SNICK! SNICK! —clip off all of Ms. Weinstein's toes with a pair of boltcutters. With each SNICK! her back arched up off the workbench and her throat generated a sound, however muffled, reminiscent to a dog bark. Then came a series of smothered, high-tone mewls as Rocco pinched closed her nostrils, the gag-ball already blocking her oral airway. Her body gently convulsed as her face pinked; Rocco released her nose each time she was about to pass out. Then— zzzip! —he pulled out his long, thin penis and urinated liberally all over her. The urine and the fear-stench of her sweat about knocked Leonard out.
Knuckles dropped trow and stepped right up between her widely parted legs. A quick spit of saliva on her vagina and then he was humping away. For all of several seconds.
"Oooo, yeah," he grunted.
"Here comes the judge!" Rocco celebrated.
Rocco and Knuckles busted out laughter.
"I'm saving my nut for later, Knucks," Rocco elucidated. "The more I work on this bitch, the harder I get. Guess I had a bad childhood, huh?"
Rocco and Knuckles busted out laughter.
Leonard, on the other hand, had no inclination at all to laugh. He just kept his eye glued to the Canon's eyepiece and tried to get lost in its whir. The victim's gagged whine rose machinelike behind her throat as Rocco slapped Craftsman visegrips onto her rosebud nipples and pulled . Her eyes seemed lidless now; her delicate areolae were yanked out to a surprising length, like off-pink taffy, and Knuckles then did the same with her clitoris. Her body bucked , her wet back slapping the benchtop. Now Rocco was twisting the VGs, making pink corkscrews of flesh. Knuckles, far less articulate, merely stretched the clitoris and hood out as far as he could and then— snip! —quickly clipped off the fleshy bulb with a pair of tin-snips. This brought a sound like a gush of gravel from her muffled throat, and also a summary release of the entire contents of her bladder and bowel.
Now the room was a virtual brew of unearthly aromas. Leonard quite imagined the deepest grottoes of hell smelling the same.
And certainly the scene , too, provided a similar image. I am the cameraman of hell, Leonard mused.
With a frozen-food knife, Rocco sawed off both of her pretty little ears, with no more concern than if he were cutting off the ends of a French bread. Knuckles ran the lit end of a blow torch up and down her shins, turning them black in no time. More mewling, more bucking, more convulsant slaps of her bare, wet back against the bench's top. Rocco's intramuscular injection of amphetamines into Ms. Weinstein's bloodstream did indeed keep her conscious through the job. Knuckles baked off her pubic hair and then cooked the raw meat of her genitalia until it resembled a forgotten hamburger patty left on the grill. Rocco cut a line across her forehead with a penknife and scalped her, yanking off the human wig with a suspicious expertise. The tin snips cut off her nose, and the frozen-food knife sawed off her breasts. Only now did her autonomic responses begin to simmer down to just feeble twitching.
"Knucks, gimme a shank."
Knuckles passed Rocco a knife—not the trademark German "Hoffried"-brand angel-blade that had divorced Leonard from a testicle, but a Gerber MkIII (nice shiv, by the way). "I'm hard as a fuckin' rock now," Rocco announced and slipped the blade from its sheath. "Gotta gut-fuck this bitch before she croaks."
The camera whirred and whirred and Leonard's mind swam and swam. Rocco planted the blade into her lower abdomen, then quickly crawled up and inserted his penis into the wound. He humped and humped, and without further delay—
" Ahhhh, yeah! I'm comin' in this bitch's stomach fierce, man! Fuckin'-A!"
Whether or not Ms. Weinstein was still alive at this moment scarcely mattered. The continued meager twitches of her body could've been involuntary muscle spasms of the peri-mortal state. Rocco finished dumping his semen into her abdomen, then
Knuckles dropped trow and stepped right up between her widely parted legs. A quick spit of saliva on her vagina and then he was humping away. For all of several seconds.
"Oooo, yeah," he grunted.
"Here comes the judge!" Rocco celebrated.
Rocco and Knuckles busted out laughter.
"I'm saving my nut for later, Knucks," Rocco elucidated. "The more I work on this bitch, the harder I get. Guess I had a bad childhood, huh?"
Rocco and Knuckles busted out laughter.
Leonard, on the other hand, had no inclination at all to laugh. He just kept his eye glued to the Canon's eyepiece and tried to get lost in its whir. The victim's gagged whine rose machinelike behind her throat as Rocco slapped Craftsman visegrips onto her rosebud nipples and pulled . Her eyes seemed lidless now; her delicate areolae were yanked out to a surprising length, like off-pink taffy, and Knuckles then did the same with her clitoris. Her body bucked , her wet back slapping the benchtop. Now Rocco was twisting the VGs, making pink corkscrews of flesh. Knuckles, far less articulate, merely stretched the clitoris and hood out as far as he could and then— snip! —quickly clipped off the fleshy bulb with a pair of tin-snips. This brought a sound like a gush of gravel from her muffled throat, and also a summary release of the entire contents of her bladder and bowel.
Now the room was a virtual brew of unearthly aromas. Leonard quite imagined the deepest grottoes of hell smelling the same.
And certainly the scene , too, provided a similar image. I am the cameraman of hell, Leonard mused.
With a frozen-food knife, Rocco sawed off both of her pretty little ears, with no more concern than if he were cutting off the ends of a French bread. Knuckles ran the lit end of a blow torch up and down her shins, turning them black in no time. More mewling, more bucking, more convulsant slaps of her bare, wet back against the bench's top. Rocco's intramuscular injection of amphetamines into Ms. Weinstein's bloodstream did indeed keep her conscious through the job. Knuckles baked off her pubic hair and then cooked the raw meat of her genitalia until it resembled a forgotten hamburger patty left on the grill. Rocco cut a line across her forehead with a penknife and scalped her, yanking off the human wig with a suspicious expertise. The tin snips cut off her nose, and the frozen-food knife sawed off her breasts. Only now did her autonomic responses begin to simmer down to just feeble twitching.
"Knucks, gimme a shank."
Knuckles passed Rocco a knife—not the trademark German "Hoffried"-brand angel-blade that had divorced Leonard from a testicle, but a Gerber MkIII (nice shiv, by the way). "I'm hard as a fuckin' rock now," Rocco announced and slipped the blade from its sheath. "Gotta gut-fuck this bitch before she croaks."
The camera whirred and whirred and Leonard's mind swam and swam. Rocco planted the blade into her lower abdomen, then quickly crawled up and inserted his penis into the wound. He humped and humped, and without further delay—
" Ahhhh, yeah! I'm comin' in this bitch's stomach fierce, man! Fuckin'-A!"
Whether or not Ms. Weinstein was still alive at this moment scarcely mattered. The continued meager twitches of her body could've been involuntary muscle spasms of the peri-mortal state. Rocco finished dumping his semen into her abdomen, then
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