Basil's Revenge

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, etc..etc.. you know the rest O_o I'm not good at these things.


BASIL'S REVENGE

The light from the stark raving moon flew into the dark house like dust. It settled upon all heavy oak furniture and persisted in creating an unsettling and eerie appearance. My eyes lit up with utter excitement, and I gazed out the window into the weary night for just a second. This would be my night. Dorian Gray, that kniving and most obnoxious young man, who willingly decided to do horrible things to other people. And then he blames them, them! Not himself. Ah, but "old" Dorian is going to pay tonight. Surely I will get my revenge for being spoken to as if I was of a lesser value than him.

He led me up the stairs so that I could see the portrait. Did I know what he was planning to do? Yes, of course. There was no doubt in my mind that he was planning to lock the door and kill me. But the problem with that was that I had plans of my own, plans of getting to him before he got to me. Who said Dorian Gray, being of a wealthy status and liked by many, should succeed simply because he is the all-knowing, all-loving Dorian Gray whom everyone adores for his good looks and boyish charm? That is preposterous. That boisterous lad was going to learn a lesson.

"Come, come, Basil," he said prudently, as though I was irritating him. "You are much too slow for your age."

"Ahh, my dear friend," I said in a friendly manner, deceiving him, "but I shall get there in time." We were heading up the stairs toward that sacred room, and in my coat I had a dagger and some rope ready. When we were on the platform, both of us entered the room, which was bathed in an incandescent white light, and sure enough the painting was there. The one I had done. The one that the cowardly Dorian was afraid to look at because of his inability to face the truth about his rotten soul, the soul that was decaying. It was all right. After I was done with him he would have no soul. I smirked at the thought of it.

Dorian locked the door behind me. "Sorry, Basil, but we need to keep this secure. Nobody but me and you are allowed to see this." Yes, of course the room needed to be secure, but I knew it was because he didn't want anybody to come in lest he should be strangling me to a bloody pulp. How ironic it was to be.

He uncovered the painting and looked at it with horrid eyes, and I looked at him with lust. That was all it was. Lust. Nothing more. Dorian was a splendid looking man, beautiful, perfect in every aspect. He had the finest eyes, so blue that they were nearly transparent, and his hair at times seemed brighter than the sun, flowing and long. His lean frame was chiseled to perfection, and there seemed to be in him so much innocence. Who could have thought that the mind behind those crystal clear blue eyes was contemplating murder?

I loved Dorian. Oh yes, I loved him, and I wanted him so much. My body was thirsty for him. From the minute I first saw him I needed to have him, but he would not reply to my advances and flirtations (even making him pose for me nude did not do anything) and so I decided to leave it be. However, when Dorian began to lead that life of depravity, deceit, lies and had some unreasonable anger toward me, I knew that I needed to use force. My lust was growing stronger. I stayed up at night thinking about him, thinking of him naked, sprawled on the cold marble floor, struggling, moaning.

"Dorian," I whispered. He turned around and saw something strange in my eyes. "Come here. I must tell you something." He walked toward me and I jumped on him, pinning him to the floor. He tried to struggle but I had a good hold on him, and I quickly removed something out of my pocket. It was a small bottle of a formula that would weaken him and make him easier to control. I forced his mouth open and poured the liquid in, but he, naturally, refused to swallow it, just as he had refused my advances and my romantic proposals. Damn him. Now he would have it! I grabbed his throat and made him swallow it. He finally did. His arms began to lose some of their strength, and there was fear in his clear eyes. I took his hands and tied them to a broken heater that was protruding from the wall. With some struggle, but I did so nonetheless. I approached my dear Dorian and touched his face, which was turned away from me. With one sudden movement, I slapped him, and he whimpered, his right cheek turning a bright red.

"You silly fool," I said, standing over him. "You could have just been with me when I proposed it to you. Did you not see that I loved you? Did you not see that I wanted to be more than friends?" I punched him in the face and he whimpered. Most certainly did I feel something good in my groin. "Huh!" I cried. "Huh!" I punched him again and watched as he tried to struggle and break free from the ropes. Taking my heel, I stomped it on his crotch, and he gave out a yelp, almost like a sick little puppy. "Please...stop..it," he groaned.

"Oh, trust me. I won't." I ripped his shirt off and beneath it lay a quivering chest, heaving up and down. His breathing was pathetic, sickening. I almost felt like killing him. And yet his body lured me in. I removed the dagger from my belt and brought it up to his eyes, where he stared at it with utmost horror. "Basil!" He cried, but before the sick dog could say anything more I let the blade sink into his bare chest and run down his stomach. As the blood seeped from the wound he was trembling and moaning from the pain, frantically tugging at his ropes to free himself. I undid his pants and exposed his manhood.

"Basil...no," he whimpered. "What are you doing?" Tears were beginning to form in his eyes. I didn't care.

"Remember, oh my little Dorian, how I liked painting you nude."

He just stared in absolute horror.

"Well, I guess you never really knew why. But I'm going to relive that experience."

I ripped his entire shirt and pants off so that he was completely naked, and what a sight. Pale as a ghost, quivering, his body unable to keep itself in one place. He reminded me of a squirming worm, and that was exactly what he was to me. I took my own pants off and I was ready to do it, hard and ready. Sitting upright, I violently thrust it into him, hearing a loud and painful groan.

"Stop!" He cried, his face slick with sweat. "Please."

But I wouldn't stop. I was smiling.

Once more I inserted, hearing his painful moans, his weak body simply thrashing about for no reason.
"Oh my Dorian. Don't cry," I said, wiping the tears out of his eyes. He turned his face away from me and I slapped him, all whilst we were making love (well, I was making love at least). He gave a whimper and violently tried to jerk himself out of the ropes. I held his arms back.

"There's no need for that now, is there?" I kept on thrusting it in, harder and harder, faster and faster, and his moans became screams. I put my finger on his wet lips. "Shhhh," I whispered. But there was no stopping his fit. This way and that. Why, he was like a fish taken out of water. I removed my manhood from within him and then forced it into his mouth, pushing it in so deep as to choke him. He writhed fervently and his chest moved up and down madly, but he could not catch his breath. I held his arms back whilst it was in his mouth, and I could feel wet tears streaming over it. Why, he was turning blue in the face.

I laughed. Never in my life have I seen such horror in a man's eyes. I took it from out of his mouth and he gasped, trying to catch his breath for a full thirty seconds, coughing. Then, I kicked him on his side, and he lost his breath once more.

"How do you like that?" I said. I kicked him once more and he gave out a cry of pain, his muscles contracting and rolling him into a ball. I kept kicking him until his sides were bruised, and he had no more strength left in him to fight. So I had my way with him once more, and inserted my manhood into him, thrusting it in even harder now. Harder. And harder. Dorian's screams were like music to my ears. I was aroused beyond all arousal. Never had I had such sexual gratification in my life. I kept that up, whilst I leaned in with the dagger and pressed it into his throat, revealing some blood. He was in a sort of frenzy now, shaking and screaming, his body moving with mine. Humiliated and afraid, just the way I always wanted him. This was better than a mutual sexual encounter. I liked being in control.

As the blood poured from his neck I licked it off, smearing it on his chest and stomach, while it expanded and collapsed so rapidly that I thought it was going to explode. I went with the dagger just above his groin and carved the initials DG into his stomach. While I was doing this, Dorian Gray was deliciously in pain, his head moving from side to side, uttering such terrible groans that they were like something from a horror movie, his whole figure trembling.

That he had the strength to speak I was surprised. "Basil...please," he gasped, barely breathing.

"Shh," I said. "It's almost over, my little Dorian." I took the dagger and pressed it hard into his throat, so that his eyes rolled back and he was only able to give one cry of pain and one spasm before his whole body went limp.

I didn't know whether he was dead or not, and I didn't care. He was naked, bloody and tied to something. That's all I needed. My pleasure was fulfilled. Now I required paints and a blank canvas, which were conveniently stored away in a nearby cupboard. I took these supplies, placed myself in front of the easel, slipped the blank canvas on and began to paint. I first had to mix some colors on the palette. Looking back on Dorian Gray, laying there like a pathetic lifeless form, I was finally able to paint what he really was.

This was what Dorian Gray really was to me now, just a filthy dead thing. Dead to me.