I’ve got a little hiding spot you wouldn’t ever want to visit. It’s my favorite place in the world . . . The smell of rotting corpses snakes through the air . . . decrepit gravestones crumble, and the sound of brittle bones breaking underfoot emanates from all across the sultry, spoiled air . . . It’s enough to make a grown man cry–especially after dark. This is where I conduct my best business: the ruins of the old stone mausoleum at the South Wayside Cemetery. The dilapidated concrete structure is furnished with broken glass, cobwebs, and the worst thing of all . . . me. In the little nook near the corner, my favorite toys are waiting.
Sometimes I do it because I’m dead inside. Sometimes I do it because I need to feel something . . . instead of nothing at all. Mostly, I just do it because it gives me a nice little thrill. Hurting people always makes me laugh. I guess it started out the time some motherfucker stole my drugs and I needed to interrogate his friends. Safe to say, I’ve adopted it as a new hobby of sorts. I love to fuck up a nice, unmarred human body.
There was this one bitch whose ass I seared with a heated frying pan. I’d left it on the stove to get the metal nice and scalding, then I slapped that ass to watch her porcelain skin scorch and burn. Her legs were tied doggie style to posts in my lair, and I occasionally dipped down to smack that pussy. She passed out three times and shrieked like a banshee. I just revived her and started over again . . .
Alice
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