Adore the Booted Foot: Agony Pear in the Cradle (Cinnabar)

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May 16, 2023 by tsk2001

K takes the opportunity to Kandelize. “Lick it” demanded Madame Olga, and Poor Francine complied, the tears running down her tender cheeks.

“Fuck, she’s mocking me,” I complain. “What poem is that?”

“Dunno,” says G. “We’ll check the book.”

“She’s not mocking you,” Mir insists. “She’s setting up a lesbian B&D scene. This is very encouraging. K is still hot to trot! She could give me a good spanking anytime!”

K stands tall and lets loose with: Lick it! Adore the booted foot, the gloved hand, the whip, the rod, the Agony Pear, the manacles, the chains, the Witches’ Cradle, and the spanking board!

“Spanking board!” Mir exults. “I’d never get bored! What the fuck is an agony pair? . . .” [censored]

“That’s agony pear as in the fruit,” G explains. “More often called the pear of anguish. It’s this pear-shaped metal thing that gets crammed in your mouth or another orifice and then is expanded by turning a key so it’s way bigger than whatever it’s in. It’s a gag and a fucking torture device.”

“How do you know that, G?” I marvel.

“I wrote a book on decollation, baby. I know weird shit. But I don’t know what a witches’ cradle is, or at least I can’t think of it.”

“It sounds like a sex yoga position,” Mir says, which would sound stupid if I hadn’t seen Mir do sex yoga.

“Wait!” says G. “It’s a surrealist film by Maya Deren starring Duchamp! I’ve seen it! There’s a lotta rope in it.”

“Then it all ties together, pardon the pun,” I go, acid-amazed at the way everything interpenetrates, pardon the phrase.

“But that’s not what Kandel is referring to, at least not directly,” G says. “It must be a torture device.”

“Well, still, if it has a Duchamp connection, that’s what really matters here,” I go clinging to the narrative thread of all reality even as my mind unpeels like a navel orange.

“It’s a kind of a sensory deprivation bag that you hang in, like off of a tree limb,” K explains, suddenly quite coherent. “Not really a torture device.”

“And you got that info how?” G asks.

“Dunno. But I’m sure it’s right.”

“The Hankenlew has access to all recorded knowledge,” I mutter. “He’s the Wizard of Osmosis.” That strikes me as a very clever play on words, but I’m tripping.

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Death Palette, by Terry S. Kattleman, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License
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