Slave Of Hate

ACT IV- DENOUEMENT

He came to-  groggy and restrained. Found himself spreadeagled on the floor of his penthouse apartment, wrist and ankle restraints literally nailed into the hardwood planks. He was naked and helpless but his groin felt strange. Pinned to the floor he couldn’t raise himself to see directly, but there was a reflection from  a wall mirror. His flaccid cock had been duct-taped up to his navel. His balls however were stretched out and vulnerable, pulled away from his body by 2 push pins driven through the outer wrinkles of the fortunately insensate skin and into the wooden flooring. It didn’t hurt except when he tried to shift away. 

“Awake at last” - he saw her then- his Gook whore. But she wasn’t dressed in the fetish anime Maid costume he’d seen her last in- just her  regular street clothes- jeans, top and jacket and he’d never felt more exposed and vulnerable. She had something small, shiny, dark in one hand, quickly slipped into a pocket. In the other hand she hefted a metal hammer- he recognised it as the meat tenderiser from the kitchen and worried about it. She paid it little heed- just spinning it in her hand from time to time. 

His head still spun- he felt woozy. Last thing he remembered was calling for his Maid to bring him some bubble tea and squeezing her squirming ass as he drank. The bitch must have drugged him! 

She lay astride him, using his chest to rest the weight of her arms on, elbows driving into his ribs, her face intimately close to his. He struggled again at the restraints but they held.

“What do you think you are doing, you crazy bitch?!” - it burst out from him, angry and confused

“Shhh now. You don’t get to talk any more” she said, resting a finger to his lips. She also rested the 12 pounds of metal meat hammer on his chest to reinforce her words. He quieted and listened- a captive audience.

“It’s all over DoucheBro”. She called him that name to his face, which rankled at the insult. It felt liberating to say it out loud rather than in the privacy of her innermost thoughts. 

“All your crimes are catching up with you.  An anonymous whistleblower  has just released to WikiLeaks all your internal emails, encrypted messages, true financials and secret files outlining your fraud to investors, deception of the FDA and auditors and your price gouging and bribery of doctors, hospitals and HMO’s.  Copies have gone to the press and the Feds.” - he trembled at the thought - arrests, charges, prison time,fines,  lawsuits,  penury. 

“Your girlfriend is going to be the first one to find you here- she’s just received a text from an unknown girl her man been fucking around for months- along with a naked photo of you. She’s probably driving back right now. Don't worry, I’ll leave plenty of evidence of your infidelity around the place.  She really is too good for you, so I think she’ll leave you now, and blacken your name in high society.” - he twitched at that- his heart suddenly pounding and surprisingly painful. 

“And the names and stories of the women you’ve harassed have just gone out to the leaders of the #MeToo movement- maybe they will convince those poor victims to speak out and condemn you. You are already on the secret lists and whisper-networks we women share so others may come forward to. Maybe I will? I haven’t decided yet.” She didn’t mention that the copies of the binding NDA’s held by the company had just gone missing (sent to the victims along with a promise of funding for litigation if they so chose) leaving him with no way of enforcing their silence. 

“All of that, and you are bound to go to jail. Hope you don’t have any cellies who like rap music? Soon as you hemorrhage all your protection money, I’m sure they will teach you what happens to people who make bitch moves like you did with that record.”

“But… your father, your debt?” he managed, still reeling at it.

“Your threats only worked because I was poor. But as you know, if you know something about the market that no one else knows, then you can become very rich. I’m massively shorting your stock- when all the scandal hits, your company's stock will drop to the floor and make me millions.  If you foreclose, you’ll be paid in full. My father can afford all the medicine he needs now.”  He nodded at that, accepting the logic of it, since that was how he’d profited in the past. He was too stunned to wonder how she had acquired the stake money.   

 She wouldn’t tell him that actually his pharma company had lent her the money. It regularly bought short term debt notes issued by anodyne sounding shell companies to help keep DoucheBro’s financial shell game moving. But with WhiteKnightLite’s tutelage Jen had set up her own anonymous company that would borrow a million dollars for a month and return 1.05 million 30 days later. She’d ordered the transaction from FatPigs computer (hiding it from him in the labyrinthine money flows) and blackmailed NervousNellie into countersigning it. The Accounts team saw that procedure had been followed and wired the money out as was routine. She’d invested it all in her short position, and when the price crashed on the tsunami of bad news she was releasing then she’d easily repay the note. The company would be slightly richer and no one would be the wiser. It wasn’t even theft really, but she didn’t think DoucheBro would appreciate the irony that he was funding her escape. 

That the patent for the obscure drug which her father needed had also been transferred to a medical charity as part of a routine review of low-performing products and charitable tax-writeoff by NervousNellie was also not a fact she wanted to share at this time. It meant the charity could produce the drug for a fraction of the price which would benefit everyone who suffered from the rare condition. DoucheBro might have spotted the transfer in normal circumstances, but she was sure his eye would be off the ball these next few days.

“So now I have two choices” she said, gripping the hammer again and rising to her knees, her tone hard. 

“What else do you mean? You’ve already destroyed my life?”

“My plan originally was just to escape you and save my family. Stop you from ever threatening us again and seeing that you paid for your crimes. That was Plan A. But you kept finding ways to be an even shittier excuse for a human being- whenever I thought you couldn’t get worse, you’d surprise me- and hurt, rape and degrade me in ever pettier and more racist ways. I thought about biting your cock off, everytime you stuck it between my teeth. I worry that even impoverished you might rape a girl. So Plan B was to castrate you. The problem with Plan B was that there would be consequences to me- you might be able to get me jailed, 50:50 chance of a conviction I estimated, but it’d also make me notorious and  follow me for the rest of my life. Jennifer Yin, the new Lorena Bobbitt... But...it might just be worth it.  So now I have to choose. Your legs are splayed open, balls utterly vulnerable. I could take this 12-pound meat hammer and pound your balls flat- ensure you can never get it up again, never have children. The pain would be agonising and last weeks, but it would barely scratch the pain and suffering you inflicted on me. Still, it would make me feel better. It might just be enough to make us even.”

“NO!! Please don’t!” Anything but that. Please leave me a man!” he begged, wild-eyed and shuddering at the horror of the thought, imagining the unthinkable pain of that heavy hammer flattening his precious orbs. 

“Or I could just smash this instead?”. She showed him the sleek black thumb drive she fished from a pocket.

 “I transferred your Family Jewels folder to it- and deleted every copy on your computer, cloud and backup.  And destroying this is going to be impossible to prove- and it wouldn’t wreck my life if I did.” 

 She placed it 3 inches below his pinned testicles. 

“So I just have to decide- Plan A or Plan B. Do I take your balls from you or the Family Jewels?  Whether to leave you a man or what makes you human?  But should I wreck my life just to castrate you? My mind says no- better to forget you and live my life as soon as possible. But my heart…? It just thinks smashing your balls would feel so … right...like justice. And you know what pardner? I’m still not sure. Logic or instinct? I honestly don’t know what is right any more.   But it will be one or the other!”  

She tossed the meat hammer  up in a spin, light glinting from the pyramid-shaped  indents on it’s tenderising side. Gracefully catching it, she raised it high up in the air, arm fully extended. Finally it felt like she had the upper hand. She had all the power. She made her decision, picked her target and  powered through the swing, an inevitable,unstoppable arc accelerating with gravity and her iron will. 

He tensed, closing his eyes, fearful, thighs still straining to close, to protect himself. His last wincing sight was  the look of savage glee upon her face. He couldn’t bear to look, eyes pressed tight hearing was the only sense left. 

WHOOSH!

SMASH!

The heavy hammer flattened its target.

FINIS

Grateful thanks to Kala for the inspiration, editing and encouragement. 

Comments, corrections, criticisms and suggestions welcome. Catgreenwood80@gmail.com