The Carver: Daddy's Girl
Copyright© 2026 by A duck named TEF
Chapter 3
Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Everett Dickinson, aka The Carver, could see numerous possibilities in being interviewed by a young psych student. To the serial killer’s delight not only does it turn out to be a she, but she is actually the warden's daughter. Aware as he is that some members of the fairer sex are drawn to men like himself, the idea that he might seduce her is too delicious for words. Who knows, she might even prove useful in his plans to escape.
Caution: This Thriller Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Rough Anal Sex Masturbation Oral Sex Slow Violence
Mandy meekly stepped through the threshold, into the interviewing room, and set her notebook, pen, and recorder on the table. Sitting across from her was the man responsible for a confirmed fifty-seven murders, and suspected of many more.
They allowed a female student to request this interview?! Any trained kinesiologist* would have noted the micro expression of surprise that flashed across Mr. Dickinson’s face. He quickly shifted his thinking from surprise at seeing a female student, to re-adjustment of his careful planning.
He stood out of respect as she took her seat across the table from him and cleared her throat. At least they didn’t strap him into the chair here as they did when he visited the computer lab.
Finally, she lifted her gaze; brown eyes full of wonder, delight, and nervous anxiety met the cold, calculating, predatory gray eyes of The Carver.
She cleared her throat once more and stood again. “Excuse me,” she quietly said and quickly stepped outside the room, careful to close the door completely.
The guard outside the room looked at her, perplexed. Before he could question her, she held up a finger and shooed him further away.
Mandy then bounced and squealed, “Oh my god, it’s really him! I get to interview the Everett Dickenson!! He’s even more attractive in person! That hair, those dimples, those godawful ugly glasses, somehow they make him even more alluring!”
She took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt, “No, no, calm down, Mandy, you’re a professional, you’re doing this to prove to Professor Steele you’re worth an A. You got this.” She calmly walked back in after the guard swiped his badge again and took her seat. “Apologies,” she said, and once more cleared her throat while opening the notebook.
Everett leaned in closer, pointed to a spot on the wall atop the door, and in a low voice spoke the first thing to pass his lips in one month and thirteen days, “The ventilation for this room connects to the hall.”
Her ears began to burn, and her face flushed a deep shade of embarrassment as the realization hit her like a strong arctic wind. She nodded slowly and kept her eyes down on the blank paper before her, “Of course it does. Taxpayer dollars well spent.” They couldn’t break the bank for something a little more ... private?
“I promise to keep it between us.” He leaned back comfortably, radiating absolute control of the situation despite being in full body restraints. “Not like I have any friends to tell, and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. A little too tied up at the moment.”
“R-right. Thank you.” What was she thanking him for? She closed her eyes tightly, feeling as if she was already making a mess of this opportunity of a lifetime. She took another deep breath and slowly released, trying her best to calm her nerves.
Everett, in contrast, had a steady pace to his breathing. He sat comfortably, hands clasped on the table between them. He watched her, eyes observing everything about the young woman he had agreed to meet. She was indeed attractive, and he was surprised such a young girl would want to interview him. He never understood a woman’s attraction to danger in any form.
A quick glance behind her, and she nodded to let the observers know she was ready to begin. Under the bolted table, she flipped the switch to turn on the interview room’s built-in mic. This way, those who were on the other side of the one-way mirror could hear the conversation in real time. It didn’t record, only allowed the viewing room to hear them.
“Before we begin, I would like to thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I also want to ask your permission to record our conversation. Do I have your consent?” She kept her eyes averted from him still, hoping the redness was by now disappearing from her cheeks.
“May I ask you to look at me? You have lovely eyes.”
If her blush had been subsiding, it returned in full force at that comment. She went rigid but lifted her gaze to meet his once more.
A cruel grin formed on his face; once again, a trained kinesiologist would be able to decipher it as something dangerous, but anyone else would see it more as playful.
“Much better. You are a lovely young lady indeed. Yes, you have my consent to record our conversation.”
“Thank you.” Her tone had raised slightly. Mandy set up the recorder, heart beating so wildly she wondered if the whole prison could hear the thumping.
Silence as Mandy’s mind suddenly went blank. She had left her list of questions in her locker, including the ones the special agents on the other side of the mirror had wanted her to ask. She’d been embarrassed earlier; now she was absolutely mortified.
Noting the silence was probably not intentional, Everett leaned closer again, “Do you happen to have a favorite insect?”
The question caught her off guard; her head snapped up from staring at the notebook so quickly that there was an audible ‘crack’.
“I-insect, uh, no, spider. I like jumping spiders.”
“Ah, a fan of arachnids, Phidippus no less. That makes sense.”
“What do you mean?” She began to settle now that her sense of curiosity was growing.
“Your nervous energy, combined with an obvious desire to further your education. It reminds me of the curious nature of jumping spiders. Not to mention many people say they are ‘cute’.”
It made sense the way he put it into words. Mandy liked the idea that this man had captured her personality so well and so quickly by comparing it to that of the little spider. Wait ... does that mean he thinks I’m ‘cute’ too?
Her smile delighted the killer across from her, but he didn’t let his emotions betray him again, as his initial surprise at her gender had.
“So, do you feel composed enough to start this interview properly?”
Again, she cleared her throat and prepared her pen and notebook, “Yes, I think I can do that much.”
Another beat of silence.
“Let’s start with the finger thing.” Of all the questions she could have started with, the fingers were what came to mind first.
“You had a bag of your victim’s fingers in your work locker. Why did you collect their fingers?”
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