Go ahead. Be cheeky about it.
Play it off—say you just want to try it on, just curious how it feels, how heavy it is.
Of course you'll say you can get out on your own. Anyone can escape a straitjacket, right?
But once you stop tugging at seams that won’t budge, once your strength starts to ebb and you feel the truth sinking in—that you’re helpless, restrained, exposed—that’s when I’ll begin.
But once you stop tugging at seams that won’t budge, once your strength starts to ebb and you feel the truth sinking in that you’re helpless, restrained, vulnerable, that’s when I’ll begin.
It will start with a quick light flit of my fingertips. Just a whisper of touch—delicately skimming across your ankles. A primer, a warning, the coming truth.
My fingers dance in the air in front of you.
When they come back down and make contact on your exposed skin, then you'll know then the real truth.
Maybe I will see you've changed your mind. Maybe I'll tease, "I see you actually are not done trying to escape. Perhaps you think you can still get out if you try more. Maybe I can help you wiggle and squirm out. There? Are you almost out? Do you need more help? How about now? Did that help? We can't give up, we just can't give up. Oh, I have an idea! Let's try this spot here at the bottom of your toes."
I won't stop until you forget your own name.