I Have Read the Marquis de Sade

The blood glistened like rubies."God, I even think in cliches", he thought, as the crimson painted her rib-cage, and he could see the rising and falling of her breasts with each inhalation, a strip of black silk stuck between her thighs, and hair that looked like a pile of disheveled hay - "not exactly attractive", he mused for a moment, but then the whip was swinging down again, and he was lost in the rush of coils and skin, and was falling on her, licking the blood that dribbled down to her navel, painting the insides of her thighs with his red kisses. Salty.

"Tell me how bad it was", he said, panting slightly, as he straightened himself up and sat down at the edge of the matress that lay on the floor, his knees touching her toes. "I told her if America didn't have better jails, I would take out my gun. I told her I only spoke to her out of pity." "And what did she say?". The laugh was worse than anger, and he could see the blood dripping stronger with each sound, each wave being pushed forth through a messy passage of lungs and diaphram. "She said she did not need anyone to speak to her out of pity - she was not that worthless." "My baby, my baby" he was cradling her head in his hand, kissing the top of her head, kissing the wounds like a pilgrim, like some kind of male Mary Magdalene. "Mary Fucking Magdalene", he thought, fingering the black cross that hung around his neck.

"Punish me", she said. He turned aside. "I can't for tonight." She laughed. "I've had enough - let's just try to get some sleep", he said, reaching for the light. She laughed once more. "What's wrong - aren't you man enough?" He remained silent. "You fucking hypocrite - you can't even wear that cross around your neck - hey, I just violated the fifth commandment!". With effort, she raised herself a bit, struggling against the black satin that bound her to the sagging matress. "Don't you want my flesh?", she whispered, "can't you taste it?" She licked her lips. "Salty".

His hands were trembling. "Get out of my house." "What?" "I'm serious - put your clothes on and go."

He remained seated, staring at a stain in the sheets, as he heard her writhing. "Untie me", she said, so he did so, but he kept his eyes on the stain the entire time: It was a stain from blood. As he heard her bandaging her wounds and zipping her dress, he thought the stain was moving, and by the time he heard the clicking of heels and the slamming of the door, he was convinced that the red had learned how to Samba, and was dancing a duel with the white cotton. He could still taste her blood on his lips as he closed his eyes.