This is the prompt: You wake up chained to the wall of a medieval torture room. The torture devices are laid out on a table in front of you. Write this scene. Your job, as the reader, is to decide if the subject is one of torture or titillation.
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Leather and Chains
‘What . . . .’ I raise my head and groan. My neck hurts. Heavy chains rattle when I try to bring my arms up to rub it. My eyes snap down, and I feel them widen as I take in the manacles around my wrists in shock. I can barely move my arms an inch. I try moving my feet, and they feel chained as well. My head slumps back and hits the rough wall behind me.
‘I did it.’
“I see you are awake.” A tall man walks into the room, and I find my eyes drawn to him as I try to speak. My words come out as grunts. There is a gag in my mouth. 'How did I miss that?’
“There will be no need for you to talk. You know why you are here.”
I moan. I’m shaking a little, my eyes following him as he walks around the room. Torch lights lit the walls dimly from their brackets. I go rigid when I see what is hanging on the walls. He is fingering one of them and pulls it down from the metal hook.
“Mmmph.”
He smirks at me. “Do you like it? Braided leather over a solid oak handle. The snap is exquisite.”
It’s getting harder to breathe through my nose as I start panting, my throat swelling, muscles straining, as
I try to say something; anything.
He stalks over to a table in front of me I had failed to notice before; I was too busy watching him. At the sight of the things that littered its' surface I strain at my chains, fighting to move. I recognize shiny metal nipple clamps, some smooth and some clawed. An assortment of candles are already burning, rope, several large wooden shapes lay side by side. ‘Oh my god . . . the one on the end was covered in spikes.’
‘No! No way!’
I shake my head at him. “Mmph!”
He watches where my eyes go from him to the table. Slowly, his hands begin to fondle the items on the table. The leather items draw his attention the most, his hands tracing up and down the dark oiled surfaces. Almost in a trance I watch those hands with their long slender fingers caress each tool of pain and then set aside item after item. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, a quivering sensation that is threatening to turn into full blown . . . .
Those fingers stop, and I feel my eyes go wide.
“Oh yes. I think we’ll start with this.”
The chains are the only things that keep me from falling to the stone floor. I beg with my eyes, garbled words behind the gag make no sense as I try to plead with him. He moves to stand in front of me; his free hand traces my face, circling the gag stretching my mouth wide open. I can smell the leather and wax on his fingers. I am shaking as I stare into his icy blue eyes looking down at me so coldly.
‘What did I get myself into?’
‘I did it.’
“I see you are awake.” A tall man walks into the room, and I find my eyes drawn to him as I try to speak. My words come out as grunts. There is a gag in my mouth. 'How did I miss that?’
“There will be no need for you to talk. You know why you are here.”
I moan. I’m shaking a little, my eyes following him as he walks around the room. Torch lights lit the walls dimly from their brackets. I go rigid when I see what is hanging on the walls. He is fingering one of them and pulls it down from the metal hook.
“Mmmph.”
He smirks at me. “Do you like it? Braided leather over a solid oak handle. The snap is exquisite.”
It’s getting harder to breathe through my nose as I start panting, my throat swelling, muscles straining, as
I try to say something; anything.
He stalks over to a table in front of me I had failed to notice before; I was too busy watching him. At the sight of the things that littered its' surface I strain at my chains, fighting to move. I recognize shiny metal nipple clamps, some smooth and some clawed. An assortment of candles are already burning, rope, several large wooden shapes lay side by side. ‘Oh my god . . . the one on the end was covered in spikes.’
‘No! No way!’
I shake my head at him. “Mmph!”
He watches where my eyes go from him to the table. Slowly, his hands begin to fondle the items on the table. The leather items draw his attention the most, his hands tracing up and down the dark oiled surfaces. Almost in a trance I watch those hands with their long slender fingers caress each tool of pain and then set aside item after item. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, a quivering sensation that is threatening to turn into full blown . . . .
Those fingers stop, and I feel my eyes go wide.
“Oh yes. I think we’ll start with this.”
The chains are the only things that keep me from falling to the stone floor. I beg with my eyes, garbled words behind the gag make no sense as I try to plead with him. He moves to stand in front of me; his free hand traces my face, circling the gag stretching my mouth wide open. I can smell the leather and wax on his fingers. I am shaking as I stare into his icy blue eyes looking down at me so coldly.
‘What did I get myself into?’
***
So what do you think? Is this playtime or punishment? Maybe a bit of both?
I think it's play time. The instruments of torture seem to be just that and nothing else; nothing serious. And then there's the fact he tried to express that he 'did it' before anything started. I see this as a form of role-play, especially considering the fact he's wondering what he got himself into at the end AFTER confessing that he did it.
ReplyDeleteLOL. Perhaps. You saw a man chained to the wall? Indicative perhaps of what I usually write, mm, or the fact you saw that in preference as I left the main character's gender unknown. I love doing these where the reader can interpret the story in different ways. Thanks for commenting!
DeleteOh I like the rising tension here. It is a great expose on the dark side of activities such as S&M hinted at within the last line "What did I get myself into?". I actually saw a female in the role of the one being chained but that may be because of the background picture of the rose (which I may subconsciously associate with femininity) and words like "braided" and "stalked". I've read a lot of YA lately where men are always stalking and women are watching them stalk.
ReplyDeleteI think a strong man can stalk a man or woman, lol, but I get why you had that interpretation. Took me a minute to figure out the rose reference, I kept thinking 'there is no rose in that room!', lol! I'm glad you liked the scene; it was meant to be a tad iffy, even if the reader went with play time instead of torture time. After all, for so many s&m isn't just about the activities but the emotions that are felt along with the pain. Thanks for the comment!
DeleteI saw it as both, and saw them as both men. I think the one chained wanted this but is also afraid of both the activity and his own emotions. That's what I got out of his thoughts and reactions. :)
ReplyDelete~M
:D I love seeing other's vision of this. Thanks for sharing! I'm glad you enjoyed it; I really liked writing it too.
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