Eyeing up David, he got his breath back; the boy had grown. He was possibly a little too big now for his tastes, but a final thrashing would be fun; the boy had obviously missed him.
He started the game by walking around David, slapping the whip into his palm while telling him off for some fictitious deed he was being punished for. He then told him to strip ready for a beating. David dutifully complied, meticulously folding his clothing into a neat pile that sat on top of his shoes.
Things did not go to plan for the Head that day. David did strip, but when naked, he overpowered the old man, pinning his hands and legs to the ground. Laying him out on the cold forest floor, he slowly tortured him. Telling him all the while what he thought of him, spitting curses into his agonised face.
First he burned him with cigarette ends; the sickly smell of burning flesh and chest hair hung in the air. Then he beat him with the whip until he bled. Then he fucked him, over and over, without lubrication, until he bled some more. The Head’s screams went unheard, lost and muffled in the blanket of trees.
For the final act, he pulled a tray of dissection implements out of his bag. The Head turned his tear streaked face and saw the blades. Hooded, bloodshot eyes knew death had arrived. In that moment the Head gave up, he knew he was over, his cries softened to childlike whimpers, the heart attack had begun. He started to pray, probably for the first time in his cruel, bullying life.
“God won’t help you now; he gave up on you a long time ago. The Devil has come to do his dirty work, payback time, old man! What do you think the penance should be for years of ruining young souls, years of abuse? One Hail Mary and an Our Father? Two Hail Marys, ten, a hundred, a thousand? What would clean the sheet so that you can get a pink pass and go to heaven? Well, you don’t get off that easily,” hissed David into his blood-soaked ear.
He heaved the whimpering body and rolled it over onto its fat gut. With painstaking precision, he cut through the remaining clothing and pulled it back, exposing whip cut flesh.
“Next I am going to take out your heart, you never really used it properly, cut out your tongue to stop the lies and cut off your dick to stop the you forcing it on any more little boys, but first I’m gonna give you a taste of how you felt to us, for all those years; this is what you put us through bending over that desk of yours… enjoy, old man.”
The double-edged knife pushed silently up inside his anus, and slowly twisted a full circle. The Head’s final scream tore from his body with such a force that it swept the menacing audience of black crows up into the grey sky, calling out a warning to each other as they fled. David laughed and laughed. He was going to have fun with his penance list.
Chapter Fifty-Four
He fussed around his angel. He’d stripped her and gently laid her out on one side of the bed, leaving enough room for him to snuggle up beside her. Her hands and feet were tied to the bedposts with enough slack in the rope for each of her limbs to be moved around with ease, but not enough to allow her to escape. He’d given her ample medication to knock her out for the night, and he would top her up with injections periodically to keep her sedated.
He’d lain naked beside her all night, a white sheet covered them. He made a promise to himself that the first night he would not touch her; he would savour the moment, the bittersweet torture of waiting.
It was almost unbearable to be so close yet not reach out to touch her. He would lift the sheet and stare at her flesh, longing to run his fingers along the length of her body, remembering how it felt, tasted, how she reacted to his touch the nights he visited her.
He’d waited a long time to have her to himself, he no longer had to look at her through a lens, or sneak around in the darkness. He almost felt sorry that she would have to die, but she was on the list, she had to pay. They all had to pay.
He lay so close he could feel the pounding of her heart vibrating through the mattress. Her smell aroused him, becoming more potent as the night went on. Careful not to touch her, he would lean over her body and place his mouth over hers, taking in her exhaled breath, stealing the air that had been inside her. She would then inhale his as he blew gently over her mouth and nose, creating a cycle, until giddy from lack of oxygen.
She’d tossed and turned through nightmares, he’d soothed her, whispering gently that everything would be all right. She appeared to hear him, trust him, and fell back into her deep sleep. Eventually, he slept also, with a smile, in anticipation of the days to come.
It was now morning; finally he would allow himself to indulge his fantasy. First he took a long hot shower, preparing his body for pleasure. He then set up his camera, placing it on the bedside table in easy reach. Dressed in a white towelling robe, he sat beside her on the bed.
It was 9 a.m., time to start his day. Start his work. He would finish at 5 p.m. and take an hour for lunch. He would do this for three days, then dispose of her. She was his work, his masterpiece. He was almost scared to start, as that would mean a finish. What would he fill his time with after she’d gone? Seb, then what?
He guessed the police would eventually suss him out, even though he’d been careful to cover his tracks. The spy apartment rent had been paid for in cash with a fake ID; he’d always worn gloves and made sure he hadn’t been seen entering or leaving her building.
He planned to leave the UK for a while. He’d set in motion the process for funds, ID, and a new face in Mexico. He could suffer it there for a few years until his killing spree interest had died down.
Looking down on her, she looked so peaceful. The face of his angel, the face that had helped him through the Head’s little sessions, had fed the abuse and become an extension of it. The Head had been dealt with; it was now her turn. She’d abandoned him, rejected him; he would return the favour, let her experience rejection, pain, and worthlessness. Let her beg, he would mentally disassemble her, then end it.
Before his scalpel would take her last breath, he would gain her trust and make her shudder with pleasure until she begged for him, like he had her.
Taking his time, he slowly pulled back the sheet, exposing her torso. He watched as the cold air covered her in goose bumps. Her nipples hardened, he brought his mouth down to suckle them. He could be as hard or as gentle as he liked; with the strength of dosage he’d given her she did nothing, just lay like a rag doll.
He turned on the four spot lights; they lit up her body, no more spying in the dark. He pulled back the sheet, letting it slide to the floor. Her arms were flopped at her sides; ropes tied at her wrists led to the bedposts above her head; ropes from her ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed; she looked like a discarded puppet, dumped by a child that didn’t want to play anymore.
He slowly licked, stroked and tweaked her from head to toe, tasting every morsel, searching every crevice, he could do with her as he wished, he took his time. He got up and walked around the bed, surveying her vulnerability from all angles. Parts of her skin were glistening with his saliva. He picked up the camera and took a few shots. He spread her legs wide and took some more.
Click, click.
He sat on the side of the bed, with his camera on his lap, and gently stroked her pubic hair, then down between her legs, enjoying the difference between the soft baby skin and the coarse hair. He knew exactly how to get her going, he had nights of practice. He heard a quiet moan deep in the back of her throat, how easy she was, he played and played until she was soaking wet.
Licking his fingers, he picked up his camera again, taking more close-ups, rearranging her legs for a better view. He would shave her later, and take the same angle, before and after shots would be fun for his collection.
Click, click.
His cock nudged its way out of his robe, insisting on being noticed. He held it from time to time as he worked, massaging backwards and forwards. He pulled a condom from his pocket, tore off the foil, and rolled it down the length of his cock. He didn’t want to catch anything; he knew where she’d been, naughty girl.
Click, click.
He worked his way around the bed, taking shots of his gorged cock resting against various parts of her body; her mouth, cheek, hand, chest, between her legs, inner thigh and feet.
Click, click.
Enough waiting, it was time; he shrugged off the robe, chucked the camera on the bedside table, and knelt between her legs. Leaning forward he thrust deep up inside her, her body shunted up the bed, she was silent. He would come quickly because he knew that he could do it again and again and again…
Chapter Fifty-Five
He couldn’t come.
He pummelled away at the comatosed Tara until midday, with no joy. He couldn’t come, why? He’d waited years for this moment and couldn’t fucking come… shit!
He gave up, dosed her up with more drugs, left the flat to post another gift to the newspapers and meet Seb for coffee.
It was good to get out; he needed the air, needed to think. Why couldn’t he come? He’d finally got his angel to himself and couldn’t bloody deliver! He’d never had a problem coming.
Had she’d been drugged too much? He’d given her more than he normally gave her on his nightly visits. Maybe he needed her to be a part of the proceedings, even if just a little, to hear her groans and feel her body react to his touch; it turned him on to see the pleasure he aroused, empowered him. Fucking an inert dead object gave him nothing, any old fool could do that, and he wasn’t some ugly loser that couldn’t get a date; he did not need to rape.
He would reduce the dosage, sober her up a bit. She may initially be a bit difficult and reject him, but his success would be in turning her around, making her want him, beg for more. Control her, feed his power.
He would try again later, meanwhile Seb.
He turned the corner and skipped up the steps to the coffee shop; Seb was patiently waiting with two steaming hot coffees and two seats in the window, flicking through a newspaper.
Seb got straight down to questioning him about the text he’d sent to Tara the night before. David pleaded ignorance, but wasn’t sure Seb believed him.
“Why the hell did it have your address, David?” Seb questioned.
“I have no idea, dahling boy… maybe it was a joke from one of your so-called friends. Maybe a warning that they know about your little secret.”
“Oh, yeah… like who?” Seb was pissed off that David belittled him and his fear of coming out of the closet.
“A little tetchy this morning, aren’t we?… Well, Franco for a start…weren’t you with him last night? He could have done it.”
David knew that Seb had a crush on Franco, and was happy to shift the blame onto him. He kicked himself… fuck! How could he have been so stupid not to have deleted the text after he’d sent it? He was getting sloppy, losing his attention to detail, he’d better be careful.
“Don’t be stupid, Franco would never do anything like that; he’s a mate. Besides, how would he know your address? Although I was with him when I found it,” David had managed to put a seed of doubt into Seb’s mind.
“Anyway, I’m meeting up with Tara this afternoon, I’ll find out then what happened… she didn’t turn up at your place last night, did she? I sent a message to her phone, but I can’t tell if she got it; she’s going to be in a right mood.”
“Why?” asked David innocently, carefully sipping his hot coffee.
Seb pointed at his paper.
“Have you seen the papers this mornin? Her place will be crawling with press, again. She should get out of town for a while.”
David hadn’t seen the papers so Seb filled him in. Maria had gone to the press; she had finally cracked and splashed her side of the story across the tabloids.
“Tara will go bananas,” sighed Seb.
Oh no, she won’t, she will never find out, thought David.
“Anyway, David, got time for a quickie, shall we go back to your place?” Seb grinned naughtily, the text and Maria forgotten.
“Sorry, baby, I’m busy today, maybe tomorrow… I’ll call you.”
“Oh, go on… just a quickie,” whined Seb, David had never turned him down before, he didn’t like it.
“No, it’s good for you to miss me, makes you want me more, big boy; besides, you’re off to see Tara,” David grinned salaciously as he stroked Seb’s thigh, it was good to taunt him, make him wait.
Seb was not happy, but at least he’d forgotten the text message. David knocked back his coffee and gave Seb a lingering full-on kiss, said his apologies, and left. Leaving Seb turning pink at the public display of affection.
David returned to the flat; on the way he posted his gift to the press and bought a bottle of milk, a newspaper, and a baby’s bottle. He would use it to get liquids into Tara; he didn’t want her dehydrating on him just yet.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Bloody hell, fuck David… He’d been feeling so horny as well. He could really have done with a quick session. Instead, he’d been left to pay the bill and finish his coffee alone; he felt horny, dejected and frustrated. What a waste of a good stiffy.
He had a good mind to jump in a cab and try out a few of the bars in Soho, pick up someone new. Now he knew how bloody wonderful it was, there was no stopping him. Why the hell hadn’t he done it long ago? What a waste of years of pleasure… what a dick!
Sadly Soho would have to wait, he had to get back to work and track down Tara, they needed to talk about the new spin. He’d read her email to Pete Wells; it was a good idea and could save the day… God bless her, that’s my girl.
He dialled Tara’s home number on his mobile, and waited for it to connect up. Staring thoughtfully out of the window, he noticed what looked like Franco’s Mercedes parked up in front of the coffee bar. That’s funny, what would Franco be doing around here? He would normally be at training at this hour.
Tara’s answer phone voice clicked in.
“You know what to do after the beep…”
Beeeeepppp.
“Tara babes, it’s me again; left a message earlier… look… give me a call. Love the new spin idea, come over to the studio today, we should go through it before you meet your lot… err… sorry about Maria, she’s a dickhead. Today’s news is tomorrow’s fish and chip paper and all that baloney… call me… will try your cell phone.”
He disconnected, scrolled to her mobile number and called, it was ringing…good.
Looking up while waiting for her to answer, he saw Michael, Franco’s driver, walking toward the coffee shop. He was coming from the direction of David’s flat, he was alone.
Without thinking, Seb jumped up and banged on the window, waving frantically for him to come in… why the hell did I do that? He didn’t have time for a chat, and he hardly knew the guy… hopefully he’ll refuse, but Michael didn’t.
On seeing Seb, he nodded and walked briskly into the shop to shake his outstretched hand, while Seb left another message on Tara’s voicemail.
“Darlin’, it’s me again, trying to track you down, where are you? Have left messages on your home phone, we need to meet… today… call me,” he snapped his phone shut and turned his attention to Michael.
“Michael, how goes it, what you doin’ around here? Where’s Franco?”
He patted Michael on the back, noticing how stacked his shoulder muscles were… must be all that SAS combat training.
“Do you want a coffee or something? Sit down,” he pulled out the stool David had just vacated.
Michael cautiously took it. It was not like him to fraternize with his boss’s friends but he was about to rely on his instincts and take a risk. He hoped he could trust Seb not to panic and go off the deep end, but if Franco trusted him, maybe he was a good sort, besides, he didn’t have much choice, he needed help.
Seb got up to get them both a coffee. Standing at the till waiting for his change, he looked back at Michael. He’d taken his jacket off, hung it over the back of the stool, perched one leg over the seat of the stool, and was leaning on the table, scrolling through his phone… h
mmm, very hunky, nice ass!
He giggled to himself, now he’d started he couldn’t stop, he was looking at everyone in a new light, it was fan-bloody-tastic; he just prayed no one could read his mind.
Gently balancing the two mugs, he brought them over to their window stools and sat down beside Michael.
“Here we go, so what are you doing around here, killing time before you pick up Franco?”
Michael looked troubled.
“Well, err, Mr Maloney, I ’ave something to…”
“Seb, please, call me Seb, no airs and graces here, mate,” Seb interrupted, punching his very strong arm.
“Seb,” Michael started again. “I ’ave sumfin to tell you that may sound a bit off the wall. I want your word you will listen to me till I’m through and not tell Mr Rossellini anything unless I agree to it.”
He looked deadly serious, his voice hushed and low as if reporting a secret spy mission. Seb had an urge to giggle, but kept his cool.
“Err… yeah… of course mate, fire away,” intrigued.
“It’s my job to protect Mr Rossellini; I’ve taken it under my wing to investigate a few misdemeanours that seem to be occurring within his domain, so to speak.”
“Bloody hell, mate… very secret squirrel’ish… what misdemeanours exactly?” chuckled Seb.
Michael took a slurp of his coffee, still not sure if he should divulge his information, he hadn’t got it completely sorted out in his own head yet, but discussing it with someone would help. Taking a deep breath, he continued.
He told Seb that he’d been following Tara since she started seeing Franco, initially to see if she’d had anything to do with the vandalizing of Franco’s car. Someone had scratched “BITCH” on the hood, so, he’d watched her to eliminate her from his list of suspects. He’d also been keeping an eye on his boss’s girlfriend, Maria, lover boy Ed, and Tara’s friends.
The Penance List Page 30
