Lying beside you, writhing under you, with legs spread for your roaming, spanking hand. I am riding the waves of your irregular swats’ building intensity. Alternately flinching from and arching into the sensations your hand provides. Closing my eyes lets me sink into a space where my reality is boiled down to reaction, and the anticipation of the next blow is dulled. It’s easier if I can’t see what’s coming. I can relax into the pain. I know that you will hit me, again, closing my eyes is not a way to escape. I start floating.

You rest your hand, cupping my cunt. I open my eyes to you leaning over me. I raise my head up to meet your lips, nipping kisses from them before you press me back down, eyes boring into mine. They aren’t cold. Not yet, but they are hard. “Go into my bag and get the only toy that’s in there. I think you already saw it.”

All motion ceases and a boulder settles in my belly. I did see it when I had climbed onto the pile of rope earlier in the evening. Recognized it for what it was and pushed the thought out of my head that it was to be used on me. I draw a breath in, trying to ignore the urge to cry. Our eyes remain locked for a few breaths, mine ragged and yours silent. I can‘t hesitate any longer. Breaking your gaze, I roll over on my belly. For some strange reason, I start to grin. I want to laugh at this ridiculous idea… And immediately I am horror struck by the realization that I took electricity off the “no” list.

Hoping to find a slow movement that could balance between stalling the inevitable, and compliance, I ball up for a second. Tensing all my muscles before easing down to the floor helps to calm me, but only a little. Crawling slow across the room seems a little silly; it’s such a short distance. Wouldn’t it be better to get it over with? No. I don’t want to even get to it. But I do. The voluminous bag seems so menacing, now. Normally, seeing it is a joy; it holds the yummy rope. I cautiously start moving rope bundles around, suddenly scared to touch anything other than rope. I don’t even hope that it’s not in here. I saw it only an hour ago.

Finally I see the cattle prod, fish it out and turn back to the bed. It’s cold, alien and hard and I hate that I am touching it. I hand it up to you without getting back on the bed, awaiting instructions. Though, I know being on the floor, out of your arm’s reach, will not be one of them. But I am frightened to be too close to the instrument.

“Come up on the bed and lay down like you were. With your legs spread.”

I want to plead and beg and cry out that I don’t want to. But your steady voice and penetrating gaze quell those thoughts. Trembling, I ascend and lie down next to you. With only a trace of hesitation, I part my legs and fight back tears.


~Sophia Iannicelli - 6/2007