The prompt: a door, nothing else. One rule, 500 words, no more.

The scene: a scream of torment.

Going head-to-head, transgressive, judged. One said it scared her too much to finish.

This is my offering, flaying my soul, so choose, choose wisely below.

**********The Thin Red Line**********

The soul-sucking whimpering rasped my throat dry, shredding it so bits of yes, no, maybe, oh fucking hell, no I can’t…

I can’t…

I ca—

…fell on deaf ears, my own ears.

Ears tuned to every breath, every damn barefoot step, pacing fup fup fup, the linoleum begging no don’t go, don’t leave me please…

The door snicked shut.

You can feel the locks, did you know that? They register different, odd, like thieves in the night cloaking your fantasies and your security in denial. No, you can’t, not now… not ever.

The door. My egress. My last refuge gone, vacuuming air from my lungs.

It hurt.

It fizzed and sizzled and sliced. I thrummed with it, my cock bulged, begged, ballooned with it.

Please…

Do it.

Do it now.

Sssh.

Slow strokes. Confident. Leather thick and rigid registered subtle taps and adjustments and a hiss of satisfaction.

Sometimes he gave himself away, allowing ingress to his agreement, to his needs, to the contract, the covenant, the holy grail of punishment and pleasures too rare and glorious to be contained in the crisscross of straps and iron cages and the bulging bit, the rigid rod ramming roughshod in air heated to molten with my silent screams for pity…

Do it.

It, it, it… clogged my throat. Wrong, so wrong to feel it there. There was fear, not desire, not release. There was me and the final portal to my weakness.

Growl it.

Groan it.

Stop it.

No, no, no…

The nail, ragged and blunt, carved a trail, a misdirection, a prod to the neck, the prominence pressured…

Pressured.

God, god, gods help me, help me breathe…

He left his presence lodged tight, so tight it startled in its harmlessness, in its meaningless envy of pain refocused. I lost all sense of time and place. Lost feeling. Lost sensation so severe, so beautiful and pure and holy and perfect, nothing else mattered but please morphed to more, more please, more.

The feeble glance was downward—down down down—imagination and senseless sensation rocketing to new heights, new lows, until all that remained was that single protuberance, that one interconnectivity of current, and though blind I saw what he promised.

It was too much, the offering was too much, more than I deserved, all that I needed, and I whistled past the gag and the lump and the hideous evidence of desire, my body’s betrayal a joy and a disgrace, and I longed for it to be over so I could hide my inner self under the coating of cum and sweat and blood and his insatiable appetite for capitulation.

War, war is like that, isn’t it? Parry, retreat. Attack, withdraw.

The first trickle of current hit. A tease, only a fucking tease, sensation feeding ass to cock to ass, looped through wires and rods and devices all at his command.

I nearly wept with joy.

Are you ready?

No, I don’t know, god, I don’t…

You will be.

 ***********Vote for all that apply**********