she asks me how my evening was, like we’re just having a conversation, like nothing else is going on. i respond in kind, casually explaining what i’ve been up to since we talked last. and she listens. to how my day’s been, sure, but we both know that’s not what she’s focused on. she listens to my breathing, my pauses. she’s waiting for the tiniest crack in the facade. and with my resolve? she’ll keep waiting.
my voice is steady. level. laced with the tiniest challenge of is that all you got? as i respond once more to her latest follow-up question. the toy inside me jumps in intensity for just a moment, like she’s daring me to talk back. she knows i won’t, though, since that would involve acknowledging what she’s doing to me. my next pause being just a couple seconds longer tells her everything she needs to know. and suddenly it’s her soft, smug “you okay, baby?” in my ear and we both know i can only keep the act up so long when she talks to me like that. but still i resist, claiming i don’t know what she’s talking about. i’m okay. i was just thinking before i speak.
she keeps me talking. keeps changing the subject. keeps asking follow-up questions that require more than one-word answers. she points out every time i inhale too quickly, every time i stumble over a word, every time my focus slips. “oh, what was that?”, “a little distracted?”, “baby, focus. i’m talking to you.” she knows exactly how close i am to losing it, every fiber of my body concentrated on not outwardly reacting. and she’s waiting for an answer to a question i don’t remember.
“aww, what, you forgot what i asked you?” she asks, amused. “that’s not like you.” the sweet condescension in her voice affects me just as much as the toy now vibrating at the exact rhythm she knows i like. i can hear the fucking smirk on her face. “you couldn’t possibly be breaking already, could you?” she teases, slow and drawn out. i’m down to one-syllable answers at this point, delayed and strained and not at all convincing. she laughs, and whatever’s left of my composure shatters, my voice breaking as i finally let out all the sounds i’ve spent the night fighting.
“aww, there’s my girl,” she coos at me as i unravel, voice sweet with that unmistakable edge of pride, “you tried so hard didn’t you?” i can almost see the faux sympathy on her face. she praises me through it, telling me how much she loves when i get whiny for her, how lucky she is to be the one to break me like this, and how fucking pretty i sound when i finally stop pretending i ever had any control at all. “you didn’t stand a chance.”
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