Page 38 of Homecoming: The Devil's Society

Torn skin and muscle are attached to the sharp ridges as more of the dildo becomes exposed. A stray piece of thread that hangs from her lips, still attached, gets caught. E doesn’t care, he keeps it attached as he continues to drag the grater out. It pulls and another whimper of distress penetrates our ears.

E twists it once more before dislodging it from her opening. You can hear it scraping her insides. The tip has smaller, more prickly and sharper bits. This final move is absolutely tearing her apart.

“We will need our masks back on after this is out.” His voice is calm, not commanding. Regardless, I stand to grab them for us off the tool chest, preparing for whatever he has planned.Looking back at Francesca, long strings of drool mixed blood hang from her mouth and the metal of the choke pear.

Bitch is ruining my new toy.

“I’ll get you another one,” he says casually as the tip of the grater starts to become visible.

Our connection only grows stronger. He always knows what I’m thinking, the same way as I can feel him.

As the tip comes out of her, the metal is coated in crimson and flesh. It falls from his fingers, crashing to the ground. Wasting no time, his glistening hands unclasp her ankle restraints. She is still on her side. Francesca’s top leg falls to join her other on the floor.

Bringing her knees to her chest, she attempts to curl into herself in a fetal position, wallowing in a puddle of her own blood, tears, and drool.

Her blonde hair is now stained a bright beautiful red.

Regardless, E would say she looks pathetic. Her true self is showing just before death strikes.

I would have to agree.

You don’t betray your family.

Ilove watching people die.

By my hands or their own.

Lately, forcing people to end their own lives has been my ‘kink,’ as Rain would say. She also insists that curb stomping is another.

It’s not that.

As my boot hits the back of a person’s head, I breathe out as my body relaxes into it. The skull and bones cracking put me into a trance as the blood splatters around me. Seeing tiny white chiclets against the dark floor or concrete stimulates my mind. The contrast is art.

When I forced my mother to walk backward into the fire, she did it. She didn’t fight back or attempt to save herself. She just fucking did it. That fascinated me.

It made me wonder if others were the same. I’ve been curious ever since.

Typically, those I kill plead, beg, and cry for mercy. They try to bargain with me. It never works because I couldn’t give a fuck. But it’s me who kills them each time. Never have I given them the gun and said, ‘shoot yourself,’ until my mother.

With each step backward, she knew it was coming. The flames would engulf her, melting her skin and burning her alive.

She didn’t move out of the way, she kept going until she tripped backward into the bright orange flame.

I still hear her screams, if the memory ever comes to mind. The distinct smell of her flesh filling the cave. I was satisfied. I was excited. My mind and eyes were captivated by it all.

And I’ve wanted to do it again ever since.

When we walked in here tonight, I got an idea.

Her endgame. Francesca.

It was planned in my head before we ever entered this room. Envisioning it as we walked up the stairs. As the Elders watched us from the balcony, their entertainment for the evening.

Rain places my rabbit mask over my head, leaving it on my forehead so as not to cover my face yet. Her chain is still in my hand, I never let it go as I removed the grater from the diseased cunt.

As a child, I never liked Francesca.

I never liked anyone, and I still don’t outside of Rain and my dad. But she is a particular breed that irritates me to no end. She’s always begged for attention. This was just another one of those situations. And unfortunately for her, I was the one to give it to her.

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