Well, here you are: the final installment of "A Happy Birthday." And just in time for Halloween! I'd like to thank everyone that kept coming back to check on the fate of our fiery little protagonist. Some of you may be a little shocked at some of the events in this part, maybe even a little appalled, but I really enjoyed writing this story (maybe cause I'm a little fucked in the head), so I hope it entertains at least a few of you. And if you haven't read Part 1 or Part 2, PLEASE READ THOSE PARTS FIRST. This is the climax, so check out the earlier postings before reading this one.
Enjoy!
...Fuck this creep. If he wants to have his way with me, he's not going to get it without a fight.
I reach across the table and pick up one of the candles in its glass cup as quickly as my drugged body will allow. He doesn’t even seem to notice it’s in my hand. He sits down across from me as I lean forward and smash the glass-encased candle into the side of his big head. Apparently I managed a fair amount of strength because the glass shatters into tiny pieces. Some shards explode to the side of him and some become lodged in the flesh on the side of his face. The now-exposed candle flies into his hair, which ignites incredibly quickly thanks to his apparent affinity for hairspray. Stunned, it seems to take him a moment to realize his hair is on fire.
Finally he howls in pain and surprise. He stands up from the table with such force that it goes crashing to the floor. He runs over to the filthy, old sink and turns on the faucet. I see my opportunity and I begin bashing the arm of the chair with my free hand as hard as I can. The wood begins to splinter. Small shards of wood enter my flesh but I continue, blood dripping down my right hand. Eric’s still hunched over the sink, trying to find a way to push his big head under the apparently weak stream of water. I continue to bash my right hand against the chair’s arm. Even in my drugged state I can feel the pain begin to shoot up my hand. Blood splatters against my face every time I bring my hand back for a little momentum. I’m screaming now, but it’s more primal than fearful. Every time my hand smashes into the chair’s arm I scream a little louder.
Finally it shatters. Pieces of wood splinter into all different directions, with a few more finding a home under my skin. I try to stand—the handcuffs still dangling from my left wrist—and fall right to the dirty linoleum, my ridiculous party hat tumbling from my head. Fuck! C’mon legs! Get it together. We need to get the fuck out of here!
I look over to the sink. Eric’s screaming now, throwing threats at me. I’ve awakened the businessman. “YOU FUCKING BITCH! OHHH YOU FUCKING BITCH! I’M GOING TO FUCKING CUT YOU OPEN! YOU RUINED MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY AND I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU BLEED! I’M GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU SEE YOUR FUCKING ORGANS BEFORE YOU STOP BREATHING!” He continues to shout, but I can still see flames and smoke coming off his head. I have a little time. If I can get myself together I can get to that knife.
I start to hit my legs. I can feel the pins and needles, but my own strikes feel dull and non-influential. “Come on!” I’m yelling at my legs now. “Come on!”
Shit, the flames are getting smaller. I’m running out of time. I begin to drag myself across the linoleum, dust and grime clinging to my arms and clothes. I’m sweating profusely and my arm is now covered in blood. Small pieces of filth are adhering to the sticky appendage as I continue to drag myself. Only a few more feet now. I’m almost to the counter.
He’s still shouting and the room is filled with a surprising amount of smoke. I realize the remaining candle that had still been on the table when he knocked it to the ground had found its way to one of the paper plates. The plate is burning in the middle of the room, emitting a fairly thick cloud of smoke.
I’ve reached the base of the counter, but the top is a few feet above me. I reach my arm up blindly, hoping to have my hand settle on the knife, but from my position on the floor I can only reach the edge of the counter. I need to pull myself up. The shooting pain in my right arm has become extremely affecting. I’m so weak, but I’m so close. And I watch as Eric extinguishes the remaining bit of fire in his hair. He pulls his head out from under the faucet. Only a few more seconds now. Okay... let’s do this. LET’S FUCKING DO THIS!
With whatever strength remains in me, I pull my body up and manage to stretch my arm across the counter. Falling quickly back to the floor, I manage to get my hand on the knife, but I can’t grasp it. Instead, in my falling motion, I manage to sweep it to the floor. The knife clatters next to me and I pick it up. He’s coming towards me now, practically on top of me, murder in his pained eyes. I reach up with the knife in a weak stabbing motion and watch as it digs into his exposed arm. He howls, but with most of my strength gone, the blade doesn’t go very deep. He swings his arm and I lose my grip on the knife. It goes flying across the room, landing somewhere near the sink.
He kicks me with incredible force, right in the chest. There goes another rib. He then walks calmly over to the burning plate and steps on it until the fire is out. The room is full of smoke and I’m nothing more than a heap against the base of the counter. He walks back over to me and kicks me again… and again… and again.
“You stupid bitch!” He berates me every time he lands a kick. “You fucking whore! You ruined my fucking birthday!” He’s still all businessman. Somehow I don’t think I’ll be seeing the retard for the remainder of the evening.
He’s less precise with his kicks now and a few catch my face. I’m bleeding from my mouth and nose now too. I’m just a sweaty, bloody mess. I want to tell him to stop, but I know it won’t do any good. And maybe in his rage he’ll just beat me to death. At least that way I don’t have to deal with Little Eric poking its way around inside me. Take out all your anger big guy! Finish me off! I’m done with this.
But he stops. “No,” he says kind of quietly. “NOOOO!” He screams it the next time. “I won’t let you ruin my birthday! I won’t let you! This is gonna be a happy b-b-birthday!”
Well at least part of the big dumb animal is still in there. But it seems like even he’s pretty pissed off. I guess he has a right to be. Businessman or retard, it’s the same hair still smoking. It’s the same face with little shards of glass under the skin. I’ve enraged him and no girlish charm, no attempts at manipulation are going to stop him now. We’re past mind games at this point. He’s gonna lay me out on his mattress and rape me. He’s gonna rape me until I beg for death and then he probably still won’t even kill me. He’ll throw me back into that fucking basement and keep me alive on water and Powerbars just so he can fuck me and fuck me and fuck me until I die from malnutrition or find a way to kill myself.
Welcome to hell.
He leans down and scoops me up again. I’m in too much pain and too exhausted to offer any kind of resistance. He carries me through a door at the side of the kitchen and down some long, unlit hallway. He stops in front of another threshold then enters quickly. The room is dark, but it seems like Eric knows exactly where he’s going. He drops me on a mattress and wanders over to the doorway. He turns on the light and I can see his face is bleeding and his hair is missing in patches. Some hair has managed to melt to his skull. His surgical mask has fallen off, leaving his mouth exposed. Remnants of dinner cling to his lips as blood leaks down to join them. Before he looked like a psychopath; now he just looks like a monster.
“Please,” I manage to stammer through a mouth of spit and blood. “Please just kill me. I can’t do this anymore. Please, please just kill me.”
The monster shakes his head emphatically. “No, no, NO, NO! You’re gonna g-give me my b-b-birthday present.” Businessman and retard have melded into one horrifying, inarticulate killer. “I’m gonna g-get a b-b-birthday present if I have to take it from you… FUCKING BITCH!”
He advances, moving towards me with intense determination. I shift slightly on the mattress in a desperate attempt to keep as far away from him as possible. I feel the cold steel of the handcuff press against my left wrist. The dangling circle of metal that was cuffed around the chair’s arm cannot be opened without the key, but it can still be tightened by simply pressing the steel loops together. Eric had fastened the cuff loosely around the chair’s arm, so there is a lot of room to tighten. A crazy idea begins to form in my nearly delirious brain. I may still have a chance… at the very least a chance to do some damage to Eric before he ruins my life any further.
He’s standing over the mattress now, just an arm’s length away. He reaches down for my legs and begins to pull my pants off with savage strength. I offer little resistance, waiting for my opportunity to unleash the Hail Mary play in the back of my head. Eric is grunting like an animal now. He throws my jeans to floor and goes to work on my panties. Excited—and maybe a little frustrated—Eric simply rips the thin fabric of my underwear and yanks it away from my sweaty skin.
The fucker is salivating now. That’s right you piece of shit. Drop those drawers. Let’s see that awful little pecker of yours.
He removes the jumpsuit and exposes himself. His dick’s already hard and surprisingly large. With such a timid and idiotic demeanor I expected some puny little cock… possibly even deformed. But Eric’s packing down there, which actually makes my plan a little easier.
“This is gonna be the best b-b-birthday ever,” he says as drool falls from his mouth. He moves to the mattress, but before he can properly mount me I grab his dick in my bloody right hand. I yank my cuffed left hand up and before he knows it, his cock is locked in the dangling cuff. I squeeze the shackle as tight as they’ll go and he screams a piercing high-pitch scream, the likes of which I’ve never heard from a man. His monster face—formally confident, enthusiastic and unwavering—contorts to that of a young boy whose puppy has just been run over right in front of him.
I roll off the mattress and pull my left hand as hard as I can. Eric screams that same stringent yelp and falls face first on the mattress. I can hear him sobbing now. I yank my left hand again and again. He screams. One more time and I hear a sickening tearing sound—not as extreme as Velcro, but enough to give the impression that I had done my job.
I pull away and lean my back against the wall. A pool of blood is collecting beneath Eric on the bed and he’s sobbing like a little girl. Clenched in the steadfast grip of the dangling cuff is his dick, blood pouring lazily from its severed base. I can hear muffled, teary insults emanating from Eric’s mouth. He’s sobbing and rolling around on the mattress, his hands buried beneath him, holding the area where his cock used to be. I use this time to regain some composure. I start smacking my legs again. The pins and needles have grown more intense. That’s probably a good thing. And as much as I’m enjoying watching that piece of shit writhing in pain, floundering around in his own dick-blood, I figure it might be best to remove myself from the room.
I crawl out into the dark hallway, my naked lower body sliding over the disgusting floor. I can still hear Eric screaming behind me. I pull myself down the hallway, Eric’s cuffed pecker dragging by my side. The strength that had left me earlier has returned. Something about ripping off a psycho’s dick is strangely empowering.
I’m back in the smoky kitchen. I can see the knife on the floor in front of the sink. I crawl over and grab it, propping myself up against the base of the counter. The screams from the bedroom have dissipated, but they haven’t ceased entirely. They’ve turned into weak moans.
Knife in hand, I continue to try and move my legs. They’re responding a little more now. I reach up to the countertop and hoist myself to my feet. To my surprise I manage to keep myself up using the counter for support. I’m feeling pretty confident now, despite my total lack of pants or underwear.
“How’s it hanging in there asshole?” I call to the bedroom. “Oh wait… I’m sorry… it’s actually hanging out here… from my fucking hand!”
Silence from the bedroom. Not even a moan now. I peer down the hallway towards the room. The light’s still on, but I don’t hear a sound. Maybe he’s passed out. Maybe he’s gone into shock. If I thought my legs were competent enough I’d hobble down there and finish the job, but I’m worried I’ll only make it a few steps before they give out. Better to stay here for a few more minutes and wait for my legs to get used to standing again. I’ve got the advantage now.
Whether it’s the adrenaline or just the amount of time that has elapsed, I feel the drugs much less now. I begin to look around the room for a phone. I’m not especially surprised when I don’t see one. Something tells me Eric doesn’t have a lot of people to reach out and touch.
Suddenly I hear a rustling from down the hall. Un-fucking-believable! Eric’s standing in the doorway to the bedroom, hunched over, jumpsuit bunched around his ankles, blood spurting from his nether regions. The look on his face is murderous but weak. Alright big guy, if you want to do this, let’s fucking do this.
I shoot him a condescending look then hold up the piece of him I’ve taken. “Looking for something?”
He lets out a battle cry and starts running down the hallway towards me. He’s limping, but moving faster than I would expect, especially considering the jumpsuit around his ankles. I grasp the knife tightly behind my back and wait. I’m afraid to shy away from the counter. The last thing I need is to lose my footing and end up back on the floor.
He’s bearing down, unaware that I have a weapon. He’s within reach and I stick out the knife. It plunges into his midsection, only a few inches above his other wound. The knife catches him off guard and he leans forward, inadvertently burying the knife deeper as he falls into me. Amazingly he manages enough strength to throw me in the direction of the open cellar door. My legs still unsteady, I have to catch myself before tumbling headfirst down the basement stairs.
Eric turns, the knife still in his belly. He removes it with gut-wrenching speed, sending a quick fountain of gore splashing across the room. He somehow steadies himself and begins to lumber towards me. I freeze, unwilling to retreat to the basement, knowing that he could simply close the door and lock me down there, placing me back at square one. I do my best to sidestep his attack. He misses me with the blade but manages to tackle me onto the rickety basement stairs. And that does it for them. With no real warning, the stairs give out completely, splitting in the middle and dropping us both ten feet to the cement floor below.
I land hard. Fortunately he lands to the side of me and not on top. I’m stunned, but not hurt as bad as I could be. I search for the knife, hoping it has fallen from his hand. But there it is, clenched tight in the monster’s claws. He looks like he may be unconscious. The blood from his two wounds is already pooling beneath him. Without hesitation I reach over and pull the knife from his hand. He mutters something incomprehensible, but it’s too late. I’m already plunging the knife into his back. He’s face first on the concrete and I mount him, his huge body between my legs as I dig the knife in... remove... and repeat. The blood splatters all over me, cascading my face, shirt, arms, pussy… everything. He’s gurgling but not screaming.
“FUCK YOU!” I scream every time I bury the knife into his flesh. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!”
I bury the knife again and again—one for each missed birthday. He wouldn’t tell me his age, so I estimate. I figure he must be at least thirty-five… maybe thirty-six… maybe thirty-seven. I suppose we might as well make it an even forty.
I dismount, my bare ass smacking against the cold cement floor, my body covered in Eric’s blood. His back is nothing more than than a collection of bloody gopher holes; a dripping pile of soon-to-be-rotting hamburger meat.
I don't think I've ever been more satisfied with myself.
I look up at the broken stairs and wonder if I’ll be able to reach high enough to get the fuck out of here. Not a chance. I look throughout the dim basement. The blood has splattered the single light bulb, casting a crimson hue across the entire cellar. I see a nightstand in one of the corners and—deciding that my legs are about as good as they’re going to get for the time being—I limp over, grab the nightstand and drag it back to the stairs.
I climb laboriously on top of the nightstand and reach up to the broken top of the stairs, Eric’s severed dick still cuffed to my left hand. With home on my mind, I concentrate all my strength and pull myself up. Back in the kitchen I look down into the dreary basement at the pile of raked flesh. I spit down on him.
I move down the hall to the bedroom and pick up my jeans off the floor. Not ideal apparel by any stretch of the imagination, but it beats the other option.
Shuffling back to the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of what remains of Eric’s birthday cake. I walk over to the counter and pick it up then move towards the basement door and throw it down on top of the monster’s lifeless body. Then I pull his cock from the dangling handcuff and toss it down next to the cake.
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