The Ties That Bind by Warren Adler

press against her body, then waves of
excruciating pain. He was pushing the device into her anus.
    All pleasure had vanished. The pain was ghastly. She felt
herself choking as she squirmed helplessly against the bonds that held her. The
gag prevented her from crying out, although she tossed her head from side to
side in agony.
    "You deserve this, you whore," he shouted above
the now grating sound of the vibrator.
    His words cascaded in her head. The pain permeated her,
filled her, tortured her. She heard her own screams in her head, but no sound
as she struggled. She wanted to disappear, lose herself. She seemed to have
remembered wishing for death.
    Stop, her mind screamed, her head swinging wildly from side
to side as he pressed the vibrator deeper into her body. He was oblivious to
her struggles, her pain, her agony and her desperate but silent entreaties. He
spoke, but she could not hear him above the sound of the vibrator as it
shuddered inside her body, spreading its excruciating pain.
    She might have lost consciousness. She would never be
certain. Nor could she ever be sure what had really gone on in her mind at the
time, except that she knew she was experiencing the ultimate mortification.
This was not trust. This was not love. This was fearsome, a shocking and
painful abuse of her body. It crossed her mind that he was trying to kill her
with agony.
    It had been a long time since she had dipped into that
rusty vault of memory, but she was certain that her recall was accurate.
    "You were wonderful," she remembered him saying
sometime later, his voice silky. Had she lost consciousness? Was it really his
voice? Did he have no memory of the pain he had inflicted? Was this suffering
supposed to prove something to him? She felt him releasing her bonds.
    "You've made me very happy," he said.
    Was he really saying that or had her hearing become
impaired? He had brutalized her. Hurt her. Hadn't he seen that? He removed the
gag. She recalled trying to talk, but, at first, she thought she had lost the
power of speech. She felt paralyzed. Her body ached from the aggressive
violence he had waged against it.
    She saw stains on the sheet. She was bleeding from her
rectum. Lying beside her on the bed, she saw the instrument he had used,
stained with her blood. She remembered pulling up the sheets to hide herself,
more out of deep shame than modesty. He pulled the blanket up to her neck, as
if he were tucking in a child, and put his lips to her forehead. His lips felt
like ice. She cringed and pulled the blanket over her head.
    What she wanted was to hide under the covers for the next
millennium. She was too humiliated and horror-struck to meet his gaze.
    "Rest, my darling," he said, patting the blanket.
"You were wonderful." Wonderful? Was it possible? Was she dreaming?
    "I'll leave you to rest," he whispered.
"I'll get back by taxi."
    She must have grunted some response, remembering that when
she heard the door close behind him, she had staggered to it and fastened the
chain lock. Then she had dropped to her knees and cried hysterically for what
must have been hours. Love? No way. In her mind love was beautiful, full of
care and trust and wonder. Not this.
    The room was dark when she had finally found the strength
to rise. The pain was still excruciating. She managed to make it to the
bathroom, flicking on the lights. She looked in the mirror, appalled by the
sight of herself.
    He had covered her body with filthy words written in cherry
lipstick. The word "pig" was written across her forehead and on one
thigh the word "suck" and on the other "whore." He had also
painted her nipples and had drawn an arrow beginning at the base of her neck
and leading down to the edge of her pubic hair where he had written the word
"trash."
    She stood observing herself with disgust. Her shame and
mortification had not yet turned to anger. Had she really been a willing
participant in this disgusting exhibition of sadism. What had possessed her