Tombstone (5 page)

She had cried and screamed behind the gag until her voice was raspy and her throat was sore.
 
Useless pulling at the metal cuffs proved she was securely bound and that there was no way for her to escape.
 
She pictured herself buried next to her husband, while Donald Sr. was holding court at his son’s wake.
 
The look of hate in his eyes haunted her.
 
No one would be asking about her, and with his money and power, no one would question her disappearance… or her presence in the cemetery.

Claudine heard scratching on the sides of the coffin and she shrieked, at first picturing rats trying to claw their way to her, and then her dead husband, his skeletal fingers reaching through the dirt, ripping at the sides of her tomb.
 
She lay frozen, eyes wide and staring into the nothingness, praying for unconsciousness to claim her and take away her petrifying fear.

When the lid began to open, she sucked noisy panting gasps in through her runny nose.
 
The gravedigger from the cemetery stood over her, smiling with frightening intensity shining in his unnaturally pale blue eyes.
 
This first lesson was more a part of Tombstone’s macabre sense of humor.
 
It would serve as a terrifying reminder for the young woman of what could happen if she chose to be uncooperative.
 
There were certain aspects of his erotic sculpting and training that would require her cooperation.

Tombstone had been finishing dinner when he heard the first muted sounds from inside the ornate box across the room.
 
His client had chosen it specifically for the woman, and it rested on two sawhorses.
 
When he had finished eating, he walked over to the casket and began a series of banging thuds on the lid.
 
He thumped one hand then the other, and waited for the scream.

It never ceased to amaze him that all of the women had the same reaction to imagined shovelfuls of dirt hitting the top.
 
He knew that she had seen the damn backhoe, but they never seemed to remember.
 
Once more, his hands banged down, and he waited for her shriek before returning to the table to study the model that Strickland had chosen.
 
It was one of the more expensive mannequins, with moveable parts that would allow it to be fixed in many interesting positions.

He let her wait in the darkness, panicked and completely helpless, for another fifteen minutes.
 
To her, it would seem like hours, and he was certain that the haughty bitch would be in shock.
 
Shock was okay.
 
They were more pliable and easier to prepare.

The tall man stood over the casket, stroking the polished wood and occasionally letting his nails scrape the surface.
 
Finally, he reached for the latches, unhooked them, and slowly lifted the lid.
 
He looked down onto her terrified face.
 
Her makeup had streaked and she was blinking furiously to adjust her eyes.
 
When they widened in recognition, Tombstone smiled.
 
He felt his balls tighten, filling with her fear.

For a large man, Tombstone spoke in a surprisingly quiet, measured, calm voice.
 
He stroked his fingers through the muddy mascara leaking down the sides of her eyes and into her hair while she quivered.
 
“You know this can be real, anytime Strickland gives me the word.
 
If you don’t do exactly as I order, you’ll find yourself resting beside your husband… though probably not so much ‘at peace’.”

He watched the beautiful expanse of her breasts rising and falling rapidly with her panting breaths.
 
They were a little too large for his personal tastes, but they would certainly be easy to work with.
 
His thumb and forefinger pinched a nipple through her tight knit dress and silk bra.

Claudine shrieked behind the gag.
 
Let me go.
 
Please, just let me go.
 
She felt his fingertips trailing lower.
 
He let his hand follow the path across her stomach and she flinched, shaking her head and crying when he touched her pussy.
 
The short hem of her skirt had hiked up, and through the thin material of her black thong panties, he stroked her groomed curls.

Oh…oh, stop.
 
His fingers curled under the elastic, and Claudine shuddered and tried to force her thighs together.
 
With her ankles bound beneath her, the effort was minimal.
 
She was frustrated and angry, and she wondered if Donald was teaching her a lesson.
 
There was no possible way that this was real… that she had been effectively erased and given to this man.
 
When his smooth finger spread her folds, she closed her eyes, wailing and fighting the cuffs to shift her hips.

“Lie still, slut,” the calm deep voice warned.

Slut?
 
Did Donald tell him that she was a slut?
 
If he would just take out the gag, Claudine could explain.
 
She had money.
 
No matter what Donald had paid him, she could offer more.
 
She could get it back when he released her and she ran to the authorities.
 
Maybe she would wait.
 
Maybe she would see how much Donald would give her in return for her silence.

The man’s finger stroked gently along her path, coaxing her to slicken.
 
Claudine moaned, humiliated that her body was so ready to respond to him.
  
An errant thought ran through her mind that she was surprised his fingers were not calloused and rough.
 
He’s only a laborer working in a damn graveyard, for god’s sakes.
 
She thought she remembered seeing leather gloves on him.
 
Claudine tried to think about many inane things, anything other than his fingers on her pussy.

Oh, god.
 
Up and down… his finger sweeping through the cream leaking from inside of her.
 
She felt his other hand spread her labia, and Claudine looked up, shaking her head while she whimpered.
 
Up and down, and then in and out of her channel, flicking her clit on each passing.
 
Her bottom began to squeeze, and she cried and tried to fight the building sensation towards climax.
 
She began to sway her head, and the man watched her stomach trembling and tightening.

“I told you to fucking be still,” his frightening, steady voice demanded.
 
Tombstone was rewarded with a muffled sob, igniting his arousal while he tormented her.

Claudine closed her eyes, unable to watch the man abuse her.
 
The way her body was reacting would make him believe she truly was a slut.
 
She tried to focus on escape, and how she would make this man and her father-in-law pay.
 
The bastard.
 
The rich, arrogant bastard,
she sobbed.
 
Eventually, even the thought of stripping Donald of his money could not keep her body from calling her back to the need to orgasm.
 
Her hips began pushing into the hand that was stroking her… up and down, in and out, flicking and wiggling her engorged clit.
 
Her nipples were tightening in response to the movement of the fingers.
 
Stop.
 
Oh, my god.
 
Please, stop.
 
Please don’t make me do this.

The man felt her pussy begin to squeeze tighter, sucking his fingers in.
 
As soon as the flush began to cover her face and chest, he said, “Don’t you dare fucking come, slut.”
 
As if his words were a signal, he listened to an aroused moan.
 
She jerked up into his hand, gushing cream and coating his fingers.
 
Narrowing his eyes, he gave her a disgusted look.
 
“Fucking whore slut.”
 
Claudine screamed when he closed the lid.

No.
 
Please let me out.
 
Her wails were pitifully smothered by the gag.
 
Her pussy kept squeezing and throbbing in the aftermath of her climax.
 
In every sexual interlude, Claudine controlled the situation.
 
Manipulating and arousing a man’s body was the key to her wealth.
 
Naturally, she achieved her own satisfaction, but always when she decided.
 
This man took from her, and it left her confused and added to the frightening terror of the darkness.
 
Now, she would even be afraid when the lid opened again.

Tombstone turned off the light to the studio, shucked his clothing, and climbed onto the cot.
 
He spent the first nights close to the women, because he could not risk letting them get so petrified that their minds snapped.
 
This one was strong… a definite Room One.
 
He could see it in the bitch’s eyes.

While he drifted to sleep his dream began, twisting his mind and taking him back, spiraling through the years to experience the same confusing visions he had every night.
 
The ending was a perplexing nightmare, and when he woke up it always took him several minutes to get his bearings and remember where he was.
 
The beginning of the dream made it worth it.
 
He got to spend time with his mother again.
 
No, that’s wrong.
 
She was Jerald’s mother,
he thought, as he slipped into a deep sleep.

* * * * *

Beautiful Susanne with her golden hair, strutting around the club in her shiny rubber suit.
 
Jerald watching through fascinated eyes while his mom balanced on her spiky pointed shoes.
 
Next were the scenes of the women in the back who fed his needs, teaching him the artistry his mother had known.

Teresa with her sensuous voice, coaching him in acts he could never have imagined.
 
Sabrina, her ebony breasts firm and tipped by fat coffee colored nipples that he loved to suck and nip; more tempting than the finest chocolate.
 
Erin with the palest skin, dotted with freckles that spotted even her bared sex lips.

The dream always ended with the women he had known from Room Five, dressed in different colored mannequin suits and frozen in erotic positions.
 
Susanne was in front wearing the black skin suit, her smile fading to sadness while bright red oozed down the front of her costume from a hole in her protruding left breast.

CHAPTER II

Tombstone woke in a fog, stretching out and taking several minutes to shake off the chaotic world of his dreams.
 
By the time he had finished half a cup of coffee, Jerald Fry was completely forgotten.

Claudine heard the latches to the coffin being opened and she sobbed in relief.
 
During the long silent hours of darkness, the terror had numbed her into exhaustion and some of his warnings enveloped her mind.
 
He would not kill her.
 
The man would not bury her, if she did as he ordered.
 
Claudine could do this for a while.
 
Obviously, Donald had made an agreement that this degenerate man could abuse her in exchange for holding her captive.
 
However long this lesson was going to be, and whatever depraved thing this man asked of her… she could do for a while.
 
She could follow his demands, until the opportunity to escape arose.
 
She could
not
do this, if she was buried under the soft dirt next to Donnie.

When she stared at the man, she tried to plead with her eyes.
 
She forced herself to stop quivering and lie still, trying to let him know she would obey him.
 
Her bladder had let go and her arms and feet rested on the soggy silk padding.
 
Claudine tried to control her anger.
 
The man had not considered that after the long funeral she might need to use the toilet.
 
Fuck you.
 
Now you’ll have the mess to clean up.
 
Her strong will continued to try to calm her nerves and control the situation, because Claudine had never been so frightened in her life.
 
Instinctively she knew that her flirtatious manner and beautiful looks would not sway this man.

Tombstone stroked her cheek, absorbing her quivers and the fear in her eyes.
 
His other hand raised and Claudine saw that he was holding a shining blue collar.
 
She trembled when he locked it around her throat, but made no protest.
 
If he’s putting a collar on me, he must be intending to let me up out of the casket.
 
Her strained muscles screamed when he rolled her onto her side and removed the manacles.
 
She rubbed her chafed wrists and slowly straightened her cramped legs.
 
God, how they ached.

The man walked out of sight for a moment, and she heard a metal scraping as a chain attached to a pipe near the ceiling was dragged over to her.
 
The man fished a sturdy lock out of his pocket and he attached the bottom link to a ring in the front of the collar.
 
Claudine kept staring at him, knowing the pleading was doing no good, but doing it anyway.

Strong hands reached under her shoulders, lifting her so she was sitting in the coffin.
 
Claudine studied the room around her.
 
It was big, like an open loft, with a kitchen and seating area by a fireplace.
 
A small cot was against the wall in the corner, and a bathroom with no walls was across from her.
 
A spiral staircase disappeared into the ceiling, close to where the cot sat.
 
There was an archway leading to another room beside the kitchen, and the entire structure was made of old dark wood and stone.

The man began lifting her again and Claudine scrambled to get her legs underneath her.
 
He dragged her over the side of the coffin, and she was relieved to finally be out of the box.
 
She had already decided that she would do anything he wanted, to keep from being sealed in the darkness again.

“Go use the toilet, strip, and then stand under the shower,” he ordered.

Claudine’s legs were still strained and aching, but she turned and shuffled towards the stone alcove.
 
The chain was heavy and tugged at the collar as it slid along a pipe.
 
She realized, by the length of it, she would only be able to walk on this side of the room.
 
Tombstone scrutinized her stiff movements, rubbing his cock while he watched her bottom.
 
With muscles that strained so quickly, the frozen positioning would torture her.
 
She would be a masterpiece.

Claudine’s fingers began to tremble again, and they slipped off the tab for the zipper twice before she was able to grab it.
 
Her hands were still a little numb from being bound for so long.
 
She let the wet garment drop off her shoulders, and the weight of the soggy material dragged it off her hips and onto the floor.
 
Claudine stared at the stones in the wall while she unhooked her bra.
 
She wanted to take the foam ball out of her mouth, but she was too frightened to let her hands go near it.

The black heels had not made it into the coffin with her, and Claudine was grateful she had not been left with her feet encased in the pinching leather… even though it meant losing the possible weapon.
 
She pulled her ripped thigh high nylons off her legs and slid her fingers under the strap of her thong.
 
When she was naked, she turned slowly to face the man, trying to look seductive in her pathetic state.

He observed her from a few feet away, studying her body with consideration instead of the desire she was used to eliciting.
 
Claudine watched his eyes narrow and felt her panic rising.
 
She tilted her head up until she found the showerhead and dragged the chain over to it.

Tombstone pushed a chrome button set into the stone, and cold spray jetted down on the woman.
 
Claudine bit down on the gag and covered her breasts when the freezing water hit them.
 
It felt like needles piercing her skin.

“Put your arms down and spread your legs,” he ordered.

Claudine began to quietly cry and she lowered her arms, forcing herself to stand still.
 
At first, she wondered if the pervert was going to bathe her, but he seemed content standing against the wall and watching the frigid water cascade over her hair and down her body, causing her nipples to pebble and tighten.
 
He turned off the deluge and left her dripping while he walked to the kitchen.

He returned a few minutes later with a large ceramic bowl filled with oatmeal.
 
It looked pasty, with no milk or sugar, but her stomach rumbled when she saw it.
 
He placed it on the floor by the coffin and walked over to her.
 
“If you make a sound, the gag goes back in and I put you back in the coffin.
 
Keep your palms on the floor next to the bowl.”

Claudine shivered, both from the cold shower and his words.
 
She nodded in understanding.
 
His hands reached behind her head and loosened a buckle.
 
When he pulled the foam free, she forced herself not to sob with the relief of being able to close her aching jaws.
 
She also caught herself as she prepared to automatically thank him.

“Go eat.
 
You have five minutes to finish it.”

Claudine walked as quickly as she could, dragging the chain.
 
She knelt in front of the bowl and placed her hands as he ordered, scooping the sticky bland cereal into her mouth with her tongue.
 
After a few mouthfuls, she had begun silently crying again.
 
He was treating her like an animal and forcing her to eat like a dog.
 
She had never experienced such brutality, and she finally raised her head and looked at him with tearing eyes.
 
“Why are you doing this to me?” she sobbed.

Claudine cringed back, crashing into a sawhorse leg when the man stormed over to her.
 
He gripped her hair and dragged her back to the bowl, plunging her face into the moist oatmeal.
 
“I told you not to make a fucking sound and to eat, you fucking whore.”

Claudine felt the cereal slithering up her nostrils and she had just barely managed to close her eyes.
 
Her lungs began to burn and she was screaming into the bowl.
 
Pushing up was useless and she reached around, clawing for the hand gripping her hair.
 
Suddenly, she was jerked to a scrambling stand, and the pasty mess clung to her eyelashes and dripped off her chin.
 
She blew through her nose to clear it, and while she concentrated on that and catching her breath, the man pressed the foam gag against her lips.
 
“Open, slut.”

Claudine trembled, but kept her lips sealed.
 
Oh god.
 
Oh dear god.
 
Someone has to get me out of here.
 
Tombstone gripped the front of her collar and he slammed his knee into her pussy.

“Aaah.
 
Oh, god.”
 
Claudine shrieked in agony and tried to bend over, cupping her throbbing pussy with her hand.
 
It felt like her lips were already swelling and bruising from the pain.
 
When she screamed, the man worked the foam gag into her mouth again.

Claudine clawed for the buckle and the man grabbed her wrists, transferring them to one strong hand while he reached for the cuffs.
 
Within seconds, he had her wrists locked behind her again.
 
She wailed and thrashed her legs in panic when he lifted her and dumped her back into the wet casket.
 
He used a small key to unlock her collar from the chain and he slammed the lid down while she screamed.

It took an hour for the thumping kicking to end, and it had been a long time since he heard her trying to scream.
 
Tombstone opened the casket, re-hooked the chain, and dragged her out again.
 
The oatmeal on her face and hair had dried to a flaking crust that had glued a few of her eyelashes together.
 
Tombstone pulled out the gag and unlatched her wrists.
 
“Eat,” he ordered.

Claudine knelt in front of the oatmeal, now cold and congealing.
 
She shuddered and cried quietly while she finished, clawing the wood planks with clenching fingers placed obediently on either side of the bowl.
 
When she was through licking the sides clean, she raised up, remaining on her knees and nervously fisting her hands by her thighs.

“Shower,” he ordered.

Claudine rocked to her feet and walked to the stone shower, already bracing for the frigid spay to hit her again.
 
Once more she was drenched, and she raised her face to wash away the rest of the oatmeal.
 
She was terrified and determined to do what he demanded.

Tombstone latched her cuffs behind her and unlocked her from the chain.
 
Claudine felt his fingers reach under the collar, gripping it tightly while he dragged her across the floor and into the room across from the kitchen.
 
Claudine gasped, but kept from speaking.
 
There were blank slabs for headstones and etching supplies on one side of the room, and a curious assortment of restraining equipment on the other.
 
The man pushed her onto a heavy wooden chair.

Claudine wanted to scream and beg; to bribe him if necessary.
 
She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out when his impossibly blue eyes met hers, and he stroked gently down her cheek.
 
A wide leather band circled over her breasts, and she grunted when he tightened it, forcing the air from her lungs.
 
A second strap buckled under her breasts, digging into the soft flesh on the underside where they met her ribcage.
 
Another belt wrapped around her waist, pulling her back until she was sitting straight and crushing her bound arms into the chair.
 
Her spread ankles were lashed to the legs, exposing her pussy.
 
The last thing he secured was her collar, and Claudine sat immobile, fearfully wondering what he was going to do to her, and now too terrified to make a sound.

He sat down on a rolling stool and opened a drawer in a chest beside the chair.
 
When he turned back to her, Claudine saw a brush and hair tie in his hand.
 
He separated a section of hair and secured it into an auburn ponytail in the center of the top of her head.
 
There was an inch and a half of fringe hanging below the gathered mass, circling her scalp like a headband.

Claudine watched him pick up scissors, and she whimpered when he began cutting the hair around the gathered locks.
 
After he finished he rubbed an ointment into her closely shorn scalp.
 
It began to burn and her eyes teared.
 
It’s some kind of depilatory
, she realized.
 
Oh god
.
 
She envisioned her thick wavy tresses and the way the man had styled it.
 
A sob did escape when he swiped two thick pads of the cream across her eyebrows.

Claudine realized that in less than five minutes the man had destroyed the alluring looks that were her identity.
 
Uneasy shock began to settle in, and for the first time, she began to consider her abduction might not be the ‘temporary’ lesson she thought Donald had planned for her.
 
She chewed at her trembling bottom lip to keep from begging.
 
The thought of the confining darkness of the coffin never left her panicked mind.

After wiping off the cream along with the remaining stubble, Tombstone studied the pinpricking red bumps on her scalp and brows.
 
The lotion was specifically made by one of his clients and had been gifted to Tombstone in appreciation for his creation.
 
The client was a doctor, and Tombstone had designed a mannequin of his blackmailing mistress after she admitted the affair to the physician’s wife.
 
In despair, the fragile woman had left a note before committing suicide.
 
The guilt ridden doctor insisted Tombstone accept the permanent depilatory.
 
It was a welcome addition to his collection of unusual items, and it saved on maintenance when the mannequins were finished.
 
It was time consuming to have to exfoliate them every few weeks.