Liars Into Lessons Part 8

by Rhys B. Crabtree about a year ago in fiction

Final Part

Liars Into Lessons Part 8

I've lost count of how long it's been since he couldn't fight back or run anymore. I'd torn the ligaments that allow his hips to operate properly pretty early on after he'd managed to toss me into the coffee table. After a chase through the kitchen, under the dining table, and back out into the living room trading punches and kicks as we went, he'd managed to split my lip from a well-timed punch and I'd repaid him by blinding one of his eyes.

But how he's laying next to John, legs spread grotesquely, bleeding from several cuts, stark naked and writhing as his body tries to make sense of the agony searing along its nerve endings.

The best part of all this, though? He enjoys it. I've honestly lost count how many times he's cum screaming from the pain. It's been one hell of an experience, I can say that much. It has been ages since I'd had prey that got off on receiving the pain I inflicted as much as I did on giving it.

But I've had my fun, more than I'd thought I would when I first showed up outside this disgusting apartment, but I really need to wrap this up. Much as I wish I had more time, I don't.

", no more."

I guffaw at his audacity. Like I'm going to listen to his pleas now? After hours spent ignoring them? Seriously.

"Aww, little one had enough?" I coo mockingly at him, sinking into a crouch near his shoulder. "Is it too much? Do you want me to stop?" I laugh and reach out to flick each of the binder clips on his nipples, making his back arch as he lets out a garbled moan that's more of a shriek of pain than it is of pleasure. Not that it matters anymore if he's enjoying himself. I'm enjoying myself and that's all that really matters. "Do you need to use your safeword?"

"Red. Red," he pleads and I toss my head back with a laugh that pulls from deep in my chest.

"Sorry, no can do on that." I grin at him, taking in the bruises that litter his neck from where I'd choked him and bitten him. Taking in the cuts across his torso, some deep enough to be worrisome but not immediately deadly. Each of his toes and fingers are broken, his hips dislocated with the tendons and ligaments shredded in the process. His elbows are overextended, shoulders popped just enough out of the socket to render them useless even if his elbows weren't fucked. His left eyelid is swollen shut but even if it weren't, the cut I'd made across it had blinded him permanently.

But the things that had crippled him were the binder clips on his nipples, the bruising to his groin I'd made with kicks and punches, and the humiliation and degradation I'd put him through. It was the psychological torture and the physical pain inflicted on key erogenous zones that had made him break. Sure he had held out for a good while, but he did break, just like I had known he would.

After all, I had yet to meet someone I couldn't break.

"Y'know, I think I may just leave you like this," I muse absently. "Let the authorities come and find you soaking in your own juices, all slick and pleasure-flushed. They'll see Aaron and Sarah's bodies upstairs, see John's here next to you. And clearly those three weren't enjoying themselves when they died. But you?"

I grab both clips and pull them off, cackling when his scream pitches out of the vocal range as the clips take his nipples with them. I let out a shuddering moan at the sound, watching the way his right eye rolls as a tremor wracks his body from head to toe.

"No matter what I do to you, you just keep cumming and cumming. Gods, look at you." I carelessly toss the clips aside. "You came just from that, didn't you? I literally ripped your nipples off and your whorish ass came." I chuckle breathlessly as my body thrums with enjoyment, that itch having long since quieted.

"If only good ol' Jack had gotten this gig. You would have been his favorite plaything yet. Definitely a far sight better than those street whores he worked on."

"R-red...please...gods," his voice is hoarse, body writhing. "Stop. No more...just ki-kill me."

"Oh, you sure?" I ask, standing and walking around him, coming to a stop by his head. His eye roves around to follow me as I move, settling on me as he licks the blood from his lips and swallows compulsively.

"Yes. Please. You win, yo-you were right. Red." He tilts his head back, baring his throat to me with a look of dejected acceptance. "Please. Just kill me."

For several moments I ponder whether to grant his request. To express lane him through the Veil. But then I remember the lies he's spread about me, that he'd spoken to my face. And any sympathy that could have existed for him is gone.

I stomp down on his exposed throat, delighting in the feel of the tiny bones of his larynx breaking, of hearing him choke, of watching his body flail with aborted movements as it tries to get him to run.

This won't kill him, not by a long shot. He's still able to breathe, it'll just take his body a moment to realize that. Sure he'll die eventually from his various injuries, especially the internal bleeding, but it'll take several hours at the very least. And that is perfectly fine with me. I don't need to watch him die, knowing it'll happen is enough.

"You can't talk and only think you can't breathe but you're fine, relative speaking of course," I giggle and waggle my eyebrows at him. "Don't worry though, you will die. But it'll be slow and unpleasant while Johnny boy here," I kick the fucker's corpse for added emphasis, "rots and starts to stink. By the time anyone thinks to check on the smell, you'll definitely be dead."

I crouch down and pat his cheek before standing up and making for the door.

"See you on the other side of the Veil, Asher."

He makes a garbling noise of distress but I ignore him, give a two finger salute, and slip out the front door.

I stop under a street light and turn to face the apartment one last time, smiling as the itch under my skin becomes a happy thrum, one I'll treasure until the next time I have to do this.

It won't be long, it never is.

Because I'm a monster that attracts liars that need to be turned into distinct, and bloody, lessons.

How does it work?
Read next: Run Necromancer
Rhys B. Crabtree

Originally from the Mississippi Gulf Coast (USA), I now live in the Lowcountry of South Carolina (USA) with my husband and three cats. I am currently working on my larger series which can be found at

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