Nineteen year old Penny stands quietly in her bedroom adorned with posters of The Doors, wearing a thin grey singlet top and nothing else.
Her dark blonde hair is untied, reaching back down to the tips of her shoulder blade.
The room is low lit – her small white lamp sits on an old chest of drawers covered with gothic romances and old fairytales.
There is no sound in this room – she’s stopped her run of Love Her Madly, per the request of her mother, who is heading to bed. On top of that, she should really be studying for her psychology exam tomorrow anyway.
The temperature in the room is just right, a blend of warm with the slightest hint of a breeze.
The breeze, of course, tickles the back of her legs and skims across her inner thigh. She can feel the breeze where she has shaven herself.
From the study table to her left, a brown, ancient thing that has been in the family for decades, she grabs her metal ruler. The sharp edges scrape across the inside of her hands.
As she steps to her double bed that fits snuggly in the corner, she absent-minded slaps the metal ruler against her lightly tanned ass to the rhythm of Love Her Madly.
In a heartbeat, everything she had been thinking about – tomorrow, exams, Jim Morrison – disappears. All that remains is the feeling of the metal ruler against her ass. That cold slight sting.
Penny is standing in the middle of the room, her shadow quivering, as of coming to life on its own. Like electricity, the idea hits her and sizzles it’s way down her body in one pulsating sweep.
Smack. It happens sudden.
The cold hits — then gives way to pain.
Smack. More stinging. This time the ruler scraped at her skin.
The thick sound of the ruler on her right cheek fires off amidst the silence.
Another, and another.
Chills race down from the beads of sweat on her forehead to her nipples hardening underneath her singlet.
She can feel her pussy tingle with each smack. And with each smack, the sting begins to throb.
When she’s done with her backside, she’ll work on her front.
Penny shifts gears, the ruler comes down in a series of strikes, one after the other, the rhythm akin to an old Slayer tune – thrash on her skin. Smacksmacksmacksmacksmack.
It begins to overwhelm her, transporting her mind to a haven she’s only seen in the patterns when she closes her eyes.
There’s nothing out there but her amongst the void – her striking her ass.
Each strike is a pulse only she can hear, a reminder to chant low and meditate. She’s losing ground, her feet slipping.
She can smell her own scent.
Penny stifles her cries,
There’s a knock on the door.
‘What the bleeding ‘ell are you doing, Penelope?’ Her mother asks groggily through the door.
Penny almost trips but rights herself, finding solid ground. She roses the metal ruler on her bed.
‘Right. Well. Stop doing nothing.’
Penny listens but her mother says no more. One second more and footsteps begin to fade. Penny gets back to studying.