If I saw this smile pasted on the face of a child, I would assume she was up to mischief. I would assume something terrible was done or in preparation. Pretty. Pristine. Her smile compels me to keep an watchful eye on her.
Her smile gives me cause to worry
When it’s playtime, she breaks out her latest batch of ‘pervertibles’; household items that are used for perverse purposes. Withdrawing these items one by one, my adrenaline starts to rush. I’m gonna get it.
Ping Pong Paddle
Assuming the position, I lie on my stomach and arch my ass upward. Curiosity and fear creates a crazy cocktail. Beginning with the small skewers, she threw off my expectation by start softly and off beat. Gradually, her strikes grew harder and faster; as did my yelps. I love the contradiction between my cries and welcoming body language. No matter the pain, I should ready and eager to receive another one.
I sounded like a puppy begging for the attention if his master. Whimpering, clawing at the mattress; I wanted to run away. I wanted to use our safe word, “Yellow”, but I also wanted to see this to the end. At the tail end of this torture, I knew there was treasure.
After an anatomical tour with rulers, she returned to her bag of tricks. Pulling out a purple silk scarf, I was confused by her arsenal. Rubbing my thighs and ass with the satin, I looked back to see her smiling. She was being so gentile…so soft. Speaking in baby talk, “I love my boy.” My mind took a u-turn. I started to imagine this moment being a trap to lower my anticipation, a decoy, a "pump-fake".
She was being so gentile…so soft, I started to expect the worst. Showering me with affection, she gushes, “You know how much your Mama loves you?” My mind started to fill with giant, sharp, blunt objects. Painful, traumatic abuse to counteract with this moment of smoothness.
I screamed, “You’re scaring me!” I twist body away from her.
Concerned, she asks, “Why? What am I doing?”
Sounding like a big bitch, “You’re trying to trick me!”
Trying to calm me down, hushing me, “I can’t be gentile? Must everything pleasant be met with something tragic?” Holding me in her arms, I felt like crying. It took me a while to return.
Was this the treasure I sought to find?
The only model I'm really into, Sasha Marini, always manages to be in high-concept pieces. In "Rape", photographed by Roger Nicotera, we find Sasha in a real Roman jail. Even in the midst of dirty mattresses and subterranean grit, Sasha shines like a morsel of gold.
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