Object ~ The Whip


 

I have been remiss and haven’t written in 2 weeks; work has sucked most of my energy. So this one is actually 2 weeks overdue but I’ve only been able to finish it today
In response to the Daily Post Challenge ~ Weekly writing challenge to be found here http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/24/writing-challenge-object/#more-69275

“Lucy, are you coming?”
“One moment.”

She breathes in deeply as she caresses the whip amorously. She loves the feel of the leather, its smell too: it reminds her of her mother. Liz always loved her leather: belts, gloves, purses, coats, sometimes skirts. Sometimes she’d say she loved how it hugged her curves. Men said it enhanced her natural beauty. When her mother was home, leather was all Lucy smelled. So when her mother left – which happened quite often – she would enter her dress-in and pull out gloves and purses and coats and lie down in the middle of it pretending her Liz held her in her arms adoringly. Only her mother was not hugging or adoring type.

Lying in her leather was the closest Lucy got to being held by her mother; and it often led her to troubles and punishment. She was not supposed to be in her mother’s dress-in. It was her mother’s space; so Liz would spank her or better yet use her belt. Lucy remembers looking forward to these times in a weird way; they were the only moments she could get in contact with her mother’s body. She would readily admit that she did it on purpose that her mother might touch her.

To be perfectly honest, she loves that whip, loves using it. She rarely wonders if those at the receiving end care for it much. She tends to believe they do for they never complain. She kisses the handle taking in a scent of it; it has taken on the smell of perspiration over the years. Her line of work is peculiar maybe; only targets a specific kind of audience. In fact when she tries to explain why people look away. It’s the only way she has experienced love; what do people expect?

She is dressed in her own leather the feel of it on her skin a constant reminder of her mother. No matter what Lucy does Liz is here even though she has not seen her in years, not since she started working in this place. That job is… vulgar, beneath her mother’s aspirations for her. And yet she has enjoyed it, tremendously. She is not as beautiful as her mother; she has the scars that come with the job. She loves them. Time to go. She grabs her whip and leaves the room she is even as a voice calls from beyond the curtain.

“Please give a warm welcome to Lucy and her magnificent wild cats.”

She crosses into the main marquee where the protective cage been erected. Within moments her own children – the only ones she’ll ever have – come too surrounding her. Slowly, deliberately she takes the handle of the whip feeling its carving dig into her hands and lashes at the beasts. They roar – their own way of expressing their love? – and move to their platform. Like her in the past, their only contact with their mother is through the whip. Leather… providing of comfort, of motherly love.

 

©stephaniecolpron2014

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