Esctacy

He lies flat on the bare floor, his arms spread further apart, rope-bound on two large stakes like a crucified Jesus. His eyes stare with intensity at the cracked surface of the ceiling, too scared to look anywhere else. The ceiling also is bare. He is naked, from the tip of his toe to the crown of his head; he truly is naked. Had there been a mirror hanging off the ceiling looking down at him, he probably would love to have admired his body. No, he wouldn't.

Then he feels the tip of a person's tongue perch upon the hole that was his navel. The touch is enough to make him gasp from its wet feeling ' that cold human touch. The tongue begins to slurp and drag, drawing out a wet ring round the rim of his navel.

Get on with it, she says to him, her eyes dripping tears, his lips quivering with fright. You've had your fun. This is what you want, isn't it? Just get on with it why don't you?

Not yet, my dearest. Papa's got a lot of tricks in mind this time. You just have to wait.

And yet the slurping tongue continues to draw a wider ring, taking along its trail the dark hairs jutting off his abdomen region. The tongue makes a slight bump on its winding road ' a result of him feeling it come to an inch contact with his member. The tongue halts for a moment ' just a brief moment ' as the eyes of its owner looks up to appraise the man's static poise.

It's going to be slow and enjoyable. I give you my word on that, my darling.

I don't believe you ¦ but get on with it.

The tongue travels upon the man's docile member; a low moan escapes from somewhere deep within the tongue's throat. There is no response ' the man continues to look up at the ceiling, although differently. There is an uneasy tremour running all over him. He feels sweat pop all across his forehead, feels some of it roll past his eyebrow and down into the inclined cavity of his ears. But he doesn't attempt to raise a hand to wipe it off ' how could he with his hands tied wide apart from him? He shuts his eyes and makes a feeble attempt to take his mind away, away from this imploding torture.

And then suddenly a change occurs. The change is nearly almost imperceptible he nearly would have missed it happening. The tongue is no longer running upon his skin. It is now replaced by the sharp edge of a cold steel blade.

Oh! You're hurting me, she manages to scream at him, trying as hard as she can to fight him but it's so futile. You big brute, you said you weren't going to hurt me.

I'm so sorry about that, my darling. You know the gods made liars of us men. But let's keep on enjoying this, shall we?

The edge of the blade stops and travels back up the route the tongue had taken till it gets to his navel. The edge of the blade is just poised on the tip of his skin. The man trembles noticeably from its cold touch as it circumnavigates round his navel region in a shortening circle till it falls into the pit, coming in contact with the soft texture of skin inside the burrowed hole. The blade pushes further as if digging all the way for oil, unearthing a pickle of blood in its wake. The man gives a low grumble but doesn't move. In this sort of situation, it would be folly for him to even think of making any sudden move.

So, how do you like it, my darling? Are you enjoying it as much as I am, eh?

You brute ¦ you big brute ¦ somebody ¦

The blade carries a thin stain of blood on its tip as it makes its way up from the man's navel and travels up his stomach ¦

¦ anybody ¦

¦ it drags its way up his body, feeling the sweat that's pouring off the man's skin till it then makes a right turn and stops an inch beside his left nipple. The man feels all of this and more ' in his mind and deep within his heart he feels so much more ' and still shuts his eyes from the burning fear that's crisscrossing his body. He still attempts to take his mind elsewhere. He wishes to take his mind to somewhere, anywhere in his chequered past, to some bit of happiness.

¦ please, HELP ME!

But the venue where his mind carries him to is not one he would loved to have relieved again. It takes him back to a cold Sunday midnight, five years ago. He can still recall the anguished face of the pert looking lady as he dragged her further into the confines of the abandoned house a short distance off the main street. She had thought he was going to show her a fun time. That was until he'd tied her arms apart, just as he is right now, torn off her clothes and proceeded to rape her. In his mind's eye he could still relieve her cries, feel the way she continued to fight and squirm feebly under his pressing torso as he forced himself in and out of her ¦ feel the imminent rush of the tide of ecstasy that appeared out of nowhere deep inside of him and was suddenly bomb-rushing and steam-rolling all across his every nerves and veins ¦ the way he mouth muttered My Darling, My Darling, on and on like a never-ending litany as he continued to enjoy every ounce of pleasure he was having.

But that was all five years ago, more like five hundred years ago.

All right, my darling, the woman said to him, cradling the blade a few inches from his chest. You may open your eyes now.

Slowly, inch by inch, he opens his eyes to stare into the cold blue ones of his angel of death. Who would have thought that one day, out of the blue, he would find himself lying tied down in an abandoned building, feeling cold all over, staring into the merciless blue eyes of the lady whom he had once raped.

She leans over and smiles at him. The smile is so cold and brutal it hardly touches her face. Long time no see, my darling, she says at the same time holding both hands to the blades' handle raises it above her head. It's been five years and never once did you write. But anyway, I'm back to return a favour. This might hurt a bit, so get ready to scream.

And with that she plunges the blade into the man's skin just as the world suddenly turns back before his eyes.