He eased them up and down, his eyes drifting back to the wrought iron bedhead and he couldn’t help thinking how perfect it would be; easy to secure her to, have her there spreadeagled… Don’t think about it… She’s not her… He thought desperately but it was too late…
… Suddenly she was there before his eyes and he was shucking furiously at his cock and the room was bathed in a red light and they were appearing, overlaying one by one there on the bed, their ghostly limbs solidifying and melding until a mass of her lay before his eyes. And he was there too, with his bag of tools and he was unrolling the sheath of knives as the heaving mass writhed against their restraints…
* * * * *
His jism erupted, spattering against the glass, ropes dripping over the sill as he made the first incision, the red spray pumping in exact time to the pulses of his ejaculation; the pleasure spasming his muscles into rigidity; making his legs feel all weak and rubbery as he dropped down panting.
When he came back, he was gasping for air, his throat bone dry and the panties, still wrapped around his wilting penis, were sodden beneath his fingers.
The realisation was both horrifying and exhilarating. He’d been back to the Red Room. And not for just a peek this time but for a play. It was the first time since the nights preceding his bungled attempt on the girl in Cumming St and they’d all still been waiting there for him. All of his girls had been waiting there all along. All the variations of her. Hanging patiently on their meat hooks and he’d almost forgotten how nice their play sessions could be. And that thought terrified him.
Now that he’d seen the joys of the Red Room again, his resolve was wavering. He wasn’t certain he could resist if it came again and the empty meathook had been there waiting just like it had been all those other times and Ben could just see his new life wilting and shattering before his eyes…
I need my pills, the thought broke through his mind as he realised he was now standing by the back door, rattling the lock as he tucked his slimy penis away.
I need my tools, he thought but shook his head. No, that’s not right, I need my pills.
But even as he backed away from the door his doubts were echoing back at him. Mandy’s voice: they could have him on placebos for fuck’s sake. Dr Slavia’s: you need to want this to work.
Maybe Mandy was right?
He’d been back to the Red Room. He couldn’t write it off like he had the glimpses. It shouldn’t have been possible. Maybe Slavia had put him on placebos…
Or maybe the reverse…
…Maybe it was the doubts? If a placebo could make someone feel better wasn’t it possible that the reverse could happen too?
If he was really convinced they weren’t working then maybe he was the one overriding his pills? Overriding them with his doubts? It had only started after he’d overheard the argument. Everything had been fine before that. It was only after the argument that he’d retrieved his tools…
Could it be him?
Ben hoped not. As he scrabbled back across the fence into his own yard, he tried desperately to convince himself that the growing certainty inside him wasn’t true. But if that was the case, then maybe he hadn’t wanted them to work. Really, deep down inside. Maybe he hadn’t had enough of his revenge yet…
He only realised that the panties were still stuffed into his pocket and remembered the jism splattered across her window when he was safely back on his side of the fence, gasping as he scrabbled for a cigarette. He didn’t dare go back though.
No, he needed time to think. He needed to take his pills. He needed to stop his doubts. They’d work… He needed to stay away from next door…
He couldn’t go back there…
… Well not yet anyway…
* * * * *
As she sat sipping her wine, Rachel’s mind was churning with fury that clamped her jaw and had her grinding her teeth in frustration.
Fucking Maree, she fumed, the alcohol doing nothing to dissipate her anger. She’d only been ten minutes late yet that bitch had acted as though she’d just butchered her first-born. Rachel had known it was coming as soon as she’d stepped through the door and seen her there behind the counter, her chest puffed up with self-importance but really… fuck… REALLY… was the dressing down in front of the other staff necessary? Rachel had seen them giggling away behind their hands and had hated herself for the blush she hadn’t be able to keep from her cheeks.
Didn’t she realise it was just a fucking café? It’s not like they were working for the UN or something. There had been a grand total of one customer in the store when she’d walked in for fuck’s sake.
And then the bitchy manner in which she’d reported it to André, the owner, when he’d dropped by. Rachel had been washing up dishes at the time and had clearly overheard her. Overheard how she kept the details vague. Made it seem like Rachel had strode in around lunchtime rather than the ten minutes late she had been.
Washing that large cake knife had been quite a job for her. She’d barely been able to refrain from rushing over and planting it in the bitch’s back. As she’d watched it glint under the kitchen lights she had just imagined the shocked look in Maree’s eyes. Imagined how good it would feel to scream at her: was it really so important!
Even just a slap would have been eminently enjoyable but she’d restrained herself. She couldn’t lose her job, not while she was saving for her house. There weren’t many jobs going around for a university drop-out that paid as well as her current one did.
It was just that fucking Maree…
Rachel knew she shouldn’t be brooding on it so much. That she was wasting her time ever hoping that vacuous bitch would see the error of her ways – not to mention wasting the blissful hours she had free until she had to go back there – but she just couldn’t help it. It was just so infuriating and as she sipped her wine, she couldn’t help replaying it over and over again in her mind.
Maybe Ana was right, she mused as she polished off the glass and rose to get a refill. Maybe she did need to get out more… Or get laid as Ana phrased it when she’d called at lunchtime to bully her into a girl’s night out. You spend too much time alone, Ana had told her, it makes you self-obsessed. You sweat the small stuff more. Suddenly everything seems to be about you. Little things just get blown out of proportion…
Although Rachel had been mildly offended by the whole exchange, she had allowed herself to acquiesce. Not that she was entirely certain it would do any good. She usually found things were great while she was by herself. It was invariably other people that caused the problems. Still it would be nice to blow off some steam tomorrow night… And then there would be two blissful days off after that. Two glorious days of peace that Rachel was already planning to spend tucked up in a doona on the couch with a big stack of DVD’s from the video store.
Rachel sculled the glass and immediately poured herself another. She could finally feel the effects of the alcohol loosening the tension. Looks like Maree survives another day… She laughed out loud as she picked up her wine and made her way back to the couch.