Wensley Clarkson - Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned--True Stories of Women Who Kill

T he sound of cricket-song mingled with the gentle lapping of the river. Every now and again passing cars lit up the roadside as they weaved their way home. The lights from nearby houses went out as their owners retired to bed.

Suddenly, a metallic green saloon span out of the darkness and screeched to a halt in the dusty car park of the Lew-Mors nightclub. The ten-year-old Holden Commodore had definitely seen better days. An entirely functional car, it was often described as the Vauxhall Viva of Australia. Its shape designed with common sense and absolutely no style in mind.

But that didnt worry Bobby. She was a tough, brutal, masculine woman. More concerned with sex, drink and drugs than the remotest thoughts of family responsibilities or any of the standard domestic concerns.

She stumbled into the Lew-Mors with three girlfriends. She was already drunk from having consumed at least ten beers in a tiny bar just half a mile away. As she entered the club, she passed through the tatty lobby and caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and grimaced. She hated mirrors. They were a sad reflection of her inner self. Then she felt a strange pain in her head. And it wasnt caused by the loud music blaring out from the dance floor.

This was a pain from within. Bobby was fighting something but she did not know what.

Once inside the club, Bobbys notoriously promiscuous temperament took over. She had spotted an attractive woman sitting with a friend in a corner of the club traditionally reserved for those seeking a new partner.

The girl was in her early twenties and had medium length brown hair. It was difficult to tell what her figure was like but her bizarre outfit was arousing a lot of attention. Precisely what was intended. She wore a long black coat, stockings, high-heeled shoes and a white tuxedo-style shirt with a black bow tie. She seemed almost satanic. That really appealed to Bobby.

Their eyes met instantly. They both knew what the other was thinking. Bobbys pals were at the bar buying drinks. She loved to tease and flirt first it was always much more fun. As her friends brought over the beers, Bobby turned her back to the girl in the corner. Every now and again she would sneak a glimpse of her.

The three friends supped greedily at their drinks. But Bobbys mind was on that girl, her vivid imagination working overtime. She was seeing her partly clothed on a bed. Vulnerable, excited, desperate. She wanted her. She would have her.

Bobbys sexual drive knew few boundaries. After all, here she was preparing for her next conquest, just a few hours after making brutal love to the girl she lived with. They had both arrived home early from college and neither of their two other flatmates were around. Bobby had grabbed her from behind in the kitchen and smothered her neck in kisses. At first her friend resisted, but Bobby was forceful and strong. Soon she was holding her down as she ground into her body. It was all over in minutes but that sexual drive was satisfied at least for a while.

Back in the club, one of Bobbys friends was telling a crude joke. But they were all well aware that Bobby wasnt listening.

Shes all yours. Stop fantasising. Just get over there and pull her.

This was a Friday night in Brisbane, Australia. The whole town was out to enjoy the weekend. In these sunny climes, it was an excuse to commit a multitude of sins.

That was all the prompting Bobby needed. She could already feel her heart beat faster with excitement. A sexual thrill was rushing through her body, even though she hadnt spoken to the girl yet.

With black trousers and black tee shirt, hobnail boots and an ever present pair of wire rimmed sunglasses, Bobby hardly exuded glamour. But, in a club like the Lew-Mors, no one exactly dressed up for dinner.

The place was full of hard cases all hoping to find a passion partner to share their bodies with. The dance floor was poorly lit. Soul music throbbed out of the loud speakers as couples gyrated together.

Bobby turned to face her admirer once more and their eyes met again. This time she did not hesitate. As she strode confidently over to the table, the girl squirmed expectantly in her seat. Lisa knew she was about to be swept off her feet.

The two talked a while. But deep, meaningful conversation was not exactly high on their list of priorities. They both knew what the other wanted.

That night was Friday the thirteenth of October, 1989.

Unlucky for some

Lisa Ptaschinski curled up beside her sleeping lover. They had met just a few hours earlier, but she felt as if they had known each other for most of their life. On both her wrists were two tiny fresh scabs. Lisa looked at them and once more felt a rush to her brain as she remembered the sexual thrill she had experienced less than an hour before.

Within seconds of getting back to the apartment, these two strangers were exploring every inch of each others bodies. After their first climax, both wanted more not less.

It was then that Lisa discovered her partner liked to play a game that even she had never tried before. As the two lovers lay back to recover from that first crescendo, they started to talk about blood. The taste of it. The smell of it. Even the colour of it. The more they talked about blood, the more excited Bobby became.

She was disarmingly frank: I think Im a vampire. I cant resist blood. Its taste. Even its texture. Something inside me craves for it.

For a moment Lisa stopped and stared at Bobby. Then she felt really good. Her brand new lover was already revealing her innermost thoughts to her. She wanted to please Bobby in every way.

Then, without a word, Lisa got up out of bed. A look of disappointment came over her lovers face. She presumed that she was getting up to go. But within moments Lisa had returned. Armed with a pointed kitchen knife she said simply, Surprise

The tiny droplets of blood had to be literally coaxed out of Lisas veins at first. But as her lover sucked harder, she felt a slight, but pleasurable pain from her wrist. Then the sucking got even stronger and she could feel the excitement building up inside. As a gesture of her passion, Lisa then stabbed gently at the vein on her other wrist and watched as her lovers face looked up at her, a tiny drip of blood dribbling down the side of the mouth as it curled into a smile of satisfaction, just like a cat whos got the cream.

Every now and again, Bobby kissed the tender flesh near Lisas wrist, as if to assure her that she wasnt just into blood. But it was purely a token gesture for, within seconds, she would return to her favoured feast. She was captivated by Lisas flawless complexion. Her skin really was as perfect as it looked. And it felt as smooth as syrup.

Lisas legs were ever so slightly parted as Bobby sucked deeper and deeper into her. She could feel her breath speeding up. This was as exciting as those first days of sexual experimentation she had carried out at her convent school in Sydney. Lisa loved to feel she could constantly supply pleasure. It was almost more important to her than receiving satisfaction.

Now Bobby was gently moaning to herself the excitement carrying a throaty noise that she emitted from within. It was a strange noise sometimes high pitched, sometimes deep. A struggling noise.

Now the groans of pleasure were becoming louder as Lisa and Bobby moaned in unison. Bobbys sounds were sheer enjoyment. Lisas were an extraordinary combination of pain and pleasure. The pain from the sucking, the pleasure came from giving.

As the pewter light of dawn shone through the opened window, the lovers continued, oblivious to the outside world. Locked in a dangerous, erotic world from which neither wanted to escape.