Bab 5: Huge Belly
His hair was black and thick, and his hair was wet on his forehead.
Some blood spilled over his temple over his left ear.
The man groaned.
Under his armpits, huge sweat stains had spread on his midnight blue silk shirt.
The beige pants had slipped down to his ankles with his underpants and fell on his expensive, hand-sewn Italian shoes.
The man was fat, with a tremendous throb that fell down to his thighs as he sat.
His cock had shrunk and was not visible under the huge belly.
Laila walked up and down in front of him and stroked a strand of hair from his forehead.
Her breathing was violent and intermittent, as if she had just completed a 200 m sprint.
Grief lurked like a huddled black shadow in the farthest corner of her mind, ready to leap at her like a predator at any moment.
She was afraid of losing her mind if she allowed herself to give in to her grief.
A jolt went through her body.
Laila squatted in front of the man and pulled on the buckle of his belt until she held the belt completely in her hands.
The man mumbled something indistinct
" What ??"
Silently she cut his pants in the middle with the hedge trimmer.
How well this rusty thing still worked.
Then she tied his right foot with the help of the belt to a chair leg.
Silently, she straightened up, pulling her belt off her jeans and tying his left foot to the chair.
The man raised his head and looked at her in panic.
"Please, I'm hurt. I need help ..."
Laila felt something in her mind tear softly.
With a catlike movement, she reached into the man's full hair, jerked his head back and brought her lips close to his left ear.
She smelled his sour sweat and expensive aftershave.
"You get any help you deserve here?" she hissed at him.
The man rushed to the window, then to the door.
"Please, I have money, I'll give you what you want, you can get out of this bastard and afford you a life of luxury ..." he conjured her.
"You have nothing you could give me. Except for one thing ..."
The man licked his beady lips frantically.
"Everything, everything you want ..."
Laila's eyes were as hard as steel.
"How many fingers on your right hand did you touch her with?"
The man looked at her blankly.
"What?"
Laila repeated the question slowly, as if she were talking to a slow-witted child.
"How many fingers on your right hand did you touch her with?"
The man started to whimper.
Laila put the hedge trimmer aside and picked up the baseball bat.
With moderate momentum, she let him crash his right shin.
The man howled and threw his torso from left to right.
When Laila was concerned that he might tip over with the chair, she stabilised it by placing one foot on the seat between his legs.
She leaned forward and brought her face just inches from his.
"How many fingers?!" she shouted at him, so that her hot saliva flew into his face.
"With all, with all?" he whimpered.
"Good boy" she patted his head.
"So all of you?"
The girl was about to reach for the hedge trimmer.
The eyes in his grimacing face widened so much that she feared they might dangle on his fat cheeks at the optic nerves at any moment.
"I'm sick, I can not help it, I even outrun my brother's children. On my own flesh and blood. I am ill, can not help it. I need help, I ..."
She cut him off with a quick wave of his hand.
"What did you do to the children? Tell me, otherwise I'll smash your right kneecap."
How motivating personal pain was with this scum.
It just gushed out of the fat jellyfish.
How he had groped his niece in her room, in her own bed, under the covers.
How he had to stroke his fingers over the gaps between her legs again and again, how the skin was so tender and hairless there.
How sweet his nephew had smelt and tasted.
As he continued to describe more details of his perverse offences against the children, Laila felt herself seized with a wave of disgust.
She literally saw the frightened and disturbed faces of the children.
Feeling her despair and helplessness.
She looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"Again your bad fingers?" she whispered softly. "You really need help.?"
The man nodded as eagerly as a first grader in explaining the small 1×1.
Laila threw away the baseball bat, looked him straight in the eye, and spoke in a soft voice that must have done his duty.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone