Terribly Sorry

by Matt Triewly

"Terribly, terribly sorry," she gushes over the phone to me.

I'm terribly sorry too. In a way...


I had first laid my eyes on her, about a year ago, when she had started as a counter assistant in the hardware shop where I worked. At first, I hadn't really been that struck by her but as time had gone by and I had got to know her I kind of became addicted to her, maybe obsessed and I don't really know why because underneath I was a cold fish. A very cold and calculating fish.

I have to admit that I'm an enigma, at least to myself, because though there's a part of me that's extremely fucked up I'm also very shrewd about people, which is why I am also an accomplished actor on the stage where it really matters - the stage of life.

Hypocrisy, fear, cowardice, ego, greed, lust - the pillars that prop up civilisation, a loose term or handle for a barely managed anarchy in which we all wittingly or unwittingly participate and that teeters along unsteadily like a drunkard on a cliff ledge. I have no illusions. I have no illusions about life and people because out of what many would view as a disadvantaged start, I fashioned into a way or philosophy to deliver me what I sought and craved. Perhaps now is the time to say thanks to the double standards of the priests, the thinly veiled sexual sadism of my teachers, the schoolyard bullying, the verbal and violent abuse of my mother, my mother who spent the last years of her life in a state of guilt as to her treatment of me as a child, a guilt I cultivated to extract money and finally a large house out of her when she died. Oh yes, I learnt well, and what I have learnt I am now teaching... you.

You see, the priests with their dirty little secrets taught me that there was no god, or at least no good god, that liberation from the fear of god's wrath was the true liberation, that one should only fear man, nature and fate. Thanks, and god bless...

I must also thank my teachers who beat me for my 'own good' and not of course for their own barely repressed sado-sexual urges which in turn shaped my own fantasies that would so enrich my adult life.

Thanks also to the schoolyard bullies who could make a victim believe they deserved and were the cause of their own persecution - brilliant and so enlightening, so useful.

Last, but no means least, in this 'dark award ceremony' of my life, a life that will shortly no longer be, is my mother, my violent, aspiring mother, torn ultimately between her maternal instincts and her ego. Yes, I must be truly grateful for her rages, berating me between blows for my stupidity, my uselessness, my laziness. Yes, thanks mum, and because of your desire to make me something I wasn't - cultured, career minded and middle-class - in order to gain the approval and acceptance of those you judged superior I took deliberately and defiantly an alternative path to 'enlightenment'.

You have to understand that in a world shorn of illusion there is only pure reality and once exposed it becomes an uncut drug: Powerful. Intoxicating. Dangerous.

The scriptures lost their hold of me, and 'nature' now became my 'prophet' and nature preached clearly that existence was about fighting, feeding, fucking, deceit, desire and death. What else did one need to know?

I eschewed a career, prestige, respectability and threw myself into attaining practical skills and traditional crafts. I learnt carpentry, brick laying and decorating along with some basic plumbing. I was self-employed for many years, a jack of all trades, and made a good living which infuriated my mother who would say on the odd occasions that she would visit: "You could have been so much more in life..."

Of course, by this time I was also honing my 'act' - a regular church goer, quietly spoken, law abiding citizen - just like all the other hypocrites I had encountered, only I intended to do it better, and I did. Over the years I became liked and respected, I gave freely to charity, publicly forgave the bullies who had contributed to the hell of my school days, befriended those who had fallen on hard times. Yes, I was Mr Perfect, Mr fucking Perfect...

Underneath though I despised humanity, bunch of fucking grasping, whingeing scumbags, and I could see that they held utter contempt for me, barely disguised, believing me to be weak and an easy touch. But that's exactly what I wanted them to think, misdirect them in order to lure one in - a female to be honest - when I could no longer rein back my 'hunger'.

As should be clear to you now, I am a pervert, a highly dangerous pervert and into extreme sadomasochism - extreme. After a bit, when I had purchased a modest property, I dipped my toe into the waters of S and M by subscribing to a spanking contacts magazine. I was careful, very careful, making sure no one ever knew my real name or where I lived. It made it difficult at times, but it was better to be safe than sorry. I also kept my property free of any suspect material. Over a few years I had had a dozen or so encounters with males and had administered some very severe beatings whilst respecting 'limits' and though gratifying what I really sought was a female because I adored the female form, and what I would do to that female form.

I was nearly thirty when my mother confessed out of the blue one day that she had begun to feel very guilty for the way she had treated me as a child. "What I did was wrong, I realise that now. It wasn't always easy bringing up a child on my own. I do hope you can forgive me, and if there is anything, I can do to help..."

There was something she could do, actually.

My mother's guilt was now an opportunity - I felt nothing for her except a tenuous biological connection at best - for me to capitalise on. I told her that I had a large tax bill to pay, that work was scarce, that my health was beginning to suffer. I really milked it. And her.

In the end, before her end, I had not only extracted a fair amount of cash from her but I had also guilted her into leaving me her house.

I was just thirty-two when she died from a heart attack - served the bitch right - and left me her house and some money. I put on an act of grieving for those present but underneath I was quite elated. I sold my small property and moved into my mother's four-bedroom house. It needed a lot doing to it and I sank a fair amount of cash, effort and time into renovating it.

After a couple of years, it was completely up to scratch; and I had also pretty well eradicated all traces of my mother's pretentious style and décor. And then there was the cellar - what to do with that? I knew exactly what I wanted to do with that - I wanted to convert it into a dungeon. But that could be risky. What if anyone found out?

As it happened, I did turn it into a dungeon - and I made everything myself: St Andrew's cross, spanking bench and pulleys, though I did have to purchase the whips and canes etc.

By the time I had finished my funds were seriously diminished and pissed off with being self-employed I got myself a job in the local hardware store - and that's where Lee came in.

In fact, her real name was Lesley, but she hated that and insisted everyone call her Lee. As I say, at first, I hadn't been that interested in her, but she had a nice way about her - she was easy going, kind (weak). She was thirty-four originally from Liverpool and divorced with a teenage daughter who spent a lot of time with her father. As was my way, I didn't flirt with her like the others, rather I became her friend. In time she began to trust and confide in me and eventually I took her out for a meal. At first, I had thought she was a bit plain with her straight shoulder length blonde hair and neat but uninteresting features. However, after a bit I began to see her, differently.

About a month after the first date, I had stayed the night with her and had fucked her. I had also fantasised about beating and killing her just prior to climaxing.

We became an item and a few at the shop speculated that we may get married one day which irritated me privately - what business was it of theirs?

Things got a bit more interesting though when we were at the back of the shop one day when she had picked up a length of cord and had playfully whacked me with it before I had taken it off her and responded in kind by gently swishing her shapely arse with it. I had then jokingly promised to tie her up and whip her with it if she continued to misbehave. Her teasing response: "I may like that."

Well, you guessed, one thing led to another, and it wasn't long before I was restraining her and administering measured floggings and whippings to her. Afterwards we would have sex, even if she climaxed during a session.

It was good, fucking good and for the first time in my life I felt, well, happy.

It wasn't to last though.

Recurrent stomach pains with loose stools had led to me making an appointment with the doctor who had then referred me to the hospital for further tests and naturally, I told no one, not even Lee.

Three days later - the bombshell. The doctor called me at work and when I had seen him, he had looked grave. Stuttering he had informed me, "I'm afraid the cancer is malignant, and there's nothing we can do. You have maybe a month."

Bombshell number two. The next day: "Lee is having an affair. She is bored with you, and she wants someone who's going somewhere."

"How do you know?" I had asked the manager.

"It's me she's having an affair with."

I'd wanted to punch the cunt but the counsel of my inner voice to 'leave it for now' had prevailed.

So, that was that I'd got terminal cancer and the one woman who I might have loved was two-timing me. Un-fucking believable.

A lesser man might have cracked, but not me. There was only one thing to do - kill her and deny Doug, my manager, the happiness he relished with Lee.

Fucking bitch. No better than my mother. All the same, women. What a fool I've been.

So, I say nothing to Lee about the cancer nor what Doug had told me. It also occurred to me that maybe Doug is lying and then I knew that it didn't matter if Doug was lying, I'm dying anyway, and I had nothing to fear from God. Nothing at all.

Lee had come over this afternoon, Wednesday, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. My guts for some reason were giving me no trouble. She had sought a session and we had descended to the dungeon.

She had stripped off completely naked before I had secured her arms to links and attached them to the overhead pulley such that she would be on tiptoe. I had then cuffed her ankles together.

I left the cellar-come-dungeon to close first the trapdoor in the kitchen and then the outer door of the dungeon itself. It was highly unlikely that anybody would hear but why take an unnecessary risk?

"Why have you closed the outer door, you don't normally?" she had queried.

I had moved close to her before gripping her chin and whispering in her face, "I'm going to whip you to within an inch of your life, and then I'm going to kill you, you two-timing... bitch!"

She had laughed nervously - she hadn't been sure whether it was a game or not.

It was a game but only one that I would 'enjoy' - and win.

Her nude body was taut and before I laid into her, I allowed myself a moment to savour that exquisite vision that is the female form: fair hair just touching lightly freckled shoulders, the pale flesh of her upper arms, the just perceptible glint of light reflecting off her blond arms hairs, the small delectable twin moles on her tummy, her trimmed light brown hair of her fanny, her toned thighs and calves. Her arctic blue Slavic eyes, her small straight nose, the thin lips...

I couldn't help but become erect.

I had whipped her hard across the expanse of her back, listened to her scream, observed the angry welts begin to weep scarlet.


I had smiled at the mention of God.

I had then picked up the cane, swished it once or twice in the air then laid it with venom across her lovely firm buttocks, livid crimson ridges appearing almost immediately.


She had attempted in vain to pull away, but I had driven the bamboo again and again into her skin.


I had hissed into her ear: "No one can hear or help you. I am going to kill you. And it's going to be hell!"


I had laughed, laughed like never before.

And then I had whipped her sweet firm and modest breasts, whipped them bright red.

Her face was flushed with screaming and crying, saliva rolled down her chin, her eyes widening incomprehensible with the agony.

Time after time I had swung my arm with full force against her restrained and swaying frame - and then suddenly without warning she had sagged - she had blacked out. But she wouldn't get out of it that easily.

Moving swiftly and deftly I had released her arms from the cuffs and cradled her inert frame in my strong arms whilst I now handcuffed her wrist around her back. It was time for the finale. I then affixed the noose to the end of the pulley.

Within a minute she stirred and for a second appeared bewildered, as though waking from a nightmare instead of to a nightmare. Giving her no time to struggle I had lifted her up and slipped the knot around her neck then hoisted, with some effort, her up about two inches off the concrete floor.

She immediately began to gasp, her legs kicking. I picked up the whip and continued for a few seconds to lash her but soon stopped when I observed her eyes bulging and tongue protruding. She was close to unconsciousness and death.

I had been close to orgasm and had quickly unbuckled and dropped my trousers.

Just before her bowels evacuated, I had shot a line of spunk that landed upon and then smeared the top of her thigh. Release - for both of us.

She was now still. And I was spent.

I had never experienced anything so satisfying and exciting in my life, my life that was just about to end too.

I had then needed to get out of the dungeon as it stunk of shit. And time to prepare for my suicide.

As I had passed the phone in the hall it had rung...


"Terribly sorry, you say. About what?"

"There's been a mix up. We can't understand it. It's never happened before, Mr Triewly. We really are sorry about the distress we have caused you. If there's anything we can do-"

"What the fuck are you on about woman?"

"The blood tests were switched. You haven't got cancer after all. You're going to live."

I slam the receiver down into its cradle.

You're going to live. I replay the words in my head. No, I'm not. No, I'm not.

I guess I am terribly sorry too myself, terribly sorry that I hadn't tortured and killed females right from the beginning and all along. It really is the biggest buzz ever.

I look at my watch, half four - probably got a good few hours before she is reported missing.

Maybe I'll have a curry before I have to kill myself...

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