His eyes cast about frantically for the suit but he was nowhere in sight. Instead, a heavy-set man wearing a robe and a bored expression ascended the stairs and began to read from a scroll.
‘Mister Donald Penfolde, you have been found guilty of the following list of crimes:
‘The sale and supply of illegal explosives to a known group of militants.’
‘Aay?’
‘Aiding and abetting the afore-mentioned militants.’
A masked man stepped into view. As much as Donnie wanted him to be so, this was not a hero in disguise and did not bound across to whisk Donnie from certain doom. He proved his credentials as executioner by fastening a noose around Donnie’s neck.
‘The penalty for all these crimes is Death,’ continued the bored man. ‘To be carried out immediately.’
Donnie’s eyes bulged even though the noose hadn’t been tightened yet.
He had to get out of there, but his hands had been tied behind his back. Getting a hard-on was easy, but it helped if you had a free hand. And a room that didn’t have spectators. Or a whopping great gallows.
‘Militants?!’ he cried. ‘I don’t know any militants!’
The masked man fiddled with Donnie’s bonds, presumably checking they were tight.
The guy in the robe sighed and languidly spat in Donnies face. ‘Fucking feminist,’ he sneered. ‘Women would stay in their place if dickweeds like you didn’t give ‘em ideas. You make me sick.’
His remark provoked a roar from the audience, and the air was suddenly alive with raucous shouts as everyone vented their spleen at Donnie.
The floor beneath Donnie fell away, the rope snapped tight, and Donnie’s world became a painful blaze of color.
Then he realised the colour wasn’t just behind his eyes. An explosion had breached the walls of the facility.
The rope was severed suddenly and he dropped beneath the platform into near-darkness.
No time to congratulate himself on his dazzling escape; there was work to be done. He wrenched himself free of the surprisingly loose bonds, then quickly warmed his hands and lowered his zip.
The masked man burst into the room, finally fulfilling his potential to the fullest. He ripped the mask off, further surprising Donnie in the act.
‘Marcus!’ said Donnie, shocked, but not changing his rhythm.
‘For crying out loud,’ said Marcus. ‘This is hardly the time for–’
BZORNT!!!
He woke with a killer headache and instinctively felt between her legs. He found something familiar, but something was missing …
His eyes flew open and he quickly sat up, ignoring the painful drumming in his head.
He was totally naked and sitting on an opulent four-poster bed in an equally opulent room. But his surroundings were of secondary importance right now.
With a grim sense of irony, he glared at his mutilated crotch and ran his fingers through his hair. His thick, luxurious hair …
“Oh bugger”, he piped, in a soprano that brought tears to his eyes.
Click to see the next installment: Harem Scare ‘em
By Monika Hocks with Lisa Sinclair
Camberwell, November 2004
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