"You guys can see, too, right?" he asked without so much as a glance behind him. Nothing was heard beyond the droning of the nagging wife of his favorite sitcom. "Whatever. I'm not moving, then." He said, matter-of-factly.
Almost immediately, as if to contradict himself, he felt a slight pinch in his old and worn boxer shorts. In one quick movement, he tried to shift himself on the bag to settle his lower affairs. Unfortunately, the sudden jerk caused the material of his boxers to split loudly. Edmund felt the smoothness of the bean bag on his left hip; the seam had torn significantly. "Shit!", he exclaimed. "Hey, Tiff, can you fix this?" He glanced back at the couch where the silhouette of a young woman could barely be made out in the darkness of Edmund's shadow. He always sat too close to the television. "C'mon! This is my favorite pair!" His face contorted into a grimace of impatience. A few moments passed, the credits had begun to roll on his show. "Yes! Thank you! I knew I could count on you!" Edmund leaned back and pulled his shorts off then threw them back at the figure on the couch. Still no movement.
Now naked and carefree, Edmund rolled around on the bean bag. His television set bathed him in a dull blue swath of moving images. Shadows danced across the walls, accentuated with every movement he made. He looked back and felt like a giant in the room. He covered everything. He controlled everything. The windows were painted black to further his indulgence.
Finally nestled back into his throne, he reached out to his side for the small Ferrero-Rochier box he had pulled from the freezer recently. After a few moments of tapping around the carpeted floor, he was able to claim his prize. "Ahh, there we go. Chocolate, anyone?" His voice echoed over the television. No response. "Fine, more for me."
Edmund held the bottom of the box as he opened his confectionery treasure chest. It was still cold with a noticeable film of condensation. He wiped his hand on the bottom side of the bean bag and set the box in his nude lap. Opening the box released into the room a pungent bouquet he so adored. The dark lumps within provided him the light arousal he had been waiting for. "Last chance, are you guys sure you don't want any?" This time turning more than glancing, he was able to see more of the furniture behind him in the living room of his tiny house. The couch with the motionless woman. A high chair with another figure drenched in the shadows of Edmund's body. He could see a tuft of blonde hair flowing off the arm of the chair. A feminine hand with long nails and a ring that gleamed in the brightness of the commercial that had just begun to play in the background.
Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the television and the open box of treats. He reached into the box, his fingers mushing into his snack, and pulled out one medium sized lump. Greedily, he bit into his flavorful prize, noting this must have been one with nuts and a hint of something else. The smacking of his lips almost beat the television in volume.
"Marcy, these are the best chocolates ever! What all do you put in them?
Nothing.
"Oh well, I'll just have Emily make me her batch later. It's fine, I understand. Family secrets, right?" By this point, his mouth was half full. His chewing slowed proportionately. A new show had just begun. A cartoon he found himself watching on occasion about a boy and his talking dog. His arousal still hadn't ceased.
Moments into the show, he heard a creaking behind him. A sharp turn revealed nothing but the shadows he had known before. Must be my imagination, he thought to himself. None of his friends were there that he hadn't invited. A few seconds later, he heard the creaking.from behind him again. This time, it was accompanied by a light thump. At this point, he had realized it was coming from the kitchen area. Growing annoyed, he decided to get up this time. He hated missing his favorite programs and this one had begun to grow on him.
Laying his box to the side, Edmund took a few steps to disappear around the corner and into the kitchen. The glow of the television set was now upon the entirety of the room. Behind him, the silent figures became more clear and visible. The body in the chair was that of a young blonde woman. She was bound to the seat via duct tape and gagged with the same. Her long hair flowed down towards her midriff, which was visibly splayed open. A bucket to catch the gore sat below the chair--filth and viscera clung to the rim. The blood on her clothes had long since dried up. The body on the couch lay naked and unbound, facing the television. Another female body, this time with long dark hair just brushing the floor from the spot where she lie.
"Well, speak of the Devil!" As Edmund flicked on the kitchen light, he was greeted with the sight of the naked, emaciated body of a young woman. Her hair was dirty and disheveled. She barely had the strength to crawl along the floor, supporting herself with a single butcher's knife she had pulled down from a counter by the other entrance to the kitchen. "You're supposed to be in bed. You had a bad accident. Don't you remember?"
Behind the woman was a trail of dirt and blood. Her feet gaped open at the soles. Her "accident" was Edmund using razor blades to slice them while she was still under the effects of the tranquilizer. With what little to no blood or strength left, all she could feel was the cold linoleum floor beneath her and the open, burning gashes pulling behind her. As she made her way to the edge of the kitchen, she weakly lifted her head to see Edmund grinning down at her, still chewing some of his treat.
Mustering up every last ounce of strength she had in her body, Emily began to crawl across the floor with a new found perseverance. Her muscles were weak and wobbly, but nevertheless, she increased her pace on the floor. Tears of rage began to stream down her face; mascara trails washing further down and across her cheeks. All the pain she had missed while unconscious began to catch up to her in that moment. All the fear and hate that had condensed inside of her gut now fueled her one and only chance for escape. Bearing down on Edmund, still standing in the doorway, Emily closed in and reared the knife overhead. Her back muscles tightened and burned. Clenching her teeth, she stabbed down at Edmund's leg as hard as she could. It was all or nothing. She hoped to hit a vein and be done with it. She hoped to maim him and put him out of her misery.
All of her hopes were dashed as she heard the thuck of the blade piercing kitchen floor. Edmund's leg had shot up just in time to dodge the blow. Her eyes widened in horror. Her head instinctively began to turn in the direction of his foot, which was already coming back down. With a loud grunt, he stomped as hard as he could. Emily's face smashed back into the cold linoleum floor. Vessels ruptured and bones cracked--Emily was knocked almost immediately unconscious from the blow. She laid still on the floor, a pool of blood began to form from her mouth and nose. Her face immediately began to swell. Her cheek was broken. Through blood and mucus, she gurgled and moaned.
Edmund took a few steps back. Peeking out of the kitchen, he could see his show was going to a commercial. "I'm missing my show." His face grew stern. He really hated being distracted.
Turning back to the kitchen, Emily was just beginning to squirm on the ground. No longer grasping for the knife now stuck in the floor, she struggled to pick herself up from the still-growing crimson pool. Her head throbbed and she was woozier than before. To contrast her swollen face, her body had become completely stark pale. She couldn't feel her legs anymore. Edmund surmised he didn't have much time until he needed to be back on his throne. "Look, it's been fun, but I'm going to need more snacks soon."
He took a deep breath and picked his foot up above her still spinning head.
Almost immediately, as if to contradict himself, he felt a slight pinch in his old and worn boxer shorts. In one quick movement, he tried to shift himself on the bag to settle his lower affairs. Unfortunately, the sudden jerk caused the material of his boxers to split loudly. Edmund felt the smoothness of the bean bag on his left hip; the seam had torn significantly. "Shit!", he exclaimed. "Hey, Tiff, can you fix this?" He glanced back at the couch where the silhouette of a young woman could barely be made out in the darkness of Edmund's shadow. He always sat too close to the television. "C'mon! This is my favorite pair!" His face contorted into a grimace of impatience. A few moments passed, the credits had begun to roll on his show. "Yes! Thank you! I knew I could count on you!" Edmund leaned back and pulled his shorts off then threw them back at the figure on the couch. Still no movement.
Now naked and carefree, Edmund rolled around on the bean bag. His television set bathed him in a dull blue swath of moving images. Shadows danced across the walls, accentuated with every movement he made. He looked back and felt like a giant in the room. He covered everything. He controlled everything. The windows were painted black to further his indulgence.
Finally nestled back into his throne, he reached out to his side for the small Ferrero-Rochier box he had pulled from the freezer recently. After a few moments of tapping around the carpeted floor, he was able to claim his prize. "Ahh, there we go. Chocolate, anyone?" His voice echoed over the television. No response. "Fine, more for me."
Edmund held the bottom of the box as he opened his confectionery treasure chest. It was still cold with a noticeable film of condensation. He wiped his hand on the bottom side of the bean bag and set the box in his nude lap. Opening the box released into the room a pungent bouquet he so adored. The dark lumps within provided him the light arousal he had been waiting for. "Last chance, are you guys sure you don't want any?" This time turning more than glancing, he was able to see more of the furniture behind him in the living room of his tiny house. The couch with the motionless woman. A high chair with another figure drenched in the shadows of Edmund's body. He could see a tuft of blonde hair flowing off the arm of the chair. A feminine hand with long nails and a ring that gleamed in the brightness of the commercial that had just begun to play in the background.
Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the television and the open box of treats. He reached into the box, his fingers mushing into his snack, and pulled out one medium sized lump. Greedily, he bit into his flavorful prize, noting this must have been one with nuts and a hint of something else. The smacking of his lips almost beat the television in volume.
"Marcy, these are the best chocolates ever! What all do you put in them?
Nothing.
"Oh well, I'll just have Emily make me her batch later. It's fine, I understand. Family secrets, right?" By this point, his mouth was half full. His chewing slowed proportionately. A new show had just begun. A cartoon he found himself watching on occasion about a boy and his talking dog. His arousal still hadn't ceased.
Moments into the show, he heard a creaking behind him. A sharp turn revealed nothing but the shadows he had known before. Must be my imagination, he thought to himself. None of his friends were there that he hadn't invited. A few seconds later, he heard the creaking.from behind him again. This time, it was accompanied by a light thump. At this point, he had realized it was coming from the kitchen area. Growing annoyed, he decided to get up this time. He hated missing his favorite programs and this one had begun to grow on him.
Laying his box to the side, Edmund took a few steps to disappear around the corner and into the kitchen. The glow of the television set was now upon the entirety of the room. Behind him, the silent figures became more clear and visible. The body in the chair was that of a young blonde woman. She was bound to the seat via duct tape and gagged with the same. Her long hair flowed down towards her midriff, which was visibly splayed open. A bucket to catch the gore sat below the chair--filth and viscera clung to the rim. The blood on her clothes had long since dried up. The body on the couch lay naked and unbound, facing the television. Another female body, this time with long dark hair just brushing the floor from the spot where she lie.
"Well, speak of the Devil!" As Edmund flicked on the kitchen light, he was greeted with the sight of the naked, emaciated body of a young woman. Her hair was dirty and disheveled. She barely had the strength to crawl along the floor, supporting herself with a single butcher's knife she had pulled down from a counter by the other entrance to the kitchen. "You're supposed to be in bed. You had a bad accident. Don't you remember?"
Behind the woman was a trail of dirt and blood. Her feet gaped open at the soles. Her "accident" was Edmund using razor blades to slice them while she was still under the effects of the tranquilizer. With what little to no blood or strength left, all she could feel was the cold linoleum floor beneath her and the open, burning gashes pulling behind her. As she made her way to the edge of the kitchen, she weakly lifted her head to see Edmund grinning down at her, still chewing some of his treat.
Mustering up every last ounce of strength she had in her body, Emily began to crawl across the floor with a new found perseverance. Her muscles were weak and wobbly, but nevertheless, she increased her pace on the floor. Tears of rage began to stream down her face; mascara trails washing further down and across her cheeks. All the pain she had missed while unconscious began to catch up to her in that moment. All the fear and hate that had condensed inside of her gut now fueled her one and only chance for escape. Bearing down on Edmund, still standing in the doorway, Emily closed in and reared the knife overhead. Her back muscles tightened and burned. Clenching her teeth, she stabbed down at Edmund's leg as hard as she could. It was all or nothing. She hoped to hit a vein and be done with it. She hoped to maim him and put him out of her misery.
All of her hopes were dashed as she heard the thuck of the blade piercing kitchen floor. Edmund's leg had shot up just in time to dodge the blow. Her eyes widened in horror. Her head instinctively began to turn in the direction of his foot, which was already coming back down. With a loud grunt, he stomped as hard as he could. Emily's face smashed back into the cold linoleum floor. Vessels ruptured and bones cracked--Emily was knocked almost immediately unconscious from the blow. She laid still on the floor, a pool of blood began to form from her mouth and nose. Her face immediately began to swell. Her cheek was broken. Through blood and mucus, she gurgled and moaned.
Edmund took a few steps back. Peeking out of the kitchen, he could see his show was going to a commercial. "I'm missing my show." His face grew stern. He really hated being distracted.
Turning back to the kitchen, Emily was just beginning to squirm on the ground. No longer grasping for the knife now stuck in the floor, she struggled to pick herself up from the still-growing crimson pool. Her head throbbed and she was woozier than before. To contrast her swollen face, her body had become completely stark pale. She couldn't feel her legs anymore. Edmund surmised he didn't have much time until he needed to be back on his throne. "Look, it's been fun, but I'm going to need more snacks soon."
He took a deep breath and picked his foot up above her still spinning head.
...
Edmund made it back to his bean bag chair just as his cartoon came back on. The boy and his dog had already begun with their crazy antics. He grinned widely. He bathed again in the blue glow of the moving picture box he adored so much. As he got comfortable, he leaned back and wriggled his toes. They were still slick and sticky with blood and brain matter. Bits of skull and hair clung to his ankles. The mess he left in the kitchen still lay drying on the floor. He hadn't the time to deal with it yet. At least not until he'd finished his chocolates.
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