Maniac

He used to live in the historic part of the city, near the Central Market. Now he decided to settle on the distant outskirts. The eastern entrance to the city seemed just the right place, and that's where he was heading now. There were many dense groves there, more like small forests than city parks. At first, he wanted to get off near the airport, but, realizing in time that it was always full of cops, he changed his mind. He got off the trolleybus before the bridge and immediately ducked into a thick green thicket. Only here did he feel relatively safe. But he still needed to finish making his den before dark. The soil in the grove was relatively soft,

black earth, and Boris decided to dig a cave.

A shallow, dirty stream, or a small river, flowed through the entire grove along the bottom of a deep, steep ravine with crumbling banks. A better place than the steep banks of the stream couldn't be wished for. Boris moved a good distance from the edge of the grove, clinging to tree roots, and descended to the bottom of the ravine. This was just what he needed! He was completely invisible from above. True, everything was in plain sight from the opposite side, but that wasn't a problem. He could camouflage the entrance to the cave with deadwood and make a backup exit for safety.

Having considered all this, Boris Vishnyakov stripped down to his underwear so as not to dirty his clothes, pulled out his knife, and, helping himself with his left hand, began digging a hole. The soil was loose, crumbly, and gave way easily, so within about an hour he had dug a long, narrow corridor leading deep into the bank. Right there, he took a smoke break, curled up in a tight ball, rested, and got back to work. He piled the dug-up earth into his T-shirt and dragged it to the exit. After another two hours, he had significantly deepened and widened the passage and began digging out the cave. Boris hurried, trying to finish the work before dark. Although the main part of the construction was already done, and he had a place to sleep.

Boris soon felt wildly tired, plus he was as hungry as a wolf and dying of thirst. He didn't dare drink from the dirty, stinking stream and, abandoning his work and getting dressed, climbed back up. There, he cut long branches from the trees with his knife and piled them in a huge heap at the edge of the ravine to mark the spot. He walked along the stream bank towards the exit from the grove. He wasn't very familiar with this area, plus it was already night, and Boris walked at random, hoping to reach the road. There he could stop a car and get to a duty-free commercial stall. Suddenly, he was attracted by some indistinct noise deep in the grove, right in the direction of his path. Boris became alert and slowed his pace. His hand automatically reached into his pocket for the pistol.

He cautiously took a few more steps, trying not to give himself away, stopping and listening every now and then. He peered into the darkness ahead until his eyes hurt. The sounds of voices and the noise of some struggle grew louder. Boris clearly distinguished a threatening male bass and a muffled girl's voice trying to call for help. The voice kept breaking off, as if someone was covering the girl's mouth. Boris understood everything: ahead, a rapist or rapists were committing their dark deed. Maybe even a sexual maniac like the famous Chikatilo!

Boris pulled the pistol from his pocket, racked the slide, and, sneaking on tiptoe, headed towards the place where the voices were coming from. As he got closer, the noise ahead intensified. Carefully parting the branches, Boris saw the figure of a man tying a teenage girl to a tree. Her mouth was gagged, her eyes blindfolded. She was without a skirt or panties, and small white breasts peeked out from her torn blouse. The girl shook her head, moaned, and cried. This angered the man. After tying her hands behind her back, he began tearing the remaining clothes off the victim. When she was left with nothing, he broke off a long, flexible switch and hit her several times with all his might. He hit indiscriminately—wherever it landed. Bloody welts immediately appeared on the girl's chest and stomach; she writhed and jerked even more violently. This, apparently, gave the maniac animalistic pleasure. He began whipping the girl on her bare legs, her thighs, aiming for her pubic area.

The unfortunate girl's mouth was gagged, and she couldn't scream. She jerked with all her might after each cruel blow but could do nothing. Soon she was covered in stripes and even wet herself from the pain. The maniac threw the switch aside, pulled out a lighter, flicked it, and brought the thin tongue of flame to the hair on her pubic mound. Another moment and the hair would have caught fire, causing the captive terrible suffering.

Boris realized things were coming to a head and he couldn't delay. He swiftly ran up behind the man and, with all his strength, hit him on the head with the heavy pistol grip. The maniac gasped, dropped the lighter, and collapsed like a felled tree at Boris's feet. The ground under his head instantly turned black with blood. The man jerked several times in final convulsions and fell still. Vishnyakov realized he had overdone it. Bending down, he put his ear to the maniac's chest: the heart, alas, was not beating. The man was dead!

"Damn, I had to go and get involved," Boris lamented bitterly.

He hid the pistol in his pocket and began hurriedly searching the man's corpse. He found a folding pocketknife, a rope noose, some money. To the side, he saw a small sports bag; unzipping it, he was delighted. The bag contained food, a plastic bottle with some fizzy drink, and a half-liter of vodka. Boris grabbed the soda and immediately began greedily drinking, emptying half of it at once. He broke off a large piece of smoked sausage from a ring and began hastily eating while continuing to rummage through the bag. He found plastic cups, opened the bottle, and poured himself some vodka. Grunting, he drank it with pleasure.

The girl tied to the tree fell silent, not understanding what was happening, listening fearfully to the strange sounds. Vishnyakov finally remembered her, left his meal, walked over to the tree, and cut the rope with his knife. He untied her eyes and pulled the rag from her mouth. The girl looked at him in horror, then shifted her frightened gaze to the maniac lying on the ground.

"Don't be afraid, I won't do anything bad to you," Boris said warningly, raising his hand. "And this one won't touch you anymore either, I... finished him off, damn it."

The girl hastily nodded her head, indicating she was grateful to her savior and wouldn't be afraid. Suddenly remembering, she gasped and covered her small, exposed breasts with her palms. Boris threw her the remains of her torn blouse, and the girl pulled it on, trying to hide her nakedness under these rags.

"Hey, help me, you hear," Boris asked her. "We need to bury this bastard!"

He beckoned her to follow him, descended to the bottom of the ravine by the stream, and handed her the pocketknife he'd found on the maniac.

"We'll dig the grave here. Can you do it?" he asked her.

"I can, of course," the girl hastily assured him and immediately got to work.

Boris started digging nearby...

Before throwing the corpse into the dug pit, Vishnyakov took his clothes off and handed them to the rescued captive.

"Take them, wear these for now, and we'll figure something out tomorrow."

The girl obeyed, hastily pulling on the crumpled, clearly too-big-for-her clothes of the maniac. In them, she looked funny and absurd. Plus, the pants kept falling down, and she had to hold them up with her hands all the time.

"In the morning, we can look for my skirt and panties with the bra," she said. "He threw them over there, behind those bushes."

"We'll look," Boris agreed. He took the corpse by the legs and, dragging it to the edge of the grave, carelessly threw it in. "You go ahead and... cover it up."

When the job was done, he walked around on top, inspecting the scene. He scuffed the bloodstains on the ground with his feet, picked up the cut rope near the tree. He handed the girl the sports bag of the killed maniac.

"Let's go!"

"Where?" she asked, frightened.

"With me... You're not going to go home looking like that, are you?" Vishnyakov said reasonably. "You'll spend the night at my place, and in the morning we'll look for your clothes; we're unlikely to find anything now."

"I

don't really have a home," she said, following Boris.

"A stray, huh? Homeless?" Vishnyakov inquired.

"No, a highway girl," the girl admitted.

"What's your name?"

"I don't get called, I come myself," she joked.

"But still?.."

"Sveta."

"I'm Boris. Nice to meet you, then."

Vishnyakov brought her to his cave. It was dark and cramped but cozy. He took the sports bag from her, took out the bottle of vodka, cups, sausage, and a sliced loaf from it.

"Will you have a little drink, Sveta?" Boris asked, pouring vodka into a plastic cup.

"Sure," the girl extended her hand. After drinking, she had a good snack; she was clearly hungry. She asked for a cigarette. "Thank you, Borya! If it weren't for you, that guy would have cut me up and thrown me in the river."

"It would have been good if it were only that," said Boris. "Who knows what worse things he might have thought up, the scumbag... He would have tortured me alive—there have been so many such cases!"

Sveta soon fell asleep, exhausted by the ordeal she had been through. Boris didn't disturb her, although tempting thoughts arose. But he decided to wait until tomorrow; she wasn't going anywhere from him anyway.

In the morning, as soon as it dawned, Boris woke Sveta up, and they, nursing their hangovers with the remaining vodka, returned to the site of the maniac's murder. Vishnyakov meticulously examined everything around again, destroying any evidence he noticed. He climbed down into the ravine where they had buried the corpse yesterday and covered the freshly piled earth on the grave with dry branches. Meanwhile, Sveta, crawling on all fours through all the bushes, found her skirt and torn underwear. Right there, without embarrassment in front of Boris, she took off the rapist's pants and pulled her panties and short skirt over her hips. Vishnyakov admired her slender legs and whistled meaningfully.

"You're beautiful, Sveta!"

"What, you wanna fuck me, huh?" the girl suddenly blurted out, laughing. "Why didn't you ask yesterday? I would have given it to you."

Boris was embarrassed.

"Who knew... Besides, you were asleep yesterday after a hundred grams..."

"So what's the big deal? Truck drivers have fucked me even while I was sleeping... In every breathable-pushable hole!"

"Damn, you've got a big one!" the girl said admiringly. She rubbed her fingers over the upper part of her vagina, feeling for her clitoris.

Boris lay down next to her on the grass, began kissing her lips, then moved lower. Unbuttoning the buttons of the man's shirt, he began licking her nipples, which immediately swelled under his tongue. Sveta shuddered, arched her back, and moaned sweetly. Boris slid down her fragile body lower and worked his hot, wet tongue over her vagina, kissing her fingers as they massaged her clitoris. She, like an adult, wrapped her arms around his head, began gently stroking his hair, pressing his face closer to her body.

"Yes, yes, darling! Like that... More, please! More... Go deeper. Yes! Yes!... I feel good with you, sweetheart!" she whispered in a rapid patter, like an experienced sex bomb in an American porn film.

After satisfying her with his tongue until she, writhing in ecstasy, came, Boris proceeded to traditional sex. He had never encountered such a small vagina before and at first even got scared, worried he might tear something. Carefully, millimeter by millimeter, he inserted his huge, erect penis into her. He felt how the hot, tender flesh of her vagina, flowing with love juices, tightly enveloped him. Sveta met him with her whole body and moaned passionately, showering his face, neck, and hands with burning kisses. She sucked his fingers. Boris thrust his member a few more times inside her tight, narrow vagina and himself growled with passion, feeling he was uncontrollably about to come. They wrapped their arms around each other, pressed their bodies tightly together, rolled on the grass, writhing in sweet convulsions. They came simultaneously and a few seconds later—tired but satisfied—collapsed on the grass in exhaustion, spreading their arms and legs wide.

"I've never felt so good with anyone as with you!" Boris admitted.

"That's just the beginning!" Sveta promised meaningfully...