Seduced, used, destroyed E-Book

Tom Giesen

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 98

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

"Seduced, used, destroyed" is a relentless erotic thriller about a charismatic young man who seduces women with unbridled lust – only to then completely control them. When they try to break free from him, a deadly game of obsession, manipulation, and murder begins. A disturbing portrait of power, dependence, and the dark side of desire.

Leseprobe

Title:Seduced, used, destroyed

Author:Tom Giesen

Biography:

Tom Giesen was born in Hamburg in 1984 and grew up in a small coastal town. He discovered his passion for stories and the dark side of human nature at an early age. He worked in various jobs before deciding to put his own experiences and fantasies into words. Giesen is self-taught and never studied literature, but acquired his writing skills through years of intensive reading and his own writing experiences.

With a preference for psychological suspense and dark atmospheres, he began writing thrillers that deal with the depths of the human soul and sinister events.

Chapter 1 – The Mask of the Seducer

The sky over Hamburg was as gray as concrete, and the rain lashing against the windowpanes was cold and indifferent—just like Lennard Brecht. He stood motionless at the window of his new, old apartment in Eimsbüttel, a glass of red wine in one hand, the other in the pocket of his tailored jeans. Below, people walked with hunched shoulders through the dirt that collected in the cracks of the city. He watched them like insects. Useless, meaningless—and full of urges just waiting to be awakened and destroyed.

Lennard was 27, handsome in the way a rich sociopath looks good: angular face, smart eyes, well-groomed hair. His body was toned, but not overly so. Women looked at him, men instinctively hated him. And he loved that. He was a hunter, not an empath. And Hamburg was his new territory.

He hadn't moved here to build something for himself. He had moved here to destroy something. More specifically: young women. Their desire, their trust, their pride— everything that made them human. And if they dared to evade him,if they dared to reject him after they had once opened themselves to him – then they deserved no mercy.

He drained the glass, carelessly dropped it on the floor, where it shattered with a clatter, and slowly took off his shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror, stroked his chest, and examined his lips, which had lied so often that they still beguiled even in his sleep. A grin twitched across his face. "Well, Hamburg? Ready to crawl on all fours?"

That evening, he took the subway to the Schanze district. The Kellerkind club was a popular spot for college girls with daddy issues and excessive libidos. Perfect. The music was loud, the air hot and filled with perfume, sweat, and alcohol. Lennard stood at the bar, sipping whiskey and looking around. His eyes glided over the crowd like a knife over skin. He had time. Good meat requires patience.

Then he saw her: dark blonde hair, black fishnet tights, denim shorts that were way too short, a see-through top without a bra. She was dancing alone, wild, almost defiant. Her lips were painted red, her gaze demanding. But there was uncertainty in her movements. One who playswanted to, but didn't know how deep the game could go. Perfect.

He didn't go to her right away. He waited. Only when she took a break, leaning against a bar table and sipping her gin and tonic, did he approach her. "When you dance, it looks like you're about to come," he said with a smug smile.

She looked at him, surprised, briefly indignant, then curious. "Can you be charming?" - "If you were still on the dance floor, I would have said: You're moving like you've got the rhythm down your throat. But now... now I see you've got it on your lips."

She laughed. Lightly. He hit the right tone, somewhere between insult and promise. "Lisa," she said, extending her hand. "Lennard. And you've just become my evening entertainment."

He drank from her glass without asking, and she let him. "Are you always this bold?" - "Only with women who get wet when someone steals their glass at the bar."

She stared at him. Her pupils dilated. And inside her was a spark he recognized. The mixture of rebellion,Curiosity and underlying self-hatred. She would follow him. Not today, perhaps. But soon.

"Let's dance," she said. - "I don't dance." - "Why?" - "Because I'd rather watch you rub yourself against me." She responded with a kiss, wet, demanding, greedy. Her tongue tasted of lime and cigarette.

Two days later, she was in his apartment. She had no idea how she'd ended up there so quickly. But Lennard had played the perfect game: He'd given her space, then taken possession of her. And she hadn't even noticed.

"Take off your clothes," he said, lighting a cigarette. "So easy?" she grinned. "You want it too, don't you? Or should I suck it out of your ass?" She hesitated. Then she slowly peeled off her clothes. First her shirt, then her shorts. She stood before him in panties and bra. "Do it properly. Like a good girl."

She obeyed. And when she stood naked before him, he stroked her breasts with the back of his hand. "You belong to me, Lisa. Say it." - "I belong to you." -"Louder." - "I'm yours!" Then he took her. Hard. Roughly. Without foreplay. Without consideration.

"Scream my name, you slut." - "Lennard! Oh fuck, yes!" - "Tell me who your hole belongs to." - "You! Only you!" Her fingernails dug into his back, her moans a mixture of pleasure and pain. And when he came, he bit her neck so hard that blood drew blood.

"Blood for me. Awesome." - "You're crazy..." she gasped. - "Right. And you love it."

In the weeks that followed, she became his puppet. He dictated what she wore, when she showered, and who she talked to. She thought it was passion. But in truth, it was the beginning of her end. He told her to avoid friends. He made her cook, clean, and beg naked for him. And she did it.

"What am I?" - "Your whore." - "And what does a whore do when I order her to lick?"- "She licks." - "Well then, go ahead. The floor is dirty."

And she crawled.

Until one day she read a message from her friend Lea. "Where are you? YouYou hardly contact me anymore... Lennard is strange." Something clicked in her head. She asked herself: Who have I become? What is this?

The next day, she refused to undress. "I don't want to today." - "Excuse me?" - "I... I need space. I feel like I'm losing myself."

He stared at her. Long. Without blinking. Then he laughed. Slowly. Coldly. "You think you can just leave?" - "I'm a free man, damn it!" - "Not anymore."

He let her go. But that night, he followed her. He knew where she lived. He had copied her key. And when she was asleep, he stood in her room. Naked. With a knife.

"You wanted to forget me? To cleanse yourself of me?" - "What the... Lennard?! Are you crazy?! Get out of here!" - "You belonged to me. And you will pay for your betrayal."

She ran. Barefoot. Into the stairwell. But he was faster. Three stabs. One in the back, one in the side, one in the heart. Then he picked her up, like a bride. And carried her out. It was night. No one saw him.

In the morning she was lying in state in the city park.like a work of art. Naked. Legs spread. Lips made up. A piece of paper in her hand:"She wanted to be free. Now she is."

The press was in an uproar. Murder of a young student. Naked. Shocking staging. A new case for Chief Inspector Jürgen Reimers. The nightmare had begun.

Chapter 2 – Lisa wants more

The news is coming thick and fast. "Brutal murder in the city park!" "Student exposed naked!" "Mysterious perpetrator with perverse handwriting!" Overnight, Lisa Hahn had become a media projection screen— an object of sensation, consternation, and outrage. What no one knew: She had been willing to do anything for him. Until she wasn't anymore. And that was her death sentence.

But what had happened before? How had Lisa fallen—not physically, but emotionally? It wasn't a simple fall. It was a slide, a slow sinking into pleasure, pain, and manipulation.

In the days following their first sex, Lisa felt electrified. Lennard had taken her like she'd never experienced before: hard, direct, without any detours. No sweet foreplay, no tender questions—just raw lust. And she'd wanted it. Or convinced herself she wanted it. Because he hadn't just fucked her—he'd fucked her brain.

On the third evening with him, she sat naked on his knees, her legs wide open, her ass on his thigh, while hesmoked. "You're beautiful when you're so worn out," he said. She laughed, embarrassed. "What do you mean?" - "Well, when you're sitting there like that, with your tear-stained eyes, your ass sore from riding, and you still want to do it again. Then you're truly beautiful."

She blushed. Her pussy twitched. It was sick. And it turned her on. He'd broken her shame like she was a rotten board. And she loved it. "You want to do it again, don't you?" - "I... yes." - "Then turn around. On all fours." He pushed her roughly forward, and she fell face first into the couch. Without warning, he penetrated her again – dry, hard. "Ow! Fuck, that hurts!" - "Shut up. Pain is hot. Learn that."

He rammed her, pushed her head down, pulled her back by her hair. And she moaned. She howled. She came. A filthy slut. That's exactly how she felt—and that's exactly what made her addicted.

During the day, she went to university. She wore a turtleneck and sunglasses. And underneath her clothes: bruises, scratch marks, dried semen. Her classmates approached her. "Are you okay, Lisa?" - "Yes, of course." - "You seem... different." - "I'm just in love."

In love with a monster. But how was she supposed to see that? Lennard was charming in public. He paid, held the door open for her, kissed her forehead. But as soon as they were alone, she became his property. And she let it happen.

"Get dressed, we're going out partying," he said one evening. - "Cool, where to?" -"You dress how I want. And you don't say a word. You're my jewel, okay?" - "Okay." - "No bra. Short skirt. No underwear. And high heels."

She trembled as she stood next to him on the subway. He secretly ran his fingers under her skirt, between her thighs. "Wet?" he whispered. - "Yes." - "You're such a dirty little slut. I love that about you."

He left her alone in the club. He watched her from the bar. Lisa danced, turned on by his hand, which had just worked on her pussy. Men approached her. She smiled. She was free – she thought. Then Lennard suddenly stood next to her. "You were flirting with that guy." – "I was just dancing!" – "You want him to fuck you?" – "No!" – "Then show me."

He dragged her into a dark corner, pushed her leg up, pressed two fingers intoher. "Tell me you belong only to me." - "Only you... Lennard... oh God." - "Louder." - "Only you! I'm your bitch!"

He stepped back, satisfied. She trembled. She came. In a club. In the middle of the crowd. He had broken her. And she longed for more.

The next day, she received her "gift": a necklace with a silver pendant—"Slave L." She wore it. Proudly. And when someone asked what it meant, she just smiled.

But the first doubts arose. When he took her cell phone. When he forbade her from visiting her sister. When he said, "All you need is me. I am everything." Something twitched inside her. A shred of dignity, perhaps.