Author's website: http://freespace.virgin.net/jodie.mouse

Disclaimer: not mine - borrowed

Author's Notes: thanks D. thanks writingduesouth list.

Story Notes: violence - yes this is one pretty whacked out idea but run with it :-)

Title: Victorian Roses
Author: Jodie Louise

31st August 1888

It was easy. So much easier than Jack thought it would be. Just apply the pressure in the right places -- twist the fabric around their necks.

Jack cuts. And hacks. And Cuts.

Haze in front of his eyes. Red.

She looked so beautiful as she hitched up her skirts in the half light. Touch of skin glowing in the pale lamplight. White. Like marble.

Jack feels good as he cuts through the girl's flesh.

1st September 1888

The girl is shy as she enters my room. Catherine. Kate, my pet name for her. I chose the girl from the reformatory for her beauty. So far she has proved herself to be a fast learner and a good maid. I will mould her into what I please and do with her what I will.

"Breakfast Mistress Thatcher."

"Thank you." I say looking up at her and smiling.

She is pretty all glossy dark hair and English Rose skin. I pat the side of my bed gesturing her to sit down beside me.

"When we are like this alone in my bedroom I would like you to call me Meg."

Kate looks shyly down avoiding my eyes, but nods. I place a finger under her chin and tip her face up towards me.

"You're very beautiful, Kate."

"Thanks, Mistress." she says shyly, eyes darting away.

I smile at her.

"Meg."

"Miss Meg." she says briefly meeting my eyes and then glancing away.

"Have you a sweetheart, Kate?" I ask.

Glossy black hair shakes in the negative. I place one hand on Kate's thigh. With the other hand I slowly stroke her hair away from her face.

"Good." I say and kiss her.

Underneath my touch she is trembling -- afraid -- and I like this. I like having the power to make another person feel frightened.

I release Kate. She is breathing heavily and staring at me. I slip my hand under the pillow to grasp the cool disc of metal there. I pull out the soverign and place it in Kate's palm closing her fingers around it. I brush her closed fist against my lips.

"This is our little secret. In this room when I send for you, you may call me Meg. You will do as I ask you and we will get along fine."

The girl nods and slides off of the bed.

"Kate, I want you to come here after supper tonight at 9 o'clock. Consider these instructions to be your additional duties for which you will receive appropriate compensation."

"Yes Miss Meg."

I look at her for a moment. How I will love sucking that pale skin tonight. Hidden under the covers I slip my hand low between my legs.

"That will be all, Kate. Attend to your other duties."

The girl nods and leaves like a poor frightened mouse. I am the cat toying with her. I push my fingers inside me and sigh moving beneath the covers.

8th September 1888

Trawling the streets of Whitechapel. He needs. Jack needs.

Needs the fear they feel at the moment that they know they will die. That they will die in a horrible, horrible way.

Need.

Jack sees her and approaches the one. He smiles as he nears her feeling the silk scarf in his pocket. Fingering the butter soft material. Jack imagines how it will look wrapped around the girl's neck.

I like Jack. He is strong and cruel. He lusts after women and blood.

He pierces through the skin at the throat -- for a moment it looks as if the prostitute has two smiles...one on her face and another cut into her neck. Double grins.

I think of what he does -- the fear of the women and push my fingers against that special spot. The place where I love to stroke myself again and again.

A prostitute with flame red hair hitches up her skirts baring flesh. I want to run my tongue up her thigh. I want to lick there. I want to shove a knife into the prostitutes hole and twist it as Jack would. Rip the hole open so she has three mouths. One on her face, one on her throat and a third between her legs.

10th September 1888

"Shall I get the doctor, Miss Meg?" I hear Kate ask.

I am under the covers on the bed and do not want to come out. I have no idea how long I have been laying here in bed hidden from the world. Slowly I pull myself out of the sheets and put on my best smile.

"It's quite fine, Kate. There's no need to call a doctor."

The girl nods and continues with her cleaning. I watch her young firm body bend and twist as it cleans and remember how silky her skin feels beneath my fingers. The young lithe body moves throughout the room and comes to rest on the chest. Jack's chest. And the wretched girl starts cleaning the wood...

"Not the chest. Do not ever touch the chest." I say sharply.

Kate looks at me fearfully and nods. She starts cleaning the dresser instead.

12th September 1888

My maid, my Kate is before me skin as pale as milk. I have asked her to strap on the leather phallus. The phallus protrudes from her body, proud and erect. A part of her body but not. Brown against white. Bread against milk.

As she lowers herself on the chair I lever myself down so I impale myself on the phallus. Wiggle until the leather is deep inside me and rock, rock on it. I kiss Kate and massage her breasts all the while driving the phallus, driving Kate, deeper and deeper within me. We are crotch to crotch, breast to breast. Joined.

I can never get over how fantastic the lump of leather feels when it is inside me. How soft and firm Kate is beneath my touch. I dominate her.

Kate is mine.

13th September 1888

Sleep, need sleep.

Too much dreaming. Silver glint of metal. Blood. Slit skin mocking me with it's deathly grin. Legs open wide. Hole between legs. Gaping. It wants to swallow me.

Need to cut it to escape, cut it to be free.

Skin is around me. Engulfing me. Sucking me in.

18th September 1888

It is dark outside. I smooth down the suit I am wearing. I am no longer Meg. I am Jack.

Jack puts on the top hat and gazes at his reflection in the mirror.

Hello.

Whores gather on the corners of the streets in Whitechapel. Drunken men burst out of public houses. Jack's domain.

He walks in the dim streets, powerful.

Jack does not always need to kill. Tonight Jack is content to watch.

20th September 1888

Kate is a quick study. Her tongue laps me. She fucks me with her tongue. Sharp edged. Like a knife. A fleshy spear on which I impale myself. Push Kate deeper within me. Feel the hot flesh deeper inside me.

When Kate pulls her head back the flesh around her lips glistens with my juices. I kiss her tasting myself on her lips, in her mouth.

I want more.

23rd September 1888

Cold today. Feel very cold. Decide to stay in bed.

Metal sharp. Blood. Bloodstained grins. Rivulets of blood.

Cold.

26th September 1888

I enter my bedroom. Kate's dark head is bent over Jack's chest looking inside.

"Kate."

She flinches but turns and looks at me.

"I told you never to touch that chest." I bark, barely keeping my fury in check.

I take a step towards Kate. I am angry.

"Sorry Miss Meg. But I was..."

Seizing Kate by her hair I haul her up to her feet.

"I don't care. I told you not to go into that chest."

Fear lies behind her eyes.

Jack says:
Kill her
Kill her
Kill her

Releasing Kate I slap her across her face knocking the girl back to the floor. Blood runs from her swollen lip. Lips stained red.

Jack says:
Kill her
Kill her
Kill her

Not here Jack, not here. I walk calmly to the mirror above my dresser and start tidying my hair. Kate is watching me in the reflection of the mirror.

"As a punishment I am terminating your employment. Leave now."

The wretched girl nods slowly, tears shining high on her cheeks.

"Go. Now."

Kate pulls herself to her feet and runs from the room. I spray some perfume into the air.

Jack says:
I will kill her
I will kill her
I will kill her

Jack's eyes stare back at me from the mirror. They are cold, dark and lifeless. I rejoice in them. The cold hatred behind those eyes pleases me.

30th September 1888

Murder Victims:

Elizabeth Stride
Catherine Eddowes

Suspect:

Jack the Ripper

8th November 1888

I have been watching her for days now. Trawling the dark streets in my carriage watching her go with men into dark alleyways. Disguises herself to look like a man, wearing the uniform of a soldier, or a sailor, or a gentleman.

She has many faces but I want her, want all the faces for myself and so it comes to pass that she is sitting in my carriage.

"I'm a girl you know." she says.

I take a long drag on my cigarette.

"I know."

The girl is pretty, no older than 19. High cheekbones. I cannot wait until I get her back to my house -- I cannot wait until I make her mine to do with as I please.

"My name is Meg Thatcher - have you heard of me?"

"No." she replies.

I smile.

"May be that is for the best."

Definitely for the best.

"Your name?"

"Mary."

9th November 1888

Mary Jane Kelly was brutally murdered in the room where she was staying.

Suspect :

Jack the Ripper

The below is from a real letter thought to be written by Jack the Ripper and was dated the time of the Whitechapel murders.

Dear Boss,
I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck. Yours truly
Jack the Ripper
Dont mind me giving the trade name
PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha

End Victorian Roses by Jodie Louise: jodie.mouse@virgin.net

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