The rope snaps. My stomach lurches and I am suspended in the air for a fraction of a second, shocked. Then I hit. My face hits first, then my shoulder, and finally my hips make connection with the earth. It's surprising how much it hurts to fall, even on a soft cushioned mattress.
The ropes stop me from seeing your face as I fall. I can't turn and see your eyes opening wide, your hands reaching but too far away to catch me. But when it is over I hear your feet drum against the floor.
Your arms circle my body and the pressure of your touch hurts, but I smile into your chest. Tomorrow I will bruise. My skin will turn purple, puff up, and ache. Today, your skin feels good and cool against mine.
The scissors are a shock. The metal drags against my skin, and I feel you try not to struggle as they snip through each bond on my arms. The noise of each strand being snipped is the same as the ripping before. Only this time my arms are free.
You drag the scissors against my legs and between my breasts , until the rope lays loose around my body. It's gone but the traces are still there. The skin is red, dented with the fibers that wound around me. Instead of rope, now there are your fingers soothing my skin. Your fingers follow the path down my neck and around my breasts. They rub the indentations at my hips and follow them deeper.
Then, in my ear.
"Again?"
"Yes."
