Friday, February 12, 2016

The Cost of Flying Too High

This week's Flash Fiction Challenge is The Subgenre Tango again!  I love these!  The Random Number Generator selected BDSM Erotica and Body Horror.  I had a little fun with this one!  Needless to say: NSFW, possible trigger warnings.

The Cost of Flying Too High

   The crack of the whip was pure ambrosia, the sensation so deliciously painful.  Lillian was ecstatic. Little ripples of pleasure shot through her body with each lash, making her bite her lip in a feeble attempt to contain herself.
   She tried to show some restraint, to hide her complete state of rapture.  She failed miserably,  writhing and moaning softly.
   Mistress Rita was not amused.  She had no tolerance for this shit, and she made it abundantly clear.
   "Lillian, I distinctly told you not to come unless you ask me first!  Did you hear me?!?"
   Lillian knew to respond immediately, or there would be consequences.
   "Yes, Mistress."
   Mistress Rita was quick to deliver punishment.  Lillian knew this all too well.  She had been very careless, and this was simply unacceptable.
   The dominatrix ordered her submissive to crawl on all fours to the toilet, and to scrub it with a toothbrush.  She did as she was told, and to her mistress' liking.
   "Lillian, when are you supposed to come?"
   Lillian looked up from the dirty bathroom floor, now covered in filth.  She felt ashamed for her lack of self control.
   "Only when you give me permission," she replied feebly.
   Mistress Rita narrowed her eyes, then a cruel smirk slowly crept across her face.
   God, she's so fucking hot, Lillian thought.  She struggled to hide her lusty feelings, to show her humility toward her master.  Mistress Rita stomped out of the room.
   "Come over here!"
   Lillian crawled to the parlor, where Mistress Rita was standing, hands on hips.  She kept her eyes to the floor, her head low.  If she dared look up, there would be consequences.  She stopped right at her mistress' feet, adoring the beautiful, high-heeled PVC boots with embossed silver accents.  Shudder.  So much perfection.
   Lillian was ordered to sit on the floor and to choose a picture of her liking to stare at until Mistress Rita returned from her errands.
   "Do not move!  If you move one inch, I will know.  And the punishment will be even more severe than what you have just experienced," Mistress Rita stated, emphasizing each syllable to ensure the sub understood.
   "Yes, Mistress," Lillian softly answered.
   As Mistress Rita left her apartment, Lillian's eyes automatically went to that painting; the one she always found herself staring at when her mistress wasn't looking.  She couldn't take her eyes off of it, and now, it was all she could see.
   The painting wasn't exactly a Rembrandt or a Monet, but there was something painfully beautiful about it.  In the painting, an elegant woman, completely nude, was suspended from a ceiling over a crowd of people by fishing hooks that supported her weight.
   But the most memorable and impressive aspect of the painting was the subject's face -- her look of sheer bliss and reckless abandonment.  She was in another world, free of all her troubles.
   That was what Lillian secretly longed for, all along.  She had to escape, to get away from the world of unwelcome pain and anguish.  The overdue bills.  The controlling and meddling mother.  Being abandoned by her husband.
   All of that went away, even for a little while, whenever she was playing the role of a submissive.  The feeling of having decisions made for her, of surrendering to the will of another, to giving herself over completely, was something so pure and beautiful.
   Lillian had no idea how long she had been staring at the painting.  She was lost in thought when the door opened.  She could feel Mistress Rita's gaze.  The pressure of being watched with so much malice made Lillian ache inside.  She wanted so much to be fucked, and at the same time, she felt completely ashamed.  She was so filthy.  She needed to be punished.  She craved the harsh treatment that only Mistress Rita could give.  She anxiously waited for her mistress to speak.
   "Slave, what made you choose this painting," Mistress Rita asked with a hint of sardonic amusement.
   "It's so beautiful," Lillian reverently spoke, her trembling voice barely above a whisper.  "I see the joy on her face, and I want to feel what she feels."
   Mistress Rita stood there, pensively.  She withheld her words, knowing how much the sub wished for her to speak.  Awkward silences were her specialty, and she used them as an instrument of pain.
   "You may look at me now."
   Lillian looked upon her goddess with worshipful eyes.
   "Lillian, I'm going out of town for two weeks.  You may not contact me while I am gone.  You are going to have to fend for yourself."
   Lillian could feel her heart sinking.  This was terrible news.  She listened, in complete silence.
   "You are going to request services from a suspension artist, and submit yourself wholly to the process.  When I return, you will have completed the experience.  I want pictures and video."
   Lillian felt her heart pounding in her chest.  She was terrified of heights.  And as afraid as she was of needles, the thought of being pierced with hooks was beyond anything she could fathom.
   And yet, her mistress commanded it.  She would never go against Mistress Rita's orders.  To do so would completely end the relationship, and she could not live without her.
   She packed Mistress Rita's bags for her, and humbly bade her farewell.  As she watched her mistress walk out the door, she could feel her heart reducing to tiny shards.
   Those shards cut away at her insides as days turned to nights, and then to days again.  Lillian couldn't eat, couldn't sleep.  Without her mistress, she was reduced to nothing.  Being without Mistress Rita was worse than any punishment she had ever been dealt.
   One morning, she wondered how much longer it would be.  A sudden panic shot through her like a bolt of electricity.  It shocked her into realization.  She ran to the calendar, and realized it was the last Friday she would be alone.  Mistress Rita was returning on Monday, and Lillian needed to find a suspension artist right away!  If she didn't, she would lose her beloved mistress forever.
   She called around, but everyone was already booked at least two weeks in advance.  There was no one available.
   Lillian looked up the seediest bars in town, and finally found one that suited her.  Happy hour would begin soon, and she hoped to find someone who was up for the task.
   A Shot in the Dark was a disgusting excuse for a dive bar, and absolutely perfect for Lillian's purposes.  It was, as the name suggested, very dark inside -- if not for the ambiance, then to hide the fact that it was rarely cleaned.  The smell of musty leather and pickled everything hung in the air.  Lillian was glad she dressed appropriately -- her black leather corset and denim cutoffs seemed almost like a uniform in this place.
   She took a seat at the bar, and ordered a shot of whiskey.  After making small talk with the bartender, she mustered up the courage to ask.
   "Hey, I've been thinking about doing body suspension, but it seems like everyone is already booked up."
   The bartender raised an eyebrow.
   "Really?!?  How soon are you wantin' to do this?  Is it for a special occasion?"
   "No, I just want to do it before I lose my nerve.  So, tonight, if at all possible."
   The bartender laughed and stepped back.
   "I'm sorry, sweetie.  I don't think anyone would be available on such short notice."
   Then, a burly, bearded guy sitting two seats down motioned for the bartender.  Lillian couldn't hear what they were saying over the loud music, but luckily the bartender relayed the message.
   "That's Sam," the bartender said as Sam raised his hand off the bar in a subtle wave.  "He says he knows a guy."
   Lillian thanked the bartender and tipped him generously.  She sat next to Sam, and he told her about an underground club nearby that he manages.  They did shows on Friday nights, and one of the guys who signed up for it had "pussed out."
   "Now, the guy who's handling things tonight is new.  We decided to give him a chance, because he's been bugging us forever."
   "No worries," Lillian replied, smiling.  "Everyone starts somewhere!"
   She was just happy to have found someone on such short notice.
   The underground club was in an abandoned warehouse.  It was even filthier than the bar.
   Sam escorted Lillian to the back, where a massage table was set up.
   A tattooed bald man was carefully inserting hooks into another man's knees.  He was lifted off the table, his head swinging to the floor.  The crowd cheered as he twirled and spun around.  Little trickles of blood started to drip from his knees, as he spread his arms wide over the crowd's heads.
   Lillian could feel the effects of the whiskey wearing off.  She needed some liquid courage, and fast!
   She looked over to the bar, and Sam stopped her.  He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.
   "Nope.  Trust me on this, you don't want any alcohol in your system.  This is an amazing experience, and you want to be fully aware of every sensation."
   Lillian shuddered with fear, but she nodded in compliance.  Sam handed her a book with pictures of different types of suspension.  She looked through all of them, and settled on her favorite.  It was just like the woman in the painting.
   "Oh, that's the 'Angel.'  It's really cool, but are you sure you don't want to start off with an easier one?"
   Lillian shook her head.  This was probably the only time she would ever do this.
   "Go big or go home, right?"
   Sam smiled, shaking his head.
   The suspension artist studied the picture, and Lillian could sense some slight hesitation.  He motioned for her to lay down.  He marked the spots to insert the hooks, and proceeded to pierce her skin in eight different places.
   Sam took the microphone and introduced Lillian to the crowd.
   "Put your hands together, ladies and germs!  We're popping this little lady's cherry tonight!  That's right, this is her first time doing this!"
   The crowd cheered twice as loud as it did for the last performer.  After the last hook was put in, and they tested the gear, Lillian was lifted off of the table.
   They started slowly, just barely lifting her up.  It was like nothing Lillian had ever experienced before.  She closed her eyes, and all her problems fell away.  She was flying.  She felt free.
   She could feel herself swinging back and forth.  It was exhilarating.  She wanted to go even higher. She looked back at Sam and pointed up.  He made an OK gesture, and raised her up.
   It was amazing.  She loved floating about the crowd, soaring.  She wanted to go higher.
   She motioned, and again, was raised up.  After flying some more, she motioned again.  Sam shook his head.  She requested to go higher again.  He rolled his eyes, and finally gave in.  Higher she went, until she could nearly touch the ceiling.
   It wasn't until a few minutes of swinging that she realized something was wrong.  She was falling off of the hooks.
   She couldn't control it.  The suspension artist scrambled to lower her safely, but she fell off completely.  Her body rolled as she hit the floor.
   When she came to, everyone was looking at her, asking if she was OK.
   No stranger to pain, Lillian mustered a smile and slowly stood up.  Her body hurt like a motherfucker, but she would be OK.  She was ushered to the back office, where Sam and a female bartender looked her over.
   "Ooh, that doesn't look good," he said when he examined her back.  "You got health insurance?"
   Lillian shook her head.
   "Here.  Take these," he said as he handed her a pill bottle.  "Don't mix them with alcohol.  I'll check up on you tomorrow.  What's your number?"
   Lillian gave him her phone number, and he helped her hire an Uber driver to take her home.
   "I'm sorry I couldn't drive you; I have to shut this place down tonight.  Take no more than two pills tonight, three if you're absolutely in fucking pain.  But don't overdo it; these babies are pretty potent."
   Lillian nodded, and headed home.
   That night, the pain was even more excruciating than before.  The bruises must be setting in, she thought to herself.
   She had already taken one pill, so she decided to take two more, keep ahead of the pain.
   She didn't wake up until mid-afternoon on Saturday.  The pain was even worse than before.  And it wasn't just on her back.  The pain had spread through her arms and legs, and felt like it was searing into her like a fire brand.  She took some deep breaths, trying to manage it.  It was unbearable.
   I must have a high tolerance to these pills, she thought.  Pain pills were a regular part of her diet whenever she was recovering from Mistress Rita's punishment.
   She popped some more, but they didn't seem to work.  The pain just wouldn't go away.  She was half-conscious, but still feeling the intense sensation throughout her body.  She looked at the back of her right arm, where a particularly painful sensation was pulsating.  It was black and red.
   This can't be right, she thought.  She looked at other parts of her body, where her creamy, clear skin had turned horribly ugly.  She wasn't sure, but she thought she was smelling something ... like decay.  Her head was swirling, her body nearly convulsing with chills.  She grabbed a bottle of water, and took two more pills.
   Within seconds, Lillian collapsed to the floor, her head rolling back.  She was aware of her surroundings, but completely unable to move her body.  It was moving on its own, seizing.  She was faintly aware of foaming at the mouth.  She was the helpless puppet of an alien force, rattling her body and thrashing it about like a dog with a chew toy.
   In a moment, it was over.  She wanted to throw up, to expel the poison.  But her body wouldn't let her.  She lay immobile, unable to help herself, or call for help from anyone else.  She was all alone with The Pain.
   All this time, she thought she was in love with Mistress Rita.  Maybe the truth was, she was really in love with The Pain.  It was The Pain that had delivered her from her mundane life.
   The Pain which had helped her find her identity.
   The Pain which had made her forget.
   The Pain which had made her truly alive.
   As the hours passed, The Pain made itself more and more at home inside her body.  It ate her flesh alive, slowly.  It feasted upon all that her life had become, and all that she ever would be.
   It consumed her, little by little.  The Pain was gradually taking over her, enveloping her in its all-consuming fire.
   Its chosen vessel, the flesh-eating bacteria, had found its way into Lillian's body on that fateful night when she soared too high.  The Pain had passed the point of no return; she was now completely Hers.
   As promised, Mistress Rita returned from her trip on Monday, with plans to reunite with her sub.  She would allow Lillian to feed her dinner, then massage her feet if she behaved well enough.
   She called out for Lillian, even stamped her foot to emphasize the immediacy of her demands.  But there was no answer.  Lillian was no longer hers to abuse.
 The Pain, her true mistress, had brought her into Her own.  

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