Where all D's have their story


Written by Kathryn J Barrow 


Her soft skin glows from the sun streaming in through the aeroplane window, warming her scent which begins to fill the cabin space around us. It’s important to understand what I crave. To mark that neck with rope, slide it over her skin and pull until it begins to redden. Watch small blisters form as her gargles become mere moans of exasperation.


I want to kill her. Wipe the smirk off her face as she demoralised a poor cabin crew member who was only trying to help get bags put away safely.


This one I’d take my time on. Watch as her eyes bulge and her hand slackens as I pull just a little tighter. Not tight enough to stop her from breathing altogether. That would be Dastardly, of course. It would be monstrous not to enjoy it for as long as I possibly could. Feel her warm body dampen with sweat as she writhes under me, legs kicking out, feet smacking the floor. Watch those plump lips turn purple in the height of strangulation. As you must understand I found her bullying a dastardly act, a mean, fiendish, low and for what? Imagine being scrutinised by this human to the point your lip wobble in front of a plane full of people and not a single one standing up for you.

She licks her finger. I watch saliva moisten with a slurp. She presses it to the magazine page. Top left-hand corner. She coughs. I watch her throat. It’s beautifully delicate. I wonder if it’ll break before she stops breathing. It would be a crying shame to miss her last few breaths if she was to go that way.


I watch her play with the wedding band on her finger. The one which matches mine. I remember the vows I took and berate myself a thousand times. For better or for worse, I suppose.