My Mistress of Darkness


You command. All that you want is given. Your wish becomes my command.
You are the Diety who stalks my nights, and I hate you, and love you yet.

You stand there, so serene and confident in your abilities, and I hate you more.
You lie there, stretched out, watching me silently, and daring me to work out
what you are thinking of.

You make me feel like a fool, and when I kneel to you, you simply mock me. Damn
you! I give you everything that I have; my submission, my love, my adoration, and
its never enough. I never know what to offer you, to give you, to sacrifice for
you, and all that I am sure of, is that it's never right, or it's never enough,
or I've not used the right words.

And you hurt me. Do you care, when you hurt me? Or is it simply a reaction? I
feel the pain of each strike, and watch the blood welling up. I offer you my
hand, or my arm, or my face, so that you can admire your handiwork. I hope that
this time you may take the time to look, to take pleasure out of my pain. But you
don't even do that, do you? You simply turn, and walk away, not even offering me
a backward glance.

I can't stand it any longer; I have to escape from this. Yet I don't know where
to go, or what to do. I am bound to you completely - you saw to that at a very
early stage in our relationship. I thought you loved me then - you lavished your
time on me, and I felt cherished and important. However, as time went on, you
cared for me less and less, until finally I became what I am now, a pitiful,
pathetic thing in thrall to you. We didn't start out this way, she and I. In the
beginning I was in charge. I controlled her, and told her what she could, and
could not do. I was the master, she was the slave. Looking back, I can see the
subtle signs, the way she slowly took over, bending me to her will. Once she
learned that I loved her, that changed things, with a finality which shocks me
even now.

Of course, once you had realised this, you knew you had control, didn't you.
Bitch. You knew then what you know now - if I left I wouldn't be able to stay
away. I would have to return, to beg forgiveness. And I know that whatever I did,
to try and apologise, you would watch, timing me to see how long I grovelled for,
and once I had abased myself sufficiently, you would turn and walk away, into
another room. That would be the worst, I think - to be so close to you, yet
ignored by you, and unable to touch you. Which of course is what you intended.

So, I cannot leave. That much is obvious. Here I am, and here I must stay. For a
moment, I summon up what little I have left into a fury - I want to shout at you,
or strike you, or throw something at you. Yet I know that I cannot. All I can do
is mutter under my breath, hoping that you won't hear me, yet praying that you
will, so that you will at least realise the emotion you have created in me, an
emotion I can gift to you. If I am unable to gift you anything else, perhaps you
will accept my raw emotion.

You turn, and lock your gaze onto mine. Oh, you are so clever, my Diety. In
that instant - that single instant, I am totally under your command again.
Silently I hold out my hand to you - the blood still wet from the cut. Silently,
but in that silence I say so very much to you. I say 'Look - I have suffered for
you. It pleased you to hurt me, and I feel the pain for you, yet I do not
reproach you, I do not beg forgiveness.' You see, she never forgives, dear
reader. She simply notes it, and moves on.

She walks back to me, as if to look at her handiwork. My gaze is still locked on
hers, and I can see that she ignores my blood. She ignores my pain. She ignores
my suffering. Sometimes I think that she is so much cleverer than I am, knowing
that the ultimate expression of her dominance, my submission, is to give me that
total humiliation, and that one day I will understand this. Only at the moment, I
am too stupid, and I cannot think that far ahead, or that cleverly. I can only
react to her, and what she does to me, as and when it happens. At the time always
of her choosing.

She is still watching me, and my gaze has never left her eyes. This time however,
she lets me touch her, just with my fingertips, since anything other than that
would be almost irreverent. She presses her face against my hand, and I touch her
cheek, touch her mouth, just for a moment. Then she turns and leaves me again,
with nothing more than those few seconds of delight, which I will have to
remember and savour over the coming days and weeks. That was her gift to me, a
seconds understanding of what I truly miss, which is a cruelty beyond all others.
How much I want you, how much I want to caress you, to love you, to worship and
serve you. And the more I want it, the more you ignore it.

Slowly I make my way to bed, alone. I sleep lightly, in case she requires me in
the night, calling for me, demanding my attention. Sometimes I dream, or - not so
much dream, more remember back to then, when I had such high hopes, bright
prospects for the future. Then the dream turns into a nightmare, and I find
myself awake, realising that it is reality, not a nightmare. A few words echo
around my mind, a last remembrance of the dream... "She's a lovely cat. Very
affectionate, and very clever. A perfect companion."


Copyright ©1998 by SIC