Enjoy The Pain
S&M
Samantha sat, her back to the door, the way he liked it. She waited, like every Wednesday night for an hour before his key clicked in the keyhole, swinging the door open.
And he asked the same question, "Are you ready?"
She turned her head, just an inch to give him the answer he wanted to hear, "No."
It was almost as if she could hear his lips curl into a cruel smile, but it could have just been the drugs playing tricks on her.
His footsteps came oddly heavy over the beige carpeted motel room floor, his breath raggered, loud in anticipation, he'd been waiting for her all day. It had been driving him insane.
Standing, Samantha turned to face him, dark eyes lowered to the floor, he hated looking into her eyes. Wasn't so guiltless after all and she wondered how his wife felt about this? Or if the poor woman even knew he was paying her to fill his ever desire.
"Maybe I went a little too hard on you last week," he ran a rough finger along the bruise covering her chin.
"No such thing as to hard," her voice was spitting venom now that the time was close.
A short horse laugh escaped his lips and hand drawn high above his head a stinging slap shuttered the dirty little rooms walls.
Samantha fell back, knocking over a service phone, the edge of the desk digging hard into her hip.
"Get up," low grunts.
Shakily, she picked herself up, taking a step forward into his next blow and he laughed like an animal would howl. Tossing his gray head back, her ears rang as he continued to laugh.
Reaching out a thick hand, he picked up a clump of her plum colored hair and swung her round to face him, "If only you'd been around when I was married to my first wife."
He told the same story every week, never missing a word like a record player stuck on repeat.
"She would have appreciated this service alot more then my current wife."
It comes that his first wife suffered much the same abuse as Samantha, the difference being she wasn't paid for it and she wasn't alive.
A pale arm slumped across the bed as she lay face down on her stomach, coppery blood lacing her taste buds, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain beating away in her ribs, Samantha forced her body back up for another round.
The man squared his shoulders against her, sliding the thick leather belt from his pants and pulling it tight, it made a slapping sound.
Red and blue lights flashed outside below their window and sirens screamed, but they weren't their to save her, they'd never be there just to save her, but why would they? She wasn't screaming as they were.
Leather bit into her arm, the buckle eating bits of flesh from her back, closing her eyes she waited for the next and the next, but they never came.
Slowly, Samantha opened her eyes, a gasp left her lips at the mans blue face looking up at her. His leather belt fastened tight around his throat.
A cold draft swept in, snapping her gaze to the door she couldn't believe the glowing white wings that filled the doorway silhouetted by a man.
"Are you Samantha...?"
And he asked the same question, "Are you ready?"
She turned her head, just an inch to give him the answer he wanted to hear, "No."
It was almost as if she could hear his lips curl into a cruel smile, but it could have just been the drugs playing tricks on her.
His footsteps came oddly heavy over the beige carpeted motel room floor, his breath raggered, loud in anticipation, he'd been waiting for her all day. It had been driving him insane.
Standing, Samantha turned to face him, dark eyes lowered to the floor, he hated looking into her eyes. Wasn't so guiltless after all and she wondered how his wife felt about this? Or if the poor woman even knew he was paying her to fill his ever desire.
"Maybe I went a little too hard on you last week," he ran a rough finger along the bruise covering her chin.
"No such thing as to hard," her voice was spitting venom now that the time was close.
A short horse laugh escaped his lips and hand drawn high above his head a stinging slap shuttered the dirty little rooms walls.
Samantha fell back, knocking over a service phone, the edge of the desk digging hard into her hip.
"Get up," low grunts.
Shakily, she picked herself up, taking a step forward into his next blow and he laughed like an animal would howl. Tossing his gray head back, her ears rang as he continued to laugh.
Reaching out a thick hand, he picked up a clump of her plum colored hair and swung her round to face him, "If only you'd been around when I was married to my first wife."
He told the same story every week, never missing a word like a record player stuck on repeat.
"She would have appreciated this service alot more then my current wife."
It comes that his first wife suffered much the same abuse as Samantha, the difference being she wasn't paid for it and she wasn't alive.
A pale arm slumped across the bed as she lay face down on her stomach, coppery blood lacing her taste buds, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain beating away in her ribs, Samantha forced her body back up for another round.
The man squared his shoulders against her, sliding the thick leather belt from his pants and pulling it tight, it made a slapping sound.
Red and blue lights flashed outside below their window and sirens screamed, but they weren't their to save her, they'd never be there just to save her, but why would they? She wasn't screaming as they were.
Leather bit into her arm, the buckle eating bits of flesh from her back, closing her eyes she waited for the next and the next, but they never came.
Slowly, Samantha opened her eyes, a gasp left her lips at the mans blue face looking up at her. His leather belt fastened tight around his throat.
A cold draft swept in, snapping her gaze to the door she couldn't believe the glowing white wings that filled the doorway silhouetted by a man.
"Are you Samantha...?"