thoughts of dog

it's one of my favorite things to do, when I notice someone itching to pick up the tool and inflict this time - but it's no easy task. forbidden. the handle vibrates in your fingers with unspeakable power. you're not supposed to hurt. especially someone who hasn't given you a reason. things can feel slightly more familiar from the other end, the being hurt, and if you're good, you avoid it altogether. slightly less good, you take it quietly and bravely. and if the pain breaks you in half, you must've done something to really have it coming. but you never, ever, wrench the tool out of their hands. it's unspeakable to some, being on this end. so unfamiliar. easy to lose yourself to it. easy to miss, or lose control.

power over someone else's body, at its most vulnerable. no pretense. just honest reflex.

when you hold all the power, you can take things either way - because what does tolerance mean, really? how much we can take? how much we can take quietly? how much we can take well?

maybe, i'll make it a dance. guiding you, slowly. stretch. hand on the small of your back, deeper into its curve. you like being scratched? bitten? held down and pinched and grabbed until you bruise? hit? the intimacy of warm hands, or the adrenaline spike of an impact tool? which one? breathe. you're doing beautifully. admiring your body under duress, in the throes of its skill, its limits, its passion. relax. the strain of muscle and tendon, the pearls of sweat, the twitches and moans, the - was that my name? a gentle touch, until the tension dissipates. can you take more? for me? you can. I know it. it's a concerted and mutual effort. i'll fill you with pride, when you collapse. more than you could ever be ashamed of the sounds you made when there was nothing left that could've made you care. you did so well.

for me.

maybe you can see all the beauty in it, when you come down from the place you're floating in. no fear in picking up the same tools that brought you there - knowing you'll be giving me a gift.

or maybe, I'm really in the mood to suffer.

there's one thing I'm almost sure of in regards to you. we're athletes, both of us, we love a test of thrill, endurance, elegance. and if there's one thing that will make a person get up from the floor and take things into their own hands like nothing else, dust off and rewrap the bandages - whether they're made of cotton or satin - it's beautiful, lifesaving, insufferable spite. you have a streak to match mine, i'm pretty certain. and the tease that I am understands how to work it.

I've been on this end. I know what hurts, and why, and how much. It's not difficult to make somebody flinch and cry out even while the hurt itself stays harmless, if you're really going for it. it's just reflexes after all, healthy ones at that, and it says very, very little about how brave somebody is. and i can act so innocent about it. oh, was that too much? I'm sorry, I'll go easier on you. you're not ready for this yet. It all depends what image of yourself you have. you seem pretty intent on not making a sound. I hate to disappoint you. I won't tie you up for a reason. maybe you'll just tap out, and carefully plot your revenge while I'm busy rubbing lotion into your skin, and apologizing for being so ill-mannered. or maybe, my enthusiasm is enough to make the spark of spite rear up, pull the tool from my hand and show me exactly what you've learned.