#masochism and dominance

I put my thumb in your mouth. I tell you to bite. 

Whatever you do, I smile, because that’s just about how my humour works.

It’s a test, you see. To see whether you’ve got the autonomy, the confidence and the prescience to figure out whether this is something I want you to do, or just something I’m testing you with. A test within a test, maybe. Things have a way of getting away from you if you think like that.

There’s a little bit of a masochist in me, a part that enjoys the sting of the pain, because the flare of the senses is something to be treasured rather than something to shrink away from. I ask you to bite because I’m still in charge, but that doesn’t mean you should go easy. I tell you to bite, you bite. There’s a reason you’ve got nails, a reason your thighs have the power they have. You’re a strong thing, even if you prefer to defer that strength to me. I want to revel in that. 

So bite, little toy, let’s see what you’ve got.