Thursday, April 5, 2012
The Power Of Silence
The quiet means he's brooding, that something really is wrong. Accompanied by that look, I have to avert my gaze. I suddenly find a thread in the carpet very interesting.
He puts his hand around my wrist and leads me to stand in the corner. More silence. I feel as if I've been standing there for an eternity. He reappears at my side, releasing me from my two-walled prison. I look at him with eyes pleading for forgiveness. But it is much too late for that now.
I resume a familiar position bending over the straight backed chair. The unbuckling of his belt and sound of it being pulled through the loops speaks louder than any words we've said all night. It sends a chill down my spine. The belt swishes through the air as if in slow motion before connecting with my waiting bottom.
I gasp and wince, struggling not to move. It comes down hard again and again as pink stripes emerge on my bare skin. Each strike echoes throughout the room and is the only thing to be heard aside from my heavy breathing.
He speaks softly on purpose because it forces me to listen harder. I nod and agree, my apology genuine. He embraces me as one of his hands gently rubs my sore bottom. The silence is broken.