Posted: September 10, 2007 in Uncategorized

As she held the cigarette in her hand, the smoke swirled into oblivion in the candlelit room. Incense burned like dragon’s breath into billowing clouds cluttering the ceiling. The room smelled of the fire roaring in her mind. Her soul had melted into the wax of her candles that she prayed with. The space behind her eyes ached from the day’s venture into the blinding sun. That melancholy dance into the workplace to escape what held her captive the night before. The indian burn marks on her wrists and ankles from writhing in the ropes were easily hidden under boots, black pants and bracelets. The bite mark shaped bruises on her neck were just as easily hidden under a black, sleeveless turtle neck. The light bruise on her cheek was concealed in make-up. But those hands that graced themselves along her body didn’t seem to disappear as effortlessly. Nor that voice that crept into her skull.

The scene that played itself over and over in her head from the night before, laid itself upon the table that held her ashtray.

The sound of the sheers as they cut her hair sent waves of pain though her body. Each cut would be replaced with a lash at the end of the day. She could see his lips move with each count and his cold eyes staring as
the barber worked his hands through her long red hair. Each lock fell to
the floor slowly and she decided to close my eyes tearfully instead of
watching my hair disappear from her head.

The silence was broken when his venomous voice said, “I told you not to cry, you wench.”

She whimpered as her eyes opened and she tried to hold back the tears
building up. The last lock fell to the floor and she felt as if it was her savior. The barber was handed a purse full of coins before he left her alone with her demise.

“If you weren’t so obstinant, this would have never happened.”

“Master, I’ll be more complacent. Please don’t whip me tonight.”

“Why should I listen to your pleas? You brought me to this hellish state of disarray.”

He sat down in a chair and she got on her knees in front of him.

“I love you, Master.” She placed her head on his lap.

He ran his fingers along what was left of her hair as he said, “I’m sure you do, Janvier. Eros is your calling.”

“I will take care of you, Master. I really will.”

He grasped her chin in his hand and made her look him in the eye. “Would you?”

She nodded, while giving him big green eyes.

“Have you not caused me to sin enough?”

“Oh Master, I…”

“Rub your hand along my leg, Janvier and up to my waist under my robes. Do you not feel it?”

She did as she was told and felt how aroused he was.

“Do you like what you do to me?”

 Janvier stared at him. “You’re so big, Master.”

“Yes. You’ve caused me to grow. It’s so painful. Take away my agony.”

She turned away.
“I can leave and you can say your prayers, then, Master. I will go say mine.”

He grabbed her shoulder firmly, and dug his finger tips into her flesh.

“You will go no where, Janvier. You can say them here.”

“But Master. There are no candles.”

“There’s enough heat in my veins looking at you to light a hearth.”

  1. Anonymous says:

    you have a very vivid and descriptive prose piece. i like the repetition of the “b” sounds and the attention to the clouds

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