Hell

 

I sit in a room filled with sex. I look at faces

filled with only one thing: lust. Nothing else exists but the thought of ten minutes of total sexual abandon. It becomes the master and reigns supreme over our being. It satisfies our animalistic nature. It doesn't matter with whom; love is out of the question—that's not the game. The point is to relieve the sexual tension that overwhelms rational thought. Things are different now. We don't have to play good husbands, caring fathers, flawless men in white gloves.

Now that the doors of this room have been opened to us, we are no longer respectable people. We become beasts with wild sexual fantasies. In the waiting room for the unfulfilled, we wait for their fulfillment. On the right sit those awaiting propositions, and on the left, those awaiting propositions. All dressed in transparent outfits, they display their murder weapons, their torture devices. The women look good, although the little one in the black outfit with the whip in her hand terrified me greatly. I don't like violence. Men with large penises walk around in their negligees from time to time, displaying their weapons. Those with smaller ones sit quietly, as if trying to hide the imperfections of their nature.

"They feel undervalued. They don't know that a whore doesn't care what kind of penis. It's all about the money," I thought.

When the redhead and the huge, fat man left the room, I felt sorry for her.

"So many kilos to carry. A disgusting, fat goat," I said to myself.

"Don't get upset. She's just walking him on a leash.

" "What?" I asked .

"Don't you know how to walk a dog on a leash?

" "I know.

" "Yeah." She puts on the leash and walks him around the room.

"Does that turn him on? Does he reach orgasm?

" "Apparently so."

"Terrible."

I looked to my left. Business began to bustle. Women were selecting items. They touched, groped, and took them upstairs. They had ten minutes to satisfy their lust. Those who wanted could pay extra for more.

It disgusted me. The height of my disgust was the image of a woman leading a male by his penis. He followed her, smiling and proud because she had chosen him.

"A slave market," I said.

"That's what it looks like," my interlocutor replied.

"It's hell," I said.

"And what are you doing here?

" "I wanted to see the rot.

" "Why?

" "So I wouldn't regret it and debase myself."

I opened the door. I walked down a long corridor. A quiet voice beckoned me back, tempting me with handsome men with large penises. A side door opened, where debauchery reached the very depths of hell. I couldn't bear to watch. I vomited. It was disgusting. I didn't want to see the abyss any longer. I finally found a way out. I opened the gate and stepped out into the fresh air. From then on, I never wanted to see hell again. And then I felt free.