Page 37 of Bad for You

The moment he hits the back of my throat, memories assault me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I wish to erase them forever and not have them a part of me.

But they are.

They’ll never leave me.

They make up who I am, and I realize I must use that as fuel to take back what was stolen from me.

He uses my hair as reins to roughly direct the tempo, and when he pulls out, only to shove himself back into my mouth, I gag.

“Daddy’s good girl!” he hollers in delight.

But his comment triggers something in me. It reminds me of who I am. Who I am a spawn of.

Half sinner.

Half saint.

And now, IamDaddy’s girl as I reach for the knife in my boot.

This bastard is too lost to his pleasure to realize what I’m doing as I suddenly pull back. He looks down, a look of annoyance plastered on his face, but that soon turns to horror when he watches me ram the knife into his cock.

A stunned breath leaves him, which will be one of the last he takes as I stab him in the crotch over and over again. Blood squirts from the wound, showering my face and upper body.

The bloodlust soon rouses the demons inside me, and I happily dance with them as I slice off his cock.

A wheeze slips past his lips as he drops to both knees, grabbing his dickless crotch.

“Bad dog,” I mock in English as I want him to know I’ve been privy to this charade the entire time.

I slap his cheeks with his severed dick before tossing it over my shoulder like the garbage that it is.

“Please, no, I have a wife and kids.”

I’m not sure why he shared this information with me. Was he thinking of them when he forced himself down my throat?

He appears to be in shock while I, still on my knees in front of him, do as I wanted to—I stab my knife into his eyeballs and remove each one with ease.

Anything is easy if you know what you’re doing. All you need to do is cut the optic nerve, and that sucker will pop out like an avocado pip.

I suddenly burst into laughter at the analogy.

“Open up,” I say, slapping his cheek, and as he wheezes, I toss his eyeballs into his mouth and shove them down his throat with two fingers.

He collapses onto his side as he is now the one to gag.

I slowly stand, looking at my handiwork with pride.

I know I should feel disgust for what I’ve done.

But I don’t.

I’m hungry for more.

The door bursts open, snapping me from my bloodlust state. I turn and see Lenny.

“Hi.” I wave with the bloody knife in hand, smiling wide.

“Hi,” he finally replies, closing the door behind him.

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