colour of my [her] heart

IT WAS FOR SIMPLE PLEASURE AT FIRST. It's red handle ridged....

“...for added stimulation!”, she squealed.

I smirked as I ran my hands over the shaft, feeling the round bumps. The leather-paddled end was in a shape of a heart. How cute, she said. It flexed easily between my thumb and forefinger. It swished seductively in the air as I brought it down against my leg. “Yes, this will do nicely”, I smiled at the woman behind the counter.

“That's one of our more popular models”

The first time it made contact with her soft skin, the sound crashed about the room like cannonball. Her squeal was louder. The red welt rose up from the surface of her milky white flesh like a flower in bloom. Heart-shaped, it grew darker, redder as she buried her face into the teddy bear gripped in her hands. The second time, it struck, she cried, tears soaking into the white felt. The little bears fixed smile and black eyes absorbed her pain as a sponge.

Redness, like sea anemones crawled across her with every stroke. Her body thrashed and heaved. Her sobs grew louder. There were no longer any hearts on her buttocks. Just when I thought that the red could not, would not, get any deeper, the colour changed chameleon-like, to prick out in an angry pin cushion spread of glory.

And the white bear continued to stare from between the tangled weaves of her hair, as I slowly pushed the ridged handle into her...