WHACK Whackity Whack Whack. WHACK Whackity Whack Whack.
"What song is this?" he asks me.
"Yes. It is a horrible song, isn't it, slave? Even if it does make a nice beating rhythm."
With a grin, I peak over at him standing there with the cane in his hand.
"No, I think it is a nice tune".
"What?" he says, not quite believing that I like Bolero. Especially that I like it on my ass.
"I like that song, Bolero" I say, full of glinting cheekiness now to contradict him.
WHACK. WHACK. Whackity Whack Whack. WHACK Whackity Whack Whack. And he moves down to my thighs with a stronger stroke. I'm in that sobbing/not quite crying phase, all the glints and cheek gone out of me, when he pushes me to the ground and I curl up in a ball. He kicks my ass.
I still like Bolero though.
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