Sexy- 12-10-2005

He stripped away her clothes
and pushed her face first across the back of a chair.
She was ordered to count aloud for every blow
with the thick, wooden paddle.

(he had crafted it himself, made to his own desires)
(just as he had crafted her, to his exact desires)

Pain rang through her body.
Her fingers gripped the arms tighter.

He kept going,
until she could no longer stand,
crumbling to the floor beneath the force of his swings.
Not a single tear left her eyes though.
physical pain couldn't bring her to weep.

Picking the pieces of her soul back together,
he helped her onto the bed.
Curling into fetal position,
she closed her eyes,
unwilling & unable
to look at him.
He knew she did not enjoy this.
It wasn't the physical pain,
but the psychological effects that disturbed her.

Numb,
vacant,
and conscious,
she remained in fetal position.
He grew angry with her,
citing her lack of communication.

"Just talk to me already."
"It's just harmless fun."

Finally, she drew the rest of her soul off the bed,
and staggered to the bathroom.
There, she collapsed on the floor,

g.

Later,
(still unable to look at him)
he caressed her form and marveled at the marks he had left.
"The bruises look sexy."

The bruises looked sexy.
The bruises looked sexy.
The bruises looked sexy.

The (psychological trauma) pain he brought to her
was SEXY.