darkness, searching.
Gradually, relief seeped back on to her face. The nightmare was over for now. She lay listening to the outside noises, her nostrils capturing the residue of Jeremiah’s smell. He had been in here, again, spying.
“Jeremiah?” she asked, easing from the bed.
Outside the room, Jeremiah listened to his heart thumping in his head. Would she hear him, sneaking off down the hallway, if he tried to escape?
“
Jeremiah
?” hissed Judith, impatiently. “I know you’re out there, listening. Your stench has filled my room. Go and shower .
Now
.”
Obediently stepping into the shower a minute later, Jeremiah was initially shocked by the coldness. His breathing became jagged while he gritted his teeth, steeling himself as the cold water hit him square in the face and concave chest, pooling between his toes. “
Hhhhhssssssss
.” He sucked in the tight air, feeling numbness spread throughout his body. Biting down on hislower lip, he tried to prevent his teeth from chattering.
“Cold is good,” said Judith, pulling the shower curtains back, making them snap like a whip. “Kills all the germs and dirty things. Isn’t that right?” In her hand was a broom, the large coarse type favoured by street cleaners, its twigs protruding like lethal porcupine quills.
“
Yeessss
…” His teeth were chattering loudly now, uncontrollably .
“Turn your face to the wall. I don’t want to look at your pathetic sneaky features.”
Submissively, Jeremiah turned to his left, staring at the whiteness of the tiles. They made him think of snow. They made him think of bones.
Gently—almost motherly—Judith rested the brush’s quills against his neck, adding just the right amount of pressure to pockmark the skin slightly.
Jeremiah softly shuddered with anticipation, dreading but welcoming what was coming next.
“You …” With slow, deliberate force, Judith scraped the brush down his back, over his buttocks, never stopping until it reached his ankles. “… deserve …” Her teeth gritted as she returned the brush to its original position, on his skinny neck. “… every …” Once again, the brush commenced its bloody journey, flaying the skin, peeling thin strips in its wake. “… stroke …”
Feeling his knees begin to wobble, Jeremiah willed them to resist. His fingernails dug into the grout between the tiles, trembling for balance. Whirls of blood stained the horrible whiteness of the shower’s enclosure.
The scrubbing concluded five minutes later, leaving Jeremiah’s back a gouache covered in evil-looking whiplash marks.
“Look at you,” hissed Judith. “Standing there in muted acceptance, like some wretched monk offering up his sins to a deaf god.” She held the broom in her hand like a spear. It was speckled with blood, sweat, and particles of skin. “You are always paying attention but never remembering; always hearing, but never listening. I don’t want you reading any more trash. Is that understood?”
Shakily, Jeremiah nodded. He was on the verge of collapsing .
“And never—
ever
—come into my room. Understand?” She placed the shaft of the broom between his sagging buttocks, allowing the wood to part the fissure of his arse slightly.
“Yes … yes; I understand … fully …”
Judith removed the broom, turned and left.
Easing his back against the freezing water, Jeremiah allowed it to wash away the blood. It stung like wasps and scorpions, but as his hand went to his doughy penis—to his surprise and delight … it was rising, just like the homemade bread his mother always made on his return home from school. Seconds later, he ejaculated, mixing his cum with his blood, watching it melt away, down into the drain, wishing his sins were so easily disposed of.
Chapter Fourteen
“Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgement Book unfold.”
Bayard Taylor, “Bedouin Song”
“ I ’M LOOKING FOR books on bones,” said Adrian to the
Gradually, relief seeped back on to her face. The nightmare was over for now. She lay listening to the outside noises, her nostrils capturing the residue of Jeremiah’s smell. He had been in here, again, spying.
“Jeremiah?” she asked, easing from the bed.
Outside the room, Jeremiah listened to his heart thumping in his head. Would she hear him, sneaking off down the hallway, if he tried to escape?
“
Jeremiah
?” hissed Judith, impatiently. “I know you’re out there, listening. Your stench has filled my room. Go and shower .
Now
.”
Obediently stepping into the shower a minute later, Jeremiah was initially shocked by the coldness. His breathing became jagged while he gritted his teeth, steeling himself as the cold water hit him square in the face and concave chest, pooling between his toes. “
Hhhhhssssssss
.” He sucked in the tight air, feeling numbness spread throughout his body. Biting down on hislower lip, he tried to prevent his teeth from chattering.
“Cold is good,” said Judith, pulling the shower curtains back, making them snap like a whip. “Kills all the germs and dirty things. Isn’t that right?” In her hand was a broom, the large coarse type favoured by street cleaners, its twigs protruding like lethal porcupine quills.
“
Yeessss
…” His teeth were chattering loudly now, uncontrollably .
“Turn your face to the wall. I don’t want to look at your pathetic sneaky features.”
Submissively, Jeremiah turned to his left, staring at the whiteness of the tiles. They made him think of snow. They made him think of bones.
Gently—almost motherly—Judith rested the brush’s quills against his neck, adding just the right amount of pressure to pockmark the skin slightly.
Jeremiah softly shuddered with anticipation, dreading but welcoming what was coming next.
“You …” With slow, deliberate force, Judith scraped the brush down his back, over his buttocks, never stopping until it reached his ankles. “… deserve …” Her teeth gritted as she returned the brush to its original position, on his skinny neck. “… every …” Once again, the brush commenced its bloody journey, flaying the skin, peeling thin strips in its wake. “… stroke …”
Feeling his knees begin to wobble, Jeremiah willed them to resist. His fingernails dug into the grout between the tiles, trembling for balance. Whirls of blood stained the horrible whiteness of the shower’s enclosure.
The scrubbing concluded five minutes later, leaving Jeremiah’s back a gouache covered in evil-looking whiplash marks.
“Look at you,” hissed Judith. “Standing there in muted acceptance, like some wretched monk offering up his sins to a deaf god.” She held the broom in her hand like a spear. It was speckled with blood, sweat, and particles of skin. “You are always paying attention but never remembering; always hearing, but never listening. I don’t want you reading any more trash. Is that understood?”
Shakily, Jeremiah nodded. He was on the verge of collapsing .
“And never—
ever
—come into my room. Understand?” She placed the shaft of the broom between his sagging buttocks, allowing the wood to part the fissure of his arse slightly.
“Yes … yes; I understand … fully …”
Judith removed the broom, turned and left.
Easing his back against the freezing water, Jeremiah allowed it to wash away the blood. It stung like wasps and scorpions, but as his hand went to his doughy penis—to his surprise and delight … it was rising, just like the homemade bread his mother always made on his return home from school. Seconds later, he ejaculated, mixing his cum with his blood, watching it melt away, down into the drain, wishing his sins were so easily disposed of.
Chapter Fourteen
“Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgement Book unfold.”
Bayard Taylor, “Bedouin Song”
“ I ’M LOOKING FOR books on bones,” said Adrian to the
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