Page 33 of Pierced

“Before we go any further, I want you to pick a safe word. A word you can use if things go too far, too fast, or get too uncomfortable for you. Pick.”

“Any word?”

“Any word.”

“And if I say it—?”

“I stop whatever I’m doing.”

He’s silent for a moment. I can almost hear him thinking. Then, finally, he says…

“Sacrebleu.”

“Sacrebleu?”

“Yeah. It’s a French expression.”

“I know. Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I think so. No. Wait. I’m not sure. It could be good or bad. I don’t want to accidentally shout it out if I like something and have you stop inadvertently.”

I’m starting to get the feeling he’s stalling. “Pierce—”

“Sacapuntas!” he exclaims.

“Saca… what?”

“Sacapuntas. It’s Spanish for ‘pencil sharpener.’ That’s my safe word.”

Well… I don’t suppose there’s any chance he’ll shout that by accident.

“But I doubt I’ll use it,” he goes on, adding, arrogantly, “I can take whatever you dish out.”

And that’s when the growling starts. It’s low, throaty, and even though I’m the one who set this all up, I get the chills too.

“Sacrebleu!” he shouts. Unbelievable. “Please tell me that was a recording.”

“Don’t move,” I say. “Or you’ll find out.”

“Myrtle?”

I walk over to the cage, feel around until I find the lock, pull the pin out of the safety and open the door.

It creaks. Just like the door to the basement.

The growling gets louder.

“Myrtle? What the fuck is that?”

“Shhh,” I say. “Just take off your clothes.”

“What? No fucking way. Is there an animal in here? Turn the damn lights on!”

The roaring gets louder and I sense Pierce go utterly still. Three seconds pass. “Myrtle?” he whispers.

I say nothing.

“Myrtle!” He whisper-screams it this time. “That isn’t real! I’m not falling for your scare tactics and woe be unto you when I get out of this crazy-ass haunted house fake dungeon—”