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 Multifarious Simplicity

   What I want is simple.  What I need is pure.  It's the most base,
unsullied, clean thing a man can ever want, really, right up there with
food, and shelter, and clean air to breath.

   I want.  You.  More specifically, I want to own you, to possess you, to
hurt you and Dominate you.

   I want you like men wanted women back before they understood that women
were tender creatures.  Before they knew about coddling, and cuddling, and
cajoling and coaxing and convincing.

   I want you in ways that involve a big, heavy club, and a lot of dragging
about by the hair, and I don't care if you're perfectly happy and willing
to follow me, I want to drag you about anyway, because that's clean and
base and primal, and it smells of rightness and completion.

   I want to reduce the complex, ever changing creature that is us to it's
lowest common denominator: You, with your face shoved into the bed, the
pillows, the floor, the dirt and sand, it doesn't matter.  What matters is
you, prone and helpless, while I labor behind you, taking what is mine to
take, and yours to give, or to not give, but it is mine anyway.

   I want to see your reluctance.  I want you to fight.  I want your
struggle, the heat blooming in you as you try your best to deny me.

   And then I want to taste your shame as you lose that fight.

   Not the one with me, though you'll lose that, too.

   The one with yourself.

   I want your reluctant pleasure.  Your wicked yielding.  Your whimpered,
shameful truth.

   I own you.  You are an object.  A prize.  My prize.  And I own you
because I rode you down, and took what I want, and you could do nothing but
give it to me, because it was right.

   I want to put you in that place of realization, and watch as your shame,
your lust, and your helpless submission beat you with a heavier club than I
could ever carry.

   You'll linger there, forever.  I'll make you wallow in it.  I won't let
you escape it like so many others would.

   After, your tears will be mine, just like everything else, and I will
savor those as I have savored all of you.

   Then, the tenderness comes.  And I will remind you how beautiful our
shared ugliness is.  More beautiful than all the pretty, petty things could
ever be.

   I have no use for those pretty things.  Your tears of pain and lost
innocence and deepest, purest love are all the sparkle I will ever need.