Page 86 of Mayhem and Minnie

“If you answer, I might take pity on you…” I lie. Of course I’d never take pity on someone like him. But perhaps his answer will enrage me enough to get even more creative with his punishment.

“I-I don’t know…” he stammers. “I never counted.”

“You never counted? I find that hard to believe. A man such as yourself needs the validation to feel like a man, no?”

His lips flatten.

“Ten, twenty?” I ask, though I imagine those to be low estimates. Then again, figuring in the numbers of the people he supplied with the drug would make the numbers much higher.

He scoffs.

I smirk. There he goes.

“Fifty?”

“As if,” he mumbles under his breath.

Ah, it seems he still has the strength to do so. Perhaps I should remedy that.

Grabbing the bottle of chlorine, I pour it generously over his split dick. The moment it makes contact with his open wounds, I push the gag back into his mouth to muffle his scream.

Then, just in case, I look at the screen that shows Minnie in her room.

She’s finished her fashion parade and she’s now in her pajamas. Her hair, too, looks to be freshly washed, which I appreciate.

Despite not speaking to me much in the last week, she’s held her part of the deal. She washed every single day.

I checked, of course. And by that I mean I went close enough to her to sniff her.

On second thought, perhaps I am a bit of a creep, but it’s not in any malicious way. It’s just to check if she washes daily. There’s also that natural scent of hers that always goes to my head. See, I have honorable intentions, unlike slimy Pauly over here.

Her pajama is a cute set comprised of silky white shorts and a button-up shirt. The pants are short enough to emphasize her legs, and for a moment, I forget that I’m supposed to be torturing a rapist.

Minnie, Minnie… Why are you so distracting, little heathen?

I watch her for one more minute while Paul’s thrashing subsides. As I predicted, he passes out from the pain. Alas, that was my aim with it.

Although bleach can help prevent an infection, it’s also a highly caustic substance that burns through tissue—especially an open wound.

I’ll allow Pauly here a few seconds to rest while I prepare the cement mixture.

Very magnanimous of me, I know.

I resume my humming as I use a small bowl to mix water and the cement powder until it’s a homogenous substance. From the corner of my eye, though, I continue to watch Minnie, focusing in particular on her features.

She’s in bed now, reading a book. Her expression is one of pure rapture, and I’m immediately curious to know what book she’s reading.

I told her she could avail herself of my library as long as she didn’t damage the books—no doggy ears, markings, or torn pages. So far, she’s been well-behaved, which I do appreciate.

Once the mixture is done, time is of the essence before it hardens.

Grabbing my electric wand, I plug it in and power it on. Pressing it to the dampest portion of slimy Pauly’s body, I send a couple of powerful shocks that startle him back into a state of consciousness.

Once more, he tries to scream. And once more, he cannot.

“I can’t have you missing the most important part of this session, Pauly. You see, there’s nothing I abhor more than a cowardly son of bitches like you. And you know what I hate the most? Creeps who hurt women,” I tell him with a smile on my face.

I’ve always detested rapists, but since Minnie has arrived into my life, my distaste for them has reached new heights. Perhaps it’s because she was almost a victim twice. Or perhaps it’s because I know she’s a magnet for men and their unscrupulous desires.

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