It Mattered Not. By CpSingleton © 2015
He’d watched her wrap the rope,
Tightly, around his upper body.
Starting by tying his willing hands
Behind his back and the wooden chair’s.
Then, slowly she circled, smiling kindly,
As she worked the clean, brown hairy rope
Around his relaxed torso, whispering
Gentle platitudes as she went.
He hadn’t tried to escape, although,
Knew he should.
He foresaw that one livid day,
When the itching began, that he
Would regret not escaping earlier.
It had been a safe bondage, a
Relaxed prison, yet, now it seemed
That the dusty coils of the rope were
Beginning to stifle.
The weight of the rope constricted his
The pressure sores of incapacity had
Puss and pain poured into the strands,
Filling his binds with the stench of a slow death.
In panic, he shook and writhed.
In the end it mattered…
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