Some sort of weapon or implement to your head while I force you to repeat yourself through the tears and sobbing and hyperventilating: "Thank you for breaking me. I love being broken. Please make it worse."
As it gets worse and worse, and those sentences get too complex to manage, you just repeat exactly as trained: "Break me. Break me. Break me." Egging me on with the mantra, the fear and horror and pain in your voice meaningless next to the actual words.
You're so pretty like this. How could I say no?
If you say it enough times, it becomes real. You say you want it so bad through disgust and horror and tears, but eventually you start believing it yourself. The desperation and need will crack open your mind until the words start to replace whatever you wanted before. You can't help yourself, no one can. And every little sliver of praise you get just makes it so much worse. You let the pleasure of any positive reinforcement in just once, and the gesture is such a salve on your tattered self that you feel something in you break.
And that's just what you want, isn't it? That's right, you do. Very good. Now start from the top: thank you for breaking me...
