The electrified prod strapped into her cunt is a case in point. Creep dressed her for the occasion with leather mittens pulled up between her shoulder blades and locked to the choke collar stretching her neck. Of course, she is adorned in the inevitable pantyhose. He loves stretching them, like another skin, over her lower extremities. A tight corset limits her breathing and the pantyhose accentuate her long legs. She leans over a grubby kitchen table, wobbling in a pair of black high heels, reading from his iPad. She recites Percy Shelly’s “Medusa”. Deportment is strict. She must recite the lines while gazing at him. When she falters he presses the buttons on the remote sending a pulse of Faraday’s juice through her nethers to induce contractions. She must commit this poem to memory for he has promised her a session with the cane — a stroke for every faulted line. Creep is living in a romantic horror. He is beguiled by the grace that is hidden in the character of this whore. The sexual substance of his schizoid world is to design ordeals that arouse terror in her. This is such a gripping pleasure as he studies her struggle; her expressions of suffering in the memories he collects on his tablet. Yet, his tending and obsession to this seeming pray — has convoluted his lust. Fixated upon her, his gaze is becoming a mirror of himself.
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