In the light of the house, with me situated over top of him, he's really got a tiny penis. Like, micropenis, even.
"You're not excited for me to fuck you this time?" I pout. "Come on, Krowe. Don't you want me?"
"I can't get hard when you're holding a knife down there!" He yells, groaning when he tugs too much, and fresh blood pours from his hand. "Please!"
"I mean, I don'tneedyou hard," I shrug, turning to Spade. "I'll take the shears."
"Shears?!"
Krowe screams, trying to buck his hips and get free of me. But he will never be free of me. I will haunt his death, wherever he ends up. Because in his death, he won't be whole. He will be missing pieces of him... parts. His favorite ones, at that.
Spade hands me the shears with a wicked grin curving his lips, and Jackson panics as realization sets in. From the corner of my eye, I'm vaguely aware of him trying to escape, wriggling, squirming, and even trying to bite Spade, as if that will do anything.
"No! No, no, no!" Krowe's eyes are wide and wild, sweat dripping down his body and fear palpable in his every fucking breath. It will stay that way, until I decide when he takes his last one.
"It's so small..." I muse. "It shouldn't be more than a few bites. You’ve got a big mouth, after all."
"Gianna! No!"
He freezes when I grip his pathetic little dick in one hand and pull it taut, lining the blades of the scissors up at the base of it.
His eyes catch mine, and the horror there is so fucking beautiful.
"Please," he whispers, like he's afraid speaking too loudly will cause my hand to slip.
"Snip, snip." I say, half a second before I do it.
Cutting it off is unbelievably easy. I expect to have to fight to get the blades to close around his skin, but I guess my ghostly strength makes that a non-event. I simply close my fingerstogether, and the blades slice, chopping off his penis in one single, clean movement.
Blood pours down my fingers, making them slick and slippery, so I drop the shears to pick up the disembodied organ.
In my hands, it looks like such a pathetic thing. Small and limp, bloodless, pale... and yet, attached to a man, it's a most vicious weapon.
"You told me I was safe with you." I tell him, catching his eye again as he trembles, his entire body shaking with the pain he can't control. "You told me not to worry. You obviously lied." I laugh. "Time to eat Krowe."
To his credit, he realizes exactly what I mean before I even get his penis to his mouth, and he clamps his lips shut, refusing.
But he didn't letmerefuse, and I'm offering no mercy. I simply have to outplay him.
It's easy. All it takes is a little stab to the pathetic stump of his detached penis, and he opens his mouth to scream bloody murder.
I move fast, shoving it into his mouth and clamping my hand over so he can't try to spit it out.
I watch him wretch and writhe, tears pouring down his face as he trembles, sobs, gags.
"Shh." I soothe. "It's fine. Just relax."
He doesn't relax. He continues to try and fight me, continues to fail, continues to smother as I put my other hand over his nose, taking away his air, forcing him to try and gulp some down around the tiny gaps in my fingers and the cock in his throat. It's unintentionally poetic, watching him choke on his own dick... which is exactly what he does.
The more he fights me, the more he wails, the more he tries to escape, the deeper his own shriveled penis slips down his throat, barring his ability to breathe, blocking his airways, preventing his lungs from filling.
"Shh." I coo again, watching as his panic crests, his face scarlet just before it turns blue. "Just let go."
He doesn't have much choice, and so eventually, he does.
I let go of his nose first, waiting to see if he tries to take a breath.
When he doesn't, I move my hand from his mouth, which falls open to showcase the obstruction that took his breath away, blood dripping from his lips.
