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humanpetpuppy -> The Garden (3/13/2010 1:29:50 PM)
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This fantasy is based in part on the book The Torture Garden by Octave Mirbeau though without the death and profound social commentary.
Maybe you can imagine a warm summers day in June, the sun streaming down from a cloudless sky while a gentle breeze softly stirs the leaves of ancient oak trees. Despite the beautiful weather the public park is quiet and serine except for the hum of drowsy bees and the soft sprinkle of the dramatic fountains.
Amid this tranquillity the sharp, snap of strappy sandals on hard concrete seems to resonate, as a timeless beauty makes her way through the landscaped south gardens. Her pace is slow to allow her green eyes to take in the wonder of the world around her, while with each step the breeze dances in the sheer fabric of her summer dress. On her left arm she carries a small wicker basket and on her right, her favourite bag. Rounding a bend in the path she stops without warning and a girlish smile darts across her lips as she reaches her favourite exhibit. Before her, hanging precariously by his bound wrists, from a black lacquer frame, hangs an athletic young man. His face is a picture, all gasping and tears, while his toes desperately hang onto the two tiny blocks which provide the only respite from the thick carpet of spikes over which he is suspended. From the sweat which soaks him and the quiver of every muscle in his body it is wonderfully evident that his torment has spanned a few days, maybe more.
In a strange way It’s like he belongs here, under a palatial maple tree, set in a bed of wild flowers, a wonderful testament to women’s ability to tame her environment, a human statue, an object, a piece of art.
Placing her basket and bag on the grass she steps to the edge of the flower bed and in playful mood runs her fingers the length of his tormented chest. With his eyes pleading her to stop her nails stroke his tender skin and lost in the moment of her touch he falls from his tenuous perches to dance animatedly on the harsh spikes. Tears fill his eyes and only once his feet regain their perches does he notice her laughter and the twinkle in her eyes.
Satisfied with his torment for now she steps back to her basket and in a few short moments she has laid out her blanket, opened her champagne, a punnet strawberries and a small pot of chocolate sauce and then after removing her sandals she lays back before him in the sun. With a look of pure pleasure, she takes a strawberry daintily by the stalk, dips it deep into the chocolate sauce and seductively savers it in a moment of bliss, her ripples of pleasure tangible in the hot summer air.
He is transfixed, helpless and desperate and through her pleasure he finds new pain. For a moment she mocks a look of ironic sympathy and then taking another strawberry in her gentle fingers dips it into the chocolate and her pleasure deepens more.
To him, time slows down, his eyes drinking in her every movement. The redness of the tender, strawberries, the dark richness of the chocolate, the faint schh of the champagne bubbles in her glass, her soft, smooth, golden skin and the twinkle in her eyes as she looks at him, he notices it all.
With a look of wistful passion she finishes her last strawberry and now deeply content returns the items of her picnic to her basket. Without a pause she re-buckles her shoes and biting her lip playfully she stands before him once more. Her eyes still twinkle as she looks at him and with an innocent giggle she blows him a kiss though by the time he receives it she is gone.
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