November 2013
OH, WHAT do you want with me?
Do you really need to ask?
Don’t even think about that.
Why not?
Because I don’t want you to. Please. Not tonight.
No, I’m going to think about it anyway, whether you like it or not, and whether or not you know, and I am reasonably sure it is going to happen. In fact, on that idea, I’m nothing short of positive. Tonight. And you did ask.
When?
Not tonight, obviously. But earlier. Are you saying you don’t remember?
I take it back.
Too bad.
Can’t we just leave it alone?
No.
God damn it.
Now. How should I have you start?
I really don’t want to do this.
So, then, don’t. You know how.
Fuck you; that’s not going to work.
I know.
I just wish you wouldn’t do it like this.
I’m not doing anything. Not yet, anyway. And let’s face it, it’s not like we haven’t talked about this enough: it’s nothing you don’t want.
That is so totally not true.
Yes, it is. It’s your own fault, you know.
What do you mean?
Well, I gathered you were leaving it up to me as to when. You shouldn’t have told me how. Or what.
You’re right. I shouldn’t have. But god damn it, I did.
For which I, for one, am grateful. Why would you do that?
Do what?
Tell me what you did.
I don’t have a marvelous answer for that.
You couldn’t help yourself, could you?
Don’t gloat; not if you want this sort of thing to continue. It is unbecoming. But I suppose I couldn’t. If that’s what you want to believe.
Not that it matters anyway.
Not at this point. Why?
I don’t know why you…hold on, what? Why what?
Why do you want this?
I’m not sure I have a satisfying answer.
So you really shouldn’t talk about my inability to explain it in myself.
If you want to be that way, sure. All I know is that it matters to what’s between my legs—not to mention what’s between yours—and it gives me a peace a mind unlike any other.
Well, whoop-de-fucking-do for you.
I’m betting it does something for your peace, too.
You’d lose; it keeps me up at night.
You can’t tell me you’re not getting what you need out of this.
I most certainly can, and I most certainly do.
See? You do get what you need. Good girl.
What? Stop that. Quit twisting things. You know what I mean.
Couldn’t resist. Despite your struggles—er, rather maybe because of them—I love it anyway. No matter how hard you resist admitting it.
What do you love?
I love to see you go through this, and go through it for me.
This?
This whole this, end to end. It’s fucking magic.
I sure as shit am not going to do it for anyone else.
So start. Take off your clothes.
This is such a bad idea.
God, how you love to say that. Do you want to say it again?
How did you know? Asshole; this is such a bad idea.
Hurry up.
Okay, okay. What are you going to do?
What it takes to get what I need from you. All the way.
I can act, you know. Maybe we’ll make it a short night.
Yes, you can. I suppose now you’re going to say that you always act, and how you always get away with it, ha ha, the joke’s on me—except it’s not like I can’t tell, you know—and that all that I am is cruel.
Bastard. You are cruel. Heartless. Vicious.
Bitch. Not all the time.
There are days that it feels like it.
I have an idea that this is certainly going to be one of them. It’s part of the deal, you know. Are you afraid?
You have to ask? Of course I am.
Which is part of the charm, part of the spell. I suppose if you ever got to where you weren’t, then I’d have to do something else.
Don’t say that. I shudder to think.
That’s my girl. You say the nicest things, always trying to bolster me up.
Creep. Your obsession with me is not helping. You have got to get past that.
No, I don’t. Do you really want to know what’s going to happen?
Do I have the slightest chance of talking you out of it?
I’ll tell you yes.
Oh, no you don’t. That is not going to get me to beg. God, why do you keep trying to manipulate me? I’m here, aren’t I?
So is that a yes or a no, about the whole wanting to know what’s going to happen thing?
Tell me. It can’t be worse than what I imagine.
And what’s the worst you can imagine?
Now you’re stalling.
Say it. Or it’ll be worse.
Great. What an amazing threat. Just fucking great. Fine. That tonight’s the night you’re going to kill me.
Really? For true? This is what haunts you? I don’t understand that.
Who says fear is rational?
So which idea makes it better? Going in with the understanding that I won’t, or going in with the idea that I might?
Going in there at all is awful enough, never mind the whole god damn mortality issue.
Then are you green-lighting me to murder you?
Please stop trying to manipulate me further. Isn’t what we do enough? Please? God: I don’t want to die. And if I ever do, you’d be the last person I’d ever hand myself over to to do that.
That almost hurts my tender little feelings.
Outstanding. I have an effect on you. Thank fucking god. So are you or aren’t you going to tell me what you’re going to do to me?
Hm? Oh; sure. I think I’d rather you went in there with the idea firmly implanted in your pretty little head that you will in fact survive this.
Oh, what a comfort.
I want you to remain connected to what tomorrow may bring.
Not like it’ll be an improvement.
Nonsense. As soon as you release hope, you’re already dead.
Oh, great. Next you’re going to start quoting the movies I like to me as though they were important.
What? What are you talking about?
Tomorrow is another day? Whatever. All you’ve said is what you’re not going to do, which, gee, thanks. The girl gets to live. Which puts us right back to where we started. What do you want from me?
I want to see you suffer. In a deep way that is nothing less than profound. For me.
This conversation doesn’t count?
Always the comeback.
So you’re going to hurt me.
Yes.
I don’t suppose it’s going to be something quick, huh.
Not a chance in heaven. I said suffer, not have a pang or a twinge or an ache.
How long?
Until I make an absolute fool of myself and can restrain myself no longer, and I have to fuck you.
How are you going to fuck me?
Do you have a suggestion?
Will you please just fuck my pussy this time? That’s what it’s for, you know.
I don’t think you’d hate that enough. It sends the wrong message about what this is about.
Oh, well, then, if that’s the case, please please please fuck me in the ass. You know how I so very much so love it so. And let me carry on a while about how much I would so thoroughly despise having you throb and twitch and spew your cock in my cunt. Like that’s what it was for; sheesh.
What an exceptional idea. Ass it is.
Oh, shit-fuck me.
Like I say: an excellent plan.
It didn’t matter what I said, did it. It was always going to be my ass.
You got that right.
Wow. Do I ever feel special now. This is going to cost us both, isn’t it.
Yes. Dearly.
We’ll never be able to face any of them again.
True. Maybe. I honestly don’t know.
Is it worth the risk?
You know the answer to that. This is who we are.
God damn it. Will I whimper? Be not just embarrassed but completely mortified to my very core about what you’ll make me do out there?
Absolutely.
Will I cry?
Yes. Real tears; none of this fake acting shit.
Crap. Will I scream?
Yes. A lot.
You’re going to make me lose control of myself, and shatter my dignity, aren’t you.
That’s the plan.
Can I go to the bathroom first? Please?
No. if that happens out there, you’ll get to clean it up. You won’t get to use your hands.
God fucking damn it. Do I have to look like I like it? Put on a happy face?
What do you think?
Shit.
Funny you should use that word.
Stop it. That doesn’t help.
What would? Buckle up, buttercup? Put your big girl panties on?
You’re going to let me wear panties?
Okay, that was not the best choice of imagery I have ever come up with.
What a fucking surprise, Sherlock Einstein.
Insults will get you…well, you know what insults will get you. The answer to your question is no. Why aren’t you naked yet? And for that, you get to crawl in. Oh, stop looking like I just took your pony away, princess.
Motherfucker. Here. Take them.
Gee, guess what they are?
Don’t say it.
Do they need to spend some time in your mouth, to remind you what they’ve been absorbing? Not to mention why they do that?
Do you think I don’t know?
Maybe I’ll take them in with me. Let everyone see for themselves.
You’re going to humiliate me, aren’t you?
Gosh, you’re clair-fucking-voyant.
I suppose you are going to make me cum anyway, regardless of what you do to me, through it all, in front of everybody?
Yes. Like you have to. You’re going to cum like a whore.
Promises, promises. That’s the important part, isn’t it? To show them all what an absolute slut I am?
This isn’t just about showing all of them what wonderfully degradable pliant little creature you are. It’s also about showing them what an absolute monster I am.
I’m terrified.
Of what?
Of all of it. The degradation, the pain, the loss of standing and respect, Jesus.
Is that why you’re pussy’s throbbing right now?
Is that what it’s doing? Can’t you just fuck me now right quick and get it over with and call it a night?
This isn’t just about us; it’s also about them, and who will still stand with us when it’s over.
What if it’s none of them?
Then we go someplace else. Start over, like we’ve talked about. Do you really want to stick around with any of them if they can’t stand us?
Don’t you ask that of me?
Why, can’t you stand me?
There are days. Today might be one of them.
Tell me you love me.
How masterly of you. I love you.
I want you to say it out there. Damn near constantly. And be sincere: I don’t want them to have any question.
Can I at least swear when it gets hard?
No. The only words I want coming out of your mouth, no matter what I demand, no matter what happens, no matter how rough it gets, are “I love you”. I don’t want them leaving saying to each other “how can he do all that to her?”or “how can she let him do all that to her?” I want them leaving saying “Why don’t we do that?”
You live in a dream world. You ask impossible things, you know.
You know that’s not true. Look at us: are we just a fantasy?
Please don’t put it that way. How are you going to do it? How are you going to prove to them how much I love you? Did they even ask?
The whole nine yards. Nettles, needles, whips, paddles, wax. I’ll punch you, slap you in the face; I will hit you everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. You will be heavily bruised for quite some time when this is over. I’m going to tell you to open your mouth a lot, and I am going to put things and stuffs in it that I will expect you to swallow.
Bad things?
Yes. Bad things.
They’re going to hate you, you know.
Yes. Maybe. Some of them for sure. Do you consent?
Of course. What are you going to do if they try to stop you?
I’m going to count on you to convince them that it is alright.
Might be a bit of a challenge when I’m screaming at you to stop, please, please, stop.
No; what did I just say? You don’t get to do that.
Shit.
And what did I say about swearing?
Fuck. Let me at least get that out of my system.
Tell me you love me.
I fucking love you.
I fucking love you, too. I also love fucking you. Tell me that you love what we do to you.
Is that an order?
What do you think?
God damn it.
Come on. Fess up.
God damn it some more. You’re the only person I can do this with. You’re the only one I’ll let that far into me. As much as I want to keep it a secret, yes. I love what we do. It is a pleasure to suffer for you. I am counting on you to make sure I do it a fucking lot. Christ, it is so damnably hard to admit that.
Yes. Yes, it is. That’s what we’re doing here.
Is that what you want? Did I say the right thing?
Yes.
That is so god damn fucking awesome. Jesus god damn fucking Christ on a cracker. I can’t believe we’re doing this.
You can still say no.
Quit it. You know I can’t, especially seeing as I cannot pronounce that word to you, let alone mean it.
Can’t, or won’t?
Same difference.
You do love to squawk.
Isn’t that part of it? How we push each other through all this? Shouldn’t we let them see that, too?
Not tonight. We need to see who survives the initial cut.
I’m not sure I will.
Of course you will. You’re the strongest person I know.
Sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. Will you tie me up?
Will that make it easier?
God, yes, please. Tie me tight, gag me. Make it so I don’t have to do anything except lie there and take whatever you can dish out. It would relieve me of so much stress, so much performance anxiety.
But that’s not what they need to see. You’re the one they have to believe in. You have to make them understand that you are not a victim. At least, not an unwilling one.
Spec-fucking-tacular. What if my strength gives out? My resolve?
Then I’ll be in trouble. Serious trouble. Look, if you so much a flicker any kind of non-consent, they won’t even bother asking you and they’ll call the cops and have me arrested for beating the shit out of you and torturing you harder than anything they’ve ever seen, and I guarantee they will go so way far way out of their way to see to it I will never see you again, that they’d rather you did just go right ahead and die before they even let you so much as think about me again. They will never stop watching you—twenty-four-seven-three-sixty-five—for the rest of your life, and they will rain hell down on you if they even so much as consider the possibility that you might in some deep dark night masturbate over anything they don’t completely approve of. Guess how much that would be. They will nullify you. It all pretty much rides on you. You, me, everything.
Nothing like a little pressure, huh.
Nope. Just don’t forget whose idea this really was.
I wish we weren’t like this.
If wishes were fishes. And it’s time. Take my hand.
I thought I was going to crawl in.
You’ll get plenty of time to do that when you kiss everyone’s feet.
Oh, god. What if they don’t want that?
Then you will beg them until they let you.
I’m going to need a bigger vocabulary. I can’t imagine how calling out to you that I love you is going to be the least bit persuasive to someone who doesn’t want their feet kissed by a kneeling naked girl they don’t want to see be like that in the first place.
Sure. Whatever you need to say. Just don’t forget what we want them to see between us.
W-what if they want more? Than me just kissing their feet?
Then you will bless them, and offer them even more than they ask for. Every last one of them.
Up to everything we do?
Up to everything we do.
Is our hospital insurance paid up?
That’s what you’re worried about?
Wait; when are you going to take off your clothes?
I told you: when it’s appropriate. When I can’t help myself.
Are you scared of letting them see you when your cock is as small as it is right now?
Is that helping? Now who’s stalling?
What, you don’t want to let them see it grow as you torture the ever-loving bejesus right on out of me? Really show them what this is all about? Because this isn’t just about me: it’s about you, too. Or are you spooked it might not work this time?
Okay; sure. I’ll call your bluff. Why not? All we have to lose is everything.
Atta boy. See? Cute little thing.
Maybe I’ll start with having you put your tongue in my ass. Let them see what happens when you do that.
That would be so disgraceful.
Yes, it would be. For both of us.
Way to give a girl hope. I really don’t know that I can do this.
I have all the faith in the world in you.
You’re a fool. Can I ask for one thing before we go in?
What?
Can I have a hug?
Of course. I love you.
I really do love you so very, very much, too. I will follow you wherever you may lead, even unto my own destruction.
Right. Don’t be so melodramatic. Or morose. This is supposed to be a happy night.
Yes, sir. Won’t they be surprised?
I’m sure. So, my bride-to-be, let’s go. ‘Nough pussy-footin’ ‘round the elephant in the room. Our families are waiting.
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