*disclaimer: containts graphic scenes. reader discretion is advised.
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Kasandra hated office buildings after hours.
For some reason the dull and tedium of an office turns dreadful and malignant the moment the last person leaves the premises and switches off the light. She hated the way everyday mundane objects like desk lamps and stationery holders cast shadows that looked like they had jaws and talons, and how said shadows seemed to follow her around every time the angle of light changes from outside. Kasandra hated that the air vents seem to amplify the sounds of rats and cockroaches or whatever pests reside in the walls of the building.
But more than that, she hated that she had been asked to come here tonight. Okay, maybe not asked, but forced to come here. It was not even where she worked at: she was a freelance writer, selling dodgy romances and pulp horrors to whatever scandalous magazine or publication that needs to fill its pages with heaving breasts and buckets of blood. Instead her husband had asked (forced) her to come by his office, at 11 o'clock in the night.
"Be here at eleven pee-em", he had said when he called her earlier in the evening. "I will be waiting. Do not disappoint me"
How's that for a husband? Kasandra thought, irritated. But she could not deny she was afraid, mostly because she had an idea what this whole cloak and dagger thing was all about. You see, Kasandra married her husband a few years ago. He was 17 years older than she was, and a wealthy entrepreneur with good connections to local politicians and the rich bastards club. But she was younger back then, full of delusions and aspirations to be a trophy wife, and married the fucker mostly for his money.
At the beginning it was exactly what she wanted it to be. She drove expensive cars, wore the latest couture, mingled with the prettiest celebrities. All she had to do in return was pleasure the man about once a week, or follow him to functions. For the most part, he did not really seem to care about her anyway.
But that soon got boring for her young soul. Plus, she had to admit sleeping with a balding man with a hairy back and even hairier ass was less appealing than being able to spend his money.
Her husband, Zakaria, forbade her from working. So she began writing those bits of stories and sold them off to the pulp magazines, making some side income from the macabre fascinations Malaysians seem to have with tales of people rising from the grave and stories of teenagers releasing their inhibitions in the name of love.
But that too, became boring. So she started hanging out outside the house more and more, and that was how she had met Imran. Now Imran then, that was a keeper. Fit as a thoroughbred horse, lean and with the libido of an Arabian prince. Kasandra had taken to him straight away. She supposed that would make her Imran's sugar mommy, but she did not deny she had tender feelings for the young man. In fact she loved him because he was everything her husband was not. They met about twice a week in secret, sometimes four times if she was especially randy, at an apartment bought under Imran's name but with Kasandra's husbands' money.
Maybe that was a mistake, now she thought. Maybe Zakaria had found out about her infidelity through, of all places, the account books and property deals. In fact, she was sure of it.
As much as Kasandra loathed her husband and loved his money, she was also slightly afraid of him. He was after all, a powerful man, with good connections. And annoyingly he was also nice to her family. Part of the reason she had married Zakaria was because her father was his friend and occasional business colleague. At the time Zakaria was a widower, and it was Kasandra's father that had offered her hand in marriage to him.
She supposed she was a bit naive back then, and could have declined. But the lure of a wealthy and easy life was too much for her. But if indeed Zakaria has found out her secret, she was in for a lot of trouble. She was more concerned about her family now: what would they say?
Kasandra walked into the office building where her husband ran his business. It was a 4-story lot in a busy commerce area, which Zakaria had aptly named 'Wisma Zakaria'. The four floors of the building each were dedicated to the branches of his company: engineering, shipping, maintenance supplies and printing. The building was dark; of course it was, it was bloody near 11pm. Who would be here anyway? But as she had approached the building in her car she saw an office at the top floor had lights on. Zakaria's office, of course. His eagle's nest, his pedestal upon where he watched his business grow.
Kasandra climbed the stairs up. She was dressed in a t-shirt and track bottoms, with a denim jacket on top. She was fit for a 36-year-old woman. When she reached the top office she pressed the buzzer to let Zakaria know she had arrived. A voice on the intercom said, "Come in and come straight to the meeting room". The door opened. Kasandra scanned the office, feeling more than a little nervous now. She was sure Zakaria had found out about her shenanigans with Imran. She saw only two lights were on in the office: one emanated from Zakaria's private room, whilst the other was from the meeting room. She made her way there, and knocked on the door before twisting the doorknob. The door made a cringe-inducing creak as it opened, the sound akin to a drowning cat.
The meeting room has a long oval table, with 16 seats around it. The table was a high quality mahogany item, and looked and felt expensive, which it was. But right now there was nobody seated at the table except her husband, who sat at the far end. There were two items in front of him but she could not make out what they were. The fluorescent lights felt harshly bright, stinging her eyes. Kasandra stood in front of the door as it closed, unsure of what to do.
"Lock the door behind you" said Zakaria, in an ominous, deadly tone. "Now take a seat". He motioned to the seat directly in front of him. Kasandra made her way there, and felt a chill run up her spine when she saw that one of the items in front of Zakaria was a black revolver that seemed to scream Death. The other item was a cell phone. Her palms were sweaty and clammy as she sat herself down, her legs slightly trembling. Though it was already too late, she thought then she should not have had an affair with Imran, even if he was lean and great in bed. Zakaria fished out a pack of Marlboro's from his shirt pocket and lit a fag. He offered one to her, but she declined. A smoke was not the most pressing matter on her mind right now.
Zakaria took a long drag on his ciggie, and blew the smoke out in a long thin stream, his eyes staring into space. "Do you know why I called you here?"
"No", she said. Zakaria laughed.
"Oh come on", he said. "Don't insult my intelligence. Of course you know. You're here because of something you did. Now tell me what it is"
Kasandra sighed. "You know about the apartment I bought"
"Yes! Bravo! More precisely, I know about what's going on at the apartment you bought. How do I know? Well, let's just say I'm well connected, with eyes and ears all over the place. After all, I did not make my fortune of which you so lovingly spend by being a tool. Now tell me, what's his name?"
Zakaria stood up, still smoking the cigarette. He put his hands behind his back, like he was a university lecturer asking a rhetorical question.
"Imran", Kasandra said. Her eyes kept looking at the gun on the table. The muzzle seemed to be pointing straight at her. It lay there, cold steel and death.
"Imran", Zakaria said and stroked his chin. "Is he a good fucker?"
"What?"
WHUPP! Zakaria's open palm hit the side of her face. The pain was loud, and Kasandra immediately put a hand to the spot. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
"Is he a good fucker? Does he hit the spot, so to speak?” Zakaria said this softly, which was somehow worse. "Answer me or I'll hit you again"
Kasandra stared at him. She forced herself to answer. "Yes"
"Yes what?"
"Yes he is"
"Is what?"
"......"
The next hit was not a slap, but a fist to her eye. For a moment her world went spinning, and when she regained herself she felt her right eye begin to swell. It was excruciating. She begins to cry, out of pain if not fear or guilt. "Yes, he is a good... fucker", she said. Zakaria smiled, a toothy grin that made him look like an angry monkey. He motioned for her to stand up. She complied, out of her desire to avoid getting hit.
"Now", Zakaria said as he walked to stand beside her. Suddenly he grabbed her from behind, and squeezed her breasts so hard she cried out it pain. Zakaria sniffed at her neck like a dog, and he rammed one hand down Kasandra's pants and molested her. His rough fingers felt like scaly snakes grating their way inside her. She moaned, but not out of pleasure. This was somehow worse that getting punched.
"I suppose Imran is gentler than this, is he? Is he?"
Kasandra could only nod; she was trying to stand the pain. She felt like her breast could burst from the pressure the man was inflicting on her.
"I also guess that he's got a bigger dick than me?” Zakaria asked again and this time bit down on her neck, hard and drew blood. Again Kasandra could not say anything.
"Do you want to scream my sweet? Go ahead. No one will hear you. It's a meeting room, pretty much insulated"
Finally Zakaria let her go and shoved her from behind. She crashed onto the meeting table, feeling a small reprieve from the pain. But she knew he was not done. Zakaria grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. He kissed her mouth savagely and bit on her lip, drawing blood. Kasandra tried to struggle but the man overpowered her. He slapped her twice, left to right, splitting her lips and widening the cut made by his teeth. Kasandra felt powerless... in a way she also felt she deserved this. Zakaria pulled off the track bottoms she wore.
"Bitch", he said, his voice devoid of emotion. Just a flat "Bitch". He punched her in the stomach, and Kasandra felt her breath taken away from her. She sat up and vomited to the side.
"Now you've made a mess, dirty bitch. I'll show you who's a good fucker"
He slapped her face again, hard. The sound it made seemed to echo in the room. Kasandra could taste the warm coppery blood, her blood, in her mouth. She spat, but this angered Zakaria and he punched her in the stomach again. Then she heard a zipper being undone and knew he had taken off his trousers. As she felt Zakaria pulling down her panties and forcing himself on her, Kasandra just stared at the ceiling, half stunned by the physical abuse. She felt him move, but there was no sensation. She just felt numb and used. Zakaria gave it to her rough, chafing her bare buttocks on the wooden surface. After a few minutes he was done. You're the epitome of quickie aren't you, she thought, and that made her smile a little, as ridiculous as that sounds. But Zakaria did not see the smile, maybe because her mouth was bloody and bruised, the lips already swollen. Had he seen the slight upturn of her lips, he'd probably hit her some more.
Kasandra lay still on the table. Her tears fell from the sides of her eyes, but she was not sobbing. She felt humiliated and violated, guilty and angry at the same time. At that moment all she could think of was white noise and static, like a TV that had gone bust. And then more pain as Zakaria pulled her up and slapped her face hard several times. One of her eyes was swollen as she saw nothing but stars in that one; but the other eye still saw clearly, and what she saw in Zakaria's face was nothing. The man seemed stone cold.
"Now put your pants back on. And do it fast", Zakaria ordered her, tossing her pants. She stood up and glanced at her lower body. There were bruises, and she thought she was bleeding from her vagina. But she put on her pants like she was told.
"Sit down", Zakaria said. "You're lucky you know. In the old days they would have stoned you, in public. Everyone would know what a filthy slut you are. A whore. A whore who takes his man's money and funnels it into a little boy toy"
Kasandra sat down, wincing as the pain shot through her body, sending her nerves into overload. Zakaria tossed her a handkerchief and motioned for her to clean herself up a little. She did. At the moment she felt it was no use to fight back and garner more abuse. Zakaria went back to his seat in front of her. He lit another cigarette. With a flick of his chin, he motioned to the gun and the phone on the table.
"See that. Do you?"
Kasandra nodded. Zakaria bent down by his chair and brought up a small notebook computer. He turned it on as he spoke to Kasandra.
"I've decided I'm going to give you a choice. But first let me show you something. I suppose I could have shown you this earlier, but I think if I had, you would have put up too much of a struggle and cause a ruckus. But anyway, look"
He turned the computer to face Kasandra. On the screen was a picture of an office; his office, Kasandra recognized. Then she saw a body lying on the floor... there was a pool of blood around the head. Kasandra squinted hard, then felt her heart jump to her mouth as she recognized the dead body.
"You killed Imran" she said, and now the tears she shed were tears of sadness. She looked at Zakaria, who only shrugged.
"Maybe. But first you have to hear me out. You see, life is about making choices. You weigh the pros and cons of these choices, then you make it. In the end, it's just the matter of making the right choice. I made the choice to eliminate Mr Gooddick here. Which brings me to my proposition"
He slammed the lid of the computer down and set it aside. Using both hands, he pushed the gun and phone towards Kasandra.
"In my right hand is the gun that killed your loverboy. There's five bullets left. The poor bastard came here on the pretense that I would pay him off. Foolish kid. In my right is a cell phone that's never been used"
Kasandra stared at him. She was mourning the loss of Imran; he did not deserve to be dead for her sins. At the same time she began to feel bits of anger, which both comforted her and gave her some strength. Zakaria went on talking.
"I'm going to give you these two items and you will go to my office. The choice you have to make is this: either you shoot yourself in the head with the gun, or you use the phone to call your parent's and confess to them what a naughty little girl you've been. Either way is fine by me. Think of it: either way, your parent's will suffer the fact they have a slutchild, dead or alive. And what would your father think? He's such a good friend of mine. And don't you worry about police either. I have my contacts in PDRM. All I have to say was that I was alerted to a break in at my office, and caught little loverboy there assaulting you, and he shot at you, and I fought with him and shot at him back. Self-defense. Sounds a bit 'meh' but I assure you my friends at PDRM will stand by my story.
So; what shall it be then? Would you choose death before dishonor, or will you rather let your beloved family spend their lives knowing they fostered a slut, a whore as a child. It's your choice. Just the matter of which one is right."
Kasandra stared at him; now she was feeling angry. He was blackmailing her into making a decision that has no good consequence. Her body ached with the bruises and cuts Zakaria inflicted, but the anger was starting to dull it away.
"Now get up"
She complied. He opened the door for her and walked behind her to his own office. All the time he had a gun pointed at her back to make sure she did not do anything funny. When they reached his office she saw Imran's body limp on the floor, a gaping bullet wound at the side of his head. Poor Imran, she thought. Then suddenly Zakaria hit her from behind, and she dropped to her knees. Zakaria tossed the gun and the phone on the desk.
"Now I trust you will make the right choice. But make it quick. I have my own mistress I need to get back to", he said and slammed the door shut. Kasandra slowly stood up. She glanced at the weapon and phone on the table, and at the body of her lover on the floor. Finally she let loose the floodgates and cried her heart out.
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Zakaria shut the door and sat on his secretary's desk. He was banging the secretary as a matter of fact. A tight Chinese girl, fresh from college, so eager to make a mark in the business world. Zakaria leaned on the desk and lit another cigarette. He had never felt so good. In fact, banging up his wife in the meeting room just now had turned him on greatly. Maybe I should try it with Jessica later, he mused. He heard the whimpering sobs of his wife in the office. Now she cries, stupid bitch, he thought. Then after a few minutes the cries faded. There was a long silence. Zakaria glanced at his watch. Was she calling her family? Surely the bitch did not want to put a slug in her head. Or maybe she would after all.
The silence perhaps lasted for ten or fifteen minutes. Zakaria was getting impatient. But just as soon as he was going to check his watch, a loud bang was heard from his office, and then the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor. Whump.
Oh, that solves it then, Zakaria thought. He finished his third cigarette in a row and walked casually to his office. He'd thought he'd gloat first, and maybe have a quick wank to celebrate. He was smiling as he opened the door. But he noticed then that the loverboy's body had been displaced, and there was another bullet wound in the stomach.
Odd, I thought I just shot him in the head? And where's the bitch?
As an answer came two gunshots; one bullet smashed his left kneecap as it entered from behind, causing him to tumble as his leg lost support, while the other bullet pierced his stomach and exited in a spray of blood, tearing a hole in his expensive Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Zakaria stumbled forwards, clutching the wound at his stomach, which immediately began bleeding profusely. The pain was massive, debilitating; his shattered knee felt like there were a thousand rusty nails grinding into his flesh. He twisted his body around, his face a mask of agony. He saw Kasandra standing over him, her face streaked with blood and tears.
"I have two bullets left", she said. She was pointing the gun at him. "And you're right, it's all about making the right choice"
She walked over to him and plucked out the pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. "I think I'll have that smoke after all", she said and lit one cigarette. She closed the door behind her and leaned on it. Zakaria lay on the floor, his body weak from the blood loss. He looked at Kasandra take one long drag after the other.
"You see, you old piece of shit", she said. "You're too narrow minded. Often in life there are more than just two choices. Sometimes there's thousands. But in this case, all I needed was a third. And I figured it out as I was crying just now, looking at Imran's beautiful face, though half of it is missing. The third choice was simply to turn the tables on you. Why should I listen to you? You're an egotistical fuck, so I figured you'd like to see my dead body if I took the bullet. And hey, guess what, a dead body isn't so heavy after all. See what I did? All I did was lift Imran's tight butt off the floor, shot him in the belly and let him drop. And lo and behold! In comes fucking Zakaria with his pencil dick and love handles to see his spoils of war."
She took another drag on the cigarette. "You're probably thinking I can't get away with this. And you'd be right. I accounted for that in my little ad hoc plan here. I figured I had nothing more to live for anyway. So might as well I take it all the way. Funny how sometimes spontaneity works out right?"
Zakaria stared at her, his vision growing blurry. Then he saw Kasandra walking towards him. Her clothes were bloodstained and she walked with an odd gait, perhaps because her crotch hurt. Then she stood over him, still pointing the gun.
"What are you gonna do?” he asked, though he knew the answer to that question well enough. Suddenly Kasandra stamped her foot hard on his wounded knee, and the pain was so intense his back arched and he bit off half of his tongue; the piece of flesh fell with a soft wet thud on the carpeted floor. She kicked him in the stomach, and stream of blood shot out of the bullet wound. Then Kasandra kneeled by his side and stubbed out the burning cigarette in his left eye. Zakaria tried to scream but couldn't. His jaws were locked up. Kasandra shoved his body, turning him over onto his stomach. He felt his pants being pulled off, and then Zakaria felt the cold steel of the gun's barrel being rammed up his asshole in one violent thrust.
"How's this for getting fucked?” Kasandra said and pulled the trigger. There was a muffled sound and Zakaria felt something run up his body, triggering every pain receptor he had. He gasped, but was clearly still alive. He felt the gun slide out of his anus and felt warm liquid seep out, maybe a mixture of blood and shit. Kasandra turned him over again, and even with his dying eyes Zakaria saw she had a disgusted look on her face.
"Ew", she said as she looked at the barrel of the gun, which was covered with reddish brown muck. Then she kneeled down and stuffed the barrel of the gun inside Zakaria's mouth. He could taste the muck mixed with the cold steel of the gun on his tongue. The barrel was pointing upward, towards his brain.
"For the record, you have a tiny penis and you suck at sex. But where you're going, I guess it doesn't really matter anymore. Thanks for the money by the way. I don't know what's going to happen to me after this. I don't really care. See you in Hell, more likely", Kasandra said. For a brief moment Zakaria's eyes widened, so much so his eyeballs seemed to be popping out of his skull. Kasandra pulled the trigger. Zakaria's body spasmed for a few seconds, then went limp.
Kasandra crashed her butt onto the floor and tossed the gun aside. She glanced at the two dead bodies beside her. Curiously, now she felt indifferent. She lit another cigarette, and reached for the cell phone. She took long, satisfying drags on the ciggie, and finally crushed it on Zakaria's dead body. She pressed the keys on the cellphone, dialing the emergency number. But she hesitated before pressing the green 'send' button. Her mind wandered off for a moment. Suddenly she felt very tired and sleepy. Kasandra yawned and put the phone back on the desk.
That can wait, she thought. What a night. She let her body slide onto the carpeted floor, ignored the corpses, and laid a bruised arm across her forehead. Within a few minutes her eyes grew heavy and she fell into slumber. She was in no hurry. She guessed that after tonight, she'd have all the time in the world. And the world can wait.
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Kasandra hated office buildings after hours.
For some reason the dull and tedium of an office turns dreadful and malignant the moment the last person leaves the premises and switches off the light. She hated the way everyday mundane objects like desk lamps and stationery holders cast shadows that looked like they had jaws and talons, and how said shadows seemed to follow her around every time the angle of light changes from outside. Kasandra hated that the air vents seem to amplify the sounds of rats and cockroaches or whatever pests reside in the walls of the building.
But more than that, she hated that she had been asked to come here tonight. Okay, maybe not asked, but forced to come here. It was not even where she worked at: she was a freelance writer, selling dodgy romances and pulp horrors to whatever scandalous magazine or publication that needs to fill its pages with heaving breasts and buckets of blood. Instead her husband had asked (forced) her to come by his office, at 11 o'clock in the night.
"Be here at eleven pee-em", he had said when he called her earlier in the evening. "I will be waiting. Do not disappoint me"
How's that for a husband? Kasandra thought, irritated. But she could not deny she was afraid, mostly because she had an idea what this whole cloak and dagger thing was all about. You see, Kasandra married her husband a few years ago. He was 17 years older than she was, and a wealthy entrepreneur with good connections to local politicians and the rich bastards club. But she was younger back then, full of delusions and aspirations to be a trophy wife, and married the fucker mostly for his money.
At the beginning it was exactly what she wanted it to be. She drove expensive cars, wore the latest couture, mingled with the prettiest celebrities. All she had to do in return was pleasure the man about once a week, or follow him to functions. For the most part, he did not really seem to care about her anyway.
But that soon got boring for her young soul. Plus, she had to admit sleeping with a balding man with a hairy back and even hairier ass was less appealing than being able to spend his money.
Her husband, Zakaria, forbade her from working. So she began writing those bits of stories and sold them off to the pulp magazines, making some side income from the macabre fascinations Malaysians seem to have with tales of people rising from the grave and stories of teenagers releasing their inhibitions in the name of love.
But that too, became boring. So she started hanging out outside the house more and more, and that was how she had met Imran. Now Imran then, that was a keeper. Fit as a thoroughbred horse, lean and with the libido of an Arabian prince. Kasandra had taken to him straight away. She supposed that would make her Imran's sugar mommy, but she did not deny she had tender feelings for the young man. In fact she loved him because he was everything her husband was not. They met about twice a week in secret, sometimes four times if she was especially randy, at an apartment bought under Imran's name but with Kasandra's husbands' money.
Maybe that was a mistake, now she thought. Maybe Zakaria had found out about her infidelity through, of all places, the account books and property deals. In fact, she was sure of it.
As much as Kasandra loathed her husband and loved his money, she was also slightly afraid of him. He was after all, a powerful man, with good connections. And annoyingly he was also nice to her family. Part of the reason she had married Zakaria was because her father was his friend and occasional business colleague. At the time Zakaria was a widower, and it was Kasandra's father that had offered her hand in marriage to him.
She supposed she was a bit naive back then, and could have declined. But the lure of a wealthy and easy life was too much for her. But if indeed Zakaria has found out her secret, she was in for a lot of trouble. She was more concerned about her family now: what would they say?
Kasandra walked into the office building where her husband ran his business. It was a 4-story lot in a busy commerce area, which Zakaria had aptly named 'Wisma Zakaria'. The four floors of the building each were dedicated to the branches of his company: engineering, shipping, maintenance supplies and printing. The building was dark; of course it was, it was bloody near 11pm. Who would be here anyway? But as she had approached the building in her car she saw an office at the top floor had lights on. Zakaria's office, of course. His eagle's nest, his pedestal upon where he watched his business grow.
Kasandra climbed the stairs up. She was dressed in a t-shirt and track bottoms, with a denim jacket on top. She was fit for a 36-year-old woman. When she reached the top office she pressed the buzzer to let Zakaria know she had arrived. A voice on the intercom said, "Come in and come straight to the meeting room". The door opened. Kasandra scanned the office, feeling more than a little nervous now. She was sure Zakaria had found out about her shenanigans with Imran. She saw only two lights were on in the office: one emanated from Zakaria's private room, whilst the other was from the meeting room. She made her way there, and knocked on the door before twisting the doorknob. The door made a cringe-inducing creak as it opened, the sound akin to a drowning cat.
The meeting room has a long oval table, with 16 seats around it. The table was a high quality mahogany item, and looked and felt expensive, which it was. But right now there was nobody seated at the table except her husband, who sat at the far end. There were two items in front of him but she could not make out what they were. The fluorescent lights felt harshly bright, stinging her eyes. Kasandra stood in front of the door as it closed, unsure of what to do.
"Lock the door behind you" said Zakaria, in an ominous, deadly tone. "Now take a seat". He motioned to the seat directly in front of him. Kasandra made her way there, and felt a chill run up her spine when she saw that one of the items in front of Zakaria was a black revolver that seemed to scream Death. The other item was a cell phone. Her palms were sweaty and clammy as she sat herself down, her legs slightly trembling. Though it was already too late, she thought then she should not have had an affair with Imran, even if he was lean and great in bed. Zakaria fished out a pack of Marlboro's from his shirt pocket and lit a fag. He offered one to her, but she declined. A smoke was not the most pressing matter on her mind right now.
Zakaria took a long drag on his ciggie, and blew the smoke out in a long thin stream, his eyes staring into space. "Do you know why I called you here?"
"No", she said. Zakaria laughed.
"Oh come on", he said. "Don't insult my intelligence. Of course you know. You're here because of something you did. Now tell me what it is"
Kasandra sighed. "You know about the apartment I bought"
"Yes! Bravo! More precisely, I know about what's going on at the apartment you bought. How do I know? Well, let's just say I'm well connected, with eyes and ears all over the place. After all, I did not make my fortune of which you so lovingly spend by being a tool. Now tell me, what's his name?"
Zakaria stood up, still smoking the cigarette. He put his hands behind his back, like he was a university lecturer asking a rhetorical question.
"Imran", Kasandra said. Her eyes kept looking at the gun on the table. The muzzle seemed to be pointing straight at her. It lay there, cold steel and death.
"Imran", Zakaria said and stroked his chin. "Is he a good fucker?"
"What?"
WHUPP! Zakaria's open palm hit the side of her face. The pain was loud, and Kasandra immediately put a hand to the spot. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
"Is he a good fucker? Does he hit the spot, so to speak?” Zakaria said this softly, which was somehow worse. "Answer me or I'll hit you again"
Kasandra stared at him. She forced herself to answer. "Yes"
"Yes what?"
"Yes he is"
"Is what?"
"......"
The next hit was not a slap, but a fist to her eye. For a moment her world went spinning, and when she regained herself she felt her right eye begin to swell. It was excruciating. She begins to cry, out of pain if not fear or guilt. "Yes, he is a good... fucker", she said. Zakaria smiled, a toothy grin that made him look like an angry monkey. He motioned for her to stand up. She complied, out of her desire to avoid getting hit.
"Now", Zakaria said as he walked to stand beside her. Suddenly he grabbed her from behind, and squeezed her breasts so hard she cried out it pain. Zakaria sniffed at her neck like a dog, and he rammed one hand down Kasandra's pants and molested her. His rough fingers felt like scaly snakes grating their way inside her. She moaned, but not out of pleasure. This was somehow worse that getting punched.
"I suppose Imran is gentler than this, is he? Is he?"
Kasandra could only nod; she was trying to stand the pain. She felt like her breast could burst from the pressure the man was inflicting on her.
"I also guess that he's got a bigger dick than me?” Zakaria asked again and this time bit down on her neck, hard and drew blood. Again Kasandra could not say anything.
"Do you want to scream my sweet? Go ahead. No one will hear you. It's a meeting room, pretty much insulated"
Finally Zakaria let her go and shoved her from behind. She crashed onto the meeting table, feeling a small reprieve from the pain. But she knew he was not done. Zakaria grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. He kissed her mouth savagely and bit on her lip, drawing blood. Kasandra tried to struggle but the man overpowered her. He slapped her twice, left to right, splitting her lips and widening the cut made by his teeth. Kasandra felt powerless... in a way she also felt she deserved this. Zakaria pulled off the track bottoms she wore.
"Bitch", he said, his voice devoid of emotion. Just a flat "Bitch". He punched her in the stomach, and Kasandra felt her breath taken away from her. She sat up and vomited to the side.
"Now you've made a mess, dirty bitch. I'll show you who's a good fucker"
He slapped her face again, hard. The sound it made seemed to echo in the room. Kasandra could taste the warm coppery blood, her blood, in her mouth. She spat, but this angered Zakaria and he punched her in the stomach again. Then she heard a zipper being undone and knew he had taken off his trousers. As she felt Zakaria pulling down her panties and forcing himself on her, Kasandra just stared at the ceiling, half stunned by the physical abuse. She felt him move, but there was no sensation. She just felt numb and used. Zakaria gave it to her rough, chafing her bare buttocks on the wooden surface. After a few minutes he was done. You're the epitome of quickie aren't you, she thought, and that made her smile a little, as ridiculous as that sounds. But Zakaria did not see the smile, maybe because her mouth was bloody and bruised, the lips already swollen. Had he seen the slight upturn of her lips, he'd probably hit her some more.
Kasandra lay still on the table. Her tears fell from the sides of her eyes, but she was not sobbing. She felt humiliated and violated, guilty and angry at the same time. At that moment all she could think of was white noise and static, like a TV that had gone bust. And then more pain as Zakaria pulled her up and slapped her face hard several times. One of her eyes was swollen as she saw nothing but stars in that one; but the other eye still saw clearly, and what she saw in Zakaria's face was nothing. The man seemed stone cold.
"Now put your pants back on. And do it fast", Zakaria ordered her, tossing her pants. She stood up and glanced at her lower body. There were bruises, and she thought she was bleeding from her vagina. But she put on her pants like she was told.
"Sit down", Zakaria said. "You're lucky you know. In the old days they would have stoned you, in public. Everyone would know what a filthy slut you are. A whore. A whore who takes his man's money and funnels it into a little boy toy"
Kasandra sat down, wincing as the pain shot through her body, sending her nerves into overload. Zakaria tossed her a handkerchief and motioned for her to clean herself up a little. She did. At the moment she felt it was no use to fight back and garner more abuse. Zakaria went back to his seat in front of her. He lit another cigarette. With a flick of his chin, he motioned to the gun and the phone on the table.
"See that. Do you?"
Kasandra nodded. Zakaria bent down by his chair and brought up a small notebook computer. He turned it on as he spoke to Kasandra.
"I've decided I'm going to give you a choice. But first let me show you something. I suppose I could have shown you this earlier, but I think if I had, you would have put up too much of a struggle and cause a ruckus. But anyway, look"
He turned the computer to face Kasandra. On the screen was a picture of an office; his office, Kasandra recognized. Then she saw a body lying on the floor... there was a pool of blood around the head. Kasandra squinted hard, then felt her heart jump to her mouth as she recognized the dead body.
"You killed Imran" she said, and now the tears she shed were tears of sadness. She looked at Zakaria, who only shrugged.
"Maybe. But first you have to hear me out. You see, life is about making choices. You weigh the pros and cons of these choices, then you make it. In the end, it's just the matter of making the right choice. I made the choice to eliminate Mr Gooddick here. Which brings me to my proposition"
He slammed the lid of the computer down and set it aside. Using both hands, he pushed the gun and phone towards Kasandra.
"In my right hand is the gun that killed your loverboy. There's five bullets left. The poor bastard came here on the pretense that I would pay him off. Foolish kid. In my right is a cell phone that's never been used"
Kasandra stared at him. She was mourning the loss of Imran; he did not deserve to be dead for her sins. At the same time she began to feel bits of anger, which both comforted her and gave her some strength. Zakaria went on talking.
"I'm going to give you these two items and you will go to my office. The choice you have to make is this: either you shoot yourself in the head with the gun, or you use the phone to call your parent's and confess to them what a naughty little girl you've been. Either way is fine by me. Think of it: either way, your parent's will suffer the fact they have a slutchild, dead or alive. And what would your father think? He's such a good friend of mine. And don't you worry about police either. I have my contacts in PDRM. All I have to say was that I was alerted to a break in at my office, and caught little loverboy there assaulting you, and he shot at you, and I fought with him and shot at him back. Self-defense. Sounds a bit 'meh' but I assure you my friends at PDRM will stand by my story.
So; what shall it be then? Would you choose death before dishonor, or will you rather let your beloved family spend their lives knowing they fostered a slut, a whore as a child. It's your choice. Just the matter of which one is right."
Kasandra stared at him; now she was feeling angry. He was blackmailing her into making a decision that has no good consequence. Her body ached with the bruises and cuts Zakaria inflicted, but the anger was starting to dull it away.
"Now get up"
She complied. He opened the door for her and walked behind her to his own office. All the time he had a gun pointed at her back to make sure she did not do anything funny. When they reached his office she saw Imran's body limp on the floor, a gaping bullet wound at the side of his head. Poor Imran, she thought. Then suddenly Zakaria hit her from behind, and she dropped to her knees. Zakaria tossed the gun and the phone on the desk.
"Now I trust you will make the right choice. But make it quick. I have my own mistress I need to get back to", he said and slammed the door shut. Kasandra slowly stood up. She glanced at the weapon and phone on the table, and at the body of her lover on the floor. Finally she let loose the floodgates and cried her heart out.
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Zakaria shut the door and sat on his secretary's desk. He was banging the secretary as a matter of fact. A tight Chinese girl, fresh from college, so eager to make a mark in the business world. Zakaria leaned on the desk and lit another cigarette. He had never felt so good. In fact, banging up his wife in the meeting room just now had turned him on greatly. Maybe I should try it with Jessica later, he mused. He heard the whimpering sobs of his wife in the office. Now she cries, stupid bitch, he thought. Then after a few minutes the cries faded. There was a long silence. Zakaria glanced at his watch. Was she calling her family? Surely the bitch did not want to put a slug in her head. Or maybe she would after all.
The silence perhaps lasted for ten or fifteen minutes. Zakaria was getting impatient. But just as soon as he was going to check his watch, a loud bang was heard from his office, and then the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor. Whump.
Oh, that solves it then, Zakaria thought. He finished his third cigarette in a row and walked casually to his office. He'd thought he'd gloat first, and maybe have a quick wank to celebrate. He was smiling as he opened the door. But he noticed then that the loverboy's body had been displaced, and there was another bullet wound in the stomach.
Odd, I thought I just shot him in the head? And where's the bitch?
As an answer came two gunshots; one bullet smashed his left kneecap as it entered from behind, causing him to tumble as his leg lost support, while the other bullet pierced his stomach and exited in a spray of blood, tearing a hole in his expensive Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Zakaria stumbled forwards, clutching the wound at his stomach, which immediately began bleeding profusely. The pain was massive, debilitating; his shattered knee felt like there were a thousand rusty nails grinding into his flesh. He twisted his body around, his face a mask of agony. He saw Kasandra standing over him, her face streaked with blood and tears.
"I have two bullets left", she said. She was pointing the gun at him. "And you're right, it's all about making the right choice"
She walked over to him and plucked out the pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. "I think I'll have that smoke after all", she said and lit one cigarette. She closed the door behind her and leaned on it. Zakaria lay on the floor, his body weak from the blood loss. He looked at Kasandra take one long drag after the other.
"You see, you old piece of shit", she said. "You're too narrow minded. Often in life there are more than just two choices. Sometimes there's thousands. But in this case, all I needed was a third. And I figured it out as I was crying just now, looking at Imran's beautiful face, though half of it is missing. The third choice was simply to turn the tables on you. Why should I listen to you? You're an egotistical fuck, so I figured you'd like to see my dead body if I took the bullet. And hey, guess what, a dead body isn't so heavy after all. See what I did? All I did was lift Imran's tight butt off the floor, shot him in the belly and let him drop. And lo and behold! In comes fucking Zakaria with his pencil dick and love handles to see his spoils of war."
She took another drag on the cigarette. "You're probably thinking I can't get away with this. And you'd be right. I accounted for that in my little ad hoc plan here. I figured I had nothing more to live for anyway. So might as well I take it all the way. Funny how sometimes spontaneity works out right?"
Zakaria stared at her, his vision growing blurry. Then he saw Kasandra walking towards him. Her clothes were bloodstained and she walked with an odd gait, perhaps because her crotch hurt. Then she stood over him, still pointing the gun.
"What are you gonna do?” he asked, though he knew the answer to that question well enough. Suddenly Kasandra stamped her foot hard on his wounded knee, and the pain was so intense his back arched and he bit off half of his tongue; the piece of flesh fell with a soft wet thud on the carpeted floor. She kicked him in the stomach, and stream of blood shot out of the bullet wound. Then Kasandra kneeled by his side and stubbed out the burning cigarette in his left eye. Zakaria tried to scream but couldn't. His jaws were locked up. Kasandra shoved his body, turning him over onto his stomach. He felt his pants being pulled off, and then Zakaria felt the cold steel of the gun's barrel being rammed up his asshole in one violent thrust.
"How's this for getting fucked?” Kasandra said and pulled the trigger. There was a muffled sound and Zakaria felt something run up his body, triggering every pain receptor he had. He gasped, but was clearly still alive. He felt the gun slide out of his anus and felt warm liquid seep out, maybe a mixture of blood and shit. Kasandra turned him over again, and even with his dying eyes Zakaria saw she had a disgusted look on her face.
"Ew", she said as she looked at the barrel of the gun, which was covered with reddish brown muck. Then she kneeled down and stuffed the barrel of the gun inside Zakaria's mouth. He could taste the muck mixed with the cold steel of the gun on his tongue. The barrel was pointing upward, towards his brain.
"For the record, you have a tiny penis and you suck at sex. But where you're going, I guess it doesn't really matter anymore. Thanks for the money by the way. I don't know what's going to happen to me after this. I don't really care. See you in Hell, more likely", Kasandra said. For a brief moment Zakaria's eyes widened, so much so his eyeballs seemed to be popping out of his skull. Kasandra pulled the trigger. Zakaria's body spasmed for a few seconds, then went limp.
Kasandra crashed her butt onto the floor and tossed the gun aside. She glanced at the two dead bodies beside her. Curiously, now she felt indifferent. She lit another cigarette, and reached for the cell phone. She took long, satisfying drags on the ciggie, and finally crushed it on Zakaria's dead body. She pressed the keys on the cellphone, dialing the emergency number. But she hesitated before pressing the green 'send' button. Her mind wandered off for a moment. Suddenly she felt very tired and sleepy. Kasandra yawned and put the phone back on the desk.
That can wait, she thought. What a night. She let her body slide onto the carpeted floor, ignored the corpses, and laid a bruised arm across her forehead. Within a few minutes her eyes grew heavy and she fell into slumber. She was in no hurry. She guessed that after tonight, she'd have all the time in the world. And the world can wait.
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