Cruel Pitiless Woman’s Plaything
Some men look for a purpose in life. An activity that defines their being. Some become artists. Others seek purpose in helping others realize their own dreams.
This man is not an artist. He is an object of art. He brings a woman’s darkest desires to fruition.
He cannot remember his name. Nor do I know it. What matter. He has no need of identity.
He fell in love with a beautiful woman. A common weakness of men. She can never love a man. But she found a place for him in her life.
Drugged, he was easily taken to a small basement room. Locked in steel fetters.
He lives there. A metal door blocks exit.
His life is simple. Twice daily food appears. Without hunger, he waits for the next meal. For proof that time passes. He would starve himself but the urge to survive denies him this escape.
He sits in darkness. Without knowledge of date and time.
Once he wept. The despair of loneliness has taken him beyond tears.
He waits. Eventually the door opens. The beautiful woman enters.
She taught him not to plead. Not to speak.
The man kneels, bows his head.
The lashes begin. She is a gifted whip Mistress.
He cries and screams. She smiles.
She stops and examines her handiwork. Which welts will never fade? Such details are of no matter.
Eventually his whole body will be crisscrossing whip marks. Once the canvas is complete, what will she do with him.
His continuing anguish is all that matters. His final fate is not more important than he is.
She sterilizes him with a mix of salt and vinegar. His new welts shriek.
Then she is gone.
He feels empty. Her cruelty is all that he has. All that matters.
He weeps again before the emptiness returns.