The Brutal Telling Novels & Stories

I shivered as his hot breath brushed against my neck. I instinctively took a step back. The sinister smirk on his lips made my heart pound heavily in my chest. "And in return, I will take something precious from you." I gulped, knowing he doesn't mean my virginity. Then what? "Something precious?" He nodded. "You will lose something you will claim as yours, yet never truly own. You will be shattered... broken beyond repair, yet unable to do anything about it. You won’t bleed, but the pain will hurt thousands of times more than everything you have suffered before."

I was soaking him, my juices acting as lube as he pounded me into the wood. "Tell me how it feels," he growled in my ear, his hands digging into my skin, leaving red marks on my hips. "Tell me you want me to break you right here." "Yes... ahhh... mmm-ph! Break me... fuck me... ohhh god, Connor... yes!" "Augh... yeah, tell me your pussy belongs to your brother... mmm-nnn-gh... tell me nobody else touches you... fuck, Freya... ahhh!" he muttered darkly, his fingers digging deeper into my waist as he kept up the heavy, brutal rhythm.

what? Old man "The man said with a smirk plastered on his face " I swear to God,if you don't leave him, I'll kill you" my dad shouted at him, that's the spirit I love the tough side of him, not the vulnerable side that is in front of me. Then I heard the man laughing Hysterically like someone who has Lost his sanity "WOW old man, despite being in this pitiable situation, you still have the guts to talk like that, oh man I kinda admire your tough attitude, it really amaze me" the man said while grinning, the kind of grin that would forever etch at my memory, then man in black immediately took my mum in a tight grip like pointing the gun my dad, that was when the panicK state that has recent

That magnetic field was present, an overwhelming force that stunned me for one, killing second. Then everything… the grief, the humiliation, the rage… detonated. "DIE!" I roared, the scream torn from my chest. I lunged, all my remaining fury fixed on the pathetic tip of the butter knife, sharp and pointed at the frosty heart I knew to be as stony as stone.

He broke my femur, and the pain is unlike anything I have ever felt before. I’m yanked hard by my ankle, and I cry out in agony as my bones shift grossly within my limp flesh. Bile rises and my vision wanes as Brutus straddles me and pummels me time and time again with his massive meaty fists. I can hear Liam yelling in fury as I try to block and shield my face. Peaceful silence surrounds me as my hearing flees me with a loud pop. Liam stands above me, throwing Brutus from my frame as if he is some slight annoyance.

Amara sobbed, her body wracked with tremors, the images burning behind her eyelids. Then came the physical pain. It was not the elegant, psychological warfare Dante had waged. This was crude, brutal. They used blunt force, not to kill, but to inflict prolonged suffering. Her hands, the same hands that had learned to draw, to write, to aim a pistol, were now swollen and bruised, her nails torn. They forced her to kneel on rough, uneven concrete, her knees quickly abraded and bleeding. They withheld water, leaving her throat parched, her lips cracked and bleeding.

I felt him pack my hair in a ponytail and grip it tightly as he slammed harder. Discomfort consumed my entire being as the pain from his hard thrusts became unbearable. I could hear his grunts as he struggled to thrust in and out of me. I wanted to cry, shout, and scream, but I realized I was too weak and broken to even say a word. All I could do was weep silently while he had his way with me in the most brutal way. “You can’t be her. You can’t make be Nina,” he grunted and held my waist tightly.

The yellow mud slurry was like a wall, crashing down and blanketing everything in its path. Tyler used all the strength in his body to fling me out. By the time I could lift my head, I saw Tyler standing on the exact spot where I had been just now. The mud slurry had already submerged his calves. "Tyler!" He glanced back at me. Through that one brief glance, I saw something in it that I had never seen before. He flashed a smile at me. "Cleo, have I managed to teach you to be brave for once?" My eyes stung.

Monica shot him again on his lap and he couldn't keep it in any longer he yelled "I'll tell you, I'll tell you, please stop I'll tell you." The assassin said in pain Monica with the intervention of Vincent, lowered the weapon "Who are you?" Vincent asked "I.. I am Martins" He replied "What business do you have with the person you shot?" Vincent asked "I.. I have no business with him, I was sent to kill him. I am just a victim. I was threatened to do it or else they'll kill my mom." Martins replied "Who, who sent you to lay a finger on my brother?" Monica asked, but the assassin remained silent

I go to work. It’s not a rage-filled beating. That’s for amateurs. This is precision. It’s the application of pain as a currency, trading agony for truth. I ask a question. He lies. I break something. He screams. I wait for the scream to die down, and I ask again. The sounds echo off the corrugated metal walls. The wet thud of impact, the sickening crunch of cartilage, the high, thin wail of a man realizing that no one is coming to save him. It’s a brutal, ugly rhythm.