This is what I want: to be bound, to be chained, with no hope of escape, not as a victim, but as a captive beast, something dangerous and feral. I don’t want to be tied to ensure my helplessness, but to ensure your safety. I want to be brought to the point of frenzy, all the layers of humanity stripped from me until all that’s left is teeth and rage.
Yes. Hurt me. Beat me. Goad me into trying to rip your throat out with my teeth alone. The restraints will hold — you’d never be able to push me so far if they wouldn’t. Bring out all the things I’ve spent my entire life repressing, the things I’ve locked down tight because without those safeguards in place, I will hurt someone.
Be careful. I bite, and if you get me to the place I’m talking about, they won’t be gentle little love-bites. I’ll be out to draw blood, to bite off anything that gets in range.
Don’t expect human reasoning or human remorse. It’ll come back later, and if I’ve hurt you, that’s when I’ll blame myself, that’s when I’ll cry and stammer apologies and try to shake off the feeling that I’m deeply, fundamentally wrong, that rabid animals should be put down. But until that point, until later, when I’m calm, when the chains on my psyche replace the ones on my body, I’ll be out to hurt you in ways you really won’t enjoy.
The restraints will hold. Pray they do, I might say, but if you have any doubts, you have no business trying to pull the monster out from under my skin. Back away slowly — don’t turn your back, don’t run. Let me drag myself back to humanity, and I’ll never mention it again. We can play tamer games, where pain comes in carefully measured doses; where one of us will ask the other with all due concern if she’s all right, if she can take this, if she can reason and speak and signal compliance; where the loss of the human mind is a signal to stop, not a goal in itself. We can hold to the illusions of safety and sanity, and never look at the dark things living just behind my eyes.
But if you want to take me to that place, to drag me screaming into that mindset, then your job is simple. Bring me to frenzy, and let me wear myself out. Let the beast rage until it’s exhausted, until the craving for blood can be satisfied by flesh, by vast expanses of unbroken skin, until I’m too tired to care that the whimpers I’m hearing are from pleasure instead of pain.
You can touch me then, if you like. You can stroke my hair and run your hands along my spine. You can even let me loose, so long as you don’t also let your guard down, and I’ll put teeth and tongue to better purposes, lose myself in the smell and taste of you.
And when it’s done, I’ll curl against your side and sleep easily for once, and wake up human again, sane again… or as sane as I get.
Yes, that’s what I want.
I don’t expect to get it.
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