Bob turned off the gas and yanked Laura from the hob, scalding water splashing to the floor. His fist impacted her belly once more before he dragged her back to the table, binding her arms to the table legs.
Her right breast was swollen to almost twice its normal size, the skin a livid red, blistered and peeling. Despite being bigger than its twin, the fleshy mound lay limp on Laura’s chest like a wet sack – the breast’s innards liquefied by the heat of the boiling water.
She cried out as Bob lifted her tender breast in his hand, a tea-towel protecting his palm from the heat, and tied a piece of string around it, squeezing the mound into an egg shape, the skin now a dark and angry purple. Yellow rivulets of pus dripped from the scalded nipple as her captor tightened the string further and knotted it.
“Are you hungry, slut? There’s too much just for me.”
Laura stared, wide-eyed, at her abductor.
Was he going to eat her breast?
Was he offering to share with her…to make her eat her own tit-flesh?
Her mind couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. It was just too sick…too unbelievable…
He was fucking with her, surely.
Wasn’t he?
But somewhere, deep down, she knew he wasn’t. He’d done fucking. She’d delivered herself into the hands of a twisted sicko. The kind of perverted monster she thought only existed in horror movies.
She was suddenly aware that Bob now had a knife in his hands.
A carving knife.
The sort of knife that was designed to serve up a Sunday lunch to happy, smiling families, sat around the dinner table, awaiting succulent slices of roast beef to complement their Yorkshire puddings and gravy. But this knife was destined for a meal of a different kind and the wicked glint from the steel blade flashed with its eagerness to fulfil its master’s perverted desires.
Bob dabbed his fingertips against her nipple - temperature testing. The flesh had clearly cooled enough to touch as he discarded the filthy tea-towel and grabbed her with his unprotected skin. Pulling the nipple upwards, he pushed the edge of the carving knife against the rim of her areola and began to slowly slice through her flesh, as if cutting the top off a boiled egg.
Laura screamed at the sight of her nipple as it came away, Bob holding the morsel in front of her, taunting her for a few seconds before slipping it between his wet lips and swallowing loudly.
“Mmm…delicious,” he exclaimed, sucking his greasy, fat fingers for maximum effect. “Let’s try a toasted-soldier…”
He picked up a strip of the buttered toast and dipped it in and out of the exposed hole in the top of her breast. A wave of yellowish liquid – hot, melted fat - spilt over the ragged, bleeding rim, some clinging to the toasted-soldier like runny egg yolk.
Laura squirmed, physically and mentally, retching bile into her throat, as she watched him fold the toasted bread into his mouth and eat it. He took a second soldier, repeating the process, wiping around the edges of her wound, mopping up a little of the blood that flowed like lava down the sides of her breast.
“You want some, slut?”
He dipped another piece of toast into the liquid before pushing it towards her mouth. Laura sucked her lips tight and turned her face away from him. Bob clamped a hand around her injured tit and squeezed, a flood of ‘yolk’ and blood surging from the wound. As she screamed, he jammed the toasted-soldier into her mouth, forcing it in with his chubby fingers.
“Swallow it, bitch!”
He squeezed her tit a little more, giving her another reminder of the pain she would suffer if she spat the morsel out.
Laura closed her eyes and swallowed. Hot vomit rose in her gullet, meeting the food halfway. She swallowed harder, sending both down to her churning stomach.
“Good girl…wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Bob fumbled in a drawer and, pulling out a spoon, inserted the implement into the hole in her breast, scraping around inside before offering the spoonful to her. He lifted her head a little, gently probing her closed mouth with the metal tip of the utensil.
“Come on, slut. Open wide for Daddy…”
Laura clamped her lips tighter, shaking her head from side to side forcing Bob to crush her mangled breast in his hand once more, ramming the spoon into the resultant scream. Gagging and choking, she swallowed her own liquefied flesh, and her mind was suddenly back home…in a high-chair; her mother smiling as she fed her little girl…
“Open wide, darling…here comes the aeroplane…” The infant Laura swallowed the food.
“There’s Mummy’s good girl. There’s a good Laura-Loo-Loo.”
Laura-Loo-Loo…
Fresh tears flooded over her cheeks as she realised she would never see her mother again. That the woman herself would very soon have her own heartbreak and anguish to endure…
I love you, Mummy!
Your little Laura-Loo-Loo loves you!
She repeated herself over and over in her head, tuning out her torment as Bob spooned the last scrapings of her hollowed-out breast into her mouth before jamming the spoon deep down into her throat.
Laura-Loo-Loo loves you…
The blue teardrop fell from Roger’s fingers as the contact with the past was terminated, his hands flying up to his throat, the choking, metallic tang of a spoon still stuck in his windpipe. Airless, gasping seconds passed before his brain caught up with reality, the taste in his throat, along with a burning agony in his chest, diminishing.
Laura’s mother still lay on the bed, her red eyes gazing up at him from the grief-soaked pillow.
Tears poured from Roger’s eyes.
What could he tell her
