Page 37 of Homecoming: The Devil's Society

Francesca doesn’t move, perhaps she thinks this is a trick or she is genuinely terrified. E doesn’t wait even a second before encouraging her to begin. We walk to his bat which lays on the ground, picking it up, and I see where he’s looking. In the next breath, it is being swung and connects with one of the back legs of the chair, knocking it out from under her. Not expecting it, she topples over with her legs still connected. A loud, muffled scream tries to leave her mouth. The side of her face hits the floor, and the clamp in her eye lodges inside the socket, piercing her eyeball. The choke pear remains in place, but more blood comes from her cunt. The grater dildo definitely does more damage internally.

“Ten seconds left,” E taunts.

Francesca’s one arm is trapped underneath her. Using all the energy she can muster up, she shimmies her arm toward her waist as her other hand begins working frantically. Her fingers try to undo the knot which is now blood-soaked. Pulling on the thread only makes it worse, tightening it further.

E taps my hand—it’s time.

Stepping next to her face, more moans of agony spew out of her. Taking a bent knee, I take the cool metal key into my hands and give it one big twist, completing a full circle. You can hear the springs crank as I go. The spoons click up one notch, which begins the process of fully opening.

Patting my head, E signals me to stop. We must wait another thirty seconds. As we do, her eye starts to bleed with the pressure mounting on the clamp being pushed in.

Francesca is able to get her other hand free enough to help, but it’s of no use. She isn’t getting the thread out unless we cut it. Her fingers slip along it, at one point even making a squeaking sound as they rub.

Looking up at E, he nods.

My fingers twist the key once more, opening it further. It’s like a balloon in her mouth, each turn is akin to blowing air into it. Eventually, the metal spoons will be at capacity, and her jaw will snap from the pressure of not being able to open any further and pop, just like a balloon.

This cycle continues a couple more times.

Her fingernails scrape against the thread now, trying to thin it out.

With each turn of the key, Francesca’s cries of pain become more audible, the choke pear forcing her mouth open only helps project her screams.

Looking up, her eye is completely red, presumably her vision is gone from that side.

Tapping his boot-clad foot, E casually mentions, “I’m getting bored.”

Francesca is fucked. A bored E, is a bad fucking E.

Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out his switchblade and flicks it open. Joining me on the floor, he tilts his head at the sight before him. “Fucking pathetic. You did nothing in the time we gave you. You fucking deserve this. Useless bitch.”

The sharp blade connects with the soaked thread. As E starts at the bottom, he works his way up, slicing each stitch open one by one. The thread gets caught a couple times on the blade, pulling on her lips and causing additional pain.

He gets to the last one and I decide I will not be left out.

At the same time as the final stitch comes undone, I twist the key on the choke pear. Needing to put all my strength behind this turn as the pressure and resistance try to fight back. And the best part is, E doesn’t stop me.

I yell with my momentum. My body moves with the motion of my hands, turning the key counterclockwise. The soles of my shoes squeak against the floor. I hear the snap of thread, and then the choke pear follows. This time instead of it clicking as it moves up, it’s her jaw cracking. My ears ache as her scream is piercing my eardrums.

The vibrations of her jaw bones and muscles being stretched to the max can be felt as I keep my fingers on the key. Her jaw tries to fight back, but I keep the pressure. Seconds later, a loud pop follows.

I fucking love this. Imagine the damage if I shoved it into one of her other holes.

I am addicted. Biting my lip, the feeling brings satisfaction over me, along with excitement. I need to do this again.

But that’s not all. We aren’t done with the traitor bitch.

I fall backward as I let go of the key and as I glance at E, I can feel he isn’t finished.

Tossing the blade beside him, he grips the cool metal rim of the grater and deliberately begins to turn it, unhurried, while it is still lodged deep inside of her.

My hands cover my ears, blocking out her cries, not because I don’t like it, only because her vocal cords are destroying my ears. My ears feel more sensitive than usual, perhaps it’s the small room we are in and the sound bouncing off the four walls which enclose the space.

Francesca tries to fling her body around, an effort which is proven to be pointless as she is still attached to the chair.

I could watch E work all day and never get bored. My man at work is a sight, I clench my thighs together. My pussy is dripping as I watch his face, it’s stone cold. His eyes never blink. His breathing is leveled. E is in his element. He was born for this moment. And all the others like this.

The grater is hollow, his fingers slip inside of it, and his arms flex as he applies pressure. The screams no longer bother me, they sound like they are miles away as I concentrate on him. Watching him work. Then, inch by inch, the grater begins to come out of her. Blood drips down his hand, trails of it branch off down his forearm and begin dripping to the ground.

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