A thin slice of prose

by Susan Abraham

...it was Barbara.
She walked over, smiling.

Did she come with her whip in tow? She the famous Dominitrix and the strange cold woman whom he loved.

The old Pete looked around but the new Pete who was a dangerous shadow of himself, had gone. So had the flashing neon lights, the police car siren and those terrifying blood stains. He checked himself for cuts and wounds but there were none.

He thought once more about the new Pete's lingering aftershave scent and remembered with an odd wistfulness, those pudgy fingers that had tried to grab him...he, who was the old Pete. Was this hopeful lover none other than a reflection of himself?

Barbara had grown closer. Slowly, she pressed her face down, next to his. Studying the vision of his confident mistress with her pert body, this time he was determined to play the master. He and he alone, would rule.

She was destined to be his unofficial trollop and slut. He would tie her with imaginary fastened cuffs, to a bed from where she had once locked him.

His strong fingers would twist her shoulder blades into a demented perfection. He would cover her mouth and stare into her eyes. His hand would become iron and he would glare like a waiting gun.

He would smash her teardrops to stop the struggle.

Together, they would playact warm reggae nights in Mexico, stay decked ashore in Peru or swing into Tripoli for a coffee.

His eyes would move where hers moved, touch what she touched.

So watch her the trollop and slut, jump one piano key after another. A saloon girl from a Western as she pounced, flounced, danced and smashed a composition to splinters.

Later, they would do the most ordinary thing like order a pizza and....

*This was my contribution to a short story challenge amongst a few bloggers, that was never used. I changed the names, settings and added on words. Someday, I'll may use it for my own fiction.