Slithery Timbers

He, whose eyes scratch the morning sun with an aching filth that would blacken the brightest of souls, relishes in his glory.  For of this very morning, not one but three have successfully fallen into the handsome trap of Master and he knew well that it was his relentless charm that had reeled them in from the start.

As he scours the winding streets for more poor lambs such as you or I, his fingers waltzing in the soft breeze. His attention is brought to a fair haired couple, possibly British? German? French? His pupils dilating with the salivating thought that they could perhaps be just as vulnerable as the last. He makes his attack.

Desperately fumbling through the left side of his brain for the desired language, he calculates their fragility. A softness, deep within their light green eyes radiates, most deliciously. Through training he is well aware that the best way to win over a foreigner and their money is to win their approval first. Find out where they come from. Perhaps belittle other similar nationalities or reproduce a famous patriotic quote from their home country? Yes, Master trains his boys up well. Another important thing to consider when tempting the minds of the weak is to advertise the possibility of exploring Master’s  cave ‘without being pestered.’  We will not hassle you. A short-lived promise to entice them into the mouth of it. Lips dampening with delight as he herds the sheep inside. One-step at a time. His widening smile and consistent nodding echoes their footsteps.

Master greets them, brows raised, eyes brightening. His striking smile falls into place with perfection. A deceivingly honest expression. Well-rehearsed, well executed and always effective. The sheep smile politely and mannerly appreciate the mainstream goods, slowly shuffling around the walls as though to play their own game; conveying admiration but not enough interest as to be pushed into purchasing anything overpriced or mundane. The determination to cling onto their dignity and will power. This will soon be engulfed by Master’s talents. Observe closely.

“You like necklace? Earrings?...Shisha?” Slithery Timber’s pathetic attempt at keeping them within Master’s walls. The sheep respond hesitantly, again remembering their manners.  They explain that they have already purchased a shisha elsewhere in the market and, yet again, thank him for proposing his goods. Master’s eyes widen, brow thickening, interest building. He enquires the price of the newly bought shisha.

Ten Dina?! Ahah! He ridicules the response. Cackling in their innocent faces, he lets a glimmer of worry escape his composure. Ensuring the sheep that a useable shisha could not possibly be so cheap, he suggests that their naivety has led them to be fooled by an untrustworthy  human being. This is Tactic number 47. Master describes this as ‘The scrutiny of others for ultimate empowerment.’  This old gem is dragged from the bag when initial strategies are proving somewhat ineffective.  

The sheep seem to be shakily holding their ground. Slithery distracts them while Master tears open sheep number 1’s backpack to observe the supposed shisha for his very own eyes. Savouring the moment, he rips through the packaging and, to feed his ego further, the shisha does not in fact appear to be in pristine condition.

 Groping the hose grommet, he twists hard and snaps it off. The sheep stand in amazement mouths gaping at Master’s relentlessness. His strong, groomed hands bend the pipe tray as he reiterates the poor quality of their buy. It is working. Tactic 52. Slithery’s blood now begins to pump hot and fast through to his hardening cock as he stands, slumped, admiring Master’s performance. Again, leading the sheep into a false sense of security, Master clarifies the reasoning for his actions, orchestrating the conversation in such a way that leads them to feel relieved that he has ruined it. Appreciative that he has ‘kept’ them from smoking some dust-infested piece of tin. He has, at this moment, saved their lives. Had they inhaled the spiced fumes through the tubes of this pipe, they would have most certainly, been rushed to hospital. All of this was for their own good. Tactic 53. The sheep thank him again, recalling the manners that they have been raised so well with. Tactic 54. Successfully yielding control of their sickeningly pliable minds.

“Sit down,” Master commands, maintaining his attractive power. The sheep to do as they’re told. Slithery knows the score. He attends to she sheep, offering them free delights to quench their thirst in attempt to, eventually, make them feel guilty for accepting such pleasures without an honest exchange. Tactic numero 55. Master takes the lead again, confirming how rude it would be to refuse the offer as this is part of his culture. The mannerly sheep accept. The light in their eyes fades fast as they become increasingly aware of the little control they have left.

A sparkling new shisha pipe is revealed, aromas of fresh fruits and Indian spices are slowly wafted under their noses as Master breathes thick apple flavoured smoke into their eyes. Reluctantly, they sample it.  He knows they like it. Just as Slithery likes the taste of his Master’s salty skin on his lips.

Slithery, hypnotised by the suck and blow rhythm of Master’s lips, fails to notice his signal to leave the cave. This is swiftly backed up by a dull smash to the face. Shit. He lost it. Slithery scuttles away, wiping his beady eyes, sucking his fingers in a desperate attempt to taste the remains of Master’s perspiration on his skin. Shoulders wilt as he fails to find the exotic taste. He savours the brief moment of touch and waits patiently at the entrance  of the cave for his next instruction.

Tactic 62 leaks its way from Master’s tongue. He refers to it as the ‘Offer of a Life Time.’ Now emotionally and physically weakened by the whole experience (and the strategically placed narcotics in the luminous Orange Fanta) the sheep cling on to the fragments of sanity that remain, declining the ridiculous bargain.

 Master’s feathers begin to curl. This has led to Tactic 71, ‘The Fear Factor’. This was the second last one in the book: “To be used only as a final straw.” He regurgitated his final price, detailing his foretold anger if they declined this last amazing offer for the miniscule, mediocre and way over priced shisha pipe. The foreboding nature of this Tactic works in three ways: 1- To make you feel that you are ‘robbing him’ if you pay any less. 2- To remind you of the fact that you have already wasted Master’s time, drinking and smoking with him free of charge and therefore should be disgusted with yourself for reaping  the goods without giving and 3- He will be angry if you don’t accept this final offer. What does that mean? What would he do? Yes, these are the questions that Tactic 71 sets out to plant within your petrified little brain. The smell of fear thickens the air as they begin to wish that they had never stepped foot in this God awful place.  

Too anxious to discover the extent of which Master would express his rage, the bewildered sheep falter. Shoulders stoop, eye lids droop to shield the hideously degrading sight of unreasonable submission.  He has won and yet, they always knew he would. Accept the ‘agreement.’ Scrape the pockets. Hand over the dosh.

With the crushing sense of failure, they seek comfort in thinking that perhaps  they have reached the end of the ordeal and they would be allowed to leave now . Exiting, exhausted, silent, without being hassled, as promised.

 Slithery grins menacingly, gloating in his day’s achievement. His mind wanders to imagine what the evening may have in store for him. What would the reward be? How would Master repay his good work? The thought of skin to skin yields his impatient, sick fuck mind.  He knows he likes to be told what to do. His hardening cock pushes tight against his dry dusty trousers, leaving a small inconspicuous moist smudge. Not three but five sheep won over today. Master will surely be proud. The sheep glance up at each other, eyes drained of colour, of strength. Slithery’s smile widens as he croaks his last sickening three words:

“Don’t be upset…”

 

©Shay Crinkle  15.07.13 

Illustrated By Rachael Maclean