Bloody Finger Story Novels & Stories

No matter how much, Brian tried to wriggle his fingers to break free, Mann didn't let go. He saw as the sharp knife came close to the knuckle of his index finger and with a smooth deliberate precision, Mann cut off his index finger and blood seeped out from it. Brian screamed out in pain and the sound was like a melody to Xavier's ears. Nine fingers and many ear-splitting screams later, all of Brian's fingers were gone. “That’s just a warm up,” Xavier said and stood. He walked to the table where Mann was still holding Brian's fingers down and then poured his glass of vodka on his bloodied palms.

The driver's neck was about to break, and his eyes were rolling. Anthony threw him on the ground and cut off two of his fingers. "Ahhh!" the driver screamed, rolling while clutching his hand. "How many fingers can you take?" Anthony seemed to be a devil crawling out of hell. As he spoke, a cold light flashed, and he cut off two more fingers. "Ahhhhhh!" The driver almost fainted from the pain. His body convulsed as he stammered, "I…I'll talk… They took another car… They left…"

I ask not so happy with the situation. “I think he secures the first floor. He said he finished from our college unfortunately I do not recognize him.” “Jeffrey James?” “I didn't get his last name.” “He is the only Jeffrey on the ground floor.” I gently lift her hand. “Which of the fingers?” “This and this but I think the impact was more on the index finger.” “We are going to see the doctor immediately.” “It’s not that serious.” “Your joking right? Can't you tell there is a blood clot at the tip of your finger?”

Without warning, Dante grabbed his pinkie finger with the pliers— And ripped the nail clean off. The man’s screech of agony was deafening. Blood gushed from the exposed flesh, but Dante didn’t pause. He grabbed the next finger. Ripped the nail off. Another scream. Another nail gone. And another. And another. By the time he was done, all ten of the man’s fingers were bleeding profusely, his cries nothing but choked breathless sobs. Dante dropped the pliers, his fingers now stained with blood.

He seemed delighted as he walked toward Rafael, trailing his eyes over all the fingers on his hands and feet. “What are you going to do?” he asked nervously. “Ahhhh! Huhoho! Fuck!” he screamed when suddenly his index finger was cut off. He peed himself from the unbearable pain. He felt like he was going to die. “Hahaha… hoooooo! Success!” Deadbeat couldn’t contain his laughter when he saw the captive wet himself from the pain. He felt satisfaction. He quickly caught the severed finger and even bragged about it in front of Blood Claw.

I thrashed, chains clanking. Blood spattered the floor. He held the nail up like a trophy. "One gone." Then he brought the clipper to my second finger. “Again,” he said. "Who are you?" My breath shuddered. Sweat drenched my back. My hand throbbed like it had been lit aflame. “No… body,” I hissed. The pain came faster this time. A flash. A scream I couldn’t swallow. I thrashed, blood spurting onto the table. The second nail joined the first.

The pale-looking guy was desperate for money and he didn't think when took those bottles. "Come on, hurry up I have places to be, and people to torture." I gave him my sweetest smile and grabbed his right hand making him let out a pathetic yelp. "Right one it is then," I bit my lip trying not to get too excited over a pinkie as I put his finger in the hole of the cutter. His high-pitched voice sends a shiver down my spine, I pushed his hand flat to the table and sighed in delight when I heard the sweet crunch of the bone-cracking, decapitating his pinkie finger from its knuckle. Blood oozed and the loser quickly gets the kitchen towel to try to stop the bleeding, his body was still trembling

I shrieked as all five severed fingers dropped to the table in a pool of blood. He casually put the bloody dagger back in his pocket. “This will be the last time you lay your filthy hand on my wife.”

Blood now spilles violently where his index finger connected at the knuckle a moment ago. “Michael,” I say as I examine his severed finger, “we are now even.” “Even? You fuckin’ cut my finger off.” I bend down, my eyes now level with his, and shove the finger in his face. His eyes look frozen, mesmerized by the limb. “And you touched my woman. This finger here touched what belongs to me, so I took it, making us even.” “You’re fuckin’ certifiable. I’m gonna go to the cops.”

Wiped my face. “You’re being very brave,” he murmured. “But brave and foolish live next door to each other.” When he stood, I saw blood on his gloves—my blood. Splattered on the floor, down my arm, sticky and red. My fingers looked mutilated. Bare. Wrong. I choked on something, the bile in my throat almost forcing its way up. “Let’s try the right hand.” “No.” My voice was barely there. He didn’t stop. After the fifth nail, I blacked out.