Little Girls Always Look Up to Their Mothers

Delihla tip-toes up to look at the pieces of metal on the table. She’s amazed. Her favorite piece is lying near the edge of the table – a bit of blood covering the each tip of each blade. Delihla looks around on the table. If her mother asks, she wants to be able to find a new, good tool fast. Her mother likes that.
Delihla’s mother is standing close to the man – her legs spread and her pelvis close to his. She stares him dead in the eye, but he doesn’t return her stare. He’s looking up at the ceiling. As if he’ll find comfort there.
Delihla’s mother will have none of that. She wants to see his pain.
She grabs onto his jaw and pulls his face down. She forces his eyes to meet hers, and once they do she looks down. She pulls the waist of his pants out and looks inside. She looks back up at him – meeting his eyes – and pouts at him, before she slowly shakes her head. She disapproves.
She lets go of the waist of his pants and enjoys the look on his face – the embarrassment, the shame, the disappointment, the slight bit of anger and of course; the pain. The mental, emotional pain in his eyes is easy to spot for one who’s seen plenty of it. It is easy for Delihla’s mother to spot.
She takes a small step back – her legs still spread – before she puts the first point of metal to his skin. She presses the point into his flesh between his navel and left hip. He shows pain, but doesn’t express it verbally. Delihla’s mother loves it either way. Pain is pain. And she loves seeing pain in the eyes of a man – especially in the teary eyes of a man.
The man doesn’t cry, though.
Delihla’s mother slowly pushes the metal upwards and slowly lets the second point of metal poke through his skin. The man winces. The pace of her movements is painfully slow. They always are. That way, the pain lasts longer – much longer.
She slowly lets the next point pierce his skin. And the next. And the next.
The spur leaves behind holes in his pale flesh, and little beads of red escape each of them.
When she’s reaches his chest, the first bead from the first hole lets go and rolls down his hip – leaving behind a red streak.
Delihla’s mother smirks as she admires the next bead making its red color spread in a straight line down his lower stomach.
She continues to roll the spur up and across his chest. When she reaches his right nipple, her breathing has gotten harder and faster.
The man lets out a pained moan when Delihla’s mother presses an already red point into his nipple. Delihla’s mother moans in pleasure – letting her eyes slide shut. She places her free hand on his chest and moans again as she feels his warm blood against her palm. She throws her head back and smears the red all over his chest and stomach. He only winces in pain.
She stops dead in her track, slowly brings her head back up and look at him. He looks pained. Delihla’s mother licks her lips – staring seductively into his eyes. He only looks back with horror.
She pushes herself off of him and walks back to the table. She places the bloody spur on the table and grabs onto her apron to wipe the blood off her hands.
Delihla looks at her mother with excitement sparking in her eyes. When Delihla’s mother looks down at her daughter and sees this, she smiles widely.
“Will you choose another tool, sweetheart?” Delihla’s eyes light up even more, and she quickly tip-toes up and grabs a small piece of metal. She swiftly hands it to her mother.
Delihla’s mother grabs a firm hold of the metal-piece and admires it in her hand. She then looks down at her daughter – pride and joy in her eyes.
Delihla’s stomach turns and she feels like screaming, she’s so proud. She loves getting that look of approval. She loves pleasing her mother. She loves it when her mother is happy.
Delihla’s mother turns around and looks at the man. He whimpers. Delihla’s mother closes her eyes and enjoys the sound as it repeatedly hits her eardrums. She doesn’t open her eyes until the sound is completely gone – absorbed by the wood, the clothes and her own two ears.
She slowly opens her eyes back up to stare at the man in front of her. She takes three big steps towards him and presses her breasts against his chest. He looks down. One of her nipples is exposed, but he can’t enjoy it.
Delihla’s mother brings up the cool piece of metal and hooks it around his upper arm. He winces as the metal cuts a small line in his soft skin of his arm. A bit of blood trickles down his arm. He pulls his arm away from the sharp, cool metal as much as he can, but the hook-shaped blade only follows.
Though his arm can’t move away any further, the blade continues. It presses into his skin and more blood runs down his arm to his fingertips, where drops softly lets go of him and fall onto the floor.
Delihla’s mother then turns the blade around and presses it against his ribcage. The man screams in pain when the blade meets pure bone – and cuts. Delihla’s mother always makes sure to keep her tools as sharp and clean as possible. They all look brand new. They’re all sharp as if they were new.
Delihla’s mother pulls away from him, before she walks determinately back towards the table. She quickly puts down the hook and grabs a regular knife. Delihla is slightly disappointed, but when she sees the look in her mother’s eyes, she knows the good part is coming up. The very good part.
Delihla’s mother turn and quickly walks back to stand close to the man. She stands tall – making her taller than him. She clenches her teeth together and pulls her lips away from them. She shoves her mouth up to his eyes, before she shoves the small knife into his pants.
He cries and screams out in pain – his hard breath hitting Delihla’s mother on her neck. He closes his eyes, and she pulls her teeth away from his face.
She holds the knife still and stares at his closed eyes. Her face is inches from his – her nose almost touching his. She keeps staring at his eyelids. Waiting. Patiently.
When he opens his eyes, he startles. Delihla’s mother stares into his eyes – absorbing all his fear and pain – before she twists her hand in his pants.
The man throws his head back and screams loudly. Delihla’s mother breathing is slow and heavy – her eyes harsh and venomous. This is no longer about joy and pleasure. This is about pain and revenge. She needs her vengeance, and she will sure get it.
She pulls the knife out of his pants, and he screams again.
She turns around and walks back to place the knife on the table. She doesn’t look at her daughter – she wants to keep her looks evil and fierce. She turns back to the man and glares at him.
Soon he lets his head fall forwards. It dangles off his neck as if it’s about to fall off.
But it doesn’t.
Delihla’s mother keeps glaring at him. She waits for him to look up and look her in the eye. She always waits for that.
Delihla is off to the side – watching her mother’s side and the man’s bleeding body on the wooden X. His arms, stomach, chest and neck is bleeding – some places more than others. The front of his pants are slowly getting more red. It’s not much, though.
Delihla’s mother has been nice tonight. Mr. Williams must not be as bad as the others.
Delihla’s mother keeps glaring. And waiting.
The man lifts his head – faces his fate.
This is when Delihla’s mother walks over towards him – her hips swaying. She places a hand on his shoulder, and runs it out towards his hand. She softly and carefully looses the rope.
The man looks at her with amazement, but the fear is still prominent in his eyes.
“Now, Mr. William,” she says, before she runs her hands over his arm, shoulder and chest. He winces. She continues over to his other hand and looses the rope as well.
“You would never tell anyone about what happened here tonight, now would you?” He frowns at her – confusion adding to the feelings mixed in his eyes.
Delihla’s mother lets him gather his hands over his chest.
“A little, helpless woman like me would have no luck in hurting a big, strong man like you.” Her tone of voice is innocent. Oh so sweet and innocent.
“Everyone would believe me, if I told them you took advantage of me.” She bends her knees and lets her hands run down his one leg and to his ankle.
“Especially after what you did to Johnson’s daughter.” She looses the rope around his ankle, before she moves over and looses the other rope as well.
She gets back up and looks the man in the eyes. He’s got tears in his eyes. Delihla’s mother moans lowly and bites her bottom lip as she closes her eyes. She leans her head back slightly.
“Now get out,” she says softly, yet stern. She stretches out her right arm and points to the stairs.
“Leave,” she whispers. The man sniffles back his tears. Delihla’s mother moans.
The man bends down and gets his white shirt from the floor, before he walks towards the stairs. On his way he looks down at Delihla. Delihla stares back – her expressionless eyes following him intently.
The man blinks several of times. His breath his fast. His pulse can practically be heard in the small, cold, stone-walled basement.
He turns away from Delihla and runs up the stairs. He slams the hatch open and runs out into the cold, moist night-air. Delihla can hear his footsteps quickly tread through the wet grass.
Soon the sound of his footsteps is gone. All that can be heard are two sets of lungs breathing slowly and deep. They are not in rhythm, but they do both breathe in the same air. The air of fear and sweet, pure, lustful vengeance.