files of the stalker: I ran out of film before her craving was satiated.

Her hands are bound behind her back with her own panties. She balances on her toes to keep herself from being strangled by the noose around her neck. Her breath is shallow and her head is light, she knows that if she passes out he'll leave her there. He's an animal, she knows that now.

Tears have flowed and dried and flowed again. There's a timer just in sight, and it's counting down. His boot is resting on a stool, her toes are pushing up against his boot -- it looks like he has her balanced on one foot, or like those ballerinas in the music boxes; toes pointed down. 

He's sitting back flipping through photos. She wants to scream, but can't. All she can do now is cry and mutter. Why was she so taken with him, she screams in her head, why did she come with him here.

Her name is Lauren, and not long ago she started visiting that horrid place. She knew she shouldn't be there alone, in that kind of bar. The pole dancers were bad enough, but it was all punctuated by the moans in the back rooms and dark places. And that red head that was working the place over, jealousy became admiration. She loved every corner of it and wanted to be like her. She knew what the place was when she walked in, directly under the corroded sign, 'bangers' is all it read anymore; its where she met him.

She stops to reflect on herself and the choices she's made. She shouldn't even be here tonight, she should haven taken the offer for drinks from, from -- she can't even remember his name. So many risks she's taken up until now, up until what is lining up to be the last risk she'll ever take. She knows she's about to die, there's nothing she can do to stop it.

---

She's wonderful, and I am so proud of these shots. I never dreamed they would come out so well. This remote shutter and lipstick cameras are genius, screw the cost, they are worth every dime and I can put them anywhere and they are barely visible.

Dancing. With me in the background even, I almost wanted her to see me.

Some random swinging dick. I heard every grunt and moan as the camera snapped away and he pounded her cunt. 

This shot -- i will cherish for sometime. She was a workhorse that night. I ran out of film before her craving was satiated. I will not share; I did not join. But my turn is coming soon.

---

His head leans back as he looks up at her face; studying it. She's fodder, something to pass the time while the work progresses. He hasn't even fucked her, just threw her up on the noose after he talked her into coming over from bangers.

He set the timer out as a mind fuck, to watch her eyes look to it, so he knows she's still concious. Now she's a balancing act on the end of his boot. He shakes his foot and she muffles a curse out. 

'Do you hear me, whatever the fuck your name is' he calls out, 'your going to hang there as entertainment, like a piece of furniture'. 

'I have a friend in a secluded house that would love to see you. He hangs girls in his living room as he sits down to dinner, a proper sick fuck he is, he gave me the idea for the indoor noose and winch', his sarcasm is obvious. 

He hasn't told her that he hung that same sick fuck on the noose she's on now and watched the bastard die -- although the sick fuck seemed to enjoy it -- that was just before trucking the entire noose-and-winch rig down to his alley.

He pulls on his cigarette as he watches her. He knows the look; the fight has gone out. He pauses, then puts his boots flat on the floor before crossing his legs. Her toes search for support, but there's nothing there. She feels her tongue forced up into her mouth as her neck is pulled taut against the weight of her body. Her head tilts to the side, peering down at him she see's the red head in the photographs, while she struggles.

Her legs shake violently mid-air as he continues to admire the photographs; he stopped noticing her, he doesn't even know lauren is there.