Original fiction: Character Study

[narcasse]

Tiny ficlet for the birthday of emthornhill! I though I’d get something else written yesterday but didn’t so to make up for it, this is the first of two fics.


594 worlds. 15. Implied S&M, non-gender specific really.
Practicing the fantasy of dominance.


Character Study

Disclaimer: Original fiction.

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As the session ends and his willing victim is untied and attended to by two subordinates, he calmly places the whip back on the rack and turns away. He leaves all the additional duties to them and retires to another room to enjoy the last of the adrenaline rush in private.
Holds a cigarette between gloved fingers and savours the taste of nicotine upon his lips, before he sits down and crosses his legs comfortably, all the while admiring the highly polished shine of his boots.

This, he thinks, this is why he does what he does. Why he indulges these select few who come to him. Why he has spent the time and effort in learning the correct handling of a whip, the finely poised points where the human body must not be damaged, the absolute and utter self-control that must always be exercised.
It isn’t about sex, though it’s not unexpected for his victims to find release.
It’s not about pain, though of course a certain measure of masochism is required from them.
It’s isn’t even really about fear.
It is the rush of untapped emotion, of heat and passion and power. Control, over his willing victims of course but also over himself. This is what fills him with a wondrous, vainglorious pride.

He sighs, perfectly content with this recent conquest and has the urge slump in his chair bonelessly or at least would if not for his attire. The faux-military uniform that he wears, that compliments his dictatorial aplomb.
This is the character that he becomes, a caricature to feed the fantasies of voracious clientele.
He pulls off his gloves slowly, languidly and removes another cigarette from a silver case even as the first burns down to it’s final millimetres between his lips. He stubs out the first in a glass ashtray on a table beside his chair and with a practiced ease, lights the second. His fingernails are perfectly filed and buffed. There may even be a layer of clear nail-varnish upon them.
He combs the fingers of his left hand through his hair and inspects the tips of those long strands. Long hair may be fairly incongruous with the rest of his costume but he doesn’t quite care and smiles a little at his own indulgence because it’s not as if anyone else is in a position to question the matter anyway.


And later that night, in the necessary minutes before he retires to bed he wonders about it, about the measure of this character that he becomes. Considers his reflection carefully in the mirror as he smoothes cream over his skin.
The character that he becomes is a fantasy of masculinity.
Applies a lightly scented cream to his hands. Hands being one of the most obvious indicators of age of course.
It is an illusion of militaristic control and that mythic exaltation of the male dominant that he plays on.
After the hand-cream he slips on a pair of tight cotton gloves. They will increase the cream’s effectiveness in softening his skin overnight.
Mythic masculine dominance. The whole idea is illusionary.
He finally lies down in bed on his back, the covers drawn up over him and reaches to turn out the light. In the darkness he adjusts the eye-mask that will block out even the faintest traces of light before folding his hands together on his stomach.
And in the moments before sleep claims him, he sometimes wonders exactly how it is that anyone could actually believe him to be that dominant stereotype in the first place.

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Comments

[emthornhill.livejournal.com]

And the Icon matches the story!

^_^

[reichsfreiherr.livejournal.com]

Except I changed it. ^_~

[emthornhill.livejournal.com]

pfft