Page 14 of For Love & Torture

With a nod to the audience, Grant moves on, “Then let us begin. Music and lights please.”

The lights over the audience dim, and the spotlight that is on Grant does too. Dark thumping music fills the large room, making it seem even more ominous than it had been.

Chills run through me as if I haven’t acted out the scene twenty or so times before. It is as if I have no idea what is about to happen, even though I know every move and know I can trust Grant.

The white spotlight turns to red as Grant pulls the whip off the wall. He pops it a few times toward the audience then he turns and pops it around me. It’s so close to my skin, I can feel the tiny bursts of wind from the tail of it.

All around me he pops that whip, as if showing me that he can hit me if he wants to. I am helpless to defend myself. I am trapped, vulnerable, and at his mercy.

The rope is wound around my body, from my ankles to my throat. Grant left just enough room for me to breathe comfortably. That is until I begin to get pumped up and begin to breathe harder.

My chest feels tight as it swells, and the rope feels as if it is smothering me, choking me much like a giant snake. Just as I’m about to shout out the word that would pause our scene to fix the ropes—yellow—Grant comes to me.

His eyes dance as he pulls a giant, sharp knife out of the holster on his hip. He uses it to cut the rope from my throat to my ankles and catches me before I can hit the ground.

Taking in deep breaths as the audience cheers, I whisper, “Thank you, sir.”

Our lips meet and my body goes limp in his strong arms. I am his for the taking once more.