*~The Dark Mistress~*

Author — Alyssa Clark

No!” the man hanging upside down in chains by his ankles from the dungeon wall cried, his usually pale face bright red from all the blood rush. His sky blue eyes were wider than that of an excited child on Christmas, except his excitement was replaced with anxiety and fear. They darted to the sides rapidly multiple times.

Where am I? he asked himself.

Shackles were around his ankles, but his hands were free. There was a wall on each of his sides less than five feet away, but light from a dull blub in the ceiling only allowed a quarter of the room to be seen. There was a metal folding chair in the one to his right. The whole area in front of him was pitch black. The man tried doing crunches to try and break the shackles to free himself, but to no avail. His face turned maroon, from both frustration and more collection of blood.

A woman’s laughter echoed off the stone walls. The man shuddered as the clicking of her heels mixed with her toxic shrills. She stopped walking a foot or two before the light could hit her. Only the fronts of her boots were visible. The man could feel her presence; she was mere feet from him, her cold eyes examining every inch of his body.

“What do you want!”

He tried to mask the fear in his voice, but this woman could smell it from miles away. The aroma he emitted made her grin with delight; a grin that she stole from the Devil himself. She revealed it to the man as she stepped out of the dark abyss. Hair the color of brittle leaves in autumn twisted and curled to fame her round cheeks. It was dyed blonde an inch form the tips, giving a light contrast to the dark browns and reds. Her eyes were a dark brown hue, almost black. Two lifeless abysses that couldn’t wait to suck the life out of the man they saw. Lips stained crimson, with lipstick the man hoped, made her twisted grin more prominent; it almost popped from her face, ready to devour her next victim. A red corset with black lace and grey frills covered her breasts, just barely. The woman was bustier than most so the sexy color that red is made her milky white skin seem more desirable than ever. To compliment it she wore a pair of skin-tight leather pants that revealed every aspect of her lower body, especially her wide hips and round butt, and a pair of high-heel stiletto boots.

The man had to admit, she was one of the sexiest women he has ever seen. But he knew by her smile and cold gaze she was evil to the core. He reached up once more to try and pry the chains off, but his results were the same as earlier. The woman licked her ruby lips in delight. The stuggles of others always had a pleasant tase on her tongue.

“You bitch!”

“Why thank you,” the woman remarked with a sly edge. Her voice was a medium tone, not too high or low. Feminine and sexy. The kind that could turn men on at the first hello.

The man noticed as she walked towards him that her hands were still behind her back. “She’s hiding something, I can feel it,” he thought as his heart began to race. As she appeared to be in range the man reached out to strangle her skinny little neck. He would make her pay for imprisoning him. But he was mere inches out of reach. His fingertips just barely grazed her leather pants.

“Get over here!” he demanded, veins on the side of his head bulging with rage. “Get over here so I can strangle you bitch!”

“Now, now,” she said calmly, though the evil grin on her face contradicted it. “Is that any way to treat a girl you just had sex with?”

“Is this any way to treat a guy you just fucked!”
The woman thought for a moment. “Depends on who you ask.”


“Like if you asked one of those whores on the street they’d probably say no since they fuck and run with the money. But since this is me you’re asking, yes I do believe this is appropriate.”

“How could you say such a thing!”

The man felt faint. His head was swimming in blood and insane thoughts. He wondered how the sweet sexy girl he went on a date with the other night could turn into such a devil.
“Why are you doing this!” he was practically begging for his life at this point.
Her smile widened as her eyes turned colder than Antarctica in winter. “Because I can,” she said, all too bluntly. “Torturing pigs like you is what I live for. I love the rush of adrenaline from torturing and killing guys who think they can use me for sex and leave.”

Oxygen escaped the man’s lungs. The word “killing” knocked it right out of him, making him light headed and nauseated. His ears couldn’t believe what they heard, but his brain knew. What…? Did…did she just say kill? His innocent blue eyes gazed into her chocolatey devilish traps. Her emotionless stare coupled with her demented smile made his intestines knot. She’s serious…she’s going to kill me…

“That’s enough chit chat for now, sweetie.” Her icy tongue sliced through the air as if it were tissue paper.
Slowly she brought her hands out from behind her back. Each second of the man’s life was drenched in anxiety and horror, waiting to see the weapon that would be his demise. Metal clanked as the woman tossed the one item in her right hand behind her into the darkness, unable to be identified. In her left hand she held a slender grey object that was no wider than a glass in width approximately four feet in total length. Her finger coiled around the hand-crafted wooden handle that was half a foot long. Extending from it was the grey cylinder. It was wide at the base and tin at the tip. Wrapped around its length was a chain with blades attached, similar to a chainsaw. Except these blades were larger and more curved, like claws on a large beast.
The man’s eyes trembled as they examined the strange instrument. “W-what the hell is that?” His voice was dry and cracked. He was petrified where he hung, barely able to speak the words.

The woman’s grin widened, curving like snakes at the ends as a glint of excitement shined from behind her irises. “Oh? This? Just one of my favorite tools.”

Her thumb pressed a hidden button in the handle. The chain began to rotate around the track so rapidly that it was all one thick grey line. But it made no noise as the blades spun, unlike a chainsaw. The man knew that the weapon would be his demise. If didn’t do something soon he feared she’d slice him up and serve him as a human shish kabob for dinner. He had to try and convince her not to do it, and fast.

“Sabrina! Please! Don’t do this!”

The woman’s body tensed up. Her fists clenched so tight her knuckles started to turn white.

“Don’t you EVER call me that!”

Suddenly she swung her weapon, making a perfect cut right where the humerus met the scapula. Not deep enough to hit the bone, but enough to tear some muscle. The man’s face scrunched in agony as swallowed a cry of pain. There was no way he would let her get the best of him. A metallic taste filled his mouth as warm blood dripped down his arm.

“A peasant like you shall not address me as such.”

His eyes locked on her once more.

“I am the Dark Mistress and you shall call me nothing else!”

Again she slashed at his shoulder, this time with more force. The man screamed as the blades scraped against his bone like nails on a chalk board. Once more she hit, over and over. Bit by bit the blades ate away at the bone and splattered fresh blood everywhere. Finally the bone gave way. The man’s entire arm fell to the ground with a thud, spilling blood on the floor in a large puddle. He shrieked bloody murder at the unbearable pain that shot through his nerves. Blood was flowing out of his open wound at a rapid rate. The man feared he’d lose too much blood in minutes and die right then.

The Mistress dropped her instrument, letting it hit the ground with a loud clank as the chain stopped. For a moment she stood there staring at the man. His cries of pain were euphonious tunes to her ears. She licked some splattered blood around her lips as her dark eyes nibbled on his agony, hungry for more. The crimson juice tasted sweet. Type AB, she thought.
She turned and picked up the object she threw earlier. The light revealed it to be some type of machete. But the blade was slightly curved and appeared to emit a faint red aura. As the man began to hyperventilate at the thought of his own death the Dark Mistress picked up the severed limb with her free hand and brought it over to the metal chair in the corner, leaving a trial of blood on the concrete floor and down her chest. She sat down and began to scrape all the skin, muscles, ligaments, and tendons from the bones. As she whittled away the man’s blue eyes never leave her. They glance around the room nervously from time to time, but their main focus is her. Watching to see how his ultimate death will be. As he waits his brains tries to keep his heart calm, telling himself it will be alright. But it doesn’t work. He knew he would die there that day, just not how the devil woman would do it.

He watched as the blade peeled his bodily tissues off his arm. Scrape scrape scrape. Nails on a chalkboard were bad, but this was worse. Hearing the sound of one’s own bones being sharpened was a thousand times worse than that, especially since he knew she’d use it to torture and kill him. That’s what ate away at his soul. In under an hour all the bones were clean, not a trace of his body left. All were on the floor except the humerus, which was missing the proximal end (it was probably still stuck in the man’s shoulder).

The mistress ran the machete along the bone. Again she did it, and the horrible unbearable sound filled the man’s head. Scrape scrape scrape. She was whittling the bone as if it were a piece of wood. Scrape scrape scrape. The mane thought he was going to snap if had to endure this noise much longer. He was already on the border of insanity, but he reassured himself he’d be ok.

This project took her less time, about twenty five minutes. Now the bone was sharp and pointed at one end. It looked sharper than an ordinary knife, and could probably do more damage. By this point the man had given up all hope, he hung there practically lifeless waiting his new fate, death.
The Mistress tossed her knife to the as she stood, the loud metal clank made the man shudder. Slowly she made her way back over to the man, heels clicking to the beat of her stone heart. Once more their gazes met.

“Finally give up huh?” The Mistress was disappointed to see her captive so lifeless. She loved when they fought and struggled against her, like he did earlier.

The man’s throat was too dry for him to respond. He simply nodded.

“How boring. I like it when they struggle. Oh well. I’ve already gone through the trouble of sharpening your bone, no sense to waste it.”

Her new smile was different than earlier. This one would make the Devil run for the hills. So psychotic and twisted. It gave the lit area of the room a dark feeling. In one swift motion she plunged the sharpened end into his chest, right where his heart was. A few ribs cracked as she forced the bone further in. it still didn’t reach his heart yet, so she yanked the bone back out and stabbed him again. This time was deeper. More blood poured from the crevice, forming a lake on top of the concrete and soaking her corset. Again she pulled it back out and hit his heart. Over and over she stabbed him, making sure he was truly dead.

The man’s eyes finally faded. His heart no longer beat. Blood still continued to flow though. It was a river that ran from the hole in his chest. Once the Mistress saw he was dead she let go of the humerus and left it in the man’s chest. She stared down at her bloody clothes and hands with emotionless eyes. She licked a few fingers clean before wiping the rest on his face. As she smeared the warm liquid her famous grin returned. She was quite pleased with her work.

“Oh no, you killed another one.”

She laughed like an inmate in an insane asylum, the one who was plotting to kill every other captive there. The stone walls made it echo back through her ears, making her laugh louder because she loved the sound of her own evil voice.

“Oh well. You had fun didn’t you? Hehe.”

The Dark Mistress picked up her instruments as she turned to exit her dungeon. Her heart was still racing from the rush of adrenaline she always got when she killed. It was eager for more.

Such a greedy heart, she thought, smiling more. I wonder who I’ll get to play with next.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.