“Now, I will release these chains and you will stay still, understood?”
I nod.
He fusses with the lock, then a click later the chains fall to the ground. I still feel the pain of his touch, but nonetheless, remain incredibly still. I am disgusted beyond comprehension but the red button is not to be taken lightly.
Between the pain of him roughly rubbing my body and the shooting scorching flames on my skin, I am changed into new clothes.
A frail patchy cloth that barely covers me is taken off. Domino takes a step back and observes his companion, me, like I am a painting or sculpture. He hums to himself then grabs my body and thrusts me to the wall.
My body seizes with pain. I try my best to remain still and quiet. He plays with my body as though he is kneading dough, his pleasure is my agonizing disgust.
I look upwards at the brown swirls of sand in the ceiling, slowly breathing so I don’t react to his clutch. My eyes glaring over to the remote he left on the table. I eye that button every time my instincts convince me to do anything.
He wraps his arms around my chest then lets out a sigh of relief, “You’re exactly the size that was promised. I am pleased.”
I stand in my all of my naked glory fighting the desire to run away, and more importantly, fighting the innate desire to fall to the ground from the immense pain overtaking me. I keep telling myself that until I find out why the button inflicts so much pain I should not, I must not agitate it. He pulls my hand gently which surprises me, and leads me to the door. I walk barefoot along the sand covered ground trying desperately not to step on any sharp objects; I doubt they offer tetanus shots here.
The walls are a dirty beige color and feel like the sand I am walking on. That’s when the most ironic thought ever popped into my mind. I actually take time from this horrendous situation to feel grossed out for being in a mud hut.
I am led to the adjacent room, the bathroom. The décor I noticed before is present in the bathroom too which has me thinking it isn’t décor.
I am probably on some off-the-grid type of country that for a reason beyond my knowledge chooses to forego elegant design. I mean, would it really hurt your exiled clients to have ceramic flooring in the bathroom, a towel supply closet, an actually shower! A drain in the ground is not sufficient plumbing for any living situation.
If you are doubting how uncomfortable this situation is, allow me to enlighten you. I am completely disgowned, nope, that isn’t a gown, it’s a large cloth. I am de-clothed, like some kind of dog, in what can only be called a washroom with a fancy man who thinks a little too much of himself going to town on my own physical body. Yes, it is uncomfortable, to say the least. He has this unusual obsession with looking at my body like a snobby art critique before making a dumb remark about an ancient piece of art. He glares at me over and over with this strange twinkle in his eyes all while never letting go of any part of me. Be it my hand, my arm, my waist, my hips, anything with flesh that is mine, he has his hands on.
Usually, I would offer a sarcastic remark to diffuse my tension. That is my MO for any awkward or uncomfortable situation but I dare not displease this fancy Domino or the remote he carries around.
He plays with every roll and crack my body has to offer and I simply look up trying to control, restrain my natural bodily reactions. He brushes me up against the wall, then takes two steps backwards, staring at me in a perverted way. “Would you like to be greeted?” He whispers as he sticks his repulsing tongue from his tensed lips. I look around for the red button, unable to see it my body relaxes.
“Ah, yes!” He sighs. “The remote is not here.” I begin to shake; uncontrollably I shake and tremble. Domino becomes annoyed, “No, that is too much movement. Stop it, now.”
My eyes fill with tears as I look down to the ground terrified of the wrath of his displeasure. “I will stop, I’m sorry. It hurts so much.”
“I don’t take no for an answer.” “I will stop.” I firmly say as tears flood down my cheeks, still shaking, slowly getting lower to the ground with my knees failing me.
“This is getting in the way of my greeting.” He says with pinched lips.
“I’m sorry. I will stop…” I weakly sob.
He is growing angrier. His nostrils flare then he shouts, “Jessie!”
That ear piercing screech is that the last thing I remember before waking up in the other room, naked, on the floor, shackled with bruises covering my body.