She wasn’t the first, she wasn’t the last, but she’ll always be my favourite. She was the youngest, although I didn’t know it at the time — reading the newspaper reports later I discovered that she was only 14. She’d been out with her older sister’s friends but got turned away from the club they went to, hence I found the poor little mite wandering the streets of south London on her own just after midnight on a Saturday last summer.

 

She was young, I could see that much, but I had her down at maybe 16 or 17. She was certainly dressed it — thigh-skimming red minidress with plunging neckline exposing her barely-there breasts, a lightweight denim jacket keeping her bare shoulders warm and a pair of red heels with straps that wound their way up her calves. Shoulder-length blonde hair tied in pigtails, with matching red ribbons, all topped off with red lipstick… She was almost trying too hard, something that betrayed her lack of years.

 

Catching her wasn’t too hard. I could see straight off which way she was heading — towards the night-bus stop — and knew there was a lovely little muddy track bordered by private garages that eventually turned into a narrow footpath alongside the railway embankment. It was the perfect location.

 

I drew the car up around the corner and headed off to intercept my victim. She was so wrapped up in her own world she didn’t seem to notice as I pulled my skimask on before sprintint towards her and pulling out a hunting knife. She tried to scream but I already had my arm around her and the knife on her neck.

 

“Scream or struggle and I’ll slit your throat,” I said, drawing blood on her neck to prove a point. “Do as I say and once I have your money and mobile and know you’re not going to tell anyone I’ll let you go.”

 

All of this was untrue, but I wanted her to think I was just a regular south London mugger, which would make it all the more fun when I got what I really wanted.

 

She tottered along the track on her little heels, starting to sob and occasionally plead, but always shutting up when I pressed the cold steel blade hard against her neck. We reached the footpath and I threw her to the ground.

 

“Actually, you’re a pretty little thing,” I said. “ Just so happens I have my camera with me, and I think I could sell a few pics of you on the internet.”

 

She looked horrified. That delighted me in so many ways.

 

“Stand up and strip,” I ordered. She hesitated. I  lunged towards her, and slashed the knife across her thigh. She shouted in pain, but decided it was in best interests to do as I said. Off came the jacket, then she dropped the straps on her dress, reached for the zip and let it slide to the floor. She went to start untying her shoes, but I was so turned on by their calf-hugging properties that I wasn’t going to let them go easily.

 

“Keep the shoes on,” I said. “Little girls like you dressed in slutty shoes like that are worth so much more.”

 

She unclipped her red bra, revealing her childish breasts. She paused again, sobbing.

 

“Everything!” I commanded, but she was too scared to move. I stepped forward and roughly cut off her red knickers with my knife, cutting her thighs again as I did so for good measure.

 

 

I had the usual kit with me, and dealt with her in the same fashion. Once she was naked I span her round, pinned her hands behind her back and tied her wrists tightly with a plastic zip-tie — quick, easy anonymous. Then the ball gag went it, freshly bought that day. I could have stuffed her mouth with anything, but it seems to freak them out more when they feel the harsh leather straps and buckles tightening around their heads, and why bother doing what I do if not to scare the crap out of them?

 

Now at this point I normally blindfold my little captive — not to protect my identity, as I’m always masked for obvious reasons — but when I span her round again and forced her to her knees there was something about the look in her eyes that turned me on more than anything I’d seen before. The sheer terror, the horror of the situation… She knew exactly what was coming next and that there was nothing she could do about it. The tears were streaming down her cheeks, leaving long black trails of mascara across her face. She was whimpering into the rubber ball jammed between her teeth, but was pleading with her blood-shot eyes to be spared. Covering them up would have been a crime, and I was only interested in committing one crime that night.

 

I pushed her onto her back, kneeled between her legs and forced them apart, then swabbed my fingers in the pot of Vaseline I bought with me and jammed them into her barely-haired pussy. She moaned louder, not the turned-on moan that fakers would like to believe secret little sluts make when rapists penetrate them, but a moan of pain, of humiliation, of disgust with herself and what had become of her.

 

Raping her was something special. I’d popped her hymen with my fingers, which spoiled some of the fun, but she was so tight (and she wriggled so much as I pinned her throat down with one had while propping myself up and digging my fingers into her thigh with the other), that I could barely contain myself long enough to make her really suffer. I felt myself welling up and bit deep into her budding left breast as I came deep inside her. She screamed in pain, then went back to the disgusted sobbing as she felt my semen trickle down inside her vagina.

 

They often think it’s over at this point, but I’m only ever half done. While I regained my erection (not difficult with a stunning teenage blonde bound, gagged, bleeding and helpless in the mud in front of you), I got out my digital camera and fired off a few shots, laughing as she was dazzled by the flash and writhed at her bonds in an attempt to hide her shame.

 

Before long I was ready again. A swift kick to the face got her attention firmly back on me as I flipped her onto her stomach and forced a greased finger deep into her anus. He back passage was, unsurprisingly, far tighter than her vagina and as she screamed in pain, her blood mixing with the lubricant, it was all I could do to remember to have a little fun by forcing her face into the dirt and pulling her hair tightly with my fists before I came in her lower colon.

 

Job done, I moved on to the stage I do just for kicks. First I had to blindfold her, wrapping the duct tape across her eyes and around her matted hair four or five times. Then I got out the permanent marker, scrawling any obscene slogans that came to mind across her naked and bruised body. A few more photographs for the album, then it was time to shove a beer bottle in her vagina and anus, amusing myself with her muffle screams as the unfamiliar cold objects violated her most private spaces. Another length of duct tape secured each foreign object inside her.

 

It was then that I spoke for the first time since taking her. Drawing a knife across her right breast, cutting deep enough to scar badly, I held my head close to hers and whispered in her ear:

 

“You think this smarts, bitch? It’s nothing compared to what I’ve done before and what I’ll do to you if you fail to follow my instructions to the letter. I’m about to set an oven timer going next to you. You are going to kneel here in the mud and not move until it goes off. I’m going to stand and wait for a while, then move away when I’m ready. If you move one muscle while I’m still standing here, I will come and fuck you up very, very badly. I won’t kill you, but you will be so badly mutilated that you will wish you were. I will cut your tits off, I will fuck you with this knife and cut off your clit, and I will slash your face to pieces. No man will ever look at you again with anything other than horror and disgust, and I will be the only man who ever fucked you.”

 

She was crying desperately under the gag and all the tape, shaking her head, begging me not to do it. Pulling the sharp blade across her left ear, hard enough to draw blood, I continued with my monologue.

 

“Before I go, you’re going to suck me off. If I so much as feel a single tooth anywhere near my dick, I will cut your nose off. Then I will cut your ears off. Then, if I’m really angry, or just feeling mean, I’ll take one or both of your pretty little blue eyes. These are not threats, these are assurances. If you fail to please me, or if you fail to swallow one drop of my semen, I will take your tongue. Do you understand?”

She nodded frantically, desperate to avoid the terrible fate I had suggested to her. Satisfied that she would co-operate, I removed her gag and quickly forced my once-again erect cock down her throat, gripping the back of her head brutally as I pumped it back and forth until I came. She swallowed it all, bless her, but my fun wasn’t over.

 

“That was the worst blowjob I ever had, you useless cunt,” I shouted.

 

“Oh god, no please, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

 

I cut off her whining with a knee to the jaw, sending her sprawling backwards.

 

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I said calmly as I shoved the ball back in her mouth. “Now I have to punish you twice.”

 

She was screaming into the gag, pleading, willing to do anything, but I didn’t care. From the moment I grabbed her this was always going to happen no matter what she said or did.

 

I walked around behind her, pinned an arm around her throat and dragged the knife deep across her left cheek, carving the letters S and L deep into her flesh.

 

“Because you’re such a pretty little thing I’m only going to scar your face, so maybe you can find some desperate boy who can only pull a mutilated little bitch and then fuck you with a bag over your head.”

 

She screamed and writhed, but I had her pinned tightly as I carved U and T onto the right side of her face.

 

“Now, I’m going to leave you. Remember what I said. If I see you move before the alarm goes off I will come back and do everything I talked about earlier and more besides. You’ve got off lightly so far, sweet pea, trust me on that. This time might be running for 10 minutes, it might be running for two hours. I might be here for 10 minutes or I might be here for two hours. You have no way of knowing. All you are going to do is kneel here and wait. Once that alarm buzzes you can do whatever you like. There’s a late-night bar up the road, maybe you’d like to go and meet some nice boys there and see if they’ll help you.”

 

I set the alarm for its maximum, one hour, and set it ticking before heading off up the muddy track. I lingered at the end of the path for a few minutes, watching as she dutifully kneeled there, head hung low, her whole body shuddering with her non-stop sobs. I almost felt sorry for her I walked off into the balmy night, all her clothes shoved into my rape-kit bag, and collected my car.

 

A few days later I learned from the papers that she had indeed been found after staggering, bound, bleeding and blindfolded, into the street and being spotted by drinkers leaving the bar. It didn’t take the police long to link my methods and DNA to the 20 or so earlier attacks across the country, but I’m too careful to get caught. It was time to move on to a new patch, and new victim.