Chapter 4
M
Caning. Where most thought of it as purely a form of punishment for sexual play, little understood the significant torture the act could truly bring. From the material, down to the size, each fraction of difference brought a diverse strike capacity, inducing variable pain for the individual. Bamboo, rattan, aluminum. The rods came in different lengths and diameter, enhancing exactly what sort of pain you were looking to inflict. Even the handles could come into play when one decided to use them.
I tended to enjoy using the smaller width. The sting was intense and provided more of a bite. With the fiberglass rod, it was easy to break the skin without applying too much force. Lucy was learning all too quickly what she should and should not do.
Rope bound her wrists and feet. Both set of limbs were spread, fastened sideways over an antique Victorian parlor chair. The bright red fabric stood out against her skin, enhancing the dark bruising and blood smeared across her bare ass. Twice, she’d knocked the damn thing over, tumbling down backwards with it.
Smile. Yes. I might have had one while watching her try to break free, but only for a moment. I quickly righted her, making her scream with the cane even more than the previous times.
“Your eyes are rolling under those swollen lids of yours. Are you getting tired, little one?”
“I…I want…to go back…to B-Boston.”
The sobs were soul deep. The sort that tore from the insides to reveal just how emotionally traumatized a person was. Lucy was distressed all right. She was in shock, and not just terrifyingly confused, but in physical shock. Her pupils almost covered the green of her eyes, and her breaths were faster than I thought they’d be after hours of light torture.
“But, dear, you don’t deserve him. Inside, you must know he’s better than you. Besides, he’s not quite right in the head lately. I’m going to fix that.”
Broken cries left her as she attempted to lift. “You’re n-not right in the head. I want to go h-home. I—"
The fiberglass rod split the air, and the impact to the lowest part of her ass had her entire body jolting. More skin split at her innermost thigh, and blood trickled from the now gaping wound. Seconds went by before Lucy could catch her breath.
“Ahhh! Ahhh!”
More sobs. More screams. Her upper body thrashed, and she sucked in a breath, going silent through the following short gasps. Within seconds, her body went limp and blonde hair swayed. Beautiful. Graceful even. My fingers locked around the heart necklace dangling amidst the tresses, and I broke the chain free, stuffing it in my pocket as vibrations met my fingertips. They had been going off for quite some time. A mix between Boston and Daniel.
I pulled up the texts, seeing it was the latter.
Daniel: One’s dead. I wasn’t ready!
Where are you?
I’ve been calling. You didn’t show.
I wasn’t ready to kill her, but I couldn’t stop.
I thought you were my doctor. Why aren’t you answering?
The sly smile that came accompanied my fingers as I texted back.
Me: I apologize. Problems with another client.
Daniel: But you were supposed to be helping me. I’m so mad. I don’t know why I’m even talking to you. I took care of it.
Me: You were careful?
Daniel: You think I want to get caught? I’m always careful.
Me: Then I’ll talk to you soon.
I didn’t care that I sounded callous or unprofessional. And I would to Daniel. That didn’t matter anymore. I checked my watch, looking between it and Lucy.
One minute.
Five.
Thirteen.
A gasp.
A groan.
Awareness.
“Welcome back. As I was saying…Boston, he’s not like everyone else. Take how possessive he is over you. How he can’t have you out of his sight. Did you really think it was because he loved you? Surely, you can’t believe he’d voluntarily love trash like you.”
At her sniffle, I paused. I waited for an outburst so I could punish her, but she kept quiet.
“Possession is the root of insecurity. But he’s not insecure for reasons he can help. The emotion stems from obsessive love. I don’t throw the word obsession around lightly, but unfortunately, he is, in fact, clinically diagnosed.
“For years, I battled whether it was obsessive compulsive disorder. When involving another person, most of the time, the obsession comes into play when a patient needs to resolve a question or situation. They might not even know the part that’s driving them to behave the way they do. I never got that from Boston. Sure, there were things that could have contributed to that diagnosis, but what drove him was more than that. So then, I questioned whether he suffered from erotomania. I don’t even know why I gave it thought. Boston wasn’t delusional. He knew the difference between what was and what could be. So, I continued testing, and we continued our sessions over the years. Obsessive love isn’t classified under the DSM-5, but it does indeed exist. Most doctors misdiagnose because they feel better hiding the condition under attachment disorder, or borderline personality disorder. I’m no fool. Although I hoped I could somehow transition his needs to better fit my own, I’m afraid that didn’t quite happen.”
Lucy’s head bobbed and her body shook through a new round of cries.
“Now, obsession is not always a bad thing. There are different degrees of severity, and even the strongest can be managed. But Boston is different. He doesn’t just have the obsessive love to worry about. No. He’s a prodigy. Smart. Clever beyond anyone could imagine. I should know. I’ve been his doctor since he was twelve. Had he merely been obsessed with you, I think we wouldn’t be in the situation we are now, but you see, it didn’t take me long to discover there was more to his fascinating mind. Boston admitted to me early on that he had this need to cut up your brother. He hated Jeff. He hated him so much, I feared I wouldn’t be able to convince him to wait. But I came up with a plan. One he almost didn’t take me up on. I guess he didn’t want to be watched. That’s okay. I walked him through the abductions and settled for the stories. Even afterward, at the beginning, I helped him clean up. He learned fast. Boston…he sure did have a talent and passion for mutilating bad men before his amnesia.”
“W-What?”
Lucy’s head lifted to reveal a flushed face. Her eyes could barely open and her lips trembled as she looked over at me.
“You heard me. How does it feel knowing the man you so freely give your heart and body to is responsible for killing at least nineteen people? Two of which you happen to know.”
“Jeff. You’re l-lying. He didn’t want to hurt him. He was trying to help.” Her head shook in denial, but I was already bringing down the cane again. This time, on her uppermost thighs. The slight whistle from my speed barely reached my ears before she was screaming.
“I don’t lie. I never lie. You accuse me of it again, and I’ll remove your tongue. I have little use for it anyway. I don’t need you to talk. I need you to listen. To obey me. And you better be ready to fucking obey every single demand I give. This,” I said, pointing the cane toward her, “is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you if you so much as bat your pretty eyes at the wrong speed.”
“W-Why are you doing this? I don’t understand what’s h-happening.”
My finger stroked down the fiberglass, slick with blood. From just below her tailbone, down her thighs, the damage was significant. Each welt held almost black bruising at the impact point. Shades of red radiated from there. In seven places throughout the multiple thin ridges, her skin was lacerated. None too deep, except the one at the bottom. Even seeing her skin slit open a good amount, I felt nothing…nothing but the anger growing at her query. I should have had held satisfaction or pleasure with how my plan worked out, yet even holding Boston’s most cherished treasure provided no relief.
“Do you know what questions are good for?” I aimed the tip of the cane toward the deepest wound, extending my arm to circle around the opening. Lucy jerked, crying as I eased the point into the bleeding crevice. “Questions get you into trouble. Questions,” I said, pushing the fiberglass in even more, “lead to answers you can’t handle. They get you hurt.” Flesh popped and broke at my force. Blood raced out in a fast stream, and I rotated my hand, digging into her flesh deeper.
“Ahhh! P-Please! No!”
“No? No, what, Little Lucy? No more pain? I hate to break it to you, but pain is life. Pain is love. Without pain, how would you know how good it feels not to be experiencing it?” I removed the cane, making a line of red up her ass and over to trace her folds. She tried to thrash at the contact, but she wasn’t going anywhere. She was so smooth. So perfect. I could see why Boston couldn’t get enough of fucking her. He was running from hormones and lack of sense. His obsession had become ruled by his cock. I couldn’t have that. I created him. He was mine. And my creation wouldn’t go to waste over pussy.
“You were a virgin when you gave yourself to him. Did it hurt the first time?”
My cane moved closer to her entrance, inching in, probing in leisurely thrusts. A high-pitched shriek echoed from the walls of the farmhouse. Where we were located, no one would ever hear.
“Get away from me. Sick. Fuck! Fuck!” The last was elongated and shrill through her continuing screams. Her body was jerking, going crazy against the ropes. Red trickled down her wrists and ankles while I stood there and let her wear herself out. I wasn’t in a hurry, and there was something captivating about the desperate terror she displayed. It held me still, keeping me entertained.
“Help! Someone, please! Ahhh! Ahhh! F-Fuck. You. Help! Boston!”
Time ticked by, and her voice turned raspy, and then barely audible. Her limbs were the last to stop. Even as she slowed, they still fought the good fight. She’d go lifeless, and then they would try to jerk against the rough hemp.
Deep breaths filled the room, and I found myself walking to crouch at her side. Bloodshot green eyes blinked slowly while she shook from the silent cries.
“You waste your strength. No one can hear you. No one will find you. You’re what I make of you, and for the outburst you just had, you’ll have to suffer. Tell me, Boston claimed your virginity, but did he take it from everywhere?”
Understanding took a moment to dawn. Lucy’s eyes widened, and she came to life all over again, struggling in her draped position on the chair.
“You’re n-not going to get away with this. B-Boston will come for me. He’ll find you.”
“And what? What will he do? Kill me?”
I laughed, tracing my thumb over her lips. Lucy shook her head back and forth while letting out a raspy scream.
Fisting her hair, I jerked her face back to me, digging my digits into her jawline with my other hand. I didn’t ease up until she yelled out through the intense pain.
“By the time the sun rises, you will be broken in more places than just your mind. I’m going to fuck you up beyond repair, and you…you’re going to be nothing but a shell I bend to my will. You’re weak. Even as you fight, we both know it’s coming to an end. You’re nothing. Orphan trash. Lost. Alone. You were doomed from birth, and outcast by your pathetic little town. Boston was the only thing that made you special, but I think we both know without him, your existence is worthless.”
Lucy lifted her head and spit splattered across my face. Instinct had my hand rising, and I didn’t hesitate to slam my fist into her cheek. The impact had her head snapping and falling lifelessly back down. My teeth clenched, and I stood, wiping the saliva from my nose and cheek.
She may have been out now, but I had the perfect way to wake her up. Lucy was going to feel my wrath. She’d wear it—body and mind.