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This story will focus on a female serial killer named Raven and her odd relationship with Henry Lee Lucas. It is rated M for mature and XXX for tons of smut. This fanfic will have cussing, violence, blood, murder, and eventual BDS...
Henry didn't have anything quick to make for dinner. He ended up going down to the corner to get us some burgers and fries. He would only be a few minutes, so I cleaned up the kitchen to pass the time. Our cereal bowls and spoons from that morning's breakfast were in the sink, along with our coffee cups. Washing everything thoroughly, I sat them in the dish drainer to air dry. Next, I cleaned the coffee pot and wiped off the counter and kitchen table. We were tidy people, so there weren't any crumbs or sugar anywhere, but I felt better once I was finished.
I was rinsing the dish soap out of the sponge when Henry returned. The front door opened and shut, then Henry's light footsteps padded through the apartment.
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"It's gettin' cold. It got windy as shit out there. We might get an early winter this year. It's 'bout ta start rainin', too. All that blood from last night's victim'll be gone," Henry announced as he entered the kitchen. "Oh, ya cleaned up. Ya didn't have ta do that. It could o' waited 'til after we ate."
"Ehh, I was bored and needed somethin' ta occupy my mind." I squeezed out the sponge, set it in its rightful place, and turned to face him. "I knew ya'd only be a few minutes, so I made myself useful. This way we won't have to clean up anything after we eat except the table."
"Ya've got a point," he said.
He sat the bag of food down on the kitchen table. His cheeks and nose were rosy from the wind, and his curls were tousled about wildly. He was cuter than anything.
"Ya still got yer jacket on," I pointed out.
"Yeah, told ya it's gettin' cold." Henry smiled devilishly as he made his way over to me. "C'mere."
"Oh, no," I refused. With a giggle, I held up my wet hands. "Yer gonna put yer cold hands on me!"
"No, I won't," he promised.
The mischievous twinkle in his eye told me he was lying. I tried to run around him, but he caught my hips and forced me against the countertop. Grunting as my lower back hit the edge, I gripped his shoulders to help keep my balance.
"No, Henry! Don't! Please, don't do it!" I begged, bracing for his bone-chilling touch. My pleading was a lost cause. He was going to put his frosty hands on my bare skin no matter how much begging I did.
The smirk pulling at his lips blossomed into a full-blown smile, and he pressed his muscular body against mine so I couldn't get away. Laughing, I shoved him playfully numerous times, leaving wet handprints all over his jacket. My efforts didn't budge him, but he sure did find me amusing. I screeched as he shoved his icy hands up the bottom of my robe and grasped my upper thighs. His hands were so frozen, they stung my skin.
"Oh, my-FUCK! Yer hands are cold as FUCK!" I shrieked. My hands clutched his jacket so hard, my knuckles turned white.
Henry threw his head back and laughed at the shrillness of my voice. I tried to get away from him, but I was weak from his frigid hands and all the giggling I was doing. In fact, I didn't put much effort into my escape at all. I could get away if I really wanted to, but I had no desire to inflict pain on him. After all, he was just playing, and that's what boyfriend's do to their girlfriend's; playfully torture them in whatever way they can.
