A Gorgeous Whip

The book pulled from my Pagan father’s house was covered brown in dust

I opened it weeks after the find and the cover bore an unfamiliar symbol

The incantation spoke of summoning the love of your life

And as lonely a man as I am I suppose it was impossibly compelling

Where it called for goat’s blood I used Heinz ketchup

Where it called for incense I used a potpourri candle

And where it called for a blood sacrifice, I placed a cold rotisserie chicken

When the incantation was spoken, with myself in the center of the pentagon, smeared with ketchup and giggling at how silly my insomnia had made me

I did not expect “The Whip”

She burst into existence in the corner of the salted room

Approached me with a gorgeous face, straight golden hair, and as beautiful as the day is long

As long as your type bears curling horns over her ears, hairy legs ending in hooves

And a black and red striped whip that she cracks every time I flinch, and nearly every time I don’t

I bought “The Whip” flowers, she braided them into her hair and beat me with the kitchen stool

I cooked rare lamb for “The Whip”, and she devoured both portions, calling me a “fat whelp” before sending me to our bedroom for our traditional three and half hours of bondage and beatings

I swear that she is the love of my life

And if I do not swear

She makes me drink toilet water

Beware the dusty books

Beware the lack of existence of “The Whip’s” safe word

And bring expensive red wine to dinner

The Whip insists

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