Copyright©2017 by Matt Shaw

Matt Shaw Publications

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Sick

Matt Shaw

1.

The puckered arsehole opened up and stretched wide. In Mike’s mind though, as he pictured what was happening down there, steaming shit was not crowning through like a baby being pushed into the world. Instead - words were leaking into the shorts: excuses, apologies, justifications and general cop-outs. His mind continued, as did the person’s shit, and he imagined reaching a finger from each of his masculine hands into that arsehole… Then another finger and another. Three fingers from each hand. Then, with them in place, he’d pull the hole wider until the sphincter split and he could reach in with both hands up the rectum… pushing in deeper. A handful of small intestine that had been scooped out and dropped to the floor in a bloody puddle of guts tear open, spilling out half-digested cottage pie. Blood, mushed mince and mashed potato dripping in bile and stomach acids. Hands back in: Up and to the left for another fistful - this time grabbing at the ascending colon. Same story as before: Hands pulled out - sticky in shit and mucus. Insides dropped to the floor as this motherfucker keeps spouting crap. Push in again. Reaching elbow deep and pulling at the pancreas. Fuck this arsehole - both literally and metaphorically. The satisfying sounds of ripping organs, flesh and an almost indescribable noise as the rectum itself continued to rip and stretch open. Blink and back to reality. The words were coming out of the representative’s mouth and his arsehole is still very much intact. Mike’s hands and arms, clean of any wrong-doing.

Click.

The phone call ended. Not through Mike’s choice and not through a bad reception on his mobile phone. He had been standing in the garden to ensure the reception stayed full and yet - even so - he checked it. Yep. Still full service. Motherfucker had hung up on him, clearly no longer wishing to discuss the complaint or how the company had fucked him over - either on purpose or inadvertently – but it didn’t make a difference either way. A thirty-three minute phone call, with twenty-seven of those precious minutes on hold waiting for someone to be free, and this was how it ended? A half-arsed apology and then a call-disconnected? What in the actual fuck? Mike felt his face redden – but not from the sweltering midday sun  - as he knew his complaint still wasn’t rectified. The rep had heard the complaint, apologised and made some bullshit excuses and that was it. The money was still missing from Mike’s account and there had been no discussion centred around getting it back to him.

The temptation to launch his phone across the garden was considerable but Mike swallowed it down. It wouldn’t solve anything, it would just make shit worse - he’d have to go and buy a new mobile.

I’m sorry, sir, but hurling a phone across the garden isn’t covered by your insurance. We can’t help you.

‘Fucking cunt!’ he howled, despite the fact he knew the neighbour’s kid was outside playing on the opposite side of the fence. Fuck the prick on the other end of the phone and fuck the kid next door (not literally). The little prick should be at school anyway.

Oh, but he’s ill.

Then what the fuck is he doing playing in the garden?

Mike redirected his phone’s home screen back to the previous calls dialled and hit the re-dial button. A couple of seconds and the line connected back to the automated voice thanking him for the call.

‘Yeah, thanks for hanging up on me, you cunt!’ he said sarcastically as though he were already talking to an actual person. What made the whole damned call that little bit worse was not the fact he would have to go on hold and then explain the whole damned fucking bullshit again but - he couldn’t remember what options he had initially pressed. This meant he had to listen to the whole damned message again. ‘Fuck sake,’ he hissed as this finally dawned on him.

If you’re a new customer and wish to talk to us about opening an account, please press 1.

The fact the complaints department was the last option available spoke volumes: Here was a company that didn’t give a flying fuck about current customers and were only interested in reeling in new ones. If they did care, the complaints department would be the first option listed so that the current customers could get straight to the fucking point. But no. New customers take priority. Cunts.

Not a good sign if a company expects so many complaints that they feel the need to list the option first though, hey?

‘Oh, fuck off.’

If you have a complaint and would like to talk to a representative, please press 0.

Fucking ‘zero’. Seven options later and they make you press zero instead of eight. No doubt they expect people not to listen to the whole message and just press eight instead. And, knowing this company and how they seem to treat people, pressing eight probably would have automatically charged their bank account a hundred quid, or something fucking ridiculous.

In Mike’s mind, as he pressed zero, he imagined pressing the key and having his whole body combust into white hot flames. He’d be screaming, tearing around the garden - forgetting the basic principles of stop, drop and roll as the flames licked the flesh clean from his bones (after crisping it right the fuck up).

Is that bacon I smell?

At least he’d have the whole garden to run around and not just his top story London flat.

We heart London.

The phone clicked and automatically joined “The Queue”.

‘Motherfucker!’

Occasionally - during the shit music - an automated voice would 'apologise' for the delay in answering his call and 'promising' that someone would be with him shortly. Unfortunately, in this world, “shortly” is not actually a time-frame. Just how long is “shortly”? Whilst you’re at it, how long is that piece of string over there? It would help if there was a numbering system that some businesses have, letting you know what place you are in the current queue.

You are in a queue. Your current placement is 1,000,391.5, but we'll be with you shortly!

A .5 on the end because one of the callers is some midget-cunt.

‘I hate you. You’re a cunt. You’re a fucking cunt. A proper cunt. A big, fat, stinking cunt… A cunt so fucking rancid that it smells like you wipe back to front… A cunt that creams yellow pus when you’re turned on… A heavy consistency of lumpy custard that gets stuck between the teeth when you lick it out… It’s because you’re a slag. You fuck around and let any dirty prick bareback you until they fill you with poisoned cum….’ Mike learned the following lesson the hard way once: The more vile shit you spill out down the phone - whilst on hold -the more likely they are to answer.

Oh, I’m sorry, I was just talking to my kid.

‘You’re the reason abortion was invented. I fucked your mother so deep when she was pregnant with you that you sucked my dick. What’s more fucked up than that? Before I was in her pussy, I was balls deep in her brown-stained ring. How’s that corn, kiddo? One of your five a fucking day.’

The automated voice kicked in again. They’re sorry they haven’t answered his call yet but blah, blah, fucking blah. It also speaks volumes that a company keeps you on hold for this long when you’re trying to sort shit out with them. Like, how many other current customers are getting fucked over by them at this precise moment?

‘Answer the fucking phone, you cancerous bollock. You fucking piece of fucking shit. You cunting…’

Click.

‘Thank you for calling E-Finance, sorry for keeping you waiting.’

‘Whoops, sorry about the outburst. I was just talking to the neighbour’s kid.’ The neighbour’s kid who had long since been pulled inside by a distraught parent, disgusted at the foul language being spouted on this side of the fence.

Fuck off, you precious snowflake, they’ve heard worse at school.

<Nervous laughter> ‘That’s okay. How may I be of assistance, sir?’

Play it friendlier this time. Don’t give them a reason, or excuse, to hang up. ‘I was just talking to one of your colleagues and the call disconnected… I think they hung up on me.’ He laughed, trying to keep it light and friendly.

‘I’m sorry about that, sir.’

There’s the first insincere apology. Mike’s mind drifted. He reached into the representative’s arsehole with three fingers from each hand…

2.

Mike stalked back into the kitchen and slammed the door, irritated both by the phone call and the mother of the kid next door and her resounding tutting at the aggressiveness of the conversation he had been having. If it bothered her that much, she could have moved her kid’s make-shift picnic into the house and given him some privacy for his call. The fact she sat there, listening meant that she was clearly a fucking drama queen looking for something else to moan about in her unsatisfied little life.

Hard to be unsatisfied (?) when you have a child like that, though. Cunt.

Also - what the fuck - a picnic? He’s off school for being ill. When Mike was a young lad - if he was ill - chances are he’d still be sent to school. Hell, on one occasion he told his darling mother that he felt like shit (maybe not those exact words, his memory is hazy) and she didn’t bat an eyelid. A few hours into the day and he was on a hospital bed with appendicitis. Hearing the kid happily playing in the garden, Mike couldn’t help but to wish the same for him. Yeah - all fun and games thinking you have a free day off school until you end up in hospital with a doctor’s finger wedged knuckle deep in your arsehole.

Does that feel tender?

Your wristwatch just entered me, what do you think?

Mike’s mood wasn’t helped by the phone-call either. The company he had been dealing with was for his car insurance. They sent him a renewal letter over a month ago at almost double the price of the competitors. Like fuck was he going to agree to the price increase without checking around first but that’s what these cunts do. They lull you in with a good deal and - a year later - hike the prices up. Punish the loyal customers, treat the new ones. Every company was the same. At least, every company Mike had dealt with during his thirty-seven years on this shitty planet. The reason the companies do this though is because they’re counting on people being too fucking lazy to go and check around for a better deal. You see the renewal price, you moan and bitch to some close friends at work the next day and then - before you know it - you’re paying monthly and barely notice the difference. Not Mike though. He wasn’t a fucking mug, he took on the other car insurance and phoned up to cancel the current. The only problem was - the prick on the other end of the line, when he called to cancel, didn’t actually do what he was being paid to do. He informed Mike it was cancelled when, in actual fact, he had just left it running. The renewal date came through and the company took the full price of the year’s premium out of Mike’s bank. That was over three hundred pounds that hadn’t been authorised. This, in turn, put Mike in an “illegal” overdraft which then triggered a shitty text message from his bank and a charge of forty pounds to be added.

Banks are just as bad at fucking their customers over. They promise this and that and make it sound like their account is the best in the business but the moment you put a foot wrong: Bend the fuck over, we’re coming in dry. Mike was furious when the text message came through and logged straight onto his computer to check his account as he fucking knew he had cash in the account to cover everything. That was when he saw the charge from the car company and - less than a minute later - that was when he made his first call to ask them what the fuck they were playing at.

E-Finance apologised profusely - even the prick who ended up hanging up the call - and of course they offered excuses as to why this happened but, at the end of the day, it all boiled down to them being incompetent. Truth be told, Mike didn’t even want to hear the excuses, he just wanted an apology and his money back in his bank account. The second phone call promised him the money would be returned - that was a plus - but then continued, stating that it could be seven to ten working days before he sees it credited.

‘Are you taking the fucking piss? You’ve put me in an overdraft, I have no money, my bank has charged me a fee and I have fuck all food in the cupboards. What am I meant to live off for the next seven to ten working fucking days?’ A situation made worse by the fact it was Friday afternoon so the next two days didn’t even count as working days. That meant he would be seeing the money - potentially - in his bank account in the next ten actual days, but more likely twelve. ‘What am I going to eat?’

You can survive three weeks without food.

Of course the individual on the phone could do nothing but apologise (again). They couldn’t magic the money back in his account but they did offer him extra money to compensate for the overdraft charge from the bank. That was something at least but still didn’t fix anything for the immediate future although - in reality - Mike had plenty of food in the cupboards but that wasn’t the point. It was the fucking principle. These cunts are quick enough to take your money but the moment they fuck up and owe you, yeah, you have to wait until they’re read to pay. The councils are the worst for this.

The other irritating point to factor into all of this - or rather, the sorting out of it all - is that you have to call the companies to get it sorted and - not only does it take your time - they very rarely have “free to call” telephone numbers. Instead, they have numbers that aren’t covered by your chosen network provider. That’s right - your phone network provider also gets to step in and fuck you up the arse too. But it’s okay… The original company who caused this chain-reaction of arse fucking… They’re sorry. That makes the whole world right again, yeah?

Cunts.

Mike set his phone down on the kitchen table and took a couple of deep breaths. At the end of the day, it was sorted. Yes he might have to wait a little while for the money but it was still going to be coming to him. That was the important thing.

Keep telling yourself that.

A knock on the door distracted Mike from his thoughts. Mike’s initial reaction - thankfully withheld - was to shout ‘fuck off’ to whoever was at the front door. At this time of the day, chances are, it was only going to be a cold-caller offering crap ranging from gardening services to a new fucking roof. Sometimes, it could even be some cunt preaching about a God they foolishly believe in. Pricks, the lot of them. But then, it could be that parcel he was waiting for from Amazon. Could be.

Mike walked from his bungalow’s kitchen, down the hallway to the front door. His bungalow was a good-sized home thanks to a roof conversion he’d put in place which, technically, stopped it from being a bungalow anymore and yet people still called it one.

A bungalow with a loft conversion.

Downstairs had a bathroom, his living room, office, kitchen and a spare room that had been filled with random crap over the years. Upstairs had his bedroom and an en-suite bathroom. Despite this bathroom being a late addition to the property, Mike preferred it to the other bathroom due to the way it looked down upon the neighbours. He liked that he could sit there, having a shit, knowing they’d be looking up at him.

Simple things and all that.

Mike opened the front door and - although he hid it well - his heart sunk. A Bible Bashing prick would have been better.

‘Mike. You got a minute?’

He had a strong temptation to tell David, his neighbour, that he didn’t.

‘Sure. Come in.’

Better to invite him in instead of having people see the pair of them together and think they were actual friends.

David stepped in and Mike shut the door.

This should be interesting. Hopefully it’s something quick.

3.

Mike was taken aback when David cut straight to the chase.

‘Your language, mate.’

Mate? When have we ever been friends?

‘… Otherwise known as English,’ Mike cut in.

Ignoring him, David continued, ‘It’s not really acceptable, is it?’

‘Is that a rhetorical question or are you actually asking me if me speaking English, in my own garden, is okay or not?’ He continued, ‘Because, the way I see it, I’m on my property and I’m engaged in a private conversation with another party… And, as they speak English too, I’m going to give you an answer regardless as to whether you want one or not. Yes, my language is entirely acceptable.’

‘My wife was saying that the language was somewhat colourful.’

‘Colourful?’

‘You know - swearing…’

‘Let me ask you a question,’ Mike said.

‘Okay…’ David answered hesitantly. He wasn’t here to get in an argument. He just wanted Mike to be mindful of the fact he lived next door to a child. If he has to have phone calls in which he rants and raves - maybe he could have the decency to do it indoors?

‘So I’m having a private conversation, yeah?’

‘I see where this is going.’

‘Do you honestly think it is acceptable for your wife to listen in? To me, that’s fucking rude.’

‘Well if you’re shouting and screaming, she didn’t really have much of a choice, did she?’

‘She could have gone inside.’

‘She was trying to enjoy the weather with our son.’

‘… Who should be at school.’

‘He isn’t well.’

‘Then he should be indoors, asleep.’

‘Vitamin D… He was… Look, I’m not here to get into an argument.’

‘No, you’re here to dictate how I should and shouldn’t live my life.’

‘It’s just… If you could watch your language around our son, we would really appreciate it. That’s all we’re asking.’

‘Anyway, I can swear in front of the boy.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Firstly - he probably hears worse at school. Secondly - I’ll do what I want in front of my child.’ Mike smiled. ‘You see, that’s what he is. He’s my child. Every day you go to work and I go round to see your wife. It started innocently enough with a drink here and there but then it progressed from drinking out of her mugs to drinking from her furry wine cup. You know what I’m saying? From there we progressed to fucking. No romance, no hugging, no bullshit, no strings. Just straight up fucking. Mouth, cunt, arse… Couldn’t get enough. Well - sorry you had to find out this way but - the boy is actually mine.’

David stood there a moment, dumbfounded by what he was hearing. Of course none of it was true and he knew that but for someone to still go ahead and say it?

‘You’re fucking sick.’

‘That’s a maybe. You’re definitely a cunt. Now, get the fuck out of my house.’

‘The fuck is wrong with you?’ David’s face reddened and his fist clenched into a tight little ball - ready to swing at Mike. Mike noticed and grinned wider.

‘Unless, what, you want to hit me?’ Mike smiled. ‘Officer, he came around here all pent up and aggressive - accusing me of sleeping with his wife and suddenly - bam - he hit me…’

David realised the game he was playing and shook his head. ‘Just stay away from my family.’

‘You’re in my house. You came here. I haven’t been next door or near your family so fuck off. And tell your wife it’s rude to eavesdrop on conversations that don’t concern her.’

David opened his mouth, ready to bite. He stopped himself at the last minute. Without another word, he turned and walked back towards the front door. He didn’t wait for Mike to open it for him. He yanked the door open and left the bungalow - heading back to his own home and leaving the front door wide open. Mike stood in the doorway.

‘No, mate!’ Mike yelled, ‘I told you, I haven’t taken delivery of your sex doll. Really sorry. Hope it turns up soon, or that your wife finally starts putting out again.’ He laughed, hopeful that someone would have heard. Under his breath he muttered, ‘Cocksucker.’ He stepped back into his home and closed the door. A second later, his earlier bad mood was forgotten and he was chuckling to himself as he imagined the conversation that was being had next door now.

I swear I haven’t even made him a drink before!

Well that’s not what he is saying.

He’s lying!

It was an imaginary conversation only topped by following it up with thoughts of murdering the pair of them too. The wife was quite tasty so obviously she would be raped - her cunt filled with Mike’s thick dick (in his imagination) and dripping in his semen as his hands closed around her throat, choking the life from her. Dickhead David forced to watch as his precious wife’s life slipped away from her. With her dead, David wouldn't be killed yet. He would be forced to watch the son’s untimely departure too. Maybe his head pinned down on the gas hob. Blue flames from the largest of the hob’s rings melting away his skin. A smell that David would - very shortly - take to the grave.

But what if, the imagination asked, David lives?

For the rest of his miserable life he would hear the frantic gasping of his wife’s last breaths and he’d smell his burning son screaming his way to the afterlife too. Surely - knowing he is suffering for years - that would be better than ending his life sooner?

Mike chuckled to himself again as he walked back through to the kitchen for a celebratory cup of tea. First some tea to quench his thirst - save his sore throat from a morning on the fucking phone - and then, with nothing else planned, maybe a sly wank. Who knows, maybe David’s wife, Gillian, would be welcome in his thoughts for a second time that day. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d called upon thoughts of her whilst playing through the images of his spank bank.

In the kitchen, he filled the kettle with tap water and set it to boil. As he waited for it to click that it was done, his eyes were drawn to an opened letter on the side: An invitation from his credit card company.

Your limit has been increased to 5,000 with immediate effect.

Beneath the bold statement was a summary showing what he had remaining of that new limit. Yesterday the card was close to the limit and now, for whatever reason, he had an extra grand sitting there to spend. A grand, he thought, which meant he didn’t have to have a lonesome wank if he wanted something a little more… luxurious.

He smiled to himself.

A quick walk to the nearby shop, with the ATM next to the entrance, and he would have enough for at least a couple of hours worth of high-quality fucking. Hell, if he really wanted to spoil himself, he could withdraw the whole amount and spend the whole damned night with the girl. No, that’s pointless. You can’t fuck for ten hours straight. Some of that time would be spent talking, drinking, eating or even sleeping. It made much more sense to have himself an hour’s appointment. In sessions that length you just got down to business - there was no pissing around. Much better to have - say - eight sessions like that as opposed to one really long one.

Another chuckle as he recalled what he thought to himself only a couple of hours earlier, Just because the money has been offered, it doesn’t mean you have to spend it.

The kettle boiled.

By morning, the card would be at its limit and - no doubt - there would be a deep feeling of regret setting in. But that was the morning. He still had an afternoon, and evening to enjoy. Mike never was a bigger picture kind of guy.

4.

Mike was sitting on the settee. Across the room, beyond the glass coffee table with the bottle of red and two wine glasses, his television displayed a hardcore pornographic film. Two girls were speaking in German as they fucked one another with a shit-stained strap-on. The larger-than-usual toy not being the only thing coated in excrement. The girl on the receiving end of the toy - taking it like a champ up the arse - had a face full of shit too from an earlier scene in the film: Her lying on her back under a seat “frame”, the other girl sitting on said frame - squeezing one out. A great dollop of crap had dropped from the arsehole down to her mouth. The second nugget hit her cheek as she joyfully chewed up the first one, corn and all.

A woman in her forties, wearing a cheap nurse’s uniform from a high-street sex shop, was on her knees in front of Mike with her mouth wrapped around his meat, her head bobbing up and down as dribble snaked its way from lip to base of shaft. Her eyes were closed and she had already shut out the disturbing noises coming from the television set - choosing instead to listen to Mike’s rant.

‘See - the danger of having someone else answer your phone is that, when you finally show up, the punter could be expecting something else, you know what I’m saying? Your call for instance. I phone you up to book an appointment with you and I expect to talk to you. Now clearly - given the fact that you sound like a man who’s smoked forty a day for ten years and have a heavy accent - I wasn’t talking to you earlier. I was talking to some cute girl. Don’t get me wrong, I understand all about telephone voices: Cute on the phone, add twenty stone. But at least the girl was fucking English…’ Mike closed his eyes and sighed as the hooker took a minute to catch her breath, changing over to masturbating him with her left hand instead. Mike much preferred a hand-job to a blow job any day of the week. Whilst the latter could feel good, it was never enough to get him over the edge. Not unless he was getting involved himself too - such as eating out her cunt as she sucked. She stopped wanking him and resumed sucking, just as he resumed his speech, ‘All I’m saying is that you’re setting your clients up for disappointment before you’ve even let them see that your kebab isn’t quite as tight looking as it appeared in the photos. You come knocking on the door, the open it - already semi-hard at the thought of fucking you and, oh look, they’ve got someone different to whom they were talking to. Some people could get fucked off with that. I mean, not me. You’re lucky. I’m a pretty laid back cat but, yeah, some people…’ She looked up at him with a twinkle in her green eyes as she went from sucking to flicking the tip of his dick with her tongue - a hope that he’d ejaculate soon so she could leave. ‘Some people might be pissed at you. And, in this industry, they might show that dissatisfaction with fists over words, you know?’ He paused a moment. ‘You don't have a fucking clue what I’m saying, do you?’

She went back to wanking him so she could speak. ‘You like?’ she asked in an accent from some Eastern part of Europe. That was the problem with the girls these days. You book someone, expecting an English broad to show up and - instead - you get some foreigner. To Mike, a cunt was a cunt was a cunt. If he could get balls deep in it, he didn’t give a fuck about the exterior. If it tasted fresh, it didn’t need to look as though it were some fancy meal from a posh-fuck’s restaurant. The problem for Mike though was the niggling question in the back of his mind that asked, did these girls want to be doing this job or are they here by force? Admittedly, for him at least, it was a question that was soon forgotten when they stripped their clothes off and asked him - in shitty English - if he wanted to fuck.

Yeah fuck it, you’re here now.

Answering her question, as she continued tugging him, he said, ‘It’s okay.’ She resumed sucking and - giving up on the point he was trying to make - he went back to watching the film he had chosen.

The girl with the strap-on put two fingers down her own throat and vomited over the other girl’s back before rubbing the stomach bile into her skin. Mike laughed as she resumed pounding her from behind.

Putting a hand on the hooker’s head, to ensure she didn’t pull away, he leaned forward and reached for his drink on the coffee table. Hooker in his lap, porn on the box and a drink in hand - he closed his eyes and zoned out from reality, letting his fantasies take over for a moment…

*

‘Wait,’ Mike said as he pulled the woman’s head away from his dick with a handful of her dark hair.

She smiled, saliva running down her chin. She said, ‘It’s okay, you cum in mouth if you want.’

‘I’m not ready to cum yet,’ he told her. ‘There’s something else…’ he stopped talking but it was okay. He didn’t need to finish his sentence. The whore knew what he was trying to say.

She raised one of her heavily plucked eyebrows and smiled wider. ‘What you want do?’ she asked in what - in her country - was probably meant as a seductive tone. ‘You can have what you like, but anal is extra fifty.’

Mike grinned as - keeping her head in one place - he started stroking playfully through her hair with his other hand. ‘Anything I want?’ he asked.

‘But extra fifty for anal,’ she said again.

‘I don’t want anal,’ he said.

‘Then what you want do?’ she asked.

He grinned again. ‘This.’

With that - he stopped stroking through her hair and smacked her straight in the face with the same hand. Her nose immediately cracked open and started pissing blood. On the screen, behind where she was kneeling, a different kind of pissing was happening as her eyes were streaming tears of pain and confusion. Before she had a chance to defend herself, or even move away, he punched her again. Harder this time but in the same spot. Straight after the second punch, he got up and pushed the woman back into the coffee table. She hit it with her lower back and let out another yelp of pain before she was silenced with a hard right hook to her right cheek. She slumped to the floor - out cold. Mike stood there a moment to ensure she was definitely  out for the count. When she didn’t stir, he grinned and walked from the room. No need to fret about her waking. He wouldn’t be long. Just long enough to fetch the garden shears…

*

Mike’s body twitched and his leg spasmed as he shot a heavy load of creamy cum into the hooker’s mouth, his mind still imagining what it would be like to cut her with garden shears: One half of the blade up the whore’s snatch and the other running along the outside of her stomach, up through her belly button. His bulging arm muscles using all of their strength to cut through the tissue and bone to the sounds of squelching, screaming and splintering.

In reality, the hooker swallowed every drop. She pulled away when she was sure he was satisfied. With a naughty grin on her face she winked at him and wiped the drool and general wetness from around her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘You like?’ she asked again as though that were the only thing she knew how to say in English. Without a word he slipped his spent dick back in his pants and turned his attention back to the film playing on the television. The hooker got up from the floor and sat next to Mike on the sofa. Her eyes drawn to what he was watching.

A different scene played out. The original girls were gone and had been replaced with a man and a woman this time. The woman was clad head to foot in black shiny latex: Tight catsuit, gloves, boots and a mask. The crotch of her catsuit had a zip which was wide open revealing an almost perfect - and hairless - pussy. Her tight little arsehole filled with a butt plug that featured a horse’s tail on the end of it. The man - not quite as kinky looking - standing there, tied to a metal pole with heavy rope, naked… All four foot six of him. A midget with a hard-on, begging his mistress for more of the whip she was using against his naked flesh. Red welts across pale skin. Like the two girls who had come (and cum) before, he too was speaking German.  This was the first time the hooker Mike had chosen had actually seen what was on the screen. She knew it was funky because of the sounds but she clearly wasn’t expecting this. She looked at him with a quizzical expression on her face. A look that Mike noticed out of the corner of his eye.

‘You like?’ she asked again. This time she was referring to the film.

‘You can’t deny it’s not boring like other films,’ he said. It certainly wasn’t like other films…

On screen, the girl removed the plug and forced it into the midget’s mouth. Mike grinned and took another sip from his glass. The hooker leaned to the table and took her own wine.

‘It’s sick,’ she said.

She took a sip and swilled it around her mouth before swallowing away the residue taste of spunk.

‘You’ve not fucked a midget yet?’

‘No midgets.’

‘I’d fuck a midget,’ Mike said. ‘A female, obviously. Kind of curious about it, to be honest. I mean - their cunts… Do you think they would be tight like a school kid or do you think they’d be - well… Normal. A normal gash on a miniature woman?’ He paused a moment, clearly reflecting on the idea of it. ‘Like I said, I’m curious.’

The hooker just looked at him. Five minutes and then, unless he said otherwise, she’d look to leave. Booked for an hour’s appointment and done in twenty-five minutes. A job done well so long as he wasn’t one of those clients that wanted the full hour and the opportunity to ejaculate for a second time. Although they had every right to request the full time allotted, she still felt as though it were a pain in the backside because the second time was always harder to get them to finish.

She took another mouthful of wine and looked away from the film, turning her attention back to her client.

He said his name was David.

‘You have other movies?’ the hooker asked as the camera cut to a close-up viewing of the midget licking the plug clean. There wasn’t anything on the toy but it was the idea of where it had been that repulsed her.

Mike looked at her, almost disappointed that she had dared to ask for a different film. He shook his head. ‘Why would I need other films? This one is - like - four hours long and has pretty much everything you can think of. It’s one of the better productions to come from the porn industry.’ He shook his head. ‘And did you know our fucking government wants to ban stuff like this? They want porn to be just - like - missionary sex and other vanilla crap…’ He stopped talking when he realised the whore had glazed over.

Fucking language barrier.

The whore just smiled and went back to her tried and tested, ‘You like?’ As she asked the question she reached to Mike’s shorts. Her hand open-palmed, she started to rub his crotch. ‘What you want do now?’ she asked. The moment of truth - is he one of those punters who was just happy to ejaculate or was he one of those punters who wanted their full time allotment.

Mike pushed her hand away.

‘I think we’re done,’ he said. Despite what she was thinking, he could have ejaculated again. Part of him even wanted to. The only reason he didn’t let her carry on was because he knew it would take longer the second time and he also knew that, to achieve it, he would have to let his imagination run wild again. The problem with that? It increased the chances of him acting upon his dark fantasies.

The whore downed the last of her wine and stood up. Mike stood up too, pulling up his trousers (bunched around his ankles) in the process. ‘I’ll show you out,’ he said as she picked up her long coat from the corner armchair. Without a word she put it on, covering her nurse’s uniform.

Mike didn’t ask if she had everything as he walked her to the front door. He opened the door and turned to her. She was looking at him as though expecting something else. To him, he couldn’t think of anything. He had paid the fee when she first got there and hadn’t had any extras that weren’t included in that first price. To her, she was expecting him to give her a kiss on the cheek and thank her for coming. He did neither.

‘Well, so long,’ he said.

‘Yes. Thank you. Goodbye,’ she said - her lacking English further frustrating Mike who still found himself questioning as to whether she was on the game by choice or not. She stepped from the house and onto the drive where her battered Mini was parked. On the drive next door, David was washing his own car. His eyes fixed on this female visitor until he realised Mike was staring directly at him, a smirk on his face.

‘Hi,’ David said, trying to remain polite despite the earlier encounter.

Mike responded by raising two of his fingers up towards his nose and giving them a hefty sniff before winking to David. David immediately looked away, embarrassed for Mike. Mike didn’t give a fuck. He just laughed and stepped back into his house - closing the door as the whore drove to, no doubt, her next client.

Does she have a breath mint or does the next guy get cock-breath?

5.

The tired reflection in the en-suite bathroom mirror looked back at him with heavy black bags under the bloodshot eyes. His complexion was pale and, despite having an okay-sized frame, his face looked gaunt. It was a haunting image staring back and one that momentarily made Mike wonder if he had AIDS, or some shit like that rotting the fuck out of his insides. A similar paranoid thought to the last time he banged a whore. It was always the same. A worry niggling away in his mind that he’d caught some life-changing disease from fucking the girls and a stomach full of knots at the thought of having spent money that he didn’t really have to spend. Cumming in the girls, be it their mouths or in a condom within their arse or cunt, was always a pleasure and never a chore but these post-coital thoughts sure did have a habit of putting a dampener on it. Thoughts made worse by the fact he’d also spend time questioning his sanity - not because he had chosen to book a prostitute but because of the mental images needed to get himself over the finishing line.

This whore hadn’t been the first and nor would she be the last. But - at the same time - the imagery he had used to bring himself off, or rather assist her in getting him off… That hadn’t been the first time such violent thoughts had popped into his mind either. What made it more disturbing, if that was even possible, was that - every time - the thoughts were different. So it wasn’t just one thing he seemed to have a dark desire to do, or try. He had a whole multitude of them and each one was just as disgusting at the last. Such as the time he ejaculated into a brain…

In his imagination, he had been erect the whole time he had sawed around the skull of the once pretty woman. Being in his mind, it wasn’t too complicated to get the top of the skull away, exposing the brain beneath and - being in his imagination - the girl had remained alive throughout the entire process. She was begging and pleading for him to let her go. Even asking him to take her to the hospital where she could ask them to re-attach the top of the skull (and hair).Of course he didn’t listen. His mind too fixated on the end game which was…

With the woman strapped to the table, unable to move thanks to the leather restraints, he slowly inserted his throbbing member directly into the centre of the brain - pushing in until he was balls deep. The brain squelched as he did so and even let out a little raspberry similar to if you were to put your fingers into a toy “fart-pot”. A noise that made Mike laugh as he began pumping in and out… Each thrust rendering the girl more retarded: Her speech once eloquent (despite being petrified)  was now becoming more and more slurred as Mike continued. The left side of her face began to sag more or less immediately.

Like fucking a stroke victim but with less drool.

It wouldn’t work like this in real life - Mike knew that. In fairness, most of the extreme ideas he’d toyed with wouldn’t work in real life but it didn’t stop him from getting turned on by the thought of them. Something which - after he’d cum - would start to play on his mind. Especially when he recalled how many people had called him “sick” before now, and that was without knowing what was really going on in his mind. Jesus, imagine if they knew…

With his dark thoughts though, and previous encounters with people calling him sick, he often stood in front of a mirror - as he was doing now -  and looked long and hard at himself. A little voice in his mind, questioning whether he would ever try and actually recreate the thoughts going on in his twisted brain. Or rather, not try to recreate them but want and need to do it. Would his imagination leak into reality? He took a step back from the mirror. No sense stressing about it. If that time ever came, chances are he wouldn’t care anymore anyway.

Laughter from outside the open window caught his attention. A woman. He walked over to the window and looked out through the small opening. His neighbour was in the garden playing ball with her 'ill' son. If he is well enough to play ball, it was a fair assumption to say he’d be going back to school the next day.

Skiving little cunt.

His attention drifted from the boy to the mother. Of course what he said to the father, David, was complete horse-shit. He hadn’t fucked his wife but, given the chance…
Enjoying the unexpected heatwave, she was wearing tiny denim hot pants and a small white vest that was bordering on see-through thanks to an impromptu water-fight with her ill son. Beneath her vest-top, she wore no bra so her nipples poked through. It wasn’t sexual to her son but…

Mike felt a stirring below, part helped by mentally replaying some of the thoughts he’d previously had and now further encouraged by a sight he did view as sexual. He wet his left hand under the sink’s tap and reached down the front of his shorts. Eyes fixed on the MILF, he started stroking himself fully hard. A want to pull those tiny shorts to one side and expose what he imagined to be a pretty pink gash. He licked his lips: Could almost taste the sweat that would no doubt be running down it right about now.

Salt and fucking vinegar.

Amazing how quickly he could forget previous stresses when faced with such a sight, he thought, as he continued stroking his cock. Tiny shorts pulled to one side, tongue in her slit, the taste of salt. A hint of chicken. The smell of sweat mixed with both urine and scampi. Her juices coated over his tongue as his cock bulged - desperate to fuck her… after he had eaten her cunt. Her labia lips in his mouth. His teeth clamping down. Her screaming. Him pulling away as she bucked. Her flesh ripped off and blood streaming from between her legs. So much blood. And then he’d stick his hard cock inside of her. Warm blood as a lubrication, her writhing around - desperate to get away.

The orgasm wasn’t far away. Surprising considering he hadn’t long since ejaculated but - then - he knew how he liked to be touched whereas others just blindly fumbled around until they got lucky and hit the sweet spot.

His eyes still fixed on the mother, he quickly grabbed a towel from the towel-rack and, in the nick of time, jizzed his second load of the day into it. A shiver of satisfaction ran down his spine and he dropped the towel to the floor after a quick wipe of his dick’s tip. One final look at David’s wife and then he’d get on with…

Busted.

David was standing in the garden with his wife and son. All three of them were looking straight up to the window and right at Mike. Mike immediately wondered how much they could see from down there. Even so, he gave them a cheeky little wave.

‘Fuck this shit. I’m done. That’s it.’ David said. He threw his arms in the air and headed towards the back of his house. His wife called out after him.

‘Just leave it.’

She glanced back up to Mike who responded to David’s outburst with a shrug. She shook her head and, taking her son’s hand, headed back into the house and out of sight.

No doubt gone to try and talk to David, Mike thought.

‘Ah well, enough of these fun and games…’ Mike walked from the bathroom through to his office. Despite wasting the day on a call to E-Finance, bashing one out over his neighbour and getting a blow-job from a local girl (who ended up not being quite as local as he initially thought) - Mike did actually have some work to be getting on with. He recalled the conversation he’d had with his boss yesterday.

It’s easier if I work from home, I get more done.

Here’s to hoping his manager didn’t call him in for a progress update in the morning. The way the day is going - nothing will be done and, despite using the day to catch up, he’d actually be further behind!

*

Mike’s office was a fairly large room. For what he did in it, it was certainly bigger than he actually needed. The room consisted of a computer, a modest sized desk, a filing cabinet and - in the far corner - a cage: Home to his pet rats. Or rather, his ex-girlfriends pet rats. When she walked out, she left the fuckers there even though she knew he hated them. But then, in his head, that was probably why she left them there, because she knew it would piss him the fuck off - just as it had done when she said his office was the only room they could go in.

But why?

Because you’re hardly ever in here and we can shut the door on them to stop the rest of the house stinking.

Or we could just get rid of them.

I’m not getting rid of them.

Or you could clean them out more often.

What’s your fucking problem?

My problem is, I hate the little cunts and I don’t want them in the house!

Mike looked at the rat cage with contempt. She had promised to come back and get them when she was settled. Settled? She seemed pretty settled the moment she chose to pack her shit and fuck off. Her new man promising her everything she could possibly want. Occasionally he would think about getting rid of them but the bitch seemed to have a sixth sense about it for she’d message him the same day he’d have the thought.

Just sorting some bits. Are you in next week so I can come get the boys?

“The boys” being what she called the little furry fucks. There was nothing “boyish” about them at all. They were knocking on three now, old for rats, and - if anything - they resembled wrinkled old people. Not boys. One of them, the black one, even taking on the old person persona by being a grumpy little cunt. Whilst the other two rats were content to nibble on various treats and snacks, this little cunt preferred flesh.

Thoughts of his ex continued dancing in the forefront of his mind. Mike blamed her for the way he was today - mentally. She denied it and said it was the way he acted that drove her away, into the arms of another man.

Oh, nothing to do with the fancy car, posh house and fuck tonne of money then?

He leaned down to the cage and whispered, ‘I fucking hate you.’ It was both a comment for the rats and for his ex - not that she’d hear it again. Hopefully, when she’d come and pick them up, they’d pass the message on for him.
‘I hope you fucking die.’

Mike turned from the cage and approached the computer tower on the other side of the room. With an outstretched finger, he powered it up. The machine whirred to life just as there was a knock on the front door. He smiled to himself. It didn’t take a genius to guess who that would be. Primed for a fight, and even looking forward to ranting again, Mike left the room and headed for the front door.

6.

David didn’t wait to be invited in. Red faced and angry, he pushed his way in past Mike who was still chuckling. Clearly his wife hadn’t been able to calm him down.

‘The fuck is wrong with you, you sick cunt? It’s not enough you have to swear in front of my kid - you have to fucking masturbate within sight of him too? You know I could call the police and have you fucking carted away, right?’

‘Honestly, don’t know what you’re talking about. I was upstairs cleaning the bathroom.’

‘Cleaning the bathroom?’

Mike smiled. ‘That’s right. I was polishing my tap. That time of the month, you know? Nothing like a good polish to make you feel better about yourself.’ He continued, ‘I can’t help it if you all happened to look up and mistake me for doing something else…’

‘You were fucking touching yourself!’

‘That’s right. I was. But if the police come round here…’ Mike shrugged. ‘I was cleaning, officer. Look, I don’t know what his problem is but…’

Without any warning, David swung a hard left hook that connected to Mike’s cheek. It was a hit hard enough to make Mike stagger back a little but not go down. When he regained his composure, a hand pressed up to his now-sore cheek, Mike slowly turned and looked at David with an element of surprise about him. He had always had David pegged as a pussy-boy, under the thumb of his wife and yet…

Fair play.

David was squaring up against Mike with his hands clenched into fists, ready to swing again. Mike noticed the hand he had been struck with was bleeding. He grinned.

Fucking girl hands.

‘I’m sick and tired of living next to you,’ David said. ‘You’re a disrespectful motherfucker and it’s high time someone taught you a lesson. Maybe then you’ll change your ways…’ He took a step closer to Mike, ready to lash out again.

Mike put his hands in the air defensively.

‘Okay, I’m sorry!’ Mike said without hesitation. ‘I was just teasing, I didn’t mean any harm and - honestly - I was just mucking around upstairs. I thought it was funny. I wasn’t actually touching myself, I was just pretending. Come on, ask yourself - what did you actually see?’

‘You were pretending?’

‘Yes. Like I said, I thought it was funny. I’m sorry…’

‘You were pretending to touch yourself in front of my little boy.’ David shook his head in disbelief. ‘Fucking sick, that’s what you are.’

There’s that word again.

‘I know, in hindsight - probably not a smart move…’

Despite the apology, David hadn’t backed down nor relaxed his fists. In his head, he was still trying to decide whether he should even believe Mike’s lame excuse. Who the fuck seriously pretends to touch themselves when there are children present? Fucking perverts, that’s who. Cunts who deserve a kicking.

‘I’ll apologise to your wife if it will make you feel better. Honestly, I am genuinely sorry… I didn’t think it through. I’m just… I’m having one of those days…’

‘What - where you forgot to take your fucking medication?’

‘Actually I ran out of medication. I was supposed to phone the doctors and get a repeat prescription but… I’ve been busy… Stressed with work even. I just haven’t got around to it yet.’

David immediately backed down. His slur about medication wasn’t supposed to be factual. It was just because he thought his neighbour was borderline nuts and needed to be on pills. Now he knew he was technically supposed to be on them - and, more to the point, wasn’t - he realised that the behaviour on show probably wasn’t “the norm”. In David’s own head, despite how Mike had behaved, he started to feel guilty about hitting him. One thing to swear at someone, quite another to punch them in the face - when they turn out to have mental health issues.

In a calmer voice David said, ‘Maybe you should call the surgery today and get them to organise a prescription for you. I think, for your own benefit, it might be a good idea…’

‘I can’t do that,’ Mike said.

‘Why not? Clearly you’re fucking struggling… I was all fine to come round here and give you a fucking kicking until I found out about your lacking meds… If they can calm you down and make you, I don’t know what the word is, more human? Isn’t it worth it?’ David was irritated. If Mike knew he had a problem, and the problem was fixed through medication - why wouldn’t he want it?

‘Like I said, I can’t call them up…’

‘Why not?’ David asked again.

‘Because I was fucking lying, you gullible cunt!’ Before David could react, Mike punched him straight in the face with the square of his knuckles. It wasn’t necessarily a heavier hit than David had issued but it was a better placed one - right on the bridge of David’s nose. The nose split across with a satisfying crack as David stumbled back, raising his hands to his face. Keeping the momentum going, Mike lifted his right leg and brought his foot down hard upon David’s kneecap, dropping him - with a cry of pain - to the floor in an instant. David’s hands went from his face to around his knee, a mistake which left his bleeding nose exposed. With the same foot used to bring David to the floor, Mike kicked him straight in the face - jarring David’s head back against the wall with a loud bang. He slumped to the floor out-cold. Mike paused a moment, looking at what he had done. Then, without a word, he leaned down and checked that he hadn’t marked the wall.

All okay. Thank fuck for that.

The last thing Mike wanted to do now was have to redecorate. Still, not important right now. What was needing to be done, as a matter of urgency, was to decide what to do with his pain-in-the-arse neighbour. Or rather, not what was to be done as he knew what to do. More like, how he was going to do it.

How is he going to die?

Mike knew he couldn’t let him go back to his wife. The fact he knocked him out cold was enough grounds for the police to get involved, even though David had thrown the first punch. Once the other stories came out, the language and the masturbation incident, it was fair to say the police would probably take the family man’s word over Mike’s and Mike would end up getting prosecuted. Exposing himself in front of a minor, although not intended as he was merely imagining fucking the woman and not the kid - and violence – he would most likely be looking at jail time, even with a good lawyer working his side.

The alternative was more to Mike’s darker tastes. The choice to simply make David disappear although it wouldn’t stop there. He would also have to make David’s wife and kid vanish too. Not a problem for Mike, he was only too happy to wipe them from the earth. It just meant a little more work and potential risk of being seen by some of the other neighbours.

His imagination kicked in.

*     

Mike was standing at the end of the long road that he lived on. He was facing the houses. His clothes, and skin, were stained claret. In his hand he held an axe that dripped entrails. A grin on his face and a look in his eyes that one could only describe as “demented”. The houses in front of him, lining the streets, the home of dismembered bodies. Each and every person once living on the street - now dead. No witnesses to tell the tale of Manic Mike.

Behind him, a car turned into the road - its headlights illuminating him standing there. Slowly, Mike turned to face the driver. The driver responded by sounding the car’s horn. Mike smiled and then, threw the axe. Imagined in slow-motion, it spun through the air  - circling over itself repeatedly - before it smashed through the car’s windscreen and embedded itself into the driver’s chest. The driver coughed up a lungful of blood but only through reflex. He, a young man in his early twenties, was already dead.

Even though Mike didn’t smoke in real life, he pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and placed it between his lips. From his pocket, he pulled a lighter and sparked it up. A deep inhale and a slow exhale.

A busy but successful night.

*

As usual Mike’s reality was different to what had played through his mind. Although - this time - it wasn’t entirely different. See, normally he just pictured the violence in his head. Now, for the first time ever (the fight in primary school didn’t count for shit), he was about to live the violence. He had often dreamed about this situation, wondering whether he would be able to go through with it. Even now, with hands shaking and sweat beading under his arms, he wondered if he would actually have the balls to go through with it - even this late in the game. In fact, the only major difference to how he pictured himself doing this, to actually living it was… His victim. He always envisioned a girl lying in David’s position. He pictured them naked, pert tits and a trim bush pointing the way to a tidy little place ripe for fucking. Not a flaccid penis that looked as though it couldn’t satisfy a fucking ant.

‘Wake up.’ Mike tapped David’s face with the palm of his hand. David was still out cold and his face already bruised from the earlier altercation. No less than the cunt deserved though. Mike repeated himself, ‘Wake up.’ He tapped David’s face for a second time. Slowly, his neighbour started to stir.

7.

David was panicking, pulling at the belts keeping him tied to the kitchen table. The overhead light was shining bright in his eyes, making it hard to see exactly what was going on - not that he really needed to. He knew where he was. He remembered everything prior to being knocked out. He was trapped in his neighbour’s kitchen, hidden away from the outside world with the kitchen blinds down and shut, covering the window. The back door, for the first time that day, shut and locked to outsiders.

‘Do you know how many people have accused me of being sick?’

‘What the fuck are you doing? Let me out of here…’

‘I don’t have a clue. I know it's a lot. More than I can remember which is saying something. Yet, they only really started saying it since she left me. At least that is how I see it. I told her that she changed me when she fucked off with that cunt but she said I was already like this and that was why she left but…’ He paused a moment. ‘You don’t need to know this. Fuck, you weren’t even living next door when she was still living here. You don’t even know who the fuck I am talking about. And the fact you didn’t know me when I was with her - well, that means you can’t comment.’ He sighed. ‘She fucked me over and, because of her, my outlook on life changed. That much is true and, to be honest, that’s all you need to know.’

David hadn’t listened to any of what Mike had said. Instead he had been repeating his demands for freedom over and over whilst tugging at the leather belts: belts that clearly weren’t going to give any time soon. He said, ‘Okay, you made your point… I’m sorry for coming round and getting in your face. Surely you can see it from my point of view though? My fucking kid, man! My wife! What was I supposed to do? What would you do?’

Mike cut in and answered, ‘I’m not sure what I am going to do to them yet but - trust me - it won’t be pleasant.’ He paused a moment before beaming a huge smile to David who began tugging frantically at the restraints.

‘Fuck you! You fucking lay a finger on them, you cunt! I’ll fucking kill you!’

‘Ssh.’ Mike didn’t hold a finger to his own lips to hush David quiet. He held a pair of kitchen scissors. ‘As I was saying,’ he continued when David calmed himself as much as he could. ‘People have been calling me sick for as long as I can remember and I always used to - in my head at least - argue that I wasn’t. They were just misinformed. But what if I am actually sick like they say? Why the fuck am I fighting it? It doesn’t make sense to, right?’ He mused, ‘Surely I would live a happier life if I just succumb to my thoughts and impulses. Take the cunt on the phone earlier, the one you moaned at me for speaking my mind to… I think about hurting that motherfucker and then I hang up, right? I go about my day but I’m still fucked off. What if I go ahead and hunt that cunt down and do to him, or her, what I’m about to do to you and your family?’

‘Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do this…’ David started to panic when he realised - from only the look in Mike’s eye - that this was not a game to scare him. Mike was being serious. ‘Please… I’m a father…’

‘No, you’re a cunt. Besides, I already told you - that boy is mine.’ Mike laughed. ‘Nah, not really, if I did fuck your wife and she did get pregnant - I would definitely insist on an abortion. And if she refused… Well, coat-hanger job and probably push her down the stairs. Or, like I read in this one book, I’d get her to drink bleach until it cleaned her insides out. Although, in the book, it didn’t quite work out. She ended up giving birth to a seven foot fucking retard.’ He paused a moment. ‘Good book actually… Nature vs. nurture… Who was the real monster? The mum and dad or the murderous, cannibal mong they raised?’ Mike laughed. ‘And people think I am sick when there is shit like that out there? Or rather - was shit like that out there before Amazon started fucking censoring everything like a scared bunch of pussies…’ He paused. ‘I’m waffling. Probably because I’m nervous about where we go from here, all joking aside.’ He corrected himself, ‘Well - I know where you’re going. I’m more nervous about where I am headed. See, you’re going to Hell and you’re going to burn for an eternity. Me though, am I going to go to prison? Am I going to get away with this? Is this going to be the start of a murderous career spanning several books if it takes off?’

He grinned and turned to the wall before winking at it. Leaning down to David, he whispered, ‘That wink was for the readers’ benefit… Breaking the fourth wall to let them know I’m aware of their presence…’

‘What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve lost your mind.’

‘Yes, I have. Want to know how?’

David didn’t answer.

‘You smacked it out of me. See, I was changing inside - no doubt about that. All it took to make the final change though, was a punch from you. Mind you, I must have been close to changing because that was a weak-ass punch.’ He laughed. ‘You’re a girl and - now - you really are a girl…’ Without any warning, he worked the kitchen utensil’s handle to open the blades of the scissors in his hand. With his spare hand he grabbed David’s testicles as he squirmed, desperate to get free whilst begging for Mike not to “do this”. Mike laughed as, a split second later, he worked the scissors’ handle to clamp the blades shut again. David screamed loudly as his balls came away from his body prompting Mike to grab a dish-cloth from the sideboard and shove it in his mouth to muffle him. The blood poured freely from where David’s testicles used to be, staining the wooden table crimson, as it pooled across the surface.

Mike set the scissors down on the table and took a hold of David’s balls, giving them a playful squeeze as he did so.

Stress-relievers.

Quick as a flash, he whipped the dish-cloth away and replaced it with David’s bollocks - forcing them into his mouth before forcing his jaw shut  shut.

‘Chew them, you cunt.’ Mike hissed.

His words went unheard as David lost consciousness.

Mike frowned. ‘What the fuck?’ He took a step back, half-expecting David to suddenly open his eyes and spit his testicles back out but he didn’t. ‘Is that it?’ Mike was so used to his imagination working overtime that this was just supposed to be the beginning. First he would make David chew on his balls until they were nothing but pulp in his mouth. Then he would make him swallow them down, along with any acidic bile that he’d dare bring up. After that, he'd cut away David’s dick. With that, he would insert the scissors up into it as though the scissors were a hand and the severed dick a puppet. From there? He’d push it into David’s arse first - working him into a bloody, shitty mess with a hard pumping motion before pulling out and going arse to mouth. Clean that shit up. Lick that scat and blood off your dead dick… David, of course, would suck it spotless as he deep-throated his own shaft - something most men would be envious off usually but possibly not in this situation. Mike’s imagination cut short of having the dick actually shoot semen down David’s neck though although that would have been smart too. Except, none of that could happen now. The pussy boy had fainted and all colour drained from his skin. With the way the blood poured from his wound, Mike wondered whether he’d ever wake up again.

‘Well,’ Mike said, taking a seat on one of the table’s four chairs, ‘that was a disappointment, I won’t lie.’ He sighed heavily before leaning across to David’s face and clamping his nostrils shut. With nose closed and mouth stuffed full of balls, David’s time would be short.

Mike recalled another character from another of his favourite books: A guy called Peter. Peter would abduct women and keep them prisoner. Whenever he made a mistake, he would make a mental note to himself so as not to repeat it later. Taking a leaf from Peter’s book: Mental note to self…

After a few minutes he checked David’s pulse. Satisfied there was nothing to be felt, he pulled his hand away from the dead man’s nose. The balls, he left in his mouth.

‘You have only yourself to blame for this,’ Mike said to the fresh corpse. ‘Had you stayed in your house playing happy families, I’d be putting the washing on about now and getting my cum cleaned out of that towel before I accidentally forget about it and use it to clean my face later.’ Mike shook his head. ‘I’m sick?’ he asked. ‘You’re the cunt lying there with your own bollocks in your mouth…’ He laughed manically as he pictured the look on the arresting officers’ faces when they’d come into the kitchen to be confronted by this scene. A look that would, no doubt, amuse Mike for years to come as he rotted his life away behind bars. Mike was almost disappointed he couldn’t see into the future. Had he been able to, and had he known how his story ended, he would have turned himself in now just to see the look on their faces. But all the while there was a slim chance he could get away with this, he knew he couldn’t leave the body there. He had to clean up after himself. Not that he had figured that out yet… In fairness to him, he hadn’t planned on losing his mind today.

It had just been one of those fucking days.

‘It’s not over yet,’ Mike muttered to himself.

8.

Gillian was sitting in the living room of the family home nervously waiting for David’s return. She had tried to stop him from going round there, saying it wasn’t worth it. She knew he had a temper on him and the last thing the family needed right now was for David to be arrested for something stupid - something which could have been easily avoided had he just called the police like she had suggested.

Time was ticking on now. James - their son - was oblivious to his mother’s anxiety as he blissfully played with a toy truck he’d received for his birthday the week prior. Four years old and not a care in the world. Gillian was almost envious of him.

The television, in the background, played some awful cartoon that he seemed to love and Gillian - along with most other parents - loathed. She tried her best to ignore it as she kept peering out of the living room window. Beyond the window was the small front garden and their drive. She couldn’t see the neighbour’s house but that didn’t stop her hoping to catch sight of her husband crossing the garden on his way back. Part of her kept trying to reassure her that everything was okay and he was fine. He was probably just having harsh words with the neighbour. That’s it. They’re just verbally thrashing it out so the neighbour knows they wouldn't tolerate this kind of behaviour anymore. Nothing else to worry about.

Keep telling yourself that.

There was another voice in her head, slightly louder, that kept telling her something was wrong. A niggling little demon whispering from her shoulder saying that she should just call the police before anything gets out of hand. Or rather, further out of hand. If you call them now and David has only hit the man then they would probably go easy on him anyway. The neighbour is an obnoxious pervert and had antagonised David by exposing himself in sight of their son.

The police might reward your husband. Another pervert caught.

She doubted it somehow. In this day and age, it always seemed as though the bad guys got away with it and the good guys were the ones who were made to suffer.

The world we live in now…

James held his truck up towards Gillian and said something she didn’t quite hear, given the fact she wasn’t paying him any attention at that particular moment. She turned to him and smiled, pretending to have a clue what he was talking about. He smiled back and put the truck back on the floor before pushing it around again. Clearly, whatever he said, it hadn’t been that important.

The bang of the front door closing made Gillian jump and James look up. Distracted by her son, she hadn’t noticed David cross back in front of the house.

‘You scared me!’ she called out for two reasons: he did scare her and it let him know they were in the living room. ‘What did he say?’ She looked to the door, expecting to see her husband come around the corner. When Mike appeared, she jumped for a second time as James held up his truck to show the neighbour.

Mike smiled. ‘He said - please don’t do this… I have a family… Or words similar to that. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really paying any attention to what he was saying. Just the way he was bleeding.’

He held up his bloody hands. Gillian screamed. With his mother’s reaction so unexpected, James started to cry. Mike looked at him with a single thought in his head: He’d be the first to die.

‘Are you hungry?’ Mike asked Gillian who’d made a bee-line straight to her son, picking him up in her arms. ‘Don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten a thing today.’ He asked, ‘Fancy joining me with something to eat? My ex used to say I was a great cook.’ He smiled and took a step closer. Gillian screamed again and turned her back on him, instinctively protecting her son, unaware that their fates were already concrete.

*

‘Come on in, take a seat in the kitchen whilst I finish up…’ Mike walked from his front door back through to the kitchen where he was cooking up a tasty treat. He had told Gillian that he’d sooner cook for them in his own place as he knew where everything was kept. Before she could argue with him, or get an answer to the question of where her husband was, he had snatched the boy from her and taken him next door.

You can follow in ten minutes. If you phone the police, if they show up whilst I have your boy… Or they come knocking later when you’re both round - I’ll kill you both before they can save you. Nod if you understand me.

Gillian stepped into the kitchen expecting to see James there, hoping to see David with him. Neither were sitting there.

‘Take a seat,’ Mike said as he went back to tending to the pans on the stove, one with rice gently simmering away and the other with sizzling slices of meat.

Not wishing to upset him further, Gillian took a seat at the kitchen table. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the red stain in the centre. Mike suddenly turned to her and wiped his hand down the front of the apron he was now wearing. He held it out towards Gillian.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced. I’ve met your husband a few times but we’ve never spoken. My name is Mike…’

Again, for the sake of her family, she answered politely, ‘Gillian.’ She took his hand. His grip, strong. They shook before he released and turned his attention back to the simmering meat.

‘Very pleased to meet you. I just wish it would have been under different circumstances.’

‘Please – where are David and James?’

‘Ssh. All in good time. Here, can I get you a drink? I make a mean milkshake…’ He nodded towards the blender, filled with a beige liquid.

‘I want to know where my husband and child are…’

‘And you will, but first you’re going to join me in a pleasant meal. I’ve gone to a lot of effort. There’s no need to be rude about it.’

His imagination kicked in: He smacked her hard in the face with the frying pan - an act that both stunned and burned her.

A blink and everything was as it was. She was sitting at the kitchen table, he was standing by the hob. The meat simmering.

Mike gave the pan another stir and then walked over to the blender. He lifted the jar section from its cradle and poured the viscous liquid into two tall glasses. One for her and one for him. With the glasses full, he set the jar back on the cradle and grabbed two straws from a drawer under the sink. One for her and one for him. He handed her one of the glasses and - out of politeness - she took it.

‘Bottom’s up!’ Mike said. He took his own glass and put the straw to his mouth. Keeping eye contact with Gillian, he sucked up the gelatinous drink. Eyes scrunched tight and suppressing a gag, he swallowed the lumpy liquid down. The moment it hit, his stomach protested. He set the glass down and looked at Gillian waiting for her to take a sip. Uncomfortable under his gaze, she did just that and immediately retched.

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I think the milk is off.’

The taste and consistency had nothing to do with the milk. The milk was one of the only good things about the shake. The harsh taste, almost salty as well as bitter. The thick consistency, lumpy. It was more to do with the fact he hadn’t blended David’s testicles long enough. Still, for a first attempt it wasn’t that bad. He at least could finish it.

‘Least the meal will be better,’ he said with a grin.

Gillian smiled at him. She suppressed the urge to ask - again - where  her family was. She also pushed back the terrible thought that they were already dead.

‘This isn’t going to be much longer,’ Mike said as he turned back to the pan. ‘I think you’ll love it personally. At least, I hope you do.’

Playing nice, she said, ‘Thank you but I’m not really hungry.’

‘You can eat a little I’m sure. Don’t make me eat alone.’

‘Just a little then.’

He smiled at her. ‘Of course.’

A quick stir and he retrieved two plates from the cupboard and a set of cutlery from the same drawer he’d earlier pulled the straws from. Gillian watched as he set the cutlery down on the side beside the plates. She wondered whether she’d have time to jump up and grab the knife before he’d have a chance to react. Her heart skipped a beat as a sudden surge of adrenaline burst through her system. Her face flushed.

Fight or flight.

‘You can try it, if you want.’ Mike said.

She looked at him. He was staring right at her with a smile on his face. He knew what she was thinking. It didn’t take a genius to see it across her face.

‘Sorry?’ She played dumb.

‘The meat,’ he said with a wink. ‘You can try it before I dish up. If you want to, that is. Make sure it is cooked to your standard.’

Still with her heart racing uncomfortably, she forced a smile. ‘That’s fine, thank you.’

‘Okay. Well, I’ll dish up then.’

Gillian settled back in her chair. It was a silly idea to try and go for the knife. Whilst it could work out in her favour, it could also go terribly wrong and make a bad situation ten times worse. She’d bide her time.

In order to try and placate her a little more, Mike said, ‘The others can eat afterwards. I want this meal to be just you and me, okay? A little chance to get to know you.’

She looked at him. He wasn’t paying her any attention as he dished up. Had he said that just to please her or were they still alive in one of the other rooms? She felt a little surge of hope.

9.

Mike looked at the food on his plate as he sat at the kitchen table. In his mind he could still hear the little boy screaming and crying for his mother, cries that continued even as Mike drove the knife slowly into his young heart as he whispered to him, mummy’s going to eat you up. Mike wasn’t looking at the plate of food because he was guilty of his actions though, or rather - feeling guilty over his actions. He was looking at it, wondering if it would be tasting as good as it smelled. Looking up, he noticed Gillian was watching him carefully too. She hadn’t touched the meal in front of her. Yet.

‘Looks good, doesn’t it?’ he asked.

She nodded but the doubt was obvious on her face.

Mike confidently grabbed his knife and fork from either side of the plate. He scooped up some of the rice first and shovelled it into his mouth. Gillian copied him, not wishing to appear rude or anger him.

‘So David talked to you about earlier?’ Gillian asked cautiously.

‘He did. Listen, I’ve had a rough day. I’m sorry if my language upset you when I was on the telephone. I didn’t think about anyone else.’ He explained, ‘What happened is - my car insurance company took a year’s worth of premium out of my account even though I had cancelled it… Left me a little short financially and with my temper.’

‘I understand, it’s just… We try and shield James from that kind of language.’

‘Nice to see he is feeling better, by the way.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Well - he’s not at school. I presumed he was off sick.’

Gillian frowned. ‘He’s at pre-school. He doesn’t go every day.’

Mike paused a moment and then burst out laughing. Gillian just looked at him with confusion on her face.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I thought he was off ill. I’ll be honest, I was getting wound up with him playing in the garden! I thought, if he was good enough to play outside, he would be good enough to go to school!’

‘No, he’s part-time…’ Following Mike’s lead, she scooped up a little more rice onto her fork. She asked, ‘Where is he?’

‘I told you, he’s in the other room.’ Mike stabbed his fork into a slice of meat and held it to his lips for a moment. He hesitated and then put it into his mouth. He chewed tentatively at first, as though unsure of what the taste was going to be. A few chews in and he relaxed. All had been noticed by Gillian who was now even more on edge with eating the meal. Mike tried to reassure her, ‘It’s okay, it’s nice.’

She didn’t trust him.

Mike wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the cutlery down for a moment. He got up and crossed his way to the garbage bin. Leaning into it, he pulled out a packet and held it up to her: An empty packet of chicken.

‘The date said it was best before yesterday so I wasn’t sure if it was going to be okay but,’ he smiled, ‘it’s good!’ Gillian looked at the date. He was speaking the truth. He dropped the packaging back into the bin and took his seat again, picking up his cutlery in the process. ‘That pisses me off about these companies. They put these dates on there that are far shorter than they need to be. Why? So you think you’ve missed the opportunity to eat it and - in doing so - you’re going to poison yourself. It’s fucking horse shit. All they’re doing is conning the consumer into purchasing more of the product. You believe that?’

‘I never go by the dates,’ Gillian said. She started to eat, feeling a little more relaxed as Mike continued to tuck into his meal. She had already warned him that she wasn’t hungry so she knew she wouldn’t have to eat everything - especially as he had loaded the plate up - but she still needed to look as though she were making some kind of effort. She changed the subject. ‘Why are we doing this?’ she asked.

‘What? Eating? Getting to know each other?’ Her silence suggested he had hit the nail right on the head. ‘Your husband called me “sick”. Other people have called me that too and it made me realise: folk don’t really know me. We live next door to each other and I only knew you as David’s wife. So I thought I would use this quiet time between us to get to know one another better.’

‘You took my son from me, my husband is missing and you threatened my life if I phoned the police. You’ve cooked me a meal, yes, but do you honestly think this is the best way of getting to know me?’

‘Do you think I am sick?’ Mike asked.

‘What?’

‘Do you think I am sick?’

‘I think you’re a lonely man…’

Mike laughed. ‘Lonely? Well - yeah, I guess I am.’ He continued, ‘That’s another part of why I asked you to have dinner with me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m lonely. You’re right. My ex, she left. When she left I changed. That’s when I seemed to notice people calling me sick more often. Kind of bothered me. Anyway that’s by the by. I’m fed up talking about it. The point is, I’m lonely and I like you. Every time I’ve seen you, I’ve thought you were pretty and cute… I wanted to come and talk to you but the timing was never right. Anyway… Thought I would use this fucked-up day to try and get to know you better.’ Mike paused a moment to take another sip from the rancid milkshake he’d prepared earlier.

Gillian shifted in her chair nervously. She didn’t like where this was going. She was married to David. Mike knew she was Mrs. Cole and he knew she had a child in her marriage too. You don’t just approach a married woman like this, it was wrong. The fact he didn’t seem to care about any of that made this situation worse as she knew there would come a moment (soon) where she would have to knock him back. Considering she didn’t know what had happened to James and David made the prospect of his impending knock-back that little bit scarier…

Mike continued, ‘Get to know you, have a bit of dinner, bit of a flirt… Maybe a fuck before I kill you.’ He locked his eyes on Gillian and smiled, watching her reaction. She looked at him, eyes wide and fear evident. Mike’s smile vanished just as quickly as it had flickered across his face and then, in the blink of an eye, he threw himself across the table - slamming his body into hers and sending the plates and cutlery crashing onto the floor.

The weight of his body - and the force with which he connected with her own - sent Gillian and the chair she was sitting on flying backwards. As the back of the seat hit the floor, so did her head - stunning her in the process. To make sure she wasn’t about to get up anytime soon, Mike placed his hands either side of Gillian’s head, raised it off the floor and slammed it back down again. As her eyes rolled back in her head, the last thing she heard was his laughter. Unknown to her, it was the last thing her son had heard too.

10.

Gillian opened her eyes. She didn’t recognise the room she was in, and immediately panicked as her memories came flooding back. Along with the memories, the realisation that she had been stripped of her clothing. The nice day that had turned into the living nightmare. Lying on what she presumed to be her neighbour’s bed, she tried to sit up but was pinned down by the same restraints used to secure her husband to the kitchen table - not that she knew this. Despite not being able to sit up all the way, she worked her stomach muscles enough to give her a little more height in an effort to survey the room. With the exception of a rat’s cage in the middle of the floor, everything else seemed normal enough.

With her heart beating hard, feeling it in the back of her throat, she called out, ‘Hello? Is there anyone there?’ It was a stupid thing to call. She knew he would be there.

‘I’m here.’ Mike’s voice came from beyond the bedroom door - in the en-suite bathroom he had earlier masturbated in. ‘I was just practising my new hobby…’

Gillian swallowed back her tears and asked, ‘Please… Can you come and untie me?’

‘I can’t do that. We both know you’d try something stupid. I saw the way you were looking at the knife in the kitchen.’ He laughed. ‘I bet you fucking wish you went for that now, huh?’

‘Please let me go.’

‘What’s your son’s name?’

‘What?’

‘Strange name.’ He continued, ‘Mind if I change it to Harry? I like Harry. That was what my ex and I were going to call our son… Well, until she miscarried.’

‘Where is my son? Is he okay?’ Thoughts of her son hit hard and now she wasn’t able to hold back her tears which flowed freely.

‘Would it make you feel better if you spoke to him?’

‘Yes!’

The en-suite bathroom door opened and Mike walked in with James perched on his right arm but not as Gillian remembered him. A knife jutted out from his chest, the blade still in his heart, and his back had been slashed across with a hole gouged out… A hole that Mike had pushed his left arm up inside, elbow deep.

Hello, mummy. James’ mouth moved up and down, worked from the inside by Mike’s hand. Gillian shrieked loudly. Don’t cry, mummy. It didn’t hurt for very long. Each time the dead boy “spoke”, Mike’s mouth could clearly be seen twitching.

‘I mean, obviously I need more practice but… I’ve always wanted one of these dolls and, well, now I have one!’ He grinned. ‘How fucking cool is that?’

‘What are you done to my boy?’ Gillian kept crying over and over. Mike pulled his arm from the boy’s back and left him drop to the floor in a crumpled, twisted heap.

‘Heavy little cunt though. Might have to hollow him out a little more to ensure that works, you know?’

‘What have you done? What have you done?’

Mike dashed across the room and gave Gillian a sharp backhand across the face to silence her and stop her hysteria. She fell silent and stared at him with hate in her eyes. Hate and tears.

Mike sat on the bed. In his imagination, he never expected them to scream half as much as they actually did. The reality not being as fun as he'd hoped, thanks to the headaches his victims seemed to cause.

Gillian choked through her words and asked, ‘Is my husband dead?’

Mike looked at her and nodded.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Gillian asked as fresh tears spilled over.

He shrugged. ‘People say I am sick.’

Gillian tugged against the restraints again. She didn’t want to live on without her son and husband but neither did she want to die at the hands of this monster. He watched her for a while, his eyes scanning her body after starting at her face. Her hair, her eyes, her little button nose, her plump lips and white teeth, a little mole on her neck and another on her left breast, perfect nipples, her stomach not quite flat but neither chubby, the jewellery in her belly-button which glistened when it caught the overhead light, her shaven pubic mound, her pussy lips that hung slowly lower than he was used to seeing in the porn films he watched, another little spot on her inside thigh, legs clean shaven, feet like any other with chipped pink paint on the nails.

Eight out of ten.

‘If you’re going to kill me… Please make it quick,’ she pleaded.

He smiled again. A smile that sent shivers down her spine.  He leaned close to her and - with a whisper - asked, ‘Do you want to know what I thought about doing to you?’ It was a rhetorical question. It didn’t matter what she answered. He was going to share anyway.

*

Mike’s imagination was working overtime as he pictured pushing the knifes blade up into the skin between the side of her pussy and the inside of her leg. In a sawing motion he dragged the blade down the length of Gillian’s cunt with blood trickling from her skin as he did so. Serrated teeth scraping away the flesh nicely. She was screaming but the screams were muffled. Her husband’s severed dick rammed in her mouth and had been secured there with tape. When the knife finished down one side of her pretty vagina - perfect for framing - he ran it across to the other side and back up again. Once there, it cut back across to meet with the original point of entry. It wasn’t the tidiest of jobs, given the amount she was writhing but for a first attempt, it would do. He peeled the skin and pussy-lips away exposing a raw, bloody orifice beneath. With the flesh in one hand, he turned and slapped it against the wall where it stuck with a bloody splatter.

Not bad but would definitely look better in a frame.

He stood up, his dick hard from being that close to - and smelling - her vagina: Still stinking from a day of sweating through the earlier morning, playing in the sun, and - now - the warm blood. He leaned down and kissed what remained of her pussy. His face smeared in blood as, soon after, he pushed his tongue up inside of her as she continued to writhe around.

*

Gillian looked suitably horrified as Mike told her what he had been thinking about. He knew she wanted to call him “sick” but that she wouldn’t dare to do so. Not whilst she was so vulnerable and there was a danger of him carrying through with his morbid plan.

When he stopped laughing, he asked, ‘Do you believe in the afterlife?’

She nodded.

‘In olden times people used to put coins in the eye sockets of the corpse so the dead person was able to pay the ferryman for the journey. Did you know that?’

Not wishing to upset him, she nodded again.

‘You want me to kill you quickly so you can be on your way?’

Gillian started to cry again and, for a third time, nodded.

‘You want it to be over so you can be with your family again?’

A fourth nod.

‘I don’t have any coins.’

He reached under the bed and pulled up the same pair of scissors he’d earlier used on her husband’s testicles. He turned to face Gillian who, in turn, started to pull against the restraints with little effect. Mike put the scissor blades against her stomach.

‘Don’t fidget,’ he warned her. ‘I don’t want to accidentally cut you.’

She stopped moving.

He smiled. ‘That’s better.’

With his right hand he grabbed her right breast and, using the scissors in his left, he lined her nipple up between the sharp blades.

‘Don’t…. Don’t… Please…. Don’t….

SNIP.

The cold metal clamped shut, snipping the nipple clean off her body. Gillian’s scream was ear-shattering and yet somehow louder still when the second nipple came away. Her arms flexed against the restraints, her hands desperate to cup her breasts in a hope it would numb the pain even though she knew it wouldn’t help. Mike collected the two nipples from where they fell to her skin and placed them in her eye sockets, over her scrunched up eyelids. With all her moving, they didn’t stay in place.

‘If I were the ferryman, I’d accept them as payment,’ he said confidently. A sentence that was supposed to reassure Gillian that the pain would be worth it. She didn’t hear him through her screams. Before he would continue, he’d wait for her to quieten down - however long that would take.

11.

‘Are you going to rape me?’ Gillian asked. She didn’t want to know the answer yet she couldn’t avoid the question. Why else would she be bound naked to what was obviously his bed? He didn’t answer her. He didn’t even look at her. He had been staring at the floor now for ten minutes. She’d only managed to pull herself together in the last few of those same minutes. ‘Did you hear me?’ she asked.

‘I had planned to. I had planned to do a lot of things that I didn’t actually end up doing. You know, I was going to fuck your husband up his arse with his own dick but, inside the dick would be a pair of scissors.’ Mike laughed. ‘Same pair I just cut your nipples off with. Same pair that took his balls.’ He turned and looked her in the eyes. ‘I had planned to feed you your son but,’ he glanced to the body on the floor by the en-suite bathroom, ‘clearly that changed too… I don’t know why I change my mind and do things differently - just seems to happen like that. You know what they say about the best laid plans though, right?’

‘You planned to rape me so does that mean you’re not going to now?’ she asked, desperate for an answer so she’d know how much more she had to endure. He turned away from her and leaned for something under the bed with his right hand. When he pulled his hand back up, for her to see, he was clutching a bottle of lubricant. Without a word he squirted a liberal amount into his hand and then smeared it onto her pussy. She flinched at his touch and started to weep - her question clearly answered.

‘Stop crying,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to rape you.’ He tossed the bottle back on the floor and laughed. ‘Since hearing the way you moan, and knowing David has cum inside of you… Well, it’s kind of a passion killer.’

‘If you’re going to do it, just kill me already,’ she said, wishing for the sweet release of death to take her back to her family and away from Mike. Even without knowing his plans, it was obvious he wasn’t going to let her go again. He couldn’t. He knew she’d go straight to the police and - before he would have a chance to do anything - he’d be carted off to a life rotting in a small cell. There was no way he was going to release her.

‘I’m not going to kill you,’ he said after a short delay.

She was puzzled. If he wasn’t going to kill her what was he going to do?

‘I’m going to love you and leave you in a minute. Don’t worry, I won’t be far away. It’s just, I have to start cleaning up the mess I’ve made today. Need to make this place spotless for when people come by asking if I’ve seen you and your family. In my head I thought about driving out to the woods and burying them, but now I am thinking maybe it would be better to cut… You know what - not important.’ He paused. ‘I’m not sure how chatty you will be when I get back but I just have to ask… Knowing what I was planning on doing to you and what I actually did…’ Mike stopped. He seemed almost awkward here, asking the question. He continued after a deep breath, ‘Do you think I am sick?’

There was silence and - then - despite the pain and the fear and the knowledge of what had happened to both husband and son… Gillian started to laugh.

A mind snapped.

Mike stood there a moment, unsure of how to react, and then he joined her in the laughter. He then grabbed her knickers from the floor, where he’d earlier tossed them when he stripped her, and took them back over to where Gillian lay. Without explanation, he stuffed them in her mouth.

‘This is to stop you screaming,’ he said quietly.

He pulled his hand away, half-expecting Gillian to spit them back out again. She didn’t. She knew it was pointless. He smiled at her. Good girl. Fishing back under the bed he found the brown parcel tape he’d earlier stashed. He pulled out a strip, tore it with his teeth and placed it over her mouth - keeping the panties in place.

‘Before I finish up, I just want to thank you and don’t worry - you don’t need to answer. I want to thank you for sending your husband round to me earlier to complain about the swearing… I want to thank you for being a good sport over dinner, when I tried to get to know you better… I want to thank you, and your family, for letting me see who I really am. Whether you intended to or not, you’ve opened my eyes and made me realise that - since my wife left me… I’ve just been denying who I really was… Pretending I was someone else. Trying to act normal when, in actual fact, I’m different to you all. Not sick. Just different and there’s nothing to be ashamed about for that. So, yeah…’ He smiled again. ‘Thank you.’ He turned away from her and walked over to the cage on the bedroom floor. With his left foot he kicked it. ‘Wake up, you little cunt…’

Gillian lifted her head and looked at the cage. Her heart racing once more as a rat poked its head out of a half-gnawed wooden box.

‘Roland, this is Gillian. Gillian… This is Roland…’

Mike opened the cage and - after a little struggle - reached in and grabbed a feisty near-bald black rat. He took it back over to where Gillian was already struggling.

‘See, I was going to rape you… I wanted to know what it would be like to fuck you. I imagined it earlier, when I touched myself in the bathroom… You know - the act that started all this. To be honest, the thought of being inside of you wasn’t as good as what I would have expected so… My mood changed and my imagination thought up something else…’ He looked at Roland and grinned. ‘I hate these fuckers. The ex left them here.’ He glanced down to Gillian’s exposed pussy. ‘I’m kind of glad she did now.’ He grabbed Roland in both hands, forcing the rat to go rigid in his strong grip - the small animal too weak to put up a struggle. Then, as Gillian pleaded through the stained fabric of her panties for him not to do anything - he started to push Roland head first up her lubricated pussy… The rat instantly biting her the moment he touched flesh. ‘Feisty little fucker,’ he joked as he pushed the rat in deeper, struggling to get the pussy to swallow it all up.

This thing spits out kids, sure it can eat up a rat.

Gillian was struggling and squirming and screaming as Mike continued forcing the rat into her. Soon, all that was outside of her body was its tail - hanging there like a thick tampon string begging to be pulled. Mike laughed as he wondered what it felt like to have a rat inside of your body… Moving around, nipping, scratching… Biting… He took a hold of the tail and stuffed it inside of her too so that now - everything was invisible to those watching from the outside. Gillian continued screaming as she felt the rat tearing her up on the inside - desperately trying to find a way out of her. With Mike holding his hand up against her pussy, backwards was not the way. Roland could only go forward… Deeper into the tunnel… If it was that desperate to get out of her, it would find a way. And it was desperate.

Mike watched, wide-eyed and fascinated as Gillian’s lower belly seemed to move around. A baby kicking repeatedly on the stomach of a pregnant woman. Except she wasn’t pregnant and it wasn’t a baby… Her body started convulsing violently as her insides were getting torn apart by the frantic rodent. Mike pulled his hand away from her pussy and stepped back, unable to stop himself from watching what was happening.  And, to think, he’d planned to let the rat do its thing whilst he started clearing up. Fuck that. He wanted to watch. He had to watch.

‘Some people supposedly get tubes and put those up their arseholes… They then get gerbils and release them into said tube. The gerbil then runs up into the arse and - well - fucking explores, I guess. Whether you believe it or not doesn’t really matter when you have a rat in your cunt though, right? Anyway - one person who is supposed to have done this according to Urban Legend is Richard Gere, the actor. Not sure how the fuck that story came about but… What a thing to be remembered for, huh? And to think…’ Mike started to laugh. ‘People call me sick!’

Gillian’s body stopped convulsing as her head lolled to the side. Her eyes were open but unseeing. Her stomach still twitching and moving. Mike kept watching the movement. In his imagination Roland was navigating her insides, looking for the way back down out of her arsehole before he suffocated. In reality, he was close to biting through her stomach and poking his head out of a new hole that would appear next to the belly-button. His black, slightly furry face coated in the dead woman’s insides and a look of confusion on his face.

‘Richard Gere is busy shoving rodents up his backside… This rat is happily munching his way through the insides of a woman and - yet - I’m the one people call sick…’ Mike shook his head at the thought of how people could be so quick to judge and label someone else that they didn’t really know. People can be arseholes. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Roland to make his appearance. In his mind, as he waited, he imagined everything else he could try now that this day had opened up his eyes as to who he really was.

So many dark thoughts to explore…

A moment later he felt another stirring from beneath his jeans, in his shorts. The old man had come up to say hello, imagining what it would be like to fuck whatever hole the rat emerged from. Mike grinned. No need to imagine anymore. Thanks to Gillian, James and David… He never needed to imagine anything again.

Don’t imagine it. Act upon it.

Mike reached down to his jeans and unbuttoned them. As Roland emerged, his face as red and gory as imagined, Mike was already stroking himself.

‘I hope you haven’t made the hole too wide,’ Mike said, eyeing up the fresh wound, as Roland jumped down off of Gillian’s still warm body. ‘Always better when it’s nice and tight…’ Mike climbed on Gillian and guided his hard dick to the hole.

A quick fuck and then he’d clean up.

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