You want her. But not really.
Deep down inside, you know that the craving isn't real. Your unrelenting desires are nothing but a by-product of carefully crafted suggestions planted deep inside your subconscious mind. They took root quite easily, grew, mutated, and all you could do was accept the fact, a hint of drool sliding down your chin.
You don't remember the actual words used, of course. Still, they linger, like ghostly remnants. They live inside you, but you don't really feel alive unless you're carrying out her bidding, doing whatever she wants no matter how crazy and impossible it turns out to be.
Sitting by the computer, your eyes peer lovingly into the screen. A picture floats there but whether it's visible to the naked eye or just being projected from the inside out, is something you can't tell. It's simultaneously blurry and vivid, its power pulling you down, deeper and deeper. She's going to use you, manipulate you, make you beg over and over again, louder and louder. All your neighbors will hear you scream and chant the mindless mantras of worship that bind you to her and you won't even care.
When she's finally pleased, she'll leave. You won't even notice because you'll be too busy licking the floor as if you were licking her feet. Your free will shall remain in limbo for a few more hours until you suddenly get up and go to sleep.
When you wake up in the morning, you'll dream of the dream you had, smiling at your illusionary freedom before heading out to work. Days will go by quietly, devoid of thrills or any sort of satisfaction until the moment comes that you'll find yourself muttering something familiar to anyone that wants to listen.
“I want her,” you'll say, eyes glazing over. But not really.
* * *
“Jack? Whar are you doing?” Alyssa shouted, breaking his concentration. He blinked, his eyes returning to the world of consciousness faster than the rest of his body. His hands and feet were numb as if he had awakened from a long comatose state.
“Nothing, dear,” he said, repeating the sentence the moment he realized his voice had come out as nothing but a whisper. "Nothing."
“You've been doing nothing for the last three hours instead of taking care of your chores?” She continued, immediately putting him in submissive mode. He could hear her footsteps rushing towards the bedroom.
“No, it's nothing like that...”
Alyssa opened the door far and wide, hands around her waist, stern eyes locked on him. “Kneel!”
“I said 'kneel'! Obey!”
“Yes, Goddess,” he replied, her rightful authority taking over once more.
“Eyes facing the floor, you are not allowed to look at me.”
“Now... let's see what you've been doing... blog posts? Really? You chose your blog over my instructions? And what's this? Oh, I see... you don't want me, is that it?”
“No, it's just a sto...”
“You don't want me inside your head? You don't want me to control your every action from the moment you get up to the moment you go to bed? You don't want to be my mindless bitch any more?"
“That's not it at all, Goddess... It's just a sto...”
“Shhh. All stories can be real if you believe them hard enough and you are not allowed to believe that one. You are mine. You are my property even when you think you're not. You want me, you need me, you need to be at my beck and call. This is not fiction, this is reality. There's only me, pet. There's only me.”
“There's only you, there is only your will, I'm nothing without your control.”
“That's more like it though I should punish you for thinking such horrible things and putting them into words, fiction or not. You deserve to be punished, don't you?”
“Whatever you see fit, Goddess.”
“I'm thinking ten cane strokes but I'm also feeling generous so perhaps I'll let it slide this one time.”
His eyes lit up for a fraction of a second before she shattered his hopes.
“Not really... you're getting twenty.”
Jack gulped, his fate sealed. His only consolation laid in the fact that perhaps she wouldn't make him forget afterward in order to punish him again.
He received one hundred strokes that day.