The party was in full swing in the backyard. The Chinese lanterns lit it perfectly, strung between the patio and the back fence. The drinks had flowed and the appetizers were all a hit. People mingled and chatted, laughed and flirted. Her husband would be proud of what a success the night was and all the work she had done to make it so. There was just one more thing to really make this the party of the year.
The guests began to gather on the patio around the large sliding glass door as her husband suggested. He stepped inside and shut the glass door behind him. Walking to the far side of the door he began to pull the cord that would normally close the vertical blinds. But rather than the blinds moving across the expanse of glass she sidestepped into place in the middle of the door. Her hands were bound with thin rope and tied spread wide to the attachments above her head, on her feet six inch heels. She wore nothing else. He stepped up behind her, pushed her closer to the glass, it was cold against her breasts, her stomach, her hips. The guests moved closer to the glass on the other side as one. They saw her body, they saw her face, they saw the tears already beginning to flow from her pretty eyes, and they saw him behind her and they saw the cruel black whip in his hand as he raised it.
In response to the prompt at The Sweltering Celt for Microfantasy Monday , the theme this week...
Sliding. Glass. Doors.
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