Ronin sees him sitting at the bar. A woman walks in,
striking but only a few heads turn, odd for such a visual delight to be ignored
by so many men in a bar. She walks past the long wooden bar located to Ronin’
right viewpoint. A series of small bistro-style love tables line the adjacent
wall. The rug was clean, but not the kind that you’d find at a white tux event.
Still, this woman walked in and walked it like a runway; in Paris—in March.
Dressed to his perfection, Ronin’s in all black, Tom Ford three-piece with wide
shouldered lapels. Black Saint Laurent button-up and red soled black-spiked
Chukkas from, who else, Louboutin. Checking his gold-faced Rolex, Ronin knows
not to be late. Timing is everything. Opening scene to Sgt. Pepper:
“Well holy fuck nuts!”, Sergeant Pepper wails.
Somebody grab a goddamn tarp! Now! Screams Sgt Pepper. A former
garage bodybuilder, you know the type, skinny legged and barrel-chested bloke
that insists being loud and in your face is a positive male trait. “get the
fucking tarp newbie! Someone, anyone, do their job, Jesus!” Another piggy shows
up and almost loses her lunch. W.T.F. SGT, do you have a tarp?”
You can visually inspect all facets of Pepper’s carotid artery
as it pulses like a guitar string. He walks to block the gathering spectators.
People are showing interest now as more and more heads
gather. Leave it the human condition that loves public carnage, no, any
carnage. We’re all fucking animals, aren’t we?
The body is lying, well, let’s be honest, it’s neither laying
or a body at this point. A carefully stacked mound of Human flesh. With visual cut
marks, this, now, cadaver seemed to be something that came out of the H.H.Holmes’
hotel of dark desires from the first World Fair in the early 20th century.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Scene with Ronin; sexual:
Forty-five minutes pass and he returned with a guest and her
friend; a couple. He pays little attention to the comments and remarks about
how nice his place is, all the amazing artifacts from all over the World. It’s
not that he doesn’t like the comments, it’s more that he’s focused on something,
well, different. He steps aside, watches the couple migrate around and as he
suspected, they follow the candled trail to the bedroom, more specifically the
tub… and the wall behind it. Hung with precision are weapons and torturing
devices used from different parts of the globe. He points to the woman, then tells
her, “please open the credenza and pull out the gold and black box. She does so
without hesitancy. It’s a cock cage. Without questions or instructions, the
woman tells her man to get undressed; completely. The man does as he’s asked. The
next thirty minutes Ronin sits on the single swivel chair while he watches in yet another
Tom Ford suit. She teases her man in the cock cage, strapped by the wrists and ankles whilst barely sitting on a Rhinoceros horn mounted to the brick wall. She
does as she’s instructed and makes him reach orgasm while in a small cage… Ronin
knows this will make the rest of this slave’s night even worse. Now that he’s no
longer going to be aroused by the idea of cumming, he’ll have to watch in agony. Now the evening truly begins for
Ronin, he flexes his mental capacity for causing long-lasting chronic cerebral
agony. He makes the woman perform acts that makes her gagged partner cry and
moan while chained to the wall. For hours this capitulation continued until Ronin
was satisfied. He wonders if he should instruct the male to come lick his wife’s juices off him and use him as a urinal, the thought fades; next time. Lastly, he instructs the woman to sit in the tub overlooking the
city and tells her to orgasm, clean, and leave. Ronin exits the room and he watches
them from his office via security monitors. He masturbates to the arguing, the
crying, apparent mental anguish that they agreed to undertake.
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