Janice Griffith: A Toy Named Giggles

Janice Griffith steps into the darkness still fresh, still testing the edges. She giggles every time the ropes bite, that bright, nervous sound masking how hard she’s breathing. We move slow because she asked for it, but her body keeps giving her away—hips rocking forward, cunt dripping. Every time the flogger lands she laughs louder, like sound can push the sting away. I tighten the cuffs around her wrists, pull the chain until her shoulders strain, and that laugh cracks. She’s wet already, slick running down her thigh. I press two fingers in and her giggle turns into a moan, then a gasp, then a gush. She sprays across the floor, shaking, still trying to smile through it. I keep her there, bound and dripping, until the laugh sounds more like begging than fear.