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"Skin" by chriskonrath

Category: Short Story

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Skin



A short story



By Chris Konrath

Ah, her skin was so perfect, so soft, smooth, silky, bronzed. It was so ***** delicious I wanted to wear it, touching it wasn’t enough. Stroking it, running my filed nails up and down her rib cage, across her spine, along the beautiful curve from neck to shoulder, her calves, thighs, along the inside of her legs towards her cunt.

God, how I wanted to wear it, to be inside it, to drape it around my own skin, with its mountain range of acne scars, its coating of black hair, its scaly, crocodile-like dryness.

I wanted to wear it so ***** much.

So I did.

And she was just the first.

Maggie. Sweet, soft Maggie.

The great thing about using tetrodoxin is that it blocks the neuromuscular junction. This causes total paralysis of the skeletal muscles, meaning that the person induced is fully aware of pain but unable to respond to it. They simply cannot move a muscle. They can barely manage to blink. They can’t scream.

She can’t scream.

She can only watch through eyes peeled back in horror as I slice my blade across her foot. Yes, start at the bottom and work upwards, like a kind of foreplay. Just a cut big enough that I may start to peel back the skin. And I’m always surprised how easy it is, how smoothly it comes away from the flesh, that moist, deep red flesh, the white of the muscle tissue. Up to the knee on the right leg, then another slice in the left foot, slowly, gently following the same path, not wanting to tear, to make any imperfection in the glossy silkiness between my fingers.

And the tear ducts are also immobilised, so she can’t cry.

It’s always a point of interest for me now to see when they pass out, how long they can stand the pain, how strong they are.

Maggie, she was strong, I got to just below her waste, realising as I tugged at a particularly stubborn flap of skin that I would have to shave her. Her flickering eyes gently closed and didn’t open again. But she was still alive, I kept checking her pulse, until I’d got to just above her belly button. It was wondrous to behold how the two sections became one again above her pelvis. But then her heart stopped. And a little of the pleasure I was getting stopped too.

Only a little.

Not enough to prevent me finishing. I had to cut off her nipples, I didn’t want those, big and brown, roughened with small dimples. I was surprised by how erect they still were.

Her neck, that was sensuous, it’s always been my favourite part of a woman, even though the skin became a little misshapen as I peeled it away from her oesophagus and trachea.

But the best bit was her face, her jaw, her exposed gums showing how deeply teeth rooted. Her cheekbones, oh, they were so wonderfully angular. I brushed the back of my hand across her cheek and the fibres of flesh felt so loose I was tempted to pick a piece off and eat it. But I’m not a cannibal, I’m not that sick.

And then I had to shave her head. I cut with scissors at first, gently running her soft blondeness through my fingers, snipping long tufts away, allowing them to drop, feather-like, to the floor.

The skull is the hardest part, the skin there is so tight it’s hard to get a good grip, there’s no easy way to gather it together and lift it up, so I had to work with a scalpel, getting the blade between the sinew and the bone, slowly, carefully slicing small sections back.

And then I’d finished. There were a few imperfections, a few areas that had torn, the odd split, but this is quite natural for a first time and I knew then that, with practice, I would become untouchable in my skills.

For I knew then that this would be a lifelong passion, my eternal hobby.

I hung the suit up on a hanger over the door and carried her sloppy body remains into the garden. My house is remote, the nearest neighbours fifty yards away, and I have a canopy of trees to protect me from any prying eyes from above or to the side.

Gathering a hammer and matches from my ramshackle shed I took her to the woodpile where I smashed her skull into a million shiny shards and fragments, paying particular attention to her teeth, ensuring her dental records would be rendered meaningless.

I struck a match and tossed it onto the woodpile, knowing that it would take only a moment to ignite. We hadn’t had rain for over two weeks, the grass, branches and logs would be bone dry. Forgive the pun. I watched the flames lick towards the sky but had to turn away when the smell of burning flesh became too strong to bear. Some things are just too disgusting to sit through.

I returned to my bedroom where a pool of slick, black-red blood had congealed below the suit which I accidentally stepped in. When I took the suit down and walked to the bed a mosaic of bloody footprints followed me.

I lay down, pulling the suit over me like a blanket. Of course, Maggie was smaller than me, I wouldn’t be able to wear this just yet, a few alterations would need to be made, but it smelt and felt divine.

And in my mind I started plotting. Who would be next? When? I already had the where and the how. And I just knew it would become easier with time. Unlike most people, this knowledge made me want it more.

So much more.

And today, if you were to pay me a visit, perhaps come in for tea and scones, you wouldn’t notice, how could you? Indeed, I have become so professional, so proficient that you would probably comment on the comfort and quality of manufacture of my sofa. You would perhaps exclaim your admiration for my curtains. And if you used a napkin you would certainly enquire as to the make of my washing powder, for there is a dense, earthy aroma to dead human skin.

And if you were particularly nice, especially complimentary, I might take you upstairs to show you my bedding. And then I would possibly push you onto the bed, for by now the rohypnol in your tea would be taking effect, you would have become giddy, your words would be slurred. And I would take your shoes and socks off, all the while you would be laughing. Until the needle with half a milligram of tetrodoxin entered your line of sight. And you would stop laughing, despite the near-uncontrollable urge to continue. For you would realise that we wouldn’t be doing what you perhaps thought we might be doing. How vulgar.

And a droplet of the liquid would pop out of the needle and run down its silver edge. I would lick my lips as I knelt beside you and injected it into your arm.

“Oh, yes, my pretty, you are going to make a most fabulous set of bath towels.”




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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy this story. I am not even sure what problem the protagonist faced. This story was okay. The story would have been better if the author had introduced the problem differently and made it feel more pressing. I really enjoyed this story. The author did a good job pulling me into the story by introducing an immediate and important problem for the protagonist.

This section is for overall comments and general ideas. The score should reflect how much you enjoyed the story.

Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters were somewhat dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I partially understood the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the characters. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters were very dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I thoroughly understood their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and cared about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Plot

I finished reading the story so the plot must have unfolded, but I am not sure what the plot was. The characters did not achieve or grow by solving the problems they faced in this story. There were definite wrinkles in the way the plot unfolded leading to the final conflict. The plot was loosely tied to the achievement and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame some of the problems flowed unnaturally with the story. I could see the plot unfolding through a series of escalating problems that lead to the final conflict. The plot helped me understand the achievements and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame the problems flowed naturally with the st

In fiction a plot is all the events in a story, particularly rendered towards the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect. In other words it's what mostly happened in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.

Category Name: Dialog

The dialog seemed like cold words on paper. I had a hard time following it. I didn’t learn very much about the characters through the dialog. Through the dialog I could sometimes see the characters learn and grow while occasionally discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was generally consistent with the character. Through the dialog I could see the characters learn and grow while simultaneously discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was true to the character and it helped me understand the characters emotions.

Category Name: Setting

The setting created a haze in my mind that detracted from the story. I am lost in time and space because I don’t know when or where this story takes place. The setting was described adequately, but not well enough to bring it to life in my mind. The setting did not add to or detract from the story. I am pretty sure I know when and where the story takes place. The author engaged all of my senses while vividly describing the setting. The setting helped me better understand the setting and plot. I know when and where this story takes place.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

Mechanics includes sentence structure, verb agreement, grammar, spelling, voice, punctuation and aspects of basic style.

Note: The purpose of ReviewFuse reviews is NOT to provide comprehensive copy editing, but rather to "ignite creativity." Reviewers should not feel obliged to point out every grammar or spelling error (though they certainly can if they wish), but should focus on this area only to the degree that errors make a story hard to follow or understand.

Inline comments are the most helpful and important aspects of your review.

Click on a paragraph or highlight text from the paragraph to provide inline comments. While detailed grammar correction is welcome, the purpose of inline commenting is to spark the author's creativity. This is best done by expressing feelings, questions, and concerns you have about the story while you are reading.

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9. Skin

10.

11.

12. A short story

13.

14.

15. By Chris Konrath

16. Ah, her skin was so perfect, so soft, smooth, silky, bronzed. It was so ***** delicious I wanted to wear it, touching it wasn’t enough. Stroking it, running my filed nails up and down her rib cage, across her spine, along the beautiful curve from neck to shoulder, her calves, thighs, along the inside of her legs towards her cunt.

17. God, how I wanted to wear it, to be inside it, to drape it around my own skin, with its mountain range of acne scars, its coating of black hair, its scaly, crocodile-like dryness.

18. I wanted to wear it so ***** much.

19. So I did.

20. And she was just the first.

21. Maggie. Sweet, soft Maggie.

22. The great thing about using tetrodoxin is that it blocks the neuromuscular junction. This causes total paralysis of the skeletal muscles, meaning that the person induced is fully aware of pain but unable to respond to it. They simply cannot move a muscle. They can barely manage to blink. They can’t scream.

23. She can’t scream.

24. She can only watch through eyes peeled back in horror as I slice my blade across her foot. Yes, start at the bottom and work upwards, like a kind of foreplay. Just a cut big enough that I may start to peel back the skin. And I’m always surprised how easy it is, how smoothly it comes away from the flesh, that moist, deep red flesh, the white of the muscle tissue. Up to the knee on the right leg, then another slice in the left foot, slowly, gently following the same path, not wanting to tear, to make any imperfection in the glossy silkiness between my fingers.

25. And the tear ducts are also immobilised, so she can’t cry.

26. It’s always a point of interest for me now to see when they pass out, how long they can stand the pain, how strong they are.

27. Maggie, she was strong, I got to just below her waste, realising as I tugged at a particularly stubborn flap of skin that I would have to shave her. Her flickering eyes gently closed and didn’t open again. But she was still alive, I kept checking her pulse, until I’d got to just above her belly button. It was wondrous to behold how the two sections became one again above her pelvis. But then her heart stopped. And a little of the pleasure I was getting stopped too.

28. Only a little.

29. Not enough to prevent me finishing. I had to cut off her nipples, I didn’t want those, big and brown, roughened with small dimples. I was surprised by how erect they still were.

30. Her neck, that was sensuous, it’s always been my favourite part of a woman, even though the skin became a little misshapen as I peeled it away from her oesophagus and trachea.

31. But the best bit was her face, her jaw, her exposed gums showing how deeply teeth rooted. Her cheekbones, oh, they were so wonderfully angular. I brushed the back of my hand across her cheek and the fibres of flesh felt so loose I was tempted to pick a piece off and eat it. But I’m not a cannibal, I’m not that sick.

32. And then I had to shave her head. I cut with scissors at first, gently running her soft blondeness through my fingers, snipping long tufts away, allowing them to drop, feather-like, to the floor.

33. The skull is the hardest part, the skin there is so tight it’s hard to get a good grip, there’s no easy way to gather it together and lift it up, so I had to work with a scalpel, getting the blade between the sinew and the bone, slowly, carefully slicing small sections back.

34. And then I’d finished. There were a few imperfections, a few areas that had torn, the odd split, but this is quite natural for a first time and I knew then that, with practice, I would become untouchable in my skills.

35. For I knew then that this would be a lifelong passion, my eternal hobby.

36. I hung the suit up on a hanger over the door and carried her sloppy body remains into the garden. My house is remote, the nearest neighbours fifty yards away, and I have a canopy of trees to protect me from any prying eyes from above or to the side.

37. Gathering a hammer and matches from my ramshackle shed I took her to the woodpile where I smashed her skull into a million shiny shards and fragments, paying particular attention to her teeth, ensuring her dental records would be rendered meaningless.

38. I struck a match and tossed it onto the woodpile, knowing that it would take only a moment to ignite. We hadn’t had rain for over two weeks, the grass, branches and logs would be bone dry. Forgive the pun. I watched the flames lick towards the sky but had to turn away when the smell of burning flesh became too strong to bear. Some things are just too disgusting to sit through.

39. I returned to my bedroom where a pool of slick, black-red blood had congealed below the suit which I accidentally stepped in. When I took the suit down and walked to the bed a mosaic of bloody footprints followed me.

40. I lay down, pulling the suit over me like a blanket. Of course, Maggie was smaller than me, I wouldn’t be able to wear this just yet, a few alterations would need to be made, but it smelt and felt divine.

41. And in my mind I started plotting. Who would be next? When? I already had the where and the how. And I just knew it would become easier with time. Unlike most people, this knowledge made me want it more.

42. So much more.

43. And today, if you were to pay me a visit, perhaps come in for tea and scones, you wouldn’t notice, how could you? Indeed, I have become so professional, so proficient that you would probably comment on the comfort and quality of manufacture of my sofa. You would perhaps exclaim your admiration for my curtains. And if you used a napkin you would certainly enquire as to the make of my washing powder, for there is a dense, earthy aroma to dead human skin.

44. And if you were particularly nice, especially complimentary, I might take you upstairs to show you my bedding. And then I would possibly push you onto the bed, for by now the rohypnol in your tea would be taking effect, you would have become giddy, your words would be slurred. And I would take your shoes and socks off, all the while you would be laughing. Until the needle with half a milligram of tetrodoxin entered your line of sight. And you would stop laughing, despite the near-uncontrollable urge to continue. For you would realise that we wouldn’t be doing what you perhaps thought we might be doing. How vulgar.

45. And a droplet of the liquid would pop out of the needle and run down its silver edge. I would lick my lips as I knelt beside you and injected it into your arm.

46. “Oh, yes, my pretty, you are going to make a most fabulous set of bath towels.”

47.

48.

49.

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