Silly Little Ghost

at first she left the meals and cutlery in the room then left you to eat. then she started staying to watch you eat. you didn't want to give her whatever kind of sick satisfaction she'd get from it, but you need to eat. so you put up with it

then she started sitting closer and closer to you while you ate. then she started holding the plate in her lap while you ate from it. it all happened so slowly, so gradually, that you didn't even really notice how strange it was until she started petting your hair while you ate. you tried not to eat for a few days after that. but you need to eat. so you cave. and she keeps petting your hair

one day she ties your wrists behind your back before she brings your meal. when she comes in with the food, she sits in a chair directly in front of you. you think about how much you hate her. you think about how much you hate that you're so used to being close to her. she picks up some of the food and cups it in one palm. then she extends the hand towards you

you stare at the food in her hands. your mouth starts to water. you understand, somewhere deep in you, that if you do this, you will be crossing a line. something in you will snap in a way that can't be fixed. you hate her. you don't want to give her whatever kind of sick satisfaction she'll get from it

Imagine you were in a sub/domme relationship with someone whose face you’ve never seen properly. Maybe you met online, or maybe she just started stalking you and you let it happen. Now you’re the property of someone who enjoys how little you know about her.

You know she follows you around sometimes, maybe she’s only a step behind you in a crowd, but you wouldn’t be able to recognise her even if you looked. You know she’s followed you home, because she’s broken in enough times- although she quickly stole a spare key, so is it really ‘breaking’ in? You know she takes your phone because she added herself to your contacts and occasionally renames her number as ‘mistress’ or ‘owner’ or ‘guardian angel’.

And you know she wants your body, because sometimes when you think you’re alone she pushes you face-first into a wall or a couch and fucks you from behind. Sometimes you wake up blindfolded with her fingers already pushing over and over into you wet cunt. Sometimes she texts you in the middle of the day saying she saw you in the dress she chose for you today, and you look like just as much of a slut as she hoped.

Inviting them to sit next to me at some cheap bar, making coversation with them, offering to pay for their drinks for the evening as a gesture of kindness. Starting them off with something low in abv, and continuing the pleasant chatter as they slowly start to get tipsy. They're clearly a bit nervous, their posture hunched, hands fidgeting with each other in their lap. I'm drinking in the sight of a slight flush spreading across their cheeks. We're getting along very well, so I invite them to come with me to a booth in the back where it's a bit quieter.

I've brought a bottle back with us and a couple shot glasses. They're starting to squirm slightly now, and when I put my hand on their thigh and reassure them that I'll be taking care of everything for them this evening, the blush deepens, and spreads to their ears. I draw in closer as I begin to fill the first shot glass for them. And then a second. And a third.

Are you imagining it? The warmth of my body next to yours, the bitter smell of cheap alcohol in the air, the sound of the liquor cascading from bottle to glass. You can't help but feel butterflies in your stomach as you wonder how much you're going to drink tonight.

You watch as I finish topping off the glass and turn to you, expectingly. There's something hungry in my eyes as you, heart fluttering, decide to be brave and knock back the first shot. Then the second.

It's when you reach for the third that I stop you, my hand gently moving between yours and the glass. When you shrink back, lowering your arm to to join the other in your lap, I smile warmly, and raise the glass to your lips.

You're definitely a bit more than tipsy now. I've gone back to being playful, telling you some recent story and laughing about it. You're struggling to keep up with the conversation slightly, but you're managing well enough. As we chat I pour you a couple more shots, and the little ritual of me tipping your chin up and feeding you the drink becomes almost routine, though you still flinch slightly each time my fingers brush against your mouth.

Eventually you start struggling to follow along. You're trying to proccess the words I'm saying but you're really only catching the tail ends of my sentences, and - oh wait, I've just asked you something. You remember it sounding agreeable enough, though it's hard to tell through the haze of it all. You nod your head, and luckily that seems to have been the correct response, as I smile at you and run a hand through your hair.

There's that look in my eyes again, as I tilt your chin up once more.

"Just one more for the road, mmkay?"

Right now, can you imagine how it feels to have my hand cradling the back of your head gently? Can you taste the burn of the alcohol as I pour the last shot down your throat? The woman before you, a complete stranger to you before an hour ago, is holding you so tenderly as you choke down every last remaining drop in the bottle.

You're not sure if you've ever been this drunk before, you think. Your head is spinning. It's just you and I. Everything else is hazy. You're being helped to your feet now. You can barely manage to balance yourself, leaning against me for support as I wrap my arm around your waist. Your head rests against my shoulder, and you notice how much my perfume smells like almonds.

You're in the passenger seat of my car now. You're not sure when you got here, but you did. My hand is on your thigh again. The other is on your cheek, you just now notice. I'm looking into your eyes. It's so hard to think. I'm kissing you now. You're trying to panic, you know you should probably be trying to stop this, but there's nothing. You're too trapped in your head. I'm smiling again. All teeth. You can't tell how long you've been here for. You try for something again, mustering all of your focus, and manage to weakly move your arms between us. In response I give you a look that reads as... curious? Maybe that got the message across, you think.

"Oh you poor thing," I coo, "you must still be thirsty."

I don't want to make you stupid happy. I'm not going to erode at your brain until you just accept that you're happy in the cage I made you without questioning it.

No, I want you to question it. I want you to fight back, I want you to escape, and I want you to crawl back to me once you're fully, painfully aware of how miserable you are without me.

A dumb little puppy is happy no matter where she is or who she's with.

That's not what I want.

I want you to grow so unbelievably, incredibly attached to me, and still be fully aware of how wrong it is. I want you to be smart enough to know that no one else in the world will love you as much as I do. I want you to try to go back to an ordinary life, try to have a normal, healthy relationship, and fail.

Because there'll be a voice in your head, a nagging truth that you won't be able to silence,

that it's all fake.

That you'll never be truly happy.

Like, getting to watch it spend several minutes stumbling over its own words.

Explaining how it thinks it feels and how it's struggling to know how it feels. It's just so unsure and it doesn't know what it wants. Maybe it doesn't even think it wants this, it's concerned and worried and anxious. And, in the first place, it's not like I really have any power over it. It doesn't have to do anything I say and so it doesn't really matter what I have to say because it can do whatever it wants.

Then in a gentle but commanding voice I tell it to tell me that it really likes being here.

And it takes a few seconds. I watch it as it puts the words together. Make intentional eye contact. Just a bit of added pressure. Not speaking. Just waiting. And it manages to say it. And I smile and praise it a little.

Then I tell it to tell me that it's actually so very excited for me to tell it what to do, for me to touch it and play with it, and for it to get to be my toy.

And, a little bit faster with each order and more confident in its responses, it repeats each thing I tell it to say. Stumbling between them, looking away from me, and occasionally rubbing its knees together and making cute little noises.