Page 85 of Mayhem and Minnie

My eyes widen and I stop.

My lips slowly curve up into a smile.

Minnie, Minnie. Minnie mine…

Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

I grab a sharp knife and get to work as I hum my new favorite melody, which might or might not be Carried Away from a certain cartoon character that shares her name.

12

The first incision wakes him up, ready to scream. He’s unable to, of course, since I’ve already gagged his disgusting mouth.

I’ve doubled up on gloves for this particular task. Holding on to his limp dick, I cut transversally from proximal region to distal.

“Good on you to wake up, Pauly boy. What do you think of my work so far?” I ask with a smile as I point to his butchered dick.

It’s now spread open like the loaf of an Italian sandwich, waiting to be filled with delicious salami, roasted peppers, and mozzarella. Alas, I don’t know why I’m likening his disease-infested dick with an Italian sandwich… Perhaps because I aim to fill that gap with a corrosive agent to give him pain to rival that which he’s inflicted on others.

My stomach growls in hunger.

Ah. That also explains it. Hopefully, Minnie left something for me to eat since I predict I’ll be rather famished after I finish with this exertion.

Paul wiggles in his seat. I’ve left his chair on an incline so he can admire my handiwork while he still has time left on this earth.

As I busy myself around, gathering the necessary materials for the filling, Paul continues to struggle, perhaps thinking he actually has a chance at escaping.

I take my materials and lay them out on a table in front of him.

There are only three materials: a bottle of water, a bottle of chlorine, and a pack of concrete mix.

When Paul sees the items, his eyes bulge like crazy, and he renews his efforts, this time with more vigor.

It’s useless.

Those straps can hold someone double his size with no issue. Scrawny Paul won’t be able to make them budge.

But because his reaction to the items was so amusing, I decide to give him a chance for last words—or, perhaps, a delayed apology.

“You fucking psycho,” he cries out when I remove the gag. “W-what the hell do you think you’re doing? I’ll have you fucking arrested. Fucking creep.”

“Now, Pauly, I think you have the places reversed. You are the creep, not me.” I smile.

“You’re s-sick,” he mumbles, sweat gathering atop his forehead from the pain.

His dick is still bleeding, and I note he can barely stand to look at the mess in his groin.

Slow shudders take over his body.

The moment I’ll pour the bleach, he’ll likely pass out again.

I sigh.

That’s not fun.

“How many women have you drugged and raped?” I raise my brow in question.

He just stares at me.

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