A world in motion . . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

She looked at her Master as he came in the door, dressed in riding-trousers of soft black leather, high-legged black boots in like as soft leather, black silk shirt with a small red scarf around his neck and the “brush-whip in his hand”.
He looked at her, tied her with his glance.
She couldn’t move. She felt the tingling in her body as she met his eyes. She knew this look . . .

She had just taken a long hot bath, scented with Jasmine. Surrounded the tub with Jasmine-scented candles and sedated herself with a glass sparkling champagne.
She had brushed her long, black, soft-curled hair and given a drop of “Love-potion no.1” perfume behind each ear. Carefully put on discrete make-up with only gloss on her lips.
She had covered her naked body with a Chinese-designed red silk-robe with a golden drake on the back, tied around the waist with a silk-band. Finally she had put on the cuffs.

She was tripping nervously with her small feet.
She went up to him and gave him a kiss on his cheek.
“You have had a bad day at work” she stated with comforting voice “ I can see it in your face.”
His eyes moved slowly from her face towards the door to the padded room. Their room. The secret room. The room furnished with a huge black leather chair, a huge pillow in soft, black, sued leather was on the floor beside the chair. On the other side of the chair was a small table with a tiny vase with one single red rose.
In the middle of the room was the special designed seat with a small table on wheels beside with all his tools. At the short-wall was the panel with strategic placed hooks.

She followed his glance and moved with grace towards the door and opened it. He went to the bar and made two drinks and passed her at the door to enter the room.
He handed her one of the drinks and sat down in the chair. She kneeled down beside him and placed herself on the pillow.
“Drink with greed,whore” he whispered between clenched teeth as he looked at her with peering eyes.
She took the drink in two gulps. She leaned her head on his leg.
He rose with a sudden as he at the same time took a fast hold around her wrist and drew her with him up. He pointed at the panel.
She went up to the panel and faced it as she at the same time let her robe fell to the floor. With rough moves he took her wrist and ankle-cuffs and hooked her to the panel. Arms and legs stretched out. He gagged her with a ball-gag.
He let his brush-whip glide slowly over her back, from her delicate little butt to her neck. Then he rapidly swung the whip though the air and let it fling over her back, her butt, her tights, over and over again.
Her head bobbed backwards and then forwards towards the panel at each beat, leaving a bruse at her forhead. The red lines that appeared on her back fast turned purple and small drops of blood trickled through her porcelain-colored skin.

He left her and went to the seat. The seat could be clapped together so it made a V-shape with the tip up. He went back and loosened her from the panel. She felt week in her legs and was about to fell when he lifted her up and carried her to the seat. He softly bent her over the seat so her legs reached the floor on the one side and her head on the other side. In this position her butt was on top. He fastened her cuffs again on the outer side of the seat. The leg-cuffs he fastened so that her feet were placed on small plates on a rail on each side of the bed. The lower part of the seat was narrower than the upper part, so when he now pushed the legs up, she came I a position as if she was crawling.
He placed electric poles to her vaginal lips. As the electric impulses flung through her, her body bobbed.

*********
As she woke up the next day, crouching up in his arms she whispered: “Thank you, my beloved master. It is always a pleasure to please you.”

*********
One year later . . . She came with in a Green-peace parade. “Save the whales”
It came to turmoil. The police tried to stop some violence between the participants of the parade and some bullies on the sideline. She was in a tough fight with a younger boy when the policeman took her arm and bends it behind her back to lead her to the police-car. As she tried to pull away from the grip of the policeman, she twisted her foot and fell to the ground with the result that her arm dislocated at her shoulder.
At the police-station she shouted out her anger about the violence of the police and claimed compensation for her sufferings.

“Is this the kind of world we offer our children” she shouted “A world full of violence ! !”

*******

So many ways of experience life

While one is called whore is another called wife.

.

So many ways of experience pleasure

What for me is torture, is for you a treasure.

Insulting is felt in so many ways

What for you is a title of honor is for me a word of disgrace.

Where is the limit and what is a lie

When the limit is reached is that when you die?

Where does the word “abuse” come in

Is that when you feel the ice you are walking, start to get thin?

Where will you go then, with your complain

When everyone you contact tell you, it’s all in vane

Both lawyer and doctor and friends give advice

They remind you, your choice and this is the price.

They will tell . . . you deserved it since you didn’t obey

And be happy it’s only the kidney they took away

The next time you were told you should feel honored

When they took half of your liver and called you a donor

When also half of your lung is gone

It is then you are told to try to be strong.

When your Master or Devil or Manager say:

“Remember I love you, that’s why we do it my way

”When your vagina is burned, so you are no more a woman

Don’t believe it’s finish, that was only an omen

When they take your back-skin to make you a pillow

Enjoy the softness as if you are in a meadow

Open your hands and with grace receive

The life as a zombie, in which you believe

You are all given “something”, only to “relax”

So you don’t “wake up” and take a prolapse

When your husband or master or devil has friends

With the lawyers, the doctors and members of the governments

Then he is given only two option of winning,

The price which is given in “Lotte-ringen”

Be sure, he always choose you to be the winner

The price of an illness, mutilation or being a billet

So many times I remember . . . the Bible will tell

“They will talk so beautiful . . . about the life in Hell”

What you call Paradise, I call Hell

What I call Paradise, is for you not at all well

So if we tomorrow shall make a new world and norm

Will it be your way or my way . . . or will we both be forlorn?

Because whoever be the ruler in the new world from now on

One will be in Paradise . . . the other in Armageddon