Other stories for this prompt

"I am slowly forgetting her here" Dante whispered to himself "I did this for her and I let myself be punished in her place." Dante rubs his cracked and dry hands on the cold stone floors trying to get his mind of the past. "I can't let myself be distracted with things in the past" Dante hissed "I need to remember I'm doing this for her." He starts to hear the guard's footsteps coming towards his cell again. I must not be

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Being punched in the face for the first time is always a shock. Even with the gloves, it still hurts, and that mouth guard, well, sometimes it does mor harm than good.

I staggered against the rails and spit into the bucket, feeling around with my tongue. Are my teeth in tact? Yes.

"You out, Sam?" Called the ref.

"No!" I yell, adjusting my bandana and flying towards my opponent again. For a little thing, she is surprisingly strong and fast. She lands an uppercut and swift solar plexus blow that leaves me winded before plowing me over.

She pulls...

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We spent the last 36 hours in bed ticking off everything from the list, blindfold food tasting, leather fetish, school girl, french maid, alien, headmaster, Orient Express, aristocrat and gardener, furries, blind date, highwayman, pirate, rock star groupie. traffic cop.

Miriam hoped that would let her off the hook, no more sex for at least a few weeks. She was fed up of always having to be someone else.

Did Steve ever want her from the start or did he always regret commitment and act like he had the choice of dozens of women?

Tall, black hair (natural) even in...

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I was not going to give him the satisfaction of see me cry. I wasn’t going to beg or cry. Somehow, a blindfold was better. This routine of binding and blindfolding me before torturing me had been going on for days...maybe even weeks. It was best that I didn’t see what was coming. I didn’t want to look at him either and I didn’t want him to see the tears or fear in my eyes.

And he was at it again. The kicks and punches....it was almost like clockwork. I switched off completely. There was no point in screaming and...

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The sweetest honey was the one they daubed on his lips.

This wasn't really torture; not in the traditional sense. Instead of pain, he was given touches of pleasure.

Simple pleasures - gentle whispers, the smell of bread, the touch of soft wool against his cheek.

After a few days, he wondered if they really wanted him to talk, or if they wanted him to stay. If they wanted him to remain there, relying on them, content to be with them until the end of his days.

To call him a pet would be too extreme, but the principle was...

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It was happening again. Blindfolded, naked, cold and shivering she sat on a chair. She could see herself, as if she was detached from her body. Blood and saliva dripped from her lip and her right eye was swelling from where her attacker had punched her. She had tried to fight him off but he had sneaked up from behind and wrapped his arms around her. She had thought she would suffocate as he squeeze the breath from her body. Blackness surrounded her as she passed out. When she came to she was in the boot of car. She couldn't...

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He had been happier when he was unhappy.

It was difficult to fully explain; his days of being an asocial shut-in were, upon reflection, paradoxically better than his life now. The words had flowed then, from his mind to his keyboard to the story, he could see and imagine vividly what he did not have.

Now, with a college degree, a good job, a new car, a girlfriend and a house in the hills, he was a markedly happier, and thus unhappier, man. He couldn't finish anything he set his mind to. His efforts were as half a page of...

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Drip. Drip. Drip. The blood plopped to the concrete floor like a leaky faucet. He contemplated about the throbbing pain he felt with every plop.

He enjoyed that feeling. Concentrating so much on one pain over and over again. The first time he asked his boyfriend to blindfold him and punch in him the face - his boyfriend thought he was being dirty.

"You like it rough..." he had coyly responded.

The problem was it stopped being about the pleasure and more about the pain. He wanted to feel the warm liquid glop from his mouth and puddle to his...

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I had to bind myself together. I could feel pieces of me falling away, an arm, my left toe, my sense of grace under pressure. My lips struggled to speak as my tongue became unattached, my teeth loosened in my gums. My heart threatened to beat itself right out of my body, and I feared that it actually would.

The curse of unbeing is a cruel one indeed. I thought this as I wound the linen around my eyes, working to keep them in my skull. I wondered what I could have done to anger someone of such great power....

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It was white. That was something that was abnormal about the entire situation. What was not something that one thought of when being beaten.

He wondered if perhaps it was heaven trying to tell him that he was closer than he though. He hoped that it was finally the light at the end of the tunnel, but when the next blow from the stick hit him across the back, he knew he had no such luck.

A small well of blood slowly came up his throat. It almost felt like a terrible hiccup to him. One of those hiccups that...

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About the prompt

Originally displayed on:
October 27, 2010


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