Attic Stairs

My love is an inventive woman.

You and I see attic stairs and think of hauling boxes up and down.

She saw them and well “¦

Once again I was on my knees. The rest of me was stretched out at an angle. Straps had made me a part of our attic stairs, my pulled pulled tightly above my head.

“Oh my little plaything, as something for me to walk on you’ve found your true role in life.”

Walk she had, sometimes on the wooden steps, others on the pinky and squish parts. My thighs sore from her pauses just before she shoved herself up another step.

I don’t know why but it hurt more when she came back down.

“Well that is just too exhausting. I need to do some aerobics to get my wind back up to par, don’t you think.”

Honestly I didn’t. I knew what aerobics meant.

She’d blindfolded me with an old stocking. Dimly I could see a shadow move forward. Her first kick hit one of the already sore spots on my legs. I yelped. As I did with each that followed until she felt she’d had enough exercise.