This was inspired by a late, late night insomnia fueled (both sides) conversation with a friend and was written some five and a half years ago.
Wicked Anna.
The air, heavy and oppressive, stank of sweat and reeked of fear.
Cra-ack. The dimly lit interior of the abandoned warehouse reverberated
with the pounding of a heavy metal drum solo. Cra-ack, this time, the
sound the whip created as the tip accelerated faster than the speed of
sound was sharper and more defined. A screaming guitar riff sliced
through the darkness. Cra-ack. Another scream, this one more primal
and base in its intensity added its voice, almost, but not quite in
perfect harmony, fear causing it to stray off key. This scream brought a
smile to her lips.
“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME.” The tremble in his voice betrayed his swagger of defiance. Cra-ack. He screamed again. The welts were beginning to rise on his bare skin.
“GODDAMMIT. Don’t you know who I am?” His resolve was beginning to crumble. She smiled again. Cra-ack. This one bit into soft exposed flesh and brought blood, just a trickle, she hoped he would be fun while he lasted, and that he lasted as long as she was still having fun.
“I-I didn’t do it…” Cra-ack. He winced, anticipating the pain that didn’t come. Her skill with the whip was exquisite. She laughed.
He struggled to maintain his dignity. Sans clothing and handcuffed just high enough so he was forced to stand on his toes to relieve the pressure his considerable bulk imposed on his wrists. Both knew his dignity would fail, followed by his resistance. His sanity would not be his final loss of the game. Cra-ack. He screamed again as the leather bit into the soft fleshy meat of his ass. She laughed again.
"P-p-please st-stop.” He whimpered.
She stood behind him, readying the whip. Petite, trim and athletic in her conservative white lab jacket and skirt looking more the part of a dental assistant than a woman who was ready to kill…again. Cra-ack. This time her timing was absolute perfection as his scream pierced the gloom, accentuating the lead singer’s angry lead into the chorus.
“I-it wasn’t my id-idea…” He sobbed. She wasn’t laughing any longer. With slow and deliberate steps; click... click... click; she walked to the table where the CD player blasted out Glam metal power chords, ejected the disk and replaced it with a special one, one of her choosing.
She approached the object of her torment just as the smooth baritone voice of Roger Whittaker began to croon from the sound system. Smirking, amused by his fear, she leaned close.
“Darling,” she whispered. “You thought it was funny didn’t you. Who’s laughing now?”
“I-I-I’m sorry…” His voice raspy, cracking with sobs. She knew she had broken him.
“Daniel you make me very, very unhappy.” She continued to torment him. The sound of the spring-loaded blade as it flicked out of hiding causing him to flinch. Her nose crinkled slightly as she caught whiff of the fear he had deposited on the floor…
“Puh-puh-please Anna, I’ll never do it again.”
“For the first time tonight, I believe you.”
“Are y-y-you going to let me go? I won’t t-t-t-ell anyone.”
“Yes, yes of course. In a moment.” She was enjoying this again.
“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME.” The tremble in his voice betrayed his swagger of defiance. Cra-ack. He screamed again. The welts were beginning to rise on his bare skin.
“GODDAMMIT. Don’t you know who I am?” His resolve was beginning to crumble. She smiled again. Cra-ack. This one bit into soft exposed flesh and brought blood, just a trickle, she hoped he would be fun while he lasted, and that he lasted as long as she was still having fun.
“I-I didn’t do it…” Cra-ack. He winced, anticipating the pain that didn’t come. Her skill with the whip was exquisite. She laughed.
He struggled to maintain his dignity. Sans clothing and handcuffed just high enough so he was forced to stand on his toes to relieve the pressure his considerable bulk imposed on his wrists. Both knew his dignity would fail, followed by his resistance. His sanity would not be his final loss of the game. Cra-ack. He screamed again as the leather bit into the soft fleshy meat of his ass. She laughed again.
"P-p-please st-stop.” He whimpered.
She stood behind him, readying the whip. Petite, trim and athletic in her conservative white lab jacket and skirt looking more the part of a dental assistant than a woman who was ready to kill…again. Cra-ack. This time her timing was absolute perfection as his scream pierced the gloom, accentuating the lead singer’s angry lead into the chorus.
“I-it wasn’t my id-idea…” He sobbed. She wasn’t laughing any longer. With slow and deliberate steps; click... click... click; she walked to the table where the CD player blasted out Glam metal power chords, ejected the disk and replaced it with a special one, one of her choosing.
She approached the object of her torment just as the smooth baritone voice of Roger Whittaker began to croon from the sound system. Smirking, amused by his fear, she leaned close.
“Darling,” she whispered. “You thought it was funny didn’t you. Who’s laughing now?”
“I-I-I’m sorry…” His voice raspy, cracking with sobs. She knew she had broken him.
“Daniel you make me very, very unhappy.” She continued to torment him. The sound of the spring-loaded blade as it flicked out of hiding causing him to flinch. Her nose crinkled slightly as she caught whiff of the fear he had deposited on the floor…
“Puh-puh-please Anna, I’ll never do it again.”
“For the first time tonight, I believe you.”
“Are y-y-you going to let me go? I won’t t-t-t-ell anyone.”
“Yes, yes of course. In a moment.” She was enjoying this again.
“I’m not evil, just a little wicked at times.”
“Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…” Roger’s voice haunted the darkness.
“Remember this night the next time you decide to fuck with my CD’s.
Oh, and I lied.” The stiletto slipped between his ribs and into his heart….
“…I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.” Roger’s song trailed off as a hot pink Smart car slipped quietly into the darkness.
“Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…” Roger’s voice haunted the darkness.
“Remember this night the next time you decide to fuck with my CD’s.
Oh, and I lied.” The stiletto slipped between his ribs and into his heart….
“…I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.” Roger’s song trailed off as a hot pink Smart car slipped quietly into the darkness.
See you on Monday, peace...
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