Christmas Bloody Christmas

  Christmas, Bloody Christmas

  A By Way of Pain Xmas Short

  J.M. Dabney

  Hostile Whispers Press

  Copyright © 2019 by J.M. Dabney

  Hostile Whispers Press, LLC

  Cover Design By: Hostile Whispers Design

  Edits by: Stephanie Carrano

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  REMEMBER:

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places, is purely coincidental.

  PLEASE BE ADVISED:

  This book contains material that is only suitable for mature readers. It may contain scenes of a sexual nature and/or violence.

  For all the readers who like a little something different in their holiday reads.

  Contents

  1. Cowen

  2. Harrison

  3. Cowen

  4. Harrison

  About the Author

  Also by J.M. Dabney

  Christmas, Bloody Christmas

  A By Way of Pain Xmas Short

  Since claiming his boy, Cowen has to learn to adapt, but never as much as when it came to his possession's Christmas spirit. Will it end in bloodshed or will his boy's joyfulness keep the body count to a minimum?

  Author Warning: This title contains scenes of torture, murder, whippings, an assassin with sadistic tendencies and his masochistic boy. If morally gray characters are not to your liking this book is probably not for you.

  J.M. Dabney

  This is a short story base on characters that you can find in By Way of Pain: Criminal Delights - Assassins. Link for this title can be found in the Also By Section of this e-book.

  1

  Cowen

  Whimpers rang out pitifully behind me as I futilely scrubbed the gore from my hands and stared at the crimson caked around my nails. The frigid wind cut into my skin and I welcomed the pain as sleet struck my exposed body. Blood and chunks of flesh stuck to me; a testimony of a job almost complete. I lifted my gaze to the cabin and saw the twinkling of Christmas lights in the front window. A rumble worked up from my chest at the atrocious jingles my boy would have playing inside.

  Holidays were simply another day. I’d made my first kill before I reached puberty, and even before then, my home was a somber, secured prison. My parents cared not to make my life festive at any time of year. Yet, I break my own rules to make Harrison happy. To live with a sociopath with sadistic tendencies couldn’t be an easy existence. I allowed him these little happy moments.

  Every day he gifted me his pain and submission, his tears and blood. I just didn’t understand why he found so much fascination in Pagan traditions perverted by Christianity.

  “Well, where were we?” I turned back to the dimly lit space. Drops of blood fell in a steady rhythm to the pools below to cause ripples upon the surfaces. “My boy is unhappy I’m working only days before Christmas. He asked for my presence as he decorates the monstrous tree he picked out.”

  It gurgled and choked on its blood, and I gave it the barest of attention when I returned to my workbench. My fingertips stroked along the smooth hilt of a blade laid out beside the rest of my implements. “Keeping our possessions happy is important. We have to allow them to have the little things as long as it doesn’t spoil them and they forget to whom they belong. Such a slippery slope.”

  I used the thick leather strap beside the bench to sharpen the already lethal knife. Once I was satisfied, I pivoted on my toes to face the table and closed the short distance. I stared down at the man on the table; restraints around his ankles, wrists and throat held him securely.

  “I find these long scenes to be a bit of a bore. A quick slit of your throat or a single bullet between your eyes, and it’s all nicely wrapped up in a bow. But your situation has called for special treatment. As it is the season of giving, I even agreed to go above and beyond at no extra cost.”

  With the blade held in my left hand, I placed the tip at the hollow at the base of his throat. Increasing the pressure slightly, I drew it downward, observed as the skin split to expose the meat and muscle beneath. His screams garbled by its lack of tongue.

  As the hours passed, it became harder to reawaken it and continue. I didn’t know what it had done, if the slight was minor or major, or if my contract was paid out of sheer maliciousness. Either way, I did as asked because if nothing else, I took pride in my work.

  My skin itched where it was coated in layers of dried and fresh blood. I grunted in disappointment when its struggles and screams ceased.

  “Sir?”

  I peeked through the open door of my work room at the sound of my boy’s voice. He stood on the porch wrapped tightly in a red blanket printed with candy canes and brightly wrapped boxes.

  “My boy has grown impatient,” I whispered to the corpse and went outside to wave. I informed him I would be in soon, after I cleaned up.

  I meticulously disposed of the evidence, stoked the furnace which would burn for hours to reduce the body to bones to be buried later. I barely felt the chill of the freezing water coming from the hose as I bleached and sprayed down the walls, benches, and floor. Pink tinted water disappearing down the drain.

  My situation in life had changed so much since claiming my boy. The emotions he elicited from me still confused me as I still felt no urge to do away with his presence. Our days and nights fell into a normal routine, he had conformed to my rules and expectations. I’d come to realize that honesty, open and brutal, were comforting to my boy. He accepted the deranged and mundane in equal measures. My work in both my lives had become just a part of the landscape that we’d created.

  We spent most of our time in the city, living in my penthouse, but he’d requested to spend this holiday at the cabin. The same place that I had taken and imprisoned him only a year ago. So much had shifted after my office manager had witnessed me completing a contract. I’d had every intention of playing with him before killing him. I’d become fascinated with him when I’d hired him and hadn’t anticipated the extent until it came time to plan his death.

  He was everything I wasn’t, loving and caring, bright and optimistic, and he saw the beauty in everything, even the sociopath who had enslaved him. I awaited the day that he would attempt to escape, coming awake each morning to still find him there seemingly content to rest his head upon my chest as if that’s the only place he wanted to be.

  I felt nothing for anyone else in this world, each person merely a breath away from being a victim of my compulsions. Him though, I spoiled in my own way. He accepted the limits of my morality. My job as an assassin was just a fact of life. Only a year had gone by, so I wondered if the excitement of it would wear off and he’d want to leave.

  Snow crunched beneath my bare feet as I made my way across the yard to the house. I didn’t feel the pain of the cold on my exposed skin or the snowflakes settling and freezing where they fell on my hair and shoulders. Ascending the steps, I turned to find the undecorated tree in a place of honor in the picture window.

  My boy had added touches of home to the house, or what I assumed people added. Pictures graced surfaces and the mantle now, pillows and throw blankets, rugs that brightened a room more than simple practicality. Until him there had existed no clear proof of my existence besides my name o
n official paperwork and photo ID.

  He had strengthened the appearance of my normality to the outside world. I deeply inhaled the frigid air into my nose and exhaled through my mouth, and I entered only partially prepared for what my boy requested.

  “Sir, look at you.” He slowly approached me naked with nothing but his cock caged and stopped a few feet away. “I just cleaned the floors.” His voice was disgusted as he turned on his toes and rushed back to the kitchen.

  I felt what I thought amusement would be as he returned with a mop and bucket. He quickly cleaned the hardwood floor behind me as I lazily made my way to the kitchen to the small bathroom with a shower stall, Ignoring his softly muttered complaints. I turned on the water and stepped inside without waiting for it to heat. I left the glass stall door open.

  “Boy, wash me.”

  I took in the pink that still stained his cheeks after all the months together. His shyness had lessened but hadn’t disappeared completely. He set the mop and bucket inside and squeaked as the still cool water flowed down his back as he stepped inside and moved around me. My cock hardened the second he touched me.

  “Did you want something special for Christmas, boy,” I asked as he cleaned the blood from my body, his fingers stripped away the remnants of my work.

  “Not that I can think of, but I need to go to the mall to get you—”

  “Boy, you don’t have to get me presents.”

  He finished washing my front. “Turn around, please.” I did as he asked.

  I didn’t understand the significance of celebrating and I knew my lack of enthusiasm about the holidays made him sad.

  “I know I don’t, I want to.”

  I raised my hand and grabbed the hair on his chin and made him look at me. “I’ll take you to the mall, maybe later. I can take you to the diner for dessert.”

  I turned my head and tipped my chin to reach his soft lips and kissed him. I sensed his shock before I noticed his eyes were opened wide. I didn’t understand the impulse for spontaneous acts of affection. My boy’s need for contact and praise were great, it still didn’t register why he wanted those things from me. Yet I made the effort because I didn’t care about anyone else in this world except him, and he was worth stepping out of my comfort zone.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Finish washing me and then I’ll prepare dinner.”

  He simply nodded. Although, I noticed he pushed in closer to my side. I slipped my arm around his waist for a quick embrace. He gave up so much for the monster I am; settled for the scraps of what sentiment I could spare. I didn’t understand the emotions I had pertaining to him, but while his pain and submission sustained me, he deserved the moments of affection I could offer.

  2

  Harrison

  “You said I could go,” I complained as I stood beside Cowen outside the entrance to the mall.

  “And like always, I said I would accompany you, but I wouldn’t enjoy it.” He sounded snobbish when he talked. It was the same thing he said when I had him take me to the diner or a movie.

  I hid my snort as he nudged me forward with a hand on my lower back and the automatic doors parted. Excitement filled me as Christmas music echoed in the building. So many scents hit me, peppermint and pumpkin spice, pine as we passed a candle shop. The list I’d made for Sir hidden away in my pocket

  When he hadn’t demanded to know what was on the paper I sneakily jotted on for days surprised me. He didn’t like secrets or lies, even those made by omission. Sometimes I wondered why I stayed. I knew leaving him would mean my death; he’d trusted me with too many secrets. While he didn’t go into details, Sir didn’t hide what he’d done.

  I wrung my hands as I kept pace with his slow, easy stride when all I wanted to do was rush forward and look at everything. We’d left the cabin before decorating the tree. I smiled as I realized he’d suggested this trip to get away from my excessive cheer. After my mom died, I’d spent holidays alone or at the few places that opened on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

  My mom and I had so many traditions, decorating the house to the point that it looked like a Christmas store had thrown up. We’d cooked meals, watched all the movies, and both of us hid to wrap presents that we’d made or bought.

  I knew he tried. I savored every surprise hug or kiss—the nights he loved on me instead of fucking me. Owning me had changed him in subtle ways. I didn’t understand why after seeing what he was—witnessing it for myself—that I accepted it.

  Was there something wrong with me that I’d fallen in love with a killer? I’d been attracted before I knew what he was. I didn’t believe that love was blind. He got off on the torture and killing. Those acts kept him grounded. He’d shared with me everything from his past. The stories of his parent’s indifference or fear. The psychiatrists and the hospitals, the kills before he’d been old enough to shave. He truly saw himself as broken from conception. I wouldn’t even attempt to change his mind because something was broken. All I knew was that other than my punishments, he took care of all my needs.

  He spoiled me in his own way. Loved me as best as he could. I’d acknowledged that I wouldn’t hear those words that every couple exchanged. Love wasn’t something he could experience with his senses. Everything needed a tangible explanation. And love didn’t have a physical manifestation.

  I stopped next to a store and told him I wanted to go find him something.

  “I’ll wait right over there. When you’re done, don’t wander off on your own, understood?”

  I nodded in answer and realized that he had to release the back of my jacket where he’d fisted the fabric in his hand. His touches and embraces lasted longer each day. I’d never hear the words, yet he showed me in so many ways how he cared. Anyone could utter the words I love you, and they meant nothing more than someone reciting you the weather for the day. It was a throwaway sentiment.

  He walked away from me and found a spot on a bench within sight of the entrance. I watched him for a few more minutes as I took in the way he was always on guard. When we were at home or the office, he relaxed as much as he could. I knew from the way his gaze slowly moved that he was analyzing everyone’s threat level. He knew every exit and escape route.

  From his spot he made a shooing motion, and I entered the store. I’d made a list of the gifts I wanted to get him, but with a man who never mentioned anything, I’d needed to employ some observation. My checks still went into my account weekly. I hadn’t had a reason to touch any of the funds, and he’d arranged for the sale of my mother’s house. After paying off the debts, I’d had money left over. Cowen provided everything, so money wasn’t a factor in buying him gifts.

  “Hello, sir, can I help you?”

  A pretty brunette salesperson came up on my left.

  “I need to get my…” What did I call him? Sir? My sadist? So I went with the third thing to come to mind. “Husband a present.”

  “Well, let’s see if I can help you. What does he like?”

  I bit back a giggle, almost answering, but figured my answer would be inappropriate. I dug my list out of my pocket. She looked at it and led me around the store. I found thick leather cuff bracelets. He always kept his long sleeves of his dress shirts buttoned or secured with cufflinks to hide his scars, so I grabbed a couple in black and dark brown leather.

  By the time I was done in the store, I’d gotten him new shirts; a sea of black, charcoal and gray spread over the counter. My fingers caressed over the leather of a thick belt and it brought memories of my punishments at work. The slither of material through his belt loops. The unyielding metal of the cage pinched my cock as it slightly hardened.

  My eyes widened at the total and I handed over my card. I signed the slip as she bagged my purchases. I thanked her and exited. My gaze went to the bench to find Cowen gone. I searched for him.

  “Boy.”

  I calmed as I felt his presence, and then he was pressed to my back. I blushed at my anxiety over him not waiting for me. br />
  “Where to next?”

  “I don’t know, Sir. Can we just walk?”

  “Of course, just a bit longer and then we need to go home. Holidays or not, your bedtime isn’t negotiable.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He didn’t compromise on rules, and I’d resigned myself to following them whether I liked it or not. My life was a list of rules and regulations, chore lists, and I’d learned I loved being needed. After mom had died, I’d lost my purpose. I’d spent so many years caring for her that I hadn’t known anything else.

  I started walking in the opposite direction of the exit. I tried to ignore the bag in his left hand. My face warmed at the thought he’d given in and got me at least a little something. We repeated the pattern of me running into a store and coming out to find him waiting. He even collected a few extra bags.

  We finally made our way outside to the car, and I startled at the feel of his fingers lacing through mine. He now carried all the bags. I hoped the dimly lit parking lot hid my silly grin. He tried and that’s all I could ask for. Maybe he wasn’t the happily ever after I’d expected, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t happy for the time being.

  “Boy, what’s on your mind?”

  “I was thinking that this wasn’t like the fairy tale most people look for.”

  “I won’t apologize for the way I am.” He stopped me beside the car and took my arm, making me face him. “This is all I have to offer. When you agreed to be mine, you knew my limitations.”

  “And I don’t mind your limitations, Sir. I can’t…I can’t help what I think.”