Peeping Tom - Tumblr Posts

Peeping Tom (1960) Dir: Michael Powell 

Whatever I photograph I always lose.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0054167/

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/7967407/Michael-Powells-Peeping-Tom-the-film-that-killed-a-career.html

https://www.criterion.com/films/235-peeping-tom

http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/great-movie-peeping-tom-1960

http://www.screenonline.org.uk/film/id/447463/

http://www.bbfc.co.uk/case-studies/peeping-tom

No Peeking

A writing prompt from @mypapacankickyourdaddysarse

Prompts were: Copia, Peeping Tom, and eye patch

Very NSFW

“Kneel.” One word, crisp and clear in the cool room. Though he ached from the exertion, he did as he was told. A soft smile bowed her fine mouth, his chest swelled with the knowledge that he had pleased her. “You did well tonight, Cardinal.” A fine hand slipped through his hair, undoubtedly a mess no matter how hard he had tried to smooth it down before presenting himself. This fine woman would not tolerate tardiness, no matter how much he might have wanted to disobey—he had to play his cards right.

Gentle fingers turned harsh as they gripped his hair, wrenching his neck to rest at an angle that brokered no room for a wandering mind.

“Keep being a little brat, Copia. Watch how quickly those sweet torments you love so much turn sour. I’ll give you a matching set. It would be such a shame, I’d miss seeing your lovely eyes. I might even make you perform blind. Wouldn’t that be something? We could make you into a marionette.” He swallowed hard, sweat soaked collar pulling at his throat while he tried to catch his breath. “Sister, I—!” Another sharp pull at his hair had him nearly tumbling backwards.

“That is not my title, not in here. You know better.”

“Yes, Mama. It will not happen again.” His voice was strained, half choked against all those layers wrapped around his neck. He had to wonder why he wanted something so elaborate, but it was only for a moment.

“Very good, Cardinal. You may loosen your collar, if you like. It must be stifling in there.” There was a deep laughter, a soft music in her voice as it rolled over him. She did not need steel in her tone to bend him. She did not need that soft leather collar he wore under his vestments, but he wore it so willingly. Leaning over him, she smoothed his hair, gentle now… And then the touch was gone. Red soled heels clicking away as he hurriedly opened his collar just enough to feel a spill of chilled air on his neck.

Her steps paused before turning back to him. He did not look up, obediently waiting for the next command. “I want you to cover your other eye. Leave the gauze over your left eye, but move the patch to your right. Then you may crawl to me.”

No sooner had the command been uttered than his eyes were covered and he picked his way forward on hands and knees. Eagerness made him bump, head first, into her knees. Head bowed, he would kiss her foot both in respect and anticipation. How far would she let him work up her legs tonight?

“Mama, may I…”

“Have you earned it? Do you think you’ve been good enough?” There was music compared to his soft croak. He sighed when she caressed his hair again, moaned when a gentle hand gripped tight once more. Nuzzling her knee, he turned his face up towards her, pleading and unseeing.

“Such pretty begging might get you somewhere, but not tonight.” The air was cold as she stepped away. He stayed there, knees starting to tingle against the hard stone floor. Those red soled shoes clicked almost cruelly away. He could hear a door open, quiet words. A chuckle from deep within her chest at whatever was being said. Envy rose in him. He had swallowed those sounds before, found flavor in ways he craved to taste again.

More laughter, a shuffling of cloth, and an incredibly sloppy kiss. It was fortunate they were behind him, there was a look of distaste twisting his mouth in a way Mama surely would have found obscene. The door closed with a heavy thud and a metallic clunk as the inquisition era lock slid into place.

There were two sets of shoes now: Mama’s strong staccato heels and hard soled leather. This close, he could hear everything. Eyes blinded and bound, he could smell her perfume: a subtly sweet scent of flowers, earth, and silk. The scent enveloped him as she deigned to kneel in front of him. Head bowed even lower, Mama cupped his face with such tenderness. He did not deserve such softness, but he did not dare to say otherwise. He certainly did not deserve the gentle kiss to his brow, his nose, his cheeks, his mouth. Licking his lips, he swore he could taste the remnants of her lipstick and… something else.

Paint. Paint and bittersweet clove smoke.

Copia’s body went rigid in protest.

“Cardinal. You will kneel here until I say otherwise. If you move from this spot, I will bind you and leave you tied until morning. You are not to make a sound. You will not look. You will not touch yourself. If you do, rough rope and cold iron will be the least of your worries.” Words formed in his throat. Some attempt at eloquent protest, but Mama was already gone. Swept up by the Third who dared to toss her onto her bed. She laughed, warm and low. The sound scorched his nerves.

The sounds he heard… Painted the most obscene and yet sublime image. He imagined all the filthy ways the Third took her. Made her writhe and wail. A truly good boy would not have peeped at his Mama doing such things and Copia was such a good boy…

Until he wasn’t.

There was such a lashing for the stains he had left in his trousers. How dare he look? How dare he disobey? But even the knowing eyes of all the clergy as he hissed whenever he sat wouldn’t wipe that pleased little smile off his face. It was all worth it for that satisfied smile on Mama’s face.

Horrorween Day 09 / 31: Peeping Tom (1960) dir. Michael Powell "Got a question for you. Which magazine sells the most copies?" | "Those with girls on the front covers and no front covers on the girls."

I don't trust a man who walks quietly. PEEPING TOM (1960) dir. Michael Powell