Right of the Injured Party, Part 2
Title: Right of the Injured Party
Chapter: 2
Summary: After the Campania incident, Grell is allowed a final act of revenge on an imprisoned Undertaker thanks to an old, obscure
reaper code.
Characters/Pairings: Grell/Undertaker with references to William, Ron, Ciel, Sebastian, and Madam Red.
Rating: MA
Warnings: Graphic violence and sexual content, rape, torture, nods to bondage and S&M, and strong language. If you don't like seeing Grell as any kind of seme/aggressor, don't read.
Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Yana Toboso. I just play with them in horrible ways.
Author's Note: Also includes background stories I've given for characters.
Right of the Injured Party
Part 2
I heard the clock strike 10 when I phased to the Security building. It was a large, blocky building off the east wing that had the air of an old courthouse right down to the severe granite blocks and wood-paneled interior. Phasing could only go as far as the main lobby, I would have to walk the rest of the way to the prison wing. The prison had wards against entry by anyway other than the door.
The momentary dizziness I had upon materializing did not make this a pleasant prospect, though I wasn’t going to miss this chance for the world. Just because I was out of the infirmary now didn’t mean I was anywhere near full health. I needed to keep this in mind when I did what I did. I was told to rest, though a little light movement could aid in recovery. I would just have to pace myself and be a bit more subtle when I lay into the Undertaker.
It was the main reason why I didn’t put any effort into my appearance. I remained in the same loose white shirt and black trousers I had been discharged in. I slipped on a pair of rough Oxfords I had for occasions when a lower heel was more appropriate. I did put on some light powder and some eye shadow, through spatters of this bastard’s blood would be the final touches.
This entire building was disturbingly familiar to the point where my face ached from the memory. The main section I walked through now were the hearing rooms and magistrate’s chambers. No one else was around, it was past hours and they had up simple wards to prevent intrusion into any of the rooms. Soon I was turning around another corner to the even less cheerful area lined in white-painted cement walls; the entrance to the gaol. William dragged me here just a few months ago following that incident of which I would rather not ponder now. This time I was walking here of my own volition; this time I wasn’t the prisoner but the punisher, it was a pleasant turnaround.
The gaoler sat in a booth at the end of the hallway, I knew there were two sets of doors on either side of the booth concealed behind an enchantment to make them look like painted bricks. The prison ward was beyond that wall and accessible to only this chap or anyone else with the proper key.
Fortunately this wasn’t the same one who was on duty when William dragged me in. Even though my glasses were broken and my eyes were swollen to slits, I was still able to see that particular one was skinny and had blond hair pulled into a ponytail. This one was a heavyset gentlemen with lovely auburn hair that was alas thinning and frizzy, the tufts matched with his overgrown goatee and bulbous nose. He adjusted his rectangular spectacles by the bridge whilst flipping through was looked like a hunting magazine. I saw the name “James Alder” on a nameplate on the counter.
I approached him, my certificate raised in my hand. He looked up at me, then did a double-take at the certificate. I placed it on the counter and he looked at it, rising from his seat as the corners of his mouth curled up in an amused smirk. It looked as if he had some idea what this was about.
“Hand over your scythe please,” Jimmy said.
I summoned my scythe to my hand and gently laid it on the counter. He collected it and placed it in a metal case behind him, locking the case.
“You won’t be able to summon it while it’s in here, you’ll get it back after you come back out,” the gaoler said. “Do you have any other Gray Metal materials on your person?”
“No sir,” I said.
He nodded, picking a pen off his desk and laying it down on the counter beside the certificate.
“Sign and date on the line,” he said.
I took that pen in my left hand like drawing a sword, placing my looping signature on the line with today’s date. I placed the pen back on the counter and pushed both toward him. He collected the paper and placed it in a folder on his desk. He then stood up, putting his magazine down and walking over to the wall. I heard a few clicking sounds and felt an energy snap; a series of stones faded to an open doorway into another hallway. He leaned halfway out and motioned to enter.
“This way please,” Jimmy said.
I walked through the doorway, seeing the same white walls and gray tile floor. I did recall looking down on this when I was escorted to and from my discipline hearings, still thinking it could use at least some red tiles or perhaps a couple paintings. I reminded myself my hands were not bound behind my back this time, I lightly shook them at my sides to reinforce the point.
We walked past the administrative offices and boarded a lift going down to the detention level. We went down a few floors, past the main detention area where I was held and went a bit lower. You could already smell a bit of must like an old cellar. They really did shut Johnny away in a dungeon. At last the doors opened, revealing a wall of thick gray bricks. Jimmy lead me down the hallway of more gray pricks and heavy-framed steel doors. Everything was so much more severe down here, so daunting.
Jimmy the Gaoler stopped in front of one door and pulled out a key. I stood back for a moment, I wanted Lord Johnny to see me last; make this a grand old surprise. The door opened, though revealed a series of brightly lit shelves and cabinets. Jim walked inside motioning for me to enter as well before closing the door. I took a closer look at the contents of the shelves, seeing all sorts of deadly weaponry ranging from swords to contemporary rifles. He lead me to one steel cabinet off to the side and opened it with a key. Inside was the most fascinating collection of screws, pokers, forks, and wires that the Medieval era could produce for causing the utmost amount of pain.
“Take your pick of anything in this room and place them in your scythe’s space,” Jimmy the Gaoler said. “Five at maximum. Keep in mind he’ll be chained upright by his wrists against the wall and there will be no fire in the vicinity. Choose your toys wisely.”
I pondered the assortment of artifacts in the cabinet.
“This collection specifically reserved for this purpose?” I asked.
“Not just for this purpose, it’s also encouragement for sharing information,” he said with a little smirk. “Not really for reapers, mostly for the very important creatures held as battle captives. Add a dash of holy water to one of those things and a demon will scream for his horned mummy.”
“Fascinating,” I said in pure awe.
I took a careful scan of the cabinet and then looked around to the rest of the room. I did bring a couple odds and ends with me, not knowing what if anything else would be at my disposal. I had to decide what strategy to take; brute force or subtle agony. Both actually sounded ideal, start small then work my way up or perhaps I would break him down and them do spot work. I did need to take my health into account, perhaps subtle agony was the best approach.
I took a second look in the cabinet, my eye catching on a few black leather straps hanging from the bottom. I reached down and grabbed a soft leather handle, pulling up the most beautiful creator of sweet pain; a cat-o-nine-tails. Oh this was going to be so much fun; I immediately procured it into the empty dimensional pocket normally occupied by my scythe. I also took up a metal poker for good measure; a hook on one end curving out with a spike, a sharp point on the other, and thick enough iron that could do loads of damage when struck the right way against a person.
I really wasn’t familiar with the use of the more complicated items, might as well use the talents I already have. I looked around the larger part of the room, more than a bit disinterested with the more blatant weapons. I would rather play with him, destroying his body entirely sounded a bit like a killjoy.
“I’m satisfied,” I said.
“All right,” Jim said.
I walked toward the door and stepped into the hallway, hearing the heavy door latch behind me. He lead me a bit further down the hall. This whole place felt like the pits of doom; dark, musty, lined with severe steel doors, choked with a snuffing quiet. I doubted there was anyone else behind those doors. Long-term imprisonment was a rare thing; usually they cartoned you up pending the conclusion of your disciplinary hearings.
I had heard it was possible to be locked up for a few years, that was one of the sentence options that loomed over me after that certain series of incidents. Such a sentence was meant for reform, it would only be long enough for you to get the message and still have hope of staying with the company; anything beyond that means sacking. Elimination orders were only served on those who had done the most ghastly, unforgivable offenses; those who were a danger to the very planes. This was the perfect final home for our darling Undertaker.
Jim the Gaoler stopped at one door near the end of the hallway and took out his key, placing it in the door’s lock. This had to be my location.
“You have until 3:30 on the dot to do whatever you wish,” he said.
He took out a second key chain with a single key on it.
“Take hold of this key and have it in your hand for a moment,” he said.
I took the key, the metal felt like ice though I held it as instructed. The black key turned copper and took a feeling of warmth.
“That’s your key out should you wrap it up before then,” he said. “It will not work unless it is in your living hand.”
“Is there a chance my hand might not be living after this?”
“That chance is damn near impossible unless you do something stupid. He’s chained up like a crate on a topsy-turvy ship and there’s no way in Hades to break him out without a designated key. Not to mention his energy is pretty much gone. He’ll have barely enough to heal himself before his head gets lopped off, though that depends on how bad you give it to him. There’s a good chance he walks on that scaffold, everyone’s gonna see what you did.” I found his snicker at this rather amusing. “But we can’t take any chances.”
“Understandable.”
“The moment this lock turns, I’ll know and I’ll be right down to escort you out,” he said.
I nodded and put the key in the small hidden pocket in my trouser pocket. Jimmy turned the key, I head a massive mechanism unlatching and felt a large snap of energy as the sealing wards were broken. A normal sealing ward felt like a small snap when opening, this one was like a bolt of lightening. Naturally the wards were much stronger for such a VIP.
Jimmy opened the door, revealing a dark room where a small beam of light shone from the ceiling. He walked in first and I followed a few steps afterward. The room was a bit larger than I expected. A single small lamp hung from the ceiling and cast the cell in a faint glow. It took me a moment to work out my sight, that’s when I saw the man of the moment.
He wore only a ragged pair of black and white striped trousers, his torso bare. I saw a long scar going across his chest, probably alike to the one Ron and I would have thanks to him. I could only imagine he got it from some poor bloke trying to bring a miscreant to justice who would only receive a bloody final end in return. What if this fellow watched his comrades get cut down around him; was it like the feeling of watching my junior tumble down next to me? My heart pounded in my ears, I was primed for this little privilege.
When Will and Jimmy said he was chained up, they weren’t bluffing. He was practically against the wall; his arms hung high by thick iron cuffs that went practically down to his forearm and were connected with three heavy chains. Similar cuffs and chains were around his ankles, the chains long enough to allow him to stay upright and not tumble down. Will said the irons were specially made to keep his energy low and Jimmy the Gaoler said something of the sort. John just hung limply, his head bowed and white hair cascading down his shoulders with his braid hanging across that wonderfully toned chest. I would have thought he were asleep if it weren’t for the slight curling of his fingers. His long black nails had been lopped uneven stubs; I suppose they didn’t want him using them as a weapon.
“John Pennington,” the gaoler said.
The Undertaker’s head slightly rose from his chest. I saw the glint of a green eye between strands of his hair. His lips were stiff in a purely neutral expression. The gaoler lifted a piece of paper and adjusted his glasses to read.
“As you have been sentenced to elimination for your crimes, and as one such crime resulted in serious injuries to two reapers, so named Grell Nils Sutcliff and Ronald David Knox, Dispatch Officers Sutcliff and Knox are hereby entitled to the provisions outlined in Code 505: 6a, titled ‘The Right of the Injured Party,’” Jimmy read.
The Undertaker’s lips curled up in what looked like an amused smirk. I think he knew what this was about already. How he reacted to it would be a bit fascinating to behold.
“You are hereby subject to final reprisal up to one hour before your scheduled time of execution. The certificate has already been redeemed and signed by Dispatch Officer Sutcliff and you are now subject to his reprisal. You will have no recourse against any of Mr. Sutcliff’s actions, as your existence is considered void by ruling of the Reaper Council.”
I could see the Undertaker’s eye fixed right on me, I only sneered back. Jimmy lowered the paper and looked at me.
“Enjoy yourself,” he said.
He then walked to the door, undoing the latch, and walking out. The door crashed shut and the locking mechanism set itself with a loud clank. I never even looked behind me, my eyes were fixed on the condemned creature in front of me. Johnny and I were now alone in this room; there he was exposed and vulnerable before me. He was a blank canvas in need of some beautiful red paint. His head rose a little higher and he snickered, I could see both eyes through his long fringe. The smile he wore was pure malice, it made my heart flutter a bit.
“Lord John Pennington, I presume,” I said in the sweetest of tones, taking a noble bow. “Pleasure to return to your acquaintance.”
He chuckled harder; it was a throaty noise with a slight screech that was more than a little unsettling.
“Well if it isn’t Jack the Ripper,” he said.
His voice was a little weaker, likely the result of the exquisite shape he was in now.
I merely smiled and merely snickered.
“No, that’s not entirely correct,” he said, his voice becoming a bit stronger with every new word. “You’re just one of them. You had a partner; a lovely lady. I remember preparing her for her last party; it wasn’t easy mind you. Oh dear me, you made quite a mess of her.”
“I suppose you had to clean up the mess you made of her as well, or rather in her or perhaps on her,” I said. “I’ve heard all the horror stories about you.”
He let out a wheezing cackle.
“Just look at you and me; two nightmarish monsters locked up in a dank, dark, dreary dungeon,” he said. “How many horror stories start with this, or rather how many jokes begin this way.” He cackled again. “‘Two bogeymen walk into a dungeon…’”
I couldn’t help but have a laugh at this.
“One says to the other, ‘Why you just hangin’ round,’” I said, mentally reaching into my stores. “The second one says, ‘I ain’t got nothing’ better to do,’ his friend says, ‘Let’s crack one open.’”
The whip was in my hand, its tendrils sinking into Johnny’s flesh and drawing thick red lines. He yelped at the sudden surprise. I reared my wrist back and swung forward again. The tails ripped off small bits of flesh and left more red streaks to join the building smears. My wrist was practically moving on its own accord, I adjusted my stance with the different lashes; finding a grip and aim that would add more to the growing trickle oozing all down that lovely chest. His torso jerked backwards a few times and his wrists twisted in the cuffs. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he made a few grunting noises.
I laid on, savoring the crack of the tails against his flesh, the sight of small peels of skin sticking to the end of the knots. I remembered to pace myself lest I aggravate my injury, though I actually found this invigorating. I heard sharp intakes of breath and saw his nostrils flare in response. His lips parted to reveal gritted teeth as he breathed harder. I moved from his chest to his arms. The tails wrapped around whatever curves they could find and flensed small red trails. His head fell back and I saw his eyelids flutter a bit. Dear God was he smiling? Johnny then let out a soft moan; this wasn’t a moan of suffering, this was a moan of bliss like tasting an exquisite wine, or the first moans of lovemaking.
The bounder was enjoying this. That didn’t exactly surprise me, but it grated on me. He shouldn’t be enjoying this, I didn’t enjoy his little slice on me and I sure as hell didn’t want him to enjoy this. I took more methodical swings against his arms, allowing the tails to wrap around and peel off trails of flesh. He gave a few high yelps in response that grew louder with each lash I took. Johnny then let out a louder moan, his smile widening. Soon he was snickering like a mad bird. Was the bastard bluffing me or was he really enjoying this?
“You enjoying yourself, you sick little fucker?” I said, giving him one more crack for good measure.
He only cackled in response. I slid a few steps toward him and backhanded him hard across the face. His whole body swung to the side, caught by the chains holding him against the wall like a puppet on strings. I gave him another love tap for good measure, waiting until he returned to his original position and smacking him again. Such is the advantage of being a reaper; a simple slap has a bit more meaning. He spat out a wad of blood and then that goofy smile crawled back on his face.
“Feisty little minx, aren’t ya,” he said, grinning and showing blood coated-teeth.
I wanted to give him a few more whippings, though I would rather have calmed my temper a bit. Brute force for too long would be no fun, I wanted to do a few more creative things and could only do so with my bile at a more agreeable level. Now was a good time to pause, collect my strength, and ready my next assault. It would be taking the chance he would flap his lips harder and piss me off even more.
“A bit yes, I don’t like it when arseholes like you try to kill me,” I said.
I unbuttoned my shirt, opening the panels to show the angry red mark with black stitches. He smirked a bit more and snickered.
“I was doing you a bloody favor, ol’ Jacky,” he said. “You and that little veal that was next to you.”
I got right in his face until my nose was touching his. My right hand clamped under his jaw and jerked his head back, one finger poised on his Adam’s apple and pressing hard.
“Oh please do enlighten me,” I hissed in his ear. “What bloody favor would that be? Liberating us from the very knowledge of your true nature because we cannot handle the awesomeness of your presence? Now there’s vainglory if I ever saw it.”
“And I know no one as vainglorious as two beautiful murderers ripping up a bunch of filthy whores for sport, though the earl’s convinced you two lovelies had some kind of higher message to send,” he said.
I didn’t realize how much this subject rubbed me the wrong way. I resisted the urge to smack him another one, instead I was truly curious as to where this was going.
“You touch a nerve the right way, the body will twitch; alive or freshly dead,” he said. “It appears I’ve done just that, haven’t I, Jack?”
“And how much did our darling little brat tell you?” I asked, pressing harder against his windpipe, his lack of struggling infuriating me more though calm was still the best course for now.
“Everything,” he said, “except the fact that the whelp butler turned violent maniac actually worked for a certain company of ghosts. Though I already knew that little fact. Illusion charms only work on humans, tough corpses as old as me can see through them a bit better. It was a well-made one I’ll give you that. It took me a couple looks to see the pretty yellow-green, but I swear I didn’t see what lovely red hair and what bright, savage smiles you had.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Johnny-boy,” I said, pressing harder against his windpipe to the point where I felt it start to close.
He gave a few chokes that turned into gurgling chuckles. I released his throat and smacked him another one, he only laughed louder.
“Such a passionate monster you are, little Jacky,” he said, finding his voice after I nearly crushed his windpipe. “Such a lust for blood, such a desire to get drunk off fountains of it. I had such hope for you, lad; little savage after my own heart.”
I believe I was starting to catch his meaning. I grabbed him by the throat and smashed his head against the wall.
“Beg pardon, dear sir, but I believe you thought I would be just as hideous as you lot,” I said, leaning right into his face.
Oh how pretty those eyes were, that nasty scar across his face just accentuating his savage beauty. These were the eyes of pure wickedness; eyes that had looked on the murders of his own people in glee.
“Instead you’ve been absorbed back into the bowels like a nice soft piece of meat,” he said. “You could have been that metal pick that would rip it all apart from the inside. I’m disappointed in you, son. I thought you were better than this.”
My other hand reached in my pocket and pulled out a little toy I brought for the occasion. I folded it open with one hand whilst keeping a thoughtful gaze on the dear Undertaker.
“And then what,” I said. “And then I could join you in your little shop and we could piss off the reaper order together as partners. Oh what a romantic story that makes. But things didn’t work out that way did they, Johnny.”
I slowly ran the tip of the razor on the scar across his chest. The angry white line oozed red, the flesh separating under the blade. It was the perfect little tool. I had just replaced my everyday razor and knew the old one could come in quite handy for something. He winced with the sudden sting. I ran the blade even slower; I wanted to conjure the memory of the occasion that caused it. Yes it was a mundane blade, though trauma only needs the slightest push to jump back. His skin went cold and I saw goosebumps forming. Dear God, did I finally make him uncomfortable?
“No, instead here you are chewing on the bone they threw you like a good little dog,” he said, though his voice was a little breathier than it was a moment ago. “I had hoped you’d spit in their faces and leave London, go to another city, perhaps another part of Europe, perhaps America, Africa for Satan’s sake. Live like a queen in your palace of charnel, live like a free Molly.”
I made it to the end of his scar, my blade sinking a bit deeper and scratching into the thick muscle. I traced the inside of the flesh, scraping it down in an opposite pattern. He let out another wince, then a snicker. I took hold of the loose skin with my other hand, thumb and forefinger gently peeling downward as my left hand worked further into freeing some flesh. Blood stained the sides of my fingers and oozed down the back and palm of my hands. What a soothing sensation it was; if he was indeed enjoying this, I would also enjoy the smell and soft feel of his blood over my hands.
“Though you never intended to be in the picture?” I said, mimicking heartbreak. I tugged on his loose flesh, feeling him squirm under my hand. “And here I was thinking such a hot beast was in love with me.”
He snickered. Christ, his laugh was unnerving.
“Perhaps it’s for the best, you’re not exactly husband material,” I said, pulling more of his skin.
It was like skinning a chicken. The scar on his left breast was nigh gone, as was most of the flesh on this particular pectoral. My he did have nice muscles, I could see every red fiber in front of me.
“You’ve got too much of the blood of your own race on your hands,” I hissed in his face. “I find that rather unattractive; not to mention my own blood, not to mention Ronnie’s blood, that’s not even getting into the corpses you soiled yourself with or all those dead bodies aboard that ship. I may be a bit barking myself, but that is a bit beyond the pale. You’ve taken being a sick twat to an art form, you have.”
“And what in the blazes do you call this?” he said, voice caught between a wince and a giggle. “You seem to be enjoying yourself a bit. How do you know some little kid won’t be peeling off your flesh in a few hundred years?”
“I’ll deal with that when it happens, which won’t be if I can help it because I actually value my own kind enough to piss on those that carve them up,” I said.
My hand let go of his peeling flesh and took a firm grip of that lovely white hair, the blood on my hands adding some lovely red streaks as I yanked his head back.
“Flesh and blood that pisses on you for being a scofflaw, for being abnormal, for not following the proper lockstep order, for being a troublemaker?” he said. “Don’t tell me a proper lady values being a pariah.”
“Fuck all of them and their opinions,” I said, pulling his hair back a bit harder. “I’ve got the best bloody job in the universe and I’ll be damned if I shit that all away like you did. I don’t give a bloody fuck about their opinions, but I wouldn’t dare cut them up like you have your own brethren. That’s just plain instinct you lack and look where it got you.”
“That’s a lovely big-girl lecture,” he said. “And how old are you, sweet one? I’d place you no riper than a two centuries, that’s only if they claimed you abnormally young. Other than that you were suckling at mummy’s teet when I was cleaning up our Redcoats off Yankee snow.”
This particular comment struck a very old nerve; one I thought I had padded over ages ago. I was a bit raw right now, no wonder why it came as a bit of a jar. Dammit, I couldn’t give him anything. I pooled all my willpower to stay still as a statue.
“Oh, you lose your own Redcoat then did you? Did you ever find it, or did it get blown up to pretty pulp?” he said. “I believe I just learned an interesting little fact about our darling Molly. Did you seek solace in other men, did you see his face on every bloke who rammed you up the arse? Did you use the blood of others to paint over the blood and charnel in your nightmares, the stuff they didn’t tell you about in that letter from the Secretary at War? Do you try to do that every time you clean up after a bloody corpse, or make a few bloody corpses out of whores?”
I slammed his head in the wall harder.
“You talk too fucking much,” I said
I slammed his head in a few more times and brought the razor to his lips.
“I should cut your tongue out to keep you from making any intelligible words,” I said, poising the blade at his lips and pressing in.
It cut the flesh into a red line, though his smile remained. I was tempted to reach into his mouth and grab his tongue. I would then slice it off and shove it into his mouth. Knowing him he would just chew it up and swallow it, then still form words even with the lack of a tongue before it regenerated. Perhaps it would invite him to try to pry into my head; he lacked much energy at the moment though he might have a go at it. Instead I pulled the blade back. I wanted to get this on with, my strength wasn’t going to last all night, plus the tightness in my trousers was begging me to continue.
“Do you want to know something about me, sweetest,” I said. “I’ve killed people, I’ve killed loads of people since I was brought screaming into this existence. I’ve killed people in glorious, bloody, creative ways. But I was a stupid little human then, I’ve taken my new and improved form a bit more seriously. And yes I gutted those whores right straight last year, but do you want to know why? Because I was a blooming idiot and it almost cost me everything. I’m not the fuck-up you are; I’ve got my vices yes, but I’m not maniacal trash the likes of you. You’re a rabid dog about to be put down and I’m the one whipping you one last time for biting me, because I really didn’t bloody appreciate that one bit.”
I let go of his hair and sliced across his midsection. I wanted his entrails to slide out, alas I aimed too high and only saw a gush of blood. I really didn’t feel like having another go, instead I tossed aside the razor and procured the poker. I stabbed the pointed end through his gut. His body jerked back and blood gushed from his mouth. I just kept stabbing him, feeling the press into every single organ and savoring the gush of pretty red from each hole. The Undertaker hung limply from his chains, jerking in response to every movement.
I then turned the iron to the other end and bashed the pointed hook into him some more. This iron was nice and heavy. I struck across his ribcage and felt bones shifting and snapping with every hit. The hook went right into his side, the wound sucking with the air escaping his lung. What a lovely fountain of red he was, the sucking wounds and gurgles from his mouth like the soothing gurgles of a spring.
I took another look at his chest and already saw the skin reforming where I had peeled it off. The lines around his arms created by the whip looked a bit darker and the hole in his chest was already closing. He was already starting to heal, our boy was far older and possessed much more energy reserves. Hopefully he would go to his grave with a few more love bites from me, though maybe not as many as I had hoped. I didn’t want to look at his face and instead wanted to enjoy my moment. I did see that smile out of the corner of my eye, which just made me beat him harder.
Healing was one thing, but wounds like this still hurt like hell. Perhaps he was that mad and enjoyed everything I gave him, or maybe he was trying to bluff me. He knew I wanted my pound of flesh quite literally, maybe he wanted to mock me by pretending it was having no effect. Maybe he wanted to see how angry I could truly get, perhaps that was what that little speech was supposed to do as well. Or maybe he really did want me to embrace my savage nature as he did. What better revenge on the establishment than to corrupt one of the younger ones. It was nicely played, I’d give him that. It made for a nice dramatic reading but nothing more.
I mustered as much strength as I could, but the stitches in my chest were tightening to the point of unpleasant pain. I had to pause for a second to take a few breaths. I could feel my strength waning by the moment. He chuckled a bit more, I knew damn well what he was laughing at. I didn’t give a toss if he took this as a sign of weakness, though I took this as a sign I would have to wrap up this little session soon. I took a look at my handiwork, then I caught a glimpse of his trousers. There was a significant bulge in those loose trousers he wore, our boy was pitching quite a tent pole. I drew back my poker and stared at the sight before me.
“Well, well, what have we here,” I said.
I dismissed the poker from my left hand and took hard, firm hold of his package. He jerked back a bit, which only made me clutch a bit harder. He was stiff as a board, and oh my was he well-endowed.
“Oh dear me, it’s like you’ve got a Cumberland sausage in your trousers,” I said. “This thing unroll any further?”
His mouth curved into a smug smile, though I could see his body tensing up. Whether it was the discomfort of violation or desperation I really didn’t care at the moment. I squeezed him harder, digging my nails in though the last thing I wanted him to think was that I was going to finish him off that simply. I loosened my grip a bit, seeing him still shaking a bit.
I leaned into his face, his expression didn’t change. My lips softly planted a kiss on his, I felt his mouth slightly relax before puckering a bit himself. He wasn't joining in with too much interest, though he wasn’t drawing back either. Perhaps he was humoring me. Both my hands took hold of his waistband, I slid back and pulled down his trousers to his ankles.
The rest of his body was very nicely toned; age had been good to him, or rather age can be good to all reapers who don’t squander it. This Undertaker did have very nice manly assets; his rammer was just a few centimeters short of his belly-button right now. He was actually circumcised; I wasn’t used to that though he was more a man of the world. I wrapped my fingers around it and lightly caressed upward, he flinched again.
“Such a man,” I said, my fingernails scraping the sides.
I reached the tip and pinched it hard with my nails. He flinched again, though I heard a few chuckles.
“See something you like, dearest?” he said.
“It seems you have some redeeming qualities after all,” I said.
The certificate said I could do anything that didn’t involve Gray Metal or powers. The door was clamped shut and no one was in the hallway, even if they were I could give them a good show. I had been taken by a man against a wall before; it was all a matter of positioning. I could easily bend a bit and pound myself with this sweet stalk of meat. Then again did I really want to give him that satisfaction. He was my whore now, he already rammed me and Ron up the arse at the same time on that ship most figuratively; did I really want to give him the literal privilege now?
I stared at his loveliness, though my mind conjured the memory of his smile when he sliced into Ronnie and I. The desire to take this in from him was dying rapidly. No, he already took me and I could barely stand from it now. It was my bloody turn; see how he felt getting rammed.
I massaged his pen a bit with my right hand, my left hand dropping to my trousers, undoing the buttons, and liberating my own painfully stiff organ.
“You like this?” I said. “Good, because I’ve got one more little going away gift.”
I dropped his stiff one and shoved two fingers into his entrance. He flinched a bit harder, Johnny wasn’t exactly expecting this was he? He closed up a bit, though I only put my fingers in a bit deeper. I was going to stretch him out a bit, but why do him any favors? I grabbed hold of my own hard lance and shoved it in. He let out a shrill yelp that just encouraged me even more.
I grabbed his shoulders and rammed him hard, slamming him against the wall with each shove inward. He broke as I expected, so I slid against him harder. He yelped repeatedly like a fox being gutted alive. I grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the wall, feeling the warm, cozy slick forming on the back of his scalp.
I normally prefer laying on the receiving end, but words could not describe every ounce of unholy bliss I felt now. Johnny was my whore, my plaything. He was my bloody work of art. I kissed the side of his face and sunk my teeth in his neck, tearing out flesh and rubbing my face against the hot river pouring from the wound. I nibbled the sides of his face, my tongue lapping the warm marks. My hands caressed the healing lashes and barely new growth of skin from the hole I peeled.
I actually felt his lips rub against my forehead, he kissed down the side of my face, and I felt heavy breaths against my skin. I didn’t give a damn if he was enjoying this or not, I sure as hell was enjoying myself. I drew my torso back a bit and slapped him hard. I just loved how his body shifted over my working instrument, I slapped him again a few more times and couldn’t contain a cry of ecstasy. I dragged my nails down his back until I felt blood, soon I was raking like an animal.
I shoved him hard against the wall, positioning myself so I could see his face as I slammed into him again and again. Those pretty eyes of his were locked on me, mouth letting out heavy breaths and a few moans. The corners of his mouth were locked upward in a stiff smile. I grunted hard with every thrust, I was a wild animal. I must have looked a fright but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I was a monster right now, I was something to be feared.
I peeled back the open panels of my shirt; damn I was getting warm. I saw his eyes go to the mark and he smiled a little more. He got slammed against the wall even harder for this. I felt a thick flood against my belly with his release, but I didn’t stop one moment. I went harder and harder, caressing the blood over his body and smelling blood and seed mixing together.
I bit hard into his chest, savoring Johnny’s yelp and lapping the sweet redness trickling from the mark. I slammed him fiercer, riding my own final wave with a series of hard moans. At last my seed burst into his body, I shoved it in harder with a loud grunt so he could take every single drop of me.
This was pure ecstasy, I hadn’t known such perfect exhilaration in too long. I was spent, I was exhausted, but I was more than satisfied.
“What a talented little Molly you are,” Johnny said with a breathy cackle.
Next Chapter: The conclusion of “Right of the Injured Party.”
Chapter: 2
Summary: After the Campania incident, Grell is allowed a final act of revenge on an imprisoned Undertaker thanks to an old, obscure
reaper code.
Characters/Pairings: Grell/Undertaker with references to William, Ron, Ciel, Sebastian, and Madam Red.
Rating: MA
Warnings: Graphic violence and sexual content, rape, torture, nods to bondage and S&M, and strong language. If you don't like seeing Grell as any kind of seme/aggressor, don't read.
Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Yana Toboso. I just play with them in horrible ways.
Author's Note: Also includes background stories I've given for characters.
Right of the Injured Party
Part 2
I heard the clock strike 10 when I phased to the Security building. It was a large, blocky building off the east wing that had the air of an old courthouse right down to the severe granite blocks and wood-paneled interior. Phasing could only go as far as the main lobby, I would have to walk the rest of the way to the prison wing. The prison had wards against entry by anyway other than the door.
The momentary dizziness I had upon materializing did not make this a pleasant prospect, though I wasn’t going to miss this chance for the world. Just because I was out of the infirmary now didn’t mean I was anywhere near full health. I needed to keep this in mind when I did what I did. I was told to rest, though a little light movement could aid in recovery. I would just have to pace myself and be a bit more subtle when I lay into the Undertaker.
It was the main reason why I didn’t put any effort into my appearance. I remained in the same loose white shirt and black trousers I had been discharged in. I slipped on a pair of rough Oxfords I had for occasions when a lower heel was more appropriate. I did put on some light powder and some eye shadow, through spatters of this bastard’s blood would be the final touches.
This entire building was disturbingly familiar to the point where my face ached from the memory. The main section I walked through now were the hearing rooms and magistrate’s chambers. No one else was around, it was past hours and they had up simple wards to prevent intrusion into any of the rooms. Soon I was turning around another corner to the even less cheerful area lined in white-painted cement walls; the entrance to the gaol. William dragged me here just a few months ago following that incident of which I would rather not ponder now. This time I was walking here of my own volition; this time I wasn’t the prisoner but the punisher, it was a pleasant turnaround.
The gaoler sat in a booth at the end of the hallway, I knew there were two sets of doors on either side of the booth concealed behind an enchantment to make them look like painted bricks. The prison ward was beyond that wall and accessible to only this chap or anyone else with the proper key.
Fortunately this wasn’t the same one who was on duty when William dragged me in. Even though my glasses were broken and my eyes were swollen to slits, I was still able to see that particular one was skinny and had blond hair pulled into a ponytail. This one was a heavyset gentlemen with lovely auburn hair that was alas thinning and frizzy, the tufts matched with his overgrown goatee and bulbous nose. He adjusted his rectangular spectacles by the bridge whilst flipping through was looked like a hunting magazine. I saw the name “James Alder” on a nameplate on the counter.
I approached him, my certificate raised in my hand. He looked up at me, then did a double-take at the certificate. I placed it on the counter and he looked at it, rising from his seat as the corners of his mouth curled up in an amused smirk. It looked as if he had some idea what this was about.
“Hand over your scythe please,” Jimmy said.
I summoned my scythe to my hand and gently laid it on the counter. He collected it and placed it in a metal case behind him, locking the case.
“You won’t be able to summon it while it’s in here, you’ll get it back after you come back out,” the gaoler said. “Do you have any other Gray Metal materials on your person?”
“No sir,” I said.
He nodded, picking a pen off his desk and laying it down on the counter beside the certificate.
“Sign and date on the line,” he said.
I took that pen in my left hand like drawing a sword, placing my looping signature on the line with today’s date. I placed the pen back on the counter and pushed both toward him. He collected the paper and placed it in a folder on his desk. He then stood up, putting his magazine down and walking over to the wall. I heard a few clicking sounds and felt an energy snap; a series of stones faded to an open doorway into another hallway. He leaned halfway out and motioned to enter.
“This way please,” Jimmy said.
I walked through the doorway, seeing the same white walls and gray tile floor. I did recall looking down on this when I was escorted to and from my discipline hearings, still thinking it could use at least some red tiles or perhaps a couple paintings. I reminded myself my hands were not bound behind my back this time, I lightly shook them at my sides to reinforce the point.
We walked past the administrative offices and boarded a lift going down to the detention level. We went down a few floors, past the main detention area where I was held and went a bit lower. You could already smell a bit of must like an old cellar. They really did shut Johnny away in a dungeon. At last the doors opened, revealing a wall of thick gray bricks. Jimmy lead me down the hallway of more gray pricks and heavy-framed steel doors. Everything was so much more severe down here, so daunting.
Jimmy the Gaoler stopped in front of one door and pulled out a key. I stood back for a moment, I wanted Lord Johnny to see me last; make this a grand old surprise. The door opened, though revealed a series of brightly lit shelves and cabinets. Jim walked inside motioning for me to enter as well before closing the door. I took a closer look at the contents of the shelves, seeing all sorts of deadly weaponry ranging from swords to contemporary rifles. He lead me to one steel cabinet off to the side and opened it with a key. Inside was the most fascinating collection of screws, pokers, forks, and wires that the Medieval era could produce for causing the utmost amount of pain.
“Take your pick of anything in this room and place them in your scythe’s space,” Jimmy the Gaoler said. “Five at maximum. Keep in mind he’ll be chained upright by his wrists against the wall and there will be no fire in the vicinity. Choose your toys wisely.”
I pondered the assortment of artifacts in the cabinet.
“This collection specifically reserved for this purpose?” I asked.
“Not just for this purpose, it’s also encouragement for sharing information,” he said with a little smirk. “Not really for reapers, mostly for the very important creatures held as battle captives. Add a dash of holy water to one of those things and a demon will scream for his horned mummy.”
“Fascinating,” I said in pure awe.
I took a careful scan of the cabinet and then looked around to the rest of the room. I did bring a couple odds and ends with me, not knowing what if anything else would be at my disposal. I had to decide what strategy to take; brute force or subtle agony. Both actually sounded ideal, start small then work my way up or perhaps I would break him down and them do spot work. I did need to take my health into account, perhaps subtle agony was the best approach.
I took a second look in the cabinet, my eye catching on a few black leather straps hanging from the bottom. I reached down and grabbed a soft leather handle, pulling up the most beautiful creator of sweet pain; a cat-o-nine-tails. Oh this was going to be so much fun; I immediately procured it into the empty dimensional pocket normally occupied by my scythe. I also took up a metal poker for good measure; a hook on one end curving out with a spike, a sharp point on the other, and thick enough iron that could do loads of damage when struck the right way against a person.
I really wasn’t familiar with the use of the more complicated items, might as well use the talents I already have. I looked around the larger part of the room, more than a bit disinterested with the more blatant weapons. I would rather play with him, destroying his body entirely sounded a bit like a killjoy.
“I’m satisfied,” I said.
“All right,” Jim said.
I walked toward the door and stepped into the hallway, hearing the heavy door latch behind me. He lead me a bit further down the hall. This whole place felt like the pits of doom; dark, musty, lined with severe steel doors, choked with a snuffing quiet. I doubted there was anyone else behind those doors. Long-term imprisonment was a rare thing; usually they cartoned you up pending the conclusion of your disciplinary hearings.
I had heard it was possible to be locked up for a few years, that was one of the sentence options that loomed over me after that certain series of incidents. Such a sentence was meant for reform, it would only be long enough for you to get the message and still have hope of staying with the company; anything beyond that means sacking. Elimination orders were only served on those who had done the most ghastly, unforgivable offenses; those who were a danger to the very planes. This was the perfect final home for our darling Undertaker.
Jim the Gaoler stopped at one door near the end of the hallway and took out his key, placing it in the door’s lock. This had to be my location.
“You have until 3:30 on the dot to do whatever you wish,” he said.
He took out a second key chain with a single key on it.
“Take hold of this key and have it in your hand for a moment,” he said.
I took the key, the metal felt like ice though I held it as instructed. The black key turned copper and took a feeling of warmth.
“That’s your key out should you wrap it up before then,” he said. “It will not work unless it is in your living hand.”
“Is there a chance my hand might not be living after this?”
“That chance is damn near impossible unless you do something stupid. He’s chained up like a crate on a topsy-turvy ship and there’s no way in Hades to break him out without a designated key. Not to mention his energy is pretty much gone. He’ll have barely enough to heal himself before his head gets lopped off, though that depends on how bad you give it to him. There’s a good chance he walks on that scaffold, everyone’s gonna see what you did.” I found his snicker at this rather amusing. “But we can’t take any chances.”
“Understandable.”
“The moment this lock turns, I’ll know and I’ll be right down to escort you out,” he said.
I nodded and put the key in the small hidden pocket in my trouser pocket. Jimmy turned the key, I head a massive mechanism unlatching and felt a large snap of energy as the sealing wards were broken. A normal sealing ward felt like a small snap when opening, this one was like a bolt of lightening. Naturally the wards were much stronger for such a VIP.
Jimmy opened the door, revealing a dark room where a small beam of light shone from the ceiling. He walked in first and I followed a few steps afterward. The room was a bit larger than I expected. A single small lamp hung from the ceiling and cast the cell in a faint glow. It took me a moment to work out my sight, that’s when I saw the man of the moment.
He wore only a ragged pair of black and white striped trousers, his torso bare. I saw a long scar going across his chest, probably alike to the one Ron and I would have thanks to him. I could only imagine he got it from some poor bloke trying to bring a miscreant to justice who would only receive a bloody final end in return. What if this fellow watched his comrades get cut down around him; was it like the feeling of watching my junior tumble down next to me? My heart pounded in my ears, I was primed for this little privilege.
When Will and Jimmy said he was chained up, they weren’t bluffing. He was practically against the wall; his arms hung high by thick iron cuffs that went practically down to his forearm and were connected with three heavy chains. Similar cuffs and chains were around his ankles, the chains long enough to allow him to stay upright and not tumble down. Will said the irons were specially made to keep his energy low and Jimmy the Gaoler said something of the sort. John just hung limply, his head bowed and white hair cascading down his shoulders with his braid hanging across that wonderfully toned chest. I would have thought he were asleep if it weren’t for the slight curling of his fingers. His long black nails had been lopped uneven stubs; I suppose they didn’t want him using them as a weapon.
“John Pennington,” the gaoler said.
The Undertaker’s head slightly rose from his chest. I saw the glint of a green eye between strands of his hair. His lips were stiff in a purely neutral expression. The gaoler lifted a piece of paper and adjusted his glasses to read.
“As you have been sentenced to elimination for your crimes, and as one such crime resulted in serious injuries to two reapers, so named Grell Nils Sutcliff and Ronald David Knox, Dispatch Officers Sutcliff and Knox are hereby entitled to the provisions outlined in Code 505: 6a, titled ‘The Right of the Injured Party,’” Jimmy read.
The Undertaker’s lips curled up in what looked like an amused smirk. I think he knew what this was about already. How he reacted to it would be a bit fascinating to behold.
“You are hereby subject to final reprisal up to one hour before your scheduled time of execution. The certificate has already been redeemed and signed by Dispatch Officer Sutcliff and you are now subject to his reprisal. You will have no recourse against any of Mr. Sutcliff’s actions, as your existence is considered void by ruling of the Reaper Council.”
I could see the Undertaker’s eye fixed right on me, I only sneered back. Jimmy lowered the paper and looked at me.
“Enjoy yourself,” he said.
He then walked to the door, undoing the latch, and walking out. The door crashed shut and the locking mechanism set itself with a loud clank. I never even looked behind me, my eyes were fixed on the condemned creature in front of me. Johnny and I were now alone in this room; there he was exposed and vulnerable before me. He was a blank canvas in need of some beautiful red paint. His head rose a little higher and he snickered, I could see both eyes through his long fringe. The smile he wore was pure malice, it made my heart flutter a bit.
“Lord John Pennington, I presume,” I said in the sweetest of tones, taking a noble bow. “Pleasure to return to your acquaintance.”
He chuckled harder; it was a throaty noise with a slight screech that was more than a little unsettling.
“Well if it isn’t Jack the Ripper,” he said.
His voice was a little weaker, likely the result of the exquisite shape he was in now.
I merely smiled and merely snickered.
“No, that’s not entirely correct,” he said, his voice becoming a bit stronger with every new word. “You’re just one of them. You had a partner; a lovely lady. I remember preparing her for her last party; it wasn’t easy mind you. Oh dear me, you made quite a mess of her.”
“I suppose you had to clean up the mess you made of her as well, or rather in her or perhaps on her,” I said. “I’ve heard all the horror stories about you.”
He let out a wheezing cackle.
“Just look at you and me; two nightmarish monsters locked up in a dank, dark, dreary dungeon,” he said. “How many horror stories start with this, or rather how many jokes begin this way.” He cackled again. “‘Two bogeymen walk into a dungeon…’”
I couldn’t help but have a laugh at this.
“One says to the other, ‘Why you just hangin’ round,’” I said, mentally reaching into my stores. “The second one says, ‘I ain’t got nothing’ better to do,’ his friend says, ‘Let’s crack one open.’”
The whip was in my hand, its tendrils sinking into Johnny’s flesh and drawing thick red lines. He yelped at the sudden surprise. I reared my wrist back and swung forward again. The tails ripped off small bits of flesh and left more red streaks to join the building smears. My wrist was practically moving on its own accord, I adjusted my stance with the different lashes; finding a grip and aim that would add more to the growing trickle oozing all down that lovely chest. His torso jerked backwards a few times and his wrists twisted in the cuffs. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he made a few grunting noises.
I laid on, savoring the crack of the tails against his flesh, the sight of small peels of skin sticking to the end of the knots. I remembered to pace myself lest I aggravate my injury, though I actually found this invigorating. I heard sharp intakes of breath and saw his nostrils flare in response. His lips parted to reveal gritted teeth as he breathed harder. I moved from his chest to his arms. The tails wrapped around whatever curves they could find and flensed small red trails. His head fell back and I saw his eyelids flutter a bit. Dear God was he smiling? Johnny then let out a soft moan; this wasn’t a moan of suffering, this was a moan of bliss like tasting an exquisite wine, or the first moans of lovemaking.
The bounder was enjoying this. That didn’t exactly surprise me, but it grated on me. He shouldn’t be enjoying this, I didn’t enjoy his little slice on me and I sure as hell didn’t want him to enjoy this. I took more methodical swings against his arms, allowing the tails to wrap around and peel off trails of flesh. He gave a few high yelps in response that grew louder with each lash I took. Johnny then let out a louder moan, his smile widening. Soon he was snickering like a mad bird. Was the bastard bluffing me or was he really enjoying this?
“You enjoying yourself, you sick little fucker?” I said, giving him one more crack for good measure.
He only cackled in response. I slid a few steps toward him and backhanded him hard across the face. His whole body swung to the side, caught by the chains holding him against the wall like a puppet on strings. I gave him another love tap for good measure, waiting until he returned to his original position and smacking him again. Such is the advantage of being a reaper; a simple slap has a bit more meaning. He spat out a wad of blood and then that goofy smile crawled back on his face.
“Feisty little minx, aren’t ya,” he said, grinning and showing blood coated-teeth.
I wanted to give him a few more whippings, though I would rather have calmed my temper a bit. Brute force for too long would be no fun, I wanted to do a few more creative things and could only do so with my bile at a more agreeable level. Now was a good time to pause, collect my strength, and ready my next assault. It would be taking the chance he would flap his lips harder and piss me off even more.
“A bit yes, I don’t like it when arseholes like you try to kill me,” I said.
I unbuttoned my shirt, opening the panels to show the angry red mark with black stitches. He smirked a bit more and snickered.
“I was doing you a bloody favor, ol’ Jacky,” he said. “You and that little veal that was next to you.”
I got right in his face until my nose was touching his. My right hand clamped under his jaw and jerked his head back, one finger poised on his Adam’s apple and pressing hard.
“Oh please do enlighten me,” I hissed in his ear. “What bloody favor would that be? Liberating us from the very knowledge of your true nature because we cannot handle the awesomeness of your presence? Now there’s vainglory if I ever saw it.”
“And I know no one as vainglorious as two beautiful murderers ripping up a bunch of filthy whores for sport, though the earl’s convinced you two lovelies had some kind of higher message to send,” he said.
I didn’t realize how much this subject rubbed me the wrong way. I resisted the urge to smack him another one, instead I was truly curious as to where this was going.
“You touch a nerve the right way, the body will twitch; alive or freshly dead,” he said. “It appears I’ve done just that, haven’t I, Jack?”
“And how much did our darling little brat tell you?” I asked, pressing harder against his windpipe, his lack of struggling infuriating me more though calm was still the best course for now.
“Everything,” he said, “except the fact that the whelp butler turned violent maniac actually worked for a certain company of ghosts. Though I already knew that little fact. Illusion charms only work on humans, tough corpses as old as me can see through them a bit better. It was a well-made one I’ll give you that. It took me a couple looks to see the pretty yellow-green, but I swear I didn’t see what lovely red hair and what bright, savage smiles you had.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Johnny-boy,” I said, pressing harder against his windpipe to the point where I felt it start to close.
He gave a few chokes that turned into gurgling chuckles. I released his throat and smacked him another one, he only laughed louder.
“Such a passionate monster you are, little Jacky,” he said, finding his voice after I nearly crushed his windpipe. “Such a lust for blood, such a desire to get drunk off fountains of it. I had such hope for you, lad; little savage after my own heart.”
I believe I was starting to catch his meaning. I grabbed him by the throat and smashed his head against the wall.
“Beg pardon, dear sir, but I believe you thought I would be just as hideous as you lot,” I said, leaning right into his face.
Oh how pretty those eyes were, that nasty scar across his face just accentuating his savage beauty. These were the eyes of pure wickedness; eyes that had looked on the murders of his own people in glee.
“Instead you’ve been absorbed back into the bowels like a nice soft piece of meat,” he said. “You could have been that metal pick that would rip it all apart from the inside. I’m disappointed in you, son. I thought you were better than this.”
My other hand reached in my pocket and pulled out a little toy I brought for the occasion. I folded it open with one hand whilst keeping a thoughtful gaze on the dear Undertaker.
“And then what,” I said. “And then I could join you in your little shop and we could piss off the reaper order together as partners. Oh what a romantic story that makes. But things didn’t work out that way did they, Johnny.”
I slowly ran the tip of the razor on the scar across his chest. The angry white line oozed red, the flesh separating under the blade. It was the perfect little tool. I had just replaced my everyday razor and knew the old one could come in quite handy for something. He winced with the sudden sting. I ran the blade even slower; I wanted to conjure the memory of the occasion that caused it. Yes it was a mundane blade, though trauma only needs the slightest push to jump back. His skin went cold and I saw goosebumps forming. Dear God, did I finally make him uncomfortable?
“No, instead here you are chewing on the bone they threw you like a good little dog,” he said, though his voice was a little breathier than it was a moment ago. “I had hoped you’d spit in their faces and leave London, go to another city, perhaps another part of Europe, perhaps America, Africa for Satan’s sake. Live like a queen in your palace of charnel, live like a free Molly.”
I made it to the end of his scar, my blade sinking a bit deeper and scratching into the thick muscle. I traced the inside of the flesh, scraping it down in an opposite pattern. He let out another wince, then a snicker. I took hold of the loose skin with my other hand, thumb and forefinger gently peeling downward as my left hand worked further into freeing some flesh. Blood stained the sides of my fingers and oozed down the back and palm of my hands. What a soothing sensation it was; if he was indeed enjoying this, I would also enjoy the smell and soft feel of his blood over my hands.
“Though you never intended to be in the picture?” I said, mimicking heartbreak. I tugged on his loose flesh, feeling him squirm under my hand. “And here I was thinking such a hot beast was in love with me.”
He snickered. Christ, his laugh was unnerving.
“Perhaps it’s for the best, you’re not exactly husband material,” I said, pulling more of his skin.
It was like skinning a chicken. The scar on his left breast was nigh gone, as was most of the flesh on this particular pectoral. My he did have nice muscles, I could see every red fiber in front of me.
“You’ve got too much of the blood of your own race on your hands,” I hissed in his face. “I find that rather unattractive; not to mention my own blood, not to mention Ronnie’s blood, that’s not even getting into the corpses you soiled yourself with or all those dead bodies aboard that ship. I may be a bit barking myself, but that is a bit beyond the pale. You’ve taken being a sick twat to an art form, you have.”
“And what in the blazes do you call this?” he said, voice caught between a wince and a giggle. “You seem to be enjoying yourself a bit. How do you know some little kid won’t be peeling off your flesh in a few hundred years?”
“I’ll deal with that when it happens, which won’t be if I can help it because I actually value my own kind enough to piss on those that carve them up,” I said.
My hand let go of his peeling flesh and took a firm grip of that lovely white hair, the blood on my hands adding some lovely red streaks as I yanked his head back.
“Flesh and blood that pisses on you for being a scofflaw, for being abnormal, for not following the proper lockstep order, for being a troublemaker?” he said. “Don’t tell me a proper lady values being a pariah.”
“Fuck all of them and their opinions,” I said, pulling his hair back a bit harder. “I’ve got the best bloody job in the universe and I’ll be damned if I shit that all away like you did. I don’t give a bloody fuck about their opinions, but I wouldn’t dare cut them up like you have your own brethren. That’s just plain instinct you lack and look where it got you.”
“That’s a lovely big-girl lecture,” he said. “And how old are you, sweet one? I’d place you no riper than a two centuries, that’s only if they claimed you abnormally young. Other than that you were suckling at mummy’s teet when I was cleaning up our Redcoats off Yankee snow.”
This particular comment struck a very old nerve; one I thought I had padded over ages ago. I was a bit raw right now, no wonder why it came as a bit of a jar. Dammit, I couldn’t give him anything. I pooled all my willpower to stay still as a statue.
“Oh, you lose your own Redcoat then did you? Did you ever find it, or did it get blown up to pretty pulp?” he said. “I believe I just learned an interesting little fact about our darling Molly. Did you seek solace in other men, did you see his face on every bloke who rammed you up the arse? Did you use the blood of others to paint over the blood and charnel in your nightmares, the stuff they didn’t tell you about in that letter from the Secretary at War? Do you try to do that every time you clean up after a bloody corpse, or make a few bloody corpses out of whores?”
I slammed his head in the wall harder.
“You talk too fucking much,” I said
I slammed his head in a few more times and brought the razor to his lips.
“I should cut your tongue out to keep you from making any intelligible words,” I said, poising the blade at his lips and pressing in.
It cut the flesh into a red line, though his smile remained. I was tempted to reach into his mouth and grab his tongue. I would then slice it off and shove it into his mouth. Knowing him he would just chew it up and swallow it, then still form words even with the lack of a tongue before it regenerated. Perhaps it would invite him to try to pry into my head; he lacked much energy at the moment though he might have a go at it. Instead I pulled the blade back. I wanted to get this on with, my strength wasn’t going to last all night, plus the tightness in my trousers was begging me to continue.
“Do you want to know something about me, sweetest,” I said. “I’ve killed people, I’ve killed loads of people since I was brought screaming into this existence. I’ve killed people in glorious, bloody, creative ways. But I was a stupid little human then, I’ve taken my new and improved form a bit more seriously. And yes I gutted those whores right straight last year, but do you want to know why? Because I was a blooming idiot and it almost cost me everything. I’m not the fuck-up you are; I’ve got my vices yes, but I’m not maniacal trash the likes of you. You’re a rabid dog about to be put down and I’m the one whipping you one last time for biting me, because I really didn’t bloody appreciate that one bit.”
I let go of his hair and sliced across his midsection. I wanted his entrails to slide out, alas I aimed too high and only saw a gush of blood. I really didn’t feel like having another go, instead I tossed aside the razor and procured the poker. I stabbed the pointed end through his gut. His body jerked back and blood gushed from his mouth. I just kept stabbing him, feeling the press into every single organ and savoring the gush of pretty red from each hole. The Undertaker hung limply from his chains, jerking in response to every movement.
I then turned the iron to the other end and bashed the pointed hook into him some more. This iron was nice and heavy. I struck across his ribcage and felt bones shifting and snapping with every hit. The hook went right into his side, the wound sucking with the air escaping his lung. What a lovely fountain of red he was, the sucking wounds and gurgles from his mouth like the soothing gurgles of a spring.
I took another look at his chest and already saw the skin reforming where I had peeled it off. The lines around his arms created by the whip looked a bit darker and the hole in his chest was already closing. He was already starting to heal, our boy was far older and possessed much more energy reserves. Hopefully he would go to his grave with a few more love bites from me, though maybe not as many as I had hoped. I didn’t want to look at his face and instead wanted to enjoy my moment. I did see that smile out of the corner of my eye, which just made me beat him harder.
Healing was one thing, but wounds like this still hurt like hell. Perhaps he was that mad and enjoyed everything I gave him, or maybe he was trying to bluff me. He knew I wanted my pound of flesh quite literally, maybe he wanted to mock me by pretending it was having no effect. Maybe he wanted to see how angry I could truly get, perhaps that was what that little speech was supposed to do as well. Or maybe he really did want me to embrace my savage nature as he did. What better revenge on the establishment than to corrupt one of the younger ones. It was nicely played, I’d give him that. It made for a nice dramatic reading but nothing more.
I mustered as much strength as I could, but the stitches in my chest were tightening to the point of unpleasant pain. I had to pause for a second to take a few breaths. I could feel my strength waning by the moment. He chuckled a bit more, I knew damn well what he was laughing at. I didn’t give a toss if he took this as a sign of weakness, though I took this as a sign I would have to wrap up this little session soon. I took a look at my handiwork, then I caught a glimpse of his trousers. There was a significant bulge in those loose trousers he wore, our boy was pitching quite a tent pole. I drew back my poker and stared at the sight before me.
“Well, well, what have we here,” I said.
I dismissed the poker from my left hand and took hard, firm hold of his package. He jerked back a bit, which only made me clutch a bit harder. He was stiff as a board, and oh my was he well-endowed.
“Oh dear me, it’s like you’ve got a Cumberland sausage in your trousers,” I said. “This thing unroll any further?”
His mouth curved into a smug smile, though I could see his body tensing up. Whether it was the discomfort of violation or desperation I really didn’t care at the moment. I squeezed him harder, digging my nails in though the last thing I wanted him to think was that I was going to finish him off that simply. I loosened my grip a bit, seeing him still shaking a bit.
I leaned into his face, his expression didn’t change. My lips softly planted a kiss on his, I felt his mouth slightly relax before puckering a bit himself. He wasn't joining in with too much interest, though he wasn’t drawing back either. Perhaps he was humoring me. Both my hands took hold of his waistband, I slid back and pulled down his trousers to his ankles.
The rest of his body was very nicely toned; age had been good to him, or rather age can be good to all reapers who don’t squander it. This Undertaker did have very nice manly assets; his rammer was just a few centimeters short of his belly-button right now. He was actually circumcised; I wasn’t used to that though he was more a man of the world. I wrapped my fingers around it and lightly caressed upward, he flinched again.
“Such a man,” I said, my fingernails scraping the sides.
I reached the tip and pinched it hard with my nails. He flinched again, though I heard a few chuckles.
“See something you like, dearest?” he said.
“It seems you have some redeeming qualities after all,” I said.
The certificate said I could do anything that didn’t involve Gray Metal or powers. The door was clamped shut and no one was in the hallway, even if they were I could give them a good show. I had been taken by a man against a wall before; it was all a matter of positioning. I could easily bend a bit and pound myself with this sweet stalk of meat. Then again did I really want to give him that satisfaction. He was my whore now, he already rammed me and Ron up the arse at the same time on that ship most figuratively; did I really want to give him the literal privilege now?
I stared at his loveliness, though my mind conjured the memory of his smile when he sliced into Ronnie and I. The desire to take this in from him was dying rapidly. No, he already took me and I could barely stand from it now. It was my bloody turn; see how he felt getting rammed.
I massaged his pen a bit with my right hand, my left hand dropping to my trousers, undoing the buttons, and liberating my own painfully stiff organ.
“You like this?” I said. “Good, because I’ve got one more little going away gift.”
I dropped his stiff one and shoved two fingers into his entrance. He flinched a bit harder, Johnny wasn’t exactly expecting this was he? He closed up a bit, though I only put my fingers in a bit deeper. I was going to stretch him out a bit, but why do him any favors? I grabbed hold of my own hard lance and shoved it in. He let out a shrill yelp that just encouraged me even more.
I grabbed his shoulders and rammed him hard, slamming him against the wall with each shove inward. He broke as I expected, so I slid against him harder. He yelped repeatedly like a fox being gutted alive. I grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the wall, feeling the warm, cozy slick forming on the back of his scalp.
I normally prefer laying on the receiving end, but words could not describe every ounce of unholy bliss I felt now. Johnny was my whore, my plaything. He was my bloody work of art. I kissed the side of his face and sunk my teeth in his neck, tearing out flesh and rubbing my face against the hot river pouring from the wound. I nibbled the sides of his face, my tongue lapping the warm marks. My hands caressed the healing lashes and barely new growth of skin from the hole I peeled.
I actually felt his lips rub against my forehead, he kissed down the side of my face, and I felt heavy breaths against my skin. I didn’t give a damn if he was enjoying this or not, I sure as hell was enjoying myself. I drew my torso back a bit and slapped him hard. I just loved how his body shifted over my working instrument, I slapped him again a few more times and couldn’t contain a cry of ecstasy. I dragged my nails down his back until I felt blood, soon I was raking like an animal.
I shoved him hard against the wall, positioning myself so I could see his face as I slammed into him again and again. Those pretty eyes of his were locked on me, mouth letting out heavy breaths and a few moans. The corners of his mouth were locked upward in a stiff smile. I grunted hard with every thrust, I was a wild animal. I must have looked a fright but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I was a monster right now, I was something to be feared.
I peeled back the open panels of my shirt; damn I was getting warm. I saw his eyes go to the mark and he smiled a little more. He got slammed against the wall even harder for this. I felt a thick flood against my belly with his release, but I didn’t stop one moment. I went harder and harder, caressing the blood over his body and smelling blood and seed mixing together.
I bit hard into his chest, savoring Johnny’s yelp and lapping the sweet redness trickling from the mark. I slammed him fiercer, riding my own final wave with a series of hard moans. At last my seed burst into his body, I shoved it in harder with a loud grunt so he could take every single drop of me.
This was pure ecstasy, I hadn’t known such perfect exhilaration in too long. I was spent, I was exhausted, but I was more than satisfied.
“What a talented little Molly you are,” Johnny said with a breathy cackle.
Next Chapter: The conclusion of “Right of the Injured Party.”