Speaking so lightly, her words were as if the man at the other end of the leash, the whip, the rope that held them up was echoing a belly laugh. To and fro, the belly would throw her out to choke but reign her in to hold her, feel her. The length of the dress and the position of her eyes. Where on the rope would her throat lie? As she would, shaking above the mattress. She must remember not to grip the pillow too hard or her arms and her legs will shatter at impact.

Written by Isaac Lewis