Fury

Fury, by Abe

(Written to specifications.  If you are not turned on by torture and death, DON'T READ this.)

Nora had issues with her mother.   Mom was a control freak, and she  controlled every detail of Nora's life.  She chose Nora's clothes, her food, who she could see.  When she married, Mom planned the honeymoon, chose where they would live and how it would be decorated.  Nora had not been allowed to marry until she was thirty, and it was to a man Mom had chosen.  Outwardly, Marshall seemed a good catch.  He was tall, 6' 4”, a foot taller than Nora, and most women thought him handsome.  He wasn't very bright, had not received a diploma from any of the three high schools he had attended; he was barely literate.  He had never had a job for very long.  But do brains matter when you have a ten inch dick and lots and lots of money?

Mom spent Marshall's money for him.  She took the three of them on various travels:  London, Paris, Berlin, Prague, Singapore, Sidney, Santiago, and so on two or three times around the world.  Then she changed her ways.  Instead of  five-star hotels, she chartered a yacht.  It was 48 feet long, a center cockpit motor-sailer that could easily sleep eight guests, so it was roomy for the three of them.  Captain Buchstopple and his wife, the first mate and cook, took them to remote islands, usually anchoring for the night.  The food was good and the whiskey plentiful.   Nora was bored.

They anchored in a secluded cove.  The captain warned them: “They call this place Shark Bay, so don't go swimming.  Big sharks are territorial, like lions are, and they will not hesitate to attack.  My wife and I are going to take the bicycles and go across the island to get some fresh provisions.  Enjoy yourselves.  We'll be gone most of the day, but there are sandwiches in the galley if you get hungry.”

“Can I go too?” asked Nora.

Yes, they had a bike for Nora, and the three of them and the bikes could easily fit in the Boston Whaler they used for a tender.  Nora helped with the boat, while Mom and Marshall watched idly, smoking and drinking fruity rum drinks.  The boat lived atop the aft cabin with two tall davits which could pick it up and swing it over the side of the boat.  The tender was raised and lowered electrically, so no real work was involved.   The three of them motored quietly to the beach, mooring the

Whaler with a long line to a tree.  They unloaded the bikes and set off.

Half a mile down the sandy trail, Nora's bike had a flat tire.  No matter.   The captain and his wife should go on.  She could walk the bike back to the beach, and she was used to managing the Whaler.  When the captain returned, just yell, and she would pick them up off the beach.  Less than half an hour later she was tying the tender to a rail and climbing aboard.  Mom and Marshall were not on deck, so Nora went into the saloon, the main cabin.  Not seeing them, she looked further, and peeked into Mom's cabin.  There was her husband, Marshall, naked, on his back on the bed, with Mom, also naked, astride him and gleefully raising and lowering herself on his towering penis.  Nora had never been able to take ten inches, but Mom, grimacing as if in pain, dropped herself so every inch disappeared inside her.  Her aged tits flopped and her round belly, veteran of three childbirths, jiggled as Mom took on the challenge of Marshall's monster cock.   Breathlessly, she lifted herself off it and seemed satisfied with only six inches of so until, seemingly nearing a climax, she once again impaled herself on the thing, the size of large cucumber, and gasped as if in pain.  Marshall just grinned and enjoyed it all.

Nora's pent up frustration with Mom and Marshall exploded in fury and the urge to kill.  She slipped away from the cabin and fetched a flare pistol and a shark stick from the cockpit.  The flare pistol, of course, would shoot a flaming signal in an emergency, and the shark stick was a pole with what amounted to a short shotgun on the end.  When jammed against a shark's head, a shotgun shell would go off and quite literally blow the shark's brains out.  Thus armed with lethal weapons, Nora returned to the cabin, where she found her mother and husband reclining, enjoying cigarettes.  They were surprised to see Nora, and even dull Marshall  realized that she was furious and armed.  “Out on deck, now!” ordered Nora, and the two sinners obeyed.  Threatened with lethal weapons, they stood naked on the deck beside the aft cabin and allowed Nora to bind their hands behind their backs.

Marshall grinned and said, “It's all a game, isn't it, Nora?  I mean it was only a harmless mercy fuck.”  Nora snatched the cigarette from his lips and snubbed it out against his neck.  Marshall cried out in pain and begged for forgiveness.

“Don't be such a wimp, Marshall,” said Mom.  “Hell hath no fury like a woman...  She's going to make us regret our little play time.”  The cables from the davits hung down where the boat had been released from them.  Nora took one and slid the end underneath Marshall's arms, behind his back, and snapped the hook around the cable, forming a loop.  She worked the electrical control so the cable was winched in.  It tightened around Marshall's arms and lifted him until his feet left the deck.

“You are next, Mom.”  Mom smiled, as if she knew what was going to happen and was determined to tough it out.  Nora made a loop in the cable and slipped it over her mother's breasts, tightening the loop so they were bound together, no cleavage, and beyond the wire cable, her boobs ballooned out like oranges smashed together.  Then Nora activated the electric winch and watched  Mom hoisted aloft by her swollen breasts.

“Come on, Nora, let me down.  This hurts,” whined Marshall.

“Not nearly enough, Asshole.  I might have forgiven you if you had fucked some local cunt, but I can't forgive adultery with my own mother!  You are going to pay, and she will, too.”

“She made me do it, Nora.”

“Stop whining, you idiot,” snarled Mom.  “You never said no.  You said I am better than your wife, because she can't take it all in, and I can.   Well, she found out, and you'll have to pay the price.  Shut up and act like a man for once, you brainless wimp.”

Nora had no further need of the lethal weapons, for her victims couldn't go anywhere.  She returned the flare pistol and shark stick to the cockpit and returned with a mop and a broom.  She positioned Marshall so his back was toward the cabin.  Then she placed the end of the broom stick against his anus and pushed the lower end of the broom toward him so, as the broomstick became more upright, it was forced into his rectum.  Marshall screamed and whined and begged.  Mom said, “Shut up, you coward.  You haven't begun to feel real pain.”  Nora knew her mother wouldn't scream and beg.  But she would feel pain.  Nora pushed the mop handle about six inches into her mother backside.  As with Marshall's broomstick, the lower end was wedged against the deck, so there was no way they could get them out by struggling.  Any movement on their part would simply move the end inside them, stretching the rectum.

Nora observed her work and felt all was going well, so far.  She returned to the cockpit and started the engine, then raised the anchor with its electric winch.  She set a course for the deeper water, leaving the sails furled.  She steered past a little island, only three palm trees, and as the boat  began to rock in the waves beyond the sheltered cove, Marshall  again pleaded for her to stop; the broomstick was reaming his asshole and stretching his rectum.  Mom remained silent, though the mop handle must have been joggling in her backside too.

When they were about a mile from shore, far from observation by anyone on the land, Nora shut off the engine and let the vessel drift.  Returning to her victims, she kicked the broom, driving the broomstick inches deeper into her husband.  Marshal responded with screams, and he said  it was tearing through his gut.  She treated her mother similarly, making the mop handle move several inches deeper.  Mom just grimaced but did not scream.

Next Nora lighted a propane torch, the kind plumbers use to solder pipes and mechanics use to loosen a rusted nut.  “Let's see if it loosens your nuts,” she said to the terrified Marshall.  She lifted his dangling dong and toasted his scrotum, watching the hairs burn and the skin blister.  She relished his screams, and was glad that they were far enough from shore that nobody would hear.  Next she warmed his chest, bringing the flame closer until the skin bubbled and began to slough off.  She held the blue cone of  flame to each nipple, crisping it until it was black.  Then it was Mom's turn.  Her bulging breasts bubbled as the torch toasted them, and the nipples, like Marshall's, were destroyed, burnt until they looked like overcooked marshmallows at a cookout.  Clearly, the pain was excruciating, but Mom stoically muffled her screams.

Nora played the flame lightly up and down Mom's inner thighs, making her spread her legs.  Nora actually laughed at the sight of her mother  squirming with a  stick up her ass.  Next Nora waved the flame across the lower belly, singing the pubic hair, watching the thick thatch of curly black hair turn brown and shrivel, ultimately burning away to reveal reddened, blistering skin.  She similarly took her time burning the hair on Mom's labia, knowing the increasing heat was more effective than a sudden, nerve destroying burn.  Ultimately, she played the flame closely over the adulterous cunt, making the labia look like broiled hot dogs. 

Nora became impatient to see her Mother die in agony, so she shoved the mop back until it was vertical, a foot or so up her mum's bum.  Nora then worked the control on the davit to lower her mother until her full weight was on the broom handle, which slowly pushed into her body. Nora watched with satisfaction as Mom writhed, impaled on a mop handle which was slowly destroying her internal organs.

Then it was Marshall's turn.  As the broomstick penetrated deeper into his body, he stopped screaming and turned pale, in shock.  Nora knew he probably wasn't feeling the full effect, but she felt it necessary to  burn away his pubic hair and broil that monster penis until it split like an overcooked bratwurst.

They were going to die.  She would dispose of them here, a mile from shore,  and  account for their disappearance by saying they tried to swim to that little island and did not return.  Marshall's money would be hers,  and Mom would never again run her life.  She could find a real man.  She  used the davit to hoist Marshall  up high enough that she could swing him over the rail.  She pulled the bloody broomstick out and lowered him into the water, leaving his head dry.  The salt water on his raw burns set him to screaming again.  Nora liked that.  She repeated  the procedure with her mother, lowering her like a lifeboat over the rail, after removing the mop.  After all, how could she explain if they were missing?

She mopped the deck and cleaned the mop and broom by swishing them in the water.  The blood from the mop and broom handles and the leakage from the assholes and burn blisters spread the scent of food through the water, and in minutes curious sharks arrived.   They weren't huge, mostly only six or eight feet long, so they couldn't take a leg off in one bite.   It took many bites before the shark food stopped screaming and writhing, and  perhaps half an hour before the bodies were chewed to the point where they slipped free of their wire supports and disappeared into the deep.

Calm and satisfied, Nora started the engine and motored back to the little cove.   Captain Buchstopple and his wife were waiting on the beach in the shade of the trees with the bikes and bags of provisions, so Nora dropped the anchor and boarded the Boston Whaler.  She was smiling as she grounded the tender on the beach.  She hopped out and went to the captain and his mate, wondering why they just stood there.  That was when the policemen appeared out of the underbrush and handcuffed Nora.  “You are under arrest for murder.  You may remain silent.  Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.”

“How can you charge me?  You have no evidence.”

“We are always curious about boats which visit secluded anchorages.  So many are smuggling drugs.  Our surveillance drone has been watching you, and your horrendous crimes are recorded on video tape.  A conviction is certain.”