Hercules in ebony

Antonia opened her eyes to bizarrity: two gigantic, sinewy, cocoa-colored calves slimming to ankles slipped sockless into polished black Oxfords…planted flatly on a concrete ceiling. Or rather, she realized, as consciousness returned more fully (accompanied by temples quite a-burst) – the dress-shod feet were not upon ceiling but upon floor, and it was she the upside-down. Antonia tried a cautious wriggle. Expertly bound; someone knew their ropework. She was tethered up by the ankles like a Chinese butchershop window chicken. Her face was hot, engorged by blood raced down. A ball-gag distended her jawbones and pushed all breath through insufficient nostril space. She had idea none where she was, what had happened, or why.

“Good, good. You’re awake.” A cavernous, stone-god voice. “I suppose we’ll sit you up now. That way we can chat.”

Her world swung around, and she was seated brusquely on a tiny wooden chair, still entirely roped at the wrists and ankles. An enormous dark chin with caricaturish dimple filled her view as the gag was removed. When he stepped back, Antonia saw the whole of him: seven feet of gleaming onyx brawn in white tux shirt and black short-shorts (out of which bulged thighs juicy with steroids). His face was rectangular and rageful. Under his nose a Zappa mustache lurked, and his eye-whites glowed with volcano-hearted magma. For possibly the first time in her adult life, Antonia felt quietly afraid.

“Ms. LoveLove-Lahore. I’ll get straight to the point. Wittingly or not, you’ve committed the most atrocious of crimes against me. Now you know, I subscribe to the Hammurabi code of law – an eye for an eye, yes? Thus I aim to retaliate in just proportion to the evil of your misdeed.”

“My kind sir,” Antonia replied (even in fear could she affect a charming bravado, a measured levity), “I am woefully ignorant of any wrongdoing. May I inquire as to what my crime might be?”

“Indeed. It appears that you’ve slept with my man.”

~ by kingzoko on February 22, 2014.

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