Freedom Ever After

The Cages
The Cages
Jul 20, 2017 · 2 min read

Always the pull; towards him — the quiet violence that he restrains until I assure him that it’s safe to let it out. Always the grip of his hand in my hair — pull me down into the undertow to let me forget the mundane nothing of the day. Always his lifting arms that fetch me from beneath the water and into his embrace once I’m free.

He resisted for a long time. He tried to but could not understand.
“I don’t understand. I love you. I could never hurt you.”
I tried again and reached across the coffee shop table to put my hand on his bicep, “You wouldn’t be hurting me.” To these words I added a hopeful smile as I again tried to make him understand.

After months of tentative discussion, of me raising the subject at carefully timed intervals, he one day looked at me (we were in the kitchen unpacking groceries) and I could see that his eyes had turned cold, “Ok.”
Thinking back to that afternoon I now see that I was unprepared for what lay just under the surface of his calm. I had to call out for him to stop when his grip and searing blows became too much and saw him recoil; shaken from his rage.
Time passed and I again raised the subject. The second time he was too tentative, ignoring my encouragements for him to let it out. Afterwards I made a point of reassuring him that it was ok and fine and great and that he could do it again.
Time passed and he learnt to control the force of his body and I could more and more let myself fall into the space he created. He learnt to regulate his brutality to more and more extend the rope from which he would let me hang myself. More and more I could sink into the pain and wait for his arms to lift me out of it again.
Always the pull towards him; of my own free will.

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The Cages

The Cages

Dark erotic fiction, the psychology of pain & pleasure.

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