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I make quick work of using the rope in the backpack to tie him, spreadeagled to the four corners of the bed. The posts make it easy. He’s naked, but I galvanise my stomach against the sightof his pale flaccid cock flopping listlessly as I manoeuvre him into place.
I line up everything on the bed that I need, within reaching distance, but keep the syringe with the paralysis agent in my hand.
Even if he could get free and try to make a run for it with two severed Achilles tendons, he won’t be able to, because this concoction of narcotics will paralyse his limbs whileincreasinghis nerve sensitivity.
I want the bastard to feel every fucking second.
Impatient to begin, I grab the glass of water off the bedside table and chuck it at his face. He comes round, spluttering and cursing, until his eyes finally land on me.
“You!” he snarls.
I grin, a cold, calculated smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, even though the idea of ending this bastard truly makes me happy.
“Hello, General. Long time, no see.”
He struggles against his ropes, and I’m smug when he’s able to do little more than wriggle a few inches side to side. I hold up the syringe for him to see, and he pales.
“Hold still. This won’t hurt at all.” I laugh. “Well, this bit won’t anyway.”
“Stop! Don’t you fucking dare, you fucking bitch! You can’t do this to me! I’m important! Invincible! You can’t touch me!”
I give him a serene smile as I lean over him and bring the needle close to his neck. He thrashes so much he almost impales himself on it, doing my dirty work for me. Ignoring his incensed rant, I say, “small, sharp scratch” before jabbing the needle into his skin and pressing my thumb on the plunger to inject him.
He howls with rage and jerks, fighting the drug coursing through his system, but ultimately losing. Eventually his limbs turn limp, bar for the odd twitch.
“Let’s have some fun,” I tell him with a delighted grin.
“Fuck you!” he snarls, though the drugs in his system make his words slow and slurred.
I shake my head and sigh. “You’re really going to ruin this for me if you continue to talk. I don’twantto have to gag you, not when I’ve dreamed of making you scream for so long, but Iwillif you don’t play along like a good boy.”
“You’re fucking deranged! You’re?—”
Plunging the hunting knife into his thigh turns his vitriolic rant into a scream of pain. It’s impressive, the power something so simple can give you. I wrench the blade free making him scream again and discard the knife on the bed beside me for a moment.
Hmm, what to start with?I wonder.
Looking down at the array of items I brought with me, everything seems juvenile now.Did I really want to rub salt in his wounds?Until I spy the long handled tweezers. I got the idea from Saint actually. He was telling the story of when he got into a bike accident and the hospital doctor was using tweezers to remove grass from the cut on his leg. He accidentally grabbed and pulled a tendon instead, making Saint pass out from the pain.
I drive the tweezers into the wound on The General’s thigh, having a good root around in there, twisting and jabbing as hard as I can before pinching and pulling muscles and tendons free. It’s gory as fuck and I love it, even though his screams make my ears ring.
It’s the hydrogen peroxide poured on the wound that makes him pass out. Sigh.
I don’t have time to waste, waiting for him to come around, so I grab the smelling salts and hold the bottle under his nose. He coughs and groans as he comes back.
“Good morning sunshine,” I tell him brightly. “Any last words?”
“Fuck you.”
“Pass. Thanks. Your son did it better.”
Like a master craftsman carving his ultimate masterpiece, I slowly remove slices of The General’s skin, sliver by sliver. It’s like peeling an apple. Or an old, wrinkly, soft potato. Fucking gross. But oddly satisfying.
The general pants and cries through the pain, but the fire of the peroxide carelessly splashed over the raw wounds brings his screams back to life again.
I keep going, only pausing to douse him in more flames and to revive him when he passes out.
He cries – actual tears – when I remove his dick and balls, popping them into his mouth for safe keeping.
