Outside, in the bitterly cold air of the Winter garden, he holds the garden hose like a sword. The water splashes with pure heat over my skin, dripping down my body, turning me into an ice sculpture.
His plot, revenge for all the wickedness I had done. But he wanted it. He begged for it and lusted after it. My little slut. I've humoured him long enough.
The thin crust of ice forming over my body crackles like fragile armour as I grab him. No mercy.
I give him nothing but a warning smile with evil intent and a touch of madness. The hose drops from his hand. Water begins to soak through his clothes. No matter, he won't be wearing them much longer.
For Erotic Flash Fiction.
