Page 29 of Way Down Deep

But even more than that … I want to be obedient.

I know you’ve got more in store for me. Your hands or your mouth, your words and your plans for my suffering.

You’re going to test me, and I can’t guess what the punishment could be for disappointing you.

I nearly want to find out.

But not as much as I want to please and abide by you.

I don’t know, I don’t know. My mind is on fire, and all I know for sure is how badly this hurts.

So now you go next.

Tell me how you’d test me.

10.48pm

You asked me who the fuck I am. The truth is—I don’t know when you start talking about all this sex stuff. It’s like a switch flicks inside me, and suddenly I’m filthier than I ever thought I could be. It’s like my arousal has been walled up, and now you’re poking holes in it. Cracks are starting to appear. Things are pouring through.

Like how much I want to do what you just told me to.

How did you know that I would want to do what you just told me to?

I read the words couldn’t and hurt and don’t you dare and test, and my body went wild. I had to stop before I returned your text, just so I could properly control the things I said.

But I can feel them spilling out anyway. I want to make fists in your hair—hold you there while I take what I need. Then just as you get desperate, just as you’re ready to beg, I would stop. Maybe pull those handfuls until you’re not sure if it hurts or thrills you.

I think it would thrill you.

Tell me that it would thrill you.

Tell me that you would beg me to continue, and when I did that you would just want me to stop. I can almost hear the words it’s way too much, hissed between your gritted teeth. See you panting and shivering with long held back pleasure. Hear you gasping as you fight for some control.

But I don’t want you to control yourself, my Malcolm.

I want you to break down. Be a mess for me.

Is it wrong to want you to be a mess for me?

I don’t know. I don’t know. I think it’s better if I don’t say.

You say now, instead.

10.57pm

Yes, it thrills me. All of it. Every last word. Every single fucking goddamn pixel.

It thrills me to know I have that power to tear holes in your armor. Thrills me to surrender that power in the same breath and kneel cowering before you, happy to beg.

Thrills me to think about those fists in my hair. To think of you using my body.

Thrills me beyond reason to see you call me yours. Your Malcolm.

Thrills me to imagine being the mess you so want to see, the one you must ache to reduce me to as badly as I ache for the relief. Handy how those two desires dovetail, don’t you think?

But before I tell you exactly how it is you break me down and rip me apart, finally end all of this torture, I have one final question for you.

You have to answer it.