Tortured Hearts - Twisted Tales of Love - Volume 1

by A. J. Armitt

  “Lizzie... where are you? I’m coming for you.”

  My fear for my wife spurred me on and I continued with an unexpected relentlessness, hand in front of hand, knees shuffling forward until finally I felt locks of damp hair and smelt the faint scent of my wife’s eucalyptus shampoo.

  “Oh, Lizzie. I found you, it’s ok.” I bent down and kissed her forehead but gained no reaction. I felt softly for her eyes and found them closed.

  “It’s okay, Lizzie... Sleep. It’s all just a bad dream.”

  I moved around her head across the sticky floor to hug her body close. She was still naked and freezing cold, so I hugged her to try to give her some of my own body warmth. I rubbed her body with my hands, trying to get her muscles to warm up, when a clunking sound stopped me.

  “It’s okay, Lizzie, I am going to get us out of here.” I told my beloved wife and once more bent to kiss her forehead. My lips met nothing but air and, confused, I placed my wife softly onto the floor.

  Searching with my hands, I moved up her body, past her shoulders and, with a sigh of relief, brushed her face. I felt her head roll away from me. It moved across the floor like a distended football, making odd noises as her nose struck the floor on each rotation. I struggled for breath as the realisation hit me and I collapsed into a foetal position. Laughter softly chimed from behind my ear and I knew it was the last thing I would ever hear.

  ***

  Robert Brooks is a young father, husband and sometimes writer of fiction and poetry! A lifelong Londoner he can be found making witty observations on twitter @robbrooks2 and blogs his poetry at www.rbpoetry.blogspot.com

  The Groomer

  By Shirley Blane

  James turned the green stone over between his fingers, his hands trembling slightly with anticipation. The heart shaped stone was threaded on a leather thong. This one was number eleven, the figure etched minutely on the back. With heady optimism and imaginative planning, he had bought a box of fifty and chiselled a number on each one himself. He waited patiently in the coffee shop, making his latte last, checking each person who came through the door. Suddenly, she was there.

  He stood up and went towards her.

  “Sally?”

  She stood in front of him: short, tight skirt, long legs, as blonde and beautiful as her photos, although she didn’t look as young as he had expected.

  She was frowning at him.

  “James?”

  He smiled and flicked his hair back, self consciously. “That’s me. Come and sit down. I’ll get you a coffee.”

  She stood by the table, hesitating. He put a hand under her elbow, guiding her to the chair. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.

  “You look a bit older than I expected, that’s all.”

  “Oh, that photo. Okay, I confess. That picture was taken a few years ago. But you look a bit older than your photos, too.”

  The frown disappeared and she giggled. “Good. You’ve got to dress the part, ‘aven’t you? How would I get in the clubs, else?”

  “All the same,” he said hastily, “you look wonderful. Your photos don’t do you justice.”

  “Thanks.” She pulled out a chair and sat, dropping her backpack to the floor. He put his hand on hers. She didn’t draw away.

  “I fell in love with you the minute I saw your photo,” he went on. “I didn’t think I’d have a chance if I told you how old I really was. Is it a problem?”

  “No-oh. I don’t think so.” She looked at him, her head on one side, considering. “I’ve been out with lots of older guys.”

  He was disappointed, but kept his smile and held her eyes.

  “And here was me thinking I was going to be your first!”

  She giggled again. “My first what?” She peeked at him coyly, grey eyes almost hidden beneath thick, black lashes. “Depends what you’re talking about, dunnit? So how old are you really, then?”

  “Twenty-nine,” he lied, hoping she would accept that as her eyes swept over his blue jeans, trainers and leather jacket. He smoothed back his long black hair.

  She giggled again. “That’s twice my age. My friends wouldn’t believe me if I told them I was going out with such an old geezer.”

  “You haven’t told anyone you’re meeting me?”

  “Nah. Kept it a secret, like you said.”

  “You deleted all our e-mails?”

  “’Course.”

  “Where does your Mum think you are?”

  The girl shrugged. “As if she cares. Told her I was going to a friend’s for the weekend.”

  He smiled at her, relieved and reassured. “That’s my girl. I’ve got a present for you.” He handed her the stone heart.

  “That’s pretty. What stone is it?” She was looking down, her face hidden, letting it dangle from her fingers.

  “Jade. The real thing.” he lied again. “Supposed to bring you health, wealth and happiness.”

  “Oh.” Her voice sounded choked. He guessed she was overcome, unused to receiving presents.

  He stood and moved behind her. “Let me put it round your neck.” She passed it back to him and he lifted her hair and fastened it behind her head. Running his fingers lightly across her shoulders, he bent down and kissed the skin below her ear. She shivered and he saw the goose bumps appear on her neck, before he released her hair. He could hardly wait. This was going to be delicious.

  “Why don’t we go? I don’t live far from here. Walking distance.” She seemed to hesitate. “I’ll make you a coffee when we get to my flat,” he urged. He took her hand and pulled her up. With a shrug, she picked up her backpack and followed him out.

  He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked slowly along the pavement. As they strolled, he reminded her of everything they had in common, all the things they had shared in their e-mails over the past weeks. She was quiet and left most of the talking to him, but they were often shy, these young girls. In his eagerness to get her alone, he tried to hurry, but she lingered at the shop windows they passed.

  “Come on, Sweetheart,” he urged. “It’s only just around the corner. There’s so much I want to show you, share with you and we’ve only got today and tomorrow.”

  They finally reached the house. He had borrowed the basement flat from a pal who was on holiday. He opened the gate and preceded her down the stairs. She lingered at the top and he held out his hand, waiting for her to join him. Finally, reluctantly, she came slowly down the stone steps. He opened the door and stepped over the threshold. Still she hesitated, shuffling her feet at the doorstep.

  “Look, Sweetheart,” he snapped, allowing his irritation to show, “nobody forced you to come today. If you’re changing your mind, then go now. It’s no skin off my nose. I thought you couldn’t wait to be with me.”

  She shook her head and stepped slowly into the little bed-sitting room.

  “Close the door, then.” He moved to hold her and she stiffened and stepped back. “Oh, come on.” He was running out of patience. “What’s all this about? Either you want to be with me or you don’t.”

  She nodded and kept her face down, her hair covering her cheeks.

  “I do want to be with you, honest. It’s just, well I ….. I was lying when I said I’d been with lots of older guys. Truth is, I haven’t had a proper boyfriend before.”

  He sighed with relief, the feelings of anticipation returning and flooding his veins. He could feel himself getting hard already. Shyness he could cope with. He had brought the remedy with him.

  “Look, why don’t we have a drink? Get ourselves relaxed first? Yes?”

  She nodded again and he went across to the sideboard where a bottle of whisky and glasses stood waiting. He turned his back and poured a generous tot for each of them.

  “Here you are then,” he said, passing the glass to her. “Bottoms up.”

  She giggled at that and turned round and pushed her bum out. It was all he could do to keep his hands off the curved cheeks thrusting towards him. Take it easy, he told himse
lf, get her ready first. He laughed.

  “The glass, I meant, not your beautiful bottom.”

  “I know,” she said with a wicked smile, tossing her hair back. “I couldn’t resist it though.”

  “Time for that later,” he winked, “when you haven’t got all those clothes on.”

  She put her glass down on the coffee table. “Can I use your bathroom?”

  “’Course you can, Love.” He put his glass down. “Here, I’ll show you where it is.”

  He brushed against her in the doorway and she wriggled against him before pulling away. “’Ere, don’t stop me or I’ll wet me knickers.”

  “Then you’ll have to take them off, won’t you?” he leered.

  His erection was getting painful as he waited to hear the sound of water flushing, wondering how soon he could get her naked. The pill he had put in her whisky usually worked fairly quickly.

  She danced back into the room, picked up her glass and handed him his.

  “That feels better,” she said. He wondered how long it would be before he felt better. He watched her sip her drink and adjusted the bulge in his trousers.

  She looked at him, smiled and licked her lips.

  “You ought to take those trousers off,” she said. “They look a bit tight.”

  “That’s your fault,” he said, coming closer. “They fitted me earlier. Why don’t we both undress?”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I help you undress first, then I’ll do a striptease for you?”

  He groaned with pain and pleasure. This girl was a gem. She pushed him gently backwards towards the bed and he fell back onto it. The feel of her hands as she ran them down his chest and reached his erection made him gasp. Christ, he hoped he wasn’t going to come before she got his pants off.

  She pulled his trousers down and then lifted his under-pants over his straining cock.

  “Whoops, that’s big. How will you get that inside me? Will it hurt?”

  He was trembling now, trying to grab her but she evaded his hands.

  “No, no. That comes later. Don’t spoil my fun. Here, lie on the bed properly.” She helped him lift his legs up. He put his head back on the pillow. He was feeling a bit woozy.

  “I’ve got another surprise for you,” the girl was saying, as she opened her backpack. She brought out a bunch of multi-coloured scarves.

  “You gonna do dance of se’en veils for me?” he asked, slurring his words.

  “Better than that.” She took one scarf and put it round his right wrist. Tying a knot, she looped it round the leg of the bed.

  “Whar you doin?” He tried to lift his head from the pillow but it was too heavy and he fell back.

  She took another scarf, came round the bed and tied his left wrist to the opposite bed leg.

  “I drang wrong dring,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, what a shame,” she cooed, “that you didn’t notice I switched our glasses. But don’t go to sleep, you’ll miss the best bits.” She tied an ankle to each of the bottom bed legs, splaying him on the quilt. “Ooh, look at you. Where’s that lovely erection? You’ve gone all shrivelled. You’re going to spoil my fun.”

  He kept his eyes open with an effort and suddenly she was leaning over him, holding a large pair of scissors.

  “Cu’ me free?” he asked hopefully.

  “No, no, no. Game’s only just beginning.” She brought out a large roll of duct tape from her pack and cut a strip off. “There you are, Sweetie,” she said, placing the tape firmly over his mouth. “Can’t have you frightening the neighbours, can we?”

  She took up the scissors again. His eyes grew round with fear.

  “You’ll be better off without this wrinkly old thing.” She bent and took surgical gloves from her bag and put them on. Holding his flaccid penis with one hand, she smiled at him. “I’m doing you a favour, you know. It’s going to get you into real trouble one day if I don’t remove it.”

  He tried to move his head, pleading with her with his eyes. He felt warm liquid dribbling on his thighs.

  “Oh, dear, you naughty boy, you’ve wet the bed. Never mind, it’ll mix with the blood in a minute. You’ll want to know why I’m doing this? Well, here’s a clue.”

  She took a heart shaped stone from her pocket, identical to the one round her neck. “I noticed I’m number eleven.” She swung the other stone in front of his eyes. “Here’s the one you gave to my sister. She was number five, but you probably don’t remember her now. And, by the way, you were quite right about my age. I look older because I am older. Ten years older than you thought. Ten years older than my sister was when you ensnared her in your dirty games. You drugged her like you would have drugged me.” She ran the sharp edge of the scissor blade gently up his parted thighs.

  “Because of you,” her words were bitter now, all pretence at game playing gone, “my beautiful sister is dead and my mother and father will never get over the loss of their little girl. After you seduced her… Oh, yes, she left me a letter telling me all about it. She couldn’t live with the guilt and the self disgust. She said she’d let my parents down and that she would never be able to forget what you had done to her. So she took an overdose while we were all at work and we found her sleeping when we arrived home. A sleep from which she never awoke.”

  “It’s taken me months to find you on the internet. But eventually, I did. And for the last few weeks, you thought you were grooming me, didn’t you?” she said with contempt, idly flapping his penis up and down with the blade of the scissors. “But instead, I was the one grooming you. You took my bait and I walked into your lair and made it your trap. Unfortunately, during the months it took to find you, you’ve had the opportunity to wreck the lives of another five young girls. Well, I’m here to make sure you never have a chance to do that again.”

  She lifted his penis with one hand, a look of disgust on her face and moved the scissors in place.

  James’ eyes fluttered. He passed out and never felt the pain.

  ***

  Shirley Blane is the author of The Widow's Revenge, now published as an e-book with Amazon. She has also written several prize winning short stories and is currently working on a sequel to her novel. Find her on Twitter @BlanethePain333

  Authors’ Bio

  All of our writers are members of www.inkslingerbooks.co.uk, an online community for budding authors.

  AJ Armitt lives with his wife and three children in Manchester. He currently has one book in circulation ‘Entwined – Tales from the City’ and is writing a sequel. He can be found on twitter @AnthonyJArmitt

  Shirley Blane is the author of The Widow's Revenge, now published as an e-book with Amazon. She has also written several prize winning short stories and is currently working on a sequel to her novel. Find her on Twitter @BlanethePain333

  Robert Brooks is a young father, husband and sometimes writer of fiction and poetry! A lifelong Londoner he can be found making witty observations on twitter @robbrooks2 and blogs his poetry at www.rbpoetry.blogspot.com

  Rachel Dove is a wife, mother of 2 very boisterous little boys, frustrated writer, avid reader, blogger, teaching degree student, book reviewer for the Kindle Book Review and bad housewife. She is currently working on her first novel, and can be found on twitter @WriterDove Her two blogs: http://frustratedyukkymummy.blog.co.uk and http://thekindlebookreview.blogspot.com/

  Alex MacKenzie lives in London, has an MA in Ancient History and spends his time playing sport and writing fiction.

  Paul Murphy lives near Brighton, with his wife and four children. He is currently finishing an historical fiction novel "Wolf of Rome", the first in a series of action adventures set around the time of the Emperor Augustus.

  We hope you enjoyed Volume 1 of ‘Tortured Hearts’.

  Volume 2 and 3 are also available from Amazon.

  Please check out our website www.inkslingerbooks.com for more examples of our work, including free downloads.

  r />   A.J. Armitt, Tortured Hearts - Twisted Tales of Love - Volume 1