Chapitre 1
I am a control freak. I know this even though my Master says he sees no dominant qualities in me. He sees the person I want to be with him, the person that seeks solace in and from the psychological turmoil her parents wreaked on her over the years. Do what they say, obey, never make a mistake, always make the right choices -their choices- but come out of it a fully-fledged adult. A lifetime of being mind-fucked by my own parents whom I love, venerate, and resent.
I am an over-thinker, embattled by my pursuit for control over a life unlived. I had once hungered for it but the control I wish to exercise on my life slips away from me the more I try to hold onto it. Now I am stupendously lost. In my thoughts. In my mind, a consoling labyrinth, in its solitude. Nothing makes any sense and nothing stays in the same place for long. Fleeting thoughts, I am constantly distracted by nothing. That relentless whirlwind of nagging guilt, a hangover from my upbringing, is there to remind me that I need to stop and to continue.
I have always submitted in life. To my parents. I relinquished the volition to rebel without any memory of doing so. It was consoling, the power they wielded, no matter how hard they were on me.
I am that little girl you want to take in, the receptive little girl. In this fashion, I yearn to be a child again and yet, I hated every moment of my carefree childhood.
I have, for a long time, relished my complexity as a human being. I am forever elusive, even to myself. Constant oscillation, and the whirlwind makes its appearance again. Who am I beneath this skin and these bones that seemingly link me to others around me? Who do they know resides there? It excites me to entertain these thoughts. But I am lost.
Lost in a conscious way. Lost in a "I am not lost" way.
I met my Master in the flesh this week. I grew more aware with the subjugation of every logical thought that had tried to rush through my head. There was nothing to decide, only to stop deciding. My senses had never been so fine tuned. The intensity of the exhilaration that had me in delectable knots, it was a moment of wilful sedation wherein my senses had suddenly stopped being dull. There was an acute sense of awareness, and I went into my submissive state like a child, taken by the hand. I was dizzied by the dissociation that occurred as I simultaneously both lived and witnessed this experience. I submitted to myself and to my Master. I submitted to stop deciding, and to take him in. I took what I could of him in, and played around with it, in my wetness.
I keep telling him I'm no ordinary submissive. I am a natural-born submissive, conscious of her dominant abilities. A coping mechanism that had arisen from a lifetime of conditioning. My parents wanted me to be a submissive from the outside, for them, and a dominant on the inside, for others. A submissive from the inside, for them, and a dominant from the outside, for others. They wanted a submissive, always, disguised as a dominant. A confusing prospect only for those who don't oscillate like me. In my waking life, I awoke a submissive.
In a phantasmagoria of endless and senseless wandering, I felt I had consciously and skilfully wedged myself between my unequivocal willingness to submit and his domination. The dizzying, constant oscillation again so that I never knew exactly where I stood. Was I being dominated? Was I submitting? And it created a feeling of pure, unadulterated ecstasy which was heightened all the more as I took the time to process it later on. I had taken him in. In his quest to dominate me, I stole what I could of him because I had taken him in. I robbed and used him unlike the way he robbed and used me for his own enjoyment. I owned part of him -only a part of him, because I am not greedy - by giving him all of me.
I have always taken the greatest pleasure in things, in retrospect. The unrelenting thinking and my labyrinthine brain. I oscillate again. I am in a constant dialectic of hating my thoughts and loving them. Pain and pleasure. La douleur exquise.
I want more pain, more pleasure. I want to give him every immeasurable psychological inch of me this time, no wavering, no drifting, no volition. The more I give the less I will be lost. There will be nothing left to adulterate my self-awareness.
As for my Master, his responsibility is great, onerous, less enviable. It reassures me but I worry for him because it is I he has taken on. I want to tell him that he needn't crush or deny me the complexity that is my humanity, as I will shed it in front of him. The ultimate disrobing, the veritable nudity. Anything for that intoxication and sobriety I feel around his domination.
My Master is, to my eyes, an eerily beautiful man -the best kind, and the kind that stays with you forever- with the face of a cherubim, a Lucifer. Yet his eyes betray him; his icy gaze is devoid of affected humanity. I didn't want to dig. A curious shallow scratch beneath his cool and collected exterior gave away nothing. It made me think of all the men who were oblivious to their psychological nudity and exposure. But not my Master. It reassures me that I found nothing. I trust him more as a result. I won't be bored and he won't be reckless. I drink him in through his cold eyes, a pool of icy water, to drown my thoughts in. I revel in that douleur exquise when he pierces me with those eyes. I feel the voiceless part of my vulnerability seeping out -the manifestation of his domination over me- my shameful desire to be undressed, so he can dominate me better. His smile reassures me where it might unsettle others. It also unsettles me where it might reassure others.
The more I give the less I will be lost and there will be nothing standing in the way of my self-awareness. I am a control freak until I am not.
Chapitre 2
Far from the realm of my digested thoughts, this is what happened when I met Master in the flesh. A Patrick Bateman, in his corporate accoutrement, he appeared as if out of nowhere. He greeted me politely, if not coolly. I couldn't help but notice that his cherubim face jarred with the rest of his presence and demeanour. It was confusing. It only served to make him psychotic in my eyes, as if it were perfectly plausible, nay natural, to expect a moment of kindness immediately followed by a moment of utmost cruelty, exquisite yet frightening cruelty, from that figure that loomed over me. Anything else wouldn't have made sense.
Only because I can just make sense of it now, he lulled me into a false sense of security as we sipped coffee and spoke about the mundanities of life. Between us was a square-shaped table and his propensity to speak about everything in a calm, composed manner. I couldn't concentrate. I found myself confused at the tedium of our small talk. I now wonder whether my ennui arose from the false feeling that I was leading our encounter, that I had slipped into my dominant skin, out of habit.
How deliciously misguided I was.
And then something lurked in his cyan-blue eyes, not beneath them for I could never hope nor want to reach his core, the more I stared into them. I didn't realise it at the time but I had been ensnared in his trap right then and there. I had ignorantly, yet wilfully, fallen into his gossamer. Mesmerised.
Never at the beginning and middle of our encounter did he let on that he was in control. Its success was in my complete obliviousness and delusion. Seamless, graceful entrapment. We began our walk in the park, which would have been disappointingly romantic were it not for the ominous overcast sky. Though he was 6 feet tall, I wished I hadn't worn my platform shoes. I wanted to feel ever so small in his presence. The smaller, frailer, the better. My cropped jumper, which stopped fitting me a month ago, kept slipping off at the shoulder, revealing more skin. He had noticed. I had stupidly thought, at first, that it was a seductive move. Seduction was beside the point. Now I am convinced that I enjoyed that exhibition because it made me feel all the more vulnerable.
Our walk and the length of it began to verge on the ridiculous as we circled the park multiple times. A metaphor, I couldn't help but notice, to my numerous wanderings in my labyrinthine mind. It was aimless from an outsider's perspective, but the point was to keep walking, to keep falling, underneath that overcast sky. As I tried to keep up with my Master's pace, my head was swarming. Swarming with questions, thoughts, scenarios, and rebuffs.
It all started when, at the sudden desire to take him in physically through my mouth, I had entertained the thought then accepted that I could never be the one to initiate the kiss. I wanted to kiss him, just as I want anything and everything in my day-to-day life. I desired him to kiss me. He took his time. I was befuddled by my absolute conviction that I could never kiss him first, that I was sure to be rejected. Whence this conviction? It was from the smugness that came with the realisation that I was finally starting to be true to my submissive state.
I wanted to voice that particular epiphany, that I was sure would please him. As I struggled to verbalise all these confusing sensations and realisations, I ceased to recognise myself. I was twitching like a fly on the gossamer. I was ensnared in his trap and it had just dawned on me. The words that I had hoped would set me free were entombed in the labyrinth that was my mind. And my breathing quickened.
My Master remained taciturn the whole time. His eyes and the first cruel smile that I would see etched on that soft, creamy skin of his did the questioning. He pressed me on with occasional, amused "Hmms?" but nothing more. His smile grew crueller until he grabbed my hand. My heart was racing. Not only was this our first instance of physical contact, I could not even pretend to fathom what he was going to do with it. My tiny palm and long fingers in his hand, I thought he was inspecting the size and perhaps delighting in the dampness of my hand - my body's betrayal. I pulled away and he grabbed it again. I was unnerved all the more. Then he pressed it against his crotch, evidently erect to the touch, while staring at me intently. I was in disbelief. Why and when did he go erect?
