Chapter 4 #3
The only men who ever showed me any sort of decency were Dandy and his brother, Kit Rivers.
I often wonder about Kit, and what would have happened between us because now that I’m older, I realize that that feeling in the ice creamery was me crushing on him. At the time, I was inexperienced and looked at Kit through the eyes of a sixteen-year-old.
Now, looking at him through the eyes of a woman, I see what the fuss was about.
If only he had taken me home that night instead of me running away, scared by my response to him, then things would be totally different.
There’s no coining how I feel because all I know is that by punishing men, those broken pieces I spoke of are slowly coming back together again. I can take back what was stolen from me by those three boys who destroyed me.
I’m the one in control.
Not them.
And in my fucked-up head, that heals me.
I have reclaimed the power stolen from me.
Perhaps there’s hope for me after all.
I gently slap The Punisher’s cheek. “Have you been a bad boy?”
He nods eagerly, his hand instantly going down his pants. He begins pleasuring himself, and the sight, the sound of him slapping his skin, makes me sick.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” I question, pressing the front of my shoe into his groin.
He cries out, elated because he likes the pain. Men like The Punisher get off on being punished, dominated, and humiliated, all the things I need to do to expel this sickness eating away at me.
“Yes, Mommy,” he replies.
We can add mommy issues to the list.
It reminds me of my uncle and the fucked-up shit he did to me when I was a child. He never touched me sexually, but his ordering me to repent for my sins felt like he was deflecting for his own.
“I wanna suck your titties,” The Punisher says while I recoil.
What grown man says titties?
The Punisher is someone’s son. Possibly someone’s brother. God forbid he was someone’s husband.
But we all have needs, so who am I to judge? I mean, I know how the night ends…and it’s not in The Punisher’s favor.
I do have some moral code, and that is what brings me back to the devious web. It seems The Dungeon Below is a breeding ground for filth. Jupiter and I made it our mission to research these men and make them pay because she too was gang-raped at a young age.
Jupiter is an internet sleuth, and the men we came across in these forums were sick, twisted individuals. They triggered something inside us.
The feelings brewing inside me were hers too.
It felt as though I had finally found someone who understood me.
I wasn’t crazy after all.
However, that’s still up for debate as I slide the zipper on the gimp mask closed.
“Crawl into the bathroom.”
The Punisher happily does as he’s told. He waddles on hands and knees toward the bathroom while I follow, grabbing handcuffs along the way. His stomach drags along the cheap carpet. Such a horrid sight.
Once in the bathroom, he looks up at me, waiting for further instruction.
He seems to have missed the plastic sheets laid out beneath him.
I snap a cuff around one wrist and secure the other cuff to the chrome basin pipe.
He loves the degradation, which is no surprise, considering he killed a fourteen-year-old and cut off her “titties” because he concocted a love affair between them. He kidnapped her, handcuffed her to a bathroom basin, and tortured her before ending her life.
He got out after five years for a technicality. Apparently, the crime scene was tainted. A mistake is made, and this bastard roams free.
His victim had a name.
But he took that and her dignity away.
So, now, it’s his turn.
A shiver runs down my spine.
The motel door opens a moment later.
She wears a matching wig to mine and bright red lips.
We do everything together.
However, not everything.
It gives me satisfaction to watch men suffer. But Jupiter needs more.
She needs blood.
The Punisher’s squinty little eyes sparkle in excitement. That’s soon short-lived when Jupiter enters the bathroom, and he sees the large knife she’s holding. Before he can scream for help, Jupiter slashes the knife across his throat, coating the white shower curtain with a spray of red.
The Punisher gurgles, gasping for air. His face turns red. The front of his pants is soon soiled.
“Ewww! She fucking pissed herself!” Smokes’s voice pounds at my temples.
That motherfucker wasn’t content with taking my virginity. He had to humiliate me more than he already was by ridiculing me.
Jupiter turns over her shoulder, her beautiful face slathered in blood. She understands my pain. “This is for you, baby girl.”
My stomach turns because this is horrific. This is wrong. I know it is. I could never do such a thing.
But who am I to judge?
She commences stabbing The Punisher over and over, ensuring his blood stays on the plastic sheeting.
Cleaning up blood is never fun.
I should know because my BFF, Jupiter Lemmings, is the XY Killer, as the media have nicknamed her. Quite creative, I must admit, because Jupiter only kills men.
So, yes, my best friend is a serial killer. But that doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, right?
I mean, no one’s perfect…