Two weeks to study his patterns.
One night to make him pay.
Taser to the neck. Forty-five seconds of convulsions. Zip-tied his wrists and ankles while he was still twitching. Duct tape over his mouth. Threw him in my trunk.
Then I drove him to my barn.
He woke up on the kill floor. Concrete. Drain. Plastic sheeting.
I let him see the tools first. Let his imagination do half the work.
Then I told him exactly why he was there.
I started with his hands. The ones that kept touching her after she safeworded.
Bolt cutters. Finger by finger. Left hand first.
He screamed so loud I thought the soundproofing might fail.
It didn't.
When all ten fingers were gone, I cauterized the stumps with a propane torch so he wouldn't bleed out too quickly.
Then I moved to what he'd used to violate her trust.
His cock.
I didn't cut it off—too quick, too merciful.
I'm hard again just remembering his screams.
The way he sobbed. The way he looked at me with those pleading eyes like I was the monster.
No.
Hewas the monster.
I am the scales of Justice
When he finally passed out from shock, I slit his throat and watched him bleed into the drain.
Dismembered the body. Burned the pieces in the wood furnace over three days.
Scattered the ashes in the national forest.
Derek doesn't exist anymore.
I return to the bed. Sit. Pick up the laptop.
The keystroke feed updates.
Question 5: What role does fear play in your arousal? Be specific.
I resume stroking. Slow pulls.
She types for three minutes straight.
Fear is central. Not terror—anticipatory fear. The fear of being pushed past her limits by someone who knows her capacity better than she does. Fear of being known. Fear of surrendering and loving it. Fear that wanting this makes her broken.
