Busted Door

The door flies open hard enough to rattle the hinges. Three college girls sit frozen in the living room: Blake LaVista’s black hair falling over her shoulders, Rosey Satin’s platinum blonde strands catching the light, Natty Love’s deep brunette waves brushing her cheeks. Essays scatter across the carpet as a stranger steps through the shattered frame. “Tie each other up,” he snaps. They don’t move. He pulls a thick wooden paddle from his coat and the first smack lands on Rosey’s ass, loud and sharp. She yelps. Another blow, this time across Natty’s thighs, and the girls start reaching for rope with shaking hands. Rosey’s wrists are bound first, palms together, rope biting into pale skin. Blake winds the next length around Natty’s elbows, pulling tight until her shoulders strain. Gag follows gag: cotton packed deep, tape smoothed over each set of lips until every protest turns to muffled breathing. The room fills with the rustle of rope and the creak of wood whenever the paddle taps a bare thigh to hurry the girls along. Three bodies now sit bound on the same couch they lounged on minutes earlier—black hair, blonde hair, brunette hair pressed tight against tape, wrists cinched, ankles crossed and lashed. The intruder circles once, checking knots, giving the paddle a final, idle slap against his palm before stepping back to watch them struggle.