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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
I love Daddy, but he loved that whore too much. She hurt him, so I had to hurt her... You understand. Right?

Submitted: May 10, 2013

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Submitted: May 10, 2013



I’ve always hated rules. I was a firm believer that the only thing rules were good for were for breaking.

I don’t live by rules.

I live by a single law—my only law.

“Protect what’s yours, love it with all your fire, and kill anyone who tries to fuck that up.”


It’s that law that brought me here today, standing over the slaughtered body of my ex-stepmother. She had come slinking back to Daddy, promising him the world and everything in it for a chance to redeem herself from screwing around with another man. My brothers and I had begged Father not to take the bitch back, tried to tell him she was still a good-for-nothing piece of slime… But he still loved the whore, and nothing we said would convince him not to let her return to his home, and his bed.


I came home early from school, not even a month later, and found her in bed, having kinky fun with at least three guys and her best whore friend, all in Daddy’s bed. Something snapped in my soul and I felt nothing but the burning, painfully burning desire to end the existence of she who hurt Daddy, she who was still hurting Daddy.

She had jumped to her feet, wiping herself clean with a hand towel she’d had waiting, and tried to talk to me, tried to explain it was not what it looked like. I was in eleventh grade, a high school Junior, and she was talking to me like I was some kind of four-year-old, as if I couldn’t see right there the proof she was a lying slut.

Her friend and the guys had snuck out of the house while I was busy fighting the urge to throttle the bitch, but leaving her alone was the last thing they should have done. As she talked, she reached out to take my hand, as if to comfort me as she begged me not to tell anyone. I jerked away from her filthy hands and ran for the kitchen, intending to grab the phone and dial Daddy’s number, but the disgusting creature grabbed my shoulders just as my hand closed around the receiver. She was yelling at me now, calling me all kinds of names and threatening to beat me bloody if I told anyone.

My chest hurt from how much hatred was burning inside of me, and before she had time to react, my arm cocked back and I slugged her lying mouth hard enough to slam her cheek into a shelf, the satisfying cracks of her teeth breaking filling the kitchen. She slumped down, mouth and nose bleeding, staring at me with those wicked eyes as I grabbed the phone again. I plugged in Daddy’s number, the only number I knew better than my own, and it started ringing. I waited, counting the rings before I heard his blessed voice, asking what his babygirl was up to. I started to tell him, but the whore’s hand grabbed one of my twin braids and yanked it.

A scream burst from my throat and I spun, clawing at her face, ignoring that my braid hand come undone so one side of my head was a wild tangle. She fell back, crying bloody tears, but I kept going until one of my nails tore open her eyelid. She screeched like a dying cow, the sound making my ears hurt, so I grabbed a pair of scissors and stabbed them through the bottom of her jaw, skewering her tongue as well.

While she was writhing an kicking in pain, I dragged her by the hair to the living room, dropping her head with a satisfying thud against the marble section before the fireplace, then I grabbed to fire poker. If she liked whoring around so much, she wouldn’t mind a little more, right? Pinning her legs down, I smacked the side of her head with the flat end to make her stop squirming, and once she was down I forced her knees wide open. Grinning at the look of realization on her face, I rammed the poker as far in as I could up her ass, blood immediately beginning to pool underneath her as well, staining the white marble with red.


By the time Daddy reached home, it was over. I was sitting by the door, my school uniform stained with blood, brushing out my hair so it fell in soft, pretty waves, just as Daddy liked it. He stared at me the entire time as I told him what had happened, twirling a lock of hair around and around on my finger nervously as his expression went from surprise to anger, then to sadness. When I finished, he went to the living room to find Stepmother’s body laying on the floor as I’d left her, the poker buried in her up to the handle, her face torn open and her eyeballs sitting neatly atop her forehead from being gouged out afterwards.

He came back to kneel in front of me, putting his hand on top of my head for a moment before his fingers slid through my hair, soft, gentle, loving. His lips turned up in a proud smile and he leaned in, kissing my forehead. “That’s my good Babygirl. Now help me get her down to the cellar so we can have dinner together. Your brothers will be home soon.”

“Yes Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Baby.”

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