Bob’s D — Tours

Author: Holidays are fun

Bob purchased the coach second-hand, gave it a fresh clean inside, and paid a firm to change the livery. It read in big dark red letters: D — Tours. He made up some leaflets depicting recent mystery trips and where they had gone and arranged for an agency to deal with applications for the new tour, sending out tickets and information and paying his part of the fee into his account.

On a Thursday evening he parked it up at the pick-up point an hour early, opened the side panels for luggage and started taking the tickets. Officially as a driver he should have employed someone else to deal with the admin but in this instance it seemed frivolous and he was unlikely to be picked up on it. The holidaymakers arrived in good time and once their luggage had been set on the pavement took a quick look at the seating plan at the front of the coach and found their seats.

When everyone was aboard Bob walked through and counted to make sure no one had been missed and set off away from the town. “The first stop is in 90 minutes and you will have half an hour to walk round until we sit down for supper” he announced. It was slowly getting dark but he felt he should wait until it was truly nighttime and continued along the motorway for a while. Then reaching down to his feet he flicked a switch to slowly fill the coach with xenon gas. Looking through his mirror he watched to make sure everyone was dropping off and when sure he pulled into the next service station.

Quickly he shut the few curtains that had remained open and walking up one side and down the other tied the hands with zip cables to the handles on the back of the seats. Then again he made his rounds placing a small sack over everyone’s head. Leaving the services he crossed over the bridge, drove back into town and took a left along Slough Pathways going straight into the loading bay of a disused factory. By this time many had woken up—grunting, shouting, screaming, crying. A cacophony of pleasure to his ears. He left the coach and shut the shutters to the loading bay.

Now starting with the front seats he whispered to his first captor telling them to walk with him without fuss or he would take his hunting knife and gouge out the flesh of their thigh. The first captor was compliant and Bob walked her up the stairs to a large disused factory floor. Those people who were less compliant felt the blade and quickly changed their minds but there were eleven stubborn victims whom he moved on from and left for last.

With these he took a collar and lead, dragged them out of the coach and hooked them up to a metal bar in the loading bay. Removing their sacks he took one man, dragged and lifted him into a metal bin, poured some petrol onto his feet and lit it with a match. He squealed and wriggled but was soon limp and lifeless. Putting out the small fire he looked over to the others and gave them the choice: comply or die. They complied.

Taking the last person upstairs to the factory floor, the room was large and had once contained heavy machinery for making train parts. Now it was just one big room and Bob had filled it with trolley beds. Each customer was lying down strapped by their feet and hands with a pillow made of bubble wrap under their heads. It had been a long and exhausting task doing this one by one so Bob went back to the coach grabbed his satchel and had a bite to eat.

After supper Bob took one trolley, cut the clothes off his captor and wheeled them to the lift taking them to the ground floor. The ground floor had a loading bay, a smaller factory floor, and a room that must have been used as an office. The lift opened into the office space. He wheeled the trolley into the middle of the room and stripped himself naked leaving a tidy pile of clothes in the lift. Then taking a brand-new, very clean knife he plunged it into the belly of the woman and then out and in again twenty, thirty… forty, fifty times slashing in and out, in and out with blood, guts, bones, screaming, and sinewy mess spurting in all directions and without any physical assistance he ejaculated high into the air splodging what was now a corpse and the wall behind. It was fantastic—the ultimate sexual experience that Bob had been dreaming of for years. It was magical…

Bob lifted the lifeless body dragged it to a large hole in the floor which had a concrete slope of an entrance and slid the body into it. It dropped with a large splash. Under the factory was an underground river that could be heard flowing fast and the splash made Bob think it was also quite deep. Where the water came from and where it surfaced he did not know, but no rivers were close to the building so what did he care. He walked to the back corner of the room and used what must have been a chemical shower in the past to wash himself down, towelled himself off, and got dressed again.

Walking to the smaller factory floor he grabbed two sacks and took them upstairs. He placed a bubble wrap sheet on the rest of the strapped-down holidaymakers and switched off the lights. It was time to sleep.

Bob woke up before his alarm too excited to meet the new day slowly. He had a quick coffee and toast and made his way upstairs. The room stank of shit and piss so he opened a few windows on the open field side. Murmurs and groans lifted into outright screaming, shouting, crying and caterwauling—a concert of musical pleasure to his ears. He took his next choice down to the office room: a fat bloke. The knife bounced twice in the soft flesh before it dug deep enough to gush red; by the tenth slash down, he had already ejaculated unaided across the floor. His second slashed body was so much better from a refreshing sleep. Upstairs again he pulled off the bubble wrap covers and washed down his entertainment and the floor into the corner sluice and then started feeding each one orange juice and bacon sandwichs.

Bob took all the cases from the coach into the smaller factory floor, emptied all the clothes into rubbish sacks, and used two cases to collect the electronic and non-dumpable objects. The collection for the factory was once a month and he wanted it to be ready for it. Back on the coach he tidied and made ready to take it back.

Bob then sat and rested, gathering up his energy for the one-o’clock frenzy he was already fantasising about. As with the first two it was a fresh new experience and with every cut and slash his mind became aware of the hisses, cracks and moans. The screams of his victim, their last breath, their last expression and that feeling of pure joy when he sprayed his cum over the torso. His plan was simple: a fresh kill for breakfast, lunch and then late evening; and so it went on.

After a week Bob drove the coach back to the coach station where he rented a space. He told the owner he wanted to sell it, handed over the keys, paperwork and details of his bank account. He told the owner to take a large cut from the sale for himself plus whatever expenses were needed. Then he rode the bus to his real home, soaked in a hot bath, gathered up some fresh clothes and drove to the supermarket for supplies.

—

The inspector had suddenly been deluged by a group of missing persons reports, all from the same trip, all never coming back home or contactable. He visited one of the callers and was handed a leaflet from the tour. He took a look at the pick-up point to see if there was some CCTV but it would not be very focused or useful as anything but a timestamp. He checked the office address and contacts on the leaflet but all were false except the booking agent.

The inspector went to chat with them but they too had a false name and address. However the bank account was real so he visited the bank where he was told money paid in was always taken out via ATM. There was however a large payment from a coach park. Once again the inspector moved on to the coach park to find another false name and address and a very angry new owner of a coach that he impounded for evidence. 66 people go missing and nothing of substance to follow up on.

—

Bob went about his routine that on the surface would seem mundane and very repetitive but to him every murder, every slash down of the knife, every unaided ejaculation was an improvement on the last. Over the weeks some of his collection just died whilst lying upstairs so they were stripped and dumped last thing at night before going to bed. When it came to the very last lady Bob transported her down to the office early and spent the next few hours deep cleaning the upstairs factory floor. He piled the empty cots in one corner and allowed air to flow by opening all the windows. Then he repeated his clean downstairs, emptying out the food from the cupboards but leaving a freshly made bed, the kettle, and clean mugs.

With this last kill he wanted to plunge the knife in slowly again and again and again just prolonging the end of this lady’s life and hoping she could see him cum before she died. It was a successful tactic and for one last time the thrill of a hefty ejaculate sprayed forth without assistance, splashing the lady’s face; as his cock pulsed a second time he thrust the blade straight through her throat as a final gesture to his sexual escapades. One last body dumped, one last room cleaned, windows closed, water stopcock turned, electric breaker switched, doors locked, two chains across the entrance gate padlocked and back home to his humdrum life.

Bob visited one more time two months later just to check the place was spotless and after six months put the place up for sale by handing the keys and paperwork to the estate agent on the high street. After six months the inspector took a very lightweight box folder from the shelf of ongoing cases and placed it on the shelf of unsolved, no-new-leads cases.

Bob was satisfied.