Cross-posted nearly verbatim from RG’s blog. –M
@remittancegirl (Remittance Girl) and I started to construct this little piece of back and forth Twitter fiction as an exercise to get over our respective writing blocks. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Twitter, it requires that the users post each post in 140 characters or less, so the writing is necessarily rather abbreviated and slightly telegraphic. We are using the hashtag #mbv_fic
At midnight on February 14th, Martha set out to get revenge for the years of neglect her husband had offered. She would show him the error of his ways. Her own desirability had never been in question – just his attention, and that could not be tolerated a moment more.
With steely resolve, she wriggled into the sleek, black leather dress & snuck out. She took his car – his ‘midlife crisis outlet’ and pulled it up, top down and revving loud in front of the velvet rope of the entrance to the most notorious fetish club in town.
Her stiletto heels were silent on the red carpet as she climbed the serpentine stairs, heart pounding. She’d read about this place, wondered about it, but never been. The leather-masked doorman appraised her brazenly from head to toe. Then, with a crook of a smile, opened the heavy door & waved her inside.
he wall of sound hit her first. Could heavy metal be sultry? But the music wasn’t half of it. Filling the huge room were strange grottos, like dioramas, each with some cruel looking device of restraint or punishment. Each observed by a group of rapt onlookers. Before she could see more, a voice behind her asked “Giver, Receiver, or Watcher?” The last sneered.
The speaker’s breath moved the tendrils of hair at the back of her neck and sent a wicked shiver of fear and anticipation down her spine. She wanted revenge. Would acting out on another do? She also craved attention. Any attention. “Can I do…both?”
Large, rough fingers grazed along the ridge from shoulder to collarbone. “You can do whatever you want, Ms Suburban Housewife, but no half measures. You’re brave for coming, but you’re not ready.” The mocking tone infuriated her, and she spun on him, “How dare you patronize me, you prick!” But even as the words emerged from her lips, the deep gray eyes caught her & held her in their thrall.
His deep chuckle menaced and promised all at once. His fingers drew her chin up to face him full. “Ah, there is fire in you. I know what you’ve come here looking for. I know what you crave. But,” he gave her a tight little smile, “are you willing to pay the price?”
“I’ve already paid my price, dammit!” She whined, feeling like a girl. “I’ve had enough of that. You know what I want? Fucking give me your balls on a platter and let me feed them back to you, thinly sliced! Does that sound like a deal?” she spat, glaring at him.
His steely eyes glinted; a predator’s smile spreading on full lips. His free hand took her shoulder and spun her. “This way, then.”
Before she could stop him, he was propelling her across the dark expanse of carpet towards a less crowded corner of the vast room. Here, on a small raised dais, stood a construct of steel and leather of obvious purpose. Standing by it, one nearly naked man, wearing nothing but a leather hood: slits at his eyes & a zipper where his mouth should be, he turned to them in eager expectation.
TBC on Twitter, #mbv_fic
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