I Survived The Witch [#1] ✓ [Follow Freelove to Read]

## Bell 03 A4CC15 21-03-04

Private Chapter 18 after this.

Dedication for actually caring enough for my story to ask for an update ❤

The sound of a whip rebounded from the screen.  A clip of Bell and a nice cold beer—that’s what I have now.  The whip again, and again.  The screen turns from a door to a man who is in a corner, he’s huddled up in a small ball and cringed every time the whip slashed down on whatever it was hitting.  The man was skinny and small; he lacked a shirt but still had brown pants and sneakers on.  He was dirty and had a few cuts across his chest.

The whip came down again and he flinched at it—even if the sound was quite a ways off in the distance.  “Please, please ma’am, I mean you no harm.” The man whimpered as the whip cracked again.  The screen panned to the right and showed a surgical table made of leather and plastic.  The whip snapped down again directly on the table, slapping hard into the leather.  “Please ma’am.”

The whip cracked again, but this time stayed on the table.  It’s a flail of sorts with three strands of smooth leather, no knots, and rounded ends.  Fabric seemed to peel of its ends like it’s been used enough to start to fall apart.  The screen panned more showing a large hand with a pearl bracelet on the wrist.  The camera followed this arm up to a black strap on the shoulder.  The person with the whip was massive.  The camera rolled over to a face, her face.  She had a double chin, puffy cheeks; black hair went down just past her shoulders, dark eyebrows and cold green eyes.

The screen zoomed out from here.  The woman had somehow managed to get herself into a solid black leather top that’s as tight as it will go against her body.  This shined leather took her otherwise floppy body and rounded it out into a perfect ball that reached nearly two and a half feet out in front of her. 

It appeared that one wrong move and the leather would simply tear.  This leather wrapped tight around her thighs leaving her legs bare like her arms.  She didn’t look fast or fit but she looked like she would still be able to simply overpower someone smaller than her, especially if they didn’t have anywhere to run.   

She dropped the flail to her side and stepped around the table, “No please…” the man was heard, but not seen.  Her lips parted and showed crooked yellow teeth.  She enjoyed the man in fear.

“No!” he shouted as she stepped into such a place to block him in.  The camera turned to show her back as the man stood up in an attempt to defend his self.  It didn’t go well.  She lifted the flail up and after he tried to get on punch on her brings down Thor’s hammer.  The sound of the whip on skin was much more deafening and loud that it was on the table.  She brought her hand up and her wrath down on him a second time.  The man sunk just as fast as he popped up and only whimpered from the corner.

“Mommy told you to behave.  This is what happens when you don’t behave.” She finally spoke, her voice raspy and aged.  She brought her pain down on him five or six more times before backing up and slowly bending over.  When she came back up one of his ankles was in her fist.

She lifted, and like a bodybuilder would lift a kid she picked the man up by his ankle as if it was nothing.  Looked like she had strength after all too.  She brought his ankle up to her eye level and his body dangled upside down.  She slowly rotated her arm around her body until it was behind her and, holding him over her back slowly moved back to the table.

He was limp upside down and there was fresh blood running down his back and arms.  Some of that blood runs off his hands as they drag on the floor.  But he wasn’t unconscious, just crying.  “Why did this have to happen to me?”  He muttered as the screen zoomed in on his face, “Why me? What have I done?”  She walked back up to the table and looked at it, “Emily… I miss Emily.”

His eyes open, full of rage.  “Emily!”  He yelled life back to his body.  “You and your damn friends killed her! YOU KILLED HER.”  The man twisted in her hold and grabbed at her exposed legs, trying to scratch at them but only covering her cafes with his own blood.  She took note of this newfound resistance and reached a second arm over her shoulder.

With one heave and both hands she pulled his body over hers and slammed him into the table.  Air gushed out of him as his head rolled off the other side and his hands dropped over it, still again.  He struggled for breath as she pulled him back up and situated him properly on the table. “Behave!” she growled, leaving him be. 

He kept still there for a bit, looking at the hanging light bulb above, as she moved away and returned with the whip once more ready and what looked like a small box opener.  “Stay still while I claim you.  You will be mine.  You move I’ll have to punish you.”

His breaths came out short again as he muttered, “why me?” in almost a whisper.  She lowered her head down over his exposed chest and wiped a palm across it, smearing away blood.  She slid the blade out for the box cutter and descended on the spot she chose.  The moment the blade touched his skin he snapped out of the trance the overhead slam dunk put him in.  He tried to slide away.

She was fast, much too fast for her size.  She put the blade down and had the flail in her hand, slashing him across the face and neck like it was God’s reckoning.  His body arched at the pain.  And her fingers went for his neck, not intimidated by the freshly opened wounds.  “This will be a lot less painful if you just relaxed.  I can make you bleed all day.”

His face was red with anger and shaking slightly but he didn’t move a muscle.  She took her hand off his neck, dropped the whip, and reacquired her box cutter.  Again she went into the same spot before and began carve into his flesh.  He cringed, but he didn’t move.  She made a circle in his chest then wrote two letters inside it ‘S’ ‘M’.  When she was finished she pushed him off the table and onto the ground.  

He wailed silently on the floor as the woman smiled and turned for a single door.  The screen fades to black and credits roll, starting first with the name of the film, “S&M Homestay” with the generic horror styling to the title.  Then credits rolled.  That was the last scene of a horror film, the horrifying truth that no one escaped the grueling monsters that haunted them.