Is there a day and night in heaven? Or crickets to make such delightful chatter? Had I arrived in purgatory, the space between heaven and hell? There were no heavenly hosts to greet me. Must be purgatory. I couldn’t possibly have survived Julian’s brutality. The thought sent a shiver through my body. No one could survive the horrors he did to me.
I assumed I had some iniquities to atone for, perhaps those times I lied to Agnes or Père. I recalled lusting over a comely young man, all those impure thoughts.
The stark truth of my situation walked into the room bearing a smile so wicked he left absolutely no doubt what kind of life was in store for me under his command. It took a few seconds for the shock to settle in. I’m alive? I survived? How? Is it all a dream? Surely this isn’t real.
Julian Gautier’s face morphed from a wicked smile to a familiar hungry look. A prowling predatory awareness glowed in his eyes. He snatched the sheets and covers off the bed, exposing my nudity. I gasped, the shocking reality slapping me in the face.
I felt him then, thoughts and emotions that were not my own. He stood assessing me as I tried to cover my breasts, and I knew my fear aroused him. I could feel his cock growing hard in his pants. He ached to be buried in me.
“I have been waiting three nights to have you again. And now you are mine. Forever.”
A vision flooded my mind, of his erection covered in blood, tearing into me over and over. He was going to do it again.
“Je vais te bousiller!” I will kill you!
Screaming like a banshee, I launched through the air straight at him. With a primal rage I had never known, I slammed into his chest. We flew back and smashed into the cement wall together. His head connected with a sickening crack and we crumpled to the floor.
“Peigne-cul!” Asshole. I shoved him off and regained my feet, but he lay still as death. A trickle of blood ran out across the cement from the back of his head.
Something about the blood grabbed my attention. I reached down tentatively to inspect him and turned his head sideways. The slice on his scalp showed pink, meaty, skull bone and bled copiously all over the floor.
The strangest sense of hunger and longing assaulted my senses. My mouth watered from the pungent scent of blood and my throat burned with a wicked thirst. I had a near irresistible urge to lap his blood off the floor like a dog in the street drinking from a puddle. I barely stopped myself as I dropped to my hands and knees, shaking my head to break the disturbing spell.
Down on all fours like an animal, sniffing over his prone body, I considered killing him. I envisioned my teeth sinking into his throat, shredding the flesh. It would be so juicy, wonderful, tasty, and the revenge would be so sweet. The idea shocked me. A foreigner with a taste for malice and savagery had taken residence and rearranged all the furniture of my mind into unfamiliar configurations. I backed away from him slowly, regretting my action with every second.
I found a simple dress in a cabinet, clothing a maid would wear. It fit well enough. I raced up the basement stairs to emerge in what I guessed to be Julian’s townhouse. I flew out into the street barefoot. I moved so quickly, a rush of urgency driving me faster than I had ever run before. The pungent scents of the Parisian sewers assaulted me as I sprinted through the streets. Just like those dark creepy dreams of running through back alleyways, a powerful hunter seeking prey.
I tore through the deserted city, seeking a landmark. I didn’t understand how I could run so fast. I loved the glorious freedom, the breeze in my hair. The further my distance from Julian, the better I felt.
The whole city was eerily quiet. All the restaurants and night-time hotspots normally filled with people were closed and vacant. With no one in the street to obstruct my flight I quickly made my way home.
Just as I reached the loft apartment, a gut-wrenching command seized ahold of my body. It hit so hard I couldn’t move. I heard Julian’s voice bellowing in my mind in a fit of rage, “Reviens! Dépêchez!” Return to me! Hurry!
The intensity of his rancor washing over me drenched my soul in dread. His words echoed through me in an undeniable compulsion, an irresistible force. I acted involuntarily, my feet taking on a life all their own. Without pause, I turned and raced back out into the streets, every screaming fiber of my body committed to my flight back to the monster. Back to Julian.
* * * *
Chapter 9
I burst straight through Julian’s front door, shards and wood fiber flying everywhere.
“If you touch me I will kill you.” I spoke through gritted teeth, fighting a losing battle against his compulsive will.
He held a rag and ice on his head. His face wore a terrifying mask of murderous intent and I would have run right back out the door if I could move. But his will held me prisoner, a toy soldier standing at attention. His very own personal plaything.
He smiled at my threat, a mirthless twist of his lips, a smile of carrion eaters contemplating a dying man. I hated him in a way I had never hated before. I hated him with an irrational, obsessive hate so powerful it obliterated all reason. If he rapes me again, I will kill him. I felt a strange certainty my hands were very capable of dealing death.
“You will know ten times the pain you have given me.”
In the blink of an eye he smashed his fist into my face. Blinding explosive pain blotted out my world. He hit me again and again, his fists moving with preternatural strength and speed, bone-crushing blows. I fought back, clawing at him, flailing at his arms. My wicked sharp nails carved bloody gouges across his forearms and face as he fought me.
He drew back in surprise. “What is this?”
Broken and bloodied, I still had some fight left. I leaped off the floor to come at him but his command froze me in place. “Arretez!” Stop!
I couldn’t move. My powerful new body obeyed his commands above my own wishes. I was his to do with as he pleased. And he did exactly what he pleased.
I surfaced from unconsciousness to a world of pain, naked and bloodied on the floor of his basement. Why can’t I die? I just want to die. Please, God, let me die.
He came down the steps to stand and stare at me with that look, the reaper’s smile. He planned more enjoyment at my expense. I could do nothing to stop him or escape. I knew what he wanted before he said it. Somehow I was connected to his mind, tethered to his will.
“On your hands and knees, like a dog.”
I moved immediately. My broken fingers screamed in agony from the weight of my own body on my hands. He moved behind me and slowly removed his clothes, taking care to arrange them neatly on the other side of the room.
Sliding in from behind, he took me hard and fast. I wanted nothing more than to crawl away and hide from the monstrous implement of torture protruding from between his legs, but his will locked me in place. When I screamed from the burning agony of his thrusts, he pushed harder. My pain spurred him on.
He impaled me repeatedly, resting for a few moments here and there, his hands roaming my body in a mockery of affection. He wanted to humiliate and degrade me.
He growled as he stuck me. “You are my property. You will submit to me or pay the price of pain.” He smashed me in the back of my head. Lights out.
I awoke to Julian’s gloating smile. Sensing his intent to hurt me, I begged. “I will never hurt you again, I promise. Give me a chance to prove it!”
Though my head pounded and it hurt to move, I kneeled before him in supplication. I knew what he wanted. His monstrous cock in my mouth. He wanted me to service him with every part of my body. Better than the alternative. He had hurt me so badly I probably couldn’t walk.
“I will do it! You don’t have to hit me!”
My broken, bloodied fingers struggled to undo his pants. I swallowed him whole, choking at his length and size. He did not need to command me, I did it voluntarily. He grabbed my hair, pulled me in tight, and buried himself in my throat. All that meat in my mouth invoked a strange hunger. I could taste it there just beneath the surface of his sk
in, a lovely beating pulse. My mouth filled with teeth, long sharp teeth aching to be buried in his flesh. I wanted it sooo badly. I bit down hard and the most wonderful rich flavor of syrupy sweet goodness rewarded me.
He screamed and jerked in my mouth as I slurped down all that richness. I seated my new, sharp, elongated teeth into his tender, juicy flesh as he tried to escape. I would gladly suck his cock all night, slurping down his wonderful red meat. Délicieux, merveilleux, magnifique!
I worried at him like a dog, his nectar flooding my mouth. I thought nothing could make me release my lockjaw grip.
I was wrong.
Julian finally gained his wits enough to order me to stop. His words held dominion over my body. He collapsed to his knees, bleeding all over the floor. I sat frozen in place by his command, watching him, hungry, licking every last drop of his savory syrup off my lips. I moaned with need, vibrating with an intense desire to tear through his groin for more of that wonderful juicy red meat.
He mewled in pain, cursing me. “Meurs, pute!”
His hands shook as he inspected his injuries – blood everywhere. Oh how I wanted more, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t clean up the spilled blood. I watched his blood soak into the concrete and mourned the waste.
He looked at me, eyes squinted up in agony. The cold blade of his resolve cut through my mind and I knew primal terror. He planned something awful. “I will teach you the way of pain! You will beg me for death!”
With this promise he snatched my head in his powerful hands and slammed me face-down on the cement floor.
* * * *
I awoke to the tingling burn of encroaching numbness in my hands and feet. Naked, I was bound, stretched taut, ropes cutting painfully into my wrists and ankles. The cool, rough wooden table under my backside had me shivering. I tested my bonds, pulling harder and harder. The ropes groaned as I growled and thrashed. I started to loosen my right hand. A moment more and I would break free. But then he opened the door to the basement.
Julian whistled a tune and smiled as he walked down the stairs. He watched for my reaction, that familiar hungry look in his eyes. I hated that look.
“Did you have fun last night?” He smiled menacingly.
I wanted to kill him so badly. I imagined tearing through his body with my teeth and nails, bathing in his blood. An intense thirst floated at the edge of my mind, my throat so very dry. I needed more of his blood, now.
My hate spewed out of control. “Put it in my mouth again and I will bite it off.” I gnashed my teeth and growled in fury.
“Tut, tut, tut. How nasty! Don’t you remember my promise?”
I recalled his promise with a gut-wrenching stab of fear. He had a set to his shoulders, the look of a man ready to do something distasteful but necessary.
“Oui, I can see you remember.” He smiled wickedly. A flash of his intent slipped through our strange psychic connection. He planned to take me over and over, tied down on the table.
“Brule en enfer!” Burn in hell. I cussed and spit in derision. “If you do not kill me, it will be your last mistake.”
My hate made me bold. Foolish and bold. I wished he would kill me rather than endure more of his torture.
“I told you, ma chérie, you will beg for death. I regret I cannot contain this wonderful spirit.” He squeezed my breast, pinching my nipple painfully. He owned me, every inch of me.
He paused, his face in mine. His fetid breath washed over me. “I will break you,” he whispered, and I knew he meant it metaphorically and literally. He had me shaking with dread, and he hadn’t done anything.
I could feel his enjoyment of my terror. He liked this game very much. He took a heavy steel hammer from a tool box down on the floor.
“Mon Dieu! What are you doing?”
I cried out, struggling as he reached for me. But he didn’t hit me. Instead he untied my left hand and pulled my arm tight to the corner of the table. Possessed with unbelievable strength, I broke his grip and gouged at his face, cutting a set of red lines into his cheek. I tried for his eyes, but he caught my wrist and slammed my arm down hard. A second later he punched me in the face. My head cracked on the back of the table from the jarring impact.
Dazed and blinded, a ringing in my ears, I sensed his arm rise and fall with the hammer. For one blissful moment I felt nothing and thought he had missed. Then white-hot pain struck me dumb as a second blow drove a steel spike through my palm and deep into the table. I tried to draw breath but intense agony blasted all thought from my mind. Air filled my lungs and I screamed. He smashed the hammer once more to seat the flared head of the steel spike into my flesh. I cursed, cried, screamed, and called him every foul name I ever heard uttered from the mouths of sailors and ruffians.
When he began to untie my right hand I begged him and God to stop. “S’il vous plaît arrêtez! Mon Dieu arrêtez!”
My blood had splattered tiny flecks across his face. He licked it from his cheek and a wicked fire of anticipation burned in his eyes. “This. Is. The. Way. Of. Pain. Michelle! This will happen every time you hurt me!”
I fought with every ounce of strength I could muster in my right arm. I clawed his shirt sleeves to ribbons screaming at the top of my lungs as I fought valiantly.
One word ended my rebellion. “Arretez!” Stop.
I screamed myself hoarse as he pounded a second spike through my right hand into the table, the power of his command rendering me helpless. He slammed the hammer down three times to seat the wide head of the spike firmly.
Then he moved to my feet. My terror was like a madness.
He freed my right leg from the ropes. I bucked my hips up off the table and kicked with all the strength I could muster. It was useless. Pointless. After a few seconds of flailing he simply commanded me to be still.
The spike poised atop my foot, I begged for another chance. “Non! Non, non, non! Please stop. I will do anything you ask! Anything! I won’t fight you! I swear on my mother’s grave I will not fight you!”
He stared at me with cold eyes that did not know love or mercy. “I.” Slam. “Do.” Slam. “Not” Slam. “Believe.” Slam. “You.”
My foot proved much tougher than my hands. He needed four blows to sink the spike. Mercifully, I passed out. Icy water on my face awoke me to wave upon wave of pain. He had untied my other leg.
Shaking with cold and agony, I stammered. “I’ll do whatever you want! Prendre pitié s’il vous plait!” Please have pity!
“Let’s see if you’re telling the truth. I want you to hold very still for me.”
He pulled my leg over to the corner of the table and held the spike poised for the blow, hammer cocked high. He watched intently as my leg quivered and shook with the force of will I exerted not to fight him. My every instinct screamed to kick him, to fight. “I’m not fighting anymore!”
“I am not convinced.”
The fall of the hammer and the agonizing crunch of my bones splitting to accommodate the spike, overwhelmed me. I blacked out.
My rest was short-lived.
He woke me thrusting between my legs, harsh and unrelenting. And he was right. I begged him to kill me, repeatedly.
He only smiled.
Taking a few moments to clean my blood off, he lectured me. “This can continue as long as necessary. Contrary to your wishes, you will not die.”
I drifted into a half-asleep doze as he rummaged through his toolbox. His threats could not penetrate my exhaustion and thirst. My thirst, so horrid, I could have drained the River Seine.
I awoke to a leather whip-crack ripping across my belly and left breast. The noise and intense, searing agony jolted me back to life. My whole body reared up off the table as far as my pegged hands and feet allowed. He had my attention now.
As I screamed, my terror newly revived, he continued his lecture. “Ah, chérie! Now you are learning!”
I convulsed, screamed, and sang out a symphony of pain. I jerked and squealed, squirming as he striped me back and forth
, up and down. Even between my thighs. His whip hummed through the air as I screamed hoarse and guttural sounds. He chanted, “J'obéirai à mon maître.” I will obey my master.
He forced me to chant along with him.
Time became measured by the seconds between whip strikes as he continued his regiment of searing cracks of pain and chants demanding obedience. It seemed to go on forever. He baptized me in sermons of pain all night long. He left me a bloody wreck of raw flesh by the time he retired for the sunrise. I immediately drifted off into the welcome reprieve of oblivion.
I awoke the next night as he smacked my face. Every inch of my body radiated with pain. Tired. Thirsty, so thirsty. Need sleep. My throat burned with an aching need, a deep hunger. I fell back asleep murmuring, “A drink, just one drink.”
He smacked me again, but I couldn’t stay awake. He hit me a few more times, barely waking me. I drifted back off to sleep again.
“Merde! I did not feed her!” I heard him cursing as I faded to black.
* * * *
Chapter 10
Through a hazy fog of exhaustion and horrible thirst, I heard a young man arguing with Julian in heavily-accented, broken French.
Julian tried to coax him down the stairway into the basement. “She is down here, come. I promise you will enjoy this.” I couldn’t see for the white sheet thrown over my body and face, but I heard their footfalls on the creaking steps.
“What is that smell?” The voice was heavy with suspicion, and then came the click sound of a gun being cocked.
“Here, I will show you.” Julian coaxed the man down. “This is why you’re here.”
The sheet was yanked rudely from my body. I peered through blood-caked eyes at a fresh-faced German soldier in uniform, his rifle pointed at Julian. The soldier turned to me with disgust and bewilderment on his face. “What …”
The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series) Page 6
