#4 I’ll Lift You

Torture Rack

You look so wimpy, especially next to me. We stand side by side, you on my right, looking in a large mirror for comparisons. You’re no match for me. It looks like comparing a Mountain Lion to a carefree house cat. I prove it by squatting low, reaching between your legs from your back side, my shoulder near your anus, and I grab your left wrist with my other arm. As I stand up tall again, your back as fallen across my shoulders behind my head, your feet leave the ground and you begin to feel the power of my thighs lift you up like you’re a sack of rice. Your legs dangle on my right side. My hand between your legs, clutching your left thigh, keeping you from sliding off, and rather, forcing your back to bend in a way you didn’t know it could. Your left arm dangles over my other shoulder, being used as a second handle to keep you from sliding off. Your head dangles off my left shoulder, the blood rushing to your brain, headache ensuing. I reach up and grab your head, pulling it down. Not only is your back being stretched so terribly, you try to relieve it by getting more on your side

Still, it’s hard to breath as I bounce heavy up and down. I hear a few of your vertebrae pop. I’ll have to bill you for the adjustment. Who said chiropractors had to go to school?

You cry in pain, asking for mercy to let you down, but I’m not sure of what you’re saying since the moans of excruciating pain are too loud for me to hear over.

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