Restless dreams had troubled him all through the morning. At 10 a.m., John threw the covers off and dropped his feet to the floor. He looked tormented, unrested, with bloodshot and baggy eyes.

Sighing heavily, he stood up and wobbled to the ensuite bathroom. Passing his cluttered desk, he noticed that his phone was blinking. It turned out his special escort service was celebrating him as a loyal customer with a promotional package. He threw the phone on the bed, irritated. He didn’t need any packages, he used them when he needed them. That was it. He didn’t need a loyalty card to remind him of his wrongful ways.

“Who the fuck do they think they are? My local shop? Just sod off!” he growled, slamming the bathroom door.

He undressed fast, and decided to urinate before he got into the shower. With a low groan, he shook his dick and turned on the hot water. He didn’t wait for it to warm up, hoping that a bit of cold shock will help his bothersome erection; he was wrong.

“For fuck’s sake, John!” he cursed aloud.

That’s what he got every time he found a target. He shook his head, anticipating the familiar trouble. He would have to deal with it, one way or the other; it was never pretty.

Giving up trying to calm his erection, he dropped his hand to his cock and started stroking; slowly at first, like he was unsure, then harder and harder. A loud groan escaped him when memories of his tormenting dreams started to parade behind his closed eyelids. Images of Kirsten, naked and tightly bound started rattling his thoughts. She looked so innocent, the way she was thrown helpless onto his bed, with the police tape binds keeping her open to his perversion.

With his mind, he explored her pale skin inch by inch, taking in every detail he had dreamed of; from her big breasts, to her tiny feet, he caressed her body with his gaze, salivating at the thoughts of what he’d like to do to her.

He gently touched her parted lips and covered her mouth with his palm. He pressed a bit, smiling at the fear that perked in her eyes. He groaned as he took in her entire body with famished pleasure. He felt his erection get even harder when his eyes met the red marks over her skin. He had left them there, in his twisted imagination. He remembered her pain in his dream, her body jerking every time his oneiric self had hit her. Sometimes he would just lick her skin with the tip of the belt, giving her mercy she didn’t deserve, other times he’d seek full impact with his open palm. On her breasts, over her thighs and arms, he’d rained hits upon her skin. She couldn’t even remember the details of the crime scene, for goodness’ sake! She needed to be trained, she needed discipline.

He would drop his hand with it’s full weight, in a slow, rhythmic arrangement, watching her skin flush with blood. Even in his dream, he felt a warm feeling of ownership when looking forward to her suit of bruises, his bruises.

He had hit her enough to make heavy marks, but stopped just before wounding. He didn’t want to spoil his pleasure with fresh blood, but would stop at nothing to breathe in her pain.

He stroked himself vigorously, in matching rhythm with his primal groans.

Back in his dream, Kirsten was shaking with terror by the time he lashed his cock at her mouth and teased her with its tip. No, he didn’t want to give her the chance to bite him. He laughed to himself; he needn’t care, this wasn’t real. Yet.

He couldn’t hold on anymore, her body was too appealing in it’s vulnerable, weakened state. He drew back, put one hand under the small of her back and pulled her closer to him. Then, he lifted her bound ankles, leaving her wet pussy exposed. She tried to draw back, knowing what was to come. “Please, Sir…”, she had whimpered, with the same feeble voice she had called him at the crime scene. He marked the mental image with a louder grunt, anticipating the nearing climax.

With no warning, he pushed his cock inside her. She was wet, but not wet enough. A wicked smile appeared on his face when feeling her tight pussy, her pain upon penetration, and her fear. She screamed in agony, trying to fight him, but she was too tightly bound. Her struggle tightened the tape around her body, creating deep creases in her flesh.

Her screams persisted and got louder and more terrified. He liked them, but thought of trying something else to spare her vocal cords; he was a gentleman.

Lifting her arse slightly, he pushed himself brutally into her, pinning her to the bed with his cock, then freed his left hand. Slowly, he brought it to her face, gently tracing her lips, then lowering it to her neck. She stopped screaming for a second, in horrified anticipation, but couldn’t stop a small squeal when his fingers wrapped around her throat. He started compressing, with a perverted look in his eyes, watching her fight him in her head, immobile against his strength. He smiled lovingly, squeezing her out of consciousness, barely fighting a need to kiss her.

His hand stroked faster, more violently, at the thought of him fucking a breathless Kirsten, his fantasy twisted around a real crime that had haunted him for the last three months.

Will he finally be able to close that damned case? He thought, as he came on his bathroom wall.

A bit dizzy from his wank, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. His curse, his predilection, he’ll keep it to himself.

While drying his hair, he pondered the possibility that she might be the one. The final one, the end of his twisted search. For now, though, he’ll keep his consideration private. The real Kirsten will have to wait until he’d had caught his raping murderer.