Here’s a psychological experiment from fairly early on in our dynamic.
‘Turn your head,’ I said. He stared at me, side eyed and unmoving. I eyed him with mounting disapproval. ‘I’ll give you one more chance. Turn. Your. Head.’ Nothing.
He was afraid I would bite him, leaving those blotchy purple marks that the word ‘hickey’ was woefully under-equipped to describe. (Fun fact: on a previous occasion, a friend asked him if he had been punched in the neck).
Funnily enough, I had no intention of biting him, after seeing the discomfort the previous marks had caused. He wasn’t to know that though. He was staring at me, wide-eyed and apprehensive.
I picked up the heavy metal rod I had picked up at LAM the day before, trailing it over his skin. My tests of assorted impact play tools had (by sheer and utter coincidence, naturally) all hit the same places, leaving a smattering of deep purple bruises over his thighs.
He shifted in discomfort. I took the opportunity to settle down next to him, trapping him against the back of the sofa. I pinned his legs flat with one of mine and began tapping his thighs with the rod, just letting gravity do the work.
I considered what I was going to do. The week previously he had resisted me throughout a vicious punishment caning. There was no space, no surrender then, and to be fair, I hadn’t cared. I had taken what I wanted and enjoyed it.
Afterwards, however, he had told me he felt annoyed at me, defiant, and that wouldn’t do. ‘You know,’ I said, ‘I don’t know why I bother.’
He looked away from the rod for a moment. He was scared and in space. More often than not, the two went hand in hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said,
‘I don’t know why I bother correcting you, when it evidently has no effect.’ The metal rod kept bouncing against his bruises, but he was no longer paying it much attention.
He swallowed. ‘What do you mean?’ I put down the rod, and folded my arms across my chest.
‘Well, I just punished you for not letting me kiss your neck a few weeks ago. Evidently, it’s had no effect.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He meant it. He always meant it, and it was rarely sufficient.
‘I don’t know why I bother,’ I repeated, looking away. A part of me felt genuinely disappointed in him. A part of me felt glee at the little plan which was beginning to form. I sensed his anxiety, and steadfastly stared at the ceiling, reveling in it.
‘Maybe I’ve been unfair to you. Maybe I’ve expected too much of you.’ He looked in equal measure apprehensive and confused.
‘Perhaps I have wasted my time trying to correct you. It’s evidently had no effect. Perhaps you are just a toy. ‘
My nails traced across the half-moon marks on his hip left from where I had dug them in earlier.
‘Perhaps I should give up on correcting you altogether. Just hurt you, as I please. Until I get tired.’ That sharp intake of breath. The wide eyes. The fear. I felt my face smile the smile.
‘No, please.’ The confusion melted into pure fear. ‘Please no.’
‘No? And why not?’
‘Because I don’t want that.’
‘And since when does what you want matter?’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘So, why no then?’ I could see him trying to think.
‘You said you saw something worth training in me?’
‘Well, that was then. Now, you’ve done something I just corrected you for last week. Again. I’m starting to think that there’s no point.’
‘No, please. I’ll do whatever you want.’
‘But if you are just a toy, I can take what I want, how I want, with no regard for you.’
‘But I want to be more than that, I am more then that…’
‘Evidently not.’
There was a moment of silence, and we went through that exchange in slightly varying words a few times before finally, approaching what I was aiming for.
‘Why should I put any effort into correcting you if it’s not going to have any effect?’ I said.
‘Why should I put any effort into correcting you if it’s not going to have any effect?’ I said.
‘Please let me prove that it does.’
‘How? You can’t seem to even follow simple commands.’
‘Please, let me show you…’
‘How?’
‘Whatever you want…’
I half laughed. ‘If I have to do all your thinking for you, you’re evidently nothing more than a toy.’
‘Please…’
‘And if that’s the case, I really shouldn’t waste my time correcting you, given it has no effect, and you’ll just make the same mistake next week…’
‘No! Please, it does have an effect. I can be better, please. I will be better, please. Please let me show you.’
‘How?’ I pressed. Later, he told me he knew exactly the corner I had pushed him into. A part of him just didn’t want to give me the satisfaction.
‘Because this time will be different.’
‘How so?’
‘Because… because… I want you to correct me. I’m sorry. Please… please… punish me.’
Finally. I smiled. And then I made him say it again.
