Sacrificing Virgins (10 page)

“I like you, don't I?” I answered. I'd never forced the issue to find out more about her scars. But now I acknowledged them.

“You love me.” She smiled. “That's how I know you're going to enjoy this.”

“Huh?” I questioned.

“You'll see,” Kirstin said. “She's really sweet.”

“She?”

“My roommate. She's like, the Queen of Scars.”

My stomach trembled. And my cock did too. But I had no idea what waited for me at my girlfriend's.

The apartment was a penthouse suite. At one point, it had probably been the recreation hall for the building, and then someone had thrown up a couple walls to carve in a couple bedrooms and a bath, and suddenly you had a spacious, still mostly open living space. The hardwood on the floor looked a hundred years old, but I had to admit, it was an awesome-looking place. To the right, as you stepped inside, was a small but modern kitchen, with shiny oak cabinets and a stainless steel sink. A half-wall divided that from a bedroom. To the left was a living room, with couches and TV. Someone had installed modern can lights in the white ceilings, which shed a subdued orange glow across the whole of the main room, which had been painted a deep, dusky brick red. Candles flickered against the walls on top of a combination TV / stereo wall unit. Lying on the couch angled across the center of the space in front of the TV, was a woman. I could see a long trail of black hair fanned across the arm cushion. Her leg V-ed up against the back of the couch as she lolled, watching TV.

“Alexis, we're home,” Kerstin called. The girl on the couch popped up, or at least part of her did. She pushed herself up with a hand that looked…wrong, but before it dawned on me why, I saw the V of her right leg slip down as the stump of her left leg push out into the space above the floor. She had nothing below the knee. That's when it occurred to me what was wrong with her hand: no fingers.

“Hey,” she called, in a soft, but liquid voice. “Missed you. Is this my competition?”

Kerstin took my hand and led me to the couch. “Not competition, Lex. Spice of life.”

“You just want someone with two good arms,” Alexis complained.

“That would be a benefit for some things,” Kerstin agreed, pushing me down on the couch at the end of Alexis's good and bad legs. “Can I get either of you something to drink?” She looked at me and warned, “Don't have any beer, but plenty of liquor.”

“Absinthe?” Alexis asked.

“Starting early tonight?”

The dark-haired girl shrugged.

“Got any bourbon?” I asked.

She offered Knob's Creek and I took her up on it, sans ice. As Kerstin busied herself in the kitchen, Alexis turned her attention to me. She pulled her stump back onto the couch so that its smooth end nearly touched my thigh. I could see the jagged pink lines where the flesh had been stitched together.

She pressed the bare foot of her other leg against my thigh. It was missing all but her big toe. What kind of accident had she been in? I wondered.

“Kerstin tells me you like girls with scars,” Alexis said. She raised her head to watch my reaction. Her eyes were that piercing color of blue that looks almost unreal. Her face showed the pocks and gouges of glass spray, or knife play…who knew?

“Well, I…” I stammered.

Her lips spread in a slow, easy, knowing smile. “It's okay,” she said. “I know what you did last night. You may be a little shy, but I think you're one of us. And I want you to look at my scars. Go ahead. Touch them.”

She pushed her stump closer, and massaged my leg with her mangled foot. I put my palm on the flesh where her left knee should have been, and traced the lines in the skin there. A shiver ran up my back as a memory passed my mind and my hand clenched gently around her flesh. I could feel my cock getting hard instantly.

“Why do they turn you on,” she asked softly. “Do you like to give them?”

“No,” I said, jerking my hand back. I wondered what she would think if I told her, but then I admitted, “Nothing like that. My first girlfriend was in a car accident, and I guess after I got used to her scars…I started to see them as a turn-on.”

“Hmmm,” she said.

Kerstin came back with the drinks, and the conversation only got weirder. It didn't take but a couple rounds before Alexis asked Kerstin, “Can we go back to your room now?”

Kerstin helped her friend up, and acted as her crutch as they walked together across the floor. “Aren't you coming?” Kerstin called over her shoulder at me.

I didn't need a second invitation, but I excused myself to stop in the bathroom first. The granny-tiled room smelled mildewy, and a pile of presumably damp towels lay on the floor. One looked to have the dark stains of blood on it. Where there were women, there were always towels with blood, I thought. Then I noticed the alcohol on the sink. Nosy, I opened the cabinet beneath, and looked inside. There were more bottles of alcohol there, and boxes of surgical gauze, fastening tape, and a variety of other medicinal-looking boxes. The cabinet looked like the supply chest for a hospital. Shaking my head, I took care of my business and returned to the girls.

Alexis sat on the edge of the bed, and reached out for me, pulling me near as Kerstin watched.

“Undress me?” she asked. “I think you'll like what you see.”

I looked at my girlfriend, who smiled. “We share everything,” she said simply. Minutes later her mouth joined mine in tracing the fractured skin of Alexis, who moaned on the bed beneath us. Her body was a spider web of history. A thousand cuts, a hundred pock-holed stabs. There was more pink than flesh tone to her torso. I was so entranced in the ruin of her that I didn't even notice when Kerstin took my pants off and began to use her lips on me.

We were awake for a very long time.

I liked Alexis. She was funny in a very under-spoken cynical way. I spent the next few days at their apartment, becoming more and more enamored of them both. They were completely warped women, both of them, and for the first time in my life I truly felt like I could share all my own kinks and dark fantasies with someone. I knew they would both understand. Alexis started telling me the origins of her scars. She'd point to one gnarled indent in her belly and smile dreamily as she explained, “This was Jim's. Our first weekend away together. He used a pocketknife.” And then another time as my tongue traced a longer, more angry line. “That was Jim's last one,” she said. “He used a box cutter.” I could instantly imagine the blood pouring across her belly from the cut, and winced. “We had such a good time that night,” she said, drawing my face up with her lips with her good hand. “He had so much blood on him by the time we were finished…” her voice trailed off and she smiled at the memory.

She
was
the Queen of Scars.

I slept with both of them nearly every night for the next two or three weeks before Alexis said to Kerstin, “Let's go to my room tonight.” I didn't think anything of the change immediately, until I stepped into the other bedroom just off the living room. I'd never been in it before; the door was always closed. When Kerstin turned the light on, I gasped. The single ceiling fixture was covered in a red-tinted glass, giving the whole room a bloody glare. The walls were covered with some kind of foam board (soundproofing, I learned later), and the floors were sheeted in plastic. The bed was sheeted in black, and as we laid Alexis out nude upon it, the contrast of her skin looked shocking. The red light played off her scars weirdly…her whole body might have been perspiring blood from the way the light and shadows played.

“You two get started,” Kerstin said, and pushed off the bed as I slid my hands over Alexis's chest, cupping one beautiful breast, and then one ruined mound, its nipple cut off and clumsily stitched back together. I'd learned why her scars all looked so pronounced. She never went to the hospital after her sado-masochistic exercises, but stitched them at home, these days with Kerstin's help. Hence the hospital-supply chest in the bath.

Alexis's finger-shy hand was kneading my butt when the electric whine of a circular saw broke the silence of the room. I jerked away from a kiss, but Alexis only grinned, and pulled me back. “It's just Kerstin,” she said, pressing my head to the scars of her ruined breast. “She gets off on the sound.”

I relaxed then, remembering the time in my apartment. The sound got closer, and when I looked up from Alexis's embrace, I saw Kerstin sitting next to the bed naked on the floor. The smooth steel handle of the circular saw was kneading her crotch, as her fingers revved and relaxed on the trigger. Not your usual vibrator, I thought, and went back to using my own brand of vibrator on Alexis. She was wet and more than ready, but after I entered her, she turned her mouth from mine to say to Kerstin, “My turn?”

“I
knew
you wanted it.” Kerstin grinned, and stood to approach us with the saw.

“What are you doing?” I said, freezing my rhythm.

“Don't worry,” Kerstin said. “Just be still. All she needs is a little lubrication. Just a taste.”

With that, her fingers tightened on the saw and she moved the blur of the blade closer and closer to us, a centimeter at a time. I could feel Alexis's breath on my neck; it was coming in shorter, faster gasps, and I started to pull away, but she hissed at me, “Please don't move.”

She pressed her mouth to my shoulder and I felt her teeth clench hard on my flesh as the edge of the saw finally kissed the skin of her thigh, just an inch from my own skin. Her body tensed and trembled. She gave out a slight moan as the blade bit, and blood welled instantly to stream down her skin. And then Kerstin dropped the blade and began masturbating herself on the floor as Alexis rolled me onto my back and mounted me savagely, grunting in both pain and pleasure with every movement. I could feel the wetness of her blood lubricating our act, and she reached down with a hand and smeared the red across her chest and my own before falling down hard on me, climaxing, her motions spastic and desperate.

I felt that same sick feeling as I had after the coffin incident on the following morning when I woke up in the red room between them and I saw the ragged wound on Alexis's leg. The perverse pleasures of the night before came back in a rush. I should have run. But in some sick way, I loved them both even more. I didn't even think of leaving.

The next night, Kerstin handed me a black leather flogger, its multiple leather strips tipped with small shards of metal. Then she pressed her hands onto two rings suspended near the far wall of Alexis's bedroom. “Lex can't do this very easily anymore,” she whispered. “Don't be gentle. Tonight you'll make your mark on both of us.”

I took the flogger from her and turned it over in my hand, shaking my head. I didn't want to hurt her. But I knew she needed to feel it…she needed the pain it gave. I flicked it against her naked back a few times, and Kerstin laughed.

“Hit me like you mean it,” she said.

The next stroke was harder, and she flinched. The crack of the leather on her skin sent a thrill down my lower back. I hit her again, and I could see the skin reddening already from the last slap.

“That's it,” Alexis encouraged, from behind. “Punish her.”

On the next crack, I felt the ends of the barbed leather catch slightly on her skin before pulling away, and beads of blood rose on the skin between my girlfriend's shoulder blades. Kerstin moaned, and twisted in obvious pain against her cuffs. “Don't stop,” she begged.

Sweat was beading on my forehead. My armpits were damp. I felt something raw coursing through my groin. Power. Evil. Sadism. Alexis moaned on the bed behind me as Kerstin's cries mounted in front.

I didn't stop.

When I was done with Kerstin, her back a bloody mess of red weals and broken skin, she staggered over to a toolbox across the room and returned with a large set of wire cutters. On the bed, Alexis was writhing in excitement, her ruined hand missing between her legs. “Take it,” she gasped, over and over. “Please.”

When Kerstin put her cutters against the end of Alexis' foot, I pulled her back. “You can't,” I cried.

“It's what she wants,” she answered. “And I won't, you will. She wants this to be your mark. We talked about it earlier today.”

“No,” I said. “No fuckin' way.”

“I'll help you,” Kerstin promised, and pulled my hand to the softness of her breast, before clasping it to the handles of the cutters.

“Please,” Alexis begged me from the bed. “I need it.”

“We need you to do these things for us,” Kerstin said, looking into my eyes. I saw a desire there harder than stone and darker than war.

Together, we cut off Alexis's last toe. I won't detail the things we did with her after that, before Kerstin dressed the wound.

After that night, I didn't feel nauseous about anything we did together anymore. It was all consensual, right? I pressed my fingers into their wounds and kissed them both, reveling in the shiver of their pain as much as they did themselves. The thoughts I once had kept buried about my old girlfriend's scars were tethered no longer.

We had begun our descent into the circles of hell. They were far ahead of me, but quickly I shed all of my inhibitions and caught up. Maybe I surpassed.

A few weeks later, we pooled our money and bought a tiny house out in the middle of nowhere, but still just thirty or forty miles from Kerstin's bar and my day job.

We built our own private dungeon in the little frame ranch's basement, and that's when things really got weird.

The night she cut off Alexis's other leg, Kerstin was ready with morphine and stitches. I couldn't do it, as depraved as I'd become. I literally cried when I saw the blood spray as the saw bit down and Alexis screamed so hard my ears still rang in the morning. We buried the leg in the yard, and for the next three weeks we fucked like a twisted trio of wounded rabbits, while Alexis screamed between us alternately in pain and pleasure. Eventually she healed. It was the celebration of our first anniversary together.