Like that, I’ll take your pain upon myself,
so that you no longer hurt—an exchange,
release, this little act that you, yourself,
can’t do. That isn’t love, but it’ll do. Strange
possession—hot breath on my neck, strong hands
in my hair, cuffs biting my skin, my neck
pulled taught. You call this control? Pain demands
strength that you don’t possess. All your needs: flick
the whip, bend to your will, be mercy’s bane.
Mercy’s bane? Show me a Dom who laughing
at did not fluster—they’re far too fragile
without power. I love the games of vain
people, they’re so easy to break; proving
that they have yet to learn the word cruel.