This does not represent the views of where I work, this is fiction, attempting to show why some folks love sensory deprivation.
Unable to see, unable to gaze, Unable to picture his face, Blindfolded to truth, in the netherworld room, She was bound to the wooden shed gate, And all she could do was hear his footsteps, Stepping their way in the black, And smell the sharp smell of the flickering candle, And anticipate a genuine smack, She loved how her insides stood to attention, Her senses shocked to withstand, She loved how her sight and free had been taken, Replaced by his every demand, This couple loved depriving their senses for love, Loved their confine in the shed, This couple loved living an extreme little life, Where the old wooden wall was their bed.
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