Once more when I had brought her almost to the top of the ladder, I stopped. But now I went into another kind of action. Even while she begged that I not halt, I was busily pulling – yanking, and damned hard! – that long line of scarves out of her bunghole. They seared her with the velocity with which I pulled them out, and soon she was coming insanely, screeching from the pain of those scarves tearing out her very asshole in their release. And she was rocketing to the moon, crying and screeching from the agony of her sudden violation, the ecstasy of her anguish.
It was beautiful. It was a little thing, a side touch, but it was beautiful. And before she could recover, I got out an electric cock I also had brought with me in my jacket. I inserted it to her asshole, turned up its controls to the fastest speed imaginable, plugged its cord to the wall socket and set it in motion. Then I took those same scarves and bound her hands and legs, stuffed enough into her mouth to gag her, and then did the final thing of all; I poured mustard and relish, also brought for the purpose, over her tits and belly, inserted a hot-dog to her twat, and took bawling Randy from his crib and turned him loose on his mama.
It was a lovely sight. She couldn't speak, couldn't stop fucking from that crazy electric cock up her asshole, couldn't stop her son from licking her tits and belly and finally trying to eat the hot-dog out of her cunt. All she could do was watch everything in terror, and cry, cry, cry. Poor fucking stupid idiotic bitch. She deserved everything she got.
But it was too much for me, and that's why I'm here. Don't ask me why. Maybe there's a time when we can't go on any further. Maybe there's a time when we suddenly come face-to-face with ourselves, see everything we've done, and wonder why we did a thing. I don't know. That's your job to figure out; not mine. I only know that, once I had left Janice and her little boy in that scene, something in me suddenly snapped, suddenly went out of me; and I found myself crying in the middle of the street, bawling at the traffic signals as I drove my car away in some new search for value that I suddenly realized more than ever that I never would find.
It's been six months now since all that happened, and nothing since then has really mattered. I've traveled the land, crossing and criss-crossing a nation. But there's no happiness. Do you realize that? There's no happiness. I just can't find happiness. And that's why I'm here, that's why I've told you everything. Maybe by revealing my sordid soul, I'll gain some kind of grace and salvation. I don't know. I've been thinking about religion; but I'm not much of a religious man. Yet somehow I know something's missing. I don't know what's missing, but something's missing. And all I can do now is ask for help. That's all I can do; just ask for help.
Can you help me?