Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Author: Tobias Foxx Title: Breaktime Shorts 8 Part: BTS 08 Summary: A timed writing exercise 'money shot' quickie. Keywords: Furry, tort, death 20 min Torture Death ------------------------------------------------ Stories in this series are simple timed writing exercises. As the series title suggests, they are written during my breaks at work. As such, most will be very short, rushed, and lacking all but the most basic character building. Essentially, they'll mostly be "money shot" quickies. I hope you enjoy them. ------------------------------------------------ Such pretty little things they are, so tender and soft. Pure white fur coating plump little bodies, wide pink ears, slender furless tails, demonic red eyes wide with terror. Mice are so adorable, especially when they're young, especially when they're screaming in agony and covered in their own blood. There is an old myth that states we mustelids subsist on a steady diet of blood, like vampires. It isn't their blood, though, that sustains me through the wee hours when I am alone with the voices, no. It is their delicious, shrill squeals of agony that weave me a lullaby to block out driving accusations and rock me off to nightmare land. I don't sleep much. I should sleep more. Perhaps I'll keep one alive for a while, my own personal living teddy bear. I wish this one would stop squirming so much, it's so hard to hold onto him when he squirms, and like magic he stops just long enough for me to strap him down properly. His tail is kinked, I notice. How peculiar. How did that happen? Was it always like that? He screams when I try to straighten it. Hush little baby, don't say a word... They haven't spoken in a week anyways. Stopped when they realized I was a true predator, a bandit in the night, plain as the mask emblazoned across my face, should have figured it out a lot sooner. I steal their love, their hope, their dreams, their future, their lives, and little bits of flesh to remember them by. Speaking of flesh... He squeaks cutely when I squeeze his naughty parts. Such naughty, naughty parts. His eyes, those ruby red eyes, are nearly bulging from his head, and I feel a strange popping sensation against my palm, twice in quick succession. W hat was that? Why is his ballsack all mushy now? I prod it in consternation. Where are the little peanuts I was going to so enjoy playing with? He's sobbing, tears running rivers down his cheeks. I cradle his head to my bossom. Hush, baby, hush, Mommy will make it all better... The knife comes out, glittering and sharp, the same one my father used to teach me my lessons. Such hard lessons, such a slow learner, such a stupid useless CUNT. Oh Daddy, it hurts! Does it hurt now? Does it?!? Stop lying, you worthless CUNT! How can it hurt when its not attached?!? There, does that hurt more? Can you feel THAT?!? A hand drifts down to the space between my legs. Naughty hand. Naughty space. Little girls shouldn't touch themselves. Little girls who touch themselves must be FUCKING, and little girls who are FUCKING must be PUNISHED. Oh please Daddy, don't touch me there, don't hurt me there, please, I promise I won't do it again, I promise. Oh, no, you won't do it again, I'll make sure of it. I'll make sure you never touch your slutty little FUCKHOLE again and neither will any of the boys you've been FUCKING either. Why is mousey bleeding so much? Wasn't mousey a boy? Whey then does he have a gaping, naughty FUCKHOLE between his legs? Oh poor mousey, did Daddy hurt you too? Shh... Shh... I'll make it go away... I hug my new teddy tight and cry. Poor little mousey, no Daddy can't hurt you ever again. Please keep me safe, teddy, please...