The Satin Strangler Blogs (satire about a female serial killer)

Prologue

He listened for her, only to find his own labored breaths.

Where did she go?

Lying nude in the basement room lit only by black lights, he tried to look at anything but himself.  His middle aged body was hardly a sight to behold in a fitted Armani suit, let alone tied down by stockings to a bed, sweating in the heat.  His pale skin was now fluorescent blue like a corpse in a cheap horror movie.

A low rumble was accompanied by the rattling of shot glasses on the end table.  It felt like the subway trains were right there in the room.

He angled his neck as far as possible, trying to spot her.  She must have been somewhere near the foot of the bed in a part of the room not visible from his limited vantage point.

His mind raced.  Did he remember to take his driver’s license and credit cards out of his wallet?  He was in such a hurry when he left the office that he couldn’t remember.

Would she find out who he was?

A hissing sound was followed by the scent of burning wax.  She was extinguishing the candles.  It was only a matter of time now.

Resting his head back against the bed, he saw only the red ceiling glowing.

Only hell could be that red.

Another hiss, and another puff of burning wax scent.  Another.  Then another.    With every hiss the candlelight faded, yielding to the red glow above him.  The ceiling seemed to be closing down on him.

Rose scented perfume mixed with the next puff of candle smoke.  She was getting closer.  He strained his head a few inches to the right and finally spotted her.  Her red lingerie was glowing.  She looked more like a demon than, well, than whatever she was.

She bent over to blow out another candle, causing the lower edge of the lingerie to ride just above the tops of her stockings.  On another day he might have enjoyed the view, but tonight was different.  This was becoming too much of a production.  He had to be awake at a meeting in a few hours.

Get on with it.

He tried to flex his arms against the stockings, only to feel a scab along his wrist tear open.  His hands bulged from the pressure of the blocked blood flow.  The stockings around his ankles were equally taught, threatening to induce cramps each time he applied any resistance.

There was no way to escape, even if he wanted to.

One more candle and then she would attend to him.  Anxiety and ecstasy bubbled up to the surface within him, about to boil over.  His chest pounded; he was panting like a wild beast.

The last candle went out.  A single pinpoint of yellow streetlight squeezed through the boarded-up window and pierced the room, a reminder that the rest of the world was still out there somewhere.  But everything else was red lingerie and red ceiling.

She rose from the candles and turned to face him.  Wisps of lingerie glowed like flames around her.  Her face was barely visible.

She knew not to speak.

In a blink she was stalking the perimeter of the bed, checking the knots in the stockings along the bedposts.  Smiling, she ran the tip of a red fingernail down his chest, enough to sting but not enough to draw blood.  He writhed in an attempt to evade the touch but remained almost motionless against the restraints.

What was she doing?  She knew not to touch him.

She removed her stockings and dangled them along the faint scratch mark on his chest.  The front of her lingerie slid open, exposing a glowing blue scorpion tattoo coiled along her left breast.  She secured the stockings in each hand and then tested their force by snapping them taught in the air.

The scorpion retracted under the lingerie.

She pounced on him, straddling his chest and tightening the stocking around his neck in a single motion.  The bed undulated and creaked under the force.

Every muscle in his body clenched as survival instincts took over.  He sucked in wisps of air as she tightened the stocking with all her force.  Each attempt to breathe generated a high pitched noise resembling a pig squeal.

The pain in his neck was severe.  He could no longer swallow.  Saliva and tears streamed across his face.

His chest heaved but he could no longer breathe.   His face engorged with blood and his vision blurred from the pressure.  His ears were ringing.

He was completely at her mercy.

The red glow faded into darkness.

A tidal wave of euphoria washed away the chaos, the loathing and the terror, and then receded to reveal only tranquility.

Reprinted from: http://thesatinstranglerblogs.blogspot.com/2011/11/prologue.html