Chapter 2
I didn't know when I met my dark prince that it would come to this. I was simply
swept away by the romance of it all, as anyone would be.
There I was, sitting in the park one day, watching the world go by, when he sat
down beside me, and spoke:
"I have a fantasy, it goes something like this, you are alone in your room one
evening, and I come to you, and order you to take off your dress, which you do,
and then I leave, you're just standing there, naked." he laughed then, open and
loud. I laughed too. Inside, I felt my shadow flutter, almost as if it could
leap from me and into his lap. I was torn between playing it cool, or forcing my
tongue down his throat, I sensed both would be equally inappropriate. I settled
for what I hoped was a coy, yet compliant looking smile. I knew perfectly well
that his laughter was simply a defence, should I have been offended, he would
simply have passed it off as a joke, and told me not to be so overly sensitive.
But it wasn't a joke, and I was smitten.
He did come to me, several days later.
I was in the cinema; he silently slid into a seat behind me, midway through the
film. I had expected to feel tense, my body to have stiffened at the thought of
him so close. But instead I felt on relief, and a liberating sense of
resignation. His gloved hand crept over my shoulder, and came to rest at m left
breast, he pulled the nipple, hard, between thumb and forefinger. He whispered
into my neck "take off your knickers and give them to me."
I did so.
"Spread your thighs, and lift your dress higher, I want to be able to see you."
I did so.
He left as silently as he had come.
The following day, at work, a message:
>Little one, you are truly beautiful. I long to caress you, to feel your warm,
soft darkness surround me, To cause you much suffering, that you may come to
understand the ways of life. I wish to run my tongue along your bruised, aching
flesh, to dab at your cuts with a cool cloth.
I didn't reply, there was no need. And anyway, I was to happy to concentrate,
simply staring at the blinking screen in front of me.
It was maybe two weeks before I saw him again; I was in company this time. He
took my arm, gently guiding me out of the crowds, and into a quiet corridor. "I
have something for you" he said. Into my hand he pressed the cold metal, a key,
old, small and dull. I looked up at him expectantly, "keep this safe," he said
"you'll need it soon."
That night I was filled with a nervous excitement, I slept fitfully, and the
strangest dreams came to me, one of which seemed to go on and on forever. In the
dream, I had been back at home, walking through the bustling throngs of people
in the noisy souk. Above the sound of the wailing vendors, I became aware of
another noise, a low, guttural cry. I was aware of how sticky and hot I felt,
but overwhelmed by curiosity as to what could be making those sounds. I followed
the direction of what was now a low pitched moan, up an alleyway, past the stray
cats that gathered around the littered doorsteps, past the young Arab boys,
huddled in a circle, poking at a baby gecko with a stick. I came to a wooden
gate, and pushed it open onto a courtyard.
There before me, a woman, she had been gagged, her eyes wild, a violent storm
rising up within them. As I slowly drank in the scene I noticed her hands were
tied, one to each of the posts she stood between, her ankles the same, splaying
her and holding her prostrate. Three figures faced her, their backs toward me.
One held a strap in his hand; he had it drawn back ready to strike her already
very striped skin. The welts criss-crossed over her breasts and belly, furiously
purple. Another man was tracing his fingers over her cunt, slowly, and I
realised then that the noises I had heard had been the sounds of her ecstasy, as
her body bucked as much as its restraints would allow, her pleasure finally
spent. One of them turned to face me; he was smiling, his black eyes shining in
the moonlight. He stepped forward, and opened his mouth to speak, and to my
utter disappointment, I awoke.
