Miss Makeover

By on December 29, 2010

“Vapulation” – an obscure word for flogging – how it hurt memorising that one! “Rubious” was another one of Sylvia’s obscure words, one that would drive any Scrabble opponent into a red mist rage.  It took fewer smacks to learn that one, perhaps because ‘the colour of rubies’ was poetic enough to be memorable.
Now I’m on my fourth twenty-ninth birthday I still persevere with men. Heaven knows why, as they’re mostly useless.  But I much prefer spanking women.  And the most recent jewel in my crown was Svetlana, a Russian mafia princess. She came into my life when I was looking for someone to kill my ex-husband. Too much information? Well, it was only a passing phase. I’d rather have him alive these days. That way he’ll suffer much longer.
Geezer Hardnut, my boyfriend, when I can prise him away from the Playstation, finally arranged for me to meet Svetlana, after a mere six months or so of hypnotic suggestion. Or nagging, as he calls it.
Svetlana was my scarlet woman. You could use ‘rubious’ to describe her crimson lipstick and the broken veins in her bloodshot eyes. She kills people for money. So Geezer says. He might be a liar but he’s murdered more people than I have so I have to go with it. Particularly as I have spent at least a year wanting my ex husband dispensed with. I admit I may have lost a little perspective when they took my child away from me.  Relax, I would never have gone through with it. Some film noir heroine I would have made.
Scarlet was the colour of her pert little bum once I had finished paddling it. Svetlana was thin, chic, adorably scatty and most probably insane. Her skin was as white as the paper I write on, her bruises as black as my ink. Like my teenage self Svetlana wore only black and red. Black boots, red leather micro-skirt. Her conversation also had one theme: what she wanted next.  Apart from her blonde hair this was going to be like spanking my teenage self.
“You talk too much! Beat me! I want to be flogged. Flogged hard!”
Typical Svetlana. She can’t even be bothered to wait for a proper introduction. I can hear her husky voice, too loud from vodka and smoky from too many cigarettes. “Linear narrative? Is for pussies! Pull my knickers down and smack my bottom!. Hard!”
Well. If you insist.

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