31 julio 2018

Broken dolls

That night was different, so different that he decided to go out looking for him. He didn't remember how I told him he'd be dressed, just a place and an hour. He took a light shower to take off the sticky sweat from the hot summer night, called for a taxi and waited. While he waited, he thought about what it would be like to be a unknown person who had dared to stay with her the first night and after a brief exchange of words through the computer.
Yes, definitely, she liked to play on the edge of the precipice and feel that feeling, incomprehensible, of vertigo, that no experience made her feel it, but would he like that?
That aspect, in fact, mattered little or nothing to him. She only cared about enjoying that rapturous experience that completely overwhelmed her.
He got up, went to his darkroom where he kept all his toys, took the handcuffs, his black latex suit, the steel clamps, the balls and the short whip. When he grabbed the two-edged knife, a smile was drawn on his lips and a chill went all over his body, then he set out.
Today I would play again with another doll that, surely, at dawn, would end up broken at the bottom of a ravine.
That's how he liked to play her.

Image source: Pixabay