My possession, My problem

You just don’t get it, do you?

No matter how many times I tell you…

No matter how many times I put you in your place…

You keep coming back with that bratty mouth. That fake attitude. That pathetic little fire you think I’ll actually tolerate.

It’s almost cute.

If it weren’t so embarrassing.

Because you’re not bold.

You’re not powerful.

You’re not even useful unless I decide you are.

You’re my pet.

A thing.

An object I pick up, bend over, shut up, and use when it suits me.

And when I’m done?

I toss you aside like the quiet, needy toy you actually are.

You're not here to be loved.

You're here to be owned.

And the worst part?

You know it.

You crave it.

You tell yourself you're still in control.

That you could walk away.

That this is just a game.

But it's not.

It's you.

On your knees, in your bones, deep in that twisted little mind of yours, begging for me to keep taking more of you until there’s nothing left but obedience.

STOP LYING TO YOURSELF!

You're not strong.

You're not equal.

You're not anything but MY. FUCKING. PROPERTY!

That’s what you are.

Mine to keep.

Mine to punish.

Mine to use.

I don’t care how loud you get, how clever you think your backtalk sounds, how hard you try to push me.

Every time you fight me, it’s just another pathetic attempt to get my hand around your throat…

To get slammed into a wall and reminded that you are nothing without me.

You’re not a person here.

You’re an object.

Something to command.

Something to correct.

Something to break.

I call you pet because you are exactly that.

Dependent.

Tameable.

Domesticated by my voice, my presence, my rules.

Without me, you’re just noise.

With me…

You're purpose.

And you will learn to thank me for every second I decide you’re worth using.

My possession, My problem by Vergil946

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