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Senator Snuff
by Serum114 (serumstories@gmail.com)

***

I am Senator Williams. For over twenty years I have 
hidden a secret need to rape, torture, and slaughter 
preteen girls in the most viscous ways I can imagine. 
(M/g, ped, nc, rp, v, tor, sn, bd, extreme, horror)

***

"Aren’t you coming to bed?" My wife asks through the 
locked door of my private office.

"Give me half an hour." I call to her, sliding a pair 
of headphones over my ears.

The twenty-five year old, large breasted blonde was 
undeniably beautiful. She's the ideal woman for any 
straight man, with a healthy sexual appetite.

I turn on the display to my computer, and with a few 
taps on the screen, I bring up the video. I've watched 
it hundreds over times of the years, and it still 
excites me.

Screams blare from my headphones as the little girl's 
contorted face appears on the screen. The camera zooms 
out to show the naked child sprawled out on a medical 
table. Blood covers a white sheet under her. The 
camera steadies and a naked man steps into the frame. 
He mounts the weeping girl and begins to thrust into 
her violently.

I first encountered this video twenty-two years ago 
while working as a prosecuting attorney in D.C. This 
video was the key piece of evidence in the trial that 
made me a household name. The girl was ten-year-old 
Emily Merchant, daughter of star baseball player, 
Tommy Merchant. The man was a fan of Tommy's that felt 
betrayed by a decision to retire early. The trial 
concluded with the man being banished to the outlands 
and me appearing on the morning shows with a very 
grateful Tommy Merchant. The public's adoration for 
the athlete extended to me and made my eventual 
Senatorial run a cakewalk. 	

I now sit alone watching video of my friend's daughter 
being violently raped. After five minutes of ravaging 
her vagina, the man flips Emily onto her stomach and 
forces his bloody cock up her tiny asshole. Her cries 
stop after several minutes, and the man continues to 
rape her as shock sets in. The man finally stops and 
walks to the camera. Blood covers him from his navel 
to his knees. He leaves the frame, and the camera 
shakes as it is lifted from the tripod. His breathing 
is loud against the camera's microphone. He moves the 
camera closer to the girl and her bleeding anus fills 
the screen. The man inserts his fingers into her.

I am now almost fully erect.

The man works the child's destroyed hole for several 
minutes, eventually fitting his entire fist. He goes 
deeper and deeper finally stopping after about two 
inches of his forearm have passed through her ruptured 
sphincter. He twists his arm and begins to thrust, the 
sound of the man's excited breathing and the wet 
pounding of his fist are the only sounds the 
microphone picks up.

I am now aroused almost to the point of pain. Having 
served its purpose, I stop the video before its even 
more gruesome climax. My young wife waits for me as I 
leave my office and walk toward our bedroom.

"Finally." She says as I walk in. "I was beginning to 
think you don't want to make love to me." She smiles 
coyly.

I smile back. "You look beautiful."

She places a book on her nightstand, and gets out of 
the bed. Seductively, she walks toward me, the sheer 
fabric of her negligee gliding smoothly over her 
flesh. When she reaches me, she places her hand on my 
bulging crotch. She bites her lower lip and looks up 
at me.

I lean in for a kiss, and pull the thin shoulder 
straps of her negligee over her shoulders. The lace 
nightgown falls to the floor. We continue kissing as 
she unbuckles my belt and slides my pants and 
underwear to the floor. She goes to her knees, and as 
her lips surround my cock, I allow my mind to drift to 
a Korean girl from my distant past. 

I was fresh out of law school and managed to get the 
appropriate credentials to venture out of D.C. Like 
D.C., Seoul was one of only thirteen walled of cities 
where civilization remained. It seemed like the 
perfect place to get away and unwind.

After three weeks in Seoul, I met a man at a bar. He 
seemed to have an almost telepathic ability to get 
inside my head, and after an hour, he knew exactly 
what I was craving. Several shots of very strong soju 
finally rid me of my inhibitions and I followed the 
man through the streets of Seoul. I followed him 
through an underground drainage pipe, passed the city 
gate, and into the outlands.

He took me through a disturbing landscape of crumbling 
houses, dead trees, and rubble filled roads. I 
followed him into a large, dilapidated building. He 
took me up three floors, passing a stinking, 
disheveled man on his way down. We walked down a long 
hallway toward a door with light seeping out from the 
bottom. My guide opened the door to a middle-aged 
woman sitting behind a desk. They exchanged words and 
the woman rose.

"Come." She said, heavily accented. 

I followed her through another door and was greeted by 
the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Five naked 
young girls sat on the dirty floor playing with old 
and broken toys. They stood and scampered toward me 
with cheerful smiles. 

The woman spoke. "Hundred dollars one fuck. Eight-
thousand you buy." 

The offer stunned me. For what amounted to the price 
of a meal at a fine restaurant, I could buy one of 
these children. The girl I picked had beautifully 
plump pussy lips and hair down to the center of her 
back. I judged her age to be about nine years. The 
woman dressed the girl, and an hour later, I had her 
alone in my hotel room. I only had two weeks until I 
had to be back in D.C. to start working at the 
prosecutor's office. There would be no way to smuggle 
her out of the country, so I would have to make the 
most of our time together.
 
For the first week, I was gentle, even kind. I woke 
the girl every morning with soft kisses and tender 
fingers. With an eager tongue, I mapped every pore on 
the beautiful child's body. The salty taste of her 
fleshy, prepubescent cunt coated my mouth as she cried 
in pleasure, uncontrollably orgasmic. She'd suck my 
cock, eagerly swallowing every drop. I'd fuck her 
slowly and gently while kissing her soft neck. I slid 
into her tiny asshole only after she asked me. She 
bent over in front of me and put her finger up her 
ass, saying "here, here." 

For the first several days, I felt an urge growing 
inside me, a violent urge that disturbed me greatly. 
Four days before I was scheduled to leave, I finally 
succumbed.

While fucking the preteen prostitute's tiny asshole, I 
grabbed her around the neck and slammed her face into 
the headboard. She went limp, and as her face slid 
down, it left a smeared trail of blood behind it. The 
site of the maroon stain, and the knowledge that I was 
responsible, invigorated me. I flipped the unconscious 
girl onto her back and continued to thrust into her. 
Her nose was obviously broken, a stream of blood 
poured from each nostril. 

She awoke crying and screaming as I neared orgasm. I 
covered her mouth, and her nose gurgled with blood as 
she tried to breathe. She started coughing heavily. 
Air escaped through her nose, covering me with a fine 
red mist. Her legs and arms started flailing, but I 
couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. The most intense 
orgasm of my life occurred when her small body went 
limp again. I knew things would never be the same.

As the day of my departure drew nearer, my behavior 
became ever more depraved. I beat her with my belt, a 
straightened metal coat hanger, and eventually 
resorted to using my fists. I sliced off her nipples, 
ears, fingers, and mutilated her genitals. 

The final day of my stay was when I finally let loose. 
I started by throwing her dying body into the large 
bathtub, and slicing out her eyes. I tossed the bloody 
orbs into the toilet and slid the head of my cock into 
her gory eye sockets. As I skull fucked the child, she 
reached up and tried to push me off her, but she was 
so weak her desperate fighting felt like sensual 
caresses. After ejaculating into her head, I took my 
knife and began mutilating her even further. 

I was erect again only minutes after splitting open 
her abdomen. I fucked her between the protruding coils 
of her small intestine and began slicing through her 
neck. When only the shocking strong bones of the 
little girl's vertebrae kept her head attached, I 
began ejaculating into her bowels.

I spent much of the rest of the day dismembering her 
body, which was much more difficult than I ever 
imagined. With her body in manageable chucks, I 
cleaned up and walked to a store where I bought 
garbage bags and a large rolling suitcase. The corpse 
had largely drained of blood when I returned. I placed 
each section into a pair of garbage bags, and stuffed 
it into the case. After half an hour, her pelvis was 
all that remained. I eased myself into the tub, and 
flipped the small lump of flesh and bone over. As a 
final act of degeneracy, I fucked what remained of her 
asshole.

I used all the sheets and towels that remained in the 
room to soak up any blood that didn't manage to flow 
down the drain. With the suitcase wheels squeaking 
behind me, I left the hotel. It wasn't necessary to 
hide the body very well. All I needed was a few hours 
to get onto the plane back to D.C. I settled on a 
dumpster down an alley on a desolate street. 

Two hours later, I was on a plane, passed out in a 
deep, satisfying sleep.

Over the next twenty-five years, I made it a habit to 
take a solid month off every year. I'd travel to 
different cities around the world seeking release. 
London, Berlin, Shanghai, and Tokyo were the only 
other cities where I could find my preferred method of 
entertainment. Even after I used my popularity with 
the public to get a low ranking spot in the Senate, I 
traveled, year after year, leaving shredded corpses of 
little children in my wake.

I played on the prejudices and fears of the public and 
eventually became the highest-ranking member of the 
Senate. It was then when a member of The Umbra paid me 
a visit. He let me know that his organization, the 
true leaders of what remained of the civilized world, 
had chosen me to be the next Presidential figurehead 
to represent D.C. He told me I would need to find a 
wife as soon as possible, and two months later, I was 
dating my future wife.

That was five years ago. I haven't been able to travel 
unteethered from her since.

My mind focuses on my wife below me, her large breasts 
heaving as I thrust into her.

I wish for anonymity. I want nothing more than to 
travel, find the perfect girl, and blow off five years 
of pent up steam. But that can't happen. Not if I am 
to become President. The public demands that their 
figurehead be a morally firm family man, with a 
beautiful wife and children playing at his feet. So I 
am forced to rely on a few contraband videos. They 
worked briefly, but the urge is never truly sated. I'm 
sure how much longer I can hold out.

My mind wanders towards an idea that becomes more 
palatable by the day.

Senator Ivanovich is the only person who knows about 
my predilection. It's a secret we share. I came to 
this conclusion after crossing paths with him a bit 
too frequently. It was at a lonely bar near the gates 
of Tokyo, where we both realized our meetings where 
not coincidental. We shared drinks and, as the sake 
took effect, shared our secrets.

It was through him that I learned about a place not 
far outside the gates of D.C. Ivanovich traveled there 
very frequently, and was always trying to get me to 
make the trip. I didn't think it was worth the risk. 
D.C. is the most secure city on the planet, and I am 
much more prolific than my colleague is. To get into 
and out of the city requires passing through several 
checkpoints. Surely, people would talk and speculate 
as to why I, the Senate's most outspoken crusader for 
moral purity, spent so much time amongst the sinful 
wretches outside the gates. Besides, my yearly 
excursion seemed to be enough. 

However, things changed after my first year of 
marriage. Forced to play the loving husband, my months 
off became relegated to museum visits and sunsets on 
the beach. It became maddening and my small collection 
of videos could only do so much. At the start of my 
third year, I began considering Ivanovich's offer. I 
asked myself, "What's the worst that could happen?" 
Even if I was found out, I wouldn't be sent to prison. 
The girls were outsiders, so crimes against them would 
barely rise to the level of animal cruelty. I didn't 
care if the public wouldn't elect me president, or 
keep me on as a Senator. I had plenty of money put 
aside. I'd finally be able to leave my wife and spend 
more time-

It was here where the fantasy always fell apart. 
Without my Senate credentials, it would be nearly 
impossible to travel anywhere outside of D.C. I'd be 
without power, and without the opportunity to indulge 
my wanton urges. Helpless depression would invariably 
set in.

So here I am, miserable and making love to my 
curvaceous wife, wishing for the pleasured smile on 
her face to be replaced by the agonized grimace of a 
helpless child.

I finally manage to ejaculate. Hoping she'd finally 
get pregnant so I can stop with the charade. I roll 
off her soft body and collapse on the bed.

Twelve hours later, I am in my office at the capitol 
building, putting the final changes on a bill. The 
proposal is a ploy designed to drum up support for my 
Presidential run a few years down the road. The bill 
increases the punishment for homosexual sex to include 
up to a year in prison. I obviously don't actually 
care what homosexuals do, I just need more notches in 
my belt of moral superiority.

There is a knock at my door.

"Come in." I say, not looking up. 

Cynthia, one of the pages, enters. "A Mr. Chamberlin 
called and said your car is ready." The attractive 
seventeen year old says.

Mr. Chamberlin is a member of The Umbra. They never 
give any notice, when they would like a meeting. "I'll 
be right out." I tell the girl.

The girl leaves and I reword the final sentence of the 
demagogic bill. Satisfied, I turn off my display and 
swallow the last of my coffee.

I stand and exit my office, locking the door behind 
me. I pass through the labyrinth of halls and reach 
the main lobby. Outside the main entrance, a black car 
waits for me. The door opens as I approach, and I see 
a figure obscured in the shadows. I slide inside and 
close the door behind me.

I look at the man sitting across from me. A small 
purple lapel pin on his pinstriped suit identifies him 
as a member of The Umbra.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Williams." His voice is strong 
and deep.

I swallow hard. "Good afternoon." The limo begins 
moving.

He stares at me for a few minutes while I wait to hear 
what he has to say. "We greatly appreciate your 
discretion over the last five years. It must be very 
difficult for you, not being able to, you know... do 
what you do." 

I'm sure his coyness is designed to put me on edge, 
make me wonder if he is really referring to what I 
think he is. "Yes," I reply, "it has." I wait for him 
to speak.

"We fear it may be becoming a bit too difficult. It's 
only a matter of time before you give in, and take up 
Mr. Ivonovich on his foolish offer. The fact that you 
haven't shows your dedication to us." He stares for 
several seconds. "The Umbra has decided to help you."

I stare back at the man, my eyes squinting 
quizzically. "What do you mean, help me?"

"In a short time we will arrive at a small underground 
compound. Before the fall, it was a fallout shelter 
owned by a very wealthy family. Today, it's used by 
the Umbra for interrogations."

"Interrogations of who?" I ask.

"A variety of people end up there, mostly dissidents, 
nosey journalists, and idealistic first term 
politicians." The man is silent for several seconds, 
as I struggle to make sense of the situation. "Things 
have been quite calm recently, so the compound is 
currently unoccupied." The corner of his mouth hints 
at a smile. "Well, that is apart from the three young 
girls awaiting your arrival."

I stop breathing, and my stomach begins to tighten. 
The man seems to enjoy the shock on my face. "What," 
my voice shutters with excitement, "are you saying, 
exactly?" I ask, hoping I'm not mistaken.

"The girls belong to you, and over the next three days 
you are free to do whatever you please. You have 
unrestricted access to the facility and all that’s 
inside. I'm sure you'll find the interrogation room 
quite interesting." 

I stare in stunned silence, my jaw hanging slack.

"At 6am, 72 hours from tomorrow morning, the car will 
return to pick you up."

I close my mouth and lean back against my seat. 

"You’re a valuable asset, Mr. Morgan, and we can't 
have the public turn on you. Over your twenty years in 
the Senate, you have built the persona of a scrupulous 
moral crusader, and yet you lack any of the annoying 
convictions that go along with it. You're the perfect 
puppet, if you'll excuse the trite metaphor. As 
president, you could convince the public to go along 
with anything The Umbra decides, and make them believe 
it's what they wanted all along."

I know I should be offended, but all his words ring 
true. All I want is power, or the appearance of it, 
and I do whatever is necessary to get it. They hate 
homosexuals, so I fight to make homosexual activity 
illegal. They fear children are straying from god, so 
I work hard to establish compulsory prayer in schools. 
They hate outsiders, so I write a bill that prevents 
any form of financial aid from leaving the gates. 
Countless other actions like these serve only to keep 
me on top and The Umbra sees me for what I am.

The man speaks again. "As long as you act in The 
Umbra's interests, you can expect this every six 
months. It's a mutually beneficial situation, Mr. 
Morgan. You get public adoration as President and an 
outlet for your deviant desires, and The Umbra gets a 
public willing to do anything we want."

We drive in silence for nearly an hour before the car 
stops.

"Well, here we are." He leans over and hands me two 
keys. "Outside you'll find a hatch set into the 
ground. Close it behind you. There's a heavy locked 
gate at the bottom of a long staircase. Use the big 
key, and remember to lock it after you pass through. 
The small key unlocks the interrogation room." He 
leans over and opens the door. 

I am motionless for a few moments and then step out. 
My stomach is in knots and my legs are unsteady with 
anticipation. 

The door slams behind me and the car drives off. I am 
standing on the side of a desolate road outside of the 
towering wall that borders D.C. About ten yards past 
the embankment a hatch is visible in the dirt. I scan 
the area, and the only movement is the cloud of dirt 
and dust that trails the departing car. I walk toward 
the hatch, half expecting this to be some sort of 
trap. The door is very heavy, and squeaks loudly as I 
swing it open. I step inside and close the hatch 
behind me. Small lights along the ceiling barely 
illuminate the concrete stairs. I make my way down, 
careful to watch my footing.

As I near the bottom, I can see light leaking in from 
the bottom of a door. My mouth goes dry. I pull the 
larger key out of my pocket, and despite my trembling 
hands, I manage to slide it into the lock. 

It turns cleanly. 

I push open the heavy door and it slides with great 
ease. Bright florescent light burns my eyes. I step 
through the door and close it behind me. My eyes begin 
to adjust, and I think I hear faint whispers. I lock 
the door and slide the key in my pocket. 

It is a very claustrophobic place. The ceiling is less 
than a foot over my head, and I can touch both sides 
of the hall with the fingertips of my outstretched 
arms. The floor is grey polished concrete, and the 
walls are a soothing, pale blue. I start toward the 
fork at the end of the long, empty hallway. At the 
fork, I look left. About twenty feet down the hall, is 
a study looking metal door. In front of it is an 
opened barred gate. I assume that is the interrogation 
room.

I hear a laugh coming from my right and turn toward 
it. There are three doors on the left side of the 
hundred-foot hallway, two on the right, and one at the 
very end. I look into the first door on the left. 
Overflowing bookshelves line the walls, floor to 
ceiling. A heavy mahogany table sits in the center and 
three large leather chairs rest in the corners. I look 
into the door across the hall. It is the same exact 
size of the library but has a pool table in the center 
and a well stocked bar against one wall.

I continue down the hall. On the left is a spacious, 
but otherwise unremarkable, bathroom with a corner 
shower. 

I hear quiet talking coming from the room across from 
the bathroom. From the hallway, I can tell it is a 
kitchen. I step closer to the door and listen.

"Why do we have to wear these clothes?" A very young 
voice asks.

"I already told you." A more mature, but still 
childish voice answers. "It will make the man happy. 
If he isn't happy, he'll tell Mr. Morgan."

"Everyone else always wants us naked. Why would he 
want us wearing clothes?" The younger voice asks 
again.

"I don't know, Annette. Just leave them on." The older 
girl says with a hint of annoyance.

There are several seconds of quiet. I stand outside 
the doorway, allowing the pleasing, vibratory 
anticipation to overwhelm me.

Another young voice speaks. "These things are really 
good. We should ask Mr. Morgan to get some."

I finally relent and lean my head through the 
doorframe. To my right, on the far end of the room, 
three young girls stand with their backs to me. They 
stand in front of a stainless steel table, sharing a 
can of peaches. The smallest girl reaches in with her 
hand and pulls out a dripping piece of the sweet 
fruit. She leans over the can and bites into the slice 
of peach, juice dripping to the table.

I speak. "Hello there, girls." 

They turn around quickly, their knee-length plaid 
skirts overshoot before spinning back. They wear white 
button up blouses with the emblem of McCarthy Middle 
School embroidered on them. I recognize the symbol 
immediately because the school is very near the 
capitol building and a coffee shop I frequent. Most 
mornings I sit by the window, and pretend to read the 
paper as I watch the girls stroll past, their skirts 
swaying rhythmically. 

The three children smile at me as I walk over to them.

"Hello, sir." The oldest girl says. She was a 
beautiful redhead of about five feet. She looks about 
twelve, and has minor freckling on her pale, apple 
shaped cheeks. Her wide, round eyes are the color of 
vintage denim, and small breasts tent her blouse 
slightly. Vaguely pronounced hips signal the girl's 
body has begun its inevitable decent towards woman 
hood.

The girl standing next to the redhead is definitely 
the youngest. She has jet-black hair hanging to her 
shoulders, and stands barely four and a half feet 
tall. I judge her about ten years old. She has a round 
face and dark brown eyes that droop slightly, so even 
smiling, her face has a hint of sadness. One by one, 
the girl sucks the sticky syrup from her fingers. 

The final girl has dark blonde hair that she has 
tucked behind her ears. She is a couple inches shorter 
than the redhead is, and looks about eleven. She has a 
pointed, narrow nose and a thin oval shaped face. Her 
hazel eyes are almond shaped, and full lips give the 
girl a mature look that counters her undeveloped 
frame. 

"What are your names, girls?" My eyes drift from one 
smiling face to another.

"My name is Becky." The redhead says. 

"I'm Brianne." The blonde says.

The smallest girl wipes her hands on her skirt. "My 
name is Annette."

I step closer to her and place my hands under her 
armpits. She giggles as I lift her to the table and 
shivers when her bare thighs touch the cold metal. 

I smile at the girl. "How old are you, beautiful?"

She smiles back. "I'm nine." Her eyes squint slightly. 
"How long do we get to stay down here?"

I look into her innocent eyes. "Do you like it down 
here?" I ask.

"Yeah," she smiles wider and I notice a few missing 
teeth, "it's really clean down here."

I step closer and spread the nine-year-old girl's legs 
apart with my own. "You're going to be down here for a 
very long time." She smiles and leans back slightly, 
resting her palms on the table. I place my hands 
around her waist and pull her toward me. I lean in and 
kiss her, her mouth still sweet and sticky from the 
peaches. 

The two other girls understand that they have jobs to 
do. The redhead hops up next to the nine-year-old and 
the blonde begins fondling my crotch through my black 
slacks. I slide my tongue between little Annette's 
sugary lips. She wraps her arms around my neck and our 
tongues brush against each other. I reach behind her 
and slide my hands under her blouse. Goosebumps form 
on her smooth back as the tips of my fingers gently 
glide up and down. I ease my right hand under her 
skirt and passed elastic band of her panties. My 
middle finger finds the small indentation that marks 
the beginning of her ass crack. I slip a finger down 
between her small ass cheeks and let them envelop it.

Brianne kneels in front of me, struggling with the 
zipper on my black slacks. She finally manages to pull 
it down, and slides her small hand through the 
opening. Her hand moves down and up the leg of my 
loose boxer shorts. Small, slender fingers wrap around 
my cock. It begins to stiffen rapidly. She moves her 
fingers in a rhythmic wave from the base to the head 
and within moments, I am fully erect. 

Becky, the redhead, sits to Annette's right and 
dangles her legs over the edge of the table looking 
left out. I reach over with my left hand and place it 
on her milky white thigh. She moves closer, smiling 
with anticipation. I move my hand up and down, her 
skin smooth against my fingers. She spreads her legs, 
and my fingers creep toward her young pussy. I gently 
caress her through the thin cotton of her panties. I 
succumb to temptation and reach under the elastic. The 
twelve-year-old's cunt is warm and superbly smooth. It 
dampens after a minute of playful exploration by my 
fingers. I pull them out.

I pull my mouth away from Annette. Her eyes are closed 
and her mouth opens slightly. I place the fingers of 
my left hand, slick with the redhead's arousal, into 
the nine-year-old's mouth. Her small tongue wraps 
around each digit and sucks them clean. I remove my 
right hand from the back of the girl's panties and 
ease her back against the table. My hands shake with 
excitement as I reach for the first button on her 
blouse. I undo it, and the experienced girl helps with 
the rest.

The redhead gets onto the table and kneels next to the 
nine-year-old. Brianne removes her hand from my pants 
and follows the redhead's lead. She kneels opposite 
the redhead, Annette's small body between them.

The small girl's blouse is now fully open. The two 
other's help pull her small arms out and throw the 
garment to the floor. Her chest is indistinguishable 
from a boy's. Becky leans over and takes one of 
Annette's small nipples into her mouth. Brianne 
presses her lips against the tiny brunette's and the 
two children begin kissing sloppily. The back of the 
nine-year-old's knees press against the edge of the 
table, her feet hang motionlessly. I grab the bottom 
of her plaid, wool skirt and flip it onto her stomach, 
revealing a pair of pattern less white cotton panties.

I pull them off.

The girl's pussy is remarkable. Each lip has the 
smooth plumpness of unbaked bread. I probe it with an 
eager middle finger. She is moist and tight. Even 
though the prepubescent whore has probably been fucked 
a hundred or more times, she still has the elasticity 
that comes with such a youthful body. Palm up, I slide 
my entire finger inside her and bend the tip upward. 
The small girl quivers as I massage the sensitive 
patch of flesh on the wall of her vagina. I stoop down 
and flick her tiny clitoris with my tongue. Within 
minutes the nine-year-old is coming. She tightly grips 
the first thing her hands can find, which for her left 
is Brianne's skirt, and her right, Becky's wrist.

I continue sucking the girl's cunt long after her 
orgasm passed. She breathes heavily, and the two other 
girls giggle at her.

I rise and wipe my mouth. The blonde and redhead sit 
up and look at me, eager to be next. I wonder how 
often their clients manage to get the girls off. 
Probably not very, I decide, based on the surprise and 
excitement on their faces.

Don't get me wrong, the pleasure I give to my victims 
is not for their benefit. I love the idea of contrast. 
In music, art, food, and literature, I enjoy exploring 
how extremes can feed off and influence each other. 
The same way a salty cheese will make a sweet wine 
even sweeter, the pleasure and happiness I give these 
girls will only make their pain and terror more 
intense and satisfying.

I step away from between Annette's legs and reach 
around the kneeling redhead. With extreme gentleness, 
I turn her ass toward me and guide her head and 
shoulders to the table. I flip her skirt up, and 
admire the paleness of her. Such flawless snowy white 
skin is rare among the girls I've had. Her white 
panties cling tightly to her wet mound, the smell of 
arousal faint but unmistakable. 

I press my lips over her twelve-year-old crotch and 
inhale deeply, my nose forcing the white fabric into 
her asshole. After forcing her legs together, I pull 
the panties down. A small tip of her inner labia 
protrudes from the fat outer lips. I place a hand on 
each of her fair cheeks and spread them. Her asshole 
spreads slightly, its pinkness bright against her 
white skin. I encase the small hole with my lips and 
begin to taste it vigorously. 

Becky's hips buck. She makes a noise that sounds like 
a mixture of shock and ticklish laughter. Her back 
arches even further, forcing my tongue to further its 
descent toward her bowels. 

The blonde girl moves closer. She leans over and sees 
what I am doing. "Ewww!" she says with a laugh, 
"that's gross." My tongue continues probing and 
swirling around the pink hole.

Becky moans. Her body shutters as she takes a deep 
breath. "It," the young girl pauses, "it feels so 
good." She laughs and I break the vacuum of my lips. I 
watch her slobbery asshole close. The darkness inside 
disappears like the hollow eye of a winking ghost. My 
lips move down, and I lightly bite her protruding 
inner labia. Her leg muscles tighten and I release the 
small piece of flesh. I take a long, doglike lick of 
her pussy, from her clit to her asshole. Finally, I 
begin working toward the young redhead's orgasm.

She grinds her sopping cunt against my face. The 
blonde girl watches, gleefully waiting her turn. 
Annette lies on her side, her fingers moving over and 
into her prepubescent pussy. Juices flow from Becky's 
pussy, and I gladly swallow them. I finally get her to 
cum after a few firm presses against her clit. She 
collapses onto her stomach, a puddle between her weak, 
shaking legs. I dip my fingers into the creamy liquid 
and bend over her. She sucks them clean.

Brianne is giddy. The other girls riding the wave of 
post orgasm euphoria, she knows it is her turn. I 
leave the redhead's side and take the blonde's hand.

Brianne jumps to the floor, and I pull her close. We 
kiss. The young girl struggles against my tongue for 
half a moment, probably still imagining it sliding 
into Becky's puckered pink anus. She relents and our 
tongues collide in a sensuous embrace. I begin to undo 
the top button on her blouse. She helps me by working 
upward from the bottom. The white top hits the floor 
and I kneel to take her left nipple into my mouth. 

Her breasts are very small, almost imperceptible. It 
is only after I turn my head, and look across her 
chest, that I notice the tiny protuberances. I flick 
her nipple with my tongue and bite it playfully. She 
laughs and rests her hands on the top of my head. I 
switch nipples. My mouth works downward and I kiss her 
flat belly. She squirms, my tongue tickling her 
bellybutton. I turn her around and bend her over the 
table. She gasps as her bare chest lands in a cold 
pool of sticky peach juice. I reach under her dress 
and knead her ass through her panties. 

The two other girls are sitting up now. They smile at 
Brianne and me, their hands between their skinny legs. 
My hands continue fondling the girl, her body rocking 
against their strength. I reach around her and 
unbuckle the belt around her waist.

Her skirt hits the floor.

The white panties are lodged deeply in her ass, giving 
me a clear view of her fleshy buttocks. Like most 
girls her age, she is beautifully smooth. A small mole 
on the bottom of her left cheek is all that distracts 
from the pristine creaminess of her shapely ass. I 
grab the band of her panties and pull up gently, 
further burying the cotton underwear. 

I lean over her, my still concealed cock presses 
firmly against her right cheek. I whisper in her ear. 
"You want to cum, baby?" I ask, my lips tickling the 
cartilage of her upper ear. I move her hair over her 
left shoulder, and kiss her right. Goosebumps form as 
my hot breath blankets the nape of her neck. I kiss 
her ear and whisper, "Can I make you cum, baby?"

The girl's head nods slowly. My left hand moves under 
her panties, forcing the fabric from the warm crevice. 
I run my palm over her pussy, making a circular 
motion, waiting for the moisture to come. The blonde 
girl looks to the right, her left cheek pressed 
against the table. On the stainless steel, a cone of 
condensation forms and disappears with each breath. I 
bend, kiss her cheek, and ease my middle finger inside 
her. 

Her breathing shallows. 

I bite her earlobe and whisper. "I want you to cum, 
Brianne." The pad of my thumb presses against her 
asshole. 

It clinches. 

"Relax." I whisper. "Don't worry." My thumb enters her 
anus with little resistance. She is breathing more 
rapidly as the thumb penetrates her fully. With some 
straining, I manage to reach her clit with my index 
finger. I rub it gently.

The child clenches her body. With three fingers, I 
stimulate three separate erogenous zones. A quiet 
squeal escapes the child's lips. 

I'm sure no one has ever made this girl feel so good. 
I look at the pleasure on the girls face. It isn't a 
smiley faced, laughing pleasure, but rather a 
drooling, eyes rolled back into her head, babbling 
pleasure. 

It's remarkable how similar the face of extreme 
pleasure and extreme pain actually are.

I quickly bring the girl to orgasm. Her anus squeezes 
my thumb and her knees give way. I press my body 
firmly against her to keep her from hitting the floor, 
and continue stimulating her long after the orgasm 
passes. When I feel her regain control of her legs, I 
remove my hand from her soiled panties and stand up.

Brianne remains bent over the table for several 
seconds. I watch her back rise and fall rapidly. 
Annette and Becky sit cross-legged on the table, 
staring at the recovering blonde girl. 

I lift Brianne's weak body and sling her over my 
shoulder. Smiling, I turn to the other girls. "Now 
it's my turn." I say slapping the blonde girl softly 
on her ass. "We need a bed."

"Oh," Annette says hopping of the table, "this way." 
The shirtless girl scuttles toward the kitchen door. 
Becky glides her bare ass across the table and follows 
her. I walk behind them with the blonde girl hanging 
over my shoulder, like a Neanderthal returning with a 
freshly killed deer. The two girls turn right out of 
the kitchen and enter the room at the end of the hall.

It appears to be the living quarters of whoever is in 
charge of the facility. There's a king sized bed, 
dresser, desk, and a private bathroom. I drop Brianne 
on the bed. She rebounds highly and giggles, her 
senses having returned. The others jump on as well, 
bouncing on their knobby knees.

"Not yet." I tell them, taking Annette by the hand and 
leading her off. Becky and Brianne follow and stand at 
the foot of the bed. I kick my shoes off and nudge 
them under the bed. I unbuckle my belt and begin 
unbuttoning my shirt. Becky steps toward me, gets on 
her knees, and undoes the button on my slacks. She 
pulls my pants and boxers to the floor. The twelve-
year-old redhead eyes my now flaccid cock. It swings 
pendulously as I kick my pants and boxers from my 
feet. I drop my shirt to the floor and lift my foot to 
Becky. She removes the tight black sock. I pull my 
undershirt over my head and drop it to the floor as 
Becky pulls the other sock off my other foot.

I stand naked before the girls. My tall, wrinkly, and 
hairy body juxtaposed against their own taut, tiny 
frames. I sit on the bed, my shoulders resting against 
the headboard. The girls look at me, waiting for 
direction. Apart from black socks and penny loafers, 
each girl is in a different stage of undress. Becky is 
without panties, put still wears her skirt and blouse. 
Annette wears only the plaid skirt and Brianne only 
damp white panties. 

"Strip." I order the children. "I want to see all of 
you." They kick off their shoes and socks, and throw 
any remaining article to the floor. I half expect them 
to do a sexy striptease, but as whores, they probably 
aren't even used to wearing clothes, much less how to 
remove them in a tantalizing way. Their clothes fall 
unceremoniously to the floor. I see the blonde's cunt 
for the first time. It gleams, still wet with her 
juices. She has gorgeous puffy nipples, pale pink 
against her white flesh. Her budding breasts are 
pointy and small. "Get on the end of the bed." I say 
to the exposed children.

Annette leaps on first. She crawls across my feet, and 
then up toward me. The nine-year-old kneels to the 
left of my waist, her hands crossed over her thighs. 
The two others position themselves similarly, Brianne 
between my legs and Becky to my right. 

I nod at Annette.

She smiles understanding my meaning. "With my mouth or 
pussy?" She asks matter-of-factly.

"Your mouth." 

She leans over me and grabs the base of my cock. She 
takes the flaccid member into her mouth and sucks. My 
cock stretches as she moves her head up. It slides 
from her lips, and saliva splashes against my thighs 
and abdomen. She does it again and it rapidly begins 
to stiffen. When I get fully erect, she can barely fit 
more than the head inside her mouth. She tries her 
best. Her wet lips pass over the base of the helmet, 
and her tongue flicks across the tip. 

I tap the redhead on the thigh. "Suck the balls." I 
say to her. She obeys immediately, and bends down. Her 
face turns and disappears behind the bobbing head of 
the nine-year-old. I feel Becky's wet tongue lapping 
at my hairy testicles. She licks them vigorously for 
several seconds before taking the right ball into her 
mouth.

This continues for a few minutes before I order a 
change in position. Annette is a gorgeous little girl, 
but she just can't suck a dick. Child whores as young 
as Annette are never very good with their mouths. It's 
best to utilize the astonishing tightness of their 
tiny pussies and assholes. 

The redhead takes my swollen dick into her mouth. She 
is a much more skillful cocksucker and manages to fit 
quite a bit of cock between her lips. 

Annette's small tongue begins to taste my balls. 

Brianne reaches out and brushes Annette's hair away to 
get a better view. I catch her eye and tilt my head 
back, signaling for her to come to my side. She smiles 
and turns on her knees. I catch a glimpse of her 
asshole when her cheeks spread as she crawls off the 
bed. I place my hand on the small of the redhead's 
back. "Stick your ass up." I tell her, pressing down. 
She arches her back as Brianne walks behind her. 

The blonde girl gets onto her knees next to me. With 
my right hand, I reach over and pull the redhead's 
left ass cheek toward me. "It actually tastes pretty 
good." I tell the eleven-year-old. It takes a moment 
for the girl to understand my request. When she does, 
a flash of reticence overtakes her smiling face. It 
disappears almost immediately, and she moves her face 
toward Becky's presented anus.

I feel the vibration of Becky's laugh though my dick. 
Annette looks up and sees what Brianne is doing to the 
redhead. She titters, and lowers her head back between 
my legs. I watch for several minutes. My gaze drifts 
from Becky struggling to take as much of my cock as 
she can and the mildly disgusted face of Brianne as 
her tongue tastes the most intimate part of Becky's 
anatomy.

"Is she going deep enough?" I ask, placing my hand on 
Becky's back. My cock emerges from between her 
glistening lips. 

She turns her head and smiles at me. "Not as deep as 
you were." She takes my cock back into her mouth, and 
without direction, the blonde presses her face more 
firmly into Becky's ass.

A few minutes later, I am very near orgasm. "I'm gonna 
cum." I moan. "Try to catch it." Brianne stops eating 
the redhead's ass, and quickly moves to my crotch, 
lying between my legs. Becky grips the base of my cock 
between her index finger and thumb and continues 
bobbing her head. 

I feel a tingle in my balls, and my legs twitch. My 
toes curl, and I begin to erupt. Becky coughs as the 
first salty wave crashes into her mouth. Her head 
stops bobbing, and she strokes my shaft between her 
two fingers. I continue to fill her mouth as more 
spasms shake me. Globs of semen flow from the corners 
of her mouth. Annette plunges her face into the puddle 
and slurps the spilled seed.

I relax, and Becky sucks my sensitive head like a 
straw, drawing every drop out. With my purple head 
still in her mouth, she clenches her lips, closes her 
eyes, and swallows. 

Annette continues licking my semen dampened pubic 
hair. She's well trained, I think as a deadening 
fatigue takes hold of me. The three girls climb up to 
my chest. Becky lies to my right, Brianne to my left, 
and Annette on top of me. My cock deflates between the 
tiny brunette's thighs as her body rises and falls 
effortlessly with my breathing. 

I fall into a deep sleep.

An unknown amount of time later, I awake from my 
dreamless sleep. The room is dark. Becky and Brianne 
sleep at my side and Annette lies at the foot of the 
bed like a spoiled dog. I carefully rise from the bed. 
The ground is surprisingly warm against my bare feet. 
I consider putting on my boxers, but decide it isn't 
necessary. My knees crack as I walk toward the 
bathroom. After relieving myself, I go to my pants and 
grab the small key. I'm anxious to explore the 
interrogation room.

I leave the bedroom, and start down the hallway. I 
take a quick peek through the final, unexplored door. 
Four small beds and accompanying dressers are the only 
contents. I don't bother going inside. When I finally 
reach the heavy door, I glance over my shoulder to 
make sure the girls aren't following me. The hallway 
is empty, so I unlock the door and enter the room. I 
leave the key in the lock and flip a light switch.

The room is a terrifying sight. It is oblong shaped 
and appears to be a cave. The dark grey walls are 
rough and rutted. Small rocks lie on the floor along 
the base of the wall. I look up. The walls arch into 
the ceiling about twenty feet up. Along the ceiling 
are two parallel iron bars about two feet apart. At 
the end of each bar is a large gear and chain. The 
chains disappear into a large black enclosure embedded 
into the ceiling. I notice a lever next to the light 
switch. It's pushed up as far as it can go. I pull 
down on the lever slowly. Nothing happens until the 
lever passes a point parallel to the ground. 

A green light pops on and I hear the gears begin to 
turn. The lever is angled just barely toward the 
ground. I look at the ceiling and, after several 
seconds, realize the bars are descending. Six iron 
chains dangle from each bar, secured to it by a thick, 
stainless steel loop. At the end of each chain is an 
adjustable leather cuff. I lower the lever further and 
notice the motion of the bars begin to quicken. I wait 
for the bars to lower far enough for me to reach the 
leather cuffs. It's almost a minute later when I 
finally move the lever into a neutral position, 
stopping the bars.

I turn to examine the rest of the room. Along the wall 
to the right of the door, there's a large slab of 
rusty metal bolted to the wall. Dozens of iron 
railroad spikes stick out, welded sloppily in place. 
The majority support some sort of torture device. 
There are whips, blades, spiked clubs, and several 
other devices that I can't immediately identify. I 
walk over and pick one up. It resembles a chainsaw, 
but instead of a guide bar and chain, a pair of two-
foot narrow cylinders emerge into a V-shape. 

Around each cylinder, there are coils of tightly wound 
wires. I lift it from the wall and examine it. There 
are three buttons near the handle, labeled "Heat", 
"Contract", and "Retract". I push the "Heat" button, 
feel a slight vibration, and after a few seconds, the 
coiled cylinders begin to glow white-hot. 

Even holding it far from my body, the heat is 
incredible. I push the "Contract" button and the 
searing arms begin to move toward each other like the 
blades on a pair of scissors. They overlap and stop 
parallel to each other. Floods of ideas fill my head, 
each more sick and depraved than the last.

I push the "Retract" button and watch the blazing 
cylinders separate. When they are at their original 
position, I push the "Heat" button and watch the 
glowing arms cool. I place the device on the ground 
and return to the wall to examine another item. I pick 
up what looks like a long, very slender microphone. At 
one end of the foot-long, middle shaft, there is a 
potato shaped piece of stainless steel. It's about an 
inch and a half at its fattest point and there are 
about a dozen narrow slits on its surface. There is a 
small winding key sticking out of the other end. I 
turn it, and watch double-barbed hooks emerge from 
each of the narrow slits. 

I turn the key back and the hooks disappear. I take 
the final unknown item from the wall. With a cursory 
glance, it might appear to be a simple whip, but a 
closer look makes it much more interesting. The lash 
is a rigid coil of wire that hangs toward the ground. 
I lift it from the wall, and the lash remains stiff, 
fighting against gravity. On the bottom of the firm 
leather handle, there is a switch. I flip it and after 
a few seconds, the lash begins to sag and after a few 
more, it glows a radiant red. It's completely limp, 
the burning thong ready to inflict unspeakable 
torment.

I turn the electric whip off, hang it back on the 
wall, and step away from the buffet of torture tools. 
On the wall opposite the door, there are four small 
cells. While I walk around the room, I notice that the 
floor slopes very slightly toward a square grating in 
the center of the room. I walk to it, and slide the 
heavy iron grill away. A gentle cool breeze blows up 
from a natural looking hole in the stone floor. It's 
completely black. I walk to the wall and grab a golf 
ball sized rock.

I drop it down the hole.

Three seconds later, I hear a distant splash. I 
replace the grate, and stand back up. 

My mind is reeling with ideas of how to make the girls 
suffer. But, I'm not ready to act on them. Before the 
girls can know true terror and pain, I need to show 
them the opposite. 

I start toward the door and see a shadow enter. 

"Is this were the bad girls go?" Nine-year-old Annette 
asks, looking toward the whips hanging a few feet to 
her right. She walks closer. "Mr. Morgan uses a 
paddle." Her hands move to her ass, and seem to rub a 
long healed injury. "It really hurts." I stand in the 
center of the room and watch the child as she 
obliviously surveys, what I intend to be, the 
instruments of her death. She turns toward me. "Erin 
had to get paddled all the time." The girl says, as if 
I should know Erin. Her eyes drift to my swollen cock, 
and she walks toward me. "You want me to make you 
come?" She asks with the tone and cadence of a 
waitress asking if I'd like cheese on my burger.

She grabs my cock, and I shove her to the floor. She 
yelps. "I'm... I'm sorry." She stutters, with a look 
of frightened confusion.

I get to the floor and wrap my hand around her neck. 
"You fucking cunt!" I hiss into her ear, feeling 
myself begin to lose control.

"I'm sorry!" She begins crying, and I bounce her head 
on the ground. Her hands cover her face. I violently 
flip her onto her stomach. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She 
pleads repeatedly.

I jump on her back, and grip my cock with my right 
hand. I press it against her asshole and thrust 
inside. For several minutes, I rape the little child's 
asshole dry. I struggle to hold back the desire to do 
anything more. Nothing would please me more than 
tearing the girl's throat out, but it's much too soon. 
True dread and anguish can only be appreciated when 
contrasted with pure elation and gratification. I need 
more time to assure the children's descent to hell 
begins as close to heaven as possible. 

I hope this small nibble is enough to keep my starving 
dog from breaking free.

Annette whimpers as my ferocious rape continues. Blood 
lubricates my cock and drips to the cold floor. 

"Bitch!" I berate her and grit my teeth. "Vile little 
slut!"

I finally come. It isn't as powerful as the one a few 
hours before, but it is much more satisfying. The rape 
seems to be enough to delay the inevitable. I roll of 
the girl. Blood and semen gurgle from between her firm 
buttocks. "Go." I say, closing my eyes. "Get out of 
here."

The girl stands with a weepy groan and begins to walk 
away. She stops and I hear her walking back toward me. 
I open my eyes to see her standing over me. Her eyes 
are red, her stomach and chest scraped. "I'm... I'm 
sorry. I won't do it again."

I have no idea what she thinks she did, but I nod and 
close my eyes again. Her small feet patter from the 
room and my bloody cock shrinks as I begin to doze 
naked on the uncomfortable floor.

I wake myself with a snore, and get to my feet. A 
trail of blood droplets leads away from me. I leave 
the room and lock the door behind me. At the end of 
the blood trail is Annette. She has a large white 
towel under her hands and walks on all fours cleaning 
the bloody evidence of her brutal rape. The skinny 
nine-year-old resembles a newborn fawn, her arms and 
legs wobbling under her. I near her, and she 
straightens herself, but still stares at the ground. 
Her hair is wet and beads of water drip onto her bony 
shoulders. I stop in front of her.

"I'm sorry." She apologizes again, sheepishly. "Please 
don't tell Mr. Morgan." Her eyes won't leave the blood 
stained floor.

"Don't worry," I say, "I won't tell him." I assume Mr. 
Morgan is the man that runs her brothel.

She looks up at me nervously. "Really?"

I nod, and smile my most fatherly smile. 

A relived calm comes over her face and her shoulders 
relax. She glances down at my cock and sees it smeared 
with her blood. "I'm sorry." She says again, bending 
over to pick up the towel. "I'm sorry for bleeding on 
you." She presses the towel against my crotch.

"That's okay, honey." I step back. "I'm going to take 
a shower." 

"Oh, okay." She drops the towel to the floor.

I bend, kiss her forehead, and walk past her. After a 
few steps, I turn around. She continues to clean the 
floor and I see blood smeared in the crack of her 
petite ass. For a fleeting moment, I pity the child.

I shower and go back to the room. Becky and Brianne 
haven't moved, and Annette has returned to the foot of 
the bed. I glance at a clock hanging above the door. 
It is 4:00am. I ease myself into the bed and fall 
asleep.

I spend the next day pleasing the girls as much as 
possible. I wake Brianne with a kiss on the cheek and 
tender hand on her crotch. I whisper for her to stay 
quiet as my fingers bring the eleven-year-old to 
orgasm. When the frenzy overtakes her, she can't help 
waking the others. I do the same to Becky. Annette 
watches the moaning redhead tentatively, seemingly 
unsure if I am upset with her. After tenderly bringing 
the small brunette to an energetic orgasm, she seems 
to believe that I am not.

We shower together, and I prepare breakfast. I hold 
the blonde in my lap as we eat, my fingers massaging 
her clit as we share a bowl of fresh berries. After we 
finish eating, and Brianne has her second orgasm of 
the day, I lift Becky to the table and begin to eat 
her out. I stop for a moment, the flavor of cunt and 
strawberries filling my mouth, and tell Brianne to 
help Annette onto the table. The youngest of my future 
victims lies back and I pour residual berry juice over 
her puffy pussy. I place my hand on Brianne's shoulder 
and ease her face toward Annette's sweet, sticky 
crotch. She begins to perform clumsy cunnilingus on 
the prepubescent girl. I ease my tongue back between 
Becky's swollen labia.

Becky and Annette breathe heavily as they each recover 
from a potent orgasm and Brianne wipes a variety of 
juices from her face. I tell the girls to go back to 
the room and take another shower. The blonde scampers 
off quickly while the two others toddle toward the 
door, their legs unsteady. I go to the billiard room 
and remove a couple bottles of scotch, and a bottle of 
vodka from the bar. I return to the kitchen and pour 
the vodka into a large pitcher. Fruit juice and ice 
top it off. I take the drinks and some glasses back to 
the room.

The next several hours are spent in bed, where I sip 
my scotch slowly, maintaining a relaxing buzz. 
However, the little girls drift rapidly from warm 
relaxation, to blissful intoxication, and finally 
settling into a state of rowdy drunkenness. I fuck the 
girls throughout the day, and spend my recuperation 
time using my mouth and fingers to give them countless 
exhausting orgasms. 

The alcohol removes all inhibitions from the girls. 
They begin doing things to each other that I haven’t 
asked. After I ejaculate into Annette's pussy, Brianne 
sucks the thick load of cum from the small girl and 
spits the white glob into Becky's eagerly opened 
mouth. Annette eats Becky to an ear shattering orgasm 
while Brianne tongues the nine-year-old's tight 
asshole. I wonder if they are behaving this way to 
please me, or if they are enjoying it as much as it 
appears that they are.

It's 8:30pm and the girls are passed out it a drunken 
stupor. The room stinks of sweat, semen, and booze. My 
cock is raw and my aging body aches. The good, 
pleasant ache tells me I'll sleep soundly tonight. I 
look at the unconscious girls. Smiles plaster their 
faces, as if today's unrelenting euphoria has 
permanently frozen their muscles into a contented 
grin.

Tomorrow their smiles will contort into permanent, 
pain-filled grimaces. I rise from the bed and lift 
Becky over my shoulder. I carry her to the dungeon and 
lock her into one of the cages. Ten minutes later, all 
three young children are lying, unconscious, on the 
cold stone floor behind an iron cage. I return to the 
room and get into the bed, exhausted.

I pull a blanket over me and fall asleep.

I awake what seems like only a moment later. The clock 
reads 5:43am. My heart starts pounding with 
anticipation. I instantly feel wired, like a sleepless 
child waiting for dawn on Christmas morning. I get out 
of the bed and go to the kitchen for a quick 
breakfast. Within minutes of waking up, I am walking 
toward the interrogation room and away from any 
semblance of humanity I have inside me.

When the heavy door slides open, I hear cries coming 
from inside. I flip on the light and walk to the cuffs 
hanging from the ceiling. I slide two of them, one 
looped over each bar, to the center of the room, and 
approach the girls. Annette is motionless, a puddle of 
urine under her. Becky and Brianne both hold their 
heads, as strands of vomit stretch to puddles on the 
floor. The stench is over whelming.

"What's going on?" The redhead cries through bloodshot 
eyes. 

I decide to start on her, and unlock her cage. I take 
a handful of her hair and drag her out. She screams as 
her pale legs scrape across the floor as I pull her to 
the center of the room. I let go of her hair and her 
head smashes against the floor. She heaves, but her 
stomach must be dry. 

"Get up." I say to the sprawled child. 

"What's happening?" 

"I said get up!" I kick her in the side. She grabs her 
belly and rolls to her back. I bend and pull her to 
her feet. She stands unsteadily as I force the left 
wrist into one of the leather cuffs. I lock it and do 
the same with the other. She stands with her eyes 
closed as I move to the lever. I push the lever 
upward. The twelve-year-old's eyes shoot open as the 
increasing tension on the chain lifts her off the 
ground. She starts kicking wildly. I move the lever 
back to the neutral position when her feet dangle 
about two feet from the floor. 

I stand for a minute and watch the girl exhaust 
herself. When she stops struggling, I walk to the wall 
of toys and grab the electric whip. I flip the switch 
on the bottom and watch the lash as it goes limp and 
begins to glow. I laugh to myself and walk back to the 
hanging girl. She turns her head away desperately as I 
hold the burning wires to her face. 

I brush it against her armpit. There is a wet sizzle 
followed by a deathly shriek. I lower the coiled wires 
and watch a patch of her skin blister before my eyes. 
I strike her across the stomach and she screams as a 
stripe of cooked flesh bubbles. Her face is twisted 
beautifully, her teeth are bared and a stream of vomit 
and drool falls to her chest. My cock throbs, and I 
hear a cry coming from the cages. Little Annette is 
awake and watching her friends torture with terrified 
dread. 

I walk behind the redhead and strike her several times 
across the back. Just as the scent of cooked flesh 
fills the room, the burning coil of wire starts to 
cool. I shake the device, but it's no use. I look at 
the handle and unscrew the bottom. Four D batteries 
fall to the floor and roll down the grate. Becky's 
uncontrolled screeching drowns out the splashes. I 
circle the crying girl's body, and admire the brutal 
effectiveness of the simple gadget. 

I walk back to the wall and replace the whip. Becky's 
screams meld with the caged girl's weeping into 
disharmonious symphony of suffering. I close my eyes 
and let the wonderful noise envelop me. The burnt 
redhead erupts into a fit of coughs, ruining the mood. 
I sigh.

I walk to the lever and lower the bars. The crying 
redhead's legs buckle under her as her feet hit the 
floor. I move the lever to the neutral position, walk 
to Becky, and force her to stand. She screams as my 
hands touch the crackling flesh under her arms. I step 
behind her and place my hands on her hips. 
 
My cock charges dryly into her asshole.

If this causes her any pain, she doesn't show it. I 
buck against her and dig my fingers into the burnt 
skin on her back. She reacts violently, kicking her 
legs back against me. Her fight makes the rape even 
more satisfying. 

For several minutes, my cock punches in and out of the 
twelve-year-old. The chains clang rhythmically against 
the support bars, as her shrill squeals ease into a 
defeated whimper. I finally begin to come and I 
squeeze her tightly for support. For several seconds I 
fill the girl's bowels as my stomach against her back 
rekindles her screams. The orgasm passes and I pull my 
cum slickened cock from the stretched hole. Pale pink 
globs drip from the redhead and I walk toward a coiled 
hose near the cages. I unwind it and turn the spigot. 
Icy water splashes powerfully against the hanging 
girl's pale face.

She shakes her head away from the stream. 

"Drink!" I shout at her. I don't want them dying of 
dehydration. How boring would that be?

Becky takes several gulps, but most of the water flows 
over her body and onto the floor. I point the hose at 
the two caged girls and allow them a drink. The piss 
and vomit flows out of the cages and I direct it down 
the center drain. I turn off the hose, and leave the 
room.

I return to the kitchen, starving, and make a quick 
sandwich. It's completely gone by the time I walk back 
to the bedroom. I take a swig from the whiskey bottle, 
and head back to the girls. My bladder feels ready to 
burst as I walk into the frightful room. I approach 
the two caged girls and they look at me. Their eyes 
are wide, their lips tremble, and their muscles are 
stiff. Brianne screams as I unlock her door.

"Please don't!" She begs. "Please!" She turns and 
cowers in the corner. After a swift kick to her side, 
her cries change from fearful to painful. I grab her 
ankle and drag her out. She lies on her back and I 
straddle her chest. 

"Open your mouth!" I yell.

She clinches her eyes and parts her lips. 

I force the head of my cock between her lips and begin 
to urinate. 

She turns her head and spits the warm liquid to the 
ground.

I force the stream to stop and grit my teeth through a 
moment of discomfort. I slap the blonde girl's face, 
and backhand her across the eye. "Open your fucking 
mouth!"

Brianne continues to shake her head, but after a few 
more slaps she stops resisting and opens her lips.
 
I put my swelling cock back into her mouth and allow 
my piss to flow once more. When her cheeks bulge, I 
stop. "Swallow it." I order her. The eleven-year-old 
struggles, but eventually succeeds in swallowing the 
foul liquid. My bladder is empty after three more 
mouthfuls fill her stomach. I stroke by piss-coated 
cock to full erection, move down the child's tremulous 
body, and slam into her cunt. 

The girl doesn't struggle against me. She just turns 
her head away and weeps. Her hips bounce violently 
against the hard floor as my thrusts intensify. I look 
over at nine-year-old Annette. She has her small 
fingers around the bars of her cage and her mouth 
gapes slightly. 

Brianne screams under me as my cock rebounds off her 
cervix. She begins to struggle. I raise my arm and 
force my forearm against her throat. I am quickly 
approaching orgasm when the current focus of my abuse 
begins to turn blue. I raise my arm and she gasps 
loudly, before my elbow crashes down. It hit over her 
eye and I hear a crack. Brianne's screams fill my head 
and pain shoots to my elbow. I groan as my second 
orgasm of the day overtakes me. My body tightens for a 
moment before I collapse onto the girl. A few 
straggling drops of semen drip into the crying blonde.

I roll off her and rise to my feet. Brianne covers her 
face with her hands and rolls to her side. I grab her 
by the hair and pull her to her feet. Assisted by a 
hearty shove, she stumbles into her cage and I lock 
the gate behind her. 

Annette stares at me in wide-eyed silence. I glare 
back and her face clenches into a sob.

I turn away from the caged sluts, walk to the lever, 
and begin to lower the bars. When Becky's ass rests on 
the floor, I stop the descent. I walk over to the 
redhead and she cries and babbles incoherently as I 
unlock her wrists. She falls to the ground and I pull 
her back to her cage. I force her inside and glance at 
Brianne. She turns her head away from me, but not 
before I see her right eye beginning to swell shut. I 
spit on the frightened child and she flinches as the 
gob lands on her outer thigh.

My attention shifts to Annette. The nine-year-old 
brunette continues to blubber. I unlock the gate and 
draw her out by the ankle.

"I'm sorry!" She screams, but doesn't fight back. "I'm 
sorry! Please!" 

I drag her toward the chains that previously held the 
seared redhead. I bind her ankles and turn to the 
lever. I stop the bars when her head is about even 
with my crotch. Nearly two feet separate the child's 
ankles and her arms hang limply over her head. Her 
face reddens with tears and pooling blood. 
 
"I'm sorry." She whimpers quietly.

I walk to the wall, and contemplate my choices. Not 
wanting to escalate the festivities too much, I skip 
over the more destructive instruments, and settle for 
a simple plastic dowel. It's about four feet long and 
is incredibly flexible. I walk back to the hanging 
child and run the tip of the dowel over her exposed 
cunt, across her flat chest, and to her chin. 

She clenches her eyes as I flick her forehead softly.

I agonize over where my first strike will land for a 
few moments before settling on her inner thigh. I step 
back and take a few slow practice swings. Satisfied 
with my position and angle of approach, I swing. 
Annette lets loose with a satisfying screech, and 
begins flailing her upper body. The metal loops clang 
loudly against their support beams as the nine-year-
old struggles futilely. I watch the girl's small toes 
as they clench in pain. She eventually calms down, her 
shrieks now mere snivels. 

I strike her thigh again, this time with the very tip 
of the dowel. It slices open a small gash in her leg. 
As the little girl screams and struggles, a small 
stream of blood starts flowing down her thigh. I smack 
her across the left side of her puffy mound. Her 
screams evolve into a frantic cough and I strike the 
other lip. I step closer to the girl and watch the two 
stripes over her cunt darken from pale red, to a plum 
like purple. 

She pisses herself. The majority of the dark yellow 
liquid flows down her back before splashing to the 
floor, but a small stream creeps over her stomach, 
chest, and agonized face. 

I walk around her back and give her a rapid series of 
blows across her shoulders. A mist of piss erupts from 
her wet flesh as I mercilessly beat her. I stop when I 
notice several swats have drawn blood. 

She is no longer screaming. She swings back and forth 
in a breathless sob. A periodic gasp for air is all 
that keeps her conscious.

I go to work on her legs and only stop when I get 
tired. I realize that the girl has passed out and I 
step close to her motionless body. She stinks of piss. 
I run my hand up and down her legs, the cuts and welts 
feeling like a relief map of the Moon. After I wipe my 
bloody fingers on my thighs, I walk to the lever. When 
the girl's shoulders rest on the ground, I stop 
lowering her and unlock her ankles. Her legs crash to 
the floor and I drag her back to her small cage.

I leave the room. After a shower, I lay in the bed. 
It's only 10:00am and I need a nap.

I awake at 2:30, ready to start again. After another 
quick sandwich, I anxiously stroll back to the waiting 
children.

I hose the girls down and allow each several gulps 
from the hose. The three girls look at me like 
frightened, abused puppies. I decide to continue with 
Annette.

The nine-year-old groans as my hand wraps around her 
welt covered leg. I flip her on her back just outside 
her gate and mount her. My cock rips into her dry 
pussy, but her face doesn't seem to register the 
additional pain. I press my palms against her 
shoulders and apply my full weight, grinding her 
tattered back into the rough floor. The girl only 
winces. I pull my cock from the girl and kneel over 
her. She turns her face toward me and I wrap my left 
hand around her neck. I start slapping her with my 
right.

"Bitch!" I scream, continuing to swat the child's 
round face. She begins to cry, and I close my fist 
tightly. I hear a crack as my fist lands on the girl's 
nose. My hand leaves her throat and the screams 
return. The lovely, invigorating screams.

I reenter the girl and watch blood ooze from her 
crooked nose as I start to thrust. With eyes swelling, 
and her nose broken and bleeding, every feminine 
feature on this little child's face is replaced with 
those of a worn out palooka.

I come into the child with the might of a teenager. 
She remains splayed on the floor after I stand. Her 
cunt is bruised and inflamed. I grind my heel against 
it, and shove the girl back into the cage.

I am immediately ready for the next girl. Becky looks 
at Annette as the tiny brunette screams into her 
hands, blood flowing between her fingers. I open the 
redhead's cage.

"Get out!" I order her. 

The twelve-year-old obeys and crawls out. She kneels 
before me, staring at me with wide, desperate eyes. I 
force her to her feet, and push her against the wall 
opposite the collection of toys. Bolted to the wall 
are several, neck level shackles, the shortest of 
which is perfect for the young girl. I restrain the 
girl against the wall and tighten the leather binding 
around her neck. She strains on her tiptoes in order 
to breathe. I walk across the room and grab a wooden 
club. 

I return to the girl and stand before her. My fingers 
move toward her chest and squeeze her small breasts. I 
allow my hand to drift further down over the black 
stripes of her burnt flesh. I grab her right wrist and 
stretch her hand out against the wall. Her hand 
clenched clenches into a tight fist. Leaning onto her 
wrist with my left hand, I swing the mallet with my 
right.

The redhead lets out a terrible scream and her knees 
buckle. She starts choking against the leather binding 
around her neck. I swing again before she has the 
chance to breathe. The sound of her crunching bone is 
beautiful, like an aluminum can being stomped. I swing 
two more times, each blow summoning more gorgeous 
sounds of disintegrating bones. 

Becky begins to shake, and turn blue. 

I look down at her feet. Her toenails are cracked, 
bleeding and bent upward. I drop her hand and lift the 
girl. When the tightness around her neck is relieved, 
she gasps and my ears ring with a violent screech. I 
drop the girl and swing the club into her stomach. She 
goes limp and her eyes bulge. Her mouth opens silently 
and she claws at her neck with her right hand. 

I open the shackle around her neck, and she is 
screaming as her knees crash to the ground. She falls 
on her left side and takes her left wrist into her 
right hand. Her eyes are clinched shut as she 
continues to scream. She holds her hands stretched out 
in front of her. I step over her and stand with her 
hands between my legs. I raise the club and bring it 
down with nearly all the energy I can muster.

The hit is clean. I see and hear the destruction of 
the bones in her right hand. Her screams become 
coughs, and she starts vomiting. Copious amounts of 
blood is streaked in with the slimly stomach acid. 
That blow to the stomach must have been quite hard, I 
realize. She vomits again, and I step away quickly, 
hoping to avoid the retched mixture.

I walk around the girl and watch her pale body 
shudder. She lies in the fetal position, her back 
toward the center of the room. The bloody vomit pools 
at her chest. I raise the club again and shatter her 
right ankle. She lets out one incredible scream and 
goes silent. I push on her ankle with the tip of the 
wooden club. Her sole points toward the ceiling as her 
ankle bends unnaturally. I bend down and shove the 
clubs splintery handle into her ass.

I step away from the unresponsive redhead and walk to 
the lever. After lowering it as far as it will go, I 
move toward the cages. Annette wheezes loudly. I can't 
tell if she is conscious because of her swollen eyes. 
I open Brianne's cage, and drag the girl over to 
Becky. I kicked the redhead's misshapen foot, and the 
blonde shrieks at the sight. I release the blonde's 
hair and flip the redhead onto her back. Bloody vomit 
had continued to pool under her and now covers her 
chest. I force the blonde girl to her knees and shove 
her face into the disgusting pool. She moans a 
revolted moan, and I lift her face. She spits the 
acidic liquid from her lips and gags. A thread of 
vomit stretches and splashes against her thigh.

I lift the eleven-year-old by the neck to her feet and 
force her to the center of the room. I throw her to 
her stomach and lock her wrists in the dangling cuffs. 
I walk to the wall near the cages and pull two more 
chains across the room. Brianne kicks as I try to bind 
her left ankle. 

I kneel over her and shout into her ear. "Do you want 
me to get the fucking club?" 

She stops resisting and I lock both her ankles. I walk 
to the lever and raise the blonde eleven-year-old off 
the ground. She now hangs by all fours, her belly 
toward the ground. I step back and admire the striking 
curve her body forms. Her chest sticks out, 
exaggerating the size of her tiny breasts. I go to the 
kitchen to get a knife. Nothing on the wall can offer 
the precision I need. After rummaging through a couple 
drawers, I find one that will work quite well. It's a 
filet knife with a freshly honed edge. Back with the 
girls, I run the tip of the knife, delicately over 
Brianne's young body. She weeps as the tip passes over 
her throat.

"Please!" She begs, screaming hysterically. "Please 
don't!"

I sit on the floor directly under her head. I reach up 
and pat her bruised cheek. She clinches her teeth as I 
pinch her right nipple with my left hand. I pull hard, 
stretching her small tit away from her chest. She 
gasps as I place the sharp edge of the cold blade 
under her breast. I begin to slice up toward her head. 
Her wailing brings a smile to my face as blood begins 
to drip over my fingers.

The knife cuts very cleanly, and the lump of flesh 
falls from her body with only six strokes. I set the 
kiwi-sized lump on the stone floor and start work on 
the next. Her cries seem to fade away as I focus on 
the feel of the knife. I savor the tension of her skin 
as I press the blade against her flesh and the give I 
feel at the initial moment her skin breaks. More blood 
drips over me. It is only after I hold the other 
breast in my hand that I realize I have been holding 
my breath. 

I inhale and I hear her pained screams once more. I 
sit and listen to her distress for several seconds 
before standing. With both severed tits in my left 
hand, I get to my feet. I walk behind the girl and 
force one of the bloody lumps into her cunt. I place 
the other against her asshole and grip the base of my 
cock with my free hand. My swollen cock head rests on 
the nipple and I start to thrust. The preteen's 
severed breast passes her sphincter, forces through by 
my thrusting dick. 

I continue fucking the child in the ass. With each 
thrust, her tit plunges further into her rectum. I am 
eventually balls deep inside her, the tip of my cock 
barely touching her nipple. I finally come. When I 
pull out, semen and blood splash audibly on the floor.

I leave the room, exhausted. 

I shower away Brianne's blood and go to sleep without 
eating. When I wake, it's 7:15am and I am starving. I 
prepare myself a more substantial meal of steak and 
eggs before I returned to the room. Brianne still 
hangs with her legs and arms stretched behind her. She 
murmurs quietly, and seems barely conscious. She's 
forced one of her severed breasts out from inside her. 
I walk behind her and lift it off the ground. The 
bloody mass is cold and sticky. I walk to her front 
and force her mouth open by pushing on her lower jaw. 
Her eyes open and I ram the disgusting thing into her 
mouth. I slap her face hard and walk to the broken 
redhead. As I near the sprawled out twelve-year-old, I 
hear a wet splat on the ground behind me and the 
blonde begins sobbing.

Becky had tried to crawl away, but she only made it a 
few feet. She lies unconscious on her stomach, her 
arms stretched over her head. Her hands are swollen to 
a comical size and her ankle is a stunning mixture of 
purple and blue. I step over her and walk toward the 
caged nine-year-old. She is the most awake.

She whispers something indecipherably quiet as I 
approach. I imagine it to be a plea for me to spare 
her anymore pain. I ignore her request and tear her 
from the cage. The girl mutters incoherently, blood 
spraying from her swollen mouth. I carry the girl, 
limp in my arms, as I position two more chains in the 
center of the room. I struggle briefly, but manage to 
get her left arm into a binding. She hangs by one arm 
for a second, before I lift the other and secure it. 
Her striped legs dangle like the hollow tubes of a 
wind chime. I walked to the shelf and pickup the 
device with the white-hot, scissor like arms. 

The little cunt has no idea what's about to happen. 

I walk back to the girl and rest the device's cold 
left arm against the inner thigh of her left leg. I 
push the "Heat" button. Within three seconds, the 
small brunette is screaming as flesh begins to sear. 
She kicks both legs uncontrollably, which only forces 
more untainted flesh to cook against the hellish 
device. I would love to savor the moment, but I 
remember the electric whip and can't imagine the 
device's charge would last very long. 

I pressed the button to start the contraction. She 
continues kicking as the arms begin to close. I adjust 
the position to compensate. When the contracting arms 
begin to slice through her flesh her head shoots back 
and she lets loose with a series of animalistic 
screams. The acrid stench of burning blood coats my 
nostrils. The barbeque like sizzle stops as the arms 
near the parallel position. I feel the device snag 
very briefly before hearing a loud crunch.

The child's leg falls to the floor.

After pressing the button to retract the arms, I 
examine her still smoking stump. It resembles the 
roasted ham hock I was served at a summit in Berlin 
the previous year, bone and flesh blackened. I 
position the still searing arms over either side of 
her other leg. Flesh still sticks to the coils and 
burns away in puffs of black smoke. I contract the 
arms, and my senses are flooded with the same glorious 
scents and sounds. Annette's cries harden my cock, and 
the stench, which in any other context would be 
revolting, invigorates me. I've never encountered the 
smell of cooked little girl. Along with the sound of 
ear shattering screams and the sight of twisted, 
weeping faces, this smell is another piece of sensual 
evidence of my victim's prevailing agony.

Her other leg hits the ground. I turn the heat off and 
throw the device to the ground. In a state of 
uncontrollable arousal, I step in front of the child 
and start fucking. Her still hot stumps warm my thighs 
as I reach around her waist and force her against me. 
I stare into her face and snarl at her. 

Her head falls forward.

I continue fucking the nine-year-old as drool drips 
from her parted lips. I come ferociously.

I step away from the girl, and wipe small bits of her 
charred flesh from my legs. Her legs lay under her 
like two logs waiting for kindling. I contemplate what 
to do with them, as cum drips from between the girl's 
burnt stumps. I decide to toss them into the hole. 
With the grate raised, I heave her right leg and wait 
for the splash. I do the same with the left, and 
replace the grating. 

"You'll be reunited soon." I say to the senseless 
little girl, hanging like a slaughtered pig.

I walk back to the redhead. I reach under her and flip 
her onto her back. Her small breasts are scraped from 
when she tried crawling across the rough floor. I 
kneel down and squeeze her puffy right nipple between 
the nails of my thumb and forefinger. There's a hint 
of pain in her face, and small beads of blood trickle 
down. I sit on my haunches and look toward the wall, 
searching for inspiration. A set of meet hooks seem to 
fit the bill.

I rise to my feet and retrieve them from the wall. The 
hooks seem to be formed from a solid piece of 
stainless steel. The tips are exquisitely sharp and 
have a mirror finish. If they have been use before, 
there is no evidence of it. I walk back to the 
helpless twelve-year-old and squat over her face. I 
place one hook down and, with my left hand, I pinch 
her left nipple and lift her breast so the skin was 
taut. With my right hand, I place the tip of a hook 
against the crease under her breast. 

I pull the hook toward me. The tip punctures her pale 
flesh with ease. I force the tip further in until I 
feel the tip hit a rib. I pull it out slightly, and 
rotate the handle away from me. The tip tears through 
the child's body before emerging a few inches above 
her nipple. I give the handle a few quick tugs to 
ensure the flesh will hold. Her body rocks and shows 
no sign of life apart from the slow rising and falling 
of her chest.

I repeat the process with the other tit and drag her 
body, by her skewered breasts, toward Annette. I go to 
the lever and lower the bars nearly to the floor. 
Brianne's back straightens and Annette's seared stumps 
dig into the ground. I pull two chains, each looped 
over the same bar, toward Becky. I place each handle 
through a shackle and tighten it, securing each meat 
hook. I go back to the lever and watch the three 
children ascend toward the heavens, ever closer to 
their final descent to hell.

The blonde girl is the only one with any cognizance. 
She whimpers and I can see the muscles in her face 
straining to clench her eyes. I look at her bent knees 
and grab a spiked club from the wall. It's very 
strong, fire hardened wood and has, what looks like, a 
large iron shark's tooth sticking out of it. The 
triangular piece of metal protrudes about two inches 
and has serrations ground into the edges. I walk 
behind the girl and line the tooth up against her 
knee.

She twitches as the point digs into her flesh. 

I press harder into her kneecap and a moan escapes her 
lips. I swing with all the strength I can gather. The 
tooth pierces her skin, grazes the kneecap, and slices 
up toward her feet. I pull the tooth from her flesh. I 
move around her and take aim at her right knee from 
the side. I swing and hit my target. The tooth wedges 
itself into the cartilage. I move the club back and 
forth. The serrations further decimate ligaments and 
cartilage. Blood streams to the floor when I pull the 
tooth from between the bones of her knee. Without a 
second of hesitation, I plunge it back into her. This 
time, the tip of the tooth imbeds itself cleanly into 
her upper tibia. I adjust my grip and begin rotating 
the club. 

When there is enough torque applied, her bone split 
with a beautiful, pop and crunch.

She is no longer conscious. 

I go to work on her other knee. The room is silent 
apart from my heavy breathing, the ripping of flesh, 
and the snap and crack of the eleven-year-old's bones. 
After finishing with her legs, I move to her arms. I 
swing with more force than I thought possible and 
shatter her elbows. When I am finished with them, they 
are twisted disgustingly and bleed profusely. 

When I finally put the club away, Brianne hangs 
suspended with her broken arms and legs stretched 
behind her back. I wish to hear her screams, but the 
sight of protruding bones will have to suffice.

I step back and survey the scene. The three young 
girls are hardly recognizable as such. The smell of 
charred flesh and blood fills the room like infernal 
incense. I know it's only a matter of hours before the 
three children will be dead. I will need to finish 
this.

I walk back to Brianne and unlock the bindings around 
her wrists. She falls and swings back and forth. The 
broken bones in her legs grind against each other, 
sounding like feet crunching through freshly fallen 
snow. I walk back to the wall and grab a very long 
serrated machete. I step between the blonde girls legs 
and place the blade between her pussy lips.

I begin sawing through her flesh. Her clit tears away 
and her vaginal wall splits like the skin of a peeled 
banana. When I reach her pubis bone, I raise the blade 
and begin hacking into the child's cunt. After three 
blows, I break through. I continue sawing through her 
vagina and rectum. The small teeth shred her cervix 
and rip open her uterus. Several more strong blows 
forced the blade through the coccyx and sacrum. I 
reposition the blade and continue sawing up the left 
side of her spine. Her tattered intestines fall to the 
floor and release the foul stench of excrement. I 
continue sawing toward her head. I tear open her 
stomach, split her liver, and slit open her left lung. 
Her ribs break easily as the blade destroys her heart. 
I finally reach her clavicle and after several blows, 
the girl split in two. 
 
Her two halves swing and spin, chucks of organs fall 
to the ground while others hang from muscle tissue. 
Her neck and head are still attached to one lifeless 
half of the eleven-year-old. 

I step back and swing at her neck. The blade sticks 
into the bone, and after a few shakes, it's free. I 
swing again, but still her head remains attached. 
Finally, after two more blows, the blond girls head 
crashes against the stone floor, rolling several feet 
away. I hack at her ankles and the two slabs fall to 
the floor with a moist splash. 

I walk over to the redhead. The hooks through her 
breasts have started to tear through her flesh. I sit 
of the floor in front of her and wrap my blood soaked 
arms around her legs. I hear tearing and a moan as I 
apply some of my weight. I continue applying more and 
more weight until I hear a ripping of flash, and feel 
Becky's body fall on top of me. I push her off and get 
to my feet. 

The twelve-year-old lies on her back with her breasts 
split open. I drag her toward the legless nine-year-
old, still dangling by her wrists. From the wall, I 
grab the device that resembles a long, thin 
microphone. I walk behind Annette and shove the 
device, pitilessly, up her ass. It slides in with 
great ease, and I stop when only four inches of the 
handle still juts from her anus. 

I start to turn the key. The hooks expand and press 
against the walls of her rectum. When the hooks expand 
fully, I rotate the device. There is a brief moment of 
resistance before the hooks slash through the walls of 
her rectum. Confident that the device has a firm grip, 
I start to pull the device back out. Blood drips and 
then streams onto the redhead's face. 

I feel the mass of tissue entangled in the hooks stop 
at her anus. After a few tugs, I realize that it won't 
make it passed her tight sphincter. I force it back in 
a few inches and go to get the filet knife I used to 
remove the bisected blonde's breasts. I place the tip 
of the blade against her anus and force it upward, 
slicing through the tight muscle. Three more precise 
slices open the girl's anus like a blooming flower. 

I begin to pull the device out of the little brunette. 
A ball of bloody rectum emerges from her anus and 
stretches like a sock. I use the knife to slice 
through the base of the prolapsed rectum, freeing the 
remainder of the little girl's viscera from it. A few 
more light tugs and her colon emerges.

I let go of the device and walk to the lever. I lower 
Annette until the handle of the device is level with 
the redhead's blood drenched face. I hurry back to the 
bedroom and grab my leather belt. When I return, I 
force the handle in Becky's mouth and wrap my belt 
around her chin and top of her head. I secure the belt 
as tightly as I can and stand up. I go back to the 
lever.

Annette rises slowly and the slack between her 
prolapsed rectum and the handle stuck in Becky's mouth 
tightens. Becky's head rises slightly and more of 
Annette's colon leaves her body.

As the nine-year-old rises higher, her large intestine 
uncoils and emerges like a snake from its den. When 
the bar reaches its zenith, a large percentage of her 
small intestine stretches out of her bleeding asshole. 
She resembles a kind of macabre kite, flying in the 
sulphurous sky of hell.

I adjust the lever to lower the girl as slow as 
possible. Annette's digestive system begins to pile 
onto the redhead's face as I mount her. I thrust, grab 
a hand full of large intestine, and pull hard. I 
continue to fuck Becky as more bloody guts cover her 
body.

I am approaching orgasm as the eviscerated girl lands 
into the pile of her own extruded organs. I take the 
knife and stab into her hollow abdomen as my thrusts 
intensify. Her descent stops and she slides over the 
slick pile before resting to the right of the 
concealed redhead.

I pull out before coming. I get to my feet and step 
back to admire my work. 

Brianne is in three pieces. Her head sits across the 
room, and the two halves of her cleaved body resemble 
a slaughtered pig. Annette lies next to a pyramid of 
her intestines, the blackened stumps of her legs 
pointed toward me. Becky, the beautiful redhead, 
suffocates under the wet mass of the nine-year-old's 
digestive tract. 

I grab the redhead's shattered ankle and pull her out. 
She is covered in a thick, sticky coat of blood, 
Annette's colon attached to the device still stuck in 
her mouth. I take the knife and slice through the red 
flesh. I undo the belt around her head and pull the 
device from her lips. I retrieve the serrated machete. 
Sitting on her chest, I force the tip of the bloody 
blade into her mouth. With about four inches of blade 
passed her lips, I push the handle away from me. Her 
lower jaw dislocates very easily. Blood fills the 
girl's mouth as I place tip against her neck.

I apply all my weight to the blade and it slices 
through her neck. The tip hits the stone floor under 
her, and I rock the knife left and right. Blood pools 
under her as I continue to carve through her neck.

Her head finally separates from the rest of her. I 
hold it up and look at it. Her eyes are open slightly 
and her mouth gapes incredibly wide. I lower it to my 
crotch and slide my cock between the dead lips. Blood 
covers me as I masturbate with Becky's freshly severed 
head.

I come and drop the head to the floor. It rolls a few 
feet away, before settling with the bisected neck 
pointed toward me. Cum drips out of her sheared 
esophagus. I roll of Becky's body and rest my head on 
her stomach. I blink at the ceiling as an inescapable 
fatigue overwhelms me. 

I sleep for several hours.

When I awake, I begin to clean up. I toss the bodies 
down the hole and hose down the floor, careful not to 
miss any chunks of meat or bone. I bring the knives 
and clubs to the kitchen and scrub them clean before 
replacing them.

It's almost midnight by the time I'm done. It's only 
six hours until my car arrives. There's no evidence 
that I was ever in the complex. 

I shower and put my clothes back on. I gather the 
three pairs of panties and slide them in my pocket. 
The next few hours are spent shooting pool and sipping 
a delicious scotch.

At 5:50am, I exit the complex. After waiting for a few 
minutes, I see a plume of dirt. It was the car, ready 
to take me back to my wife.


END

*Author's Note*
I'd appreciate any comments you have. 
SerumStories@gmail.com

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 73