

"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!" moaned Raven in demented pleasure and loss as the Trophy Hunter finally pulled his organ out of his battered and bruised bowels.

His pouty sphincter was gaping open and shut like a heavy-breathing mouth, shooting out small bursts of semen each time.

Going around to the front of the beautiful, fucked half-crazy young man, the hunter pressed his thumbs into the sides of his mouth, to pull his mouth wide. Before slamming his shit-, semen-, and blood-coated penis straight through the young man's lips. Into his mouth, through his oesophagus and down his soon aching throat, face fucking every bit as brutally as he had Tina Twelvetrees earlier in the day.

As Raven's face turned blue, then started to turn purple from oxygen starvation, reluctantly the Trophy Hunter pulled out for a few seconds to allow the young man to frantically gulp down some much-needed air. Before grabbing his pretty ears to hold onto to begin ruthlessly fucking his cock up and down, in and out of the beautiful man's aching throat.

"Erg! Erg! Erg!" moaned, groaned Raven as he ejaculated again, spraying his belly and crotch with his own sperm. Loving and needing the brutal face rape as the hunter began fucking his windpipe with increasing fervour, increasing violence, relentlessly pushing himself to the edge until finally, his nuts unleashed such a fiery torrent that the young man thought his windpipe, oesophagus and mouth were all being cooked alive by the big man's burning hot seed.

"I ... love ... you..." moaned Raven, before collapsing, gasping for air, to the bitumen alley.

"I love you too, beautiful," said the Trophy Hunter. He wiped his manhood off on the young man's hair. He adjusted his clothing, then went across to collect the large travel bag that he had left in the alley hours earlier.

Taking out a resealable plastic bag, and the machete, he returned to Raven, who was still paralytic drunk as well as half insane from sexual climaxes.

Without another word, the hunter went across to grab Raven by the top of his hair. He pulled the beautiful young face up. Then with three thrusts on the machete, neatly removed his head.

Perfect! he thought as he placed his souvenir into the plastic bag. This will look so pretty on my gay boys' shelf!


An hour later he was in the freezer room in his house in Westmoreland, enjoying the sight of the row of pretty men's faces that he had collected.

"Raven, I think you are the most beautiful man that I have collected so far. And most of the women aren't in your league either."

He kissed the dead mouth, then went upstairs to shower and change.


Terri Scott had arranged for as many police as possible to sweep around the local towns trying to track down the Head Snatcher as the police were unofficially calling the killer. But with over five thousand people in Glen Hartwell alone, there was too much ground for them to cover without outside help. Which after just one killing they couldn't get.

It was approaching tea time, around 6:00 PM when Raven's headless body was discovered in Kennedy Alley BeauLarkin.

As Jesus Costello, Tilly Lombstrom (An attractive fifty-plus brunette who was Jesus's second in charge), and Elvis Green turned up, Terri and the police were already in the alley.

"Beatcha for once," teased Sheila.

"With the emphasis on 'for once'," teased back Tilly.

"So, have you made any ground on the first killing?" asked Colin Klein.

"Yes, we were getting ready to notify you when this came up. We've confirmed that the young woman was definitely Tina Twelvetrees from the Free Love Sex Lounge," said Jesus.

"And," added Elvis: "Despite the copious amounts, the semen is definitely human. So this is one of those rare cases you always want where the killer isn't supernatural."

"Yeah, but it's so long since we've had a human killer, that we've forgotten how to catch them," teased Sheila: "We've become so used to having to throw holy water on them, or bring in Indian Shamans or use some magical ritual ... that we don't remember how to do ordinary police work anymore."

"Ignore her," said Terri: "We're not as silly as she acts. Actually, one thing I was thinking is, that we're not far from Gay Lords Gay Bar, so I think we should show around pictures there."

"That's a good idea," agreed Jesus Costello.


At Gay Lords, they showed the picture to Danny, the bartender.

"Well, based on the clothing it's Raven," he said taking down a picture of Raven and the owner together, which was kept on the wall above the bar: "Raven's the beautiful one ... But you've chopped his head off."

Before they could stop her, Sheila said: "No, his killer did."

Colin just managed to catch the picture, as Danny fainted behind the bar.

As they turned to glare at her, Sheila said: "What?"

While the bartender was out cold, being attended to by some of his customers, Colin Klein, took the picture out of its frame, allowing Terri to snap off a few pictures of it with her mobile phone. Then he returned it to the frame.

"Is he all right?" asked Sheila?"

"Yes, but what happened," asked a tall man, dressed in a smart pale blue suit.

"I told..."

Terri slammed her hand over Sheila's face and said: "That Raven has had an accident."

"My God, is he all right."

"I'm sorry ... but no."

"Oh," said the man, as they started to revive Danny.

Terri and co strategically retreated before Danny could come to and say what had really happened.


At the Glen Hartwell Hospital, Terri said: "So we now know who the second victim is," holding up the phone to show his picture."

"We also know he goes both ways," said Colin Klein.

"And that he has good taste," said Jesus, holding up a picture of Tina given to him by the Free Love Sex Lounge: "Both of his victims were beautiful."

"Before they lost their heads," said Sheila. Getting glared at by everyone else in the hospital morgue.

"What?" she demanded.


Evan, as the Trophy Hunter had called himself when buying his two-storey house in Westmoreland, was sitting at the dining table with the land shark he had bought the property from.

Mary Hindmarsh was a short curvaceous brunette in the Jane Russell style of curviness. Beautiful but deadly as some of her victims had called her after being cheated out of fortunes by her.

Mary often worked with her on-again off-again lover Elijah 'Eli' Ellison. However, she was not above going behind Eli's back when big money beckoned. She had sold the house that they were dining in to Evan, as his fake passport and birth certificates identified him, for one million Aussie dollars, when it was at most worth six hundred thousand dollars. So she saw no reason to involve Eli when the Trophy Hunter had told her that his three (non-existent) brothers wanted to buy houses in the same area for themselves and their families. And that he had recommended her to them as someone whom they could trust.

"That's berry king of you," said Mary, wondering why she was getting a little lightheaded after just one glass of Australian Champagne. Unaware that the hunter had slipped date-rape drugs into her glass.

"It's very king of you to say so," he teased. He went across to sit next to her, putting a hand on her curvy left thigh.

"Whacha dune. I haint no prozzie."

"Mary I have home videos Eli Ellison sold me of you doing it with various men, two women, and even a Great Dane at one stage. The only difference between you and a prostitute is that prozzies have their limits. There are some things prostitutes won't do for any amount of money. You will do anything or anyone for enough money."

"That's so!" said Mary, meaning to say 'not so'.

"Yes, it is," agreed the Trophy Collector.

"Well, I am coming," said Mary, meaning to say, 'going.' She tried to stand, fell over and passed out.

Not wanting to create a mess in the dining room, the hunter picked her up and carried her downstairs to the basement. Outside the freezer room, he had a small sofa. Placing Mary upon it, he undressed, then undressed the brunette.

Spreading her legs widely, he climbed on top of her and penetrated her vagina with his oversized penis.

Despite being unconscious, the brunette cried out at the size of his manhood as he started fucking her ruthlessly.

"No! No!" cried Mary. Her arms and legs flailed a little despite her being unconscious, as he thrust in and out of her body at a rapid pace, which he was able to maintain for nearly forty minutes, before finally flooding her and soiling the cheap sofa as his cum flooded out of the brunette's body.

The Trophy Hunter was not sure whether he liked his victims out cold where they could not really feel pain, or fight him at all. The fighting was part of the hunt in his opinion.

Still, he rolled the naked brunette over, and put an extra cushion under her hips, to raise her rear end, although like Tina Twelvetrees, and unlike Raven, she had a prominent, Bianca Censori-style massive arse, like two pink, fleshy basketballs. Spreading the vast cheeks, with some difficulty, he used his own semen flooding from her vagina as lubricant to apply to her sphincter.

Then placing his glands against her virginal-looking anus, he pushed with all of his might. At first, she seemed as though even unconscious, she could keep him out of her bowels. Then with an extra push forward, his glands burst through her sphincter muscle, making Mary shriek like a banshee even while out cold. As he slowly began working his oversized penis deeper and deeper into her bowels.

Finally, having penetrated to the testicles, he tried to pull back. At first without success since her virgin rectum gripped his manhood like a fist. But finally, he managed to pull back out of her, until only his glands remained inside her sphincter muscle. Then he began pushing forward again, almost as slowly as the first penetration had been.

For nearly a quarter of an hour, he struggled to get any movement going through her tighter-than-tight bowels. But finally, by sheer brute force alone, he managed to get a good rhythm going, like an erect piston in a very tight shaft. In and out, in and out he thrust in then pulled out for the best part of an hour.

Finally, his oversized testes began unleashing a fiery load of semen, seemingly an impossible amount, flowing through her bowels. Flooding her colon until it started pouring back out of her gaping sphincter muscle, taking his manhood out with it.

The Trophy Hunter stood away as semen fountained out of her seemingly panting anus, spray after spray. Then he walked over to where she lay face down on the ancient yellow floral sofa. Grabbing her by her magnificent Kim Kardashian-sized arse and her neck, he spun her over until her neck was against one of the armrests of the sofa.

Squatting over her beautiful face, he grabbed her pretty nose cruelly and pinched it closed. Finally, her mouth gaped open, gasping for air. Plunging forward, he drove his shit-, blood-, and semen-soiled glands in through her small, but full-lipped mouth then used brute force to force his manhood into her mouth, then round the bend and into her throat.

Holding onto her ears, he used them as handles, as he brutally thrust his oversized penis in and out of her unprepared throat, thunder-fucking it in and out. As he liked to say when she was almost choking someone to death with his bulbous, blood-engorged organ.

He thrust in and out until her face started to go blue from oxygen starvation. Then, reluctantly he pulled out for a through seconds, having to push down with one hand upon her rib cage to get her breathing in and out for a few seconds. Before thrusting in to the hilt again, to begin ruthlessly fucking her face and windpipe, not caring if he reduced both to a bloody mess. As longed as he got his pleasure.

"Oomph!" gasped, gagged, poor Mary, too doped out to know what was going on. He continued holding her ears, almost tearing them off the sides of her head, as he violently face-fucked her. Caring only for his own pleasure. Not whether or not the land shark developer lived or died.

Why is rape even a crime? he thought, thinking it was a good method to keep the human race going.

On and on he thrust, until finally his nuts unleashed their pearly white flow for the third time that night. Almost drowning Mary as it flowed down her windpipe, and backed out through her nostrils. And streamed out of her open mouth.

He went around the side of the sofa, to wipe his organ off upon her brown hair, then got dressed again.

Then he picked up Mary and carried her across to the cold storage room. He managed to unlock the door with difficulty, then sat her on the floor, while he went back outside for his machete.

It took three blows of the machete to remove the brunette's head, which he placed next to Tina's on the woman's shelf.

"I really must get myself a redhead," said the Trophy Hunter. Unaware that behind him, in the doorway stood Eli Ellison. Not as gullible as Mary had thought, Eli knew that she sometimes did business without him. A practice that he had meant to put a stop to tonight when he had followed her discretely from her home to Evan the hunter's home.

Sensing that he was being watched the Trophy Hunter spun around and saw Eli.

"You will wish you had never been born!" said the hunter.

He lifted the machete and started toward Eli. Who pulled the freezer room door shut, and locked it.

Then returning outside to his car to get his mobile phone, he rang through to Terri Scott.


At Deidre Morton's boarding home, they had finished tea and were heading into the lounge room to watch television, when they got the phone call from Eli Ellison.

"We'll be right there," said Terri hanging up. Then to Colin and Sheila: "That was Elijah Ellison."

"The land shark?" asked Sheila.

"Yes, he claims to have accidentally caught the skull collector."

"Aw," said Sheila: "I was hoping to shoot him down in the field. Do you think a jury would convict me if I shoot him down when we go to arrest him?"

"Well, I wouldn't," said Deidre Morton.

"Nor I," agreed Natasha.

"Neither would we," said Freddy.

"Mongrel deserves what he gets," said Tommy Turner.

"Unfortunately, most juries would convict you," pointed out the redheaded reporter, Colin Klein: "Not that I would!"


Forty-five minutes later they were in Westmoreland, where Eli Ellison led them into the Trophy Hunter's house, then down to the basement.

Quietly unlocking the door, Eli whispered: "He's inside."

Sheila and Terri unholstered their guns, and then Eli swung the door wide.

"Boy, do I hope he resists arrest," said Sheila.

Unfortunately for the orange-and-black-striped Goth woman, the hunter was sitting on a plastic chair and did not attempt to rush them as they came in.

"So we've got you, skull collector?" said Terri.

"How dare you?" he asked genuinely offended: "I call myself the Trophy Hunter."

"Killing three people for their...?" began Sheila, stopping as she saw at least fifteen heads on the three shelves.

"Only the last three were done in this country," the hunter explained: "The first twelve were in the United States where I come from."

"Wow!" said Sheila: "And most Americans think Trump is dangerous!"

"We'll be able to gloat to the Yanks now," said Terri: "Not only have we solved, with a lot of help from Eli, three murders in this country, but we've cleaned up a dozen in the United States as well."

"The bloody yanks will be spewing," said Sheila. Making everyone, including the Trophy Hunter laugh.

"I imagine they will be," said the hunter. He offered no resistance as Colin Klein cuffed his hands behind his back to lead him away.

"Sorry, Mary," said Eli. Feeling guilty for being angry at her for going behind his back to make profits.


That Saturday, Terri, Colin, Sheila, Derek Armstrong the black paramedic, and his driver Cheryl Pritchard were all at the gym in Boothy Street Glen Hartwell.

Sheila picked up two five-kilogramme weights and effortlessly lifted them up above her head, then lowered them down to her sides then lifted them again half a dozen times.

"Sheils, I can't lift those," protested Terri.

"No, and I don't expect you to try just yet," said Sheila.

Putting the weights back on the stand, she reached to the bottom shelf and picked up two half-kilo weights.

"Try these," said Sheila.

"Oh God," said Terri, almost dropping one of the weights onto her feet.

"Something tells me that this is gonna take a lot of Saturdays," said Sheila. Making everybody except Terri laugh.

THE END
© Copyright 2023 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia