Cold

Thank you for your comments. It seems as if my latest post triggered something. I am glad to see that. I will try to reply quicker to the comments, in the future. I really like having a dialogue with you. Nikolai wrote about keeping the lookout on a ship in freezing weather and I think he hit the nail on the head, that it is the helplessness and vulnerability that are key and to some extent that makes it more easy to understand, I think. It seems as if something gruesome evokes this feeling of vulnerability that can be quite sensual. And maybe it is therefore it works...if you see what I mean.

And now a short something:

The night was falling and the thin layer of snow that had fallen that morning had almost melted away but now the cold air was descending again. He took me across the yard and to the stable. I could see in his eyes that he was in no mood for discussions.

The stable was not as cold as the outside but I still felt quite miserable standing in the dark. He switched the light on, but there was only one bare lightbulb hanging from a wire, spreading its gloomy light.

'There,' he said, and pointed on the sawhorse, 'you go on that.'

I shivered. The sawhorse meant he was angry.

'It is really cold here,' I tried.

'I know.'

I approached the dreaded device.

'Take your clothes off.'

'I can't do that, it's too cold.'

'Take your clothes off.'

I looked at him and I knew there was no room for anything but obedience.

I slipped off my jacket and trembled. I had to go on. I took off my shoes, my jeans, and my top. When he kept staring at me, I slipped off my socks and my knickers.

'Get on the horse, now.'

The concrete floor was ice cold against my bare feet and I shivered as I placed my hand on the rough wood of the horse. My fingers felt the coldness of the surface. I shook my head.

'I can't do it, it's too terrible.'

'On the horse, now!'

It was easier to do it when he was this determined, this harsh with me. I climbed the horse and gasped when my thighs and bottom touched the wood.

'Down over it.'

I laid myself down and held my breath as my belly and breasts came in contact with the coldness of the surface.

Without a word he took the ropes and tied my hands and my feet to the horse. When he was done, I did no longer have to do my best to stay on it. The ropes helped me.

'I feel cold, I will have a cup of tea,' he said and walked to the door.

'No,' I cried, 'you can't leave me here.'

'Can't I?'

He closed the door behind him.

When being tied naked to a icy wooden device in a stable seconds appear like minutes. I didn't know how long he stayed away. I was naked and helpless and shivering in the cold. I wanted him to come back, even if it brought me closer to what he had in mind.

It could have been hours, minutes, a lifetime, I didn't know, before he returned. I was happy to see him, even if he didn't speak a word as got the terrible horsewhip from its hook.

The horsewhip is fierce and horrible. It is brutal and bites into the flesh like few other things. And he was angry. He used it well on me and I could do nothing but cry and squirm and wriggle and pull at my ropes.

I was sweaty and aching when he was done. He seemed calmer, more content, but he took his time and decided to walk around the stable and look at all his gruesome tools. I stayed on the horse, naked, cold, and whipped.

Finally he untied me and we went back to the house. He carried my clothes and as we walked across the yard, towards the inviting light from our living room, snow had begun to fall.