Categories > Original > Drama > Revenge Artist
Revenge Artist
4 reviewsFor victims of terrible crimes revenge is a tempting, but often impossible concept. That is until they find King, a man willing to inflict revenge on anyone for anything. He'll get his hands dirty,...
5Original
“Now then... I think it’s time we got down to business.”
The priest looked fearfully at the man who had spoken, tears in his eyes as the man moved to pull up a chair and sit opposite him. He was a tall man, slender and graceful when he walked. He was dressed in an outfit identical to that worn by the minister, right down to the white of the dog collar. The priest had thought this man was another cleric, he often had others visit. Father Turner had been in this church for forty years now and anyone in the surrounding area who was just starting out as a pastor would often come to see him and ask advice.
The man sat opposite him was young, he couldn’t be any more than twenty five, and Father Turner had simply assumed he was here for some words of wisdom. But when the man had forced him, with surprising strength, into a nearby chair and tied his wrists in barely thirty seconds he had realised he was wrong. A gag had quickly followed, and it was already growing saturated with saliva as the priest sobbed through it.
“Shall I introduce myself?” The man grinned, his voice strangely soft and melodic. “After all, I know who you are, Father Turner.” The man gave Father Turner time to just stare at him, clearly not surprised that his name was already known. Apparently the priest was something of a celebrity in the community, and that just made this whole thing sweeter.
“My name,” the man continued after a moment, leaning back into his own chair and draping one long leg over the opposite knee. “Is King. But you can call me your majesty, if you like.” King winked at the priest, smiling so widely he revealed his pearly teeth.
For what felt like forever to the priest, the two men sat without another word being spoken. Father Turner had no choice but to hold his tongue. He tried desperately to speak through his gag, but it was useless; his words came out muffled and unclear, already twisted from the force of his crying. His tears were leaving wet streaks down his cheeks and his whole face had gone red, his wrinkles running deeper than usual from his screwed up expression. King almost turned his nose up in disgust.
“I suppose I ought to tell you why I’m here...” King sighed, his tone bored as he examined his nails. “Though you should have guessed already... You’ve been a very bad man, haven’t you Father?” King’s eyes flicked up to the priest’s face again, his lips curving up into a smirk. “Very bad indeed...”
“Mrmm mmm!” The priest struggled to free his wrists from the rope binding them, his muscles aching from how his arms had been stretched behind both himself and the back of the chair. “Mmmph!” He began to rock slightly, but it did nothing to help his situation. All it did was cause an even wider smile to stretch across King’s face as he watched him with darkly swirling eyes.
“You know, I never went to church when I was a little boy.” King was back to examining his nails, his soft voice resonating deep in his throat. The depth of his voice seemed slightly out of place against his tall, lean body and sparkling blue eyes. His hair was a light brown colour, though darkened somewhat from hair products used to slick it back, neat and tidy off his forehead. He was incredibly attractive, all strong jaw and defined cheekbones, his long lashes only making him appear more sinister as he grinned that dark grin of his.
“Do you think you would have wanted me? If you had seen me as a child?”
“Mrrmm! MMMPH!” The priest had stopped rocking by now, and was instead trying to lean forward in his chair, tears falling thick and fast as he desperately shook his head. The little hair he had left was grey and wispy, and it shook away from his scalp easily to become messy and erratic with the shaking of his head. “UHMMM MMM!”
“Oh shush now.” King scoffed, flicking his hand as if trying to get rid of an irritating fly as he jumped to his feet so quickly his chair fell backwards and clattered to the floor. “There’s no point in denying it Father. I know what you desire, I know that you just LOVE little children you SICK BASTARD!” The shouting was sudden and unexpected, King’s smiling face warping into a look of such fury it was almost demonic. His eyes blazed and his face went red, mouth wide and teeth bared, but it was over as quickly as it came. Before the priest had time to fully take it in King’s face was once more perfectly smooth and placid, smile gently in place, leaving Father Turning shaking more violently than ever.
“Mmhmm... mmm... mrmm...” It was clear Turner was no longer trying to form words, instead simply moaning and sobbing as he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He was shaking so hard the chair was rattling slightly, his black clothes feeling tight and clammy he was so nervous. He was sweating hard, beads of perspiration starting to roll down his forehead and temples.
King was starting to pace slowly back and forth infront of the priest’s chair, hands resting over each other behind his back as he took slow, measured steps. His back was perfectly straight, his chin in the air as he smiled to himself. He was savouring the sound of the priest’s sobs, dragging out the moment until Turner’s crying was pitching higher, fear just dripping through the sound. King had to pause for just a moment, one foot infront of the other, his eyes closing as he inhaled slowly and exhaled again with a sigh of utter delight. Then he began to pace ever so slowly again, eyes fluttering open.
“Tell me, Father Turner, do you recall anyone with the name of Jonathon Bennet?” King stopped directly opposite Turner, spinning gracefully on his heel so that he was facing him. He smiled serenely down at him, though his lips twisted into a cruel grin at the way the priest’s head shot up, eyes wide and full of horror as he met his gaze.
“Mm... I thought as much...” King purred, stepped closer to the priest until their legs were almost touching. He leant down, back still perfectly straight, until he was barely an inch from Turner’s face. “I only know Mr. Bennet as the thirty year old accountant... but you must know him as the ten year old schoolboy. Oh it’s just too SWEET.” King roared the final word into Turner’s face, a shudder rippling through his straight spine though whether from delight or disgust it was impossible to tell.
Turner bowed his head again, sobbing so fiercely he was almost choking on his gag. The rag was tied so tightly around his head it was cutting into the corners of his mouth, and it was now so saturated with saliva that small droplets had began to trek down his chin. He felt disgusting and degraded, and he remembered fleetingly how he had gagged Jonathon Bennet much the same all those twenty years ago.
“You know Mr. Bennet told me everything? All the dirty... Disgusting things you did to him...” King purred, leaning closer now, arching his back to push his face beneath Turner’s, tilting his chin up so he could maintain eye contact no matter how far the priest bowed his head. “Do you know how many times he’s tried to kill himself? Well, do you? Father?” King spat the word through a whisper, grinning again, his eyes alight with excitement and as Turner stared at him he realised with a lurching stomach that King was enjoying this.
“Mmph! Mmmm!”
“Shh shh shh...” King purred, laying a finger over the priest’s covered lips and stepping back a touch. Turner looked up at him on instinct, tears still dripping down his reddened cheeks. “How many children have you had Father Turner?” King asked softly, his voice a whisper still, laced with a dangerous edge that could only be described as seductive.
Turner began to shake his head, trying to deny the allegations put against him even though he knew it was useless. He couldn’t speak to try and convince this mad man that what he had been told were all lies, and even if he could it was obvious he wouldn’t believe him. King knew. He knew what Turner had been doing for forty years in this church and now he was here to torment him. Turner had no idea if he was going to escape this ordeal dead or alive, but as he looked into King’s blazing sapphire eyes he found he wasn’t even sure which he wanted himself.
“You know, I think you would have liked me as a child.” King grinned, stepping forward again and dropping down to straddle the priest’s thighs, legs hanging either side of the chair. Immediately, Turner tensed, his muscles contracting tightly as his blood ran cold. He stared at King with fearful eyes, confusion washing through him and making his head spin. His heart was starting to pound so erratically it hurt and he felt breathless, convinced he was going to suffocate on his gag at any moment. He desperately wanted to ask the younger man what he was doing, why he was starting to gently caress his face.
“I was a very cute boy.” King continued, his voice still soft but louder than a whisper now. Long, delicate fingers were brushing the tears off the priest’s face, feigning kindness but anyone could have seen the murderous intent shining in his eyes. “I had big eyes, like this –” King opened his eyes wide, his long lashes helping the priest to imagine him as a child as those blue eyes dazzled him. “Perfectly soft lips, can you imagine?” King’s mouth opened as wide as his eyes and the priest flushed a deeper shade of red as shame coursed through him. He shook his hips, trying to throw King off him, but he was firmly seated in his lap.
“You would have wanted me,” King said confidently, nodding his head as he smiled innocently at the old man. “I can tell.”
“Mmm!” Turner began shaking his head again, though his actions had weakened considerably and it was clear he was starting to give up on trying to fight through this and was prepared to simply sit and see what happened. Whoever this man was there was nothing Turner could do to outfight him, he was simply at his mercy and could only hope that he proved to be forgiving.
“But like I said, I never went to church as a boy.” King picked up on the thread of conversation that Turner had almost all but forgotten by now. His long fingers were toying with the priest’s collar now, his thumb smoothing over the white tag in the centre, his eyes focused on it. “But if I had... I know I would have been abused too.” He whispered, his tone serious. He let his words hang in the air for a moment, as solid as a tonne of bricks, just waiting to fall and crush Turner beneath them. He was stunned however, when King looked up to meet his eyes again, and he saw amusement shining in his expression. He was clearly trying to look serious, his lips parted and eyebrows raised in mock horror, but the truth of his emotions were only too obvious.
“You would have loved me.” King breathed, and for a blinding moment Turner thought he saw tears in the younger man’s eyes, the way he shook his head slowly along with his whispered words giving the impression that he was disappointed. But disappointed over what? That he had never been a child in Turner’s congregation? That he had never felt his sinful touch?
“I would have loved you too... There’s something truly beautiful in murder as a child.” King’s voice was venomous again, just like that; words dipped in poison and wrapped up in razors. His eyes were blazing again and his face twisted into a sneer of disgust, his teeth bared. “I would have LOVED to have stood over your body as a child... As a TEN YEAR OLD BOY just DRIPPING in your blood.” His voice dipped low and then flung up high into shouts, fluctuating over and over so that Turner couldn’t keep up. He was growing tenser now, more from the strange cocktail of soft and harsh words than the actual words themselves.
“But never fear,” King continued, his hand slipping beneath the collar of his clothes. “I have a very good imagination... We’ll just make believe that I’m ten okay sweetheart?” He cooed, drawing something from under his dark shirt.
Turner’s eyes grew wide as he saw the shining handle of the gun sliding past King’s dog collar and he began to panic, shaking and rocking back and forth in his chair in a desperate attempt to get free. King only grinned at him, pressing his free hand to the back of the chair and holding on tight, riding Turner’s hips like a rodeo so that he didn’t get thrown off.
It didn’t take too long before Turner was too exhausted to do much more, though he still sobbed frantically. His lungs felt as though they were squeezing, closing up in fear. He had never felt so panicked in all his life and he couldn’t think straight. He wished desperately that he could speak, could scream... but he was helpless. All he could do was pray frantically in his head and beg for forgiveness; beg for mercy; beg for his life.
“I want you to picture Jonathon Bennet, okay Father?” King sneered, his voice louder now and he smirked as he slammed the barrel of the gun between the priest’s eyes. Turner shook his head frantically but the gun moved with him, never slipping from its position. “I want his face to be the last thing you see... The last thing you EVER think about. Think about HIM and how BEAUTIFUL you thought he looked beneath you!”
Turner squeezed his eyes shut, sobbing and attempting to scream through his gag, expecting the bullet to come right that moment. But it seemed King wasn’t done with him just yet. The hand on the back of the chair had moved and was now stroking against his cheek, caressing his jaw so gently that it made the priest’s skin crawl.
“But don’t get me wrong Father...” King sighed, gazing at Turner through his eyelashes, giving his face a soft, seductive look. Turner’s eyes grew wide, he wanted to look away... but he found himself transfixed. “I’m not here to tell you you’re sick, or that you’re wrong, or that I think you’re the scum of the Earth.” King was smiling to himself now, as if he was thinking of something completely unrelated. As if he was imagining his next holiday or something. “I am simply here, because I get paid to be here.”
Turner’s eyes grew wide, his face a picture of surprise even with the gag tightly in place. He wasn’t sure he understood, all he knew was that he could sense the end nearing. It was in subtle details... the way King shifted in his lap, the new gleam that came into his eyes, the way he pushed the gun with more force to Turner’s forehead...
“Mrrmm!”
“You are simply my client.” King continued, his face growing serious again, almost dazed, as if he wasn’t sure how he had got here. “And I am your puppet. And I have come here, just to play God.”
King’s grin came back... spreading slowly across his face, like a Cheshire cat in slow motion. His finger tensed on the trigger of his gun and he smiled darkly to himself, closing his eyes and sucking in another sigh of pleasure as the priest began to rock and scream again, sobbing and trying to shout through the gag as the sounds of the church bells ringing for mass began to resonate through the room. The noise was like a crescendo of screams, tearing through their eardrums so loudly the gun shot couldn’t be heard as King pulled back the trigger.
The rocking ceased.
The priest looked fearfully at the man who had spoken, tears in his eyes as the man moved to pull up a chair and sit opposite him. He was a tall man, slender and graceful when he walked. He was dressed in an outfit identical to that worn by the minister, right down to the white of the dog collar. The priest had thought this man was another cleric, he often had others visit. Father Turner had been in this church for forty years now and anyone in the surrounding area who was just starting out as a pastor would often come to see him and ask advice.
The man sat opposite him was young, he couldn’t be any more than twenty five, and Father Turner had simply assumed he was here for some words of wisdom. But when the man had forced him, with surprising strength, into a nearby chair and tied his wrists in barely thirty seconds he had realised he was wrong. A gag had quickly followed, and it was already growing saturated with saliva as the priest sobbed through it.
“Shall I introduce myself?” The man grinned, his voice strangely soft and melodic. “After all, I know who you are, Father Turner.” The man gave Father Turner time to just stare at him, clearly not surprised that his name was already known. Apparently the priest was something of a celebrity in the community, and that just made this whole thing sweeter.
“My name,” the man continued after a moment, leaning back into his own chair and draping one long leg over the opposite knee. “Is King. But you can call me your majesty, if you like.” King winked at the priest, smiling so widely he revealed his pearly teeth.
For what felt like forever to the priest, the two men sat without another word being spoken. Father Turner had no choice but to hold his tongue. He tried desperately to speak through his gag, but it was useless; his words came out muffled and unclear, already twisted from the force of his crying. His tears were leaving wet streaks down his cheeks and his whole face had gone red, his wrinkles running deeper than usual from his screwed up expression. King almost turned his nose up in disgust.
“I suppose I ought to tell you why I’m here...” King sighed, his tone bored as he examined his nails. “Though you should have guessed already... You’ve been a very bad man, haven’t you Father?” King’s eyes flicked up to the priest’s face again, his lips curving up into a smirk. “Very bad indeed...”
“Mrmm mmm!” The priest struggled to free his wrists from the rope binding them, his muscles aching from how his arms had been stretched behind both himself and the back of the chair. “Mmmph!” He began to rock slightly, but it did nothing to help his situation. All it did was cause an even wider smile to stretch across King’s face as he watched him with darkly swirling eyes.
“You know, I never went to church when I was a little boy.” King was back to examining his nails, his soft voice resonating deep in his throat. The depth of his voice seemed slightly out of place against his tall, lean body and sparkling blue eyes. His hair was a light brown colour, though darkened somewhat from hair products used to slick it back, neat and tidy off his forehead. He was incredibly attractive, all strong jaw and defined cheekbones, his long lashes only making him appear more sinister as he grinned that dark grin of his.
“Do you think you would have wanted me? If you had seen me as a child?”
“Mrrmm! MMMPH!” The priest had stopped rocking by now, and was instead trying to lean forward in his chair, tears falling thick and fast as he desperately shook his head. The little hair he had left was grey and wispy, and it shook away from his scalp easily to become messy and erratic with the shaking of his head. “UHMMM MMM!”
“Oh shush now.” King scoffed, flicking his hand as if trying to get rid of an irritating fly as he jumped to his feet so quickly his chair fell backwards and clattered to the floor. “There’s no point in denying it Father. I know what you desire, I know that you just LOVE little children you SICK BASTARD!” The shouting was sudden and unexpected, King’s smiling face warping into a look of such fury it was almost demonic. His eyes blazed and his face went red, mouth wide and teeth bared, but it was over as quickly as it came. Before the priest had time to fully take it in King’s face was once more perfectly smooth and placid, smile gently in place, leaving Father Turning shaking more violently than ever.
“Mmhmm... mmm... mrmm...” It was clear Turner was no longer trying to form words, instead simply moaning and sobbing as he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He was shaking so hard the chair was rattling slightly, his black clothes feeling tight and clammy he was so nervous. He was sweating hard, beads of perspiration starting to roll down his forehead and temples.
King was starting to pace slowly back and forth infront of the priest’s chair, hands resting over each other behind his back as he took slow, measured steps. His back was perfectly straight, his chin in the air as he smiled to himself. He was savouring the sound of the priest’s sobs, dragging out the moment until Turner’s crying was pitching higher, fear just dripping through the sound. King had to pause for just a moment, one foot infront of the other, his eyes closing as he inhaled slowly and exhaled again with a sigh of utter delight. Then he began to pace ever so slowly again, eyes fluttering open.
“Tell me, Father Turner, do you recall anyone with the name of Jonathon Bennet?” King stopped directly opposite Turner, spinning gracefully on his heel so that he was facing him. He smiled serenely down at him, though his lips twisted into a cruel grin at the way the priest’s head shot up, eyes wide and full of horror as he met his gaze.
“Mm... I thought as much...” King purred, stepped closer to the priest until their legs were almost touching. He leant down, back still perfectly straight, until he was barely an inch from Turner’s face. “I only know Mr. Bennet as the thirty year old accountant... but you must know him as the ten year old schoolboy. Oh it’s just too SWEET.” King roared the final word into Turner’s face, a shudder rippling through his straight spine though whether from delight or disgust it was impossible to tell.
Turner bowed his head again, sobbing so fiercely he was almost choking on his gag. The rag was tied so tightly around his head it was cutting into the corners of his mouth, and it was now so saturated with saliva that small droplets had began to trek down his chin. He felt disgusting and degraded, and he remembered fleetingly how he had gagged Jonathon Bennet much the same all those twenty years ago.
“You know Mr. Bennet told me everything? All the dirty... Disgusting things you did to him...” King purred, leaning closer now, arching his back to push his face beneath Turner’s, tilting his chin up so he could maintain eye contact no matter how far the priest bowed his head. “Do you know how many times he’s tried to kill himself? Well, do you? Father?” King spat the word through a whisper, grinning again, his eyes alight with excitement and as Turner stared at him he realised with a lurching stomach that King was enjoying this.
“Mmph! Mmmm!”
“Shh shh shh...” King purred, laying a finger over the priest’s covered lips and stepping back a touch. Turner looked up at him on instinct, tears still dripping down his reddened cheeks. “How many children have you had Father Turner?” King asked softly, his voice a whisper still, laced with a dangerous edge that could only be described as seductive.
Turner began to shake his head, trying to deny the allegations put against him even though he knew it was useless. He couldn’t speak to try and convince this mad man that what he had been told were all lies, and even if he could it was obvious he wouldn’t believe him. King knew. He knew what Turner had been doing for forty years in this church and now he was here to torment him. Turner had no idea if he was going to escape this ordeal dead or alive, but as he looked into King’s blazing sapphire eyes he found he wasn’t even sure which he wanted himself.
“You know, I think you would have liked me as a child.” King grinned, stepping forward again and dropping down to straddle the priest’s thighs, legs hanging either side of the chair. Immediately, Turner tensed, his muscles contracting tightly as his blood ran cold. He stared at King with fearful eyes, confusion washing through him and making his head spin. His heart was starting to pound so erratically it hurt and he felt breathless, convinced he was going to suffocate on his gag at any moment. He desperately wanted to ask the younger man what he was doing, why he was starting to gently caress his face.
“I was a very cute boy.” King continued, his voice still soft but louder than a whisper now. Long, delicate fingers were brushing the tears off the priest’s face, feigning kindness but anyone could have seen the murderous intent shining in his eyes. “I had big eyes, like this –” King opened his eyes wide, his long lashes helping the priest to imagine him as a child as those blue eyes dazzled him. “Perfectly soft lips, can you imagine?” King’s mouth opened as wide as his eyes and the priest flushed a deeper shade of red as shame coursed through him. He shook his hips, trying to throw King off him, but he was firmly seated in his lap.
“You would have wanted me,” King said confidently, nodding his head as he smiled innocently at the old man. “I can tell.”
“Mmm!” Turner began shaking his head again, though his actions had weakened considerably and it was clear he was starting to give up on trying to fight through this and was prepared to simply sit and see what happened. Whoever this man was there was nothing Turner could do to outfight him, he was simply at his mercy and could only hope that he proved to be forgiving.
“But like I said, I never went to church as a boy.” King picked up on the thread of conversation that Turner had almost all but forgotten by now. His long fingers were toying with the priest’s collar now, his thumb smoothing over the white tag in the centre, his eyes focused on it. “But if I had... I know I would have been abused too.” He whispered, his tone serious. He let his words hang in the air for a moment, as solid as a tonne of bricks, just waiting to fall and crush Turner beneath them. He was stunned however, when King looked up to meet his eyes again, and he saw amusement shining in his expression. He was clearly trying to look serious, his lips parted and eyebrows raised in mock horror, but the truth of his emotions were only too obvious.
“You would have loved me.” King breathed, and for a blinding moment Turner thought he saw tears in the younger man’s eyes, the way he shook his head slowly along with his whispered words giving the impression that he was disappointed. But disappointed over what? That he had never been a child in Turner’s congregation? That he had never felt his sinful touch?
“I would have loved you too... There’s something truly beautiful in murder as a child.” King’s voice was venomous again, just like that; words dipped in poison and wrapped up in razors. His eyes were blazing again and his face twisted into a sneer of disgust, his teeth bared. “I would have LOVED to have stood over your body as a child... As a TEN YEAR OLD BOY just DRIPPING in your blood.” His voice dipped low and then flung up high into shouts, fluctuating over and over so that Turner couldn’t keep up. He was growing tenser now, more from the strange cocktail of soft and harsh words than the actual words themselves.
“But never fear,” King continued, his hand slipping beneath the collar of his clothes. “I have a very good imagination... We’ll just make believe that I’m ten okay sweetheart?” He cooed, drawing something from under his dark shirt.
Turner’s eyes grew wide as he saw the shining handle of the gun sliding past King’s dog collar and he began to panic, shaking and rocking back and forth in his chair in a desperate attempt to get free. King only grinned at him, pressing his free hand to the back of the chair and holding on tight, riding Turner’s hips like a rodeo so that he didn’t get thrown off.
It didn’t take too long before Turner was too exhausted to do much more, though he still sobbed frantically. His lungs felt as though they were squeezing, closing up in fear. He had never felt so panicked in all his life and he couldn’t think straight. He wished desperately that he could speak, could scream... but he was helpless. All he could do was pray frantically in his head and beg for forgiveness; beg for mercy; beg for his life.
“I want you to picture Jonathon Bennet, okay Father?” King sneered, his voice louder now and he smirked as he slammed the barrel of the gun between the priest’s eyes. Turner shook his head frantically but the gun moved with him, never slipping from its position. “I want his face to be the last thing you see... The last thing you EVER think about. Think about HIM and how BEAUTIFUL you thought he looked beneath you!”
Turner squeezed his eyes shut, sobbing and attempting to scream through his gag, expecting the bullet to come right that moment. But it seemed King wasn’t done with him just yet. The hand on the back of the chair had moved and was now stroking against his cheek, caressing his jaw so gently that it made the priest’s skin crawl.
“But don’t get me wrong Father...” King sighed, gazing at Turner through his eyelashes, giving his face a soft, seductive look. Turner’s eyes grew wide, he wanted to look away... but he found himself transfixed. “I’m not here to tell you you’re sick, or that you’re wrong, or that I think you’re the scum of the Earth.” King was smiling to himself now, as if he was thinking of something completely unrelated. As if he was imagining his next holiday or something. “I am simply here, because I get paid to be here.”
Turner’s eyes grew wide, his face a picture of surprise even with the gag tightly in place. He wasn’t sure he understood, all he knew was that he could sense the end nearing. It was in subtle details... the way King shifted in his lap, the new gleam that came into his eyes, the way he pushed the gun with more force to Turner’s forehead...
“Mrrmm!”
“You are simply my client.” King continued, his face growing serious again, almost dazed, as if he wasn’t sure how he had got here. “And I am your puppet. And I have come here, just to play God.”
King’s grin came back... spreading slowly across his face, like a Cheshire cat in slow motion. His finger tensed on the trigger of his gun and he smiled darkly to himself, closing his eyes and sucking in another sigh of pleasure as the priest began to rock and scream again, sobbing and trying to shout through the gag as the sounds of the church bells ringing for mass began to resonate through the room. The noise was like a crescendo of screams, tearing through their eardrums so loudly the gun shot couldn’t be heard as King pulled back the trigger.
The rocking ceased.
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