Guests milled, weaving invisible paths on the wood floor. Grace followed their feet with her eyes, careful not to move. The metal rod was uncomfortably deep in her ass, and even the slightest movement backward inspired sharp intakes of breath. She’d been standing there, as still as possible, for over an hour, her calves beginning to cramp and her ankles and arches aching. Every muscle was taut, including the ones in her face that held her placid expression in place. It took everything she had to maintain a calm exterior of peace, which had been His only demand.
The front door opened, unleashing a gust of cold air into the crowded room. Goosebumps rose on Grace’s skin, and her nipples hardened, becoming visibly erect. A few guests noticed and gazed appreciatively, as if she were a rare artifact on a table. In reality, she was a naked woman, propped on a pole held fast to the ground by a tree stand. Her hair was swept up in a tight, perfect bun, and her skin was clean and slightly oiled, shining in the candlelight. She smelled of pine and cinnamon, a blend He’d expertly crafted just for this occasion. It burned her openings, and made her hyperaware of every subtle sway and involuntary adjustment her body made.
The guests moved collectively as they watched Him walk through the door, a large box in His arms.
“It’s time!” His voice boomed, full of baritone joy, and the people moved toward Him, following in a swarm, a dazed hoard of rats behind the piper playing his festive tune.
They circled around Grace, sparkling drinks in hand, light glinting off teeth and eyes and sequined dresses, all jostling for the best views.
“Who wants to place the first ornament?” He asked, laughter in His deep voice, as if He were cajoling a group of children to jump on the bed when they knew they should not.
A young woman, dressed in blue chiffon, raised her manicured hand. He held out the box. She came forward, handed her champagne to another woman in the front, and reached in, her face searching, smiling and gleeful, giddy with the prospect of being the first. Pulling out a metallic red bulb, she turned and walked toward Grace. The woman in blue cocked her head, stuck out her tongue in deep consideration, and furrowed her brow. Her eyes traveled Grace’s flesh with curious focused regard, until she finally rested them on what Grace could only assume was the perfect spot.
The woman reached out, placed her fingers on either side of Grace’s nipple, and brought the sharp end of a hook to her skin, pressing firmly until it punctured Grace’s flesh, once, and then twice, coming out the other side. Fluidly, she pushed the hook through, until it curved at the expected angle, and let the bulb drop against Grace’s body.
It hung there, pulling her nipple down, weighting her breast in delicious discomfort.
“Wonderful!” He delighted, “Who’s next?”
This story is my first for Transgressive Thursdays. I will only be publishing these darker microfiction tales for Redemption Magazine on Medium after this, but I wanted to give my blog readers a taste of what is to come and drag your behinds over to my Medium site if you like what you see here. A few of the pieces there are cleaned up versions of older stories from this site, but those may disappear from here as I transfer them over. I also have some that are written specifically for publications like Tantalizing Tales. That content can only be found on Medium.
My favorite writer for the Transgressive Thursdays meme so far is Marsha Adams….holy crap! Go read her latest: End of the Line.
To read others or submit your own transgressive microfiction, go HERE.