Femdom Meets Horror: Rosie’s Halloween Retribution on Michael Myers

In the grim confines of Rosie’s garage, transformed into a chilling chamber of retribution, the shadows seemed to creep closer with each haunting step Rosie took. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling cast a spectral glow, illuminating the scene with an otherworldly light. Michael Myers was bound to an old mechanic’s chair, starkly naked except for the iconic mask that hid his true face, making him both more and less than human.

Rosie, a stark figure of vengeance dressed in dark, fitted clothes, approached with a riding crop firmly in hand. “You’ve haunted this town for far too long,” she spoke with a chilling calm. “Tonight, you’ll feel every ounce of fear you’ve inflicted.”

She circled around him, the crop in her hand trailing a silent promise through the air. Pausing behind him, she observed the expanse of his back—a blank canvas soon to be marked by her hand. With a swift, practiced motion, she brought the crop down sharply across Myers’ broad back. The sound cracked through the stillness, and a stark red line bloomed across his skin. “One,” Rosie counted, her voice steady and relentless.

Continuing her grim dance, Rosie moved to his front, her eyes cold and unyielding. She struck across his chest, the crop snapping against his skin, leaving a welt that quickly reddened alongside the first. “Two,” she declared, each strike a macabre tally of his sins.

As the punishment continued, Rosie’s strikes became a grim symphony of retribution. Each lash to his body was precise, methodical—each welt on his back, chest, and thighs a mark of justice. Noticing his involuntary arousal, Rosie’s expression twisted into a grim smile. This physical reaction, a disturbing display of his twisted psyche, only fueled her resolve.

With deliberate cruelty, she brought the crop down on his erection, a harsh strike that made Myers buckle against his restraints, a muffled groan escaping from behind his mask. “Three,” she counted, watching as his body tensed in a mix of pain and shameful response.

“Four… Five…” she continued, her voice a whisper of darkness. The riding crop found its mark again and again, painting his skin with the evidence of his past horrors. Each strike was a reminder of his deeds, each cry a muted echo of his victims’ screams.

Rosie stepped back after the final lash, her breathing the only sound in the tense silence. Myers’ body was etched with the marks of her retribution, each welt a testament to his crimes. His breathing was ragged, the pain evident even as his masked face remained impassive.

“This Halloween, Michael, the monster meets his match,” Rosie proclaimed, her tone final, the riding crop pointing accusingly at him. “I’ll turn you over to the authorities at dawn, but not before I ensure you’re utterly broken. By the time they get here, you’ll be nothing more than a shell of the terror you once were.”

Throughout the night, Rosie continued her calculated assault, ensuring that each part of Myers felt the depth of his own atrocities. The garage, once a simple space, had become a courtroom where Rosie was judge, jury, and executioner, enacting a justice as dark and chilling as the Halloween night outside.