Submision (Blogophilia 19.5)
She felt dirty when the call came. Like a stain on the carpet that wouldn’t clean up. And it was his fault. A sack of potatoes looked back from the mirror while she thought this. She never had been very pretty, and she certainly wasn’t pretty now. Drooping breasts against a beach ball stomach. She took a slug from the pint and the tears came. Cheap booze is a false economy . She had read that somewhere. The voice began its litany: “It’s time. Kill him and kill me. It is the only way to end it.” Maybe another drink would help. No. The fever kept rising as she applied her makeup. She selected the silve r corset, rigged it could be tightened without help. The carbon colored stockings, held with silk garters, were a garden design and didn’t stand out. A maroon chambray top, long black skirt and simple three inch black pumps rounded it out. She put on a couple of bracelets and a spray of Obsession. Before she put on the...