The distress I feel is rather caused by the dissociative feeling, by the mental image of being slowly torn to shreds than by physical pain.“Worry not, for we can read your mind, young seeker of pleasure,” a thick syrupy female voice, yet almost equally deep as its male counterpart rings in my… head? The decaying feeling through what is left of my body makes it impossible to locate which organ registers the sounds struggling through the thick veil of fear for my life that threatens to empty my bowels in the most unflattering manner despite that I'm certain they're not a part of me anymore.The dissonance of both voices speaking each in their own incomprehensible Babel dialect screeches through my thoughts. “We of the realm of pure lust have found ways to make you feel ultimate pleasure through immeasurable torture and you, in your clueless quest for nothing but selfish bliss have chosen to submit yourself to us.”“Many have vainly ended in madness in our quest,” states the male voice. The color of my eyes is ash-grey and I inherited it from my mother.He arrived in the guesthouse and ordered me to shift into his cottage till he stayed in the place. I felt it funny, but obeyed. A job is a job. I had to impress him with my work and show off my management.Before he came, I shopped around for beautiful sarees and stitched the best patterns of blouses. And also for some nice fitting bras. The parlour bill was an enormous 4000.When we were both alone inside the cottage. he gave me a gift wrapped box with a smile. What a killer personality he looked! I opened it in excitement. I saw the most beautiful lingerie in my life. It was a ‘Jimmy Choo’. My jaw fell in amazement. I blushed and said, “aapne itni talkleef kyun kie?”“Pasand aayi? Tumhare naram, komal angon ko pyar se dhakne ke liye.” (Did you like it? I want to cover your soft body parts with them.)“Uncle, aap mujhe sharminda kar rahe hain.” I looked up to see him in the eye.I turned my back to him. My red saree was.
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