7. Sky
It’s funny how things in life change in the blink of an eye.
One moment you’re hacking into the computer system of a bank just for the fun of it, placing a worm inside to syphon off small amounts of money without being noticed, and the next, you’re standing in front of a disgusting pile of shit like Ben Taylor.
Rapist, murderer, and someone who watches child pornography on the weekends while his wife is at work, and he sits on his ass like a kept man.
Currently he’s unconscious and bound to the steel medical table in the middle of the room I drugged him in.
If the time on my watch is anything to go by then he should be waking up soon.
The muffled howling of Robert Evans trickles up from the basement where Nora is.
She’s not killing him yet, just torturing him in the meantime while she waits for Paz and I to finish with his friends first.
Propofol is a fast-acting anaesthetic. The effects are rapid, too, usually within thirty seconds to a minute, and lasting anywhere from four to eight minutes with a single dose.
That’s all depending on the patient of course, but it gave me enough time to get him up on the table—with the help of Nora of course—and tied down.
Ben is face down, bent over the table with his ass and legs hanging over the edge.
His wrists are secured at each corner with thick rope, and his ankles are tied to the opposite leg, giving him a minimal range of motion.
At the same time the alarm on my watch starts beeping, Ben’s eyes begin to flicker, and his head starts to roll from side to side.
“Ben, so nice of you join me on this momentous occasion.” I smile, rounding the steel table and running the tips of my fingers along the cold metal as I do. The balaclava over my face keeps my identity hidden for the time being.
He groans, opening and then squeezing his eyes shut to clear away the blur coating them. “Wh—” He breathes gently, rolling his head to the side. “Who…” He coughs, clearing his throat. “Who are you?”
“The question isn’t who am I, but… what am I going to do to you.”
Ben tugs at his restraints, becoming more and more flustered with the realisation he can’t move, jerking his arms and legs, but the straps becoming none the looser.
“Is this really any way to talk to someone when you’re tied up like a Thanksgiving ham? I mean, come on.”
“YOU FUCKING WHORE!!” The furious bellow of his words echo through the room, his eyes focused on me with hatred dancing through them and his teeth are grinding together so tightly they might crack.
I frown. “C’mon, Ben, I haven’t said anything bad about you and like… right off the bat you want to insult me. Rude much.”
“You’re fucking worthless!” Ben seethes. “Y’know that?!” Spit flies from his mouth and teeth. “If you think I’m going to fucking beg a womb-carrier like you to let me go… then you’re sorely mistaken.” He barks out a laugh.
“Give it time.” I smirk, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “When you feel what I’ve got in store for you, princess, you’ll be screaming for me to kill you.”
“You don’t have it in you! Women are weak, all you do is respond based off of your emotions. Men. Get. Shit. Done. And yet here you are thinking you can play our game?!”
Rolling my eyes, I walk out of his field of view.
“Women have been playing our own game for hundreds of years,” I respond, running my fingers along the steel tray situated beside him.
“Doing everything we can to survive a man’s bullshit.
Because even when they say they’re they good ones… they never are.”
“Aww, was the poor little girl hurt by a big, burly man?” Ben laughs at me.
I should’ve fucking gagged him.
“Hey, what’s all the noise?” Paz questions from behind me.
I turn to face her and groan, rolling my eyes back. “I didn’t gag him, wanna help me a quickly before you go to help Nora?”
“Fuck it, why not.”
I grin in her direction and walk over to the wooden work bench behind me, picking up a pair of forceps and some gardening sheers. “Think you can hold his head down for me? Keep his mouth open?” I shrug questioningly.
The moment Ben realises what I’m about to do, his eyes widen in complete and utter terror. With what little movement he has, Ben thrashes around, calling and shouting for someone to help him. Paz doesn’t waste any time, pulling her arm back and punching him square in the face.
Shaking her hand out, she groans, “Fuck, that shit hurt.”
I giggle. “Pussy.”
Frowning, Paz flips me off before pressing all her weight onto Ben’s head and holding it down, and with her free hand she grips his jaw and opens it. Sliding the forceps in his mouth, I grip his tongue and pull it nice and taught. Opening up the sheers, I place his tongue between it.
“You might be sicker than I actually thought.” Paz chuckles before the inevitable happens and I snip Ben’s tongue off as close to the root as I can.
The shrill cry of agony that leaves his mouth is astounding. Blood sprays from the open wound, coating the steel table as it gushes from the inside of his mouth and turning his white flesh claret. I turn my head and look at the tongue still gripped between the forceps and grimace.
“Eurgh.”
“Pussy,” Paz snorts, so I thrust the tongue towards her, causing her to release a yelp as she jumps backwards, and I can’t control the burst of laughter that falls from my lips. The sound of it working over Ben’s scream of anguish.
“Yeah, I’m the pussy alright.”
“Go fuck yourself, I’d never do that to you.” She narrows her eyes, but I know she would in a heartbeat. I raise my left eyebrow, calling her bluff because she’s a fucking liar. “Alright fine,” she groans inwardly. “I totally would.”
“Exactly.” I turn my attention back to Ben, watching scarlet liquid gush from his mouth, and smile.
Spinning on my heel, I saunter back to the table behind me, placing his tongue in a clear glass jar and screwing on the lid for safe keeping.
“You can go see Nora; I’ll be fine here. Just let her know I won’t be too long.”
“No problem, call if you need anything.”
I peek over my shoulder, nodding at her in agreement but also knowing that there’s no way I’ll be needing anyone’s help. Punishing Ben for his infractions won’t take me too long, but I do plan on enjoying the act of his torture before I inevitably end his life.
Never in my life would I have believed I had something so deadly living inside me, yet here I am getting excited over the fact that I get to kill a man for the first time in my life.
Paz’s footsteps retreat, leaving me and a helpless, wailing Ben in a room where there are no windows and nobody around for miles to hear the screams that permeate this building.
His garbled sobs are starting to irritate me, the sound of his distorted pleas for help bringing frustration to every inch of my body.
Stepping behind him, I wrap my fingers around the hem of his sweatpants, and he starts to thrash around with what little movement he has.
“I’ve looked into you, Ben. Found all the disgusting things your lawyer father kept hidden from the world.
Keeping them all tucked away so you can keep walking this earth.
” I yank his sweats down in one go with his tighty-whities.
“No surprise you wear white fitted briefs.” I grimace at the look of thick black hair covering his ass. “Gross.”
“Uhleasshhh,” he sobs.
“Huh? What was that?” I cup my ear, pretending I don’t understand that he’s begging me again.
“Puh… Puheathhh.”
“Please?” I question. “When the girls you raped pleaded… did you listen to them? Did you understand their pain and stop?” I growl, forcing the words through gritted teeth.
“No, I didn’t fucking think so. Because you were having too much fun taking away the control of all those girls, laughing and joking while your father swept it under the rug. ”
“I’m-m… suh-owhy,” he cries again.
I reach back to the table and carefully open the box. “Too late for your apologies now, asshole.” The tingle running through my bones when I lift the white cloth inside the box makes me grin enthusiastically. “If you were really sorry… you wouldn’t have sexually assaulted the first girl.”
My fingers curve around the slightly corroded device and I lift it from the plastic sandwich box, flecks of black and orange rust dropping from the tool and onto the wooden table.
Ben continues to writhe and flail around, even though he is fully aware—by how tight the restraints are binding his body—that there is no way he’s getting out of this, getting free from this situation.
Not alive, at least.
“Do you know what this is?” I ask him, waltzing to the head of the table.
I rest my forearms on the edge of it, holding the item in my hand.
Ben shakes his head, fear-riddled eyes staring back at me.
Blown out and red, tear-stained cheeks and blood red skin are what greet me when I finally focus my gaze on him.
“This is what’s called a Pear of Anguish, Ben, or the ‘poire d’angoisse’ as Palioly called it.
A seventeenth-century torture device that was used on such people as liars, thieves, and” —I swirl my hand in front of me— “those who were guilty of sexual crimes against others.” I tap the tip of the pair shaped device.
“This part, goes in the orifice. Vagina, mouth…” I smirk. “Anus.”
Realisation dawns on him on what is about to happen, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears thread through the thick blood caking the lower portion of his face.
“That’s painful enough, but it’s this part” —I tap the opposite end— “the thumb screw.” I work the piece between my thumb and index finger, turning it clockwise over and over again.
I watch as fear and understanding morph onto his face, bringing a hearty expression across mine.
Each of the tapered leaves begin to open, widening with every twist, silently clarifying that the pain he is about to feel, will be unlike anything he will undergo again.
“This won’t be gentle, nor kind. I won’t show you mercy when I torture you, it won’t be quick.” I stand, twisting the thing closed. “But it will be painful.”
I stroll behind him, placing the iron torture device on the table before shoving my hands into a pair of black latex gloves and picking it back up.
Pressing my left hand firmly against his left ass cheek, I push it open, gripping the thick skin at my fingertips.
Trying my hardest to keep it open while he thrashes about hysterically.
Ben’s frantic squirming does nothing to put me off. I want him to suffer before I inevitably end his life.
“Sorry, I forgot the lube.” I chuckle, before I push the tip to his hair-covered ring.
Forcing it forward with as much strength as I have, closing my eyes with elation the moment his cries turn into a throng of shrill operatic screams. Blood pumps through my ears, swelling thickly to where it begins to drown out everything other than my own heartbeat thumping against my chest.
I watch as the iron begins to push past the resistance of his ring, gradually splitting the skin as it breaches Ben’s back hole. Blood pumping through the membrane of muscle while he fights to resist its entry inside him.
“Arghh!” he yells, his pain flooding back the moment I thrust the final inch, plugging his asshole. “Mnrgh!” Ben’s inaudible protests of agony being on a burst of laughter from my chest.
“Good boy. Look at how well you’re taking it!
” I cackle through amusement, but it’s short lived.
Nothing will prepare him for what comes next.
I pinch the handle and twist, turning it with treacherous intent, counting each twist of the key and watching, waiting for the inevitable to happen.
There isn’t an ounce of regret, no guilt or remorse for what I’m putting him through.
He deserves this.
What he did to those women… how he…. hurt them.
The wider the pear gets, the more the thin membrane of his taint ruptures, gushing with crimson liquid.
Plummeting to the floor at my feet and coating my once-white sneakers red.
My eardrums and mind will be filled with the memories of his agony for years to come, and I welcome every dream I have from here on out.
I pray that I never forget the way it felt to inflict pain and agony on a man that scarred so many women before this day.
Once the pear and skin are stretched to their full capacity, his shrieks of pain now withered to whimpers of sadness, I lift the hunting knife from the leather sheath attached to my thigh and effectively carve his ball sack away.
The steel of my knife slicing through the skin like an orange rind. Effortless.
Gore coats my hands beautifully, and as I walk to the top of the table, looking down upon Ben with disgust and hatred, I open his mouth and shove his scrotum inside. Forcing the soft tissue and orbs into the back of his whimpering throat.
“Choke on them.” When I raise my hand above my head, the knife is gripped tightly within my grasp, and the moment I arc my arm, realisation settles as his eyes widen with one final look of trepidation.
The steel blade pierces his throat right at the carotid artery, blood splattering and pooling around his neck.
Choked noises pour from the back of his throat as I wiggle and twist the blade penetrating his gullet.
I stoop to his level, my gaze meeting his, and as I watch the life drain from his eyes, the paling of his skin as he bleeds out, all I can do… is smile.
“Sweet nightmares, cunt.”