Visiting Anita

He steps through the door like he owns the place, expecting warmth, maybe gratitude. Instead he finds Meifa on the floor, face down, arms twisted behind her back, the polished wood cool against her cheek. Her dress has ridden up, thighs bare, body marked with careful lines of rope. A snapper rig hangs between her legs, attached to her nipples and clitoris by fine, unyielding strings. Any sudden movement and the sensation sharpens to pain, but she holds herself still, forced into perfect obedience. Rain peers down, coat hanging from his shoulders, and the disappointment twists the air colder than the hallway behind him. He reaches, thinking to offer her a hand, but stops. He sees the whole picture now: the designer strap around her waist, the black band of the Foley gag strapped across her mouth, the faint gleam of sweat between her shoulder blades. Meifa blinks slow, breathing through her nose. She knows what Rain wants, what he has always wanted, to lift her up, untie her, kiss the marks, promise it will never happen again. She says nothing, offers no complaint or request. Only the steady cadence of her breathing keeps her steady as the tension pulls each connection taut. Rain hesitates. The small, delicate parts of her body remain strapped, trapped, displayed, her scent mingling with wood polish and damp wool. Rain lets his hand fall to his side. "Have you lost your mind?" he murmurs. No answer, except the soft rattle of the snapper’s bar as she draws in another careful breath.