Stiletto

Second day: the ritual of the pain 
You found my note under your door: “Father, I confess that I have sinned” along with a black handkerchief of silk. 
I struck your door only once. You opened. You made me fell on my kneels, with my hands together, I whispered “Mary, my Mother, immaculate Spouse of the Holy Ghost, refuge of sinners, assist me by thy intercession. ” and you gathered to me as if it was a left object. 
You did not direct word to me, to only you took the shelter me (long and black like the security of which it deserved a punishment by my sins), underneath my naked skin, my necklace of dog and my submission. You tied my hands with the handkerchief and without mediating word you placed to me on your nap. Your hand grasping a whip fell against my rumps with precise and methodical rate. My rumps, round as two full moons were tinted of wine against the percussion of my punishment. 
I wanted to cry, I wanted to beg but I did not do it. I accepted my destiny.