Look at you.

Muscles bulging out all over the place. Teeth clenched in rage. Eyes glaring at me with a hatred surpassing that which even your in-ring opponents receive. You think that you're so big and bad. You think that you are better than all the rest of us because of some… price you think you paid unfairly from some incident YOU PARTICIPATED IN WILLINGLY!

But then that's always been your MO hasn't it?

Everyone else is always to blame and you are always the victim, aren't you?

You are a fucking punk.

I have to give you one thing though….

All that crap you spewed about Joanie after she left… all the times you said she was a psycho bitch just may be the truth. It must really piss you off that it took her blaming a hyperactive bunny rabbit of threatening her for your words to be believable. Or, knowing your sadistic ass, you are laughing at the poor guy thinking it serves him right. You are such an evil schmuck.

You walk around backstage like you're some hot shit just because you are engaged to the most easily manipulated woman in the world. News flash Paul, Stephanie doesn't have the brains of a motherfuckin' billy goat.

But you ain't so fucking hot now are you bitch?

You thought I was gone.

You thought you'd never have to deal with me again.

You thought you were safe.

Little did you know…

You should always be most afraid of the things that you can't remember for it is usually them that causes you the most grief.

Raven walked around Paul chuckling darkly enjoying the sight of his nemesis hanging from bonds in the ceiling of the warehouse next to his home. Arms straining above his head as he tried in vain to break the steel chains. His teeth clenched into the black bar stuck into his mouth preventing the pointless chatter of threats the idiot would be spewing. Raven couldn't help but think what a beautiful sight he made… but he'd be even better before he was through.

Hearing a noise to the left of him Raven turned his head and smirked at Randy Orton… the deliverer of The Game. Paul, as usual, underestimated the hungry lion beneath him (both figuratively and literally). He thought that because Randy sucked his cock and let him pound his ass that he was safe. What a pompous prick he is. He was arrogant enough to think that a third generation wrestler was going to sit back and let someone like him destroy a business his family loves… all for a flap of flesh. That's typical Paul for ya.

Instead the third generation bitch made a deal with the devil.

"Get rid of Paul and I will owe you a favor," he said.

Stupid kid… I woulda done it for free.

His daddy'll kick his ass when he finds out he's indebted to me.

Ol' Bob knows a young up-and-comer shouldn't be indebted to anyone … especially some devil like me.

Turning my head away from Randy I looked at Paul to see him glaring at Randy. Quickly I raised a hand and backhanded him across the face with a closed fist drawing his glare back where it belonged. The third generation bitch was the least of his worries… he needed to be focused on me. He wasn't going to be around to gain his revenge upon the young pup anyway.

I had other plans for him that would prevent that.

Permanent plans.

Terminal plans.

Oh I'm sorry did I ruin the ending for you?

Were you really dumb enough to think I was going to let him live?

Having Paul's attention again I decided to make the most of it. There was something about having him so hopeless at my disposal that excited me. So stepping up I ran a hand over his skin wet with perspiration and oozing of arrogance. It was that arrogance I hated. It flowed through his veins like a disease and somewhere inside my head some bit of insanity urged me to drain it from him, curing him of his sickness.

Rubbing my bare chest against his I molded my body into his as best as I could with him practically hanging midair, although his feet were touching the ground, and laying my cheek on his sniffed him like an animal. Shuddering I felt myself stirring more as the stench of his essence filled my nostrils threatening to overtake me with his disease. With our bodies pressed so closely together I could feel his body responding to mine and laughed, my own arrogance having confirmed a long-held suspicion of mine.

He wanted me.

He's always wanted me.

He just always knew he wasn't man enough to survive me.

He tried to hold onto his rage. I could tell that he was, but his eyes were slowly losing that emotion, being overtaken by the hunger for me that filled him. Slipping up onto my tiptoes I let my lips part and touch his, which still surrounded the gag bar. As I did so I let my hands roam his body as my eyes stared into his. I could tell he was waiting… wondering… needing to know what I was going to do next.

As if someone like HIM would be able to read a genius like me.

There was a better chance his little bunny rabbit buddy Sean Waltman would be able to bounce to the moon.

Or should I say ex-buddy, as I suddenly remember his betrayal of Sean.

My eyes darken as I remember what he did.

I always liked Sean.

So with that in mind the hand that was roaming his back curled and ripped viciously over his skin allowing my fingernails, which were grown long for a man, to rip his flesh like a knife would paper, leaving a trail in their wake. At the same time my other hand balled into a fist and drawing it back I sent it crashing into his gut robbing him of most of the air filling his lungs.

If only I could steal it all.

I'll find a way Pauly.

Don't you worry.

Stepping back I watched the emotion play across his face. Anger, pain, but my favorite was betrayal. As if I would be caught by him so easily, as if someone like me would be hooked to someone like him by something so easily destroyed as flesh, as if I was anyone other than Raven, but I suppose that this must be a new experience for him. Being so helpless that is. It must take him back to the days when he depended upon "Big Daddy Cool" for his survival.

The poor bastard…

It almost made me feel sorry for him.

Almost…

It made me remember the days back when I was Scotty Polo and he was Hunter Hurst Helmsley. He was different back then (as if I weren't slightly different myself back in those days). HE was less arrogant, less self-assured, and much less appealing. I guess that is the devil in me. I feed off the insecurities of others.

It turns me on.

It makes me hard.

But you already knew that, right?

I wonder…

I wonder how hard it would be to make him feel that way again… so fucking insecure that he would go down on his knees and try to suck the very life out of a big, over confident, tub of lard like Kevin Nash just to secure his position at the bottom. But then I guess the bottom of something is better than the top of nothing right? I wonder if I can make him wish he had picked that reign over nothing.

He could have been king.

Now he's just going to be another dead prince.

Smiling at him I made my way back to him running my hands back over his flesh tisking my apologies before once again turning on him. This time it was a slap to the face as his eyes drifted closed, but immediately they opened to stare at me again with confusion. I feel myself soaring inside as I run my hands tenderly over his face because with every gentle touch he is lulled into false security again being nurtured by me until I feel like I am going to vomit from all the sweetness.

Suddenly tired of this game I turn, leaving him abandoned though the tiny noise that manages to escape his throat cheers me. Turning I look at him raising an eyebrow, but stubbornly he looks back at me as if unaffected, but I know better.

His eyes tell me better.

His eyes tell me everything.

They are begging me you know. Calling out for me to end this sham of his, pleading for me to break down this façade he has erected around himself, longing for me to give him what he wants. Turning I walk over to a bag I have left on an abandoned crate, which contains my toys and dig through the bag looking for a present from an ex-lover. Pulling it out I look at it, smiling as I run it's strands through my hand not even flinching as the barbs on them cut my hands letting my blood flow.

It is a whip. Given to me by someone I won't name for it wouldn't do for his little fans to know that he likes being beat, would it? Its handle is a Snow Tiger print. The dozens of stands are leather and as I said covered in barbs, which have managed to stay nicely sharp and work wonderfully at tearing flesh… even the tougher flesh of those that have leathered theirs over the course of years from tanning beds and beaches.

Walking back to Paul I let the whip hang at my side. Lifting the cut hand I draw it over his face and chest leaving a trail of my blood. The widening of his eyes is a gift greater than chocolate. It means that he is starting to become afraid. It means he is starting to break.

It means that I will get what I want.

I had no doubts.

Stepping to one side I lift the whip upwards and back watching his eyes as I bring it forward striking his chest and smile to myself as the dots of blood leave proof that my toy has not lost its bite. Raising my free hand I run it over those new tiny wounds mixing our blood on his flesh like an artist would paint on his pallet. Knowing I was in need of MUCH more color I let my hand fall breaking that contact and smiling at the war I saw raging behind that wall he didn't think that I could see through.

Don't you know?

I'm better than fucking Superman.

I'm practically his evil twin.

I like that.

Only I don't leap buildings with a single bound.

I kill arrogant bastards with one slice of my pretty knife… but we aren't quite there yet.

Lifting my toy I let it dance across his flesh watching it tear like Wolverine battling a villain covered in cardboard. (Not quite as easy, but, if you have enough patience, just as effective in the end.) Every so often I pause in my work, running my hand over his chest mixing our red essences on the pallet of my work in progress.

Never once did I fail to miss the state of my own body or the need raging in my loins. Finally when my chest was heaving with exertion and the look of pain in his eyes had brought me to such a peak that it was either satisfy myself or suffer a pain even I would not enjoy, I toss my toy in the general direction of my bag and step forward again rubbing our bodies together once more.

My sweat running into his open wounds must have been terribly painful for him.

I wonder if he knew that it was possible to hurt more than he did at that moment.

I am afraid - or should I say thrilled - to say that the answer is yes it is.

And before I was done he would.

Walking around behind him I rubbed my hardness against his naked ass through the kilt I wore, feeling somewhat like some long since dead Scottish warrior after a pleasing battle. Ripping the plaid from my body I tossed it aside and, wrapping a hand around his waist, ignored the shake of his head, which was halfhearted at best (I wonder if he was still trying to convince himself that he didn't want this?) and rammed myself into him without giving a single thought to preparation.

OK I have to stop here for a moment and turn slightly poetic as I savor this moment.

After all the day I stop enjoying this I might as well be dead right?

There is very little in this world that is as enjoyable as a little used ass.

The days of Pauly lifting his legs in the air for Kevin and Scott Hall were gone, but fortunately not so long gone. Someone must be dipping the well occasionally and I am telling myself that it is Vince rather than Ric Flair for the thought of that flabby body of Ric's completely naked is enough to make me soft (at least Vince keeps his in shape).

The flesh squeezing my cock is tight enough to be snug, but not so tight as to take all the fun out of the situation. The quivering of his body tells me that he doesn't altogether hate his current position, which is good because that means that he has no fucking clue how our little tango will end.

Drawing back my hips I pull out of him, but waste little time in plunging back inside harder this time earning a tiny whimper of pain from him… this sound like the last given involuntarily and all the more satisfying because of it. This time though I waste no time dallying as I quickly pull back out beginning a brutal rhythm sure to please me and hurt him.

Now I can draw these things out as long as I please, but endurance isn't the name of this game. This is a sprint not a fucking marathon and the point to my little session is not to prove how long I can go. Oh no that is what dear little Randy will be for later this evening. So quickly I rush to my victory party bursting into his ass as my fingers dig into various wounds in his stomach making us both scream in unison.

How quaint.

As my chest is still heaving trying to draw air into my body I walk away from him, letting my fingernail tear at him again as I go. This time though it is

Randy I head for feeling the Game's eyes on me as I walk to what he thinks is HIS bitch. Molding my body to his I grab the back of his head with one hand, curling the other around his waist as I claim his lips, while my other hand pulls out another gift from where Randy has been hiding it under the back waistband of his jeans.

Pulling it out I break the kiss running the cool steel of its blade over Randy's cheek watching his eyes widen slightly suddenly unsure of himself. Inside I laugh for it is that uncertainty that will keep him alive for the moment. Dropping my other hand I slap his cheek a couple times like some mob boss from a gangster movie and turn back to my victim.

There are so many options.

The human life can be taken in so many many ways.

And yet sometimes it is the simplest that is the most satisfying.

His eyes are watching the blade and I know he recognizes its beauty, having seen it before in the hands of its former owner. (Mark was such an interesting encounter.)

There are so many ways to end a human life.

And as I raise my arm I smile knowing that it IS the simplest that is the most satisfying. Then as the idiot continues to try and decide what I am going to do my arm raises and sends the knife plunging towards its target burying itself in the place where Paul's heart should be.

As death takes over, I watch the dumb look of surprise die from his eyes. Turning I look at Randy who is watching with some mixture of excitement and fear as if he can't believe… he just can't believe he enjoyed it. They all think that in the beginning.

Before I give them their chance to die.

The End!