Page 32 of Homecoming: The Devil's Society

Loosening his grip, that’s all the permission I need to continue moving toward her covered pelvic area. E continues to taunt her, “I couldn’t give a fuck either way. Although, my dad was saying how your dad, good old Uncle Greg, was getting sick of your shit too. So I doubt he will cry at your funeral.”

Watching Francesca’s face, I can see her plotting her response before E is even done speaking. Before she is able to spit it out, I gently move her panties to the side, exposing her lips. Lining the grater up to her hole, in one swift movement, with my hand firmly gripping the base, I shove it in with all the muscle and power I have.

My eyes stay open the entire time. As the air hits them, I can feel them drying out, but I don’t care. I need to watch it all.

Francesca’s back arches at the violent intrusion. High-pitched screams of pain and terror echo in the small room.

The girth of the metal grater isn’t thin, it is easily two inches wide and penetrates her dry hole brutally without any lube. At first I am met with some resistance. Repositioning my hand somy palm is at the base, I push it in even harder. Gradually, it inches further inside of her.

Knowing how much E loves to watch, I don’t want to rush it too much. I also fight the urge to twist it as it enters her, knowing this is just one part of a bigger game, which E had already mapped out in his head the moment we walked in here.

The rattling of chains follows each time she tries to move her legs, fighting the inevitable.

Drops of blood stain her white panties. Nothing dramatic,yet.

My palm hits her swollen lips, not from arousal but from pure torture. The cheese grater dildo is fully inserted inside of her. I leave her panties pushed to the side, keeping her exposed.

My eyes blink, restoring moisture to them and breaking me from my own trance. Looking up, Francesca’s face is red and blotchy with tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving stains where her makeup once was. Racoon eyes have also formed. Bitch is a mess.

Pressing the quick release on the cuffs securing Francesca’s wrists, “Rain, hold on to her,” I say.

Caught off guard from taking in the sight of the aftermath of her performance, she scurries over to me and grips my cousin tightly.

She wants to question me, I can feel it. But she doesn’t. Obeying the rules.

As I walk to my cousin's feet, I grab the lemon out of Rain’s top, getting an idea, then kick the chair out from behind her, moving it so it’s in front of the table. Squeezing the lemon tightly in my hand, it breaks and juice starts to drip down my fingers. Holding it over my cousin's cunt, I squeeze harder, coating herbefore tossing the remainder of the lemon over my shoulder to the ground.

Releasing each cuff around her ankles, Francesca kicks, not realizing that moving her hips will only cause her more pain internally. By the time she does, more scratches leave her, followed by her legs falling back to the table.

Gripping both of them, I angle her hips up, holding her legs in the air, allowing the lemon juice to gradually slide inside and around her shredded, diseased pussy.

“No, no. It hurts so much. Make it stop. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.” Pathetic whimpers full of lies leave her. People will say and do anything to make the pain stop.

Not believing her, I don’t stop, holding her legs up a little longer before I am satisfied.

Looking up at Rain, she smiles at me. “Little bat, keep a hold of her while I move her,” I instruct. Her brows rise, eyes filled with excitement while nodding.

“We are going to put her in the chair like we did back in Blackwood, do you remember?”

A smirk follows. “Of course I remember.”

Letting her legs fall, they crash against the table, causing it to bounce with the instability. Gripping Francesca under her arms, I lift her petite frame up effortlessly. Bending her at the waist, I pull her toward me off the table. A ball-aching, high-pitched yelp scratches in my eardrums.

With her arms bent at the elbows, Rain still has her wrists held tightly between both her hands as I swing Francesca over and onto the chair.

Loud sobs continue, guaranteeing that the grater is doing its job, destroying her from the inside out.

Keeping her legs spread, I strap both feet to the legs of the chair, then take over from Rain, securing her wrists behind her back.

Once satisfied, I walk over to the tool chest and open the drawers until I find what I am looking for. Hitting the top drawer last on the second chest, there they sit, shiny and new.

Grabbing both, I turn back to our traitor. “Hold her head still.”

Rain grips both sides of my cousin's head. Stepping forward, I bend over. Reaching for her, I hold Francesca’s eye open with my thumb and forefinger, applying pressure. Then I slide in the eye clamp, which is stainless steel and will keep her eye open. Once the first one is done, I move on to the next. It is a tad slippery from the endless well of tears, but it still fits in like a glove.

“Little bat, also in the top drawer are fishing hooks and white string. Get those and come back to me.”

Once she has gotten what I’ve asked for, she stands next to me. “Now on your knees, sew her shut.”

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