Silence of the Geisha Horror: Yukis Revenge Read online

  Inhalt

  Silence of the Geisha

  Imprint

  Do you remember me?

  The Job

  The Fall

  Part Four

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  About the author

  Bellas Books in English

  Silence of the Geisha

  Yukis Revenge

  A Novel by Bella Lamour & Ophelia Oomph

  Imprint

  All rights reserved by Digital Fever Publishing Reihs

  Eckernkamp 2 a

  59399 Olfen

  Germany

  contact author: [email protected]

  contact publisher: [email protected]

  written by: Isabella Sparks, Ophelia Oomph & Bella Lamour

  Idea of Bella Lamour

  German translation (2016): Bella Lamour

  Cover Design: Jimmy Gibbs

  Cover Photo License: by depositphotos

  Do you remember me?

  The scents of the forest hung heavy in the air. Pine, moss and damp dirt, with just a hint of fresh water. But there was a sharp tinge of fear to it, one that only grew as Yuki propped a stiff form up against a fallen tree.

  Brushing her hands off, she stepped back to look at her work. Three men, strong, and full of vitality, sat bound and helpless before her. They were conscious of course -it wouldn't be fun if they got to sleep through the party-but their muscles were still locked from the suxamethonium chloride she had slipped into their drinks. As a paralytic, it did good work. As an ice breaker? Not so much.”

  She licked her lips and approached the blond man of her little trio. In the scarce light of the forest night his strong features looked much less intimidating. His sharp jaw could no longer cut, and bright blue eyes were terrified instead of scouring.

  She leaned towards his face, using a small flashlight attached to her belt to check his pupil responses. Once she was satisfied that he was truly conscious, she let her little game begin.

  “Hello, Buck.” She murmured, this time removing a scalpel. “Now I know you can't respond to me, but you can certainly feel every little thing I do to you. Isn't that exciting?”

  He gave no response. Because he couldn't. And that's exactly the way she planned it.

  Yuki twirled the surgical tool with all an expert's ease, before gently gliding it along the man's cheek. She watched, nonchalant, as red welled up in the wake of her blade. She let it glide down the angles of his face, and drip onto his collar, before kneeling down and opening the first aid kit she had placed before her guests had 'arrived'.

  Quickly cleaning the cut, she then sutured up the wound. She made sure to take time with each stitch, and make them tightly at that. After all, they didn't want an infection getting into the cut...did they?

  She could feel the fear and tension from the three permeate the air, almost overpowering the natural forest scent that she liked so much. But she kept her pace calm, and collected. This was only her introduction. There was no

  need to rush to the climax of her little drama.

  “That probably wasn't very comfortable, was it? But don't worry, I'm a very fair person. You'll get a little break while I make sure each one of you gets the same amount of attention. We wouldn't want any of you to get jealous, would we?”

  True to her word, she stood, and crossed over to the smallest of the trio: mousy Jean-Luc.

  “Oh Jean Luc, mon petit.” She said, straddling his stretched out legs and placing her first aid kit by his side. “Tu es un garçon pouvre et stupide.”

  She thought she maybe heard the tiniest whimper from the man, but she didn't let it halt her. With the same detached expertise she had used before, she flicked her scalpel across his chin. Just like before, crimson blood dotted along the line, until it poured over the cut and down his chin.

  There was something especially terrifying about free bleeding. Some part of the mind that recognized that, even if it was the tiniest of cuts, that losing so much life essence without trying to stem the flow was dangerous.

  But just like before, she cleaned the wound and stitched it up before he could come even close to falling unconscious. There was a time and a place for mindless violence. But this wasn't it. No, this was a time for perfectly planned, precise violence. This was her revenge.

  Yuki rose, frame tiny compared to her victims, but that didn't matter. This night, she had all the power.

  She crossed over to the final man, the other minion of the charismatic Julian “Buck” Warbuck. She paid him the exact same amount of attention as the other two, choosing his forehead for her first cut.

  And then it was back to Julian again. She knelt down once more, his massive shoulders dwarfing her own small frame, but she couldn't help the broad smile on her face.

  “You always look so intimidating, Mr. Warbuck. I imagine that's why you always get your way. I thought, perhaps, it would build your character if you had to work a little harder to get the things you want. What do you think?”

  This time she did hear a muffled sound. It seemed the drugs were wearing off slightly. That was fine.

  No one liked a silent audience.

  “I'm glad you agree. So, I figure the easiest way to take away some of that edge is to get rid of those strong eyebrows of yours.”

  She tapped her scalpel twice against his forehead, before cutting an outline around the thick features. She could sense Buck wanting to struggle below her, but being completely helpless to her ministrations.

  Once his eyebrows were completely outlined, she reached into her first aid kit and removed her number 11 blade. It slid into the edge cut beautifully, and smoothly stripping away the flesh and hair. Blood rushed out, pouring over his eyes. She calmly lowered his lids so they wouldn't get any of the salty liquid in them, and watched the red travel down his face.

  That was the funny thing about the face, feet and hands. They bled so overdramatically compared to other parts of the body. While she was normally studious, and practical, Yuki found she was enjoying the grandiose situation.

  She waited several minutes again, before clicking her tongue.

  “Come now, Julian, you've made a mess in the middle of your make over.” She reached down into her kit and pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Matter of factly, she popped open the cap and poured it over his face.

  The clear liquid chased the red from his face, turning the air crisp and acidic. With a bit of gauze, she patted the mess from his face until it was clean enough to tape a couple small bandages to the fleshless spot his brows once were.

  And then she moved back on to Jean-Luc.

  “And you, my friend, you always are so creepy and off putting. I thought perhaps getting rid of that hair might help bring some light to your face. You know, make you more inviting and less like a predator.”

  She cleaned her 11 blade with the alcohol and gauze before returning it to her kit. Then, she pulled out a pair of scissors and a regular, disposable shaving razor.

  “Now you'll have to forgive me, I'm a med student, not a hairdresser, so I might nick you a bit.”

  She grabbed a hock of his finger-length hear and sheared it off. Then another. And another, until his whole head was different patches of about knuckle length mousy brown. From there, she wetted his head down with the rubbing alcohal, and pressed the razor to his scalp.

  It took a surprising amount of time to drag the dispensable razor through the small amount of hair he had left. But she persisted, until about half of his head was smooth, shiney, and glistening with small slashes of red from where she had sliced open his flesh.

  �
��I think that's about all we have time for, for now. Don't worry, as an assistant, I'm sure you can afford a professional haircut from some fancy place in some foreign city.”

  And then it was on to the banker, Thomas.

  This time, she sat at his side, instead of straddling him, and pulled his hand into her lap. “Your hands see so much money, don't they? More than I ever will -and I'm going to be a neurosurgeon. It's mind-boggling to think of how many bills must have your fingerprints on them.” She pulled a lighter from her kit. “How about we make it so you don't dirty up anyone else's money?”

  She flicked her thumb down the lighter, and held the flame to his finger pad. This time a scream forced itself out of his mouth. She could hear him trying to articulate words, but his tongue wasn't quite ready to make coherent movements. But she continued on, unmoved by his wordless squealing.

  She took care to burn each finger until the flesh was red and bubbling. Once she was finished, she set the lighter down and took a deep breath.

  “Is it weird that I kinda want barbeque?” She let out a small laugh and rose once more. “Who am I kidding? What about this situation, isn't weird?”

  She knelt beside Julian one more.

  “Stop, please, stop this.”

  “Oh, look who's talking now.” She pinched his cheek, hard. “What a strong little man.”

  She withdrew her scalpel once more, and flicked through each button of his designer suit. Once that was done, she gave the same treatment to his shirt before pulling the fabric open roughly to reveal lightly muscled chest.

  “You don't have to do this,” Buck pleaded, voice desperate and thin.

  “I know.” She answered flatly. “I want to.” And with that, she raised her blade once more and started carving into his chest. The man began to scream below her, but she made no move to silence him. She wanted him to know what it was like: to cry into the night sky, to beg for help, or mercy, and receive nothing but torture. She wanted him to feel the utter despair that came with the

  knowledge that no one was around to save you, and all one could do was endure.

  With determination and precision, she curled the scalpel this way and that, making care to create sharp edges where there needed to be, and fluid movements elsewhere. When she was satisfied, she leaned back to admire the word rapist that she had carved into his chest.

  Like a form of natural applause, his blood began to trickle out of the wounds with each panicked breath he took. She waiting a few minutes, watching the streams slowly merge together then run down towards his navel, then pulled out her suturing needle and began sewing him up yet again.

  “You know, normally in hospitals they numb the area before stitching,” She explained levelly. “Or they give pain medication outright. But since you've already been drinking and dosed with suxamethonium chloride tonight, I didn't want to put you in danger by introducing narcotics to you systems.”

  “Stop,” He wheezed. “Please.”

  “Oh, don't worry. I don't mind taking these extra little steps so you feel extra special.” She leaned back and sighed. “It really makes me feel the joy in life to go the extra mile.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jean-Luc try to move one of his legs away from her. It seemed his metabolism was burning the drug off faster than the older men. Well, she could have that.

  “Where are you going, mon petit?” She asked, quickly crossing over to him.

  “N-nowhere.” He stammered, fear evident in his eyes. “I-I j-just-”

  She held up a hand. “No need for an explanation. I can take care of this.” She gripped his heel, one hand on the bottom of his foot, and one grasping his toes, before violently snapping it counter-clockwise. She felt muscles rend beneath her fingers and gave him a satisfied smile as he howled. “Just one more.”

  Before he could react, she ensnared his other foot and gave it the exact same treatment. For all his blubbering, you would think she had hobbled him a la Misery.

  “Relax,” She chided, patting his knee. “They're just twisted. Sprained at worse. Nothing a little aspirin and rest won't cure.”

  “You're insane,” The banker, Thomas, hissed.

  She stood and let out a long laugh. “Maybe, maybe I am. But I wonder what could have prompted this mental break? What could have pushed me over such a violent edge?” She sat down at the man's other side and pulled his whole hand into her lap. “Hmm boys? Any ideas?”

  Despite all of them having apparently regained their ability to speak, none of them answered.

  “That's what I thought.” She mused, before revealing her latest took of justice.

  Thomas let out a retching sound as the starlight glinted off her pliers, but she paid him no mind, instead focusing on gripping one of his fingernails in between the metal prongs. Without any fanfare, or teasing, she pulled with all her might.

  The man let out a desperate scream, his voice cracking about midway. She let him come off of it, and breathe for a few seconds, before moving onto the next nail. When it seemed like he was going to pass out, she stopped, and waiting for him to catch his breath.

  It took a total of fifteen minutes to relieve him of his last nail on his dominant hand. When she finished, he was a sobbing, incoherent mess, but still conscious. She was on a roll.

  Unfortunately, so much time passing meant that even more drug had worn out of Julian and Jean-Luc's systems. They were just beginning to struggle feebly against their bonds, but Yuki had made sure they were tight and tied four times over. They had a better chance of finding big foot than escaping her bonds.

  “I'm sorry,” Buck cried first, voice hoarse and panicked. “I'm sorry for what we did to you.”

  “We were wrong,” Jean-Luc chimed in. “We're sorry.”

  “We'll report ourselves to the police, we'll turn ourselves in and confess everything. We won't say who hurt us. Just please, stop.”

  “Awww, you two are so sweet!” She cooed, crouching down in front of Buck's large frame. “You really mean it?”

  “Yes! More than anything else in the world. I'll give you anything, do anything. Just stop. Let us go.”

  The small woman reached out and stroked the man's still damp face. “What a noble, noble man. Even with all this torture, you still look out for your little lackeys. I never knew you had such loyalty in you.” She let her fingers dance across his features gently, touching, appreciating, mapping, until she reached the cut I had fixed up on his cheek. Sliding a nail under the suture, she ripped it out viciously. “Where was that kindness when I was on the ground, begging for mercy? Huh? Huh!?”

  “I'm sorry!” He cried/screamed into the night.

  She leaned in until their faces were merely a breath apart. “You're sorry, are you?”

  “Yes, yes. Truly, deeply, sorry.”

  “Well, if you really are sorry, I'm sure you understand that you need to endure being dominated yourself. After all, an eye for an eye and fair is fair when it comes to making up.”

  “What-”

  She rose and flipped over his stiff body, until he was face first in the earth. Digging through her revenge kit again, she pulled out a gag and finagled with it until it was firmly in his mouth. Once she was sure that he could say nothing, beyond maybe a few garbled yelps, she pulled out her pièce de résistance, a leather sex whip, with seven tails at the end.

  Standing, she raised her hand over her head and brought it down with all her might. What could move on Julian's drugged body flinched, but she kept on. Every crack of the whip brought her immense satisfaction, and she found her lips pulling back in a snarl.

  “What's that? You're not asking me to stop. Do you like it? You always seemed like a closeted submissive.” Another whip. Then another. The man collapsed against the ground, and she could hear muffled screams from him, but she didn't let up. “Such a whore, whining like that, wanting more. You must live for this, huh? Being put in your place? Don't you? Don't you?”

  Bringing the lash down five more times,
she finally felt satisfaction course through her. Breathless, she dropped it and examined her work.

  Buck was crying, and trying to rise up to his knees as much as his demi-paralyzed limbs would allow. Jean-Luc could not looked more terrified, or ridiculous with his half shaved head. And Thomas? Thomas was a blubbering, bloody mess, with burns on all of his left hand fingers, and no nails on hand of his right hand.

  Crossing away from the three, she grabbed a crowbar she had left in the grass. She tossed the metal in her hand a few times, relishing in its weight, before returning to Buck's side and bringing it down with all the rage she had left in her small body.

  He fell to the ground, limp. Unconscious. And the woman let out a long sigh of relief.

  Several Weeks Earlier

  1 in 5 women (20%) will be sexually assaulted while at college.

  The Job

  Yuki pulled on a pair of white thigh highs and fixed her hair as the cab pulled up to the Gentleman’s Club she was currently employed at. Making sure to tip before she left, she strode up the employee entrance and stairs.

  “Hey Sakura! How are ye?”

  Yuki looked over to see Rowena, a red headed beauty that spoke with an Irish lilt to her voice. All the girls at the club used fake names to further their personas, with many developing a gimmick as well. Yuki usually ran tea ceremonies, or masqueraded as a schoolgirl for her clientele, while Rowena often was a wild girl from the country who just wanted to ride horses and enjoy nature. In reality, her name was Julie and she grew up in St. Louis.

  The Japanese girl hadn't bothered to explain that some of her back story was accurate. She had indeed been born in Kyoto, Japan. But her parents had moved to New York when she was quite young so she could take advantage of America's renowned medical schooling. Of course that wasn't exactly the titillating fair her job relied on, so she had had to be more...creative with her origin story. According to her biography on the club's menu, so to say, she had been trained in the traditional arts of the geisha and Japanese seduction, before being imported to spread her knowledge.