by Granary Rubworth
There wasn’t anything Clement could say with his mouth sewn shut. He lay there naked on his belly atop the carpenter’s table at the bottom of the hole. The smell of freshly broken earth all around him, he wished his eyes had also been sewn shut.
Maynard jiggled a limp penis worm in front of Clement’s grimacing face.
“I sewed your eyes open, boy, so you could see exactly what is going up your turd burrow,” the greasy man laughed, pulling his pants fully down to expose the parasitic appendages sprouting from his crotch and thighs. “I’m all penis worms, and I’m going to give each and every one a chance to explore your innermost recesses.”
As he baked in the noonday sun, Clement tried to focus on feeling the ligatures that bound him to the table, searching for the possibility of an escape, “You wouldn’t like…
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