It begins with my fingers slipping into your hair and closing on the back of your neck. Always it begins this way, with my fingers caressing your neck, firmly but not tightly, demanding nothing–not yet.

And always your response is the same: you slow, you calm. Your eyes close or grow unfocused, dreamy. Your face relaxes. Your lips part slightly but you don’t speak: you’ve lost your voice.

(And your heart, girl, does it beat faster? Does your breath catch? And do you feel your body respond, stirring with the promise of your surrender?)

What you don’t know, because I barely betray it, is the effect your sudden submissiveness has on me–has instantly, has every time I see it. Girl, you don’t know what forces you awaken in me, what tension your obedience creates. Aggression wells up in me, violence, a primal explosive need to possess you, to throw you down and tear your clothes from your body and ravish you. To claim you, mark you, brand you with the heat of my flesh.

I respond to your submission with an intensity your defiance could never inspire. You have more power, in your submission, than you can possibly have in any other way.

I can control myself–I have to, if I’m to control you, and my desire to control you is profound. But you are closer, in that moment of transition, to being taken suddenly and forcefully, than you can imagine.