Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44252 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44252 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Peter doesn’t say a word. I’m sure he wants to. He’d beg, tell me how he’s sorry, he’ll never look at my Sunshine again, and move to a deserted island. I always loved hearing those last words, but it got boring after a while. No one has originality. It’s all the same thing, over and over again. The mundane is trivial and lackluster.
So now I gag and duct tape the fuckers’ mouths and examine their body language instead of torturing my ears with their pathetic pleas.
“Do you know what’s beautiful about serial killers? I don’t know why I’m asking. I’m just gonna tell you. They fucking make it a show. Not a simple slitting of someone’s throat or shooting them in the temple, or poisoning. They make it an extravaganza. I sometimes wonder if Da Vinci had the same buzz when he worked on a piece of art. When he brushed against the canvas to create the Mona Lisa. Do you think it was the same as this?”
A muffled scream erupts as Peter’s body jerks when the scalpel blade traces along his thigh.
“Oh, Peter. How fucking rude of me.'' I rip off the duct tape, and he screams for help. “Please don’t waste your breath. The room is soundproof. Why do you think we use this spot? You can scream until you pass the fuck out, but no one will hear you.” I rush back to the desk and pull out the mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise, and A1 Sauce. “Which one’s your favorite? I want to say you’re a ketchup guy. It’s a juvenile condiment, and you’re a big baby. You couldn’t even handle a little flesh wound.”
Peter bites his bottom lip as he stares at me. I move closer and stab the scalpel in his leg. “Peter, it’s rude not to answer someone when they ask you a question. I know I don’t seem like the type who cares much for manners, but I assure you they’re very important to me.”
I lift my Rubber Soul t-shirt and display the word carved into my abdomen. Ungrateful. “My father did this to me when I was seven after I was impolite to one of his lady friends. She tried to touch my cock, but good ol’ Dad didn’t care. She had something he wanted, and I was the currency. Dad thought I should shut up and let her fuck me. She was the first person I killed. I fucked her with the twelve-inch blade of a hunting knife. Pounded that pedo pussy good and hard until she bled out nice and slow.”
“Mayo. I like mayo the best out of those.”
I smirk and pull out the Carolina Reaper hot sauce. “Mayo. Another generic sauce. That would have been my second choice.” I hold the bottle of hot sauce up to Peter, smirking as I pop the lid. “I like spicy things myself.” I tilt the bottle over his leg and watch as one red drop cascades from the bottle and falls directly on the open wound I made a few moments ago.
Screams of pure agony echo through the room.
“Peter, you need to stop that. It’s making me hard.” Peter’s eyes bulge. “Oh, you can relax. I won’t fuck you. I’ve got standards, and human trash doesn’t cut it.”
“That's rich coming from you,” Peter says through tears. “You’ve got a reputation, Cas. You and Lorne fucking girls while Declan does whatever he does in the corner. You talk about having standards, but the three of you are into some fucked up shit.”
“I was waiting, but it seems you’re eager to start.” I lift the drill out of the bag and rapidly nail his feet to the mattress. His screams are a symphony to my ears, as if Bach himself is in the room with us. “We may be into some fucked up shit, Peter, but the girls we fuck are all willing participants. We don’t have to drug them to bang them.”
I move back to the desk and pull out a paring knife. “Unlike you, we have big fat cocks and know how to use them. How big is that thing, anyway? Four inches, hard? Compared to the three of us, it may as well be a micro penis.” I grip his cock at the base and hold it on the bed. Peter screams in agony as I slice a tiny piece off the head. “It’s three and a half inches now.”
Peter’s shrill screams permeate my ears. “Maybe I should watch horror movies while I get sucked off cause this shit really does it for me.”
I pop the lid of the mayo bottle and let a dollop of the white, creamy substance fall onto the piece of dick. “If you close your eyes and think hard, it will probably taste like a hotdog.”
“You’re fucking nuts. You’re a fucking cannibal.”