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  • Mental Ramblings


Updated: Feb 22, 2023

His head was a pus riddled mixture of boils, blisters and burns from when I’d taken a blow torch to him. Not with the intention of killing him, it was purely for his pain and my pleasure. He still had his eyelids, at least for a few minutes. His nose was broken and his tongue had to be removed a while back. The noise he made when I punished him was both deafening and sickening. I did it with some regret though. Our location was such that nobody else would ever hear his shrieks and screams but with no ability to give me feedback any more I couldn’t be confident of his mental state. I was 99% certain he’d lost his mind. Overall I was pleased with how I’d got my revenge but at some point he must have shut down. I’d probably taken him over the edge which was a shame.

Most of his teeth had been smashed or pulled out a week or so ago. I’d cut one nipple off, the cat did for the other. Both arms were broken and over time I’d removed his fingernails. When they were gone I broke each of his fingers and eventually I cut a few of them off. His torso showed a mix of cuts and burns and I’d experimented with acid on him with some success. Both kneecaps were shattered and when the mood took me I did the same to his toes and toenails as I’d done to his fingers. He was in a bad way but while his mind may have gone he’d just about lived through it physically, as I’d hoped. It was a fine line to tread but I think I achieved what I’d set out to do. I didn’t just hurt him though. I realised in the 2nd week that pain heaped upon pain was a limited strategy. As Nice Guy Eddie said in Resevoir Dogs: If you fucking beat this prick long enough, he'll tell you he started the goddamn Chicago fire, now that don't necessarily make it fucking so!

So sometimes I gave him a treat – Bonfire night for example. I took him outside to watch the fireworks. He could still talk then, went on about his kids probably being at the public display and wondering where their dad had got to, all very tedious. He begged me to let him go so he could see them. I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He had no idea at the time that the chair he was tied to was placed on the grave of his eldest. He whined a lot, cried a lot that night and wasn’t even pacified when i offered him some candy floss. He didn’t much enjoy the sparkler either, possibly because before I lit it I’d poked it into his urethra.When he regained consciousness I threatenedd to force feed him his testicles. If I thought he'd have survived I would have followed up on that too. I had to eat the candy floss in the end, horrible fucking stuff.

Over the course of a few weeks that didn't take up as much time as you might expect though. I got most of it done during the afternoon double bill of Judge Judy. There was a time when I'd toyed with releasing him some day. I liked the thought of him returning to normality and then shitting himself whenever he heard REAL CASES, REAL PEOPLE, JUDGE JUDY on the TV. I played Ed Sheeran to him a lot too, at least while my personal headphones worked. I told him that when I set him free he'd always be tortured by hearing that whiney prick. Most people are of course but for him it would be x1000. When Judy finished it was time for me to rest up for an hour or two and in my dreams I conjured up ways to properly hurt him. As a side note, for her age Judith Sheindlin is a FINE woman. I have no idea how a 70+ year old woman looks after herself down there but even I would tempted to have a munch on it, it'd be hotter still if Byrd was giving me directions or shoved my face in her snatch while she wrapped her legs round my neck. Are you with me? No? Oh, ok.

Anyway. Now it was time for the hostage to die. Not that he was a hostage as such. I'd let him believe that there was a monetary value that could end his torment but that was never really the case. He was now sprawled naked over a small desk with each limb tied to one of the legs. As I approached the noise was the first issue, his terrible scratchy wheezing was like nails being dragged down a blackboard to me. Along with that he had the aroma of the gents in a Wetherspoons that hadn't been cleaned for a week. He had little to no control over his toiletry habits and I certainly wasn't going to clean the wanker up so I just left him to it. He did try and look at me and it sounded like he was trying to speak. The moment passed quickly but it was enough to give me hope that maybe there was enough of him left to know what was happening. Awareness enough that he could experience his final moments and suffer one last time.

I had a few words prepared and I went through them in my head as I unpacked the strap-on. Even if I could have got an erection that fetid wreck of a human being in front of me would not have got me excited so I'd had to buy the relevant equipment. The mirror was in front of him and the Stanley knife was to hand so I could take off his eyelids. The plan was to slice them off so that he had no choice but to watch himself die. All I had to do then was get behind him and rape him until almost the point of death. He'd be staring at himself in the mirror while this happened and if able to comprehend it he'd be hearing about my plans for his family and his friends. And their families and their friends, proper Kaiser Soze stuff. At some point I would twist his head round so that we made eye contact and he could no longer see his reflection, I would complete the speech and then snap his bastard neck and be done with him. The cunt.

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Happy Wednesday, I've just rewatched Endgame and it occurred to me what it might be like for the Hulk to jizz on Tilda Swinton's bald head, maybe a bit like pouring custard on a sticky toffee pudding


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