The memories stagger in upon me chaotically, as in a fantasy. Insects stinging, drawing blood. My hands, my pointer sisters, trapped in inflexible metal. My movements secured with hooks buried unfathomable inside my body: I am filled, I am owned. I walk like a marionette, with each step the hooks pull with cruelty inside my arse and my wet crack. When I am given away it is merely to be stretched over a log and staked out in the grass; afresh I am left vulnerable, unable to protect myself from insects, nibbling my open body. My head secured in place with stakes and a gag. Shrieking as a worm is dangled over my face, crawling into my nose, squirming it is slippery flesh over my tongue and my lips. And yet one memory towers above the rest of my torture; that guy called it the mala mansio.
► Watch Now or Download this video »
