Struggling Writer

Rose has the pen in her grip but the page stays blank. Constance shows up with rope and says she needs to live something raw. She knots Rose’s legs first, yanks the arms back, cinches them tight. Then she drags her fingernails across bare soles until Rose bucks and yelps, each spank landing hot across the curve of her ass. Constance leaves the door open when she goes. London steps inside like she owns the place, phone already out to snap pictures for a quick flip. Rose spits something about Constance’s friends; London laughs and starts filling a pillowcase. Constance walks back in, London spins, pins her, wrists crossed and roped fast. She runs tape over both mouths, loops their bodies together, ankles to wrists, until the two women can only writhe against each other on the floor. They rock, strain, teeth tearing at tape until it rips free. They scramble to the bedroom, catch London bent over the nightstand, and turn the tables. Rope bites London’s skin now. They roll her onto the mattress, straddle her calves, and start working her soles with sharp nails while questions hiss in her ear. London jerks, curses through the gag, heels kicking, but her eyes stay hard. The girls dig in deeper, daring her to talk.