There are only two people I have ever considered myself Master to. For only two has it meant something other than a role to be played. For only two has it been true in a way that goes deeper than skin and blood.
The Occasionally Cruel One is one of those two. And she has, in her beautifully agonizing silence, become deaf to my words. So I force myself to forget her, that I don’t continue to muse on the lilt in her voice when she is impassioned, or the deft twist of a word when she is naughty, or the way she became mine the moment my teeth found her neck in truth. I force myself to forget so that I can stop checking how tightly the door is closed.
This exchange, captured several years ago, summarizes my relationship with her rather perfectly.
From afar, Madeleine blinks innocently. “I don’t mean to torment you, Master. Really.”
D’jaevle pages: I just bet.
Madeleine pages: Honestly, my Master…
D’jaevle pages: Yes?
Madeleine pages: I’m lying. I really was trying to torment you. Bad of me, isn’t it?
5 thoughts on “Torment”
Isn’t it your job to torment? Of course I mean that in a good way.
Looks like she got the roles reversed or maybe didn’t show respect in the correct way.
Just my thoughts. Of course I could be way out of the ballpark on this one.
Yes, it is my job to torment. But submissives come in several varieties, and if you think a submissive can’t be cruel or find ways to torment those that would have them, you’ve never met a truly bratty submissive.
Aside from that, her role has never been so simple as quiet submission. She is too stubborn to truly belong to anyone for very long.
“I force myself to forget so that I can stop checking how tightly the door is closed.”
You have far more strength than i.
Wow, the first time I read this post I thought you had written, “There are only two people I have considered myself Master to.” I was quite impressed. Now that I’ve read it again it makes a bit more sense…
A brat? Me? Surely you jest. And really, how interesting would I be to you if I always rolled over at your feet like some sort of lost little puppy? We once spoke of how it’d be to be creatures of the night, and roam the world together – what sort of companion would I be if I became so accursedly predictable? Variety is the spice of life. Uncertainty, too. Luscious uncertainty…
You know me well – I have never, ever denied that. Our relationship has forever been one of apogee and perigee, hither and yon. And you must have known when you wrote this entry that I’d be irresistably compelled to respond. My ego demands it, because it rivals your own in its compass. But my silence hasn’t been one of opposition – merely distraction. I’ve been a busy girl, of late. And a bad friend. Though I may be every bit the brat you claim, I am genuinely sorry. I’ve left you an address that I actually check, though in the next two weeks I will, for all intents and purposes, be preoccupied with matters that demand my attention. But souls like ours are never truly separated – we exist in the world, always aware of one another’s existence. That, somewhere out there, there exists someone who truly knows what brings us to our knees. What makes us weak when we are desperate to be quite the opposite.
I suppose I am, as ever, Claudia to your Lestat – pupil and erstwhile tormentor. You must know in your heart, it’s not born of malice, but of nature. You know it because we are cut from the same cloth, you and I.
Don’t you think?
If you were to tell me that you weren’t grinning as you read this, I’d have to call you a liar. You love the game more than you love your new socks.
XOXO and happy holidays,