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Rated: 13+ · Appendix · Adult · #842685
foot caught in the door
Screen removed and easy enough was the latch to displace. Central air conditioning unit sitting on ground made a fine stepping stool as I hoisted myself into the window. Adrenaline rushing, pulse pounding; darkness as feet hit the floor. Caution, still, ears on alert but no sound came. Unfamiliar, steps taken slow and not so sure as the door was opened; passing into the next and light from candles filled the space. Scanning quickly a form was spotted lying still, headphones on. A male it was but planning had already set this fact into memory as I watched him hold something to his face, sniff it, lick it, and then sniffling. Unsure of next move was I but putting caution aside I allowed the hatred I felt to move me close. Small bag in my hand opened swiftly, like a cat of stealth, objects hustled about in moments until the hammer, claws ready, found and raised into the air.

No matter what set him off, gave him a clue, too late for him as he opened those dreadful eyes and looked into my own. Almost orgasmic did I feel as the claw was plunged into the right socket and see no more did that one. Not many more movements were there from him as successive battery left the once human face in a mass of bloody, bleeding, pulp-like gore. 'Sniff on that motherfucker', I said without worry of detection. The underwear, still in his clenched hand, taken and placed inside my black bag, I stayed for a moment and pulled the blade from the vinyl Wal-Mart purchase and sliced the finger off. Felt good, as easily done as the smiling man on the t.v. had demonstrated with the tomato. Definitely guaranteed. I removed the ring and put it upon my own pinkie, pulled the hammer from the remains of his head and put it back into my bag, and then rolled the still warm corpse onto the floor. Thump. I reveled in his deadness. Ooops! I giggled when remembered that the knife was still in his stomach where it had been placed after giving the finger its freedom. (Plant food the digit became and into an ivy pot it went, down, deep, into the dirt). 'Fuck it', I thought. No fingerprints and thanked the gloves I wore. I then pulled the robe up and was grateful that the idiot had not been wearing pants. "What a bitch that would have been', I thought. The large, gold, engraved school ring was then taken from my finger and placed inside my palm. His anus smelled of shit, much like him, but putting the discomfort aside I placed the ring inside his hole. 'Fucking pig.' Off to the refrigerator went I then, pulling a bottle of beer from it, and returned to my recently deceased friend. hehehhe. Pooling blood upon the carpet made stepping sticky so expediently, without removing the lid, I crammed the bottle into the rectum, hard, long, multiple efforts. 'There is your fucking ring, you asshole, don't worry about it, you won't lose it again I bet.'

Hahahahahhahahhahahahhahahhahah. Time passing, 'must go'. Kick, kick, kick, kick.

'Wait', thoughts churned. Walking back to the now deformed lump, I once again turned it over, this time face up. The knife wasn't as easy coming out as going in had been but effort brought it back inside my hand. The limp member came off much more easily than had the finger and surprised was I how the fucker spurted blood, still. Wow! Amazed, I held it there and watched as it drained and compared the letting to chicken blood dripping from fowl corpses after butchering. Strangely, I reckoned that the similarity ended there for though only animals were they, their purpose had been fruitful and at direct odds with the uselessness of this piece of meat. Now contaminated, the knife asked for yet more work and gladly I hacked away with it upon the shithead, in various locations, reveling in my bestiality, all the while clenching the never again to be erect pulp in my hand. 'Job well done my friend', I said and then packed the bloody tool away with the rest of my goodies. Dilemma then, what to do with the lifeless clump of flesh held? Questioning myself, wonderment at whether or not prints could be extracted there, into right side pocket it went.

Out the same window.

Later, hours, at home the chicken dish cooked for my partner had a seasoning not usually found in such creations. 'How is it', I asked? 'Delicious', the reply.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/842685