No More Tears

"I'll have you know," the man said, twirling a pair of needle-nose pliers, "that I have no surgical experience." His grime-ridden teeth spread agape in unison with the pliers' jaws, which were coated in the mashed elasticity of countless nightcrawlers from happy little fishing trips past.

She was nylon rope fastened to a slab of wood that fit a loose definition of a table in some shit-hole that fit a loose definition of a garage. Her blue-grey eyes were calm and clear, no tears.

He got to it. The metal shark clamped down on her shiny purple fingernail, the index one, and thrashed its head in a herky-jerky killing blur until there was a crunch and the nail was detached, leaving its peach-colored imprint overflowing with deep, deep crimson.

She did not make a sound.

This was repeated nine times.

Afterward, he was perspiring. She was not.

"Okay," he sneered, frustration lacing his lips. "Enough with the foreplay."

The pliers shot up sparks when he spiked them against the concrete floor and very suddenly he had replaced them with a ball-peen hammer, which he swung at her face, pulverizing a once-pretty mouth with steely rage. A couple teeth shot down her throat, their jagged imperfections tearing up the larynx. She spit a stringy pink rope of the remaining loose teeth, along with part of her tongue. Whatever incisors and molars that remained clinging to their roots were throttled out of their homes by another blunt force.

And still she remained silent.

He was shrieking maniacally now, desperate to coax that beautiful sound of suffering so he could finally release.

She winked with a toothless grin.

He rambled unintelligibly and slapped his own face as hard as he possibly could before taking hold of a power drill. His hands were shaking so madly that it took him a full minute to unbutton her jeans and slide off her panties, taking a bite of her hip flesh for good measure. The drill bit explored her dark chasm, fully burrowing like a parasite. Then he squeezed the trigger and made a pussy purée. 

When the whirring had ceased, he removed the tool from her opening and contorted his face in the absolute madness of her soundlessness. Then he wept like a spoiled child, burying his face in her perky, blood-stained tits.

She stroked his hair and moaned, "Oh yeah! Now fuck me!" When he raised his tortured eyes, she repeated: "Fuck me! Fuck my bloody cunt with your throbbing rod!"

He swallowed a lifetime of sorrow. "Get out of here," he murmured. "Leave me alone, you grotesque fucking beast."

After wiping the tears from his eyes, he began the process of untying her.