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“Didn’t like the show?” he taunted her, “it’s okay, I’d never do that to you Chris. The clock on the stove said it was ten in the morning. Those jeans of yours could crawl away by their self, and your shirt isn’t any better. You’ll take her place that way. Come on, let’s clean you up, have some dinner before we go to bed and I fuck your brains out again.” Christine wanted to say something, but her throat was closed and burning from the smoke, acid bile, being sick and fear of what awaited her. She stretched upward, kissed his chest, neck and face, her hand gliding over his stiffening penis. Eddie heard Christine’s screams fill the basement like a chorus of banshees over the howling roar of the big chainsaw, her wild-eyed, terror-driven fear through the blue haze of smoke that poured from the saw. Eddie dragged her legs from the manacles, fastening them together so she couldn’t run, then undid the handcuffs, letting her arms down, shackling them behind her instead.
