He is a submissive who loves artists. One of those who comes to me to live a cinematic experience, a film in which I am the heroine. Or rather, more often, the Great Villain. The one who has an airtight plan to put the world at her stiletto heel. The one who will stop at nothing to achieve her ends.
I do not yet know which Great Villain I will be today. This is not our first meeting. I have already played a torturer before him, one who captures men to satisfy her bloodthirsty hunger. Or a feminist avenger, resolute in taking men to task for all their misdeeds. We have excellent memories of those. What I do know, tonight, is that the vial I have brought with me will be thrust under his nose, and that every time he inhales its acrid and toxic scent, he will gain an extra life. For the pleasure of my long opera gloves which will be tempted, each time, to take it away. To watch his eyes roll back under the pressure of my fingers, my nails at his throat.
A Tantalean torment: perishing endlessly at my hand, each time he returns to life.
Clouded by the poppers' toxins, his brain short-circuited by spikes of adrenaline, he repeats, again and again: "Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?"
I understand who I am as I plunge my gaze into his through my lace veil, as one plunges a blade into a beating heart.
"You want to know who I am, right, little one?
I am Death."
The sacred union of Eros and Thanatos, sealed by my fingers around his throat.
I think back to the exchange we had on arrival.
"Why do you like being choked that much?
- Because I love to feel powerless. And you, why do you like to choke someone?
- Because I love to feel powerful."
In a world where the powerful share the ultimate power to manipulate and destroy life, our consensual simulations, our end-of-world fucks, celebrate it. In sweat, tears, blood, and semen.
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