Mental Fucking

The crack of my hand on your ass, my belt wrapped around your throat, grabbing you by your fucking hair: these are all things I do to you. They are all weapons I have in my arsenal to make you feel small and dominated, but none of that compares to my words. It’s the words I use when I hurt you and comfort you that get inside your head. That is the difference between me and those who came before me. I know how to speak to your subconscious. Even right now as you read these words I am like water moving along the groves of your brain, finding the path of least resistance to your mind’s center.

Fight if you must, but I will just whisper in your ear, “This is the moment you finally decide to let go. Can you feel my hands on you? Can you hear my words? You know this is where you want to be because anywhere else wouldn’t feel as safe and exciting. You know I’m just seconds away from hurting you. Or am I seconds away from petting you like you’re my innocent little girl.” People talk about the fight or flight response, but the strongest response to fear is freezing in place. Try to move your feet. Try to reach out and touch me. And this is the power I have over you. You’re mine. You belong to me. I don’t know if we will be together for ever. I don’t even know if we will be together past tonight. But I do know no one will ever get inside your head like me.