Dear Friend,
When you spoke the other week about wanting to be abducted and mistreated by that creepy, strung-out-on-meth old man in your neighborhood with the bad jailhouse tattoos and extremely poor dental hygiene, just what exactly was the bad treatment you had in mind?
He’s definitely not normal. He might be inbred, I don’t know. I don’t like the looks of him at all. You told me that this wiry old degenerate sets your pheromones buzzing like a nest full of yellowjackets run over by a lawnmower. He’s not really as old as he looks, you know. He’s probably closer to our age, but he’s done some hard living. Almost certainly done some time in prison. Did you see the fingers on his hands? What does it read, tattooed across his knuckles? The letters are too blurry to make out, and probably misspelled too. Those fingers are scarred, broken, stained with nicotine and worse. Those are hands that have absolutely done certain things too awful to speak of.
And his wife. Lord have mercy. His wife is built like a shit brickhouse, big as an NFL linebacker, and mean. She never did get her GED. The freaking woman opens beer bottles with her teeth. Is that how he got his perpetually dirty fingernails inside you, is that how you ended up chained up on the back porch of their single-wide, eating cold Chef Boyardee out of a metal dog bowl, and periodically being pissed on, when they even bothered to remember that you were out there?
Were you flirting with him, in a perfectly innocent fashion, in the checkout line at the Family Nickel? Not that anyone would have nailed it down as flirting, just a few offhand remarks about the weather and a vaguely inappropriate comment about the asparagus from Mexico you were buying. But you noticed the sly leer, the way his eyes traversed your crotch and lingered on your tits and never quite made it all the way up to your face, the Ken-doll bulge in his filthy greasy jeans. His wife noticed too, and she was not amused.
When she showed up at your house the next day, right after the plumbers had left, did your dog run and hide under the sofa, the little coward? Owning an old house is no joke my friend, you don’t have to tell me, and plumbing ain’t cheap. What sob story did she lay on you, did you even bother to expend the energy to believe it, or did your cunt twitch and drool in anticipation of the humiliation and mistreatment to come? Did your nipples stiffen and did your skin turn to gooseflesh when you saw the cruel contemptuous sneer that completely belied the words coming out of her mouth? Why, oh why did you get into her car? Please don’t tell me she offered you candy, I can’t even go there.
Does she drive a retired cop car, with plexiglass separating the front from the back, and no handles on the rear doors and the seatbelts cut out? How much do you think she can bench-press? 200? 250? Did she slam on the brakes a few times at random intervals for the sheer pleasure of battering your face against the plexi shield behind her?
Was Fox News blaring on the TV when she dragged you inside? Why did he have barbed wire, cut into just the right lengths, just lying around in the living room? Did she watch smugly when he used it to bind your wrists and ankles, and when the barbs gouged into your flesh until it bled, did he laugh in your face, or did he just bark curtly at you to “Shaduup”?
Did he make you get down on your knees and beg to suck his cock? Beg, like you were behind on your mortgage and pleading with your skinflint boss for a raise? (My friend, you’ve been working there for three years, you deserve a raise already! At least cost of living, for Christ sake!) Did she sneer at you down there on your knees like a worm, did she tear open your shirt and laugh at your tits and call them ‘udders’? Did she threaten to twist your nipples off with a pair of lineman’s pliers, and did you suddenly sickly realize that she really would too? When he finally relented, and unfastened his belt and undid his Levi’s, was his cock the size, shape, and smell of a dried shitake? Did it taste like a stale dried mushroom too? How long did you suck on it, desperate and afraid and wishing you could just get him off and make it all stop? Did you lick his balls as well, all musty and shrunken, did you stick your tongue up his puckered ass? All without a twitch from his penis, not the slightest hint of an erection? Did he finally get fed up and pissed-off and frustrated, and shove you roughly down on the floor and beat you across the face with the buckle end of his belt until your lip was busted open and at least one tooth was shattered?
Did she laugh at you, and blow menthol cigarette smoke right up in your bloodied and swollen face? Did you watch him hungrily watching you as she pulled off those disgusting paisley tights, no panties on underneath, and grab you by the hair and pull you in between those monstrous thighs? Could you even find her clit in that mass of slippery moist flesh? Was the taste of piss, menstruation, sweat, and yeast overwhelming, did it make you gag? Did you try to scream into her cunt when you realized she had no intention of even letting you breathe, and your hunger for air became unbearable? Did she get even hotter and wetter and more slimy as you desperately struggled for your life? Did you keep right on licking her, knowing full well that you were asphyxiating, in the vain hope that if you got her off she might let you have one gasp of air? Did she keep you right there, buried in the folds of her obscene flesh, until you passed out?
When you came to, were you chained up and naked on the back porch: cheap warped and untreated Home Depot lumber knocked together with drywall screws and left exposed to the elements? Was there a loop of airplane cable wrapped around your neck and swaged in place? Was there a metal dog dish with cold Chef Boyardee in it? Did you eat it, out of sheer hunger and desperation? Was there shit, actual human shit, mixed in with the raviolis? Did you vomit, or did you just want to throw up?
Did they call up all their friends and invite them over? Did you recognize half those guys and that one lady from Family Court and APS? Did they laugh at you? Did one of them whip out his dick and piss in your face?
Did he give you his Zippo lighter and make you crawl around the living room on your knees, ankles and wrists still painfully bound, Fox still blasting inanely on the TV, lighting all their cigarettes for them and calling them ‘Sir’ and ‘Madam’? Did you fumble the lighter and drop it on the baby shit-colored beer-stained polyester carpet, and did he fly into a rage? Did she hold you upright by the hair and did he whip your tits and belly with the bare copper end of an old extension cord until you thought the flesh had all been flayed away and he was whipping away at your bare rib bones?
Did they all laugh at your misery?
When he was finally done whipping you, when his arm was tired, did he hold a taser against your neck and force you the stick the bent tines of a metal salad fork into an electrical outlet? Was the shock like getting kicked in the cunt with a steel-toe boot? Did all his friends laugh uncontrollably, dangerously, like a lynch mob, when the main breaker for the trailer tripped and all the lights went out and every single clock in the place would have to be reset? Did he tase you anyway then, just out of spite?
Did she set your hair on fire, for the sadistic pleasure of watching you flail around trying to put it out? Did she force your mouth open and put out her cigarette on your tongue while they all hooted and hollered like it was lady’s night at WWF?
Did she slip a latex piggy snout with a rubber band over your nose, and did they all think that was the most hilarious thing they had ever seen in their life? Did they take pictures? Did he rudely shove those creepy, warped tattooed fingers up inside you with no preamble whatsoever just to show everyone how wet you were, how you were loving this? You and I know that just because a woman is wet, it doesn’t mean she’s enjoying herself, but part of you really did like it, is that true?
Did he bend you over the coffee table, raw and damaged tits pressed into their ashtrays and spilled beer, and did he spread your cheeks apart for everyone to gawk at and admire? Did you secretly wish you could get a snapshot of that moment? Why did he spit on your asshole when it was your cunt that was ravenous, salivating, wet as Lake Fucking Michigan, your clit bulging, your hole gaping wide open and begging to be used? When he fucked your ass, did he somehow manage to get his cock hard, or did he sodomize you with his bare-knuckle fingers, a dog’s rawhide bone, his wife’s dildo, the handle of a Nicopress tool? Whatever he did, it hurt. It felt like he did some damage back there. Somebody fucked your ass, probably multiple somebodies, and came in there. At some point during the fucking, did she put a plastic bag over your head, exactly the way the warning label says not to, and hold it in place with those awful hands of hers while the world of pain and smoke and laughter and misery became increasingly foggy and finally slipped away?
That’s probably when they all broke out the stash of crystal meth.
When you opened your eyes again, were you cold and soaking wet, all alone on the back porch? Had it started to storm, and were you naked and shivering, lashed by the wind and a freezing cold rain straight out of Canada? Is that when you realized you were probably not going to survive the night?
Had they just forgotten you were even out there?
When did you realize that the 1/8” aircraft cable swaged too tightly around your neck was secured at the other end to a railing that was more rotten than his two front teeth? How long did it take you to bust the railing loose? How far did you crawl before you felt safe enough to stop for a minute and unwrap that horrible barbed wire from your wrists and from your ankles? How long did it take you in the cold wet woods and along the side of secondary roads to limp back to your own house? Was your little dog so thrilled to see you that she jumped up and down and licked your blood-stained face?
You probably already know this, but you need a special tool to cut through aircraft cable. Will your dental insurance cover the broken teeth? You should probably get some bloodwork done, just to be on the safe side.
Take good care of yourself and be careful!
Your Friend Always,
Elsie
So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie) 