“You sure you’ve got us all in the picture?” Von asked, looking back at the camera uncertainly. He didn’t want them to miss a frame of this.
“No doubt about it, son.”
“Then hand me the screwdriver, Greg,” Von said.
Greg plucked one from an array of tools on the carpet and handed it to him.
“No . . . the one with the flat-head.” Von accepted it, squeamishly took hold of Bill’s whole member, and plunged the driver into Bill’s urethra. At this point they decided it’d be wise to tape his mouth shut. Another jab to his Adam’s apple silenced him long enough. His wrists were bleeding from the struggle to tear himself from the chair. There wasn’t much blood from the screwdriver insert, so Von asked for the ball peen hammer, which Greg graciously provided him. The testicles reacted more accordingly as the hammer dropped, one strike to each more than enough to mash them to the chair and subsequently burst them in a flash of skim milk white and deep red, a concoction that might have greatly interested the Cadbury egg candy makers. A healthy portion of it streaked up Von’s arm, causing Greg to get the giggles.
“Not a word,” Von snapped. “Remember who’s holding the hammer.”
Greg somehow stifled himself. “And for the coup de la creme . . .”
Von announced. “Greg . . . cheese grater.”
Scraping his knuckles on one several times had given Von this idea. Disappointed by the lack of cruor from the screwdriver, this seemed like a good supplement. Greg held the grip of the screwdriver to properly elongate Bill’s organ, which had actually engorged from the insertion, futile as that now was. Von applied the grater to Bill’s skin and began the scrubbing, like someone with OCD having to sponge dry a white Cadillac. He half-expected Bill’s screams to burst through the tape. He watched, fascinated, as he both saw and felt the skin and erectile tissue tear away. Perhaps most mesmerizing of all was the sound, wet and somehow reluctant. The head took the most effort, as the rim of course jutted beyond the shaft. Von had to really put his elbows into it. Blood and skewered fragments of dick were siphoning through the holes and collecting at the bottom of the grater. A spreading pool of it dripped off the chair, spattering the plastic they’d laid out underneath the chair.
“Shit!” Greg cried out. “Watch it! You cut my fingers!”
Von tapped Bill a few times on the crown of his head with the ball peen until the steady thocks became less pronounced, and soon sounded almost coital. Once penetrated, the skull allowed mushroom-like clumps of brain to spill onto Bill’s face and in his lap, where it mingled with the genital carnage. To the untrained eye, it would almost look like Bill somehow had a miscarriage.
As Von polished him off, Greg got ready for his love scene with Geisha. She’d turned away from Bill the instant they started trading screwdrivers, so she hadn’t seen what happened to him, but she’d heard enough to nearly rip up the bedposts. The knot work on the sheets had held up, though, fortunately for the world of cinema. They decided to keep her face-down on the bed, as that would be more convenient for Greg.
“Do you got any Jergen’s or something?” he asked. They’d let her dry off after the bathtub scene, and dry was the operative word here. “This could be pretty rough going.”
Von detached the camera from the tripod and went over to the bed. “Sorry. These are the sacrifices you have to make for art.”
Greg considered this sadly, but then smiled. “Nature will provide.” He pushed his left nostril shut with a finger, and exhaled through the right. A cupped palm was waiting to catch the stream of mucus, which he quickly lathered on his half-erect dick . . . it then sprang to full attention. Geisha, who’d heard the exchange and the snot rocket, began thrashing anew, but Greg was used to women trying to evade him in such a fashion. He eased inside in two seconds flat.
Von loosened her gag to get some screams on tape, because you couldn’t decipher from her grimaces if she was in agony or rapture. This was hardly the kind of film where ambivalence would be acceptable. He did his best to keep her choicest body parts in frame while trying to exclude Greg’s less savory appendages. When it came time for the surprise, he came around to the foot of the bed, always keeping her smooth, bronze body in the viewfinder. Greg had finished by then, grunting in a way Von found overly theatrical and then pulling away from her with a harsh sigh, as if he’d just set down a 400-pound barbell. Von began to question his very sanity as he immortalized every curve available to him in her prone position. He’d let Greg have dibs on Geisha Hammond? Just because of some grody-looking froth in the bathtub? He needed to be locked up where he could do no further harm to himself. Von held the camera in place until Greg could get his pants buckled and take it from him. Von retrieved the bolt cutters from the spread of tools in front of Bill Glasscock. This was a tricky shot, as they needed to make sure she couldn’t move her legs and destroy the angle.
When they saw she wasn’t going to cooperate, Greg filmed while Von regagged her and took a hacksaw to the backs of her legs. It pained him, these little sacrifices for art, but he decided that as long as she at least had her lips and thighs attached to the trunk of her body, he would get the utmost satisfaction from defiling her later. Greg eventually had to set up the tripod again and shove the saw from the left while Von pushed at the right. The jagged teeth found a rhythm and began grinding through the supple meat. The rich crimson sluiced from the incision deepening across her limbs in perfect symmetry. The bones were predictably resistant, but even they had to give way eventually with enough elbow grease. Von pulled the limbs away with a little effort, ripping through the last of the arteries, veins, and sinews. It was like the trick where the magician and his assistant sawed through the boxes and wheeled them apart, except there was only one box here and it had yet to make its own contribution to the menagerie. Blood jetted from the stumps unimpeded as Greg tossed the limbs aside for later. He quickly took a knife to one of her restraints, and then got on the bed and stood with a foot on either side of her. He got his hands underneath her arms, and lifted. It delighted him when he saw how the stumps blasted out the red stuff that much more aggressively when he nudged her sternum, setting her down face-up. He held her in place, dangling her off the edge of the bed so that Von would have easy access.
Von slid beneath Geisha’s torso on his back, as though working under a car. He carefully poised the bolt cutters as renegade blood squirted on his hands, arms, and chest, and quickly snipped off the right labium majora, then the left. They dropped on his face and stuck there like wet leaves.
Greg purposely stepped on her abdomen as he came down from the bed. The stumps shot supremely one last time. She didn’t struggle much now, even with one hand free. That lovely bronze skin had begun to look quite pallid. Von stuck the severed lips on his ear lobes for a minute. They clung precariously like a playing card to a forehead, then slipped onto his shoulders like flesh-colored petals. He scooped them up and hurled the labia at the wall over the head of the bed. One stuck; the other slid behind the headboard, leaving a glistening red trail. Von turned his bloody profile to the camera and waved. “Hi, Mom!”
IV.
Initially, Travis Wicklund had been rather apprehensive about his abduction, but the worm had most definitely turned. They wanted him to screw Lolita Ream? By God, where did he sign? If this was the sort of fate that awaited someone who took candy from strangers, more people would gladly be snatched off the streets. This was a life-long dream, minus the aching blow to the head and whole kidnapping scenario. He was so astonished by this turn of events that he didn’t speculate on what nefarious plans Von and Greg had for him afterwards . . . in Travis’s mind, there was no afterwards. No before, either. He could face an eternity of flipping burgers on the fryer with this kind of memory accessible to him. He was actually going to bang Lolita Ream, porn queen supreme, full of his ball sauce, and that was all that mattered to him.