December 2014
ONE.
What?
One.
One what?
You know.
I’m pretty sure I don’t.
Sure you do. We’ve talked about it. You’ve always said no. In no uncertain terms.
I…
And so I’ve decided. I want one.
One.
Yes. One.
You want me to give—
—No, I want to give you one.
Oh, no you don’t.
Why not?
Because I don’t want to!
Oh, come on. It’s only one.
I don’t care.
One and done. Less than a second.
For Christ’s sakes. Why?
Hmm?
You heard me.
Well, to be honest, precisely because of what you just said. You don’t want to.
And what, now, suddenly out of the blue, you can’t respect that? Why?
As you have just noticed: I have been. All this time.
This doesn’t make any sense. I’m not interested. And you can just continue to leave it at that.
I see. So. You don’t have the strength, the fortitude, the love to do one thing you don’t like for someone you say you love. Not even once.
What? No. That’s not true.
Sure it is. You just said so. You cannot do even one.
That’s not—
—Yes, it is.
I…
Forget it.
Oh, god, now you’re mad.
No, no.
Yes, you are. I can see it.
Uh, no. It’s disappointment.
Well, that’s worse.
Oh, well.
Oh, god. Really? This means that much to you? Why?
It’s symbolic. It affirms what you tell me about how you feel about me. That you’d go the distance for me. That you willingly would tolerate an unpleasantry—however minor—for me and my sake. It’s a demonstration of that which you say.
It’s just stupid.
Yes, it is. But by the same token, your absolute refusal to allow for even one is a demonstration of something else.
Of what?
Of how you really feel about me. About what you think I’m here for.
Well, that doesn’t make me feel the least bit better. Do you think I’m an awful person?
Not at all.
So what’s the big deal here?
I wouldn’t think this would be a very big deal at all. But as is most obvious: it’s your call.
Jesus. I don’t like what you’re doing here. It’s blackmail.
No it isn’t.
What do you call it?
It’s a gift. Look, you either can or cannot give me a simple stupid little symbolic representation of how you really feel about me. And so now we know what it’s going to come to some day, when something serious is in fact called for.
Are you expecting something bad to happen?
Not at all. But I think I now know how it will go if and when it does.
This isn’t fair.
Doesn’t matter. Forget it.
I feel like you’re totally manipulating me. It’s evil.
Why? Because I’ve asked you for the tiniest of indulgences and you’ve stalwartly refused?
The way you put it makes me sound like a monster.
You’re not a monster. Your pride just can’t allow for even one.
Oh, for Pete’s sake.
It is what it is.
Fine.
Hmm?
You heard me.
Are you saying—
—Yes. I’m saying yes.
Really?
Just one, right?
Yes. One. Are you sure? One?
Yes. One.
Thank you…god, thank you. This means a lot. More than I can say.
Shut up; just get it over with. Before I change my mind.
Say it with me. One.
One. God.
###
ONE.
What?
You heard me.
You’re hilarious. We’ve already done it.
Yes. And that was then.
Yeah. No.
I see. So you can do one one time once, but no more.
You said one. Just one.
Right.
Which we did. Which I allowed for.
Which was glorious, didn’t you think so?
No.
But, it is over and done with. And so now I want one.
Moron; no. That’s not one. That’s more than one. That’s two.
In a way, I suppose you could look at it that way.
What other way is there to look at it? No.
Got it. You can only tell someone you love them once, you can only assure them of how you feel one time, and no more, because anything beyond that is just too much for you. More than you can do. Beyond your ability. You have no seconds left for me.
Oh, for Christ’s sakes.
Let me show you.
What?
I don’t like it any more than you do. Go ahead.
Absolutely not.
Why not?
Because I don’t need that. Sit down.
How do you know?
Because I just do.
Uh huh. Walls, lines, limits, the ends of things with you are all quite solidly battened down at one. You’ve made your allowance for one one time once, and now, on no other day, at no other time ever can you allow for even so much as one. Now and forever, amen.
You want one? Fine. Come here.
Of course.
And just like you said, say it with me. One.
One.
God. There. Was it good for you?
See? Am I so much worse for the wear? Do it again.
This is weird. I don’t like it.
Neither do I. Do it again.
God.
Can’t, huh.
Fine. There.
Again.
Shit. God.
Again.
Fuck you.
See? Nothing to it.
Do you feel better?
I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. But the truth is, you could have, and it would have been alright. And, just so you understand, not just this one time once. You want it, you call. You mean that kind of much to me.
That’s sick. You’re just sick.
No, I’m determined. I am ready, willing, and able to prove to you what you are not willing to even consider proving to me.
How did my feelings for you turn into…this? Can’t you just take my word for it?
I kind of need some proof.
Proof? Of what?
Of how you feel about me. Of what you’d do for me. Of what you’d allow.
Why? I don’t need proof of how you feel.
Yes, you do.
No, I don’t. I have faith.
You positively feed on proof. You demand it all the time.
No, I don’t.
Sure you do. Your needs for assurances and compliments are nearly constant. You have to have an uninterrupted affirmation that I am attracted to you, that I think you’re not merely pretty, but all that I would ever hope for in a woman, as is, and that I want so stay with you above all other women, and take care of you like I would no other. You think you deserve, no, need flowers—and not just cheap-ass ones, really nice ones, in arrangements that would count as works of art—and being taken out to dinner, and being seen as being with me in public. You want to be called pet names. You insist that my doing little chores is evidence of how I feel about you.
But those are all nice things.
Yes. For you. If there’s something I want to do, and you have any kind of different idea whatsoever, we do what you want: period. We don’t negotiate; you dictate. You restrict what I can say. I have to have utter and perfect respect and adoration for you in everything I say and do all the time. If so much as one word slips out of place, or if you even catch a passing glimpse of some hint of a facial expression you don’t like—even if it isn’t about you—you scold me and punish me and hold me accountable, and file it away to bring up again some other day, to use against me to get your way on something you think I’m not doing right, or doing fast enough to suit you.
Are you saying you don’t want things to be nice? That you don’t respect me? That you don’t really love me, or…or feel the way you say you do about me? Are you wanting to leave me?
Not at all. But your demands for the perfections of my attitudes toward you are not casual or gentle or easy. Being with you is not inconsequential: it is a costly affair. And I don’t mean money. You hold me hostage to how you feel about me. I have to watch myself all the time. And know what? I am glad to go through all of your desires and stipulations; I am okay that we do things on your schedule. It makes it better for…well…especially…you know.
And there we are. Back to making me the monster.
You’re not a monster. But neither am I. You have needs that I am totally willing to play into and fulfill. But I just so happen to have a need you’re making exceptionally clear that you’re not willing to have anything more to do with.
It’s an awful need. Dreadful. Immature. Silly. Nothing like what I ask of you.
Hey, look. Calling upon me to show you how I feel about you isn’t awful; aren’t you gratified by how willing I am to demonstrate how I care for you and love you, even to extreme lengths? But it looks like having it go the other way around is unheard of. You seem to think you have no obligations to me or my needs or feelings, which you—quite frankly—seem to hold in some pretty deep contempt. No chance for even for a second for me. Got it.
I don’t like this.
I understand. I’ve worn out my welcome. It’s just something I’ll have to go elsewhere for.
Good luck with that.
Which I’m sure you understand means that I will go elsewhere. Period.
What? No. Don’t you dare!
So…what? You want me to just do without?
Are we really talking about this? Christ. I mean, can’t you give this crazy notion up? For me?
And what could you do without?
I could do without the flowers.
I see. You don’t care about them.
Don’t get me wrong. They’re nice. But I don’t really need them.
So you’re willing to give up a little nicety that you really don’t care about, if I would give up on something that settles my fears, my doubts, that gives me a sense of belonging, of peace that is like no other.
My anguish over this gives you peace?
You don’t know what it’s like to feel this way.
I most certainly don’t.
It’s the idea of being accepted that eases me: all of me. The good and the bad. There are times I feel so alone.
I’m right here.
But you’re not really here for me.
That’s not true.
Sure it is. You’re here for what I can do for you. Not what you can do for me.
That is completely untrue. And unfair. I just…I just don’t want us to do this. I don’t want us to be this way. Please? We’re better than that.
You think we’re better than needing. Rather, you think I should be better than needing.
No, I’m…god…
Honestly, from what I can tell, your anguish is so severe—over just one—that you’re willing to let someone else give this to me. And all that it means for me to have to get what I need elsewhere.
What? No. That’s not right. You’re…twisting everything around here.
So? What does it matter how I feel? Or think? Or what I do?
…God damn it. Fine. Have your fun.
Are you sure?
What do you think? Is this good enough for you? Am I where I’m supposed to be for this?
That’s the way. I knew you could.
Shut up. Just get it over with.
Say it with me. One—
—Fuck you.
Oh, come on. One…
…One. God.
###
TWO.
Imagine my surprise. No.
Are we going you go through all this again? How you can do one, but not two?
When is it going to be enough?
Enough? Enough?
Yes. Enough. When are you going to be satisfied?
When do you get enough sleep? Enough to eat? Enough of what I do for you?
Stop it.
Well?
Fine. Every day.
And then you need it all again the next.
This isn’t the same.
It most certainly is. I need. I need you. I need you to do this, to allow for it.
I don’t like it.
Which I also need. It means so much more if you don’t like it. This is working completely out for me.
Well, whup-de-fucking-do for you.
You’re being sarcastic about how I feel here; I’m sure you understand that. Which, need I remind you, you wouldn’t tolerate from me.
Here we go. Will it ever end?
Yes. It can end. You know how.
I don’t—God damn it all, I don’t want to end it. Us. Not like that. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.
Is what I ask really so much? We’re talking seconds. Compared to my undivided attention and devotion for all the rest of our time together. I want mere seconds in which you overcome yourself for me. That’s all.
Okay, when you put it that way, no, you’re not asking a lot.
So you’re still willing to give.
I—yes. Fuck me all to hell, but yes. I can’t believe I’m going to do this again. I still don’t like it.
Wonderful. So, with two, we need to do this another way.
What do you mean?
I think you know. It’s traditional for this sort of thing. Surely you’ve heard of it. Come on.
What? No! Absolutely not.
Why not?
It’s embarrassing, you jackass!
Yes. I know.
So, no.
No?
Not just no: hell no.
I see.
I don’t like the expression on your face.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Look, what you’re asking for doesn’t make this nonsense the same or a little bit worse: that makes it worlds worse. That is altogether different. It makes this crap completely intolerable.
This is just between you and me, you know.
Doesn’t no mean no? No.
Tell you what. I will, too.
You’ll what?
I’ll be the same way.
That doesn’t make it any better.
Are you sure? I think you’ll see something.
What? I’ve seen it before.
Yes, but you haven’t seen the effect of what we’re doing here has on me.
You need help.
Which I am happy to have. From you. Like this.
No, you need professional help. This is out of my league.
Do you think I haven’t tried that? That I haven’t beaten myself up over this for longer than I’ve known you? I am just coming to terms with it, and I am being honest here about it with someone I care about for the first time in my life.
I can’t have anything more to do with this.
So here we go again. You’re willing to have me be everything you need all the time, catering to all your wishes and needs and whims, but you cannot allow for something in me that you don’t think you like, that has an effect on me I can’t help. Do you honestly think I want to need this? Never mind that; fuck you. Fuck me, fuck everything. I can’t tell you how it makes me feel to know that you won’t have anything to do with a part of me you think is disgusting or awful because you can’t be soiled by anything like that. So thanks a lot.
So there you are, back to being mad at me.
Yes. Now I am mad. But not at you.
Oh?
No, I’m mad at myself.
I don’t understand.
I was under the impression you cared about me, what I needed, how I felt. My mistake. I should have known better.
Don’t do that.
Do what?
Don’t put me in the position of being the god damn bad guy! I hate that!
I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You’re getting your way. Isn’t that what’s important to you here? You’re getting to disavow me and how I feel and what I need all for the sake of you not allowing yourself to being put in the position of having to cater to me or how I feel. You can keep your fucking hands snow white and clean. I hope…I can’t even say it.
Please…don’t…
I’m sure, that when you get asked, you can be proud of how you preserved your innocence and integrity and how you could keep your nose in the air against the creepy old pervert. You see, you have made it clear that I am the bad guy. Because I need something you don’t like, that you don’t think you should have to stoop to provide or live with or put up with or even be made aware of.
I’m…I’m really not like that, am I? Do you think so?
Oh, grow up. Who cares what I think?
God, I just…I don’t…will this be the end of it?
What do you think?
Please don’t make me do this.
You’ve made it clear that I can’t make you do anything. Not even two. Forget it.
Jesus Christ. This is going to come between us, isn’t it.
Yes. You can’t do this little bit, and you expect me to give you everything.
…I can’t believe I’m going to let you do this.
Oh, no you don’t. You don’t get to say I forced you into this. I’ve asked, and you will either go along with it or you won’t.
And if I don’t?
You know the answer to that.
You’ll go somewhere else.
It’s your call.
This isn’t what I thought things would be like with us. When did you turn into this?
I’ve always been like this. I’m just now getting to where I thought I could trust you with it.
Ignorance is bliss.
Yeah, well, my mistake to let this cat out of the bag. I suppose I should just shut up and only speak when spoken to.
Please don’t say that. I’m sorry. That’s not what I want. I want us to be good together.
Don’t you get it? That that’s what I want, too?
This is hard for me. I just…I just don’t understand any of this.
Honest to god, neither do I. I’m not sure it can be understood. The important question is whether or not it can be accepted.
I’m trying. I really am.
Don’t get too carried away with that whole accepting thi—
—Yeah, yeah, I know. I have to not like it—which I can tell you, I have that part down cold—but somehow find it within myself to let you do it anyway. It’s weird.
You know, we spend way more time arguing about this than it would take to just do it. So. What’s it going to be?
Do I really have to do it like…you know…that?
Yes. But you won’t be alone. I’ll be that way, too.
You are never going to breathe a word of this to anyone, ever.
Never. On pain of torture.
Very fucking funny. Let’s get this over with. I didn’t exactly dress for this occasion. God damn it…stupid…there.
Beautiful. You know I think you’re beautiful, don’t you?
Do I have to like this part of it, too? Is that what you expect?
No, of course not. Under no circumstances would I expect that from you.
Just…hurry up. Get on with it.
Hang on…there. Now we’re both the same way.
Not quite.
God, I love that you’re blushing.
That doesn’t help. Can’t you hate all…this for me? Enough to maybe not do it?
Don’t be silly. This is important. Come here. Say it with me. One—
—Fuck you.
Say it. One.
Ow! I don’t want to.
One.
Hey, that’s three!
No, that was one. You have to say it with me. One.
Fuck! Not so hard!
One.
God! One!
Two.
Two! Two! Two! Shit!
Thank you. This means the world to me. Kiss me.
Absolutely not. No.
Come on, kiss me.
God, no, please don’t make that part of this!
See what it does for me?
Oh, god, no, that’s…that’s awful. Disgusting.
Don’t say that. I love you. I love you.
No, please, no—
—Don’t you love me?
Oh, fuck, this is what I was afraid of.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing to be afraid of. The worst is over, and I love you, and I want to make love to you.
No, not now.
Oh, yes. Right here, right now. Can’t you see? I may not be able to stop myself.
Shit, please. Please, I’m begging you.
And it’s marvelous. Better than I imagined. Kiss me. Kiss me. You know I’m going to make it good for you.
Oh god. God. God. I hate you.
No, you love me. I can prove it.
Please don’t. Not now.
Another time, then. Kiss me.
God have mercy on me.
Oh. Oh. I love you.
I really want us to forget all this. Promise me.
Shhh. Kiss me. Let me touch you…there.
Oh shit. Oh god. No…oh fuck. Fuck. Okay, you win. Of all things to wish you weren’t any good at.
Part of learning about each other.
Please make me feel good.
Of course. That’s what this is all about.
Fuck you. Fuck me.
That’s the plan.
###
SEVENTEEN.
What happened to three?
Three is meaningless. Seventeen.
What? Do you know how that makes me feel?
Sorry?
To have you say that everything I’ve gone through so far is meaningless? Hurts all my tender little feelings.
Oh, no, I wasn’t trying to infer that at all. What you’ve done so far means the world to me. It really does.
I am so glad for you. We should stop now, while we’re ahead.
Oh, now don’t be bitter about this. You should be proud.
Right. Proud. Proud of feeding your perversion. Of laying myself down low.
No, proud of how you’ve been able to overcome yourself for me and my sake. That is rare and something special, let me tell you. I, for one, am absolutely floored by it. That you’d go through this for me. It’s…it’s humbling.
Yeah, tell me about it.
No, no, for me. Don’t you get it? I have to be worthy of it. I mean, I’ve really been going out of my way to help out and make things good around here; haven’t things been good?
Well, when you aren’t making your little demands, I suppose, yes, I can’t complain too much.
You’ve been astonishing. Worth everything I can do to express my appreciation. Have you liked the flowers?
They’re lovely. You know what you could really do to express that appreciation of yours properly, don’t you?
Which, I think you full well know, won’t work because that’ll just put us right back to the beginning. Do you really want to start over?
You mean, back to one?
Oh no. Not like that. We’d have to do something else entirely. Something I’m pretty sure you really wouldn’t like.
As opposed to this.
As opposed to this. I don’t want to use the word worse, but you might see it that way.
Something tells me I had better stay the course.
I think that’s smart.
So why not three?
Well, you really had to struggle with one, and two, two was nearly hell itself to get through.
No kidding.
But you can handle two now with such aplomb and ease that three wouldn’t be any kind of a stretch at all.
You call this aplomb? Are you saying you haven’t noticed me positively shaking? It would be nice to have things easy.
But what would that show? That you’re willing to do pleasant and dainty things, but nothing hard or serious? You’ve already done formidable things, overcoming everything you’ve ever been taught. And now—
—And now I’ve set a terrifying precedent. Fuck me.
Well…
Hang on; are you suggesting I can maybe fuck my way out of this? Fuck you. And stop smiling. Christ. So why seventeen? That’s a big jump. Does this count as abuse?
Are you going to call the authorities? Tell them how terrible you have it here?
Tempting.
I’m sure they’ll be very concerned about the one, not to mention the two you’ve had to suffer.
Seventeen might get their attention.
It might. Is that how you want to end things? Branding me a notorious criminal, sending me off to find my way through the labyrinths of incarceration, spending my days—not to mention my nights—with truly evil men in some vile and forgotten prison, as an abuser of women and all their grace and charms, someone who preys on the innocent and meek? You know what they do to men like that in the big house, don’t you?
There you go again, being so dramatic, blowing everything way out of proportion, making it all life and death.
Like you haven’t been.
Sweet Jesus. I’m not sure which is worse: your hideous desire, or your dreadful speeches.
There are, of course, the questions of consent that your friends in law enforcement are going to ask an awful lot of questions about. Put us both into quite the quandary as to what to say has been going on around here. So many dilemmas of honor, so little time.
Great. Just fucking great.
You’re the one who brought it up.
Shut up.
So, back to the matters at…hand.
I have no idea how I can keep a straight face around you. Will you do them hard?
You need to ask? Yes.
That’s the stretch you’re talking about here, isn’t it. I’m honestly a bit scared.
Don’t be; I’m right here. Nothing to be afraid of.
That’s what you think. So are you going to tell me what is so special about seventeen?
Well, we’re still not talking about a lot of time, even at seventeen. Certainly not compared to what is going to happen afterwards.
That part better go on all god damn night.
Overall, I think it’s a good next step.
So why not a hundred? Or a thousand?
Well, I really don’t think you’re ready to go quite that far yet. But if you think—
—No, no, seventeen is fine, if these are the choices. It’s just such a peculiar number to jump to. I mean, one, two, seventeen. I don’t get it.
I think it’s a significant number.
What?
To you.
I don’t…wait a minute. Exactly why did you pick that?
Like all of this, it’s symbolic.
…No. You son of a bitch. No. No, no, a thousand times no.
You just said—
—No! No no no no no no! God fucking damn you!
I think it’s important.
How can you do that to me? Why the god damn fucking fuck would you commemorate what those fucking bastards did to me when I was seventeen? How fucking dare you! Jesus fucking Christ!
No, no, that’s not what I’m pointing to here.
Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!
Don’t you see? It’s not about what they did to you, it’s about you: how you survived it. You overcame the worst day of your life. I am in so much awe of you, I cannot even begin to tell you.
No. Fuck no, hell no, every kind of no you can think of. This is over. We’re done here. Your sick fantasies are not going to play into that. Not that. I forbid it.
But—
—They took everything from me. Why don’t you get this?
No, they didn’t. Why don’t you get this? You’re here. You’re here with me. You are the most amazing woman I have ever met. You are the strongest person I know.
I don’t care.
Are you going to let them win? After all this time?
Shut up.
Are you honestly going to let some arrogant assholes who did something they shouldn’t have done to you dictate that we can’t notice how astonishing you are? If I could put my hands to them, I would murder every last one of those bastards before you, for what they fucking did. In an extraordinarily long and gruesome fashion. I would make god damn fucking sure they suffered the fucking torments of the damned for as long as you think they deserve before I rip into them for what I think they deserve. I am not trying to tear you down here. I am trying to build you up. There is so much to you, I cannot even begin to understand it all. That’s what I’m trying to find out. You’re…you’re…
What?
You’re precious to me.
So why do you do all this shit to me?
Because you are the only person I have ever met who could handle it. You’re the only one who could handle…me.
I hate this.
So do I. But I don’t know where else to go.
God damn it.
Amen to that…
God damn it …please, I am fucking begging you. I will get down on my knees and beg you. Anything else. I can’t do seventeen. I’ll remember—thanks a fucking lot—and I’ll cry and throw up and how would that possibly build you up? Isn’t that the whole god damn fucking point here?
…Okay. So not seventeen. I’m sorry.
Th-thank you.
I’m not heartless, you know.
Can we please just stop?
There’s other things we can do, if you think you can.
Shit, it’d be worse, as you say, won’t it? As in, a whole lot? I-I don’t think I can survive that. I need a serious break from all this.
Tell you what. Pick a different number.
Really?
We can work something out.
Awesome. Three.
You’re funny. No.
You can’t blame me for trying, can you?
I suppose not. Come on. Impress me.
Four.
You call that impressive?
I cannot believe I haven’t stormed out of the room…fuck…thirty five.
Hmmm. Not bad. Why?
That’s how old I was when I met you.
Uh huh.
And I think I need to be punished for that.
I’m not sure I know how I feel about that. What do you need to be punished for?
For meeting you, and not sending you packing.
You have an uncanny gift for making me feel better about things. Jesus…but by that token, shouldn’t it be thirty nine? For not sending me packing yet?
Fine. Thirty nine.
You astound me. Thirty nine, then.
God, what have I done.
Are you sure you can do this?
No. Are you going to fuck me afterwards?
Do you think you could stop me?
Did that really come out the way you intended it to?
Oops. No.
All I know is that I think you better do a damn good job of that. Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to deserve you being extra extra nice to me.
Of course.
I mean it. I had better lose my god damn mind by how good you make it.
It would be my deepest honor and pleasure.
Wait, what are you doing?
I’m, uh, putting this rope around your wrist.
I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming.
Just the one.
Of course. Just the one. Asshole.
Oh, and that thing you said?
What thing?
About crying? That does something for me.
How could it not? But you surprise me: not the barfing?
You are so anxious. Some day.
Me and my big mouth. I should learn to keep it shut.
There are ways to deal with that. We could perhaps use some discarded article of clothing.
If I didn’t think you’d shove my own panties in, I would consider something like that a mercy.
Tempting. But…I wouldn’t be able to hear you count with me, or any of your wonderful ideas. The blessed sounds you make.
Which is, of course, part of what’s so important here.
You know, if I had suggested you could consider thinking like this, even a short time ago, you would have laughed at me. Called me crude and ridiculous.
Fuck me.
We’ll get there. In good time; actually just a few minutes. Are you ready? Count with me. One.
God. One.
Hey, you know what? I want to start over.
Oh, Jesus. Now what?
Well, it occurred to me that it would be really nice if you’d thank me as we counted.
I thought you said I didn’t have to like any of this shit.
And I most certainly don’t want you to.
Spectacular. Because I really fucking hate all this.
You are everything a man could ever want. But if you’d thank me for doing something to you that you hate? My god, I can’t tell you what that would do for me!
Oh, great. I suppose you want me to call you master or some shit like that, too.
I’ll leave that up to you. But since you bring it up, just for this, could I maybe call you a name?
What name?
Does it matter?
Of course it matters!
Oh, come on. Sticks and stones.
For the record, those are not my idea. Shit. You’re going to persist and do it anyway, aren’t you, you silver-tongued nag.
Let’s try it. See what happens.
Shit-fuck me.
Temptress. So. Count with me, slut. One.
I am not a slut!
What, you can’t survive a word, bitch? Come on! One!
God damn it! One!
You cunt, I said thank me! Now do it fucking right! One!
Ow! God fuck! Not so hard!
Suck it up, paintoy! One!
Ah! No, no, wait! Thank you! Thank you! One!
Good whore. Two!
Ouch! Th-thank you. Two.
So eager to please. Good slave. Three!
Ow. Ow. Ow. Th-thank you…m-master. Threeeeee…
Couldn’t wait to cry for me, eh? I love that. Good girl. I am going to fuck you so hard; I may not be able to wait until thirty nine.
Oh, god, yes. Please. Stop what you’re doing and fuck me instead. I’ll suck your cock.
If you want. We’ll start over. And over. And over. All night long.
No! No! I can’t do that! Please! I need a second. I just need a second. God. Oh. Jesus Christ, what have you done to me? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Just do it! Hurry up!
Are you sure?
Yes, god damn it! Get it over with!
Whatever you say, cocksucker. Four!
Four! Thank you!
No master, cunt?
Master! Just go faster! I can’t stand this.
Faster, bitch? How about harder? Five!
Ah! Five, master, thank you, master!
I think harder is a good thing for you to add in here, whore. Six!
S-six, m-master, ow, thank ow, you, sh-shit-fuck…
And?
…Hhhharder…p-pleease…
You beg so god damn beautifully. Seven, slut!
Oh my god! Please, master, that was…that was s-seven, and…and…oh god…hard…
Did you thank me, bitch?
Thank you! Thank you master!
Are you enjoying this, whore?
G-god no.
Good. Eight, you fucking cunt!
Aaahhh! Oh, master, don’t you need to rest? So I can thank you properly?
Can you say eight, pussy?
Eight! Oh god!
I think! You’re trying! Uh! To make this! Not! Harder! Nine!
Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!
What? No thank you, no master, no harder, and no count? Where’s all the god damn begging? Do over, slut. One.
Nooooo!!!!!
One!
Aaaah! I quit! I release you! I don’t want to do this any more—I don’t want anything! Go get someone else! I don’t care! Let me go! Let me gooooo!
Oh, no, darling. I couldn’t possibly. You are so god damn perfect, there is no way I could let you go now, could I? Wouldn’t dream of it. You’d feel terrible about yourself. I will not let you fail.
Please! I want out! I want out of this, I want out of you, I want out!
Get right back here right god damn now. Jesus. Maybe we need more rope. To help you with your commitment.
No! No! No! No! You said! You god damn fucking son of a bitch!
…There. And do you know what else? I think we’ve been doing all this the hard way. Just by ourselves, with our own bare hands. You do know they make things that make each one of our ones a true trial and test in and of itself, don’t you? Of course you do. I’ve taken the liberty of getting one in anticipation of a day like this.
Oh my god! Nooooo!
It cost a pretty penny, let me tell you. Hand braided, it’s a work of art. Soooo worth it.
Please no! Not with that!
We’re going to name this thing Doubt Trimmer. Ready? One.
Aaargh!
Nothing else to say? Brave girl. One!
My god! My god! My god!
This is much better: I can do this all night tonight and all day tomorrow now. We’ll go on to two whenever you’re ready, and we’ll start over when you forget: tally of where we’re at, appreciation of what I have done, a compliment to me, an admonition to make it worse, and some of that fabulous pleading. And you know what? I’ve just had the idea pop right on into my head that it would be so wonderfully submissive of you to kiss our new toy, each and every time. You can beg and make interesting offers as you see fit. So. From the top. With feeling. One.
Ahhh! Please! I can’t! Get that thing away from me!
Of course you can. I have all the faith in the world in you. But you might want to consider getting started on your obligation here. Thirty nine is a long ways off, honey. Especially at this pace. One!
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