Bruised & Battered Knees
Yseult’s yellow hair and slim hips make fools of men. Lust blinds male minds. Sex makes men weak. Sexual glamour and power are sources of womanly superiority.
She does not return their lust. The young goddess allows only equals in her bed. Women as glorious as herself.
Men are prey. Yseult seduces them into helplessness. Binds minds, then bodies.
She plays games with men. Games that gratify her cruel streak.
Yseult brought her latest playmate to a dark abandoned warehouse. Her wealthy daddy’s property. He may never notice the absent key.
She begins with a game of horsey. Astride his back, Yseult urges him “Forward!” Spurs shred his buttocks. A tight muzzle suppresses his screams.
Moans and blood quickly bore her.
She kicks him. Bends her foot, jabs him with spurs.
Free of her body’s weight, he can shove himself, move a few inches.
Another kick, another jab.
“You will keep moving until you reach the other end of the room.”
The far wall is at least a hundred feet away.
Commands, kicks and stabs continue. His scraped knees bleed. And ache. His lower legs ache from toes to knee.
Pain and desperation block thought. Anguish is almost a mercy. He cannot wonder what will follow this tortuous struggle.
Hours later he wakes in chains, imprisoned in a black chamber. Scars and scrapes pulse with agony. Did he finish?
Now he has time to worry about his future.