Journals of a Psychopath



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The Timber Figures and the Darkest-One

Yowling, Smithson cut her breasts from her body. I ripped her belly, tore her Womb, Ovaries and Fallopian tubes from her.
Smithson hurled her on the fire and the Forest Warriors were charmed. Bathing our flawless bodies in the river, mine was unblemished, except for scars inflicted in the atonement, and the ragged marks from the vulture. Smithson danced on the riverbed.
      “Father we have done well.”
      “You are my son and the legacy of the power is you reign with me.”
The wind whipped around and forced the flecks of snow into mounds.

The Haven

The flap of the black-angel wings could be heard and their breath wafted over our faces.
      “We must attain much more,” I said.
Her frightened spherical-disks penetrated our mind and the blood that seeped into our garb.
Touching our apparel, placing the robes onto hangers, we sniffed the red-fluid, the raiment rotated at our touch. I was carrying Bailey’s ear and something else, a charred piece of flesh. Squealing in lack of restraint, Smithson observed the sword, as it carved the scrap of wizened tissue, the section halved, and we ate it. Smithson danced, his robe accentuated his powerfully constructed form, I was glad Lady Flarice could not witness his magnificently clothed body. I was satisfied with Smithson, but jealousy pertaining to his beautiful form lurked in the back of my mind.

The Gas Station

Rhea stumbled in she was ready to fall and Harry steadied her. Pursuing me into the yard, Rheanna produced a flask of bourbon.
      “Do you want some?”
Rhea’s throat was fat, craggy and spongy.
      “I do not want any from you.”
      “I love liquor,” she said.
Rhea’s makeup was streaked.
      “You should take the alcohol,” Rheanna said.
      “You are drunk.”
Rheanna was filled with heartache and she gripped me hard.
      “You bedded Jessie and Elaina.”
“Sure I am seeing them and you are bombed most of the time who could blame me?”
Riding to her home, I settled Rheanna in the breakfast room, and I clambered up the stairs. I listened outside Jessie's bedroom door. She slunk out and she was shocked to see me.
      “Why are you here?”
      “I brought Rheanna back and I want to bed you.”
Jessie scanned me and she fondled me ardently, I stroked her massive bosom. Rolling on the floor, she opened her legs to receive my male-weapon I nailed her.

The Isolation Chamber

Refurbishing the segregation cell the Lady Flarice would soon be incarcerated. Ordering a four-poster bed accompanied by an old-fashioned mattress with springs, Lady Flarice needed a washroom. I fitted a shower room, so she could bathe her honeyed-place. I constructed a wash-zone for her to rinse her delicate robes, and hang them from the rails. Assembling some closets for her gowns and the delectable flimsy undergarments, I was pleased. Finishing the toil, I lolled back and surveyed the pure white silk it was pre-dominate. The sheets matched the duvet cover I had sewn.
      “Lady Flarice will balk at the stay,” I said.
Smithson was shocked when I told him to darn some silver stars onto my organ.
       “Father I cannot your male flesh must not be marked.”
      “You must do what I order.”
Slicing into my male flesh and it was rock hard, the concept of the torment produced sexual arousal, Smithson’s hands vibrated with anxiety, and I winced. He suspended the needle in midair he was reluctant to continue the deed.
Smithson's eyes delved into mine.
      “I am upset relevant to the agony I am inflicting.”
Maintaining the orders, he pushed the end of the chain into the wound, Smithson sewed the skin together I was impressed. Twinkling, the silver stars rotated and dangled from the strong chain, Smithson frowned my male-weapon throbbed with pain.
      “Drink some more bourbon,” he said.
Fashioning more robes and they were marvelous, the pure white silk insubstantial, the fabric akin to gorse. Fragile pure white silk-lace finely woven intended to envelope her honeyed-part prompted me to come. Smithson danced and he twirled to me.
      “Father soon our aspirations will come to fruition.”
      “Yes son the projection will bear the things planned.”

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