Frederick Hamilton - Spare Key

…Ben had slipped away home but the images had stayed with him through the whole tram trip and when he’d realised he’d forgotten his pills he’d wondered how he could have been so thoughtless. Wondered whether maybe, just maybe, he’d done it a little on purpose.

He knew he should probably take some now. It was the first thought he’d had as he stormed back into his flat but the pressure had already been building and building. In his mind, the roof had already been in place and it was just so beautiful and his worries had faded away and he’d just wanted to slip on the leather apron and now they were coming back again, the shadows slipping away one by one to reveal their simultaneously terrifying and beautiful visages and even though he knew he should take his pills, another idea was forming now and it just excited him so much…

It’s not a good idea.

But he needed to do some research.

He’d get caught.

But he needed to know more…

… Like whether she has a boyfriend…

… But why did he need to know that?

… Just take a quick look…

… Just a quick look couldn’t hurt…

* * * * *

Ben carefully eased himself over the fence and dropped onto the cracked concrete of the courtyard next door. He breathed evenly in and out for a moment, calming himself as the adrenaline spiked through his body. He forced himself to be still as he crouched, listening intently. The strange jittery feeling that he’d felt as he’d daydreamed under the bridge was flowing through him and even though he knew what he was doing was wrong – that it was stupid, that it wouldn’t help anything – he seemed powerless to stop himself.

When he’d calmed down sufficiently and was certain that his entry into the neighbour’s yard hadn’t been detected, Ben stood up and drank in his surroundings. Unconsciously he rubbed at his still erect penis as he studied the clothes fluttering on the retractable line that stretched across the small enclosed space.

He couldn’t have asked for more appropriate backyards than the ones this block of flats offered. High wooden fences; perfect for covering any prowling.

Ben’s hand was shaking slightly as he reached out and rubbed at a pair of silken panties strung between a pair of tracksuit pants and a T-shirt. In his mind, he could see her strapped down, lying there immobile, as he slid them down ever so slowly… Don’t think about it… He saw the tender flesh revealed… She’s not her… saw the tuft of hair… She’s not her… and then the glorious wound and before he knew it, her figure was cast in a red hue and he was stumbling over to the small table and chair set, almost scattering the pot plants, trying to push it out of his mind. He couldn’t afford to go to the Red Room now; he had to keep his wits about him. It was stupid to have come here.

He sat breathing heavily for a moment, calming himself down until the red filter disappeared from his vision. When he stood, he fully intended to walk straight to the fence, climb back over and return to his flat. Instead he found himself with his eye pressed to the blind in front of him. He couldn’t see much but what he saw instantly told him the flat was far better appointed than his own. There was a glimpse of smooth, beige walls; another world compared to the garishness of his own next door and he could see the edge of a sink with a wine glass perched on it. Although it wasn’t much, he took the solitary glass as a good sign and moved along, past an impenetrable frosted pane over to another window whose blind, he saw with growing excitement, was half-raised.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. He looped the thought in his mind but it was futile.

He crouched and peered in at a bedroom that had clearly been left in a hurry that morning. Through the open doors of the cupboard, he could see neatly folded clothes and the sheets on the bed were scattered messily as though she had just thrown them back and bolted. He scanned over the walls, the small television in the corner and the bedside table but couldn’t see any photos or other evidence of a boyfriend.

That’s good, that’s good, that’s…

Ben’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw the vibrator lying down next to the bed, placed on top of what looked like a leather-bound photo album. Now that bodes well , he thought as he pictured her writhing there on the bed with it buried in her to the hilt; just like those times she’d let him watch. The times she’d called to him.

Was that buzzing he heard filling the air?

His cock throbbed at the image and also at the thought that last night only a solitary wall had separated him from her splayed out on the bed. He reached down, unzipped and freed it from his pants. His penis was burning hot in his palm as he began to twine them around it… twine what? Ben was shocked to find the silken panties in his hand and see he had wrapped them around his shaft. Shocked… But it felt nice. He could kind of imagine her fingertips dancing lightly across the tip of his cock.

He eased them up and down, his eyes drifting back to the wrought iron bedhead and he couldn’t help thinking how perfect it would be; easy to secure her to, have her there spreadeagled… Don’t think about it… She’s not her… He thought desperately but it was too late…

… Suddenly she was there before his eyes and he was shucking furiously at his cock and the room was bathed in a red light and they were appearing, overlaying one by one there on the bed, their ghostly limbs solidifying and melding until a mass of her lay before his eyes. And he was there too, with his bag of tools and he was unrolling the sheath of knives as the heaving mass writhed against their restraints…

* * * * *

His jism erupted, spattering against the glass, ropes dripping over the sill as he made the first incision, the red spray pumping in exact time to the pulses of his ejaculation; the pleasure spasming his muscles into rigidity; making his legs feel all weak and rubbery as he dropped down panting.

When he came back, he was gasping for air, his throat bone dry and the panties, still wrapped around his wilting penis, were sodden beneath his fingers.

The realisation was both horrifying and exhilarating. He’d been back to the Red Room. And not for just a peek this time but for a play. It was the first time since the nights preceding his bungled attempt on the girl in Cumming St and they’d all still been waiting there for him. All of his girls had been waiting there all along. All the variations of her . Hanging patiently on their meat hooks and he’d almost forgotten how nice their play sessions could be. And that thought terrified him.

Now that he’d seen the joys of the Red Room again, his resolve was wavering. He wasn’t certain he could resist if it came again and the empty meathook had been there waiting just like it had been all those other times and Ben could just see his new life wilting and shattering before his eyes…

I need my pills, the thought broke through his mind as he realised he was now standing by the back door, rattling the lock as he tucked his slimy penis away.

I need my tools, he thought but shook his head. No, that’s not right, I need my pills.

But even as he backed away from the door his doubts were echoing back at him. Mandy’s voice: they could have him on placebos for fuck’s sake. Dr Slavia’s : you need to want this to work.

Maybe Mandy was right?

He’d been back to the Red Room. He couldn’t write it off like he had the glimpses. It shouldn’t have been possible. Maybe Slavia had put him on placebos…