Read Online Crossing the Line by Jordan Bobe - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jordan Bobe
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Tears of agony appeared at the corners of his eyes.
The big man planted his huge hand on Fritz’s face and lifted his head from the wet boards. He felt his skull crack when the big man slammed his head down. He heard the wood splinter beneath his cranium. The first real scream he was able to manage escaped his lips. The hand released its hold on his face and he felt blood, (or was it just water spilling off of his hair), pool beneath his torn scalp.
Brute stood up then and turned away from Fritz. It seemed that he had lost interest in his victim. He walked to the edge of the raft and looked at the house. The enormous muscles on his back tightened.
Fritz shoved himself away from the killer. His broken arm howled in pain and he did his best to ignore it. He had to figure out a way to escape the psycho while Brute was distracted. He rolled over and grimaced when he saw the puddle of blood where his head had cracked the raft. As he army-crawled toward the edge of the raft the world swam in and out of focus. He had no idea how severe his head wound was, but he figured he was dealing with a severe concussion.
He had almost reached the edge of the raft when the huge hand wrapped around his ankle. He clawed for purchase as the giant lifted him up into the air. Two of his fingernails pulled away, lodged between boards. His body was in so much pain that he barely noticed the stabbing sensation as they tore away from his fingertips.
Brute twisted him around so that he was facing the man’s massive knees. He looked up at the gruesome mask as it stared down at him. “Please,” he said. “You gotta let me go, man. You don’t know my family. They’ll burn down this entire fucking forest looking for you. Let me go and I won’t say shit to anyone.”
Brute seemed incapable of understanding him. There was absolutely no recognition to the way he cocked his head to the side. He moved his wrist so that Fritz would begin swinging back and forth. The blood spilling from his torn scalp dotted the boards beneath his head. He looked down and saw that they were becoming more like streaks of crimson.
Pain announced itself in Fritz’s crotch. He looked up and saw that the killer’s free hand was twisting at his penis and scrotum. He howled in pain and outrage. Brute pulled at the flesh in his hand and Fritz actually heard the skin ripping. Blood poured down his belly and chest and splattered into his eyes.
He let his head fall limp and howled with agony. The castration was not a quick procedure. Fritz felt every second of the hand jerking his dick from side to side, shredding the muscle and skin that kept it connected to his pelvic bone.
Just before the organ was completely removed from his body Fritz’s testicles ruptured under the intense pressure. His innards cramped as if poison had been pumped into them. And then he was falling. He crashed into the raft hard enough to jar three teeth from his gums at the front of his mouth.
Wild with terror he reached down with his good hand and dug his fingers into a mess of tore flesh where his manhood had been. “Fuck!” he screamed. “Fuck you, motherfucker! You tore my fucking dick off!”
Brute knelt down next to him and dangled the handful of flesh in front of his face. Fritz lashed out wildly, knocking the skull partially off of the big man’s face. This solicited the first visible response from the mad man. He punched Fritz in the mouth, cracking all of his remaining front teeth.
Fritz screamed, blood and tooth fragments spraying from between his busted lips.
Brute set the torn cock down long enough to right the skull mask. He picked back up the wad of flesh and chuckled. The laughter sent a shiver up Fritz’s spine. He pulled the bowie knife from his waistband and bashed Fritz’s mouth with the handle a dozen times. By the time he was finished there were only a mess of torn flesh and broken teeth left behind.
Fritz gagged on blood as it ran down his throat. Even with the agony
The big man planted his huge hand on Fritz’s face and lifted his head from the wet boards. He felt his skull crack when the big man slammed his head down. He heard the wood splinter beneath his cranium. The first real scream he was able to manage escaped his lips. The hand released its hold on his face and he felt blood, (or was it just water spilling off of his hair), pool beneath his torn scalp.
Brute stood up then and turned away from Fritz. It seemed that he had lost interest in his victim. He walked to the edge of the raft and looked at the house. The enormous muscles on his back tightened.
Fritz shoved himself away from the killer. His broken arm howled in pain and he did his best to ignore it. He had to figure out a way to escape the psycho while Brute was distracted. He rolled over and grimaced when he saw the puddle of blood where his head had cracked the raft. As he army-crawled toward the edge of the raft the world swam in and out of focus. He had no idea how severe his head wound was, but he figured he was dealing with a severe concussion.
He had almost reached the edge of the raft when the huge hand wrapped around his ankle. He clawed for purchase as the giant lifted him up into the air. Two of his fingernails pulled away, lodged between boards. His body was in so much pain that he barely noticed the stabbing sensation as they tore away from his fingertips.
Brute twisted him around so that he was facing the man’s massive knees. He looked up at the gruesome mask as it stared down at him. “Please,” he said. “You gotta let me go, man. You don’t know my family. They’ll burn down this entire fucking forest looking for you. Let me go and I won’t say shit to anyone.”
Brute seemed incapable of understanding him. There was absolutely no recognition to the way he cocked his head to the side. He moved his wrist so that Fritz would begin swinging back and forth. The blood spilling from his torn scalp dotted the boards beneath his head. He looked down and saw that they were becoming more like streaks of crimson.
Pain announced itself in Fritz’s crotch. He looked up and saw that the killer’s free hand was twisting at his penis and scrotum. He howled in pain and outrage. Brute pulled at the flesh in his hand and Fritz actually heard the skin ripping. Blood poured down his belly and chest and splattered into his eyes.
He let his head fall limp and howled with agony. The castration was not a quick procedure. Fritz felt every second of the hand jerking his dick from side to side, shredding the muscle and skin that kept it connected to his pelvic bone.
Just before the organ was completely removed from his body Fritz’s testicles ruptured under the intense pressure. His innards cramped as if poison had been pumped into them. And then he was falling. He crashed into the raft hard enough to jar three teeth from his gums at the front of his mouth.
Wild with terror he reached down with his good hand and dug his fingers into a mess of tore flesh where his manhood had been. “Fuck!” he screamed. “Fuck you, motherfucker! You tore my fucking dick off!”
Brute knelt down next to him and dangled the handful of flesh in front of his face. Fritz lashed out wildly, knocking the skull partially off of the big man’s face. This solicited the first visible response from the mad man. He punched Fritz in the mouth, cracking all of his remaining front teeth.
Fritz screamed, blood and tooth fragments spraying from between his busted lips.
Brute set the torn cock down long enough to right the skull mask. He picked back up the wad of flesh and chuckled. The laughter sent a shiver up Fritz’s spine. He pulled the bowie knife from his waistband and bashed Fritz’s mouth with the handle a dozen times. By the time he was finished there were only a mess of torn flesh and broken teeth left behind.
Fritz gagged on blood as it ran down his throat. Even with the agony
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