Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The following story is a purely fictional account.  Any relationship to any
real person living or dead is absolutely coincidental.  The narrative deals
with torture and slaughter of innocent human beings.  The author in no way
condones or promotes such acts.  This is the world of fantasy and fiction
where the hidden corners of the psyche may be explored.  The author
believes that exploring such subject matter in this realm keeps it from
ever needing to be explored, and much less fulfilled, in real life.  There
is violence in all of us.  Otherwise there would be no crime, no war, no
destruction.  We must acknowledge the beast inside of us if we are to tame
it.  To ignore it and repress it is to automatically invoke its appearance
in our midst.
   Russian Pictures
   "Like this?" Larisa asked.  "Is this better?"
   He looked through the camera viewfinder at the naked child.
   "Yeah.  Arch your back a bit more."
   He snapped a couple of shots and the strobes flashed.  Then he picked up
the digital camera and took a few with no assistance from the strobes. 
Just to get that natural, being-there' look.
   "Pull your leg back up on the couch - the other leg - turn your face a
bit.  Look at me.  Smile.  Yeah.  That's right, you little fuck.  That's
it."
   Larisa's ninth birthday was just a few days away and already she was
famous on the internet.
   Already he was getting requests from his clientele.
   They couldn't get enough of her.
   Her smile broadened and her eyes squinted flirtingly.  He popped off
five more.
   As usual there were the dozen or so special requests.  Three from Italy
two from Germany a few from other countries - men who wanted to buy his
babygirl outright.
   "Lean back on one arm, sweetie - open your mouth and say ahh "
   "Aa-ahh -"
   "- Mmm - that's nice, Larisa - very nice."
   He picked up the Nikon again and the strobes flashed and flashed and the
naked child's silky honey-hued flesh gleamed as she moved for him.  She had
firm, perfectly shaped limbs, smooth feminine curves.  She was like a
miniature adult woman with no breasts.  Her mouth was a plump red rosebud
and she had the sexiest most intriguing and bewitching little smirk and
glittering mischievous green eyes.
   "Ahh -" she moaned again, half-smiling, then giggling.
   He caught that too.  A brief moment of innocence.
   Such innocence needs to be erased - he thought.
   Smashed to pieces.
   This was the last picture session he would take from her.
   The shots would make him lots of money for the next few years on the
scattered Russian sites and through private collectors.
   As usual he wouldn't bother to answer the special' requests.  Did those
idiots really think he'd sell his girls and risk a brush with Interpol?
   What he was going to do with little Larisa after this session would not
be photographed or recorded.  It would not be shared or spoken of.
   It would be - enjoyed.
   Just like the other children she would disappear quietly and efficiently
and her image would move through the darker corners of the internet for
years.
   "Get on your hands and knees, like a little cat.  Yes.  A little siamese
kitten.  Meow.  Meow.  Just like that."
   He kept snapping pics.
   "We're almost done..."
   She looked nice on the floor.
   He knew what certain men, mostly his special request' guys, would think
of when they saw Larisa in that position.
   Of course she had no clue about such dark intentions.  She was innocent,
and clueless but obedient, and if it came right down to it, not exactly
guiltless of a certain seductive guile.  After all she had not been brought
up under what most people would consider normal conditions.  She was a
little street urchin, headed for a life in prostitution - the kind of
victim he most perfectly preferred.
   "Crawl for me.  Move around.  Yeah, you little bitch - yeah.  Look at
the camera."
   He knew what men like him would think, men whose dark murderous thoughts
would take the image of the crawling child to its most sinister conclusion
in their imaginations.  Their repressed urges for little ones, their own
daughters or sisters or children, or the children of their unsuspecting
friends or relatives - those urges were free to be released in private
fantasies.  And those fantasies were served by the pictures on the internet
- pictures that he and others like him put there and charged a pretty penny
for.
   "How about like this?" she asked, sitting first then drawing her legs
under her, bent at the knees to push herself up off the floor, leaning on
her arms, her little hands flat on the cracked tiles, her head tilted
insouciantly, daringly, teasingly.
   Yes, you little slut, he thought as he went down on one knee.
   Oh fuck, yes.  Just like that.
   "Spread your little legs open, honey."
   She giggled.
   "You like to see my peepee don't you?"
   "Me and all the men that want to look at you.  Show it to me.  Spread it
nice and wide for me.  Nice and wide.  Show it to all the men out there."
   She did so, her eyes dreamy as she opened herself to him and all the
invisible masturbating males that would buy into the websites - she opened
herself for him, for the dark hungry camera lens and for the hotflashing
strobes.
   ~
   The man that called himself Bronsky had brought her to him.
   There was no way of knowing, nor did he care, where Bronsky had acquired
her.  There were lots of children like her all over the city these days. 
Children lost and forgotten.  Firewood for the blaze.
   This was the fourth one Bronsky had delivered in the last two years.
   "You like her?" the burly blonde Pole had asked.  They swigged down
shots of Vodka while the child lay on her tummy hypnotically watching
cartoons on the big color screen in the living room, her little
white-socked feet scissoring back and forth lazily over her chunky little
butt.
   She was dressed in a pair of cheap pink shorts, a worn and wrinkled
white tshirt, red socks and little American Adidas sneakers which she'd
pulled off, her long dark hair bound up with a rubber band into a makeshift
ponytail.
   "She'll do."
   Money had exchanged hands.  He'd gotten a birth certificate stating the
child's age and birthplace and the names of her parents, just in case
anyone came around in need of proof of the adoption', and Bronsky had left.
   That was nearly two months ago.
   He'd fed her and clothed her.  Even taken her to the supermarket in town
a couple of times.  It didn't matter because no one there knew him or the
girl.  One night he even took her to an Italian restaurant.
   He enjoyed showing her off.
   "Your daughter is very pretty," the waitress had said.
   "Thanks," he'd replied.  "She's just like her momma."
   He liked people to think the little ones were his daughters.  Of course
he never visited the same restaurant in the same town - that would have
sparked suspicions.
   But having the children with him in public places made him hard.  It
excited him to know that people around him had no clue about the dirty and
unspeakable things he did with his little ones.  He even enjoyed sometimes
buying them toys or taking them to the park and letting them play with
other kids.
   Again, he was careful how he indulged those particular perversions so as
not to incur the wary eye of other parents and guardians.  He sometimes
took his little girls many miles away to other towns and cities just so he
could be in a schoolyard with them like the other adults.  Now and then
he'd even used his adoptees' to entice other little ones.  And when the
circumstances were propitious he'd often enjoyed a cruel rape in the stall
of a public restroom using both the enticed child and his own little
accomplice together in brutal menage-a-trois.  It was one of his particular
kinks to prop a little nude crying girl up against a urinal and plow away
her virginity while his adoptee' licked his asshole, kneeling behind him.
As he came he would beat the duped victim to a pulp sometimes choke her and
leave her half dead on the filthy floor for someone else to find.  The next
day he would pick up the local papers and read about his exploits.
   Such pleasures were rare because most children these days were
accompanied into the restrooms by their parents - but now and then he got
lucky.
   Away from public scrutiny he wasn't nice to his foster children.  Not in
the least - He was particularly mean with Larisa.  The child accepted it
unquestioningly.
   Larisa knew her place and she'd been taught to serve.
   Bronsky and whoever else had owned her had trained the child well.
   She sucked cock like a pro and even seemed to like it, and when he
fucked her he found her accomodating, a bit tight, but not virginal.  She'd
been opened up rectally and vaginally and she knew how to move to
facilitate, prolong and enhance penetration.  He didn't go easy on her.  As
the days wore on he became more brutal with her and demanding and he'd made
her cry and bleed.
   He liked the sounds she made when he raped her and he liked her big dark
eyes looking up at him so sorrowful and lost, wanting to be loved.
   He liked her long flowing hair cascading all around him and on his chest
and on his legs and on the pillows.
   But there would be no love for Larisa.
   None.
   He fucked her on the bed and on the floor and in the bathroom, in the
shower, on the toilet, on the sink cabinet, sometimes two or three times
each day.
   Angrily and vindictively, heedless to her mental or physical suffering.
Once he fucked her violently in the back seat of the car when he parked by
a dark stretch of abandoned beach.
   He'd had a nice photographic session with her that particular afternoon
by the water's edge.  This time of year there was no one around and he'd
made Larisa strip her little green bikini off and kneel and crawl in the
spuming surf.  He put excessive makeup on her, lipstick, rouge, mascara and
he'd gotten some fabulous pictures of the gleaming wet nymph-child, her
hair frothy with seawater, her bluerimmed eyes glinting seductively, her
arms and legs smeared with white sand.  She'd given herself to his camera
like a professional model, arching and kneeling, twisting herself in every
conceivable way for him, laying back on a cluster of dark rocks, spreading
her legs, shiny and fresh, her little pussy held open between her fingers,
pink-red like the inside of a watermelon, her purple-painted mouth wet,
half-smiling, sometimes obscenely puckered.  It was as if she knew and
understood his most secret desires and as the day wore on she seemed to
blossom, brazenly and knowingly enticing and teasing him.
   Larisa wanted desperately to please him.
   "Like this?" she would ask offering herself.  "How about this?  Look. 
Look.  This is a good one.  Oh!  Wait!  I know how you like it - see? 
Isn't this how you want me?  The men will like this one, won't they, sir?
Mmm.  I just know they will."
   The day had been one of long aching needy seduction by the child, and it
would end badly for her.
   The little tease.  He had shown her that day just what a little whore
like her deserved, slapping her viciously, yanking her to the car by her
hair, punching her, dragging her into the vehicle and spreading her legs
open, slam-pounding her little sea-wet naked body into the hard car seat as
night had rolled over the shore.  Had she expected something else from him
maybe?  Tenderness?  Affection?  Was that what she'd been trying to elicit
that whole day with her effusive obeisance?  Well, he wasn't having it. 
Instead he'd banged her for nearly two hours until he'd busted her up good,
until she sobbed and wept endearingly, then he'd tossed her in the trunk,
tied her up with rope and driven her home.
   After that day he became much more cruel with her.
   Often he tied her wrists together and her skinny ankles and left her in
the dark closet for hours.  Sometimes he spanked her hard or yanked on her
long black hair or spit in her face and made her lick his asshole and
balls. He made her eat and drink out of dog bowls on the floor of the
kitchen in the old creaky house.
   She was always obedient, loyal and never protested or tried to run away
even when he whipped her with his belt, careful to leave no harsh welts for
his camera to record.
   He enjoyed going to sleep after a nasty devastating pounding rape-fuck
listening to the child whimpering, crying softly next to him on the bed,
the night breeze gently swaying the raggedy drapes than hung over the
window.
   And when the marks wore off he would find new ways to pose her, new
costumes for her to wear, new lighting effects to try.
   And the child continued to pose seductively, to follow his every
command.
   Larisa would be one of his best subjects.
   A real work of art.
   ~
   He never used Larisa as bait for other children, as he had with other
adoptees, but he was inspired to do something with the child he'd never
done before.
   Before his final photographic session with Larisa, when his cruelty was
reaching its apex, and he needed to let off steam, he'd taken her to a
whorehouse outside the city, a place he'd frequented some time before. 
There was a prostitute there by the name of Natalia.  He'd called ahead and
made sure the stupid bitch would be available for him and then he'd gotten
Larisa ready.
   "My God," Natalia snickered as he introduced the eight year old.
   He'd dressed the child in a sexy wine-red blouse and a blue skirt with
matching shoes.  He'd put a pearl necklace, gold earrings and lots of
makeup on her, trying to make her more adult-looking.  But she only looked
more doll-like - like a baby caught playing with the stuff in mommy's
dresser.
   "How old is she?" the whore had asked.
   "Old enough, cunt.  What the fuck do you care anyway?  You've fucked
donkeys and dogs.  Little girls shouldn't present any problem for you."
   Natalia was skinny and skaggy, with short-cropped black hair streaked
with bright red stripes, a dog collar, tattoos on her belly and ass, nipple
and belly button rings, multiple ear-rings and studs in her nose and
tongue. She wore a red minidress and high-heel sandals and bracelets that
jingled and cheap rings on her longnailed fingers.  Her eyes glowed, smoky
emerald in a pale harlot face and her tongue grazed her upper lip as she
replied amused, jaded and a even a little bored:
   "Yeah.  Who knows?  I might even like it."
   He made Natalia strip Larisa naked and told the child to lie on the bed.
Then he got up on the rumpled quilt and unzipped his pants, his black
rubber shoes framing the child's head.
   "Sit on her face and suck my cock.  You -" he pointed down at Larisa. 
"- lick this pig's pussy good, understand?  Lick her pussy like you love
her."
   Larisa nodded and stared up at him unemotionally.  He knew she was
confused and trying not to show it.  He had made her put so much makeup
that now she was a miniature reflection of the adult female, a baby whore
to go with the full grown one.
   "Where are we going?" she'd asked him as he'd driven through the dark
streets of the dangerous neighborhood.
   "You're gonna meet a friend of mine.  We're going to play games and have
fun."
   Natalia now peeled her red dress over her head and moved to the bed to
climb on to it and straddle the child between her pale thighs, her knees
bumping up against his shoes.
   "Are you gonna hit me?" Natalia asked raising her brazen eyes to his as
she accomodated her shaved slit against Larisa's soft lips.
   "What the fuck do you think?"
   "You know the price is extra."
   "I know, pig," he growled, "I already paid for it."
   He raised his arm and swung his open hand hard across the prostitute's
face.
   The sharp slap surprised Larisa and half turned Natalia's head.  The
whore moaned softly and smiled.
   The child looked up at the two adults over her trying to understand what
was clearly beyond her grasp and she began to squirm under Natalia's
weight.
   "I've missed you, Ivan," the whore said, swinging her face back to him,
to his full manhood, now an inch from her pouting lips.
   "Have you really?" he sneered, grabbing her head by her sleazy hair and
tugging her to his organ.  Her lips slid around his shaft and she began to
bob her head slavishly.  From underneath Larisa saw his cock slip in and
out of the whore's mouth.
   "I'll make sure I give you plenty tonight then, to make up for my
absence lowlife scum..."
   He yanked her head back, slapped her again and returned her to his cock.
   As she groaned, shivered and continued to suck him eagerly, Natalia
reached down and grabbed Larisa's little head.  The whore began to drag her
pussyslit back and forth against the child's mouth.  Larisa gasped for air
and tried to move but Natalia's strong thighs twined around her like a
vise. The child kicked her feet against the pillows and sobbed but the
whore only ground down against her with determined urgency.
   "Sit on her, pig.  Stifle her with your cunt.  Ahh - yeahh - I'm
definitely gonna give you something to remember me by this time, you stupid
slimy fuckhole."
   And he did too.
   After Natalia had worked him up for a while, he'd taken the whore into
the bathroom and tied her in the shower stall, kneeling her, her wrists
high on a piece of rope dangling from the shower spigot.
   "You're gonna get it now," he told her as he stripped naked and slipped
his belt from his pants.
   Natalia watched him, biting her lip, shivering with anticipation, her
cunt throbbing and tingling from the child's inexpert attentions.
   "I hope you paid out your ass, you bastard," she sneered.
   He chuckled meanly.
   "I paid your fucking pimp a lot less than you think, pigface.  And he
was glad to get it..."
   Larisa stood in the doorway watching, her face flushed bright red, her
hair all mussed, lipstick and eyeshadow smeared all over her cheeks and
forehead, reeking of Natalia's pussy.
   "Put those on," he told the child pointing down at the high heel sandals
Natalia had discarded on the rug near the bed.
   The child obeyed unquestioningly, slipping her small bare feet into the
whore's shoes to stand tottering as he waited in the bathroom, the belt
dangling from his hand.
   "Get in here," he told her.
   Giggling and out of balance Larisa walked across the carpet and then
clip-clopped on the tiled floor of the bathroom.
   "You think its funny?" he asked darkly.
   The child's smiling innocence withered.
   "No, sir," she whimpered.
   "Stand over her," he said pointing at Natalia.  "In front of her -"
   He closed the bathroom door behind him.
   "Look at the both of you - two fucking filthy stinking whores..."
   He stroked himself and moved closer.
   "I want you to pee on her face," he told the child.  "Spread your legs a
little - yes - good.  Pee right on her face."
   The child stood awkwardly in Natalia's shoes waiting for her bladder to
release.
   "I don't know if I can do it," she said looking up at him.
   "You can do it," he said.  He reached out to turn the faucet on the
washbasin.
   As the water hissed into the sink Larisa instinctively let go and a thin
amber stream arced from her hairless pussyslit and splashed across
Natalia's cheeks.
   "Open your mouth, pig," he barked at Natalia.
   The whore obeyed moaning, eyes shut tightly, brows furrowed as she
gulped down the child's urine.
   When Larisa's stream died out to a trickle and finally stopped he shut
the water off in the washbasin, took the child by one arm and led her out
of the showerstall and made her kneel in front of him.  She slid down and
the shoes clunked against the sides of the toilet.
   "You know what to do," he told her.
   Larisa took his cock in her small mouth and began to pleasure him.  Her
little hands rose up to stroke the sides of his shaft and to cup his heavy
ballsacs, just as he'd taught her to do.
   He let her work him for a while then said:
   "Put your finger in my asshole, sweetness - like I showed you - ahh damn
- that's very nice - put it in and take it out - ohh, yeah - just like
that..."
   He stared at the piss-drenched bound woman in the showerstall.  Trickles
of urine streamed from her wet hair.  Beads of it adorned her face,
ephemeral liquid jewelry catching a gleam of the cheap ceiling light
fixture.
   "Tell me what you are," he said to Natalia in a low mean voice quivery
with ugly arousal.
   The whore looked at him.
   "I'm a worthless, stinking, piece of shit lowlife scumbag," she said
breathlessly cynical.  "Beat the living shit out of me."
   "You got it, fuckface."
   He began with the leather end of the belt but after a while, as the
whore twisted and jerked to the swishing cuts, bracelets jangling,
ear-rings jiggling, he switched to the buckle end and tore into her
viciously.
   Natalia bounced against the shower-stall wall, banged back against the
shower faucets and wailed as her client ruthlessly and methodically flogged
the front of her body, tits, belly and thighs with the slashing metal end
of his belt.  She urged him on, asked for more and harder, shrieked when
she got what she craved and between cuts she watched the eight year old
obediently and knowingly licking and sucking her ruthless guardian to
higher and higher levels of sadistic rut.
   Finally, when he felt himself near orgasm he untied the whore and led
her back to the bed.  He made Larisa climb on top of Natalia and he fucked
the child's asshole and the whore's swollen pussyhole alternately.  Then
he'd made both females kneel on the floor and he'd sprayed all over their
faces and open mouths, making them lick his sperm off each other when he
was done.
   Later that night, he woke both of them up and began again.
   He made the whore strap on a dildo and climb onto Larisa to fuck the
weeping child.
   He stood over the bed jerking off and he'd picked up his belt again.
   "I see I missed your back and your ass earlier," he told Natalia.  "We
can't have that, can we scumbag?"
   "Tie my hands," she groaned as she rocked against Larisa.  "Please.  Tie
me up good before you beat me - I need it bad."
   He knew she no longer cared about any financial arrangement.  Natalia
was a hopeless masochist, addicted to brutal men and brutal sex, like a
junkie to his dope.
   So he tied Natalia's wrists tight to the child's neck and standing by
the bed he'd flogged the whore with the metal end of the belt only this
time.  She slammed the fat black rubber dildo home in the screaming choking
child, reaming out the little one's pussy.
   Natalia had tossed her head back and screamed and sobbed bending to his
whipping and dildofucking Larissa with helpless simultaneity.  To him it
had sounded a lot less like pain and more like pleasure - even when the
belt-buckle began to draw blood.  The whore's cries had intensified in
volume and risen dramatically in pitch - it was perfectly evident that she
was orgasming shamelessly and enthusiastically to his flailing belt.
   After the beating, he'd used both of them again to work himself to a
delicious orgasm and afterwards all three of them had slept on the carpeted
floor of the cramped apartment.
   In the morning, after they'd all showered, the whore brought them
breakfast from a restaurant on the corner and they ate in a small sitting
room that overlooked the garden.
   "When you're done with her maybe you can send her here to me," Natalia
said softly stroking Larisa's long flowing hair.  "She could be very good
for business..."
   The child's eyes were rimmed red from crying and lack of rest.
   She ate her eggs silently and mechanically, clearly traumatized by the
obscenity of the preceeding night.
   "When I'm done with her she won't be going anywhere," he said.
   The whore looked at him, smiled enigmatically and then bit off a chunk
of bread.
   "Well you're welcome to come back anytime," she said.
   "Thanks, cunt.  I'll be sure to take you up on that."
   ~
   A few days after the games with Natalia, he took the last few pictures,
Larisa posed in an obscene split-beaver crouch spreading her pink pussy
with the fingers of her right hand.
   Dirty little piglet.
   She'd learned to enjoy posing for him, showing herself off for the
cameras.
   Really enjoyed it.
   It was the only way the child had of expressing anything other than
complete submission to her cruel guardian.  It was the only time she had
any measure of freedom - and it was also the only thing she could do that
held some sense of value for her.  Her short life was worthless except for
the moment she faced the probing phallic lense and she knew it.
   "Do I look pretty?" she asked him in a throaty voice, her lips cutely
pouting.
   "Very pretty," he replied softly zooming in on her hairless crotch.
   He was going to hurt that little cuntmeat.
   Hurt it real bad.
   He snapped shot after shot as she crawled and rolled on a blanket laid
out on the floor under the heat of the lights.
   She came up on her knees and framed her face in her hands and smiled.
   "Blow me a kiss," he told her.
   She did, her lipstick glossed lips pouting, and he got that last image.
Then he turned from her and put down the Nikon.
   As far as he was concerned the little bitch was used up now
photographically.  There was not much else to be elicited from her pixie
face and her pre-teen body.  Those images would belong to the men who payed
for them.
   The real flesh and blood child, however, was his.
   "We're going to do something new now, honeypie," he said.
   He picked up the black metal bar that leaned against the wall, next to
the couch.  It was about an eighth of an inch thick and three feet long.
   "What?" Larisa asked innocently coming up on her knees as he turned to
her, her little painted toes propped up under her.
   "This," he said and swung the bar hard across her little darkhaired
head.
   When she toppled to the floor and lay there he kicked her legs open and
went down on one knee to push the metal rod up the unconscious nude child's
rectum, lodging a good four inches of it in her then reaching down to scoop
her up in his arms and carry her up the stairs.
   ~
   He suspended his naked unconscious angel from the ceiling beams in the
attic.
   It was warm and dry and dusty up there and there were dried up
bloodstains from the last butchery.
   He hung Larisa by her roughly roped wrists between the two wooden
pillars from the hooks overhead and drew her small pretty legs up off the
floor and wide apart securing the ankles to old black leather bondage
cuffs.
   She groaned and waggled her feet and blood trickled down her cheek from
her hairline.
   The metal bar jutted out of her little asshole.
   He switched on the CD player and let Mahler's sixth rumble from the
speaker system in each of the four corners of the room.
   He wanted her awake so he drew the small vial of ammonium nitrate under
her nostrils and she coughed and woke stiffly and stared at him in mute
shock.
   He'd suspended her so that she was at eye-level with him and as he
tossed the small plastic vial away he glared back at her and then flashed
her an evil smile as he stripped off his shirt and unbuckled his pants.
   The only light in the attic came from an old upright lamp in the corner.
It had no lampshade.  Just a bright seventy five watt bulb that glared and
cast gloomy shadows in the skewed corners and across the slanted ceiling
walls.
   Larisa's young skin glowed beautifully in the bulb's rude shine.
   When he was naked he stepped up to her and put his already erect prick
to her little cunnyhole.
   She trembled and gave out a little cry as he entered her.
   He was fully charged sexually, rampant, almost feverish.
   The symphonic background roared toward its first pounding climax as he
slid slowly in and out of Larisa's well-used lovehole.
   "You know what that music is?" he asked her roughly.
   She shook her head, lips sagging, a tiny trickle of blood running down
on to her forehead from her hair.
   "Of course not.  You're a stupid little slut and you know nothing.  Its
Mahler.  Mahler.  A German composer.  You know he had a little girl.  Uhh
Yes.  A little one just like you - uhh - Know what happened to her?"
   He glared down at the bound child as she shook her head again staring at
him entrancedly.
   "She died."
   He gripped her shoulders, slid up into her warm girlslit and took her by
her upraised arms to smear his lips on hers.  He could feel the hard steel
bar inside her butt as he moved in and out of her.
   "You're gonna die too, sweetness," he said after a long hard grueling
slobbery kiss.  "I'm gonna kill you."
   "Nooo!" she whined.
   He liked her pleading babyface, tilted to one side, her hair spilling
over her eyes, her roped hands clenched above.
   "Yes.  You're gonna die for me tonight.  And you're gonna die
screaming."
   He kissed her again as she protested and tried to turn her face away but
he held her by her chin, slowfucking her as she drooled on him and cried
and quivered.
   Involuntarily her little cunt was drooling too, making the rough
suspended penetration somewhat more workable for him, the earthy smell of
freshly invaded vagina coming from her tense sweating body.
   He moved his hands over her small vulnerable quivering frame thinking of
the men that would look at the pictures he'd taken of her.  He knew most of
them would trade places with him in a heartbeat if given the opportunity.
Even those who thought themselves good honest moral men.  Given this dark
room and this unfettered opportunity he knew most of them would follow
their foulest, meanest instincts to their most logical and pleasurable
consummation.
   Most men harbored these vicious needs and kept them hidden.
   He was fortunate enough to have found a way to exercise them and to make
big money doing so.
   He kissed Larisa hungrily and licked her cherubic little face and her
tightly shut eyes.  He bit her ears and her neck and her shoulders.
   As the thunderous music pounded through another sequence he felt himself
ready to begin and he slid slowly out of her violated sex, separating from
her slowly, almost unwillingly, his cock still needfully throbbing as he
picked up the studded dogwhip.
   This was gonna be the first thing tonight.
   He took a step back from her and smiled again as she sobbed and pleaded
with him, her eyes looking down at the weapon in his hand then into his
eyes, then back to the whip.
   She knew what was coming and he made her wait for it.
   "Noo!  Pleease, sir.  Don't hit me!  Don't hit me!"
   Mahler exploded around them.
   Little slut.
   The smell of her cute little muff wafted up from her.
   Cuntsmell and fear.
   He was gonna give her all she could fucking take.
   His jaw clenched tightly and he raised the lash.
   The crack of hard leather against soft babyflesh.
   The repeated swoosh and downstroke of his studded whip.
   The affirmation of his violent manhood, of the surging need in his
balls.
   She squeals and kicks and jerks and screeches for him, fights and leaps
to each slashing cut.
   What a beautiful little bitch so helplessly trapped, so fiercely
punished.
   "Stupid little slutt!  - Fucking little whore!"
   His angry words her shrill cries framed in Mahler's tumultuous and
prophetic phrases.
   She's such a perfect sweet victim for him, a child after all, knowing
nothing of the sick dark need pulsing in his blood.
   Firewood for the blaze.
   There have been a few before Larisa.  How many he's not sure about.
   He's lost count.
   Who's counting?
   No need for it.
   Take as many as he can get his hands on.
   Photograph them.
   Sell them.
   Use them, corrupt them, rape them, torture them and slaughter them.
   No one's keeping track.
   These are lost children no one cares about - the offspring of losers,
drug addicts, thieves, runaways, whores.  The debris of the world.  Trash.
An endless supply - if not from the Russian slums then from the streets of
Brazil or the Bangkok countryside, or from Santo Domingo or Haiti or
Mexico.
   He moves slowly around her slashing knowingly and expertly at her little
body - knowing when to hit and how - knowing how to hurt his little captive
calculating each move - getting the most from each blow.  Now that he
doesn't have to worry about marking her he does so viciously.  He stripes
her cute legs first and her belly - then her back and butt - then her
little footsoles - then her little babytitties.  He stands in front of her
and swats the dogwhip down between her spread thighs, against her mons - he
slashes upward from the floor whipfucking her, making the steel studs tear
upward into her pink twatmeat and clang against the piece of the metal bar
that protrudes from her bleeding asshole.
   He flogs her wet moist little sexslit vehemently watching the tender
skin swell up and then rip and bleed as Larisa screams at the wooden
ceiling beams.
   So many shrill screams have filled this room...so many.  And so many
angry words, his snarling voice rising over the musical Mahler storm.
   "Bitch!" he shouts angrily.
   "Whore!"
   He thinks of the child as a more impudent whore than the pig Natalia who
bent willingly to his fury.  This child posesses a whorish innocence - a
decadent needy charm that must be utterly destroyed.
   He swings the lash left-right, then up-down, then left-right again.
   "This is what that little cunt needs!"
   Up-down - left-right - up-down.
   "This!  This!  This!"
   Slish-slashing, making her jump and dance and squeal and beg.
   He stops for a moment to catch his breath, rubs his cock on her bleeding
vulva as she moans and sobs and coughs and pleads.  He pushes just the head
of his cock into her beaten babytwat.  He grabs her by her long dark hair
yanks her head up to feed her the whiphandle.
   "Hold this, you little shit, and don't drop it.  Understand?"
   She nods weakly.
   His hands move to her beaten thighs.  He remembers the day at the
seashore how her skin gleamed fresh and new.  Lovingly he caresses the hot
welt-ridges.  He pushes a little deeper into her blood-smeared hole.
   "...little bitch..." he growls.  "You're gonna die for me tonight."
   Steps back.
   Punches her cunt.  Hard.
   "Ghhrhmmgg!" she grunts, tilting her head back - clamping her teeth on
the whiphandle.
   He punches her again.  Harder.
   "Wugghhhh!"
   "Don't you drop that whip, you little weasel-shit..."
   He punches her three more times, pounding her whipped pussymound until
bloody slime dribbles from it then he grips the metal bar that is lodged in
her shithole and begins to pull it out, slowly, twisting and grinding it to
cause her as much pain as possible.
   When the shit-mucked bar is out he drops it on the floor and takes the
whip from her.
   "Give," he tells her, taking a step back.
   She's crying and twitching, dangling on the ropes so pretty and
vulnerable, so obscenely beautiful.  For him there is no more perfect
position to place a little girl in - this whorish spread-legged pose
incites his cruelty like nothing else.  The whip dangles from his hand and
he looks down at her beaten sex and at the gouged out anus, both oozing
blood.  Drawing back he begins a heartless, methodical slashing of the
child's pudenda, anus and upper thighs.  Exhilarated by her renewed
piercing shrieks of agony he beats her viciously and rhythmically.  He
makes her bounce and leap insanely against the suspension ropes, contort
and sob hysterically, he punishes her greedily, tears away at her, vents
his manly rage on the helpless infant, makes her dance to the symphonic
cacophony that swells to yet another explosive climax.
   After countless blows he steps back up to her and puts his throbbing
prickhead to her ravaged shithole.  He makes her take the whiphandle back
in her mouth and he grinds passionately into the unfortunate creature
filling her like she's never been filled and never will be filled again,
sodomizing her torn-up anus with his manhood, his hands rising up to her
little neck, thumbs at the skinny throat to squeeze.
   "Don't you drop that whip, you hear me?"
   Crying disconsolately she nevertheless obeys him, her sobs garbled
against the dirty leather handle of the punishment weapon.
   He enjoys making the little angels hold his whip in their mouths while
he rapes and strangles them - it symbolizes such perfect acceptance of
their final hours in this dark hot room, turns them into compliant
followers, servile to his destructive will right to the end.
   He squeezes Larisa's soft throat-stalk gradually, tighter and tighter as
his hips rock back and forth pistoning his cock in and out of her - in and
out - in and out with hypnotic rhythm.
   "Look at me," he tells her.  "Keep looking at me.  Don't look away."
   Her cheeks flush darkly as he increases the pressure, his thumbs digging
into her voicebox as Mahler reaches a lovely melodic plateau - The second
movement long way from the end.  Squeeze.  Squeeze.  Pump.  Pump.  Her eyes
rolling back.
   "Keep looking at me."
   She wheezes for air.
   "Don't drop the whip."
   His cock sloppily sloshing in and out of her tight rectum, all blood and
shit smeared.
   In deep - out slow -
   " - agh -" she grunts, teeth clamped on the whip handle.  " - aghh -"
   Her muscles start to go slack.  The whip handle rocks loosely in her
mouth.
   He lets up the pressure on her throat.
   She breathes, sobs, gasps, coughs, sputters.
   "That's right.  Breathe.  Breathe."
   He begins to squeeze again and to pump her harder.
   Faster.
   "Suffer for me, sweetness - uhh - suffer - suffer - suffer -"
   The music swells powerfully, majestically.
   "Grip me with your ass," he tells her.
   "- ghwwaghh?"
   "I said grip me inside you, you little whore.  You know how.  I've felt
you do it.  Bronsky taught you that, didn't he?  Bronsky or some other
lowlife pimp."
   He wrings her neck tightly.
   "Come on!  Do it!"
   He feels her clench her rectal muscles against his pounding cock.
   "Yes.  That's very nice.  Very, very nice.  You really know how to
please a man.  Maybe I shouldn't kill you.  Maybe you can please me like
this every night."
   She nods urgently but he stops her nodding, his hands closing around her
silky throat making her blush, making her eyes fade back again, making her
go slack.  This time he waits until she goes completely unconscious, until
the whip slides from her mouth and falls to the floor.  Then he releases
her throat slaps her a couple of times to bring her back around, continues
to fuck her to the renewed surging of music bursting from the speakers.
   "I told you not to drop that fucking whip," he shouts at his dazed
captive.  "Didn't I?"
   She nods weakly and again he stops her nodding by grabbing her throat
and squeezing.
   "Grip me in your ass again, you filthy little swine."
   Again he fuck-chokes his child captive to unconsciousness only to bring
her around again and start the game over.
   "I'm gonna make you pay - yes - make - you - pay -"
   He sodomizes and strangles his little trapped victim repeatedly until
Mahler has played itself out in a violent cadential storm - fucking her up
the ass almost to climax - slap-bruising her face each time he revives her
- pinching her nipples and leaving grip bruises on her whipped thighs and
upstretched arms - punching her belly and chest - grinding his cock to the
hilt, gouging shit and blood out of her punching her face and head - and as
silence finally settles in around him, Larisa's wheezing sobby breaths
fading weakly as the music stops, he releases her and steps back.
   The child closes her eyes and hangs inertly, mewling, whining.  Her neck
is sore and bruised from the choking and her wrists and ankles are chafed
from the leather cuffs.  The welts and gouges from his studded whip are now
dark red smearwounds all over her and the blood from her head gash has
dried in thin red lines that streak down her left eyebrow over the eyelid
and down the cheek.
   He knows she can hear him moving about the room, opening the old cabinet
doors.
   He knows she can hear him returning to her.
   But its not until he strikes the match and holds it to the mouth of the
blowtorch that she raises her head up to look.
   He likes the way the reflection of the blue flame dances in her pretty
dark pupils.
   With the wooshing welding flame he caresses the metal bar he'd earlier
slammed across Larisa's head and then up her asshole.  He holds the bar in
a gloved hand and sweeps the blue tongue up and down the dark shaft until
it starts to smoulder.
   "I'm gonna put this back in you, sweetness," he tells her, smiling
again.
   She shakes her head slowly, mouth wide but silent.
   "Mm-hmm.  Up your little cunt this time.  All the way up in there."
   "Wh-why?" she mutters breathlessly.
   He sees her suspended legs ripple, her hands clench into fists.  Tiny
bloodjewels ooze from the studwhip wounds on her thighs and asscheeks.
   "Why?  Because you dropped the whip when I told you not to."
   "But - but - I couldn't hold it, sir - you were ch-choking me - and -"
   "And nothing.  You disobeyed me and I'm gonna punish you for it.  That's
all there is to it."
   She started to cry.
   "Why - why do you want to hurt me like this?"
   "I don't just want to hurt you, you little shit.  Didn't you hear what I
told you before?  I'm gonna kill you.  I'm gonna tear you to pieces."
   "But you said I was pretty - and you took pictures of me - and you said
men give you money for pictures of me - and you took me into town that time
and and - we went to see Natalia and -"
   "And what?"
   He put the blowtorch down on the table and moved toward her, the hot
metal in his gloved hand.
   "You thought I was gonna take care of you or something?  Hmm?  Is that
what you thought?"
   He gripped her thigh and felt her tense up and saw her bite her lip and
tilt her head and look up pleadingly at him, tears streaming down her
bruised cheeks.
   "You thought maybe I might give you a little - love?"
   He angled the tip of the bar down, aimed it at the center of her.
   "Pleeease," she whimpered.  "Pleeeease don't."
   "You are very pretty.  And I will make lots of money from your pictures.
But, you know, sweetness, all those times you showed me your little muffin
-" He dug his fingers into her smooth thighflesh.  "- all those times you
split it open for me with your pretty little fingers and I took the
pictures.  You know?  - Every one of those times I raped you and used you
and made you cry - all those times what I was thinking about, what I really
wanted to do to - what I knew I was gonna do to you in the end - was this
-"
   He speared the suspended child's babypussy with the glowing metal,
thrusting right into her ravaged cunthole, hot steel sizzling and hissing
as she jerked against the suspension ropes, her eyes wide and her scream
deafening.  He gripped her leg hard to keep her from bouncing away from him
and he shoved the bar firmly and relentlessly into the child, searing and
burning all the way up her vaginal passage, ramming up against her cervix
inside, pulling back slightly and then ramming in again to gouge crudely
into her immature uterus with it.
   "Fuck you," he growled as she wailed hysterically.  "Fuck you, Larisa,
and your dirty stinking little pussy."
   He worked the bar in and out agony-fucking the shrieking eight year old
until she suddenly went limp and silent, head sagging.
   He knew wasn't going to stay conscious now on her own.  None of his
kills ever did.
   He peeled the glove off his hand, loaded up a syringe with stimulant and
shot it into her neck then, donning his glove again, he ripped the
still-smouldering metal bar out of her with a quick yank.  Bloody slush and
bits of charred flesh oozed from her as he reheated the punishment rod.
   Just as she came around, squirming with pain, lifting her head groggily
to look at him he speared the sizzling metal up her asshole worked it in
and out for a bit then drew it out and put it down on the floor.
   Her eyes rolled back, glazed and her mouth went wide.
   Removing his glove he filled up the syringe with a second load and
pushed the long hypodermic needle again into Larisa's thin screaming neck.
   The child farted and shit blood and black faeces and she wailed
miserably now utterly unable to escape the grisly torture she was being
forced to experience, her traumatized brain and nerves revved up to maximum
by the injected drug.
   Licking his lips he put the glove back on, picked up the bar and washed
the flame against the steel watching the pieces of girl meat spark and
sizzle and the blood blacken.  Then he touched the metal to her flinching
whipmarked calves and to her heels and then to the backs of her welted
stud-spiked thighs.
   "Feel it, sweetness - feel how it burns you..."
   He caressed her with it, moved it up and down the sides of her thighs
making her dance desperately then he plunged it into her little cunt again,
fucking her with it, screams tearing and ripping out of her little throat.
   The sounds of the punished child sent him into nirvana.  He enjoyed
little girl screams of death pain.  He lived for these moments in the attic
- it was only in these moments that he was fully alive, fully himself,
fully complete.
   This little bitch was giving him a lot of pleasure, more than he'd had
in a long time, since maybe the blonde teenager, Lida, the one he'd skinned
alive and bathed with salt - or Nadya the one he'd forced to eat burning
charcoal.  But this one was even more special because she was so young and
so small and so helpless.
   He had to fuck her again, to fuck her burned out insides and he put down
the metal rod, peeled off the glove and shoved his erect manspear into her
drooly blackened pussy and assholes, relishing the sensation of carbonized
babymeat against his prick.  Deep inside her slimy bloodburnt shitchute he
let go of the fullness in his bladder pissing right into his sobbing
victim, feeling the urine wash hotly back out of her and on to his balls
and thighs, trickling down his legs.
   "Gotta put out the fire, babycakes," he told her, grinning maliciously.
" - uhhh - yeahh - put out the fuckin' fire..."
   He leaned over her, took her head in his hands and frenchkissed her,
grinding his now steel-hard cock deeper, as the child gagged, sobbed and
whined against his mouth.  She tasted bittersweet, salty with tears and as
he kissed her he moved his hard hands all over her, mauling her, crushing
her fragile limbs, eager to feel her bones.  He wanted to break her, to
crush her, to use her like he'd never used a victim before.  He wanted to
go to some new limit, to some new sick degeneracy and perversion with this
beautiful little piece of girlmeat and he knew he would because there was
nothing to stop him from doing so.  No fear.  No guilt.  No remorse.
   She was his, body and soul - his plaything - his slaughter-toy.
   Pressing his prick deep into her gouge-burned uterus he rejoiced in his
sadistic destruction of the child, tossed his head back, closed his eyes
and fucked her with all his energy.
   After a long while he finally slid out of her and went across the room.
   The box of three inch nails was on a shelf.
   Donning the thick work gloves now on both hands he stood behind the
suspended child.  She peered back at him, her head leaning against her
upraised arm.
   "Wh-what are you g-g-gonna do?" she whimpered.
   "Just watch," he replied curtly.
   He picked up a nail with a pair of pliars and popped on the blowtorch to
play the flame on the sharp metal sliver holding it up for her to see.
   "I'm gonna put this in your spine, sweetness.  I know just the
spot...This one will be the first one.  Then there will be more."
   "No!" she groaned.  "Please!  Please!  Don't!  I'll be a good girl! 
I'll be good!"
   "Good girl my ass.  You're a stinking little slut.  That's all you've
ever been.  A worthless stinking little tease..."
   The nail was hot now and he put down the sighing blowtorch and picked up
a large carpenter's hammer from the shelf where he'd gotten the nails.
   He moved toward Larisa and he brought the first glowing nail on the
pliars up to her tailbone.
   She was screeching for mercy.
   He was heedless.
   Placing the tip of the hot nail against the child's back he pounded it
into her spinal column with two sharp blows of the big hammer.  The first
blow sent the tip piercing through her flesh, the second into crunching
vertebrae.
   Larisa jerked against the cuffs and her head whipped back and forth.
   She went on screaming and bouncing as he heated the second nail.
   He smiled drooling, picked a spot a couple of inches above the first
nail and slammed the second heated spike home in the eight year old's
backbone.  It took just one good smack to drive this one in and his smile
broadened as her screams intensified.  She was howling like an animal,
yelping, and the destruction of her nervous system was causing her limbs to
jiggle and contract spastically.
   "Take it, you little shit!" he growled heating up the third nail.
   He hammered in this last spike some six inches below the child's neck,
finding enough resistance to warrant three brutal full-strength blows and
he surmised he'd probably smashed a couple of her vertebrae to splinters
and possibly nicked the collarbone.
   He paused for a few moments to watch the screaming, whining, kicking
baby and he stroked his cock in his gloved hand smiling.  Then, calmly, he
went on to pound four more torch-heated nails in her back making her
twitch, jiggledance and vocalize inchoate pain in raspy screams and broken
words her head twisting back to look, to watch him, then falling forward as
he hammered.  One blow finally snapped her spine and she grunted and puked
and gurgled and her head rocked back, her eyes glassy and fading.
   He grabbed her hair and looked into her upside down face.
   "Don't die yet, you little pig.  I'm not finished."
   He took the three foot long steel spike from the shelf.  The slender
sliver of metal was blackened and discolored.  He remembered briefly the
little bitch he'd used it on, about a year before - a little one named
Claudia - a four year old blonde bunny sold to him by her own mother.  He'd
put the spike through both of Claudia's pretty blue eyes and then he'd put
it through her screaming throat.  He'd then sat on a chair and placed the
bleeding dying child on his cock impaling and fucking her until she was
well past dead.
   Now he released Larisa's ankles from the cuffs and her legs slid down
and twitched, her toes rigid.
   Her eyes followed him as he held the blowtorch to the killing spike.
   " - ughh - pleeeze -" she groaned weakly.  " - n-no more - n-no more -"
   "There is more, sweetness," he replied.  "Yes.  A lot more..."
   When the spike was properly fired up he faced her.
   He put the tip of it to her belly button and looking into her eyes he
pressed it inward.
   Her lips gaped and she made an odd little sound as the peritoneal sac
popped open under the hissing pressure of the sharp indriving metal.
   He continued to watch her as he pushed the spike all the way into her.
   She writhed, now less energetically than when he'd driven the nails into
her back.
   She was winding down, running out of life.
   He pulled the spike out and it came out of her with a slurping sound.
   She retched up blood which spewed out of her mouth.
   Blood and bile.
   She burped up more blood.
   He pushed the spike into her lower abdomen.
   Watched her.
   Enjoyed her.
   Stroked himself.
   "Yeahhh -" he moaned softly as she drooled more blood and hiccuped.
   "You have such a lovely face, sweetness.  I'm gonna have to burn it all
up."
   He tugged the spike out of her - pushed it back into her mons, angling
upward slightly into her bladder.
   "Ughwwhggg!" she grunted, trembling.
   He leaned closer to her as he held the killing spike in her guts.
   "Tell me you love me," he whispered.  "Come on, sweetness.  Tell me."
   She pissed blood.  The spike wounds bubbled.  Her left leg bent at the
knee and rose twitching.  He forced it back down, pushing on her thigh and
he yanked the spike out of her and shoved it back into her upper abdomen,
into her stomach.
   Both her legs rose this time and she hiccuped again and vomited blood on
his chest.
   "Ahh yeahh, sweetness, come on - tell me - tell me -"
   " -ughh - I - I - love - y- you - sir -"
   He plunged the spike into her thigh, stabbing deep into her muscle.
   She screamed and shit and bits of gut spewed out of her burned out
asshole.
   "Say it again for me, you little animal!"
   She looked up at him unable to form the words, making grunting sounds
and he yanked the spike out of her thigh and slammed it back in.
   As she screamed and gasped he grabbed her head by her chin and glared
into her dying eyes.
   "Come on, pig.  Say it one - more - time -"
   She burped up blood and pinkish slime and then somehow, as she strained
to hold on to life her little mouth proclaimed the words he wanted to hear.
   They came breathy and weak and he closed his eyes to hear, to drink them
in, turned his head slightly, reverently as if listening to the most
perfect music.
   Then, leaving the spike in her he picked up the blowtorch.
   "The more you love me," he snarled - " - the more I hate you."
   And he grabbed her head by her hair and brought the torchflame to her
cheeks.
   "Burn, you little shit!"
   He pushed the torchspout right against her eyelids to cook her eyes and
she howled.  Her pretty eyebrows and lashes crinkled, withered and went up
in red ashy puffs.
   He trackburned her bloodlined cheeks and pushed the torch into her mouth
and pressed the flame to her tongue until smoke billowed from charred
flesh.
   He pressed it into her nostrils and tracked to her earlobes and held the
flame against the sides of her bruised neck.
   When her face was a carbonized mess he put the blowtorch down and shut
it off.  He then took the knife and cut the lines that held her cuffed arms
high.
   Larisa tumbled to earth - a charmless angel deprived of wings.  She
rolled over and lay on her side in a puddle of blood, piss, shit and
innards, smoke wafting up from her singed hair and face, the killing spike
still gouged through her belly, its point visible emerging out her
whipwelted side.
   He took the cuffs off her limbs.
   Picking up the hammer and kneeling beside her he began pounding the life
out of his child victim.
   Slam!  Wham!  Smackk!
   Busted up both her ankle bones.
   Moved up the legs as she lay on her side to pound her kneejoints out of
kilter, to smash one kneecap.
   Moved up banging to smash down on her hip bone until it cracked and
imploded.
   She no longer moved or twitched as he rolled her on her back and pounded
her gouged out belly and ribcage breaking her.
   He smashed her wrists and fingers and arms and shoulder-sockets grunting
with the exertion of the brutal attack.
   He didn't want to look at her fucked-up face anymore.
   Rolling her over on her belly he smacked the hammer down on her
shoulderblades and on her nail-riveted spine and then kicking her busted up
legs apart her put his cock to her little ravaged burned out cuntslit and
entered her.
   He masturbated himself with her dying body and as he neared orgasm he
growled and huffed like an angry bull.
   The image of Larisa posing for him on the beach, naked and teasing, so
full of life and innocence assailed him and focused his white-hot rage.
   He brought the hammer down on her little head again and again, a mighty
God delivering final retribution, crushing the child's skull, rupturing her
brain and killing her, still fucking her, slamming the hook end of the
hammer into her shattered skull and spilling her on the floor, putting his
whole weight down on her until he climaxed, long and hard, up her, inside
her, filling her death with his life-spunk, fertilizing dead meat, ripping
her little head apart, hair and bone, gray-pink fleshmass.
   He shouted with furious glee as his orgasm exploded fully, his balls
clenched, his meat hilted in the dead broken burned-out child and continued
to pound his hips against her for a good three minutes before his body
relaxed and he slid out, crouching then and standing over the bloody
mutilated carcass doll.
   It was a real fucking mess this time, he thought.  One that would take
hours to clean up.
   He debated whether to put Larisa in the ground beside his other kills
out in the empty fields of Gurdsvank Province on the edge of the tundra. 
Or perhaps he could chop her up and drop her in the Black Sea in weighed
down bags.
   For the moment his mind was still too fuzzy and pleasure-blown to make
that crucial decision.
   Instead he leaned back, one gloved hand on his hip and he raised his
still tumescent prick, aiming it at the dead child.  He frowned slightly,
feeling the buildup of pressure but unable to get it to flow.  Slowly he
massaged his aching cockhead.  A bit of warmth dribbled from him, spewed
slimily, then he sneered and with a piggish grunt he allowed the fluid to
hiss sharply out of him, a perfect yellow arc of blissful release.
   WOODBURN