The Wasps

                The Wasps:

 

               Chapter Two.

 

               And Now the Firecrackers.

 

Page 1.

 

            I was pretty proud of my self-control, the discipline I'd shown in the weeks since the wasps. Because she was so traumatized by their stinging frenzy and my subsequent fucks, now she was often  more compliant than in her earlier, rebellious and arrogant days and ways.

            It wasn't really the Stockholm Syndrome kicking in since she never, for real empathized or allied herself with me. How, in her right mind, could she? Of course, that was the thing too, how could she keep her mind right in the face of such unrelenting horrors and tortures, and not incidentally, the uncertainty of her final outcome. I didn't want a babbling bitch, like an idiot, on my hands, at least, not yet. I wanted a bright, articulate, beautiful cunt to keep on buggering and playing my sport with. To that end, I'd rationed her near daily torture sessions, no more than four a week, so she could hold up and even regenerate and remain attractive and not become all busted up and ugly. I mean, I loved her light hazel eyes, and putting the terror into them, how she'd plead all silent and endearing and entreating right from her fucking core - her soul, which I was screwing with.  But her stung eye was a bit of a fright, all puffy and lop-sided and mostly ridiculous looking and as much as I loved that it hurt her, it was off-putting to look at. I was glad when it fully healed, after about five weeks, and I could see her terrors in both of them again, like in stereo.

            By limiting my assaults, it was not to suggest, for a  moment, to sound merciful or that I ever showed her an ounce of genuine compassion. Sometimes I faked it to manipulate or disappoint her, to build her up and knock her down. She still got the fucks, usually mean, at least three times a day, like regular meals and often I had a few extra treats and snacks. She didn't even have to wonder anymore if I'd get her again. Like a Clockwork Purple knob, and Kubrick didn't know anything about real insanities and his pack of hyenas were pikers. All just in my expert opinion, of course. Which brought me to chuckling to myself, to think her biggest concern, the first time I raped her, was for me to use a rubber. More like a rubber mallet on her ovaries on an anvil.

 

Page 2.

 

            Still and all, I had the right to be proud. I could have done the crackers anytime earlier, but just loved looking at her and probing her with my fingers and dick, knowing I'd be doing it all in awhile. The anticipation was almost as erotic as the doing. Eventually was soon enough, or at least it had been.

            I had such a stash of the crackers, I could have blown up Iraq, which sometimes seemed like a sterling idea. Then our mis-led soldiers would stop dying for nothing in a war we never had a chance to win, their blood soaking into the country's God forsaken, barren sands, or was that Allah forsaken? Whatever, even psychotic rapists can have political opinions. Everything isn't about the raping, or is it? Because, more to my bent, I imagined there were a few decent cunts, even choice ones, hidden under some of those dumb burkas and wondered how Iraqi rapists knew who the good looking ones were to rape. Geeze, they couldn't even see their tits or asses under those idiotic tents. Compare that to a Malibu beach on a sweltering July day. Fuck did we American Psychos have it good, even better than fucking great, you could say, for certain. Like shooting ducklings in a barrel. Cunt, for the taking, on parade.

            Back to the point, back to the Forth of July and my extra love for the time.

            She had been pretty sullen, lately, sort of withdrawn like she was losing hope and her morose demeanor pissed me off enough.

Where was her defiance and fight? Where was her spark? (Spark, I mused to myself, because I knew she'd soon find that out.)

            She hadn't been outside since I had her do the wasp wiggle, in the storage shed on the verandah, and she asked frequently to let her see some daylight or the night stars and mostly to breath some fresh air. Her complexion was getting a little sallow and her skin not quite as elastic. (I suppose from stress.) I fed her a healthy diet and if she tried to refuse to eat, I'd use the extra horrible threats of mutilations to her cunt and next thing she'd be gobbling her meal all up. I weighed her pretty well daily to keep her the size and shape as she was when I snatched her. Five foot eight and a hundred and thirty-five pounds, a perfect size seven/eight. I kept her hair long, like she had it. Better to pull her around by it.

 

Page 3.

 

            Although, sometimes when I fed her, I could be an extra prick and mainly with the bananas but even the strawberries too. Of course, making her stick the banana up her cunt, or into her asshole, before she ate it was pretty standard fare, but making her eat the peel too, and leave it on, now that was just mean malicious.

            She'd chew forever on the hard stem and the end, before she could force herself to swallow and she'd just give me the most resigned glance when I tole her she had to do it again. It's not that it hurt, or anything. It just was a petty, mean, miserable small minded way to control her extra. She had precious few pleasures left in her lonely existence and surely eating  remained one of them and I'd found a way to bugger and spoil that too. But bananas were good for her and she got several a week.

            Now the strawberries, the game was to see how many she could jam into her pussy before she got them to eat. Eight was her best so far, and of course, it depended on how big the little buggers were.

            While on the matter of food, she wasn't too enamored when I'd throw the raw eggs at her and watch them, in amusement, run down her face or her sex targets. Still and all, eggs were that much better for her than the dart board darts. (which is another story for another chapter.)

            As I was driving back from the market, with my latest supplies and additional grub for her, I'd purchased the next round of bananas and got to remembering the first time she had to do it.

            And that exchange was a winner by half.

            Sometimes, when I fed her, I'd set with her too and make small talk. I mean, some might think it unhealthy all the time I spent by myself formulating my sick fantasies and not interacting with real people. I welcomed out little chats although it was mostly me trying to draw her out and her resisting. I wanted to know about her (fucking) daughter and she could smell the rat.

            So too though, I liked watching her eat. either naked or dressed sexed up, in her bra and panties or even revealing outer clothes. I liked it because I knew I was doing a good thing and keeping her alive.

 

Page 4.

 

            She was just finishing up a Lasagna, from the micro-wave and I told her, 'You're going to have to eat fresh fruit. I don't want  your skin getting all pasty or sallow.'

            'I like fruit too. You've given me a nice variety of vegetables, so I'd like the fruit too. Do you have any now?'

            'Yeah, some strawberries and a banana for you, OK?'

            She went through  most of the berries and then like a monkey peeled the banana back and went to take her first chomp.

            'No. No. Hold it.' I said.

            'What? You said it was mine.'

            'Hold it. That's right, but you have to garnish it.'

            'A banana? That's for roasts and stuff. Not fruit.'

            'Yes but, you can garnish it too.'

            'How? What with?'

            'Use your imagination.'

            'I don't have anything. You haven't given me anything, so there's nothing to imagine.'

            'I don't have to. You have it built in.'

            'You're talking nonsense, as usual, sometimes.'

            She went to take a bite again, like she'd ignore my request.

            'You do, and I'll knock your fucking teeth down your throat, and you can eat them too. No bites.'

            'But why did you give it to me then?'

            'To eat, you dumb cunt, of course, but garnished.'

            'Stop making a riddle and tell me then. I don't know so tell me.'

            'You stupid cunt, in your cunt. Use it like a dildo until it's good and wet and then you can eat it.'

            'I will not. That's disgusting.'

            'That's the idea. Totally disgusting and you will. Remember the BBs?'

            How could she forget, the pellets were still in a little huddle in her labia? And when I fucked her a certain way, they'd almost meet and bump together, inside her lip.

 

Page 5.

 

          Well, that reminder, was enough and she looked down at her area, pried herself open and in slid the fruit. She did the dildo motion with vigor.

            'I'll tell you when to stop.'

            She kept on masturbating for about five minutes and I told her, 'OK, go ahead and have a taste.'

            When she did, she barely made a face.

            'Let me taste too.' I enthused.

            I got off a good piece and there was just the slightest flavor of her crotch but mostly just the banana. I made her do it after each next bite until the whole thing was done. She laid down the peel and gave a sigh of relief.

            'What are you doing?' I asked.

            'Uh? What? I finished, like you said.'

            'We don't waste food here.'

            'No, I don't either, but I finished.'

            'Like fuck, you are. Eat the skin.'

            'The peel? You want me to eat the banana peel?'

            'You don't understand my English?'

            'You're crazy. What's wrong with you? Why do you have to find  new ways to spoil everything?'

            'To spoil everything? Not on your life. To spice it up, I would say.'

            'No, you're wrong. You just wreck things. Wreck it all.'

            'Fuck you bitch. I do what I do. Fuck you bitch. And I enjoy it, now eat the fucking peel.'

            'But monkeys don't even do that.'

            'Well you'll be a monkey's aunt, a dead one in a minute if you don't get started.'

            It took  her three times as long to grind that part, the stem and hard end and the rest as to eat the insides. And then she was done, and that was that. She declined my offer of another one but on subsequent occasions, she had to do the dildo thing with the skin on and eat it that way too. The stem in her cunt was rough.

            The thing was too, making her, forcing her, she couldn't believe I'd despise her that much and she was totally wrong because I loved her, so much, for what I could do to her. I didn't have to pretend to be civil. If I wanted to grope or cut off her tit, I had the same license.

            A license to kill and a license to mutilate.

            How spectacularly fine it all was.

            How spectacularly fine she was.

 

Page 6.

 

            I decided to feed her a miserable dose of false hope.

            Now it was the day, of Independence and I was fully up for the special treat and, of course, we were going to celebrate it together. I approached her, just feasting my eyes on my possession and got ready to reel her in again. She was so vulnerable and had become fragile, it just seemed a shame.

            I started, 'It's the Fourth of July to-day. It's getting dark now. Would you like to see some fireworks displays?'

            'Pardon? What? Pardon?' She obviously couldn't believe she was hearing me right.

            'July Forth. Independence Day.' I said.

            'I know. I know, but what? How?'

            'Some fireworks, you know.' I said.

            'But how? You mean on TV?'

            'No, the real thing, the big display down by the waterfront.'

            'But how? How?' She seemed overwhelmed with surprise and hope. Her eyes even shone a bit and her face got a bit eager. She was really pretty when she wasn't afraid, but when she was terrified she was gorgeous.

            'That's fine if you don't want to. Forget I asked.'

            'No. No. Please. I don't know exactly what you mean. Are you letting me go? How can I? We?'

            'It's a pretty simple question. Yes or no?'

            'I know it's simple, but some of your other ones have been, like, a trap for me. They seemed simple, but I couldn't win, and you know it. You knew it when you asked me, so of course, I'm surprised and maybe a little suspicious and afraid.'

            'So that's a no, I take it then?'

            'No. No it is not. Of course I'd like to, if it means you're going to take me out of here and not hurt me anymore. I'd love to see the sun and the blue sky, but you said it's getting dark so even the night time and the stars would do. Is it cloudy or clear? Could I see the moon? (I was about to send her fucking cunt to it on a rocket so perhaps she was partially accurate.) Oh, and I'd so love to smell and breath fresh air. I wouldn't try anything or do anything to draw attention to us. I promise. I promise and I wouldn't be bitchy or assertive. You won't have to argue with me. I'd be compliant and obey as you ask,' she paused after her release and rush of emotions and hope, and continued, 'I'm just surprised you'd want to do this with me. Be willing to, you know, risk it.'

 

 Page 7.

 

            Stupid and pathetic, gullible, dumb, cunt bitch, as if I would.

            'You said you wouldn't try anything, so there'd be no risk, right?'

            'Yes. No. No. There wouldn't be, but how can you know for sure?'

            'I suppose I'll have to trust you then, like you were honorable.'

            'Oh yes, yes I am. I'll keep my word. I do keep it. Anyone who knows me, knows that about me.' she continued, her hope and enthusiasm building, 'Where would we go? What waterfront? And how? Not in that van of yours again, please. Not in it. It's horrible, how you raped me in the back, and hurt me and laughed about using a condom. So I don't like it. I hate it and wouldn't want to be in it again. I think you can understand that, can't you?'

            (Of course, I never mentioned going in the van. The operative word being going.)

            'You have a car? Of course you do. Everyone has a car. We'd go in that then. That would be fine and I'd never try to escape, I said. What kind of car is it?' She was tumbling over her thoughts, blinded by her hope.

            I wasn't answering her directly now, and  she was slightly picking up on maybe it wasn't all as she was thinking and hoping. (And, of course, she was immediately thinking how to get away free. How she could break her promise. That was always her game.)

            'Please tell me what kind of car? How would we go? If we go? She was starting to have her doubts.

            'I just wanted a yes or no and you've turned it into a big production, so just forget I offered. I won't again.'

            'Yes. Yes. Please. That's my answer. Yes, I want to see them with you.'

            'I wish you'd said that right off instead of all the melodrama and speaches.'

            'But I'm saying it now. I am. I am. Sorry, you caught me by surprise, It's not too late. Say it isn't and we can go.'  She sounded just like a little kid. All hopeful, she almost looked like one too.

 

Page 8.

 

            'How much do you want it? to go?'

            'Oh no please. Oh please, no don't. Don't start with your conditions and games. I always end up getting hurt and you know that. It's true, you find a way to twist it around to justify hurting me. Making it my fault you're hurting me, when I believe, sometimes, you just enjoy it for the sport. So please, just accept my yes.'

            'One fuck, and I will. You don't make a sound of protest, not even a little squeak, and you have yourself a deal, and I won't try to bust you up inside, or be mean to your nipples.'

            She could see I was trying to have pity, to be reasonable, and sensed it was the best I would do.

            'In the front. Just the front? Not the back?'

            'Fair enough, one little cunt poke.'

            'OK. OK.' she acquiesced.

            She really was quite amazing, but then again, she had her motives and I didn't really rape her anyway. It was more like intercourse and I even kissed her pretty deep good. She seemed to kiss back and even pretended the orgasm groans when I blew into her. The depth of her kissing was pleasant, and surprised me since  many women considered kissing to be more intimate than fucking. That was when the souls connected, so it confirmed her desperation to appease me. She was swallowing her revulsion, to put the good act on. As if she fooled me for a second and she was tethered to the bed frame by her steel neck line, so it wasn't prudent to try to overpower me or whatever game she thought she might accomplish. Still and all, when I was done, she almost didn't feel abused and she was happy for the first time in weeks and I decided to let her have that for a bit more.

            I had arranged a bathroom area for her needs, with a tub, and told her to have a bath and fix herself up, sort of like a normal routine, and we'd start in a bit. She was kind of singing to herself, more of the shine coming back into her eyes and even her body was getting more hopeful, more fluid and smooth. She'd adjusted to her nipple crushing and managed not to think about her disfigurement, nearly as much as at first. Besides, by now it was all quite neat and healed, only missing. From a distance it looked inverted.

            Her hopes and spirits were rising.

            Boy was I going to blast it all out.

 

Page 9.

 

            I'd done my research well. The beauty of the Internet. It is such a boon to raping, torturing perverts. (And those who want to read about them.) It allowed me to research and find just the right choices. The perfect products for my needs and often I could even get them by mail or courier. No bother at all,  in fact, just all extra great and enabling. And choices I didn't even know existed.

            There was an M80 cannon firecracker that was red and very much looked like a small stick of dynamite, about four inches long and almost an inch in diameter. It was now illegal. It was virtually impossible to find them anymore but I had forty old stock in eight packages. I had to pay an extra bit for them but they were the kings, the baddest, my Leroy Browns.

            Fuck, some guys get all the breaks. Leroy Brown, baddest guy around, in the whole wimp town. He even had a song about him from the mid 1970s and he wasn't a fraction of the bastard I was. Yet again, in my line of work, everyone knew who Leroy was and nobody knew who I was. Not one fucking cop was trying to stop my reign of dick terror, not even the detectives were looking for me. And, of course, she kept right on expecting them to rescue her, like she had been for weeks, to come crashing through the door any minute with their battering rams and pistols already to avenge and to kill, just like on TV. The only one close to her with a ram was me and it was between my legs plus I had all the guns. I had every gram and ton of the power.

            A slightly lesser version of the M80, was the M88 (even though the number was bigger, the bang, the destructive force, was smaller) and it too was no longer available except for the sixty I'd found as a bargain, this time. Too many kids were blowing their fingers off, so the M80s and M88s had been banned.

            Readily available was the Silver Salute, a high powered, large cracker, that was the legal version of the M88 and I had three hundred of them. I didn't want to run out or anything.

            The posted reviews for the Silver Salutes read as follows.

            - They are really loud and they can blow a hole in a Coke can and they have long fuses. - from a nine year old fan.

            - Great big bang, blows a foam cup to smithereens and blows holes in metal cans, These are the best money can buy. - a loyal customer for three years.

            - They have a picture perfect brilliant flash that really burns hot and a six second fuse. - biggest bang for the buck fan.

            Another variety was the Hydro cracker, which I had five hundred of them, which was somewhat smaller but still plenty dangerous and had similar great fan endorsements.

            - I put one in a plastic bottle and it blew it to pieces.

            - They explode in the wet, even under water and kill the frogs.

            - They can shred a soda can filled with water to pieces. (I especially liked the shreds and pieces parts.)

            So goes the primer on firecrackers.

            I had my arsenal and was about to use it.

            And she didn't even know I had them and certainly not almost a thousand.

 

Page 10.

 

            Over the weeks that I'd held her, I'd gone to various thrift shops, Goodwills and Sally Anns, etcetera, to buy clothing that fit  her so I could have her dressed all sexy and nice and fresh and cut  or rip her outfits off or force her to strip and re-strip, like it was for the first time. I got lots of series of pictures like the porno sites offer galleries of the same girls. I bought many of the clear blouses, silk or nylon, clingy like, and tight skirts and evening dresses and lots of shorts and slacks. I also managed to get a good number of under garments and some of the clerks looked at me strange like maybe I was a pervert or even a cross-dresser. I loved wearing victims bras and panties and it annoyed her I still had her original pairs she had on when I grabbed her and strutted around in them often to tease her. Her briefs had lots of my cum stains decorating them along up the front. I would never damage them, souvenirs and all that good stuff and almost as good as keeping the nipples if they didn't get crushed or shot off.

            I'd gone out to retrieve some of my firecracker goodies and came back into the room and set them on the table, same one as before, for the wasps, where she couldn't see them. She was still all excited and had dressed in a nice pale blue chiffon blouse and her favorite white shorts, of the ones I'd gotten for her. I told her it was really hot outside and she couldn't tell since my house and her area were air conditioned. She very much looked like she was ready for a regular night on the town, sort of like a date. All sweet and alluring and over the top sexy. Even her crushed nipple, which couldn't heal and I had to slice off the flat flap of skin that remained, didn't detract from her allure. Knowing it was gone and how it'd happened made it all the finer and sweeter. Her tit was still a good handful to squeeze and felt pretty much the same. And its appearance was like a deep red circle of dried, oil-based paint, all smooth and stretched with no texture. It looked like a nipple, especially from a distance, except there was no bump (like I said, inverted). But if I looked closely with the magnifier, I could see the ends of the little tubes that came from her milk sacks, like the ends of tiny straws, in a circle. I could even shove a fine sewing needle along and down into them, which wasn't a good idea since they infected easily which made her healing take all that much longer.

What it really proved was I could always be meaner. Cruel and usual punishments.                                     

            I unhooked her neck line from the bathroom area and she walked back to the bed quite happily, almost like she owned the place, sort of strutting and ambling at the same time. Like she was getting back in charge (of her life) a bit.  Her cracked hip socket had healed fairly well and she only limped kind of a little, and it had stopped popping with each step. Still it made her ass swing nicely and I took full note.

            I told her to stop, I had to put the ski mask on her and she didn't question it since that was how she had come up there to begin with.

 

Page 11.

 

            'I suppose you don't want me to see your house so I couldn't tell.'

            'Yeah, I suppose.' I avoided her.

            'Like if they asked me, I couldn't say what it looks like or anything.'

            'Yeah, that's it.' I tossed off the lie. Who the fuck did she think 'they' were and how was she ever going to talk to them anyway? She wasn't in the news anymore and her case had gone cold and the cops were stretched thin with a bunch of shootings including a multiple murder suicide. And as I already gloated over, none was looking for me.

            She seemed satisfied, like all was OK, she would truly be OK as I slid the mask over her angelic face and vulnerable head. I held her skull between my hands, thinking, you poor deluded soul and let them slip down around her throat, just as if I wanted to choke her. I could have strangled her right then and I know she knew it. I had the power. I owned the control.

            She said ever so quietly, 'Please.' And stood there ever so still and compliant and expectant, but concerned, all little girl like as I released her throat from my grip and stroked her head under the mask. Her brain and mind were somewhere in there too.

            What was she thinking I would do next?

            What was she hoping?

            Now I proceeded to fix her neck line up through a ceiling eyelet and onto a ratchet device.

            'What? No. What are you doing? Aren't we going out?'

            'I have to do some thing first.'

            'Oh. OK then. Can I take this off until we go?'

            'No. Don't.'

            I just stood there transfixed, studying her and savoring the moment and how her world was about to change so drastically again. Crash to a gazillion pieces, literally explode.

            Fuck, I wanted to fuck her before I fucked her all up again and my prick was so ready but resisted my impulses. I kept quiet and still for about ten minutes and then lit one of the Silver Salute high powered larger crackers and placed it precisely on the floor right at her feet. I looked right at her cunt as I stood up and licked my lips like a goof. I didn't have time to bite her. She was getting tense and fussy, like squirming but not writhing.

            'What is that fire smell? You don't smoke do you? I've never smelled it on you or your breath.'

 

Page 12.

 

            She really had no time to question further, or to react. In the six seconds, it went off with a white flash and such a deafening bang, since they're not meant to be set off indoors. They don't even have to put that on the warning/danger label since who in their right mind would think to do it anyway?

            She screamed, shocked and afraid.

            'What the...? What was that?' She cried as she pulled the ski mask off and continued, 'What did you do? Why?'

            She could see bits of the cracker on the floor still smoldering and obviously could smell the blast.

            'What are you doing? Are you crazy? Crazy? You could burn the place down.'

            'Or burn something.' I muttered.

            'Pardon. Pardon me.' She looked aware and scared. The anger was returning to her face and manner. She was ready to fight again, but with what?

            'It was nothing.'

            'No not nothing, you said, "or burn something". What did that mean?'

            With that I selected a smaller Hydro cracker and lit it, dropping it at her feet. She tried to kick it away, but kept missing, and then to jump away as it went off and she hollered.

            'Stop it. God damn it, you fool. Stop it. I've never seen anything so crazy.'

            I lit two more smaller ones together and this time some of the blast hot caught the side of her bare leg.

            She screamed out, 'Ow. Ow. That hurt. That burned me. Stop it. Just, just stop it.'

            Now it was time to get more serious about my agenda.

            I pulled her up tighter by the neck to her tip toes and cuffed her hands behind her back. Of course, I did the usual feels.  I so loved feeling her up (and down) like a dirty little school boy all over again. Like an amateur with no technique, all rough and clumsy and gross. Like I had no respect for her.

            'Please no. Stop it. Stop. We're supposed to be going out. I got all cleaned up and dressed special for you and you did the rape thing, the intercourse like you wanted. Didn't I do it good enough? Please. I tried. I can do better. Please.'

 

Page 13.

 

            'Yeah, that's all right, like correct,  but you said yes, you wanted to see some fireworks. I asked you. So we are.'

            'You said you meant we were going out. You said the waterfront. You said we'd go in your car and not the van. You said.'

            'Well yes, I mentioned the waterfront, but you said about the car and all the rest, as you got your hopes up and blathered on and on. You really think, you dumb cunt, I'd take you out of here for something like that?'

            (Only to bury you, I thought to myself.)

            She started to cry. Like almost right on cue. Great chest heaving sobs of utter disappointment and shattered hopes and who knew what else would be shattered. Her life was all fucked up again. Her paths derailed.

            'You're so mean. I can't believe how mean you are, you can be. Why? Why me? Please stop. I don't want to see any anymore.' She sort of begged through her despair; whined through her misery.

            So much for her pleading.

            I next put one of the Hydros into the waste band of her shorts and left it there as I fetched another box of wooden matches. I so loved the smell of wooden matches that were fulfilling my purposes in her life.

            'No. Never. What are you doing? Why? That'll hurt me. You'll hurt me again.'

            I lit it and she couldn't shake it out before it went off.

            It scorched her shorts and burned a ragged hole through the bottom of her blouse where it was tucked in and singed the side of her stomach. She screamed loud and long as I pulled the smoldering fabric and bits of cracker away from her pale, scarred skin.

            'You've got to stop this. You've had your fun. Don't do any more. Please. I don't want to go out anymore.'

            That was short lived, I smirked to myself.

 

Page 14.

 

            I strutted around behind her and dropped an M80, the biggest, baddest one, right down the back of her shorts. Her ass was so sweet and smooth and unblemished. She writhed and kicked trying to shake it out, before it went off, and this time succeeded. It blew up as it dropped to the floor, right beside her bare calf. It fanned out with a deafening report and burned her in a myriad of tiny spots, like a spray, but not very deeply. Like not even first degree, which still can be more painful than third or forth degree since the nerve cells are all still in tact. If I fried her nerve cells, the bitch wouldn't feel anything of the burning. All in all, her screams were getting nicer, more from the gut and louder and she was becoming more frantic and I recorded all the sights and sounds. I lit another M80 to drop down the back of her shorts and she jerked around to try to thwart me so it ended up down her front instead. Well now did she fucking dance, like the Highland Fling trying to shake it away. It exploded just above where her bush had been before I shaved her. Everything, including my dick, was smoldering, so I had to pull her shorts down fast and her sweet nylon panties were burned through in several choice spots as was the front of her shorts. The front of them mostly wasn't white, anymore, more a gunpowder grey, shaded to black.

            Well, that made her squeak, and not like Mighty Mouse either. I am woman. Hear me roar. Ha, fucking ha.

            There were no adequate words for her fright. I hadn't caught her vagina (but I'm sure she sensed I'd be getting to that) but there were small black crust burns up across what they'd call her pubis or maybe pudenda. To me it was all just her fucking cunt, her bung hole.

            I pulled her panties and shorts back up and backed away to study her, to view my handy work. What a spectacular sight she was. She had absolutely no idea what to do to stop this new insanity. She was crying great convulsive sobs and her make-up, she'd put on to go out, was all run and her breasts heaved and sank with each heavy, labored breath. Like she was going to croak from slowly taking in too much air or maybe she was trying to make herself faint, like light headed and care free. All I knew was, I couldn't have loved her more.

            After about half an hour, I was ready for stage two.

            There were to be three stages.

 

Page 15.

 

            I approached her, like pure evil, and lit two small ones at once and stuffed them down the front of her blouse into her bra, both in the same cup where her nipple was gone. Her blouse exploded forward. For a moment her chest looked bigger. Then her blouse was blackened for about a six inch irregular, jagged radius. It was smoldering against her tit and I didn't do anything to put it out. Did that ever get her to jiggin' the dance even more. She was all waving legs and arms and looked like an octopussy and she only had the one. She wrenched and pulled and writhed for about two minutes until the smoking stopped. I went directly to her and undid her blouse and pulled her bra up over her mounds to inspect my damage. It was artistry, like an abstract painting. Her fine white skin was crinkled and peppered with the little black crusts. Her bra cup had burned through in several spots and it too was so fine.  I'd keep it, just as it was, for a souvenir. I slid her blouse off her shoulders and let it hang down at the back at her cuffed wrists, and slid her bra down too.  I uncuffed her to get them free. I got another bra and put it on her. I loved doing that, dressing her like that, it was so fucking personal. I re-cuffed her and adjusted the cups by squeezing her tits. It looked just fine now because it was perfect.

            I set two big ones, the M88s, one into each cup of her new bra so only the wicks were sticking out. Her words of pleading were become all the same. What different could she say?

            I lit them at the same time and couldn't believe how her bra exploded forward, like rocket tits or rocket bra. One actually blew the cup half apart with a ragged layer of thin foam exposed and the other flashed pure, brilliant silver setting the top elastic on fire.

            'For God's mercy, put it out. Please. It's burning me, my breast. Can't you smell it?'

            Couldn't I smell it? Holy shit and fucking right, I could. Like perfume. Intoxicating. Like a fresh brewed pot of Java. And I loved even more how it looked. Fuck and holy fuck. Just imagine her cunt.

            I took my time, but did put it out, and wanted to see if I could blow the other cup clean apart, shred it like confetti, so I set two of the M80s into it at the same time. When they went off there was no cup left. Obliterated. It was like a chicken hit with both barrels of a shotgun at once from three feet away. The air was full of fabric bits and maybe tit bits too.

 

Page 16.

 

            She passed out and slumped down onto her neck, hanging. I just watched her choke, and sort of gurgle, for about half a minute, suspended all limp and twisted and then let her down to the floor to lay there and when she came to, to let her lay there awhile longer, in her new found agony. Fuck she was suffering and knew it'd only get worse. With me, it always did.

            I stood over her, now naked, well ready and able to fuck her. I ran my foot over her tit, her scar tissue where her nipple had been and fought with myself whether or not to start stage three. I wasn't sure I was ready for it, was quite up to it yet since it would be so extreme, so I went back to doing some general explosions awhile longer. With her shorts off, I blew the arses out of three pairs of panties and obliterated two more bras. All sort of harmless and routine, although one of her ass cheeks got a third degree flare and the skin was off, a couple of square inches, right into to the fat. It looked like she'd sat on a white hot rivet.

            I'd had my rest and now was ready to get to what mattered.

            She had finally revived again and I told her, 'Open your mouth.'

            'What for? No.' She cried and clamped it shut.

            'Just fucking open it.' She hated that tone in my voice.

            As she did, I said, 'Hold this between your teeth.' It was a Silver Salute, not one of the smallest ones.

            'No way. Are you completely mad? Insane? Crazy?'

            'Hold it between your teeth.' I looked her dead in the eyes, and continued, 'I'm telling you, you want to do it.'

            'No I don't. I won't. Never.'

            'Oh yes you do. Do as I say. Just do it, or else. It's your only choice, your only chance. I'm only giving you one.'

            She  must have reasoned there was worse I could do because she opened her mouth and took the cracker by the very end  between her perfect white teeth. I was a little surprised, because she didn't want her beautiful face messed up. She was so conscious of her good looks and had often used them to her advantage, to influence men. A fucking cock teaser, but classy and bitchy and now my cock tip was into teasing her cervix.

            Some called themselves a leg man, while others saw themselves as tit men. I guess I was a vix man since her cervix represented her bull's eye to me. Even more than her clit, since it was that much deeper inside her, more personal and harder to get at. It was closer to her womb, her sex heart or her female heart, which I would like to have pulled out of her and used as a bag for my garbage. Or to cook the Haggis in the old fashioned way. Or at least have flown it at full mast from my flag pole.

            What was all this shit about thinking outside the box when I was forever thinking way inside it?

 

Page 17.

 

            She was still holding the cracker between her teeth, but then when I lit it, she let it drop after about five seconds and the big bugger exploded, as it fell, just in front of her cunt. It was like it knew my desires. She jerked way back and screamed way deep. It had singed the front of her pink silk panties, right at her crotch and a couple of molten particles had burned her labia into he slit. Again she was bewildered and befuddled. She had no idea how to cope with what I was up for doing to her and couldn't arrange for me to stop. She couldn't finesse or intimidate me.

            Her pleas were pointless and there was nothing new she could think to say although there was something very new I could think to do, which was what I was leading up to all along.

           

            Stage three was on stage.

            I'd always wondered, at least as long as I could remember, even as a kid when I knew I liked the idea of hurting the girls my age, hurting their sex parts, especially their budding breasts with the little 'pokeys', and then the teens and then the bitch women. Ever since I played with them, as a boy, I wondered what a cannon firecracker stuffed into her cunt would do to a girl or a woman? How much damage would it inflict and, more importantly, what kind of damage to what parts of her physiology there. Would she still be fuckable? Could she pee other than down her legs? What about doing it several times or three at once? I wondered even more, after I saw a western movie, where the bad guys (in black hats) killed a bitch by staking her to the ground and letting off a stick of dynamite laying between her legs up against her crotch. I assumed her legs were found in two different states.

            Now it was time for me to find it all out.

            'You shouldn't have done that, let it fall. It was your only chance. I told you. You were just getting one from me and now you've wasted it.'

            'I know, but I couldn't. I was too afraid about my teeth and face, even my eyes. My only chance for what? What? What now?' Now she was yelling at me proper.

 

Page 18.

 

            I kept my mouth shut and gloated inside, all excited and sex rubbery, all agitated but thrilled. Fuck was this ripe. Like, better than the wasps.

            'For what? Tell me. You bastard. Tell me. Tell me.' Now she was literally screaming like a holy terror, like her holy terror.

            'I won't tell you. I'll show you.'

            Now I was in full torture, mutilation mode; all deliberate with extra purpose. Sometimes, even I didn't have the stomach for some of the perversions I visited on them, and felt disgusted by how unfeeling and vicious I could be. Other times, like now, I could have cut her kid's clit out right in front of her, cooked it and made her eat it or ate it myself raw. There were tides, ebbs and flows, to my sadism and now it was coming in full with a rush, like when the planets align in a row plus there's a full moon.

            I moved her to the bed and now she was fucking fighting. It was like she knew she was struggling for her life and had to make it count all at once, so I gut belted her and dragged her by her hair with her legs flailing all along. When I kicked her in the knee I cracked its cap. I secured her face up with her legs well spread and her hips elevated on a wooden block, about eight inched arched upwards. Her cunt bone stuck right up nicely making a tempting fist target. I resisted and just patted her, patted it like a furless pet. Poor fucking thing, its minutes were numbered. I had her pulled medium tight because I wanted her to thrash and jerk about some. I'd had been naked except for a pair of ivory silk panties I'd put on awhile back. I ran my hands all over her fairly minor burns and massaged her cunt and gave her the mean and hard fuck, but fast, while she still had a whole cunt. I did the tongue stuff and her clit between my teeth, by now all quite ordinary.

            When done. I retrieved a single M80, of course, the biggest and baddest and laid it on her chest between her tight tits. She could shake enough to make it fall off so I duct taped it in place, in her valley and lit it. It exploded classically, setting her breasts jiggling but not doing a whole lot of damage. I then taped three of the smaller Hydro crackers around her remaining nipple in sort of a circle. I wondered it they might blow it off, which I didn't really want to do but decided to risk it anyway, in the names of curiosity and amusement.

 

Page 19.

 

            I lit them fast together and then pressed a board hard to her tit, like mashing her, to contain the explosions inwards. To direct the blast force into her tit rather than allowing it to escape outwards. The simultaneous concussions of them did some fine number on her. Her nipple looked like it had been gouged with a piece of glass and about half was missing. Her tit flesh was smoldering, cooking and I could smell the burn like a BBQ and some of her stuck to the board as I pulled it away. Her nipple looked like the insides of her cunt. All red and slippery and bulgy and buggered. And like oozy.

            I had to stop for awhile to get her stabilized so I could continue with my plan, assured of her awareness.

            While thinking about it, picturing it, I decided to change my approach to doing her pussy. Instead of the first one in her with her legs spread, I bound her legs tight together midway at her thighs and stuffed a big one up in between her legs, but not into her. I constricted her so tightly she couldn't shake it out and I let her thrash wildly trying to. I then got her off from the bed with her hands still cuffed behind her back, so she could try to run about, with little baby steps,  like a headless chicken knowing what was to come. I hadn't lit it yet and had to chase after her, like playing tag, trying to get to the fuse, and then she'd be 'it'. It was all silly but terrific since she was so scared and the stakes, for her, were so high. She stumbled over and I gut kicked her and got it lit. She rolled like a big sausage, trying to dislodge it, and when it went off, with what seemed like an extra super bang, it burned the insides of both of her thighs and her outer labia on one side good. She passed right out and just seeing her ass hole so forced together I had to wriggle my prick into it. She was tighter than a wine bottle neck but I had a bit of a time keeping hard, since I'd just cunt fucked her, so I didn't manage to juice her, so I punched her instead, in her pucker.          

            When I brought her to, I had her back on the bed, in the spread elevated position and was finally ready to really do it.

            I was going to blow up a woman's cunt.

            I was going to blow up her cunt.

            Hot damn.

            Hot, hot damn.

            Hot time in the cunt tonight.

 

Page 20.

 

            I could hardly contain my new building orgasms and the ache in my crotch and nipples. I was ready again to unload right into the air, right into her face. I could have squirted like a fire hose, or at least a garden one.

            I suppose you could say she was a victim of her own success. I suppose one could, but she'd never admit her concerns about her high profile attracting the wrong kinds of attention. After all, she was capable and independent and that couldn't happen to her.

            (Just the same as it couldn't happen to Connie Francis, the singer, in 1974, in her secure hotel room, of all places.)

            She was smart and savvy, so she left the question begging. And now her answer, one of many, was about to be burned, into her brain, between her legs.

            She  had already imagined, like a martyr, the upside of her captivity was she had been looking for the subject of a new book and now she had it, if only she could convince me to let her have a pencil and paper. Oh, I'd give her a pencil and pad, alright, but to make a list like no other she'd ever had to compose.

            She was going to have to summon upon her own perverted sexual imagination soon, very soon.

            Carefully, specifically and with plenty of foresight malice, I showed her the M80 that was destined to meet with her inner most sensitivities. I rubbed it across her face, across what was left of her nipples, traced it down her stomach, over her navel and worked it, ever so respectfully, into her cunt. I felt sorry for her lips, how they couldn't hide, and there was no need to damage her putting it in. Ironically, but not surprisingly, her hidden ones would suffer the most. They were already compressed, like contained, like a closed fist and all, which I'll address in a bit. 

            Like a tampon, it went in, and even the same little string.

            She completely and absolutely could not believe I would do that. It had flashed to her mind and imagination, how she'd stop me but she hadn't really thought I'd be such a bastard, so her reasoning was in disarray.

            'Please. Please. Please. Oh God. Please. If you have mercy. If you know mercy, about mercy, don't do this. It's not remotely human and is beyond barbaric. That's my vagina. It gives birth, to new life. You'll be destroying new life, the promise.'

            I was going to tell her I'd like to stretch and rip her womb out and use it as a garbage bag, or a pennant, or maybe the Haggis, the  good old fashioned way. Fucking baby sick sack. It was more like a grunting fat sow's maw (gut) and chitterlings (intestines). I was going to educate her but she was too sincere to interrupt.

            'No human being could do this to another. I'm begging you. I'll do anything else you want. Anything else. Do you want me to suck your cock? I'll suck it. Do you want my anus? To ass fuck me, as you say it? I'll let you. I'm begging you. Anything else but don't finish this. Please. Please. Pleeaasse.' Now she was wining, the sniveling twat.

            I took all kinds of extra pictures and arranged two video cameras into the right positions to catch the flesh rending explosion to come.

            I told her, ' I'm going to come back in exactly half an hour and light it, so say your prayers. I placed a table clock where she could see it. It was just before four am in the morning but she didn't know if it was am or pm. For some reason, I thought she should know.

            'It's the dead of night you know. Everyone's asleep except us..'

 

Page 21.

 

            What looked like a mirror, one of many I had mounted so I, so that we could see extra, what was happening, was actually a one way window, like the kind you see on the TV cop shows when they interrogate a suspect, or for a line-up. I could watch her but she couldn't see me or know I was watching.

            I had to jerk off as I studied her.

            I still like masturbating, even though I had her there, for the real thing. I had done it so much over the years and it afforded me the privilege of not having to perform and getting it right every time. And rather than release my sexual tensions, it energized them, for me to go back at her harder. Often, I could jerk-off and jerk-her within a few minutes of each other and she knew something had been different, more focused and intent.

            I jerked off as I studied her.

            What a sad little creature, a sad little sack. What a poor little bitch. She knew I was going to blow up her cunt, although she didn't know, more than once. She was so totally helpless to prevent it. What had she done in life to deserve this? She must have wondered. When her nipple was crushed, she'd thought that then too, and this had the makings of being so much worse. How would she look afterwards? Would she still have labia, especially the minora ones? And what about her clitoris? Might it blow it right off and she bleed to death? I was thinking all those things as I soiled the silk briefs I had on and I hoped she was focusing also. But what the Hell, I thought, it all was still too sweet to do, right now. To prolong the ecstasy for me, I decided to make a list of what the explosion might do to her. What was likely or remote.

            My school-boy list went like this.

            Titled: What the firecracker in my vagina might do.

            - Burn me severely on the inner walls.

            - Blow my inner labia off or disfigure them.

            - Blow my outer labia partially away.

            - Blow my clitoris off or severely damage it.

            - If my clitoris is sufficiently injured, I might bleed to death.

            - Blow back into my cervix and rupture it.

            - Make minced meat of my general womanhood.

            - Maybe it'll be a dud and not go off.

            Nothing very original, and maybe sort of infantile, but I loved savoring all the prospects. I was finished with my exercise and went back in to visit her. I had let more than the half hour pass and it was fun seeing her eye the clock so closely. She didn't know what to make of my being late and felt it was inconsiderate, but maybe a blessing. Maybe I'd dropped dead and her luck had changed.

 

Page 22.

 

            I started right in, 'You know, this could really damage you. Like really horrible. I mean it's your fucking cunt.  It won't kill you, I don't think, but you'll never be the same. You may not even be able to piss, if it blows your urethra apart, or shreds your bladder. And how am I going to fuck you? I love fucking you. Raping you. How will I then?

            She just looked at me like I was an idiot prick.

            I continued, 'Here's what I know, you might get lucky with one and retain some of your womanhood, but if I do it over and over, you're a mother fucked bitch for sure. If I do it, like ten times or three at once, what then?'

            It was barely registering with her but she was aware and somewhat comprehending. This maniac was having a jolly time just talking about the deconstruction of her vagina. This was nuts. It all was nuts and represented insanity run amok.

            'It's pretty serious, you know. Yes, I know you know, so here's what  I'm going to do. I've made a list of seven possibilities, seven scenarios of what one blast might do to your structure..' (The dud didn't count on my list.)

            'Oh God. Shut up. Just keep quiet. I can't hear anymore of your filth. You talk in such garbage.'

            'So what I want you to do is make your own list of what you think might happen and we'll compare. I want you to come up with  the lucky seven.'

            She was inundated and shell shocked but not stupid yet.

            She knew I was just delaying her inevitable.

            'So you get the idea?' I asked.

            She nodded yes and then no, sort of at once. Her face was a mask of confusion and mostly it conveyed, a profound, why?

            She really didn't get the joy factor.

            'I'll get you a pencil and pad so you can write your ideas down. I'll give you another half hour. Now listen carefully, this is important, match three of the things I've listed, and I'll only do the one cracker. If you don't, I'll keep blowing your crotch up until it's nothing but burned and charred meat, inside and out. You get it?'

 

Page 23.

 

            I knew she did by the horror in her eyes.

            I positioned her so she could write and think, to help her be creative.

            'The title of your list is, What the firecracker exploding in my vagina, no make that my cunt, might do.'

            She held the pencil and pad and just looked lost.

            'Go ahead, start writing, write down the title as I said.'

            She started to print. (Always the contrarian.)

            'Very good. I'll see you in a bit.' And I went out to watch her again as she struggled to keep from having a complete mental and emotional breakdown. For about ten minutes, she wrote nothing further and then all of a sudden began scribbling furiously, like she was attacking her assignment, or at the least, attacking me. She scratched at the pad, page after page, writing big and bold, and then just stopped and I could see she was sobbing. I was more than curious to find out her thoughts.

            I was back to her in the half hour.

            'So, what have you written? Did you write anything, or like a book or an essay?'

            I took the pad from her and sat down to find out. I went and got a treat to eat while I was reading. I didn't offer her any.

            She'd written a sermon, as it turned out.

            "Mister. (she'd crossed out Dear) Yes you are my captor but you're not my master. Your threats become increasingly terrible and so to it terrifies me accordingly. I've determined, in my heart, that this is your wish and intent and for whatever reasons, most likely stemming from your youth, you want to enjoy doing this. I don't believe you're possessed, as if you have no choice, but that you chose this path and I had the severe misfortune to cross yours and be snared in your trap and your twisted world. I don't know if you'll let me live and to tell you the truth, I almost don't care anymore. Death would be a release. Kristen French said to the rapist, Paul Bernardo, before he murdered her that, 'There are worse things than dying.' And she was only fifteen years old and the sweetest delicate flower and still he snuffed her precious life out. While I might be prepared to die, I have a family. But my family cares and my children. My lovely daughter (Geeze, I'd have loved to have had her there to fuck too, at the same time, in front of her) and my son who's so handsome and my hero.

 

Page 24.

 

            They care, so if by the slightest chance or margin you will keep your word, which I seriously doubt, I'll abide by your rule, by your sick fantasy and offer the following things that your horrid act may cause injury to my va... to me. May God have mercy on your soul for being so lost and I pity you, the existence you must lead when you're away from me. I pity any woman who gets close to you because surely you hate women more than any other man alive or dead. I pity you, I do. And God have mercy on me.

            Off to the side, she written further, You're a bastard and I despise you but I don't hate my life and I want to try to keep it so I'm making your juvenile, stupid list.

            1.) I'm certain the explosion will burn parts of my va..., va..., vagina. (She stuttered over it even when writing but overcame her resistance.)

            2.) It may render parts of my labia mutilated.

            3.) My clitoris is vulnerable to injury, possible severe.

            4.) I don't think I'd bleed to death because the heat should cauterize any ruptured blood vessels. (Fuck, I liked her words better than mine.)

            5.) I have no idea about my cervix. I suppose it depends how far you insert it into me. - Please don't damage my cervix. I want more kids. (I'd already addressed that possibility, in my mind.)

            6.) If God hears me, maybe it won't go off and you'll count it as your attempt, although I seriously doubt it.

            7.) It might fail to explode, but burn like a flare and I can't even think of those consequences.

            8.) Maybe you'll look really closely at me, see who I am. The person and human being that I am and change your mind to not do it at all. This I pray is your choice. Oh God, make it be his choice.

Oh God, just make it be.

            I'd read her list intently, while smirking inside at her sincerity, and then handed it back to her and told her to read it aloud. She struggle through it with the appropriate emotions and tears and other dramatic effects, and I showed her my list and it was clear she'd matched three of the effects, so the one cracker was what she expected.

 

Page 25.

 

            It was time to stop with the procrastination.

            Within five minutes, we'd both know.

            'Well, I must say, you poured your guts out there, didn't you?'

            'Please. Just please you know I'm sincere.'

            'Yeah, I guess, well let's see what this does to the guts in your cunt.' (Minced meat express, here we come.)

            I took her head right between my hands and gave her a soft kiss. I mean it was the last she would be a whole woman, I supposed mutilated nipples really didn't count for all that much. I ran my fingers into her mouth and across her snow white teeth. I stuck a hat pin, with a red head, into the scar tissue where her nipple should have been, and it looked like a little nipple. I stuck her other nipple too, but through sideways. I laid the box of wooden matches on her stomach and knelt right before her cunt, like I was worshipping it, which of course, I was. This was the experience of her life time, at least for awhile and indeed I was worshipping its eminent destruction. The demise of her womanhood. I took a match out and struck it but let it burn out, dropping it onto her stomach, while still hot. She cried out and then started in with. 'Our Father, Who art in Heaven...'

            I did the same again but let the hot match drop onto her shaved triangle. She wiggled it.

            More desperate cries and words as she continued, ' Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy kingdom come..' (Soon she'd never cum again, in any kingdom, that was for sure.)

            The I lit it.

            She skipped to the 23rd. psalm part, 'Yeah though I walk through the valley of death...'

            She could smell the fuse burning.

            'Oh God please. Please... I will fear no evil...'

            What a fucking explosion.

            (Now it gets ugly.)

 

Page 26.

 

            Because the cracker was contained, and I'd shoved it all the way in, using a larger plastic drinking straw to protect the wick from getting soaked, as she pissed herself and as her other slime flowed, it was so different than if it had been in the open. It was like you had one in your hand and it went off with your hand open, it would mostly just burn your fingers and palm. If it went off in a fist closed tight around it, it'd blow your fingers right off. Which was why the M80s and M88s had been banned. Too many kids losing fingers as they went to toss them. Well, obviously, her cunt was like a closed fist and the cracker might as well have been dynamite.

            She never said another word of her fucking prayers, but screamed sharp and short, like half a yelp and passed right out.

            Now it gets uglier, but ever the more beautiful.

            Firstly, her cunt was still smoking, like a cigar was lit inside of her. Her outer labia was blown out to one side, ripped about half way along and I could have nipped it off with kid's art scissors, the way it was hanging. She really had fucking bad luck. The cracker had also flared, the silver flame right along her clit where it met her base meat. The nub wasn't there anymore. What I could see looked like a burnt pea, like an acetylene torch had been applied. It was black and charred and BB hard and not much bigger. It must have been about a six degree burn  because every speck of moisture was fried out and it was mostly carbon now. It felt like a little pebble, the kind you got in your shoe and annoyed you.

            But it was her inner labia, the delicate ones that took the brunt. Now, they were just a memory. Shredded wheat and shredded meat, would have made for a good breakfast. They looked like cement truck road-kill.

            The flare had burned the right side of her upper thigh and it was still smoking like an over done roast in the oven, like the oven was on self-clean. There wasn't a whole lot of blood since, I supposed, the intense heat had cauterized most everything inside and out. I took numerous additional digital pix and was relieved the video cameras had captured the whole explosion so beautifully. On freeze frame, I could see exactly how her labia expanded and was blown out, as it tore away and the sight of her clit being torched, I could see it shrivel and disappear, like in time lapse photography. I played it hundreds of times and had to make copies since I was wearing out the original keeping it frozen on those frames while I jerked off so often.

 

Page 27.

 

            I wanted to fuck her but wasn't sure how, with her damaged like that. So first, I started to try to clean her up. I fished out of her as much of the remnants of the cracker as I could, keeping them in a glass baby food jar as souvenirs. I pushed my fingers way up inside her and could feel that part of her cervix was crusted. Poor, sweet little, cunt bitch, she had no good luck at all, only seriously bad. It felt like pieces of scab, I could pull off, but I'd need the tweezers. It must have been burnt quite deeply and I can't even describe how much I loved it. I sniffed her, smelled her close up and because her lubrication had mixed with the explosion powder, it made for quite an unusual, but enormously stimulating scent. The scent of a woman. Fuck that, the scent of a fried woman. I guessed it was a scent not smelled before or at least not often.

            I worked carefully with her, gently so as not to do any more damage than I already had so as, hopefully, to leave something to fuck. When I felt I'd cleaned her as much as I could, I used the salts to bring her to. I had to slap her for about five minutes also, and her face was contorted in pain unconscious. Her jaw was clenched shut like a vice and when I kissed her even her lips were frozen and hard. Yet still she wanted to breath.

            She moaned and whimpered and I got her a mirror to show her, her new appearance, her new configuration. I think the part of her labia hanging lose bothered her the most as I stretched it out like an elastic band, for her to see. I asked her if she would let me snip it off and she said no. I then asked her, how about biting it off and got the same answer. She wanted to hold onto her fragmented parts. Ungenerous, unsharing, selfish fool she could be. If she'd made me a present, I might have been more charitable in return. She couldn't really see the hard little burned pea her clit had become so I released one of her hands and pushed her own fingers onto it.

            She cried out it unbelievable disbelief.

            'Oh my God. Oh. Oh. Oh...'

            She knew it was gone and couldn't be fixed.

            She was going  into so much shock, so much trauma, that she wasn't feeling all that much pain overall. She shrieked about her pea clit mainly because she could feel what it had become. The shock was like when someone accidentally severs a limb, say a leg, and the first they know of it is when then try to walk.

 

Page 28.

 

            I calmed her down a bit and told her I was going to fuck her, that I had to, as the conclusion of this exercise.

            'We're at the end of this now, and all that's left is for me to fuck your new cunt.' God did I love saying that to her. 'your new and improved cunt.'

            She begged beyond begging for me not to.

            But I'd have none of her sniveling or humanity.

            I figured all her natural lubricants were fried, the secretion glands buggered, were beyond repair, if they existed at all anymore, and it was all so different than when I'd fucked her dry from the wasp bites. Then she had a cunt. Now she had a mush hole with an ill-defined opening. I used lots of Vaseline and smeared it around and inside and her cries became of the appropriate volume and intensity.

            She was as ready, I figured, as I could make her.

            I mounted her.

            And did her slow and hard mean.

            It all felt fucking weird.

            The ribbed walls weren't right and her muscles contracted sort of spasmodic, like they were laid bare and the skin was off them. I could have touched and pinched the sinews.

            I could feel her rock hard clit scrape across my shaft. It tickled and I liked it. She had a built in sex aid.

            My pecker head was banging against the crust on her cervix.

            Oh shit. Shit I'd forgotten about that. I pulled out and picked out a pair of stamp collector's tweezers, the ones with the flat, not sharp, ends. I slid them into her mushed hole and managed to pull three pieces of crust off her vix and I think I got about a quarter of her donut. Fuck did she wail.

            Now it was OK to finish fucking her.

            I've never had a better fuck.

            Ever, never in my life.

            I rammed harder than I thought I could and bit her damaged nipples around the pins as I came, and licked the salty taste of her nipple blood. I pulled out to see what more damage, if any, I'd done. I think her ripped labia was torn a bit more and there was new blood oozing out around what used to be her clit.

            I figured, what the fuck, in for a dime, in for a dollar.

            This bitch so still needed it.

            She'd assumed I was done.

 

Page 29.

 

            I brought her too again. She kept passing out. You'd think it hurt or something worse. I told her I wasn't satisfied with the results. It simply wasn't enough, wasn't destructive enough. I could still tell she had genitals.

            She was pretty well out of it by now, but when I held the two big crackers in front of her face she got the idea I wasn't done yet.

            She screamed out like nothing I've ever heard before and didn't even start with the prayers again.

            What good had that done?

            I pushed two of the M80s together as far up into her as I could, lit them and watched in fascination, her finally being destroyed. I'd never fuck her again, that was for sure, at least not in the cunt because there wasn't one left. She couldn't even play with herself. From now on, I'd have to fuck her in the ass or across her tits but that would be OK too. I'd liked doing that almost as much, besides I knew she couldn't last too much longer with such damage and how was she going to piss anyway? All down her legs, as it turned out. Every time, or she sprayed like a garden hose on wide pattern. It was fun to film but not too close or she'd get it on the camera and me. I didn't mind on me but the camera wasn't partial to getting soaked.

            I was so right.

            I knew my craft.

            In about a week I had to finish her off, but had a great time in the time she had left. She couldn't really walk, but I gave her a cane and made her sort of run around the room with me holding more crackers in hand and throwing them at her lit and threatening to stuff three of them into her at once. I went through about a hundred, making her hop and dance the jigs, which screwed up her hip joint again, and she tried to jump higher for the big ones, so eventually she couldn't stand at all on her own, cane or no cane. She just dragged herself around, on the floor, like an old bitch dog with dysplasia. Then too, me kicking her on her fracture with my steel-toed work boots didn't help either, but it left such well defined bruises.

 

Page 30.

 

            I was getting bored with her suffering and thought about it for awhile and upon  closer probing and inspection, realized she still had a vaginal orifice of sorts. It hadn't completely disappeared, really how could it? So I decided to give it a go to see how much of a real fuck she still had in her. I'd let her heal, if that term could apply since her condition was all so grievous, for three days and felt she'd had enough of a holiday.

            During her usual chorus of protests, I tied her on the bed, legs spread perfect and was into her in a jiff and couldn't get any sense of being contained. It was all lose and ragged and raw where once she'd been tight as a fist. So my cock couldn't grind against anything firm or remotely tight. My knob couldn't butt her. It was like trying to masturbate with an opened hand.

            I decided to try a pint of vinegar, to see if I could tighten her up, like pucker her up and used a big basting syringe to squirt it into her.

            Well, that worked, all right.

            It was like I poured super glue, the Crazy stuff,  into her. I almost needed a chisel and mallet to penetrate her since she'd swollen shut so tight. Her lining and lips were, like, fused and her canal super squished against itself. I think even her vix pushed back into her uterus trying to escape the stinging and swelling, which the stinging, my prick nob felt too.

            Fuck, that was meaner than mean of me, but it got me the superb orgasm so she still had it in her. She was good for something still, so yet should be alive.

            A day later, I did her from behind and it wasn't that great, even with all my extra threats. She was so messed up and compromised, it was like fucking a bowl of vanilla pudding. I did persist and managed her a few drops of my squirt, far from my usual gushers, so it was back to her front. It was time to do her twat again but without the vinegar.

            Her condition made me have to do extra. I tied her to the floor using eyelets I'd anchored and got her pelvis arched about two feet up over a wooden box. Now my prick could ram against her bone structure, tickle her skeleton and I did her over two hours, the pretty good cum and left her well filled, - full filled, but not thankful. Three hundred and sixty thrusts to her soul, jaded her outlook.  A year's worth seemed enough, I figured, and could count them from my video, I'd made. And I loved how my hips took aim and then plunged and how she lurched in reply. It was far superior to any phony porno movie.

 

Page 31.

 

            Fucking her across her tits was the easiest, but least rewarding, of my remaining options. Which got me to reminiscing, waxing nostalgic for when her tits were perfect.

            I remembered well, the first time I saw her breasts, since I'd replayed the video recording I made of our exchange more than most other prime assaults I'd visited on her person or psyche.

            In the van, when I raped her, it was dark and I just squoze her.

            As I delivered her out of her bra, she entreated me with, 'Please listen. Please. My breasts get very tender when I have my period, which I've just finished. They also swell a little, sometimes quite a lot, and I bruise so easily you'd think something was wrong with me. But the Doctor says no, some women are just made that way and I'm one of the unfortunate ones, so please, if you're going to handle me, don't be rough or mean. OK. OK?'

            I treated her to my silent stare.

            She continued, 'I give off quite a bit of discharge too, from my nipples, so please respect...You can see there's a little there now.'

            I was ecstatic with her appearance. She was beauty defined, with her nipples pointing just a little bit upwards and pale pink areola, like a faint pastel shade, all subtle and ready to crinkle.

            'How about I lick it off? See if it tastes like milk?'

            'Stop it. It's not milk, like lactation. It's discharge and not the same.'

            'All I know is it's coming out of your hard little buds so it's milk to me.'

            She'd erected up perfectly from the cool and the stress and I wanted to get the big toe nail clippers already. Maybe even just show them to her.

            She was starting to crinkle up, only on one side about half way around a nipple. I moved in on her for a taste. You'd have thought my tongue was a snake. (which she feared them)

            'Stop it. Oh please. You're scaring me with that look. I'm not strong about my chest. They're not strong.'

 

Page 32.

 

            'What, no slurping?' I said as I kept on tonguing the air.

            'Stop being a pig. Being obnoxious.'

            'Just one little taste.'

            'I'm not brave about my chest, I told you.'

            'So what? I retorted. 'How about you express yourself to get a bit more of the juice out?'

            'No. No I can't. I won't. I can't.'

            'Come on, you can do it. You'd be amazed what you can do when faced with the crisis, faced with the motivation.

            'Is that what this is, a crisis? She added, 'For me?'

            'I'd say for your tits it is, like worse than a cancer or a mastectomy if you don't fucking listen and obey.'

            She started to mewl, just a little, and went all little-girl don't like, like 'Why are you touching me down there?' Instead of squeezing her legs together to fend off unwanted advances, she tried to diminish the presence of her tits, suck them inwards to her lungs. Like inverted nipples but the whole fucking mounds. She tried to concave her chest and it just made them look all the more vulnerable and inviting which was my perfect catalyst.

            'You'll be OK.' I said knowing full well she wouldn't be.

            'You'll be stronger than you think. You'll see. You'll see. They're just tits. Tits. Tits. So nothing I do to them will kill you...'

            'My God, kill me?' she blubbered.

            'But I really love your shape. They're classic, like exquisite. Just movie-star perfect, but natural. You're not very big. What, a 34B? But still you look heavy. They hang heavy and look at your bottom contour. No sag. No silicone. Just full flesh meat. And shit, you side profile, ever so slightly dimpled.. Geeze I want to squeeze them, one of them between my legs. Mash my cock against it and just grind away until I soak you. Do you think you'd like that?'

            She just looked at me wordless and annoyed.

            'No? Then maybe I should suspend you by them. Tie you up so they're all forced out and hang you right off the floor by them.'

            'You're nuts.' (Then she had such a way of stating the obvious.)

 

Page 33.

           

            'And see what they look like then, all purple and blown up like sex balloons, like toys.'

            'Where do you get such talk and ideas? Such filth?'

            'From my head, bitch. And from this one too.' I said as I grabbed my crotch.

            I pinched and twisted her nipple and she squirted a stream.

            'Fuck, that was nice. Like a jet stream, a water gun. Oh fuck. Let me see if I can squirt it into my mouth.'

            'My nipples, my nipple. Please don't. They're even more tender. Please leave it be.'

            'You think it matters? I could cut it off, even bite it off and you wouldn't miss it at all. Or maybe I could crush it, fucking stupid leaky fawcet.'

            I looked her straight in the eyes, 'You're so stupid to think anything about your tits matters to me, except how much I can hurt them.'

            'You're disgusting and a jerk as well.'

            (Well maybe a jerk-off, but a jerk?)

            'And just so you know, that all goes double for your cunt.'

            Now I had her attention, and fear, in my hands.

            I'd since proved well up to the task of torturing her tender chest and she'd held up better than some of the teenagers.

            I was thinking too about how her days would start.

            When she'd first awake, on her own, from  having passed out during an extra fine torture routine, it often was like a heavy, dark  veil just waiting to descend, even pounce. First were the moments, precious seconds of unawareness, followed by confusion and then the intense awareness of some new pain location. Then would the screaming erupt, like a searing hot volcano of raw emotion and despair, of ineffable disbelief, or sharp belief, I had outdone myself at being a bastard again.

 

Page 34.

 

            She'd come to the realization that what was hitting her wasn't a dream, but me. Only once before in her life, just out of college, a boyfriend had slugged her and she thought nothing of having him charged and spend a month in jail. She'd never been struck since and then along came my bolt. And she'd awake to scream some more.

            Shit, she'd even shit herself, more than once, within twenty seconds of reviving. Talk about your effective enema. That's when I knew I'd really gotten her good. When she shat herself with her disgusting feces. Oh well, what else could I expect from nothing but a  low cunt life. I thought about gluing her anus shut with the super glue just to avoid the mess and then for the sport, of seeing how big she would expand before she blew up.

            Another day, a better way, to be mean to her.

            Still again, did I really want shit on the ceiling? With her buggered hip I wouldn't be able to force her to clean it up. And I had to question, if she was out living her usefulness, if she couldn't even clean up her own shit mess.

            I didn't think the adult diapers would work either. How would I explain that warranty claim?

            'Incidentally, I glued her arse shut.'

            'How did that happen? Was it an accident?'

            And there went my whole beef.

            Silly assed woman, time to get another playmate.

            And I already knew who she was.

            Her daughter was fifteen and her spitting image. Well not exactly anymore, but she had been and could be made so again. She really loved her mom and missed her. I'd even struck up a conversation with her husband and the kid in a coffee shop and he was devastated by her disappearance, confused and hurt that she would abandon him. They both were.

            Who elected me, his cancer? I wondered..

            And I'd never abandon the kid.

            Amen and amen to that.

            Now it was back to the present.

 

Page 35.

 

            I'd dreamed up another miserable idea I wanted to try out on what was left of her.

            I wanted to use her for target practice.

            With my twenty-two rifle.

            I wanted to trim her cunt neatly back to the bone, tidy it up, one little bullet at a time, all controlled and exact and heartless. Like nip and nip and tuck. And like shoot her baby fingers off, one joint at a time and, of course, areate her tits and maybe see if I could cut one of her legs clean off with the shots.

            I knew when I did this, it would be her last day and set aside five hundred bullets for the task. I intended to use every last one of them. I went to sleep, in her bra and panties, the ones she'd had on that first day when I snatched her from the safety of her garage, and dreamed of lots of gunshots and some woman screaming, way off in the distance, unseen and unhelped and unconsolable.

 

            The day of the hunter.

            The spray of the bullets.

            That day, her day,

            Was a day away.

            Geeze, what a poor sport I could be -

            And I always won.