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He felt it was wrong to have things from another woman sitting around his home when his heart now belonged to one. The girl he'd thought to possess, the girl who'd been next for him, her pictures lay forgotten now, at the bottom of his closet. Kaylee had unknowingly given her a reprieve from the death sentence of being the object of his lust.He waited for the urge to strike him again; the compulsion to kill that was so overwhelming that it had forced him to take his first life so many years ago in that other place. She'd been messy, screaming for help. She'd clawed and bit him, fueling his rage. He'd beaten her to death and almost ruined his hands in the process, something he'd never let happen again.Now he had it perfected, his art. His basement was set up just the way he liked it, the room soundproofed so that even from upstairs, he couldn't hear them scream. He had cameras rigged up, recording every move they made, capturing every sound, every prayer that was uttered from lips. Oh fuck, Kurt thought, his face fixed on Trevors, this will be harder than I thought...Indeed it was. The school was awash with testosterone, as with most boys schools, and everything they did seemed to come down to dick. They constantly talked, taunted, played and paraded dick. Lessons were unbearable, particularly once they noticed his own sizeable fuckbulge in his pressed slacks. "Herr Hengst, how many women have you fucked?" a boy would ask when his back was turned, relishing the momentary anonymity. "Does it hurt them?" "Did you do something yourself to get that big?" Rarely, when he caught them, the detention only seemed to make them a hero or martyr, often lamely excused as 'curiosity'. Other days, the class clown would ask innocent questions, like "Herr Hengst, does everyone get a hard on at night?". It took all his self control not to spring a boner there in class. He'd taken to wearing that lone condom he'd bought at the airport, under his jocks, just to avoid.
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