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She runs unconscious hands through my hair, being as gentle now as she was last night, heartlessly cruel. I nestle next to her cunt, my head resting on a throbbing place at the base of her belly. I feel the blood pumping through her; her loins are as hot as mine. But we’ll be peaceful now.
I’m mystified that I could want to remain so close to her, there on her bed, on her loins, where love and hate mingle like two friends. I think of these things as I drift again into sleep. Elizabeth’s name plays as a gentle mantra in my head, her face and Anastasia’s face blend into one.
I feel something poking at my side; I know it’s the baton. My eyes open to her face, to Tasia’s face, not Elizabeth’s this time, just the bold image of the present, hallucinations of the past have vanished.
“No, Tasia, please,” I mumble weakly. I can hardly move, for the rich ache that pervades my body, from my shoulders and arms that were tied so long, to my loins, where the ungodly penetrations of rods and fists seemed to have rent me in two. So brutally ravaged, I feel used up and empty. It’s not a bad feeling though, rather like being purged. I’ve tripped down a tunnel of all that was terrifying in me. I feel purified as the result.
“You’ll call me Anastasia,” she says, as she prods me again. There’s a glint of triumph in her eye now that she’s vanquished me. But she’s not unkind, her instruction suggests the attitude of a stern parent, which now seems perfectly suited to our relationship. Where I once despised her, I have no love; but I have deep regard that goes beyond love, somewhere else.
It must be morning because I see her dressed in the black silks and scarves that she usually wears. All that lustrous body again hidden from immediate view, though I can still imagine what’s underneath.
I lie back and stare at her, wondering what she wants from me now. Could she take me again? Even when I feel too sore, too spent and too exhausted to continue. She seems almost determined to start over from where I crashed depleted hours before. How can she go on, surely our journey took as much from her as it did from me.
“It’s over now,” I say, with a faint hopeful attitude.
She grins as she taps my thigh with the baton. I feel the thing run along my leg where there’s a tender welt that burns to touch it. I wonder how many more I’ll find on me. As I move, I feel the ache in so many places in my body, I can’t begin to count. That she penetrated me so thoroughly suggests that she reached inside my soul with the same thorough attention.
This picture of the two of us, dominant and submissive, surely reveals how we’ve defined our odd liaison. It seems as natural to me now as the sun rising in the sky, and the tides that ebb and flow, and the moon that follows its endless cycle.
I feel submissiveness creep into me as a friend, as if there’s another me that takes charge, and taking charge does nothing but relinquish all the ego driven plaintive cries of protest.
I’m driven into nothingness, my thinking seems to cease. There’s just she and me and her baton, and an uncertain destination that seems as inevitable as it is hidden.
“Is it over?” she asks, mocking my words. “Why it’s just midsummer, Cassidy, there are days to go.”
I see this. Only because I sense that this could not possibly be complete in one twenty-four hours; because nothing that happens in a day will last forever. Results require time spent. This dark home in me cannot be built in a day, especially when I sense the conventional half of me wanting to push it away, just as it pushed Elizabeth away before. It takes the kind of emptiness I’ve come to understand, to have this wisdom. I hope I can remember this bliss when her voice cackles in my ear again, and her baton takes its terrifying liberties.
Her eyes are Elizabeth’s eyes again, first they beguile me, then they revile me, then they haunt me.
I’ll stay to make my peace last, to make my peace with Elizabeth and Anastasia and the submissive dark me.
…And on the first breath of September, I’ll be gone.
take me…
When I churn anxious, noxious rhythms,
when tranquility evades me
when my agitated nerve endings split with
discontented madness, take me
Primitive savage woman come to me,
with hand and tongue and body rude,
abuse my own with pain and penetration.
With exquisite torture,
violate me to primal depths.
And then without hurry, give me more.
With steady force
and vigorous assurance, not stopping for my
