Page 12 of Our Bodies, Our Choice

“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.