The Art of War

Because in the end, it’s all about power.

He snaps his fingers. “Down, girl,” he seethes.
I arch a brow. I’m not your fucking dog, my eyes say.
It just takes two long strides for him to grab me by the hair and get me down on the floor, right where he wants me. “Three more, we’re now at 13, do you want to keep this going?” I don’t answer. I’m angry. Let the fucking silence answer. “15,” he declares. I don’t move. “17,” he growls, and I smile inwardly because I know he’ll lose it soon. It only takes him 5 more seconds of silence to snap “That’s it, 20!” he growls as he pushes me to the floor, leaving me face down ass up, as ready as ever to take the frigging punishment once and for all.

— — — —

Have you ever wondered where power really comes from? They say everything is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power. I think it’s the primal instincts playing here, you know?

Take the horses. The male one has to make a whole show to the female in order for her to allow him in. She can even play him, to show him he needs to be better. But once he’s in, he’s in all the way.

So in the end it’s all a game.

What if I’m tired of playing so lightly? I want it all.

There is this Korn song I adore, “Lullaby For a Sadist”. And while all the lyrics are wonderful, there is this one part that speaks to my core:

“Gloating, I plant the seed
Inside your head
Right away, watch it grow
Destroying your insides
Pleading to comfort you
With my sadistic ways
I watch the tears fall
I crack a smile”

Dacrylagnia (dacryphilia): is a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing. (says Wikipedia)

No, I’m not exactly a dacrylagniac(?). The point here being the tears, as the infinite expression of what’s beyond anything else. You see, it’s so hard to cry in front of someone, you actually have to wonder what the hell happened if you made it. It’s like the ultimate surrender, the break. Everything.

Wasn’t I just saying I wanted all? Well, there. I want to push until I get it all. In the end, I’m into control just as the Tops are. In the end, this is what they’re afraid of. They even have a name for it: topping from the bottom.

“You wanted to play
The coldness follows
This isn’t a game
Your life, I’ll swallow
And I can’t help
But smile at your pain
You wanted to play
But I already won
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