As his vision slowly returned, three women stood arms folded before him, all donned in black leather. He knew them. In the middle stood his wife and beside her were his mistresses. How did she know? How could she know? He had kept the relationships discrete.
The pain began to come back to him – his head followed by his wrists.
Someone had bashed his head against something sharp earlier tonight as he exited the restaurant before zip-tying his hands and dragging him to wherever this was. “Thirsty?” Mistress A spoke in a seductive voice as she waved the glass of water in his face. He nodded quickly. She tilted the glass to his lips and less than an inch from his lips, she pulled away and said coldly. “You don’t deserve water.”
Mistress B pulled a gun from behind her and aimed it at him. “No,” His wife said urgently, “It’s too quick. He doesn’t deserve quick.”
Mistress B grinned, “Oh I know. He likes things slow.” In a bang, she shot him in the gut. “There, now, he can take his sweet time to bleed out.” She threw the gun to the ground. “Let’s get out of here.”
A Response for Sunday Photo Fiction.