Russell screamed. He wasn’t fully awake, but he screamed in this drugged, dream scream. Lucas knew he would remember later, screaming himself hoarse, his raw throat aching when he awoke without his toes. Lucas had no idea how fragrant burning flesh was. His eyes watered, and the nasty stink made him gag. His stomach tempted to empty itself, but he resisted the urge. His eyes watered. “You’ll learn to walk again, it’s just toes. I’m so sorry. I can’t stay down here anymore,” he whispered through his tears.
The second toe was much easier; the metal plate was already hot, and it was quicker without as much blood loss. Lucas cut off all the small toes on both feet. The horrendous stink of burning human flesh was pouring into his nose and throat. He kept choking as he tried to work.
Russell screamed and moaned deliriously as he worked. Lucas understood why it took her so many years to take six toes off of him. This was not a task that would be fun, even for a crazy person.
Jaspierre went upstairs and left Lucas and Russell. She placed her wig in her closet, dropping her clothes into the laundry chute. Further in the closet, she turned on the water to her oversized shower and stood there. She was so mad. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t seem to kill Lucas no matter what he did wrong. Mother could have done it. Mother could have just stabbed him dead, or strangled or beat him to death. Her fingers scrubbed her flesh vigorously, skin turning pink. She did mean toes and fingers, but then she saw his sorry face standing there, with those sorry clippers. And here she was letting him do toes now! What next? Mother would have killed him. She kept scrubbing with a frantic pace. She might as well let him kill her. It was only a matter of time until he did it anyway. She needed to kill him now before he hurt her. How did Mother avoid these foolish emotions?
She slammed her sopping wet fist into the shower door. It spider-webbed with cracks. Now look what he did! Ruining her shower too. Enough was enough; she needed to swallow her doubts and get rid of him. He was back in the room with Russell; she’d turn the gas on and be done with it.
Instead, she burst into tears. Lucas was the only person she had. She wanted to keep him! Not put him down like a sick dog.
She stepped out of the shower, her raw skin almost bleeding. The glass cracked further as she moved, and it was time to leave before she ended up with glass in her feet. She didn’t bother with a wig, bra, or panties, and put on a soft, ivory t-shirt dress. The whispered scent of burning flesh fluttered past. Like Katie. As she got closer, the stink was stronger, and she smiled. Lucas was a good boy. She stepped into the fireplace and walked into a hazy foul dungeon. With a few button presses, the air cleared and a sweet, clean, fresh breeze rolled into the room.
Lucas was sitting, his tired scrubs coated in blood. The toes were all in the bin. He sobbed, pressed against the door. “Please let me out please, Jasp, please.”
Jaspierre wondered how long she had been showering.
“Please let me out. I swear I won’t help him. Please. I took all his toes.” He tried to hold in his soft sobs. “I am so sorry. Please don’t leave me down here. Please. I will do the dishes, and make you food. I will do anything you want. Please.”
“You still have to move him to your room.” She tried to sound cold into the microphone but her stomach twisted at the scene. Why couldn’t she do this right?
He whimpered and stood up, and the door slid. He took Russell’s ankles and dragged him down the hallway. His door slid open, and he was struck with terror. He did not want to go in. He shoved Russell inside. Then he waited for the door to shut. He realized Russell was still too far in the doorway for it to close. He took a deep breath for courage and he pushed him, as hard as he could with his foot. As soon as his foot was out of the way, the door snapped shut. He closed his eyes with relief.
He looked around, and the hallway was blank. Who knew how many secret doors there were. The one spiral staircase sat empty, spiraling up to a white blank wall. He waited, hoping for it to open.
Jaspierre watched as he shoved Russell into the room, trying to stay out. She almost caught his foot when she shut the door. But now he was in the hall, looking rather forlorn, and she had a choice to make. Let him up. Or press the gas.
Her hands hovered over the button. Gas him and put him back in his box. Let Russell face him for the toes. They’d work it out. This is what Mother would do.
Her fingertips traced the button. She had no backbone. She wasn’t cold like Mother, she was weak.
If she opened the door, they could have a nice dinner, and she would tear off his clothes again. That was fun. It was, quite unlike any sex she had previously encountered. He was so desperate to please her and so sweet and loving. Maybe that was why she wanted it again. Thinking about it made her want to try again. He would be fun to have upstairs like the kitties.
Her fingers hovered, and she looked at his screen. He sat on the steps of the spiral staircase, his white scrubs wrinkled and bloody, and he stared at his hands.
This was no fun for her, leaving him down there, staring at his stupid hands. These last three days were the most fun, interesting few days of her life. She had a date, she had sex, she had romance, she had war. She had never had so many reasons to draw swords. What a good way to practice staying on her toes. She even had a new prisoner, hobbled and ready to play.
She pressed the button.
The door slid open, and Lucas flew up the stairs. As he stepped through the door, he froze. He waited for a knife to be plunged into him. He waited for her ambush. But she stood there, staring at him. Lucas whimpered. “I’m so sorry, I am.”
She grinned. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
They held hands and walked together. He squeezed her hand with a sweet relief. She paused. Was she angry?
“When you decide to kill me, I wish you would make it quick,” she said.
He pulled her close, “I will if you will.” Then he kissed her.
She pushed him playfully and grinned. “You are covered in filth, and I just showered.” She paused. “Fine, though. I will if you will.”
“Let’s not let it come to that,” he said with warmth, and he had tenderness in his eyes.
Goosebumps crawled up her body. “We need to shower you off; you stink like burning flesh.”
“So, um, before we do. Can I wear something other than white yet? And will this thing blow up when I shower?”
She laughed, “No, it is water tight. No harm; you can swim with it even. I don’t have any other clothes for you.”
They walked hand in hand and came to her bedroom. She started to take him through her closet into the shower, but remembered it was shattered.
She walked him to his room. “You have a shower and tub, towels, and soap too, I am sure. If it is all dried up let me know. I should go shopping soon. I obviously haven’t had guests in a while.” She paused, thinking. “You could come with and pick out clothes later?”
She left the room, and Lucas stepped into his bathroom. The place was spectacular. Absolutely fabulous. The shower was huge with tons of nozzles, and the tub was separate; jetted and big enough for five people. He dug around in the cupboards and found a bunch of small bottles of soaps. He turned on the water and jets for the tub, and tried to pour in a little soap from the tiny bottle. It was dried out like she had mentioned. He tossed the bottle in and let the water run.
While the water was running, he took off his clothes and looked in the mirror. It was strange to see himself. He stared at how old he had grown. His ribs were visible. When did he get so thin? He looked closely at the stab wound and saw it had a small stitch sewn. It was red and sore, and gaping. Keeping infection at bay would be a challenge. He shaved; he always hated having facial hair.
Eventually, the soap must have softened, because bubbles brewed. The soft lavender soapy scent got strong. The tub overflowed with foamy bubbles pouring out; he turned off the jets and turned off the water. The tub wasn’t even halfway full of water, but the bubbles were pouring over the side. He laughed
, but then fear flickered. What if she got mad? He tried scooping up the bubbles and putting them in the toilet. They did not flush, they swirled around on top of the water. By the armfuls, he put them in the shower. He found the little bottle in the bottom of the tub and it was empty.
He stood there, naked, bubbles in his arms, bubbles foaming from the tub, and toilet, and a big pile of bubbles in the shower. With a rap at the door, she opened it. Her nose was attacked with lavender, and she was mesmerized by the scene.
She stood there with clean scrubs in her arms and roared with laughter. Thank God this wasn’t the thing that would get him killed.
“What are you doing?” She laughed so hard tears formed in her eyes.
“I… the… I tried to put bubbles in the tub,” he stammered, giggling.
“But, the toilet too?” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she laughed harder. “Why in the toilet?”
He burst with laughter and he tried to answer. “I… I tried to flush them.”
She laughed so hard she dropped his clean scrubs. “Oh man, you, you are something.” She turned the water back on the tub. “Don’t worry; the maid will be here in the morning, she can clean up whatever you can’t flush.” He kissed her giggling lips.
“Thank you.” His naked, bubble-covered body; and her with the thin layer of t-shirt. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, and they kissed again, sweet and firm.
“Good luck with your bubble mess. I’ll go make us dinner.” She broke away, and left the room.
He couldn’t help but smile. He had never in all these years heard her laugh.
Jaspierre unwrapped the frozen pizza and set it in the oven she didn’t bother to preheat. She looked at the chicken wrapped in bacon and the half made, cold lunch. Dumped it all in the trash and set the dishes by the sink. She set the timer and walked to her pool. The cats were sleeping. It was late, she knew. Probably should have had dinner an hour or two ago. It was funny how lunchtime merged into late dinner.
Thoughts of the boy upstairs covered in bubbles brought a smile to her lips. How he kissed her. She loved it and hated it all at once. Sex was too confusing and complicated, that’s why she didn’t bother. She didn’t like to be out of control of herself. But he made her feel… different. Maybe it was worth the trouble. Or he’d kill her. It was so unpredictable.
***Eight Years Earlier***
Jaspierre stood in the observatory, her chest pressed against the glass as she stared down. She was nineteen, and had just come home from a long work meeting. Her young body was dancing inside her. She felt so weird. Her eyes stared at the boy down below.
Lucas was lying in his bed under his sheet, eyes shut. He was squirming, and he looked so beautiful, unimaginably so. Panting and moving. He didn’t appear to be having a nightmare, but she couldn’t figure it out. She had never seen this before; this squirming, panting, eyes shut… whatever it was. They had hardly spoken since she locked him down there. She couldn’t figure out when to kill him. But she liked to watch him. Sometimes, he did grand speeches, shouting and pacing. Sometimes he did push-ups. Once he appeared to be playing pirates. Another time, he appeared to be making a rope to hang himself. But he didn’t even try to. Sometimes he cried, but she couldn’t stand to watch.
He had climbed the rings in the walls many times, and once when she came to look at him, he was at the top, staring at her. She said nothing, staring at him. His face was furry and his hair was long, and he looked like a yellow monkey. She stared at him, right in the eyes, and he stared back. He then asked her, for grooming supplies, and more food if she didn’t mind. She gave him a feast, more food than four people could eat and a little electric razor. He had been clean-shaven ever since. He was much more handsome with his fair skin showing. She always snuck stuff in while he was sleeping, terrified he would overpower her and kill her, but she kept putting off killing him. It was harder to kill someone when she wasn’t enraged with them at that particular moment. She could chain him, like her mom used to do, but she liked letting him have freedom. She believed she was better than Mother.
But at this moment, she didn’t feel like killing him at all. She wanted to see what he was doing. She wanted to know in ways that made no sense to her. Her body begged her, loudly; what was he doing? She pressed so hard against the glass she thought she would fall in. He made a soft sound, and she wanted to hear it again. Then she would know.
She made a decision, and walked down the small metal spiral staircase. She walked to his room and turned the key in the door, and the two latches on the outside. Then she turned the handle and opened it. He sat up.
His face was red, he was panting, and he was sweaty.
She stared at him, utterly confused. She wanted to ask him. But instead she stared. Words stuck in her throat.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why?” she asked, even more confused.
He turned red, trembling.
Her skin crawled and demanded louder, why? Why was he sorry? What was he doing? She had to know. But she was scared to ask.
Tears welled up, and she backed up to leave. “Are you being bad?” she asked right before she shut the door.
He couldn’t figure out what to say. He had hardly spoken to the girl. This was such an awkward start to conversing with a captor.
“I…” He hesitated. “I am, was, masturbating.”
She stood there, her eyebrows wrinkled, with a frown. “I don’t know what that word means.”
What the hell was he supposed to say to her? How did she not know? “It… it is sex, I guess.”
Her eyes grew wide. The door slammed and locked. Jaspierre knew sex. She knew it was horrible and painful. It was terrifying; never again would she do it. Never. No matter what.
But she couldn’t shake how her curious body craved more. Her body was crawling around inside her in the most unpleasant, confusing way. His face as he lay in his bed with his eyes closed, his sweet peaceful face looked so pleasant. That one soft sound he made; she wanted to hear it again and figure it out.
It was because he was a boy. Sex didn’t hurt boys. Sex made them monsters.
Somewhere inside herself she questioned. Lucas didn’t look mean, not during his… sex. Masturbation. Whatever it was.
She went upstairs and by the end of the hour had made a decision to try sex one more time. She put on a sparkly dress and heels and went out to a club. Never before had she been in one. The noise was overwhelming, and she had not yet found any reason to drink. She liked to be in control of herself at all times.
The bartender was pleasant and recommended a strawberry daiquiri. Wasn’t drinking supposed to make sex easier somehow? She sipped it, turned on her stool, and leaned back, pushing out her breasts invitingly as she sat. It worked, surprisingly well, and a young man came over with dark hair and asked her to dance. This was how you got sex.
And dance they did. She saw how other women pressed their bodies against men. Jaspierre tried it and intense, confused desire bubbled. She whispered in his ear she wanted to go back to his place, and he said, “Why wait?”
He took her to his van, and inside was an old dirty camping mat. She lay down on it, and lifted her skirt, and he said, “God, you want it bad, don’t you?”
She didn’t know what to say, so she smiled awkwardly. She couldn’t admit she had no idea what she was doing.
He unzipped and pulled out his cock. It was different than she remembered them looking. Actually, she couldn’t remember what the other one looked like at all. He shoved it hard against her and it hurt. She regretted this adventure, and he said, “Hang on.” He spit on her. It was gross, and her skin crawled.
“Poor man’s lube ha ha.” He grinned.
He pressed his flesh against hers and he was inside. So weird, painful, good, and bad all at the same time. She squeaked in a new sound she hadn’t made before. She thought of Lucas and his sound.
He moved around, back and forth, and it hurt. She squirmed and whimpered, and fear
rose within her. She tried to back up and he kept chasing after her, his body pounding into hers. It hurt so badly. Pinned in the tiny van. Pain kept screaming inside her. She put her hands up to push him off of her, and he exploded. He pulsed horribly inside her. Just like the last time. She had no idea that part would happen every time. She punched him.
He was panting and confused, but seemed to not have noticed the punch. “Oh God, I am sorry I couldn’t last longer; you were so squirmy. God, you are hot. Dammit. You are so tight. God. You kept squirming.”
She hit him again harder.
“What the fuck! I said I was sorry.”
Her eyes welled up with angry tears. “Get off of me.”
“What happened? You started all of this, not me.” Irritated, he got off of her. She climbed out of the van in a hurry. She wrestled her skirt down as she walked.
He zipped up and followed her. “Wait, please, wait.” She kept walking, in a fast angry pace. He grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”
She turned to look at him, and he saw the tears trickling down her face. He hugged her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” And he kissed her forehead. He still didn’t know. But he understood she was upset. And maybe he could screw her again if he got her to leave on a good note.
She drove a knife into his side and ran off.
She shouldn’t have broken her rule. No sex. Not ever. It was a horrible thing.
She drove home full of regret, and then she thought of Lucas. Beautiful Lucas, and his soft face, and the sweet sounds. If she was lucky he would do that masturbation again. And she would watch up in the glass. That sex didn’t seem so bad.
Chapter 8
Lucas came down the stairs in his nice and clean scrubs. His face was freshly shaved, and he couldn’t help but grin about the bubble mess. There was a rich and delicious scent of freshly baked pizza. He walked to the kitchen where there was a pizza on the table, still warm, and an empty plate. Two pieces were already missing. He helped himself and wondered where she was.
Jaspierre (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 1) Page 5