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Jan 26, 2013 "The Question" He gives me a light push. "Kneel on the floor, facing me." I waver a few moments, comfortable where I lie. Then I acquiesce. "Look at me." I lift my head slightly. Our eyes meet. This is how it starts. A spark flickers within me. He lounges on the bed, idly stroking himself. After some time has passed, he asks if I want to go down on him. No. Not really. Maybe; I don't know. This always seems like a trick question. He asks if I want him to fuck me. My reply is less uncertain, this time. "Yes, sir," I say, with hardly a blink. There is no correct answer. "Do you want me to beat you first, boy?" I hesitate, the spark within continuing to flicker. If I say yes, he may beat me. If I say no, he might not. As with everything else, I am unsure. I don't like it, and yet I do. "Answer," he says, more loudly. But I remain silent. He tells me then to come and do him, so I do. Suddenly the answer occurs to me. I pause to say, "Only if you want to beat me. Sir." That makes him grin. "Better," he replies. .. I face the wall with my hands against it, bracing myself. There is anticipation. There is dread. After a small eternity, it begins. A slash whistles through the air, followed by a tingling line of fire across my back. I gasp, but the first strike was mild. Fiercer slashes follow. Instinctively, I try to avoid the stinging whip. "Keep straight. Hands up." I shift back into position. To ignore his commands now might make the onslaught worse. Or, depending on his mood, it might make him stop altogether. Several more slashes in quick succession, and again I wilt away from the touch of the whip. "Do you want more?" "No." But I'm not clear-headed. He knows I can take more. Why does he have to ask? He tells me to straighten up again. "Do you want me to beat you, boy?" he taunts me. "I don't like it when you keep asking me questions," I reply, forcefully. "Well, that's too bad," he says with a wicked smile so loud it can be heard, "because I'm going to keep asking them." He whips me some more. "Do you want me to beat you, boy?" "No." "And do you want me to stop?" "No." He pauses, and then asks something else: "Do you like it that I like it that you don't like it?" What? The words jumbled together. I didn't understand them. He comes closer and leans his head next to mine. I hear his breath and feel the warmth of him on my skin. He repeats himself more slowly, giving time for the question to sink in. "Do you like it..." "that I like it..." "that you don't like it?" A shiver comes over me. The words make perfect sense. "Yes," I say. He smiles. In this moment, it all makes perfect sense. "I like it, that you like it, that I like it, that you don't," he whispers. * back |