by Ashley Hind
I hear the door open behind me. I think to have an instrument of torture in my hand as I turn but that will give my new bitch instant recognition of what is coming her way. Why decide that now? Why do that when I could spend ages running my hand over various whips, paddles and canes whilst she squirms and whimpers into her ball-gag? So, empty-handed I turn to see her. She had better be beautiful or Mr Slick is going to get it, terminally. The sight of her sends the jolt instantly through me. Not so much because she is indeed beautiful, and this I cannot deny, but because of the familiarity of that face, and all that it means to me. I am alone in the room not with an unknown slave but with Madam Destiny.
She approaches me slowly, steadily. She wants me to see the curl of her lip and the fire in her eyes. She wants me to recognise that this comes from hatred, from bitterness and revenge. Somehow she must know that I am connected with her husband’s demise. Her coldness goes through me, freezes me. While my empty hands hang powerless at my sides, one of hers is in a fist. The other is behind her back, concealing something. It will be a knife. Not a snide, thin one like Stark would use to assassinate you, but a frighteningly large-bladed carving knife to sink shocking deep, over and over. My dirty mind holds out hope that it might be the Queen of Pleasure she is hiding from me. Whatever it is in her grip, she plans to plunge it into me without mercy.
I could grab something to defend myself if I could only unfreeze my limbs. Into me she comes, her form blocking out the light behind her, close enough to hear her breaths, to smell that familiar sweet perfume. There are no words. Her look says it all. Up comes her arm above us, ready to drive downwards at me. I cannot take my eyes off hers, cannot bear to see what she holds. I can neither dodge nor defend myself. And I thought I would always be stronger than her. I thought I was the only one capable of this deadly power. I thought I had this killer instinct over her, but I am wrong. She is more like me than I ever realised. This is no attempt to scare me or to get me cowering and begging to use me however she pleases. She means to actually do it, to end me. I can see it in those eyes. She always was merciless towards me and now I am going to feel the ultimate expression of this. I cannot stop her and she is not going to stop herself. Her arm begins its swift descent towards me and it ain’t no dildo she is holding. No, she most definitely, definitely intends to kill me
Not really!
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