Shorts Extracts: Cigars and Submission – Part 2

Where it begins: Short Extracts: Cigars and Submission – Introduction.

 

It’s always the same. Same time, same evening; He’s a creature of habit. A freshly cut cigar, the smoke stained ashtray he refuses to wash, the lipstick of the last imprinted on the glass of the same dry whiskey – the exact same glass he refuses to wash. It’s always the same. She was always the same. An industry of crops by all means disposable. By all means recycle and he would never notice one from the other as to him they were all the same. Accept the new recruits. He favoured the fresh pickings. To him they were just damaged property. Damaged goods seeking new purpose. A purpose. One dictated by his cash on the clock. And he knew this.

He knew them better than most. Better than they knew themselves, and this was his greatest affliction. No, an affliction would be too kind – it was an obsession. He was addicted to the unfixable. The broken, the ruined – those beyond repair. But he also knew of beauty, as many were not without, he felt much desire in their despair. And beautiful she was. Even as she struggled to walk in her cheap, mangled heels he could see the beauty underneath the act. Like a subset of embers piercing through the vulgar runs of trashy eye-liner and excessive concealer, he craved the sparks of her purity with unsavoury thoughts.

Protruding her chattels she reaches up high and brings a close to the shredded remnants of cloth laid against the smoke-stained windows. Curtains – barely. Smoke stains, naturally. He acknowledges a trembling in her hands. “Don’t be shy, sweetness. There’s no pressure here, I assure you” – releasing the intoxication of the pale blue smoke, he leans against the headrest and reaches over to the bedside draw. As nerves run her skin and her throat begins to dry, her punishment of choice is laid out before her – pressed against the sheets of a bed that’s no stranger to the bloodshed of his ordnance.

Where she was broken he would make certain of her position; ridding her of any innocence that may possibly remain, he makes a subtle suggestion then offers her a drink. No doubt the poison which would quench her thirst would also play a role in the pain she would soon undergo. “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” – whispering every word she had no idea she wanted to hear, a smile breaks through. No doubt, her last. Reassurance, manipulation, inevitable submission on her behalf. Proceeding to pick every petal from a flower smelling so sweet, he kept one eye on the clock as to respect her services. For what is a man, if not a gentleman in the presence of a lady.

 

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