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Again, in theory, hecouldtry to get up. But his feet wouldn’t work properly, and he’d fall. And since his arms are of no help, he’d most likely just flop around until he hung himself.
It’s happened before.
I clap my hands together. “Alrighty then.”
I stride across the room, to the tool chest, and open the second drawer down.
I want to make this quick. But not too quick.
My fingers hover over the selection, and I grin when I see the Bowie knife.
That’ll do.
I spin the blade on my palm as I turn. It’s a pointless skill I learned in my twenties, when I first got my hands dirty. It’s showy and foolish, but effective.
Case in point, Pony starts trying to shout.
“I’m not going to cut your eyes out, so you can just chill,” I keep my tone conversational.
I let the knife twirl once more as I come to a stop before him.
“But…you do need to be punished. And I can only think of one appropriate course of action.” I grip the knife so it’s pointed up. “Just know that this is gonna be unpleasant for me too.” I let the knife twist, so it’s pointed down, as I thrust my arm downward.
Pony leans away from me, giving me the perfect path.
The tip of my razor-sharp knife cuts through the front of his pants, and through the base of his still half-hard cock, until it meets the resistance of the chair below him.
It’s not the sound, it all went too quickly for there to be much of a squelching sound. It’s that little bit of friction. The way the blade sliced so easily through his dick with only a small amount of resistance.
I quickly release my grip on the knife, leaving it where it is.
Pony screams for real this time. High pitched and agonized.
While I press a fist to my chest, fighting down a gag.
“I know, man.” My shoulders shake in a shiver. “Like I said, unpleasant. But, live a shitty life, die a shitty death.”
Pony is choking on his own inhales. And I’m sure the snot running from his nose has something to do with that. But it’s the blood pooling in his lap that makes me fight off another round of gags.
Usually, we leave the dick and balls alone, but this fucker had it coming.
I take a few steps away, to where the chain is secured to the floor. I grab the length, then kick the bottom free from the hook, tightening my hold so the chain doesn’t roll back through the pulleys. Because loosening the chain around Pony’s neck is the opposite of what I’m about to do.
“You still with me?” I give the chain a little jerk and it jostles his neck. Pony groans and looks up at me through tear-streaked eyes. My fingers tighten on the chain, and my tone darkens. “How many women have cried because of you?” I pull down on the chain, increasing the tension, and pulling up on Pony’s neck. “How many of them did you show mercy to?” I pull harder. His neck stretching further. “My guess is zero.”
I put more weight into it.
Pony’s wailing, but he stays seated, not rising to his wobbly feet like I’d envisioned.
“The fuck?” I mutter. “Can’t you even die like a fucking man?”
I’ve got probably a hundred pounds on Pony, so he should be in the goddamn air by now.
I yank harder on the chain, throwing my weight into it.
And I see the issue, the second before it resolves itself.
The tip of the blade was buried further into the chair than I’d realized, pinning his body to the seat, by his dick. And as the chain finally pulls him up, the knife stays stuck, slicing his pants open as he rises, and slicing off the shriveled end of his appendage. Which falls out of the hole in his pants…and onto the floor.