Acrotomophilia Maniac

From the dark mind of

Sea Caummisar

Copyright © 2019 by Sea Caummisar

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact sharoncheatham81@gmail.com.

This is entirely a work of fiction, pulled out of my own imagination. All characters and events are not real (fictitious). If there are any similarities to real persons, living or dead, it is purely coincidental.

This book is based on a fake person. I am not trying to give anyone with an acrotomophilia fetish a bad name. It just so happens in this story, his fetish causes him to make unhealthy decisions. This is not a reflection of a true acrotomophilia. I am not judging anyone who has this fetish. The story is purely for entertainment purposes.

Please help an author out. Report typos, questions, comments, or concerns here : sharoncheatham81@gmail.com

CONTENTS

Acrotomophilia Maniac

Introduction

The Start

Home

Hidden Kinks

Just A Small Hole

Round Two

Blurred

Light of Day

Pharmacy

Worst

Gone

Normal

Canvas

Negotiation

Fantasy

Filthy Thoughts

No Return

Practice For Perfection

Arm Stump

A Short Break

Trouble?

Feisty

Gas Powered

Funtime

Absolution

Nope

Second Chances

Getting Some Head

Tired

Not So Bad

Introduction

Acrotomophilia: the deriving of sexual gratification from fantasies or acts involving an amputee.

Disclaimer: This book is based on a fake person. I am not trying to give anyone with an acrotomophilia fetish a bad name. It just so happens in this story, his fetish causes him to make unhealthy decisions. This is not a reflection of a true acrotomophilia. I am not judging anyone who has this fetish. The story is purely for entertainment purposes.

The Start

Finally, they were allowing her to leave the hospital. Willard knew that he was at fault. If only he had been paying more attention while driving, instead of changing the radio station. Living with the fact that his wife lost her leg due to his recklessness was more disturbing than he could put into words.

Along with the loss of a limb, she also suffered a brain injury. The doctor tried to explain it to him in complete medical terms, but he couldn’t concentrate on all the big words. All he knew for certain was that his wife would never be the fully functioning person she was before.

Her fate was to sit in a chair, barely speaking and barely moving. Even daily functions such as personal hygiene would be more than she could do for herself. Willard was now her caretaker, and wondered if he was up for the task at his age.

After forty years of marriage, and him being at fault for the car accident, he knew he owed it to her to try his best to care for her. She had made it clear in many discussions throughout their life together that she would rather be dead than be put in a nursing home to spend the last part of her life rotting away doing nothing.

How he walked away after the accident without a scratch on him was unbelievable, but that’s how it happened. Was it guilt that ate at him constantly? The feeling of something bad eating away at his very soul was something he couldn’t shake. It now resided within him. Willard refused to let it be guilt. Afterall, it was only an accident.

The vegetable missing a leg that was now his wife was his fault. Something he would have to learn to live with.

Naturally, he was distraught and mad at himself.

The hospital had cared for her the past couple months after her leg amputation. Willard had spent countless hours at his wife’s bedside, speaking to her but not getting a response besides a glare from her eyes or a squeeze of his hand.

No matter how many times he apologized to her, Willard didn’t feel any better about the situation. How he wished she would speak to him, forgiving him for what he had done.

The nurse came into the room, doing a final inspection of his wife’s leg stump before her official hospital discharge. For some reason, everytime the sheet was raised revealing the partial leg, Willard had to look at the wound. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

Directly above where his wife’s knee should have been, there was a pucker of skin that resembled a large anus. The way the flesh was tucked together at the point of the stump was the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his life. The thigh was where her leg stopped.

The half leg still hadn’t healed completely from the surgery and it was his understanding that one day the skin would smooth itself out.  If it was painful, his wife showed no signs of it.

The only thing Willard knew for sure was that his body responded in a disturbing way each time he saw the deformity.

Having been married since their youth, sex hadn’t been a top priority in the recent years. She had gained some weight over time, like most women do. His hormones weren’t those of a sex raged teenager anymore. Anniversaries and birthdays were when they were apt to act on their physical desires.

After so many years of her downright telling him ‘no’, or faking a headache, he learned to stop even trying for physical intimacy. His penis felt like one of those things that you either use it or lose it. He had lost it over time.

Now this leg. Looking at the phallic shaped symbol seemed to renew some sense of his sexuality. A long ago forgotten twinge would stir in his pants each time the sheet was raised.

Once, late at night, when he overnight visited her in the hospital, he raised the sheet to just stare at the stump. A nurse walked in to check his wife’s vitals, like they routinely do in hospitals.

The nurse didn’t act strange and never mentioned the incident, but that didn’t prevent him from feeling like a pervert all the same. He, his conscience, knew why he had been staring. Just for verification that the amputation gave him wood in his pants.

Finally, it was time to take her home and care for her. Despite the fact she had a head injury that prohibited her from speaking and caused her to wear a diaper, it didn’t deter him from wanting to take her home and have his way with her body.

He was looking forward to alone time with his wife. She obviously couldn’t tell him ‘no’. In the privacy of his own home he could rub on her amputation any way that he wished.

Willard was excited about taking his wife home.

Home

Getting his wife home was harder than he imagined it would be. The nurses helped her from the wheelchair and into the car at the hospital. When he got home, Willard had to get the wheelchair from the back of the car. Unfold it. Then hoist his wife into it.

Luckily, he had the sense to have a ramp built on his porch to avoid the stairs. The physical act of lifting her and pushing her was taxing on Willard. It made his back ache with pain. Still, he managed to accomplish it, knowing what his reward would be.

As soon as he got in the house, he shut the front door behind him. It was the first time that he and his wife would have the privacy he desired since the car accident. Her half-leg now had a bandage on it, but he knew what was hidden beneath it. The wrapping was sexier than any lingerie he had seen before.

Willard had never understood why women felt the need to cover their body with skimpy clothing before sex. Actual skin was sexier than any negligee in his opinion. But in this instance, unwrapping the bandage was like unwrapping a birthday present.

As he unwrapped the leg, he fumbled with his hands falling over one another, trying to remove it too quickly.

Willard took a deep breath. “You’re home. Are you happy?”

Her eyes were unmoving and she didn’t respond. That was what he expected from her head injury, but wanted to be sure before he went forward with his desires.

After uncoiling the bandage, a piece of skin was visible. Not the entirety of the stump, just a portion of it. A small tent started to grow in his pants. It was as if he had no control over the blood rushing into his sex organ. Somehow, his eyes saw what they liked, and his body responded accordingly.

Then it was revealed in all its glory. Her bare upper leg. Softly he caressed the rim of the incision. The raised scars were still fresh and the texture was undeniably exciting. Why he enjoyed this was something that he didn’t comprehend, but he didn’t question it either.

His fingers seemed so large against the small lumps of scar tissues. Yet, they felt so insignificant at the same time. The only thing that mattered at this moment was getting his fill of her disability.

That’s when it occurred to him. A realization hit him just like getting struck by lightning. Maybe it wasn’t the actual stump he was attracted to. Maybe it was the fact that his wife was now at his mercy.

Freedom. To do anything he wanted to her.

Wanting to explore his new found idea, he picked his wife’s body up and laid her across the bed.

“Are you comfortable?”

Once again, she didn’t move or say a word. Willard was pleased.

He raised her hospital gown that she was still wearing, and detached the side strips of her adult diaper. After lowering the flap, her female parts were right in front of him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually looked at his wife’s genitals. On the few occasions that they had made love in the recent years, it was just fumbling around in the darkness of the bedroom. The end result was him sticking his male member inside of her, having never inspected what he was entering.

Now, he had a front row seat to really look at her. And that thing was ugly! The thick outer lips must have been affected by age, because they were now dark and plump. The inner lips that used to be thin and pink were now brown and stretched out.

His erection slowly started to fade since he had faced the beast head on. How could something that felt so good be so ugly to look at?  He would prefer to look at her amputation than the clump of roast beef in between her legs.

So maybe it was the stump he was attracted to.

Hidden Kinks

Willard spoke to his wife and rubbed her face before he got down to serious business. An inner voice was telling him that he would feel better about himself if he knew for sure that she wasn’t aware of what was happening to her. After once again getting no response, he unzipped his pants.

Touching his penis to her thigh was more erotic than just rubbing it with his fingers. Energy transferred from her amputation to his sexual organ and he had never felt so alive. His pecker was harder than it got when he was sixteen-years-old.

It took some effort to hold back the urge of blowing his wad. Softly, he used his fingers to cup his balls and shaft together to prevent the spew. Making this last seemed very appropriate since he would never get his stump virginity back ever again.

Pre-cum was present on the tip of his dick, and he massaged it on top of the scars. The sticky fluid glistened like a signal coming from a lighthouse, beckoning him to make the stub his very own. In all of his years, he couldn’t recall the last time that he had lost control of his urges.

Willard gave in to his body, allowing it to make his decisions for him. It wasn’t just enough to rub his pecker against it, he used his hand to help press it firmly into the skin. His hips started thrusting back and forth like a madman.

Since he had been in a rush to explore his new found sexual experience, he hadn’t bothered with closing her diaper. It was easy to avert his eyes from his wife’s crotch. Until he heard a faint ripping sound. At first he dismissed it, then he smelt it.

Apparently she was gassy.

The poop smell got stronger. Willard tried his best to ignore it. He was too busy humping and thrashing himself against the stump.

As hard as he tried to look away. He couldn’t. A small brown mound escaped between her butt cheeks, staining her white diaper with its juice.

Watching her defecate amplified his experience. What should have been an offending aroma wasn’t.

Maybe it was because he knew she wasn’t aware of anything that was happening, or maybe it was because he had suppressed his kinkiness. Whatever it was, he knew that now he was truly enjoying life.

Willard pitted the head of his manhood against her scars, and continually rushed into the amputation, while stroking the shaft with his other hand. When he orgasmed, his eyes tried to close, but he quickly opened them so that he could see the beautiful mess that was his wife.

There she lay, her eyes gazing into space at nothing in particular. His semen still hot, covering the scars of her half-leg. The brown clumps of clay poop squished into the cloth of her diaper.

He owned her. She was his. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Just A Small Hole

Not even bothering to clean her up, Willard laid back in his recliner and relaxed. Whatever he just did was the best thing he had done in a long time. Not only did he learn that his pecker still worked, it could make him feel happy again. Maybe the accident wasn’t the worst thing that happened to him. Maybe fate had laid out this plan before him for a reason.

The sticky substance still glistened on her stump. Her diaper needed to be changed, but that could wait. Just looking at her riled up his inner sexuality, once again.

He wondered what could possibly make this experience better for him. It was near perfect already, but he felt there was something lacking.

The only way it could feel better is if he were inside the stump of a leg, instead of rubbing against it. But how could he get inside of her leg?

The stitches from surgery had healed, meaning that he didn’t have access to an open wound. The scar tissue was closed from where the flesh had healed.

What could he do to burrow a dick sized hole in the stump without harming her too much?

Willard rubbed his chin, contemplating the possibilities. “Knife? No. Too messy. Ice pick?”

He stood to study the formation of her leg. It came together at a perfect point. If he were to slightly insert an ice pick into the tip, it would start a small hole. His manhood was average in size, not too small, not too large. All he needed was to start an opening, then he could slowly work his way inside of the beautiful partial leg.

So far, his wife hadn’t reacted to pain. Did that mean she couldn’t feel any? Or did that mean she just couldn’t react to it?

As Willard grabbed the ice pick, he pressed the sharp point to the tip of his finger. The faintest dab of blood leaked through the tiny hole. That was the confirmation he needed to ensure that it was sharp enough to pierce the nub of his wife’s leg.

He didn’t realize it, but he was squinting when he held the tool close to the stump. It wasn’t an intentional squint, it was more like he could almost feel the pain she would soon receive. Yet, he still proceeded with his plan.

Firmly, Willard softly pierced her skin, but just barely as a test to see how she would respond. Outside of a small flinch of her leg, there was nothing. No painful gasp, no screaming, not even a facial expression. Maybe the leg movement had been involuntary, he wasn’t sure.

Since she didn’t show any other sign of pain, he went forward, pressing harder on the tool. The long metal shaft started gliding deeper into her skin, and her leg jerked even more, almost like she was trying to get away from the object.

Her leg moved to the side and Willard watched as the hole grew slightly larger. The original hole was nothing more than a tiny dot. Along with her movement and the way the ice pick jerked, the hole widened, but not enough for entry of his manliness.

Willard reversed the tool, expelling it from the nub. Clumps of blood hung to the metal, a small stream of the red substance weeped from the small hole.

His wife didn’t make any painful expressions so he naturally assumed that she couldn’t feel it.

After testing the hole with his finger, he realized that it wasn’t large enough for the purpose he intended it for. After slowly making a back a forth motion, the wound slowly started to widen, hugging tightly to his finger. It didn’t take long for him to work up to his middle knuckle joint, meaning she was opening up more.

He used two fingers, and  it almost hurt him, the cavity was so tight, forcing his digits into each other. His fingernails were scraping away the inner linings of flesh collecting beneath them. Once he had two fingers, middle knuckle deep, he laughed.

“This might be fun. How you doing?” Willard asked his unresponsive wife.

The feces that had started to harden and smell didn’t bother him one bit. Willard was a man on a mission.

Round Two

His member stood at attention, fully erect, the head pulsing with excitement. The blood that leaked from the hole in her stump provided lubrication for him to enter his wife’s leg the proper way.

The wound started to open as he slowly slid inside. It was warm, wet, and felt like nothing he had ever experienced before. If he would have been looking, he would have seen her wincing her face, but he wasn’t. Her current pain was unnoticed.

Sliding further in created a noise like water being wringed out of a rag. Red fluid tried to flow heavily, but was blocked by his pecker. Tiny amounts seeped around the edges of him, but he didn’t notice because it felt too good.

Once fully inside, the small hole turned into a large cavity. Willard started to thrust his hips, back and forth, ignoring the pain in his lower back. Fluids weeped, suction noises were made, his dick got even harder.

Each thrust felt better than the one before. He wished this could last forever, but after two full minutes of grinding and sweating, he knew he couldn’t hold off any longer.

His jizz filled the cavity even fuller, and even though he started to go limp inside of her, the pressure still felt tight around his sex organ.

He tried to pull out, but the edges of the wound were too tight and wouldn’t allow him to eject.

“Calm down. Relax. It’s like a dog getting stuck in another one.” Willard said to himself, not even curious if his wife could possibly hear his words. “Deep breaths. It’ll go down soon.”

After standing there a few minutes, he could feel himself going even limper, giving him the chance to pull out.

Soft white skin tissues and blood clung to his penis like they were magnetized to him.

The sight was appalling, and he looked around for something to wipe the mess from himself. A large pour of blood flowed out of his wife’s wound, and he could see his ejaculate mixed in with the substance. Red speckled the floor beneath his feet.

It looked like a lot of blood to him. A sense of panic consumed him. He had to stop her bleeding. And infection. He tried to remember what the doctor had said about keeping it clean but he couldn’t recall everything.

Willard ran into the kitchen, grabbing a dishcloth. Not even bothering to wipe away the grossness hanging from his manhood, he rushed back to his wife. She was still bleeding and he applied the cloth, applying pressure to the hole at the end of her leg nub.

“This has to stop the bleeding, right?” The fact that he was talking to himself didn’t bother him.

It took a few minutes, but the blood flow slowed down. What was a small hole was now a large gaping wound. Should he stitch it closed? Would the doctors notice it on her next appointment? What would be the proper clean-up?

He racked his brain, just relieved that it didn’t look like she was going to bleed to death. Her chest was rising and falling, which meant that he could see that she was breathing.

Trying to seal the wound, he pinched the edges trying to force them together. No matter how hard he squeezed or how long he held them in place, they seperated and leaked more blood.

Willard rushed into her sewing room, knowing that he had to close the wound. Even though he had never given stitches before, he had sewed a button on one of his shirts. How much could the two tasks differ from one another?

Ignoring the red liquid that was still a faint stream, he pinched the wound shut once again. He used a needle and thread, piercing the skin and pulling the thread tight after each loop. Still, her leg continued to leak blood.

It didn’t look like stitches were going to do the trick. He kept sewing, hoping that eventually it would stop the blood flow. After he was finished, the skin bunched together, and it was still bleeding.

Ignoring his wife, he rubbed his chin, realizing that he wasn’t as attracted to the stump as he was before. Now she was damaged, and he couldn’t stand it.

Blurred

Right after the accident, Willard had spent too many sleepless nights at home alone while his wife was in the hospital, Willard came to the realization that maybe he wasn’t thinking rationally. Everything he had done today was not like him! What possessed him to act in such a foul manner towards his wife’s condition?

She had given him a lifetime of unconditional love. Not only did he repay her by causing her injuries, now he had defiled her. Even glancing at her for a brief moment was more than he could bear.

Seeing her lying in her own waste and bleeding out of her stump was repulsive. The thought never occurred to him that he was now her caretaker and it was his job to clean her up. Instead, his response was to shun her.

Willard retreated to another room so that she was out of sight and out of mind. The thing lying there wasn’t his wife. She hadn’t spoken a word since the accident and couldn’t even control her own bodily functions.

“That’s all she is now. A thing.” He muttered to himself, and he went about preparing himself a sandwich.

Since she hadn’t been home to cook for him, he had gotten pretty good at fending for himself when it came to food. For however long she laid in the hospital, he was forced to become self reliant and had done a good job at that.

He recalled the night of the accident. After learning the state she was in, he couldn’t live with himself. Since he was to blame for what happened and not paying attention while driving, he even contemplated suicide. But decided against it, knowing that she would need him to care for her, eventually.

Days turned into months. Willard actually got used to her not being around and would not allow himself to feel guilty since he knew how much she would soon depend on him. Now that she was home, he felt nothing towards the thing that just laid there.

Whether or not he allowed himself to feel guilt, or whether or not he cared for her anymore was not of significance. The fact was that she was now home and was a complete mess. A thing.

He continued to eat his sandwich and turned on the television, his mind blocking out his wife that laid in the bedroom. After months of his mind being taxed with his problems, he was exhausted. The feeling that the worst part was over was of small comfort.

Right now, he was his top priority. If he didn’t care for himself, he wouldn’t be capable of caring for the thing. What could he possibly do to care for her? Sure, she needed a diaper change, but why should he prioritize that over his own hunger? There was a chance his wife was hungry, but feeding her seemed like a chore.

Despite her unresponsive state, food was something she seemed to enjoy. The woman couldn’t speak or walk to the toilet, but whenever a spoon was placed to her lips it came natural to her to slurp soup down her pie hole.

Chewing was something she was still capable of, which didn’t make sense to Willard. It seemed like if she could eat she should be able to do other things.

It felt like a lifetime since he had heard her voice. Talking with her was something that he missed, but now that was gone. A thing of the past that would never happen again.

Life happens. He had no say in the matter. This was the hand dealt to him and no matter what he tried, Willard was forced to live it out one painful day at a time.

After finishing his meal, he made a bowl of soup to feed his wife. Changing her diaper wasn’t something he was excited about, but that also had to be done.

At the very least, he saw the light around the dark cloud that was his wife. At least he enjoyed the afternoon he had spent with her stump of a leg.

Light of Day

Willard slept well with his wife next to him. Outside of her urinating on herself, it had been an uneventful night. While she was in the hospital, he had gotten used to having the bed all to himself. Having the freedom of sprawling out on the mattress felt weird at first, but now he had become accustomed to it.

Now that she was there he was once again stuck on only half of the mattress. Maybe it was just because he was so tired that he slept so well. The few minutes it took him to fall asleep was the only time he noticed that she was even there. Once, he thought he had accidently kicked her, but she didn’t seem to mind or protest in any way.

It was like sleeping with a bag of potatoes that made breathing noises.

Before the accident, he remembered how they used to snuggle at night. In the early years of the marriage, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, wanting to be as close to each other as possible. Over time, that changed to the spooning position, his wife backing into his body, while he laid on his side.

Now, she was just there. Just present. She only took up space.

Before tending to her, he went to the toilet and took care of his own needs. It wasn’t like he had to hurry to care for her. The dirty diaper wasn’t going to disappear. It would still be waiting for him when he got around to taking care of it.

Willard washed his face and brushed his teeth. His normal routine ever since he retired. It wasn’t like he went into the office anymore, but he still made it a point to get dressed and not sit around the house in his pajamas all day.

After a few cups of coffee, he felt like he had a sufficient amount of caffeine in his system to tend to her. Ever since he had left the bedroom, she  managed to have a bowel movement. The smell hit him in the face as soon as he entered the room.

He crept over to the bed as slow as he could, delaying the inevitable. If he didn’t change the diaper soon, the smell would only get worse. Even though the nurses had shown him the proper procedure to change an adult diaper, it was still a hassle situating her body accordingly.

As he pulled back the sheet, he saw it. The bloody mess of her stump, the wound he had tried to sew closed yesterday was now an oozing volcano of pus. Was part of it the specimen he had deposited in there yesterday? Obviously, it was now infected. The smell of the wound was almost as bad as the diaper aroma.

Should he call a doctor? How would he explain to the doctor what happened to her? He didn’t want to be accused of mistreating his wife. It wasn’t his fault that he was compelled by his sexual desires to mutilate her. He was only acting on his manly urges.

There was a bottle of peroxide in the bathroom, which he knew could disinfect skin infections. The sole purpose of the product was to clean out minor scrapes and wounds. Maybe it would heal her leg.

The closer he looked, he saw that the tissue around the wound was turning a yellowish color. That couldn’t be a good sign. It would take a lot of peroxide to fix this.

Erring on the side of caution, he poured almost the entirety of the bottle around the cracked and open sores of her skin. White bubbles started foaming, and he knew that was a great sign. He could see with his own eyes that the peroxide was doing what needed to be done.

The substance fizzled, eating away at the infection. It was only a small relief since he also saw how bad the stump looked. The discoloration of her flesh wasn’t limited to the proximity of the wound. Red streaks had already begun forming upwards on her thigh.

The hole he had made yesterday also looked larger than he remembered. Was it his mind playing tricks on him? Or was the infection so bad that it was eating away at her very body?

One thing was for certain. He needed more peroxide. It might take many applications for his wife to heal.

Pharmacy

Willard stared at the many bottles of peroxide on the shelf at the store. He wondered how many bottles he could buy without raising any alarm. If he were to buy too many, would the cashier look at him and wonder what he was up to?

Luckily, there were many pharmacies within driving distance so he decided it would be best to only buy a couple at each location. Not only would it offset his paranoia, he wouldn’t have to answer any awkward questions.

This wasn’t how he had planned to spend his day, but it had to be done. Otherwise, the wound would fester even more than it already had.

When he walked into the sixth store, he decided that twelve bottles of peroxide should be enough to cure his wife’s stump. If only it would be enough for a few days of heavy application. That’s all he thought he needed to get rid of the infection.

As he walked to the counter carrying the product, two younger women walked past him, going about their own shopping. There was something about a woman in her twenties. The way their bodies were still perfectly formed always made his eyes wander.

Yes, he had been happily married for many years and never once cheated on his wife, but he was still a man. An attractive woman still had the capability of turning his head.

It felt different today. Being a master of only glancing and not making it obvious that he was staring too much, he observed the way the thin strap of the woman’s tank top had fallen, revealing the skin of her shoulder.

Usually, this would put racing thoughts in his head. Thoughts he would never act upon, but still a silent urge that would pass through his mind for a brief moment.

Those thoughts never came today. The woman was attractive enough, so it was by no fault of her own. The problem was within him. Instead of the usual feelings, he couldn’t help but to imagine how much more beautiful the woman’s shoulder would look if her arm was absent. If only there was a stump instead of a hand. That would have turned him on.

Never having these thoughts before, it disturbed him at first. Then he remembered how much fun he had with his wife’s stump yesterday. She was to blame for the change within him. It wasn’t like he could control what he liked or didn’t like.

It was just that he never knew what he liked before, since he had never gotten the chance to  experience it first hand.

Now, a whole new world had been presented to him. Normal sex seemed so boring after discovering the truth about how fun it was with an amputee. There was no going back to a normal sexual life. It wouldn’t suit him at all.

Instead of watching the attractive women, he thought of his wife. If only he could cure her infection, then she would now be perfect in his eyes.

Willard drove home a little bit faster than he normally would. He was a man on a mission. Getting his wife’s stump back to perfect condition was what he needed to live out his own sexual desires.

Worst

Willard rushed in the house, knowing that the sooner he got to work on her would be the sooner that she would heal. Now, when he touched his wife’s leg, it seemed like a dead cold fish in his hands. That didn’t explain the mystery was she was covered in sweat and why her forehead felt feverish.

There was no doubt that she had developed a temperature. It was pure luck they had over the counter pills that would bring her temperature down. She must have bought them and kept a supply of them in the medicine cabinet because he wasn’t aware of them.

As he poured more peroxide on the wound, he could tell that she was breathing heavier than normal. His wife’s chest was rising and falling faster than it had the day before.

With her being sick, she would need something to help keep what little strength she had left. Food.

“Feed a fever, starve a cold.” Willard said to nobody but himself. At least not anyone who was capable of hearing him.

Maybe he hadn’t fed her enough the day before. She needed something nutritious if she were to get better. Today, he would feed her plenty of vegetables, which made him laugh to himself.

The thought of feeding vegetables to a human vegetable tickled his funny bone.

The difference today was that she wasn’t opening her mouth to receive any nourishment. Normally, she would part her lips and chew food or drink her soup. Was she so sick that she didn’t have an appetite?

Willard was her caretaker and knew what was best for her. He wasn’t above forcing food down her throat since he knew that what was she needed to get better.

Using a fork, he parted her lips, placing the mixed vegetables on her tongue. She always loved peas, carrots, corn, and green beans. It didn’t make sense that she wasn’t eating them now.

The clump of food just sat on her tongue. Her teeth made no effort to chew. She wasn’t trying to swallow it. This couldn’t be a good sign of her condition.

If she refused food, then he could force liquid down her gullet. Water was essential to any human being. It was gross removing the vegetables from her tongue since they were now covered with the saliva of her mouth. He discarded them before trying to force her to take a drink of water.

Willard turned the glass upwards, and watched as the fluid flowed into her mouth. Her automatic response was normally to swallow it. This time she didn’t.

The doctors had warned him that this may happen, and if it did they would have to put her on a feeding tube. But after he made the mess of her that she was now, he knew he couldn’t involve any doctors. Maybe they would accuse him of some sort of neglect.

It was best to try things in his own way.

Once again, he turned the glass up, making a large amount of water to fill her mouth. He watched as his wife made some sort of coughing noise, as if her body was rejecting the hydration.

Some of the fluid must have slipped past her security defenses, because instead of going down, some of it came up. Vomit spewed from her mouth, covering his arm with the stinking goo. It was slimy and sticky, and he had to refrain himself from getting sick/

Normally, he was a sympathetic vomiter. It never failed. If he were to see or smell vomit, he would always upchuck the contents of his own stomach.

Not this time. Today, his belly was made of ironclad. His mind was elsewhere. Curing his wife was his only concern. If she didn’t get better,  he wouldn’t be able to explore anymore of his new found fetish.

That night, things only got worse. Even after his best efforts of trying to clean her from where she emptied her stomach bile all over herself, the smell remained. No matter how much peroxide he used on her wound, it only festered and bubbled into an even worse state.

The last straw was her breathing. Willard tried to sleep in the bed next to her, but the sounds were disturbing. She sounded like she was choking with each breath she took. The audible disturbance of something caught in her throat, perhaps even her lungs, sounded like the static on an old television that wasn’t tuned on a proper channel.

Willard laid out a pillow and blanket on the couch, where he would sleep alone and in peace. Why should he lose sleep if his wife was uncomfortable? He was doing everything in his power to take the best care of her that he could.

He closed his eyes, hoping that tomorrow she would be better. Afterall, the sooner she got better meant the sooner that he could satisfy himself. Dreams haunted him that night, good dreams, of all the sexual positions he could try on the stump once it was healed.

Gone

Once again, Willard woke, going about his normal routine. Bathroom, coffee, and getting dressed. After caring for himself, he decided to check on his wife. Her breathing wasn’t as labored as it had been the day before. Her chest wasn’t moving at all.

He had to place his ear to her body to hear the faint sounds her body made. Her pulse was weak. So she was still alive, but it didn’t look like she would live for much longer. Unless his regime of peroxide and aspirin started working.

Her diaper was especially nasty. Not only had her bowels moved, it was composed of pure juice. It looked like her body liquified whatever contents she had left in her system. How she could produce so much waste after not taking in any food or water was a mystery.

The stump itself looked the worst. The skin appeared to be dissolving, like it was receding to the depths of her very bones. Large black sores had formed resembling some sort of a crater or gash.

His homemade stitches were no longer visible, covered with mucus, blood, and pus. The thick green substance was sticky to the touch. Of course, he poured more peroxide over the wound, but it didn’t bubble as much as it usually did. Had the medicine stopped working? Or was the wound too stubborn to heal?

His wife was dying and he knew it.  It wasn’t like she had been living any sort of a life after the accident. His mind had already processed the death of his wife long ago, when he knew that she would never function as his wife ever again. It almost seemed humane to him.

Perhaps it was better for her to die than to spend years sitting around, rotting and doing nothing productive.

His only regret was that once she passed, she would take the nub of a leg with her. It had taken his entire life to find his happiness. Now, the threat of it being taken away was very real.

He felt her forehead and she was cold to the touch. Her fever must have subsided, and death was coming to claim what belonged to it.

This could be his last chance to cop a feel of the stump while it still had some sort of warmth to it.

One of the black gangrene sores were already providing an opening for his penis, begging him to sample of the cesspit. He was only a man with manly desires and sexual needs. He had to take what he wanted, while the getting was good.

Willard’s manhood filled with blood, standing tall and firm awaiting its rewards. He meshed the head of his staff into the soft puddle of pus. The thick fluid made way, allowing him to slide part of himself inside of it. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced before. It felt even better now than it did a few days ago.

Like a wild dog humping for pleasure, he ignored the sounds of fluids sloshing around. The sense of feeling was all that mattered. Even the smell got worse, a mixture of rotten eggs and sewage. The visuals were not pleasant, open flesh and mucus.

But the feeling. It was the greatest.

It was warm and tight, the wound hugging his pecker, massaging it to liberation. It didn’t take long for him to climax. He let his juices mix with hers, the last time their bodily fluid would unify as one and the same.

He pulled out, a long sticky string of pus and cum connecting him to his wife’s body, like an umbilical cord, but serving the opposite purpose. Instead of feeding life into something new, it was part of the cause of her death.

Almost as if on cue, his wife’s eyes opened wide and stared at him. Her mouth struggled to form words, her voice nothing more than a rattle of death. It was brief, but it happened. She raised her hand and outstretched her pointer finger, pointing at Willard, as if blaming him or making an accusation.

With that, her eyes closed for the very last time. Her chest would never move again. Nothing of hers would ever move again.

Willard closed the bedroom door to ignore the dead thing.

Normal

Sleeping on the couch wasn’t so bad. There was a television and a nearby restroom. It was even closer to the kitchen if he needed a drink or  snack. Why hadn’t he thought to sleep there before?

He woke up like normal, going about his daily routine. Luck would have it that some of his clothes were stored in a spare closet since his wife’s wardrobe used most of the one in the bedroom. There was no need to disturb the eternal slumber of his deceased wife. Out of sight, out of mind. It would be like she wasn’t even there.

She hadn’t been around for so long anyways. Her hospital stay had been a long one. Now, he barely even missed her.

The best part of her coming home was him learning of his appreciation for amputees. Was that even a real thing? Or was he an odd person?

Willard didn’t consider himself to be an expert with computers, but he did know how to work some social media sites and search engines. He powered up his laptop, and wondered how he could phrase his fetish to see if there were others like him. Choosing his words carefully, he typed ‘sex with leg stump’ in the search bar.

He blinked, expecting it to yield zero results. When the screen started loading, he saw that it was a real fetish, complete with a name. Acrotomophilia. His mind couldn’t help but to wonder how many acrotomophiliacs he knew. It wasn’t like people would go around speaking about it.

It wasn’t like he was a teenager anymore. Men his age didn’t discuss their sex lives with each other. Knowing that this obsession was perfectly normal made him feel better about himself.

Now, he had a new problem. After learning more about his desires, he didn’t know how to go about acting on it. After recalling all the strip clubs he had visited in his life, he didn’t remember a single one being an amputee. If he had, maybe he would have discovered his fetish sooner.

The cravings of his desire were very real. Maybe he could search online for a prostitute with a missing limb. All that search brought up was porn. Watching other people do what he wanted to do was fun, but not as much fun as actually participating. All the porn did was make him horny.

How could he find someone that suited his desires?

His wife losing her leg was an accident, but a very fortunate one that benefited him in ways that he would have never imagined. It taught him who he really was, on the inside. Now he was free to explore his new sexuality.

Willard racked his brain, trying to come up with places where he could meet amputees. There were websites for that, but he didn’t want to leave any public traces of that on the world wide web. He figured most of those places would be scams anyways. Or maybe they would just offer him porn that would make his loins burn with even more desire.

His wife’s doctor dealt with amputees, but it would look odd if he hung out in the waiting room trying to pick up women. Plus, the people he saw in the hospitals were old and not very attractive.

His loins were burning for a young and attractive amputee. Someone full of life and zest. She had to exist somewhere in this big world. His goal was to find her.

Then, a new idea formed. Maybe he could make her. All he needed was a woman that he could mold into what he wanted her to be.

Canvas

In the advanced years of the marriage, Willard had been sexually frustrated. Sex hadn’t been a big part of his life. It was almost like he owed it to himself to get exactly what he wanted.

Finding a vibrant young woman shouldn’t be too hard to do. Once it got dark, he dressed in all black and drove to the part of downtown that was full of bars and nightclubs. Not having fully formed a plan yet, he did plan ahead by removing the license plate on his car.

The worst case scenario would be that he got pulled over. The scenario played in his mind many times.

“Is that so Officer?” He practiced as if a policeman had approached his vehicle. “Must be neighborhood kids playing their pranks again. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Since he had never broken a law in his life, he feared what would happen if he were caught involved in any illegal activity such as abducting a woman. He rehearsed his line many times until it sounded convincing.

The older man remembered what it was like to be young. If only he hadn’t wasted his life. That’s how it felt now. Like his time was spent the wrong way since he hadn’t learned of his new found fetish.

Was he always this way and just never knew it because he had never seen an amputee? Or was this a learned fetish, something that developed just because his wife had lost a leg?

None of that mattered for now. All that was important was feeding his fetish.

Even though he had never abducted someone before, he had watched it many times on television and in movies. It didn’t look like something that would be too hard to accomplish.

Instead of forcing someone, and having to fight them to his house, he decided to use another tactic. His mother always told him that you get more flies with sugar than vinegar. His thoughts were that poop attracted flies. Why didn’t she ever mention that?

Willard drove slowly, scanning the dark downtown streets from his car. There were always reports of prostitutes on the television. From what he had gathered, it was a common crime around bars. Finding a female that dressed as a woman of the night shouldn’t be too hard to find.

As he made a left hand turn, he saw two women, literally standing on the corner. Both wore skirts that were way too short, and low cut blouses that exposed their cleavage. That was tempting, but if he took one, and she disappeared the other would notice. Maybe they were friends that looked out for each other.

Or maybe they worked together. That would be better. Maybe he could get two girls instead of one, like he had originally planned. That meant double the amputations.

Willard slowed down his car, trying to look as pleasant as he could. Afterall, he was happy, dreaming of what he would love to do the hookers. The huge smile showed on his face.

Picking up a prostitute was nothing he had ever done before, but had also seen it in movies. How hard could it possibly be?

As he rolled down his window, he tried to think of what to say.

“You like what you see?” The first woman asked.

It turned out he didn’t have to start the conversation. They would. “I do. Twice over.” Willard made sure to look at both women with the cheesy grin plastered on his face.

“Can you afford both of us?” The second woman asked.

He felt his pocket, reaching inside, and pulling out some cold hard cash. “How much are we talking?”

The women looked at each other. His wad of money must have been enough for the both of them, because they didn’t hesitate to get in his car. They were so easy. They willingly got in the car on their own.

Their fatal mistake was agreeing to go to his house for more privacy.

He only wished they would agree to what he wanted to do to them. If not, he would force it upon them.

Negotiation

Since he was a gentleman, he started by offering them each something to drink. Neither one hesitated to start undressing. Things were moving way too fast his tastes.

“No. Wait. Can we talk first?” Willard asked the women.

They looked at each other and stifled back small laughs.

The more attractive of the two ladies took control of the conversation. “I guess if you want to pay us to talk, you can. But that can get expensive.” The woman sat on the couch, striking the most seductive pose she knew. Her head was cocked back, her legs spread, revealing just a hint of her panties. They were red. It was lost on her client.

“Good. I have recently learned that I am a devotee. Understand?” This was a term he learned from the internet and assumed prostitutes knew everything there was to know about sex. They didn’t. For some reason, they coined the term devotee to people with an amputation fetish.

The woman that was still standing had a puzzled look on her face. “Like, you want to worship us?”

This was going to be harder than he expected. “No. I am attracted to amputations.”

The sitting hooker scratched her head. She had heard all kinds of crazy stuff before. Some clients liked to be urinated on. There was scatology, fascination with feces. She even had a client that liked her to watch him screw animals. This was a first for her. “Missing limbs?”

Now, Willard was finally getting somewhere. “Exactly. What are your thoughts on that?”

“No way. We have our limbs and we plan on keeping them!” The second woman started to look panicked.

He asked an off the wall question, but he sounded so innocent. “Not even if I pay?”

Both women shook their heads no. They shot glances at each other and started straightening up their clothing like they were going to make a dash for the door. “I think we should leave.” Spoken almost in unison by both females.

He was so close to what he wanted. Willard couldn’t let them walk out the door. His dreams and fantasies would be squashed before they even started. “Wait.” Thinking fast, he had to say something to make them stay. “What if we just pretend you have partial limbs.”

The hookers weren’t new to role playing, even though they had never done it in this capacity before.

The loss of interest showed in their faces and Willard tried once again. “What if, say I were to tie your limbs? Legs and or arms. Like they were bent. Just a fantasy. Being with two women, both with partial limbs.”

The women looked at each other. They looked around the man’s home, and saw that it was clean and neat. There was a strange smell, but nothing overpowering. They just assumed that older people’s homes always had some sort of stale odor. Like a grandparent’s house or something.

Other than the strange fantasy, he had been a perfect gentleman. Realizing that they had been in far more dangerous situations, they found this man to be harmless.

After whispering to each other, one of them spoke. “If you pay enough.”

They had struck a deal and Willard couldn’t have been happier.

Fantasy

Willard was careful and easy with their bodies. They had to sit on the couch since his bed was occupied with his dead wife. They didn’t question why they were playing out his fantasy in the living room.

“I’ve never done this before. If you have suggestions?” He asked his guests.

The first woman started bragging. “I’m very flexible. Maybe we don’t have to tie our limbs. Watch this.”

The woman got down on the floor and tucked her legs under each other, so that she was sitting on her knees. Slowly, she bent backwards, so that her body laid flat, only her crotch area raised due to her feet being under her. Then she folded her arms so that her hands were at her shoulders.

That was close to what he wanted but not exactly what he was looking for. “Can we try that in the nude?”

Both women started to undress until they were stark naked. The sight of a young and firm naked woman’s body used to get his juices flowing, but not today. They both got down on the floor, looking like walruses stuck on their backs.

He got a little turned on but not enough. He focused on their curves, ample breasts and hard nipples. One had a bush in between her legs, the other was shaved as bald as a newborn baby. Not even looking at their vaginas did it for him.

“Yes. That’s better. Perfect.” He lied. “If only you would let me tie you up like that.” But then he would need rope that he didn’t have. “Tape. What if I taped your limbs like that?”

They sat up, no longer in the awkward looking position. “Bondage costs more.”

Another new word for his vocabulary. He never realized that he had lived such a sheltered life. Why had he waited so long to explore sex? Maybe because his wife had been a boring prude.

“Yes. Money. I’ll pay up front.” He started digging into his pocket.

The hookers’ greedy eyes looked content with the situation.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Willard rushed into his garage, hoping the women wouldn’t take off with his money. They didn’t have a vehicle at his house, so even if they did they wouldn’t be able to get far. Plus, he hadn’t done anything illegal yet outside of picking up streetwalkers. That would be just a minor charge if he were caught.

There was a fresh roll of box-sealing tape from where he had helped his brother move a year ago. It had never been used so surely there would be enough of it for his purpose.

The women were happy since they had been paid. As he taped their bent limbs, he was thinking how gross it was that they were willing to sell their sex to anyone that had cash. Maybe that was why their vaginas didn’t give him an erection.

That didn’t bother him any. It wasn’t their sex parts he planned on using. It would be their arms and legs. They surely weren’t full of a stranger’s sex juices.

It was almost comical looking at the women on their backs. It would have been the same principle if you were to have flipped a turtle on its back. They couldn’t get upright if they wanted to.

He had to agree to pay them extra to tape their mouths closed. But he didn’t want them to scream and startle the neighbors for what he planned to do next.

Filthy Thoughts

Looking at the women gave him perverted thoughts, but not in the typical sexual nature. In his mind’s eye, he pictured himself sawing into their limbs, shortening them, giving him openings to stick his dick inside of. Just like he had with his wife.

So far, he hadn’t done anything that would get him into trouble. Dual and opposing thoughts were haunting him. On one hand, he could hump their limbs and pretend they were amputees. On the other hand, he could slice into their delicate bodies molding them into what he wanted them to be.

Whichever path he chose, they were at his mercy, helpless for whatever he planned to do to them.

He tried to do things the proper way at first. He rubbed his dick on one girl’s elbow until it filled with blood and got hard. The bone in the elbow was too hard to be pleasurable. It couldn’t even compare to how great it felt when he had been inside his wife’s leg stump.

Then he moved to the knee. Rubbing on it wasn’t fun either. That bone was much larger. Not soft and supple like the curved skin of an amputation.

It was the thoughts of what he could do that really got him into the moment. Just picturing and pretending that he was inside of their limbs, humping as hard as he could. The fantasy played out in his head. But it still didn’t give him the heightened excitement that he longed for.

Willard paused, pulling back from the awkward positioned women. Luckily, they couldn’t speak and ask him what he was doing. Nor could they move much, so he knew that they weren’t going anywhere.

He needed a moment to collect his thoughts. What would be the best way to cut them, without them bleeding to death? How many limbs could they live without? How long would they live? Should he start with just one? That would leave him with a back-up in case the first one died.

Why hadn’t he thought of these things earlier? There was no denying that he could have prepared better.

Willard stood back, looking at the women. They were settled on the floor, the lower half of their legs bent beneath them, taped running around their thighs and ankles to keep the legs bent. The arms were a different story. The upper limbs could still move at the shoulder, with the elbow being possible defense mechanisms.

He had slept many nights with his wife who would accidentally elbowed him in the side of his head, waking him with pain.

The tape was tight, circling their wrists to the upper arm. How could he subdue the women without them trying to fight back in whatever capacity they might try?

There was no fat on the bellies of the women. Both were slim and in shape. Still, he was getting on in the years, and his back seemed to give him more problems with each passing day. Especially after having to move his wife from the wheelchair.

Then he remembered his wife’s medicine, complete with a needle and syringe. The doctor said something about it being for her own comfort, which would make her drowsy. That would be the perfect solution to his problem.

If he moved fast enough, neither woman could retaliate before he knocked out the other. This would be perfect.

Then that brought him to his next problem. What would he do with them while they were passed out? What was his plan from there? He didn’t have one, but knew he could figure it out as he went.

No Return

The hookers had wiggled while he stuck the needle into their flesh. Even their best efforts at flailing their arms didn’t prevent him from injecting them with the medicine. They didn’t go to sleep straight away, but as the eyes started to droop he saw the defeat in their faces. Or maybe it was sheer terror.

If only they would have agreed to let him do what he wanted, it wouldn’t have come to this. The more he thought about it, it did sound almost absurd that he hoped they would allow him to saw off one of their limbs. But it didn’t hurt to ask. It was the polite thing to do.

Unfortunately, it had come to this. One woman was unconscious in the garage, taped to a beam around her torso, in a sitting up position, her limbs still tucked together. When she woke, he hoped the gag would be enough to keep her silent. Or at the very least muffle her sounds.

The other woman was still on the living room floor, her limbs still taped in a bent position. At least he had a good sense about him to place a tarp underneath her that would hopefully catch most of the blood. Having never done this before, he wasn’t sure how much blood there would be. If it were to puddle, he wouldn’t know how to get rid of it.

Nonetheless, he was winging this anyways. He could wing that also, dealing with the problem if and when it happened.

The woman was sleeping, having turned on the side of her body. As he placed the hacksaw to her flesh, directly above her bony elbow, he started having second thoughts. There would be no going back after this. This would be the point of no return.

Then it dawned on him that he had already murdered his wife. That was something else that he couldn’t undo. One day he might rot inside a cold prison cell for his crimes. But that day wasn’t today, so why wouldn’t he enjoy his freedom while he still could?

The thin blade of the saw was composed of many angry teeth, sharp enough to cut through metal. With an unsteady hand, he used his own elbow grease to propel the tool to front and back. As the flesh of her arm cracked open, there was a small bit of blood.

Then she woke up. Even though she was gagged with tape, her screams were loud. What if his neighbors heard her? That wouldn’t do. If they called the police he wouldn’t get a chance to live out his perversions.

Hitting her in the head would be the easiest way to knock her out. He must not have been thinking clearly, because he struck her in the head, but used the hand that was using the tool. Maybe he used too much force, because the sharp side of the blade burrowed into the skin of her cheek and side of her head.

Even after loosening his grip on the tool, it was lodged firmly in her head, looking like a magician’s trick of something floating in the air.

She screamed louder as blood wept from the side of her face. Willard jerked the tool, removing it from her. The blood flow picked up a steadier pace, already forming a puddle on the tarp. Where the teeth ate into her skin, tiny notches were left behind on her cheek. For such small wounds, they sure bled a lot, making him think that this was going to be messier than he planned.

Thinking this time, he used his fist to beat the woman in his head. He hit her so hard he swore that he heard the crunching of his own knuckle. After pounding on her a few times, she went unconscious.

Willard examined his fist, repeatedly bending his fingers. One of his knuckles were bloodied and swollen, but he still had movement in it, so hopefully it wasn’t broken. That was a good thing because he would need the full use of his hand to continue with his sawing. The risk was worth the reward. Soon, he would be buried balls deep in her arm stump.

The combination of the medicine and the beating kept the woman asleep during the surgery, which Willard figured to be best. It wasn’t like he intentionally wanted to gift another human being pain, that just happened to be the route he needed to take to get what he wanted.

Specks of blood splattered on his face as he continued with his work. Thoughts of sexually transmitted diseases the hooker might have crossed his mind, but he didn’t care. He was old and had lived his life. Prison would be where he ended up. Didn’t they provide free medical care for the inmates?

Slicing through her skin and muscle was the easy part. It wasn’t until he got to the bone that the blade snapped in half. That happened before when he sawed through some metal piping, so luckily he had plenty of spare blades.

While he put the fresh blade on the hacksaw, he watched as the blood started pooling up on the tarp. That was when he decided to wrap a tourniquet above the injury. A feeling of relief flooded him. This was one of the reasons he had a spare woman in the garage.

When he cut her up, he would know what to do and what not to do. She would get a tourniquet before even starting to saw into her.                        

Practice For Perfection

The lower part of the woman’s arm fell onto the tarp, after he removed the tape, making a thunk noise. Willard was covered in sweat by now, maybe from working too hard, maybe from fretting about his future. There was too much blood. He feared the woman might die before he even had a chance to enjoy her newly formed sex hole.

In an old war movie, he had seen where they used fire and heat to stop the bleeding from a wounded soldier. It took a few minutes to heat the cast iron skillet on the stove top, but it had to be done.

Willard placed the hot skillet to the stump, and the bleeding started to let up. It was almost magical, watching an instant scab like a layer of tissue form. The edges of her arm turned black while it made a sizzling sound.

The smell was atrocious. It took every bit of willpower within him to not get sick from the aroma, but he knew this would be worth it in the end. He would get to spend quality time with the stump and live out all of his fantasies.

The woman looked so peaceful despite her injuries. Sure, she was pale from the blood loss and the side of her head still leaking blood. But she had a stump.

Her naked body was perfect, especially the upper portion. A nub of an arm jutted out from the side of her body. He touched it with his fingertips, and his pants started to form a tent from his wood.

It was still warm to the touch, but he figured it would cool down while he undressed. It wasn’t until he was removing his clothing that he realized they were covered in blood. More evidence that could be used against him in a court of law. None of that mattered now.

All that mattered in this moment was his own sexual desires.

The more he really looked at the stump, the harder his manhood became. At first, he kissed the nub. His mouth was graceful and moved slowly along the partial limb. Not only did he want to be inside of the stump, he desired to have the stump inside of him.

He opened his mouth as wide as he could, trying to fit it in his mouth. Some sort of blackened ash, or perhaps skin, flaked off in his mouth. Now matter how hard he tried, the arm wouldn’t fit in his mouth.

Even though he wasn’t into anal, he wanted the arm inside of him. Maybe if there was something inside of him it would heighten the intensity of the situation.

Picking up the portion of the arm with the hand attached to it, he lovingly held it as if he were cradling the baby. It was cold to the touch and sticky on the end due to the blood.

Very carefully and taking his time, he uncurled one of the fingers, bending it in a position that made it look like it was pointing at something. And soon it would be pointing at something. His prostate via his anus.

On his first attempt of sliding the finger up his butthole, it hurt. Her fingernail scraped away a layer of skin. Lubrication. That’s what he needed to make this a more satisfying experience.

Willard rolled the hand in the puddle of blood, making sure to cover the digit with plenty of the fluid. By the time he lifted the hand, it was dripping blood, so he knew he had enough blood on it.

This time, he breathed out to relax, down on all fours like a dog. He spread his rear cheeks the best he could, and blindly guided the finger towards his rear opening. Now he was down on three, not four, limbs and had to also focus on keeping his balance.

The finger slid inside of him, the blood making it feel smoother. At first, the opening of his rectum was unpleasant. It didn’t hurt or anything, he was just aware that there was something in his backside.

He glided the finger further, and it must have hit the jackpot. His dick stood at full attention as if he were sixteen years old again. Oh, how he missed those years. Squandered youth. If only he would have known about this fetish then. Life would have been more enjoyable.

A euphoric feeling flooded him. He felt like he was going to cum, so he quickly cupped his shaft and balls tightly together, preventing the premature accident. The end result should be saved for the stump.

Then he looked at the stump of the arm. It was beautiful, like nothing he had ever seen before. It was exciting, but not as much as a leg stump. Another reason he had a spare woman in the garage.

Perhaps it would be her leg that got cut off. But those were decisions that he didn’t want to make right now. Now, he only focused on his own enjoyment.

Arm Stump

With the finger still stuck inside of him, Willard rubbed his shaft over the lady’s arm stump. Her arm seemed so delicate, and violating that felt like something forbidden. Making this risky act even more gratifying.

The small bit of semen that glazed the head of his dick mixed with the blackened, flakey skin at the point of the stump. Just the thought of his juices marking his territory filled him with great pleasure. This was so primal and so true.

It took years to get here, but now he truly felt alive.

Mother nature kicked in, pure instinct enthralled him. Using the head of his shaft, he plunged it into the blackened ash. It felt like a very soft scab and it allowed him entry. Inside felt warm and squishy.

Fluids and muscle tissue enveloped his man part, squeezing it, massaging it, pleasuring it.

Blood flowed upwards of his dick where he had reopened the wound. The blood ran down his body, tickling his balls as it dripped on them.

The woman started to open her eyes, but Willard didn’t notice until she started to squirm. She tried to move her partial arm, but the pain was so intense it made her cry out.

Even though he didn’t like listening to her scream, her movement amplified his pleasure. She jerked like a stallion in a rodeo, trying to buck off the rider, which was his penis.

The woman tried rolling from side to side, but her legs were still bent up underneath her. She really did move like a turtle stuck on its back, rolling its shell from side to side. Willard moved with her, careful not to move too fast so that the finger wouldn’t fall out of his butt.

The noise was unpleasant, but the look in her eyes was priceless. A combination of fear and confusion were present, which Willard interpreted as submission to him.

His dick almost slipped out a few times, so eventually he used an arm to grab a hold of her trying to hold her still. She was stronger than she looked, so just to frighten her, he slapped her across the face, and realized that it felt good from his side. His dick pulsed with vibrancy.

Willard continued slapping the woman, turning her face red, making her screams louder. The combination of humping her stump, beating the woman, and the finger on his prostate, made it impossible for him to hold back.

When he ejaculated, it felt like a super power surge, like the force of water flowing from a fireman’s hose. It might have only been in his head, but he swore that he came so hard that it propelled him backwards slightly.

As the blood flowed from her reopened wound, a hint of the white slime was present. Willard was proud of his cum, clinging to her blood, trying to combine in the most intimate manner. Maybe if he were a younger man, that would have excited him for another round of fulfilling his desires.

Now he had a problem that he hadn’t anticipated. What should he do with the woman while he rested?

A Short Break

Willard scurried to the medicine cabinet and prepared another needle of medicine to make the woman sleep. Maybe she would enjoy the sleep so that she could escape the pain that she must be feeling.

When he returned to the living room, he noticed that the tarp was covered in blood, some spilling over the edges and staining his carpet. What would remove blood stains? Did it matter if he ever removed them? Why would he care if his floor was a constant reminder of such a great memory?

The woman was squalling in pain, still rolling on the floor. She was funny to watch, shifting her body weight the best she could but not accomplishing anything. He must have been better at this than he thought, because she was taped up tightly and unable to free herself.

Sometimes in life, people have a knack for things. Some people have a knack for art, or playing a musical instrument. It’s almost as if they were born with some sort of talent.

Willard’s knack just happened to be abducting women and keeping them tied up. In his own way, it was something he could be very proud of. How many times had he opened a newspaper and read about a murderer being caught because one of his victims got loose?

Willard wasn’t a murderer in the traditional sense. Sure, his wife happened to die on him. But it wasn’t like he intentionally gave her an infection that led to gangrene. And murdering these women were not his intentions.

He only desired to use their bodies after molding them into beautiful amputees. If they happened to die, they did. So be it. But it wouldn’t be like he would plunge a knife into their hearts or slice their necks open. That wasn’t what this was about.

This was about his pleasure, nothing more, nothing less.

Anyways, he injected the needle in her neck, watching her as she tried to keep her eyes open. They drooped a bit and flickered, but there was no way she could stay awake.

The mess was undeniable. But that wasn’t what he focused on. Even though he was sexually satisfied, he was still fascinated with her stump. Other than his wife’s leg, it was the best thing he had ever seen before.

That got him thinking about how much better it had been with his wife. Was it because she was his wife or because her amputation had been a leg? There was only one way to find out.

After a quick power nap, maybe he could try removing her leg. Would she survive another horrific wound? Only time would tell, and these thoughts gave Willard very sweet dreams.

Trouble?

Willard was dreaming of his wife. It was a great dream, reliving the day that he first brought her home from the hospital. The humping of her leg stump. The beauty in his acrotomophilia virginity.

Then he heard a thumping noise. At first he thought it was in his dream, but it wasn’t. It was happening in real life and was very annoying.

The lady missing the arm was still sleeping silently, lying in the filth of her own blood.

After listening closer, he could tell the noise was coming from his garage. Where the other woman was taped to a beam. Oh no! He started to panic. If she were to have gotten free, it could mean big trouble for Willard. Of course, one day trouble would be inevitable, but he wanted to fulfill his dark desires today.

His momma didn’t raise a dummy, so he knew to pick up a knife as a weapon just in case the woman had somehow untaped herself. Maybe she would be holding her own weapon.

Willard was almost scared as he opened the man door to the garage. He braced himself for pain, afraid the woman would attack him. His back already ached enough for his taste, and didn’t want any other part of his body to be injured.

The woman was still taped to the pole, her limbs still doubled over and still taped together. She had to be in pain, maybe the position she was in was cutting off the circulation to her extremities. But that didn’t explain the thumping noise.

A small wail tried to escape her tired throat, but the gag caught it before it went too far. Then, maybe out of frustration, she banged her head against the wooden beam. That was the thumping noise.

It was so loud, he feared an outsider or a nosy neighbor would hear it and stop in to check on him. How it didn’t knock her unconscious he wasn’t sure, but figured it had to do with the pain/sleep medicine still floating around her nervous system.

Her neck must have been the only part of her body she could move due to her restraints. Willard mentally gave her a silent grade ‘A’ for effort. This one was a fighter. If the other woman felt like a bucking bronco, he wondered how fun this one could be.

The woman couldn’t see Willard standing behind her or the creepy grin across his mouth. The man was practically salivating, dreaming of the things he wanted to do to her. If she had known, maybe she would have struggled harder. Or maybe she would have chosen to bang her head so hard that it knocked her out, so she couldn’t see him looking so freaky.

Willards mind pictured blood oozing from the leg stump she didn’t have yet, and him molesting it in ways he hadn’t.

“Trouble. Yeah, I’m Gonna nickname you trouble.”  He smiled so even wider. “We’re gonna have some fun.”

The woman heard his voice, but not his words. Terror consumed her heart. The maniac was in the room with her. She tried to scream, but her tongue was pressed up against the hard tape that was cracking her lips. All she could think about was trying to get free.

She wiggled to no avail. Every muscle in her body ached. Still she vowed to herself that if the freak would untape her she would try her best to fight him off.

Willard was still naked and he walked into her line of sight. The entirety of his crotch was covered in blood. She didn’t know exactly what he had in mind for her, but she had a pretty good idea.

She knew whatever it was, it was going to hurt.

She squirmed her neck as much as she could, but the man injected her with some sort of needle. A dreamless sleep waited for her.

Feisty

Willard’s back was killing him. It took nearly twenty minutes to drag the woman from the garage to the tarp on the living room floor. His old man bones were protesting, but his young man sexuality encouraged him to continue the task.

Willard had a tight grasp of the woman’s hair, pulling her body behind him like a ragdoll.

One side was telling him to fulfil his wild desires while he could. Another side, his body, was telling him that he was too old for this nonsense. All he really wanted to do was go to bed, lay down, and get some rest.

His wife’s corpse stopped him from doing so. The woman who had been his lifelong partner was now dead, due to his actions. Once again, he bit away at the feeling of guilt, refusing to give it any justice. The feeling of remorse was something he had learned to suppress. After months of practice he was becoming some sort of an expert at the matter.

The easiest part was honing in on what he was doing right now. Willard had lived his life knowing that the next moment is never guaranteed, so he tried to live every second to the fullest. His wife’s accident only solidified his belief that ‘tomorrow is never promised’.

For all he knew, the police could barge in and knock down his door at any moment arresting him on the spot. But he didn’t think these hookers would get so lucky. Maybe the next batch of hookers he picked up would, but not these two.

The women laid side by side, their limbs still taped in a bent position, one already missing an arm. Their facial expressions didn’t show any sign of pain and that was how Willard liked it for the moment. At the very least it was silent, a moment of peace where he could gather his thoughts.

Thinking about prison wasn’t something he wanted to do right now, but knew it would be inevitable in the end. There would be no way to cover this mess up. Willard pictured himself on the front page of newspapers,  a caption underneath claiming him to be a demented murderer.

Maybe he was a threat to society. Without his wife, life wasn’t something he enjoyed any longer, or at least not until he discovered his new found game. Was this all that life boiled down to in the end? Coming up with creative ways to get his rocks off?

All of the blades of the hacksaw were broken and he needed a new tool to remove the second hooker’s leg. There were a variety of knives in the kitchen, but he wasn’t sure if they would cut through the bone. He pulled out the largest blade, hoping it was up to the task.

The way the lady’s leg was bent showcased the upper region of her knee. Willard steadied his hand, aiming for a precise cut above the knee bone.

As soon as the knife touched her flesh he heard the woman gasp for air through the tape on her mouth. Somehow she woke up. Her leg started to squirm. As much as he wanted her moving during the intercourse, he wished she would have been still for the cutting process.

Attempting to cut off a person’s leg via the thigh region is harder than one would expect. Sure, knives cut through soft tissues, but not instantly. It took more than a few minutes to cut a straight line through the flesh, especially with the victim moving.

As the knife penetrated the flesh, Willard noted how much easier it would be if she were not awake. But knocking her out would also take some time and he was in a hurry to get the goods.

The blade struck bone and refused to budge. Blood poured on his hands making it hard to grip the knife, and now the blade refused to move. This would not do it all.

It was time to upgrade his equipment.

Gas Powered

Daylight had started to seep in the windows making Willard wonder how long his power nap had been before dragging the woman from the garage to the house. This would make his life easier. Daylight meant neighbors would be awake and he could make a little bit of noise without disturbing them.

The perfect tool for the job would be his chainsaw. It wouldn’t give him the straight line cut he wanted, but it would be faster and save some strain on his aching back muscles.

As he carried the large tool inside, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror hanging in the hallway that connected the garage to his home.The blood splatter on his naked body made him look frightening. Wielding the tool made him look like a scary monster. Willard actually feared himself.

Was this what he had become? How did his life go so wrong in such a short time?

These were thoughts he swept under the rug, along with his guilt. He was a man on a mission and didn’t have time to emotionally process what he was doing. Besides, that would take away from the thrill of doing something forbidden.

Looking at the women made him laugh. The awake one must have woken the sleeping one, because they were both stirring. They didn’t make it far. It wasn’t like they could escape or even move around very much.

Both women were making noises, almost like they were trying to communicate with each other. When they saw the chainsaw, their noises got louder. High-pitched screams.

Since they had been trying to roll around, their bodies were tainted with the spilled blood, covering them in a very arousing and artistic way.

Willard pulled the cord on the tool, and the chainsaw came alive. The chain rotated, the engine roared, a gas smell filled the room. A small cloud of smoke took control of the room. He knew he had to work fast if he wanted to be able to see what he was doing.

The women screamed louder through their gags, but he couldn’t hear them over the loud tool/ weapon. The cloud cleared and Willard went to work on the woman’s leg.

It chewed through her thigh (even the bone) so easily. The hard part was controlling the weapon. Since her leg was bent under itself, it not only cut through her thigh, but also the portion of the lower leg, below the kneecap. It was inevitable. The way her leg was bent, the power tool ate through both sections of her leg.

Blood splattered on the walls, even the ceiling. The liquid tried to cling to the rotating chain, but it was moving at such a fast speed it only threw the red substance everywhere.

He turned off the chainsaw, and naturally the woman was hysterical. There was way more blood than there had been from removing the other woman’s arm. It was apparent she would bleed to death very soon. He only hoped her body stayed warm while he pleased himself with her mutilated body.

The cut was very jagged, the skin looking like it had been ripped instead of cut open. Pieces of skin hung on the weapon.

The woman had a leg stump and Willard was pleased. There was also a removed knee, and a seperate lower portion of her leg. He was most fascinated by the kneecap.

A kneecap by itself, having been severed above and below it, looked so weird. If he hadn't known what it was, he couldn’t have guessed what it was. The flesh was blood painted and it looked very unnatural.

He picked it up, examining it closely. It was small enough to hold in one hand, but had some depth to it. Maybe it would be a trophy he could keep. Was there a way to preserve the tissues? Perhaps it could be his very own portable sex toy if he removed some of the bones to make way for entry of his sex.

The woman started to turn pale. She would die soon, and he made no attempt to try and save her. This was why he was glad he had two women. If, and ever, if he were to do this again he knew for future reference that a chainsaw wasn’t the best approach.

He wanted to get what he wanted while the getting was good. Willard squatted on her knees, close to the woman’s body.

It was time to have fun.

Funtime

Being on his knees made his muscles ache even more, but it put him closer to the woman’s leg stump. This was what he wanted all along, a replica of his wife’s body. The absent arm couldn’t compare to how glorious this felt.

Forcefully, he cocked the woman’s thigh to an abnormal angle so that his crotch had easy access. The woman didn’t protest or squirm. Maybe because she was dead or dying. Willard didn’t bother to check.

There was blood for the lubrication, and he saw something he assumed to be a muscle. It took some time to find the sweet spot, but soft tissue made way for him to slide inside of her.

He wanted to be as close to the femur (leg bone) as he could, because it presented a tightness that he had never experienced with his wife’s vagina. The second woman was awake, and he watched her squirm. What he wouldn’t give in this moment for this woman to be squirming like that.

While he probed in and out of the thigh, he picked up the lower half of the woman’s leg. Without the knee being attached to it, it felt so light. He slowed his movements long enough to try and wedge the toes into his backside, but it didn’t feel as good as the other woman’s finger had felt.

The hand was nearby and he violated his backside with it. This was the perfect combination. A detached hand up his bum, his penis in the thigh. Would it ever be possible to re-create this perfect combination with only one woman? It was physically possible, but would it kill a victim too quickly?

He was focusing on the wrong thoughts, hindering his pleasure.

Willard pictured this woman was his wife. That almost pushed him over the edge, but he held back, wanting to stay in the thigh as long as he could before her body turned cold.

That was his mistake, fantasizing about his wife.

His penis started to deflate, despite the fact that he hadn’t ejaculated yet. He knew this was what he had wanted, so why did thoughts of his wife discourage him from what he was doing? Maybe because this woman was dead, just like his wife.

That started to sink in his brain like small worms burrowing holes in it. His wife was dead. She had been several hours, maybe even a day. Why did he have to think about it right now?

Willard’s body filled with anger. Rage consumed him. He tried to forget. He didn’t want to remember his wife. After trying several times to make himself hard again, it didn’t work. Even looking at the women’s bloody stumps didn’t turn him on.

Defeated, Willard fell sideways on the bloody tarp. The liquid was sticky and matted in his hair.

For the first time since the night of the accident, he cried.

For some reason, his emotions were getting the better of him.

Absolution

After a few minutes of crying, he started to feel better. Had the guilt built up so deep within him that it exploded his soul? Why hadn’t he made funeral arrangements for his wife? That would have been the proper thing to do. How and when did he turn into a homicidal maniac?

Would prayer save him? Was he too far gone? By the looks of the blood soaked living room and scattered body pieces, there was no way to save himself.

The woman who was still alive had finally stopped trying to crawl around. Either she had tired herself out, or his crying caught her off guard. She looked at him with sad eyes, almost begging him to let her free. A small crackle of her voice caught his attention.

Willard picked up the knife, propped himself on his knees once again. He crawled closer to her and she closed her eyes, afraid to watch him slice her throat or whatever he planned to do.

In a haphazard manner, he cut the tape that clung to her cheek. The slice was a little too deep and it made a small gash in her flesh. Sweat rushed from her pores, and some of the blood started to thin, almost running down her face like tears.

Very gently, Willard used his hand to pull the tape from her mouth.

The woman opened her eyes and wondered if she was still alive. After taking a breath of sweet oxygen, she realized she was very much alive and could now speak.

The man looked at her, thumbing her face like he was trying to cleanse it of the red.

“Can you ever forgive me?” Willard’s tone was hushed and slow, but his words were pure.

Confusion was the best way to describe what the woman felt. One minute the man was butchering her and her friend. The next he was asking for forgiveness. She wanted to yell and scream and fight. Curse the man. But would that persuade him to let her go free?

Her voice was weak and she didn’t know what to say.  She should have screamed at the top of her lungs, maybe someone would hear her and get help. But if they hadn’t heard the chainsaw then there would be no way they would hear her cries for help.

Trying to stay calm, she produced her first words as she cried. “Will you let me go?”

He felt like she had asked an impossible question. If he let her go, he knew she would run to the police. That would be the end of his freedom. Was that what he wanted? Did he not want to be a monster? Or did he want to continue his quest for mayhem? “Can you forgive me?” He repeated.

“Untie me?” She tried to make it sound like a question and not a demand. “Then we can talk.” This would not be the right time to lose her cool. The man seemed to be cracking. This could possibly be her opportunity to escape.

So many thoughts in Willard’s head. Many contradicted each other. What was happening to his mental state? Was he going crazy? Or was his humanity kicking in? Was he seeing how wrong it was to hurt people just for the sake of his own needs?

Untaping the woman seemed like the right thing to do. She trembled as he got close with the blade, edging near her. Where her whole arm (not the stump arm) was pinned to her side like a wing, he cut through the tape.

Since she now had one free arm and hand, she knew she could undo the tape around her legs. But she feared doing it too quickly. What if this was a trap? What if the man suddenly changed his mind?

“Thank you.” She studied his face. Manners seemed appropriate in this situation. She crossed her fingers hoping the mad man would respond to kindness.

Willard nodded his head. “Could you ever forgive me?”

She tried not to look at her dead friend. She tried to not be traumatized by losing an arm. The macabre sight of blood was too much to ignore, still she tried to close it out of her sight. As she squinted her eyes, she took a gulp and felt the large knot that had formed in her throat fade away. Her head moved up and down, saying yes.

Willard looked away, down the hall, towards the bedroom where his wife dead wife’s body laid. She saw her opportunity to start freeing her legs. As she started unraveling the tape, she tried not to focus on the pain in her leg muscles.

He turned his head to look at her again. “Are you going to report this?”

She was thinking that man would be an idiot if he thought he could get away with this. Would it be in her best interest to lie? Should she tell him what he wanted to hear? Would that guarantee her survival? “I guess I don’t have to. I just want to go home.” Silent tears slid off her cheeks, washing away more blood.

This was driving her crazy. She should be screaming. She should be attacking the man. Other than being tired from the drugs and the immense pain she was in, she should know what to do. Her fear was very real. Preventing her from doing the things her mind was telling her that she should be doing.

She got her legs free and tried to stand, but they gave out and she tumbled to the ground.

Willard laughed. “Do you think you’re going somewhere?”

Nope

She felt like that deer in the cartoon, freshly born and legs too weak to walk. The door was right there. If only she could open it and scream. Or run. Or do anything instead of sitting here and talking to the man.

Willard watched as she had a hard time standing. This was when he had to decide who exactly he wanted to be. There was no time to think. He had to react. He could either let her walk out, or he could live out some more depraved fantasies.

The way he was feeling was new to him. It was like guilt was eating him from the inside out. He feared that his guts would soon burst with emotion oozing from his body like blood.

The nameless woman braced herself on some furniture to help hold herself steady. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the man sitting still like he was stuck in a daze. The more she moved, the more her arm stump started to rip open threatening to squirt blood.

Her blood loss had been very real and it left her feeling light-headed. But she had to get out of here. After a few seconds, she got her footing. The pins and needles in her lower extremities hurt just as much as every other part of her body. Still, she was determined to escape.

The second she placed her hand on the doorknob, Willard laughed and gave her chills. Goose pimples grew on her skin.

The door knob started to turn. Freedom was so close. Willard jumped up, startling the woman. As her hand began to shake,  blood smeared on the door knob, making it too greasy to grip and turn. Willard’s red hand slammed into the door, preventing her from being able to open it.

Still being persistent, she tried her hardest, but not only could she not get a grip on the handle, he was too strong keeping the door closed.

He opened his mouth, blood spray splattered across his face. “Where are you going?”

The lady sobbed harder and could taste the salt of her tears. At a loss for words, her tongue stumbled not gathering any traction to speak. Her only reaction was to fight. The woman raised her knee, despite the feeling that her leg was asleep, and connected with Willard’s groin.

A sharp pain radiated from the lower half of his body upwards to his brain. As his balls retreated inside of him, Willard found it hard to breathe. The man dropped to the floor, grasping at his man parts, wishing the pain would stop. Luckily, his body weight still blocked the door from opening.

The woman looked around knowing there had to be another door somewhere but there wasn’t one in sight. Her best option would be to fight the man. Having only one arm and being badly wounded, she looked for a weapon. A knife still laid on the tarp covered in blood, and just the smallest part of it was visible as the light reflected off the metal.

Her legs went out on her as she tried to retrieve the weapon, so she fell. Crawling on her legs and one arm she felt like a wounded animal trying to escape a predator.

The tarp was soaked in blood and her knees slid in the puddles, making it harder for her to crawl. The knife was right there. It was so close she could almost reach it. She got too excited and reached out with her one hand, her bent legs collapsing under her, and the upper part of her body hit the ground.

She could feel it in her fingertips. Slowly, she tried to get back on her knees as she wrapped her hand around the handle of the blade. The bloody tarp was nothing more than a slip and slide of her own peril.

The woman flipped over on her back, wanting to see where Willard was. She held the blade as tight as she could with her one hand. As she sat up, she waved the knife around just in case he was close.

Maybe now she had the upper hand.

Second Chances

Willard’s pain started to subside. It still dwelled within him, but at least he could now think straight. His victim now had a weapon and thought she could strongarm him.

Not only was he trying to ignore the throb of his penis injury , his back was also killing him. A familiar ache struck him as he tried to stand. If she were to get up before him, maybe she would try to stab him while he was seated in front of the door.

He watched as the woman held the knife away from her and tried to stand. Blood painted the bottom of her feet making it impossible for her to stand. Not only did she not have any traction, it was hard to balance having only one arm.

Willard’s old bones started to creak as he made his way for her. If only he could get the knife from her then she wouldn’t be a threat to him. He had the same problem she did as he tried to walk through the blood puddles, but at least he was wearing rubber soled shoes to help him a bit.

He reared back one his legs, trying to kick at the woman to prevent her from standing up. Once again, the old man fell backwards, scrambling in the blood. Since she wasn’t fully standing yet, she used her one arm to jab the knife towards him. The blade connected with his shin and she could feel the metal vibrate against his bone.

Willard cried out in pain. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was over for him. His leg wound contributed to even more blood flowing onto the tarp.

The lady grasped for the weapon, trying to pull it out of his leg but it was too slippery. He wiggled and twisted, accidentally thrusting himself on top of the various parts of the legless hooker’s dead body. He picked up the detached leg and swung it towards his victim.

The bare foot slapped her across the face and sent her flying sideways, until she was once again facedown on the bloody tarp. Willard scrambled to pull the knife from his leg hoping it would make the pain go away. Between his groin, back, and injured shin, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to fight her off.

His hand kept slipping on the weapon, but soon he pulled it out and blood trickled down inside of his shoe. Ignoring all the nerve endings of his body, he lunged forward, sinking the knife into the backside of the woman’s neck. She screamed and a mixture of saliva and blood spit from her mouth.

She clawed at the ground (with her one hand), breaking several fingernails in the process. Soon, she stopped moving. That was the end of her.

Finally, Willard could relax.

Getting Some Head

Relief. Exhaustion. Guilt. Happiness. Sadness. An array of emotions hit Willard all at once. Finally, it was over. He could relax a little bit. There was no sudden threat of prison. If only he had the energy to clean up this mess.

Willard had been a law abiding citizen for the entirety of his life. How could he dispose of the bodies? It wasn’t like this was something you could look up in the yellow pages and hire some contractor to do for you.

Even though he had prevented the woman from getting free, his work was only just beginning. Why couldn’t he take another few minutes to enjoy what he worked so hard for?

Looking at the woman angered him. She had tried too hard to fight him. The stab wound in his shin was proof that she deserved to be mistreated, even after her death.

The knife handle protruded from the back side of her neck, white fluid from the spinal cord trying to leak from the injury. To make matters easier on him, instead of pulling the knife out of her body, he twisted it and forced it sideways.

After sawing into her neck for many minutes, her head rolled into a puddle of blood on the tarp.

Willard picked up the detached head and admired how her full lips had formed what looked like a painful expression. Her mouth was curved into an ‘O’ shape, looking like maybe she had tried to scream in her last living moments. All of the lipstick had faded, but blood painted the lips making them a pretty bright red color.

Willard plunged his finger into the mouth and noticed how the jaw was almost locked into place and unwilling to move. It was like she was frozen in time.

If it hadn’t been for the presence of her teeth, her face would had made for a decent sex toy.

Still angry at the woman, Willard picked himself off the floor, his back and leg aching with each movement. Rage fueled his determination to desecrate her dead body.

Right on the top of a stack of tools in his toolbox was a pair of wire pliers.

He cradled the head in the pit of his arm, with her face turned towards him. It took him longer than he expected, but he pulled all thirty-two teeth from her mouth. After discarding the loose teeth into puddles of blood on the tarp, he felt around the inside of her gums with his finger. They were soft and spongy, yet somewhat firm at the same time.

Having been married for so long, oral sex had been something he had long since forgotten. He wondered if all marriages were like his. Did all of them lack sex after several decades?

Despite his exhaustion, the lower half of his body started to respond to how great it felt when his wife used to go down on him. His manhood stood firm and tall and he noted this must be some sort of a record for a man of his age.

After he was fully aroused, Willard stuck his man parts into her mouth. It was so sensitive he could feel the ridges of where her teeth used to be. Using his hands, he moved the head back and forth along his shaft.

Something didn’t feel right. It wasn’t warm or moist. There was no suction. It didn’t give him the pleasure he had been expecting.

The stem of the neck had been dripping juices on his arms. Willard saw an opportunity and he took it.

Instead of forcing himself into the mouth of the head, he stuck it inside the neck cavity. The hardness of his prick pushed against soft tissues and something else that was hard. More liquid flowed onto his crotch area.

That was what Willard wanted. He wondered when he ejaculated if his man juices would come out of her mouth. They didn’t.

Tired

Willard succumbed to exhaustion. He fell asleep with the head still in his lap, covered in blood on the messy tarp. The thought of knowing that he had a major clean up ahead of him made him weary. Maybe he would feel better after getting some sleep.

He woke to a loud banging on the door. Who would be visiting him? He had no clue what time of the day it was, how long he had slept, or who would be bothering him.

He felt defeated after the nap, not making him feel any better about the mess that was still in his living room.

Whoever was knocking was persistent. They continued to bang.

“Hang on. I’m coming.” Trying to hide behind a curtain, he peeked out the window and saw someone dressed as a nurse on his doorstep. Her attire was complete with scrubs and a nametag.

How could he have forgotten that the hospital was sending an in home health care worker to check on his wife three days a week?

Everything that he was feeling inside was wrong. Inner turmoil was eating him alive. It was time for his flight or flee instinct to kick in. He could try to flee, but how long could he outrun the law? He could try to fight, but what good would it do? More nurses could come check on the nurse if he tried to kill her.

He was out of options. There was nothing left to do.

Willard cracked the door just enough to speak to the lady. “What do you want? I’m not interested?”

The nurse was not in sight, but her voice was audible. “I’m the home nurse. Here to check on Mrs. Williams.”

The woman stood there, unmoving, trying to do her job.

He knew it was over for him. Still naked and covered in blood, Willard opened the door.

The woman screamed and took off running to the safety of her car so she could call the police.

Not So Bad

Prison wasn’t as bad as Willard had expected. He still remembered the day the police came to the house. He willingly let them into his home, ready to submit to them. His fight had been over. At least he had gotten to fulfill some of his fantasies.

His picture had made the front page of almost every newspaper in the nation, and maybe even the world.

Willard didn’t deny anything that he had done and divulged every moment of his killing spree the best he could recall to law officials.

Not only had they taken away his freedom, they had named him The Acrotomophilia Maniac. The nick name seemed to stick and even his cellmate in prison called him Maniac.

Along with a safe place to sleep and three meals a day, his new found publicity had gathered him some sort of following.

Willard was never lacking for mail from other people like him in the world. They wanted to know how good it felt to do what he had done.

The way everything turned out hadn’t been that bad. Afterall, if he hadn’t killed his wife and those hookers he would be stuck at home tending to his vegetable of a wife.

Guilt was something he still tried to ignore. At least they didn’t give him the death penalty due to his cooperation.

His roommate on the other hand was awaiting his death. He was a pleasant man that told his neighbors he would kill them with kindness. He did just that, with a machete he had named kindness.

Sometimes he fantasized about cutting off his roommate’s leg just to have one more romp with his sick desire. If only his back didn’t hurt so bad then maybe he could overpower the man and remove his leg with a shiv.

But his back did hurt and he was too old to try. At least he had sweet dreams every night of the days that he did get to live out his fantasies.

Note from the author

Find me on Twitter @Seacaummisar or Facebook (Sea Caummisar)

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Good or bad, I love hearing from my readers.

If you want, leave a review. I love reading those also. For those keeping up with my Games series, be sure to check out book 4.

Games 4 Maze : The apprentice’s dream of building a pain maze has come true.

Release date  July 10, 2020      

I was so drained after writing this book. For some reason, it made me tense up. I removed several scenes that I feel scarred me. It is possible to cross the imaginary boundary of what can be written and what cannot? That's the thing about where you publish. I won't name any names, but some book sellers have terms and conditions, that we as writers, must abide by. I feel like that sometimes forces me to tame my stories.              Anyways, are you (as a reader) as drained as I was after finishing the book? I don't feel like I crossed too many boundaries, and I have my fingers crossed that nobody is offended by this book. It is fiction. I have never judged a person in my life. With that being said, don't let this book give acrotomophiliacs a bad name. That's why I added maniac to the title. For clarification.                          I'm sure it is possible to have a healthy acrotomophilia fetish. One that doesn't drive anyone to mutilate people.      Meanwhile, I'm moving forward with my Games Series. If you're reading that one, I hope you're enjoying it. There is so much to those stories and charcaters that the fun is just beginning. Friends, I hope you're enjoying all of your reading.              Stay Dark, signed Sea Caummisar              See ya next read. PS. Questions? Comments? Concerns? Typos? Please do me a favor.  Email them to sharoncheatham81@gmail.com.              If you feel inclined to leave a review, please do so. Just so I know how I'm doing. Even if it's just a few words. "I liked it" or "I didn't like it". That way I know what kind of projects you like. I'm working on so many fresh ideas, and reviews would help me cater better to what people want to read. Thanks for your time. You (yes, you, as the reader) are awesome. I couldn't do this without you.