Sarah continued, "Bob and I have very few conflicts in ourrelationship because we both know our places. He is always willing to do what Itell him, are...'t you Bob?" She turned her head to me as she asked thisquestion, and all I could do was mumble very quietly, "Yes, Sarah." Sarahresponded, "I'm sorry, Bob, I don't think Mary could hear you. Could yourepeat that?" I wasn't sure what to do at this stage; I was torn betweennot wanting to have our relationship brought out into the open in front of. I could sleep in our bed or I could sleep in the car, it was the only thing in both of our names and I wasn’t sure which would be colder in the middle of December. The tears started to fall as I continued on through the snow, painfully aware of the numbness in my toes as the snow melted into the holes of my boots. I could almost hear my mother telling me to stop crying before my eyes froze shut, but I wanted them to be frozen. I wanted everything to be frozen so I could stop feeling. I didn’t. He did too.Whatever tension there was broke with our laughter. For a moment, we were father and daughter, not artist and model. Clothed father and naked daughter laughed and embraced. Then, it was back to creation. Dad had me use the post as a prop. I hugged it, pushed it, and leaned against it. My curves met its straight lines; my smooth skin, its rough surface.The artist got more than he asked for. I felt free to express myself through my body. I started flirting with the camera, acting more. Megan didn't know where to focus. The pain seemed to have spread all over her body. Her tits appeared ruined, purple baloons with brownish nipples. Her torso was crisscrossed by lashes, her hands felt numb. She wanted to die, or do anything to get out. Anything. Her mind brought up her vaunted values, and her pain shoved them out. She'd often claimed to prefer death to dishonor, now dishonor, even a life full of rape and humiliation looked better. She'd happily be a trash whore, a piss slut.
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