"Not a good idea, Henry," I tsk as I slam the handle of the gun into his temple, effectively knocking him out.
I walk down to the foot of the table and drag his body down until he's bent over in an easily accessible position. Again, the feeling of sweet revenge courses through me and I chuckle as I strap the-foot-long dong onto my body.
A foot long.
Twelve fucking inches of pain and this is what he loved to serve up to his victims. Well, I'm about to find out what it's like to have a swinging cock and plunge it into a tight hole. Every man's desire.
I pull apart his ass cheeks and line myself up, which is a lot harder to do when you're this well hung. The fucking thing swings all over the damn place and when you think you're about to hit bullseye, you tap a sac instead.
Finally, I hit his tiny pink puckered hole and begin to push forward. It's tough to do because it's just so small and this fucking dong has the girth of a fucking eggplant. But I'm nothing if not a go getter and I keep at it. I breach the tight circle of muscle and then it’s the home stretch, see what I did there? Stretch?
I begin to laugh as I watch his asshole stretch and then I slam in all the fucking way. He comes back to consciousness with a scream and I pull out a bit only to slam right the fuck back in. He’s trying to kick but he has one injured knee and movement is just about impossible without a lot of pain. Plus, I can imagine he’s losing a lot of blood, and now adding his asshole to the list of wounds, only increases that.
I can hear the drips of blood hitting the floor and I can’t tell if it’s coming from his knee or his asshole. I’ve literally ripped him a new one.
His body slumps forward again, the pain having him lose consciousness and I figure my torture session is done for the day. It’s really unfortunate that Henry couldn’t take a good pegging, he sure was good at giving it himself. I pull out of him, remove the strap on, and let it hit the ground with a thud, blood sprinkles out with the impact.
Ouch.
I pull him the rest of the way off the table and watch as his body hits the concrete with a sickening crack. I stand still, watching to see if his chest still moves with his breaths, and curse when it moves slightly. This fucker is still alive.
I pull my knife out of my pocket and crouch down over his body, cutting open his shirt to expose his muscular torso. Same build as Zander.
I dig my knife into his unmarred skin and begin carving my sigil, the reaper's scythe. I want everyone to know Reaper Incarnate was here.
“What the fuck is going on?” I hear a familiar angry voice behind me.
Great, the fucker found me.