As the sting subsided and his speed increased, I slid my hands from the rope (he's so good to me, always leaving me an out) and undid his belt, zipper...and pants, blindly bringing him out of his work clothes. "I need to finish punishing you," Eric said, his fingers not showing any sign of slowing their exploration of my swollen walls. He pulled at my hips and coerced my feet to the floor so I was bent over the bed. "I'm going to get the paddle downstairs," he said and as his hand pulled away, he. I listened. I listened for God’s voice. I begged him to hear me and give me guidance. All I could hear were my own thoughts. The only future I could see was the one I’d already lived. The look of horror on my boyfriend’s face when I told him I was pregnant. His futile attempt to deny that it was possible. The look of disgust on my father’s face the last time he spoke to me. No, not the day he died—the day I told him I was pregnant. The minister’s lecture during my wedding on the evils of sex. More

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