Contributor: Bint Arab
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He took her to the basement and stood aside at the entrance, wringing his hands.
She walked into a cavernous space surrounded by open-faced brick walls but with no interior dividers. Although the air was dry, the place smelled like a barbecue grill and unwashed laundry; the combination of the two killed her appetite. She walked up to the bed-sized table in the center which caught her eye first, but the X-shaped wooden cross he’d erected just beyond it grabbed her attention. Wrist and ankle bindings dotted each arm of the cross. Candles about 3 feet long leaned in a corner next to a brazier filled with grey coals and a set of tongs. The adjoining wall to her right displayed every torture instrument imaginable: whips, meat hooks, paddles, and…a peacock feather? Restraints of all kinds hung on the left wall, and she eyed the studded-leather bridles and eyeless masks with distaste. She turned to the wall behind her, where the old man still hovered by the door. Shelves on either side of him presented neon-colored vibrators and dildos, one as large around as her biceps. She grimaced.
Sicko, she thought. This guy is some freak. . .
She turned away from him and rapped on the table, but the hard wood absorbed the thuds. She had no doubt the whole basement was soundproof. A rope coiled on the table’s surface like a bored asp, a ball-gag rested next to it, and an ankle bar stretched across the foot of the wooden surface. A heavy chain linked the ankle bar with the ceiling, and she looked up. Give me a break. The full-length mirror was beyond tacky! But the pulley that dripped chains could be useful…
"Well? Do you like it?"
She turned to him. "Standard rates apply."
His beady eyes darted as he protested, "You’ll find no better! This is the best S&M dungeon in–"
"Look–" she made a show of checking her wrist. "–I have to be at my next appointment in an hour. Take it or leave it."
He licked his lips, considered her a moment. "Okay. But I get to watch."
She shrugged. "Whatever. My crew will be here first thing in the morning to get rid of all this crap and make the set ready…"
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Born in Baghdad, raised in Brooklyn, living in Texas, Bint Arab is perpetually out of place and comfortable with that. She is an emerging writer, and she administers the writers' forum at www.bibliophilia.org/forum/index.php
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- -
He took her to the basement and stood aside at the entrance, wringing his hands.
She walked into a cavernous space surrounded by open-faced brick walls but with no interior dividers. Although the air was dry, the place smelled like a barbecue grill and unwashed laundry; the combination of the two killed her appetite. She walked up to the bed-sized table in the center which caught her eye first, but the X-shaped wooden cross he’d erected just beyond it grabbed her attention. Wrist and ankle bindings dotted each arm of the cross. Candles about 3 feet long leaned in a corner next to a brazier filled with grey coals and a set of tongs. The adjoining wall to her right displayed every torture instrument imaginable: whips, meat hooks, paddles, and…a peacock feather? Restraints of all kinds hung on the left wall, and she eyed the studded-leather bridles and eyeless masks with distaste. She turned to the wall behind her, where the old man still hovered by the door. Shelves on either side of him presented neon-colored vibrators and dildos, one as large around as her biceps. She grimaced.
Sicko, she thought. This guy is some freak. . .
She turned away from him and rapped on the table, but the hard wood absorbed the thuds. She had no doubt the whole basement was soundproof. A rope coiled on the table’s surface like a bored asp, a ball-gag rested next to it, and an ankle bar stretched across the foot of the wooden surface. A heavy chain linked the ankle bar with the ceiling, and she looked up. Give me a break. The full-length mirror was beyond tacky! But the pulley that dripped chains could be useful…
"Well? Do you like it?"
She turned to him. "Standard rates apply."
His beady eyes darted as he protested, "You’ll find no better! This is the best S&M dungeon in–"
"Look–" she made a show of checking her wrist. "–I have to be at my next appointment in an hour. Take it or leave it."
He licked his lips, considered her a moment. "Okay. But I get to watch."
She shrugged. "Whatever. My crew will be here first thing in the morning to get rid of all this crap and make the set ready…"
- - -
Born in Baghdad, raised in Brooklyn, living in Texas, Bint Arab is perpetually out of place and comfortable with that. She is an emerging writer, and she administers the writers' forum at www.bibliophilia.org/forum/index.php
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Author:
Bint Arab
