Serial Volume Three

Serial

Volume Three

Lily White

and

Jaden Wilkes

Copyright © 2015 by Lily White and Jaden Wilkes. Serial, Volume Three. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Everything is made up, from our twisted minds. If you do happen to resemble any of the characters in this book, we’d like to hear from you. We have questions about blood spatter, hunting knives VS kitchen knives and the difference between DNA breaking down during chemical cleansing VS exposure to the natural elements. Also what it’s like to fuck while being batshit crazy.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Lily White:

Lily White is a dark writer who likes to dabble on the taboo side of eroticism.  Most of the time she can be found wandering around aimlessly while her mind is stuck in some twisted power play between two characters in her head. You may recognize her in public by the confused expression, random mumbling, and occasional giggle while thinking up a scene. Lily’s favorite things in life are reading, thinking about reading, buying books for reading….and writing. Her other secret pleasure is meeting with her plot editor in public to discuss her books and watching the shocked expressions of the people around her that don’t realize she’s talking about a book.  When Lily is not reading, writing, wandering or freaking out innocent bystanders, she’s sleeping.

Find her on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/authorlilywhite

Sign up for her newsletter:
http://eepurl.com/Onoeb

Jaden Wilkes:

Jaden is the pen name of a girl living on the prettiest farm in BC. She shares her space with her husband, her children, and an Irish Wolfhound named Tiberius. She can now be found lurking in the dark corners of the internet looking for artful porn gifs, dirty poems and places to promo her work.

Hunt me down for more from this giant, scary head of mine. More sociopaths, more sweet and hot love stories, more crazy motherfuckers than you can shake a stick at. And a few laughs too. Oh and crockpot recipes in my newsletter. Impress your friends with your newfound knowledge of blood spatter analysis and honey garlic chicken breasts.

Find her on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJadenWilkes

Sign up for her newsletter:
http://eepurl.com/N4i8f

Patty Wilson

Patty moaned and felt as though she’d had the shit kicked out of her. She had a flash of Jason’s boots stomping her head and struggled to recall what had set him off.

It wasn’t Jason though, and it wasn’t a pair of boots.

The hot rich guy had fucking slugged her with a baseball bat. She’d been a little high when it had happened, buzzing happily along and chatting him up. So she’d thought.

He’d been a psycho and as the realization coursed through her that she was tied up, unable to move, she began to wake up fully.

She fluttered her eyes and forced them open, felt the tight bonds against her wrists and ankles, and felt her pulse throbbing in some painful spot on the side of her head.

Her first thought was the coke. Could she get to it, where was it, was it safe, was it okay and how could she bargain herself back to it.

Her second thought was more of a shock. She was naked, bound and naked and on some kind of long, narrow table.

Third, it was dark. The room echoed when she groaned. She couldn’t really remember exactly where he had brought her, but she’d had the impression it was an industrial space. How far had they driven after he’d picked her up? She’d been so far out of her usual spot that she wasn’t exactly sure where he’d even gotten her.

He’d seemed so nice. Polite, attractive, rich. Fuck. He had been her sign that things were getting better.

Her fourth thought, which brought her a sharp pang of guilt, was of Sarah. She didn’t know what time it was, would Sarah be awake yet? Would she be okay?

And why had she not thought of Sarah the moment she’d woken up? She was a shitty mother for sure.

John would take care of her, Patty was certain of that. At least she hoped he would, her mother wouldn’t.

“Hello?” Patty called out and heard her own voice bounce back to her off the cold surfaces in the room.

Cold, it was so cold. She shivered and grasped for anything to try and drag on herself. There was nothing in the short reach she had with her hands tied, so she was naked, freezing, missing her baby but most of all she was craving coke.

***

She didn’t know how much time had passed. She’d slept or passed out again, she couldn’t be sure with the pounding headache she had.

Patty was doing something she hadn’t done for years. She was talking to God.

“I’ll stop it all,” she pleaded with the God she’d turned her back on years ago, “just get me out of this and I’ll never do coke again. I’ll be the perfect mother. I’ll even start going to church, just please help me.”

Even as she said it, she knew she was lying. She would hunt down coke the moment she left this building just to help her come down off the fear high she was currently riding.

She heard a small noise, a scrape or a whisper of metal on metal. “Hello?” she called into the darkness. “Who’s there?”

She felt like she was living in a horror movie, but prayed even harder that she would get her happy ending.

The lights flared on, blinding her momentarily and confusing her. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold off the stabbing pain in her temple.

“Hello?” she said again, this time her voice an uncertain whisper.

“Hello there,” a male voice replied, “Did you miss me?”

She opened her eye and saw the man who’d hit her.

“Let me go,” she said, “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Besides, even if I did, who would believe a junkie like me, right?”

His eyes flickered with amusement as he looked her up and down and appeared to study her.

“I have a baby,” she said, hoping to connect with him on some deeper level, “her name is Sarah and she’s all I have in the world and I’m all there is for her. Please don’t hurt me, let me get back to my baby.”

“You have a child and you were still out selling your ass and doing blow?” he asked, his voice slightly mocking but there was the smallest indication that he was moved by this revelation.

“Yes, my baby. Sarah,” Patty reminded him of her name, “you can check my phone, I have like a thousand pictures of her.”

“Then how did you come to be like this?” he asked and waved his hand over her shivering, bruised body.

“The piece of shit I was working for,” Patty said, letting it all come out in hopes of triggering some kind of sympathetic response so he’d let her go, “Jason, he was my pimp and my boyfriend.”

“He was your boyfriend and he let you have sex with other men?”

“He forced me to,” Patty said, “I never wanted to, especially not at first, but he needed the money. The drugs just make it easier to handle.”

He looked her up and down again and furrowed his brow, as if in deep concentration. “I’m afraid things aren’t going to go very well for you,” he said at last, “I need to keep Pet alive, and you are going to help me.”

He moved to a side table and opened a few drawers. He pulled out a number of different looking instruments and tools and laid them on a moveable tray, like something you’d find in an operating room.

Patty started to cry, little whimpers at first, but it ramped up into full on heaving sobs as he worked, preparing something for her.

“Please don’t,” he said and turned around. He was so handsome, so composed. And his eyes, he had the most beautiful eyes, soulful and gentle. Completely masking the monster he was inside, Patty thought, and forced her tears to stop.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I miss my baby. I love her so much.”

“As I love Pet,” the man said and pushed the cart close to the table. Patty moved her head and could see knives and ropes and a few things she couldn’t determine.

She whimpered as he picked up a long, thin bladed weapon and held it to her cheek. “Please,” she said, “you don’t have to do this.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, “but I do. I need to or I will kill the only woman I’ve ever loved. And we can’t have that, now, can we?”

She tried her best not to cry as he began to cut her, but sobs overtook the sound of everything else and she realized that just when you thought things had hit rock bottom…they could get a whole lot worse.

A whole lot worse.

Jude

I applied the slightest amount of pressure to the girl’s flesh and watched with detached fascination as the blood welled up under the blade. It was like painting, I was the artist.

I had left her on the table after I’d hit her with the bat, but the epic failure I’d had with the last one forced me back. I was heading home from a long and completely unproductive day at work, but had decided to check up on her.

I meant to drop by with a meal replacement drink and to toss a blanket on her, but seeing her there made me instantly hard.

So much like my Pet all those years ago.

Her vulnerability was intoxicating. I decided to play a little before heading back to Pet and her constant need for validation.

She made a noise like a frightened little lamb, nothing comprehensible as words at this point, but a bleat of pain and despair.

I hadn’t known she was a mother. There was something off putting about killing a woman who’d brought a child into the world. I didn’t know why.

“Be still,” I said and caressed her breast with the tip of my knife. I fought the urge to slash her throat and fuck her in the arterial spray. I needed her, to keep Pet alive long enough that I could have a completely normal life.

Pet, Veronica, Ronnie.

I don’t know why I hadn’t clued in the moment she’d said her name. The years between then and now were too great perhaps. Or perhaps I had been too focused on the pulsing flesh at her throat or her mesmerizing eyes to make the connection.

Veronica Lapierre, daughter of Yolanda...my former nanny. I had grown up with a revolving door of caretakers, but had been deemed a difficult child early on. None had lasted very long.

Yolanda had lasted the longest, from the time I was ten to just shy of twelve.

Why would a twelve year old need a nanny you may ask? By that point she had been more of a safety net.

My parents had gotten complaints from school and the neighbors, I was having a more and more difficult time controlling my impulses as I aged, and occasionally they spilled over into our lives.

I could quell them at first with small acts of controlled demolition, smashing my mother’s Faberge egg when I was five, taking an axe to her priceless Tiffany lamp when I was seven…slashing my father’s Miro with a butcher knife when I was nine.

Even then I just had the pure unadulterated joy of destruction, but hadn’t connected it sexually.

Kids at school were taunted, a couple cars in the neighborhood were ruined, but none of it had the deep pleasurable undertones for me until her.

Until Veronica.

Yolanda wasn’t supposed to bring her daughter to work, but my ever-absent parents weren’t there to complain, so she would sneak little Veronica from time to time.

Veronica had fascinated me. She was a beautiful child, a sweet innocent face with perfect milky white skin and long black hair. She’d been just around kindergarten age, what was that, five or so?

She’d been a real spitfire, saucy and mouthy for such a young thing.

She’d found me by the pool, I had cornered a cat and wasn’t hurting it, I never really hurt animals, but I was harassing it. Ultimately I wanted to nudge it into the water to watch it flail and swim, but was simply enjoying myself with it until that point.

She’d stood up to me, something I was completely unused to. I was the consummate little rich boy, and even my teachers at school had all been bought off with my father’s money. Nobody said no to me.

Even my own parents would just kind of fade away rather than confront me. I suppose when you give off that aura from an early age, people learn to give you a wide berth.

I don’t know how she managed to have such an attitude at her age and with her background, but she did.

She had approached me as I’d lazily shoved the cat around with the toe of my shoe.

“Stop that, you’re hurting him,” she’d said.

“I am not,” I’d replied, “I’m just messing with him a little.”

“Stop it or I’ll tell my mama, she’s the boss of you when your mama and daddy are gone you know.”

I’d turned to her then, looked her up and down. She was years younger than me, but even then she had a spark of defiance, the same one she held today. I laughed at her, I hadn’t had anyone I could consider a boss in years.

I was a rather precocious child.

“Just you try,” I’d said and turned back to the cat. It clearly wasn’t being harmed. The fat thing just lay there in the hot sun on the pool deck. It was purring like mad at my attention. I nudged it with my foot, a little harder that time, just to make a point.

I got down and shoved the cat. It had just kept purring and kneading the air in front of it like a fucking moron.

She’d leapt on me, jumped me from behind as I’d crouched next to the cat, nudging it towards the pool.

I’d stood up, knocked her off and heard her cry of pain as she’d landed on the bricks edging the hedge fence. I probably hadn’t meant to throw her back that hard, but it was done.

I stood over her, watching her crawl backwards like a little bug, and felt it for the first time.

The jolt travelled from my little cock straight to my overwrought sense of control.

It was as though seeing her, the little beauty, struggling to get away from me with tears pouring down her soft little cheeks had hard wired the two centers of my brain together.

Power brought about by controlling and harming another, a helpless woman or girl, meant sexual thrills.

It could have been my first hard on, I can’t recall at this point, but it was my most memorable from that time.

I’d knelt beside her and pushed her arms down, pinned her hands under my knees and held my hand on her mouth.

She’d screamed and wiggled, tried to bite me and tried to get away.

This is where it gets fuzzy for me, I don’t quite recall how far I got that day, but I do have flashes of her skirt going up and her screams penetrating my ears.

Yolanda had found her crying in the hedge by the side of the pool. I was long gone by then, but the bruises around her face and thighs had told the story.

Yolanda always knew it was me, young Veronica refused to talk about it, and the matter was dropped.

At least for the two days until my parents had gotten home. Yolanda had shown up, dragging Veronica, screaming at my mother and father, demanding they do something about their monster of a son or she would call the police.

As I recall, the police did get involved, she did go, but by then Veronica had started healing, there was no evidence to indicate any sort of assault, and my father’s best friend called in a few favors and the case was dropped.

If only Yolanda had kept quiet, she never would have been fired.

If only she hadn’t gone to the police, she never would have been ruined.

The last I’d heard, in my teens, was that she was a down and out junkie and her daughter had disappeared.

To think Pet had vanished from my life only to reappear at the most unlikely of times.

To think that the very girl who was responsible for my ‘power to cock’ connection was now the love of my life.

Life was strange, and you never knew what it was going to throw at you, which was just one more reason I lived outside the box and bucked the system.

Why bother playing by the rules when the rules were constantly changing?

The girl’s whimper brought me out of the past and into the present.

She was barely breathing, her chest raising and falling in short, sharp gasps of air. The knife had travelled as I’d reminisced and blood was pooling on the table underneath her torso. Bright red streaks indicated where I’d cut her in the midst of my fevered remembrance.

“Hush now,” I said and she started to slow her breath, “I’m not going to kill you. I just want to play.”

She looked up at me, her eyes bright with hope edged with suspicion. “Can I go home to Sarah now?” she asked.

I shook my head, laid the knife on the table next to her and said, “Not yet. Not for a while.”

I unzipped my pants and pulled out my throbbing cock. Pet’s face superimposed on hers, morphing into Pet as a child, Pet as an adult woman, Pet as my world.

Always Pet.

I started to stroke, picked the knife up again and slid the blade along her rib cage. I moved it back and forth in rhythm with my frantic jerking, blood streaking the girl’s flesh as I felt myself build towards completion.

She started to cry, pathetic little whimpers, the sounds of a woman who has given up and accepted her lot in life.

“Pet,” I uttered, a single guttural word as I came on the girl’s bloodied ribs. Cum and blood mixed together and I dragged the head of my cock through the mixture. I shuddered a final expulsion onto her side, dropped the knife and exhaled, spent.

I stared at her body, ribbons of blood, ribbons of cum, I ran my hand through it and felt it on my fingertips.

I held one to my lips and tasted myself and the blood, acrid and sweet.

Life and death.

Power and control.

Pet and Me.

We were coming together, and we would be together.

Until death did us part.