" She had dressed without a slip. Her buttocks, naked except for the frail blue panties, lay there before him. He touched them and they quivered. They were warm, soft, yielding. He touched them again. And then he slapped one. His hand bounced away and he could hear the sound of it [...] He hit the other one and his hand bounced again.
“Maybe this is what you need,” he said.
She had stopped screaming.
He went to work with earnest. His hand lifted and came down, sending pain into his arm, driving pain even deeper into that lovely flesh. Driving it down, down, down.
She moved across his lap, head down. He could feel one throbbing breast caught in the crook of his left arm [...] Her body lifted, her legs parting [...] Her buttocks were a mixture of angry.agonized red and glistening white. He slapped at them, jis hand raw with pain, driving out the white, sinking the red deep in the flesh.
In those moments, he supposed, he hated her, hated her with all the violent hate that only lovers can know. Hated her because of her weakness, because of her fears; hated himself because a demonstration of brute strength such as this was an admission of fear. " (pp.46-47).
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From : The Lion’s Den/Tormented Passions by Roger Normandie (Key, 1957; Kozy, 1960)
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