Cruel Water - Dee Palmer

1

My neck cracks with the stretch, tension in the muscles of my shoulders, back, and everywhere else evaporating into the dimly lit room that now reeks of satisfied lust and broken spirit. Drawing in a satisfied breath slowly through my nostrils, I step back and survey my most recent masterpiece.

There’s something so very beautiful about a face contorted with pain, raw, vulnerable and utterly truthful. They will grit their jaws, pinch their lips tight to prevent the howl of agony escaping, squeeze their eyes so tight in a valiant effort to take themselves anywhere other than here, with me. This is their truth in the face of their lies.

They tell me want this. They crave the pain I offer, beg me, and each one has been so utterly convincing—right up to the point where their bodies tell a different story that allows them into my dark world. Cries muffled by the rubber gag in their mouth, as they stoically endure what I so desperately need to deliver. Shock will widen their eyelids. Desire might darken their pupils for a moment before it’s too much, so much so that their eyes look like inky wells of hopelessness. Held breath and taut muscles are evidence of their level of endurance. Telltale twitches of parts of the body one would least expect reveal so much more than a desperate cry, but it’s in the eyes I see their truth. They might be self-confessed masochists, because I insist that they are, still this is not fun. This is beyond, this is something they do because…

Because I’m broken, I’m a challenge, and they think if they give me what I want, they’ll fix me. That I’ll change maybe, that I’ll be able to love. They are so very, very wrong.

I’m not broken; I’m cursed. As much as I might try to navigate around the proclivities of my predicament, I am left with the undeniable truth. I inflict pain because I need it. I need it to calm the demons in my soul, to quiet the storm that rages constantly in my head and to catch a moment of peace. A sadist by design, not by nature, yet I can’t deny how utterly captivating it is to witness someone giving themselves to me, completely.

It’s intoxicating, and I’ve long since given up any hope of my life being any different. All I can do is manage my expectations and theirs.

“Would you like some water?” I ask. I’m not a complete monster. Aftercare is something I don’t enjoy, but I know it’s necessary. She nods, her face wet with tears, cheeks flushed a deep red hue, almost the same as the blood smeared across her breasts. She was very brave; I have to give her that. She blinks, and fat tears drop onto my knuckles as I place the glass against her bottom lip, the gag unclipped and now balanced on her neck like some sort of kinky novelty necktie.

Her body is stretched taut against the St. Andrews cross in my own private dungeon. It’s frivolous to have a room just for my pleasure, I know, but it’s my club, and I make the rules.

Rule one: I don’t share.

Rule two: Actually, there aren’t many rules after rule one. No that’s a lie, there is one rule significantly more important than the no share rule; it’s the ‘L’ rule. Never speak, utter or even think the L word.

She blinks again, sucking down large gulps of water. Her nostrils flare with the continued need to fill her lungs with fresh air. Her chest rises and falls with each labored breath. Her firm, round breasts swell and glow with the a slick sheen of perspiration coating them. Blazing across her body like a Jackson Pollock, her once pale skin is littered with an intricate pattern of stripes, slashes, and the mottled hues of burgeoning bruises.

It’s glorious.

I deftly unhook the restraints, and she falls limply against my naked chest. I tense. Not with her weight but with the soft sigh she releases and the tightness of her arms secured around my neck when I lift her in my arms. She winces when I move, and pain clearly flashes through her when I lay her carefully on the bed.

“Can I get you anything else?” The icy chill of indifference races the length of my spine, and I find myself straightening to full height, towering over her. Her response is innate, she shudders with a mix or worry and trepidation.

“No, no I’m fine. That was