The last moment of resistance
I can’t move.
I know why this is. It terrifies me. I can’t move.
I should be screaming at the top of my voice. I should be struggling as hard as I can. I can’t move.
I want to be somewhere else but I can’t move.
Instead I wait here in the silence waiting for the war to begin again. Gathering my reserves and wondering if the next battle will be the one where I finally lose.
I am alone with my fears, trying to cling on, trying to resist as much as I can, hoping that this will end in liberation, in release. I have no sense of time passing, of how long I have been in this state or how much time has past since the last assault.
I’m not a religious person but I pray. I pray to God that I can survive this and still be me when it’s over. And even as I pray I hear a noise and dread grips me.
The sound of footsteps, coming down a stairs, heavy and steady, getting louder as they hit concrete at the bottom, coming closer and even closer. And then they stop and once again there is silence. But I know that I am not alone. Sometimes the wait will be long. The longer it goes on the harder it is. Bracing for the first assault drains my meagre resources.
And then it comes. A voice, soft and reassuring, calm and controlled, measured and reasonable. I try not to listen. The voice is deceptive. The message is insidious. When I listen I weaken and if I weaken I might give in. I must not give in.
Your pain grieves me. It is unnecessary. It could easily be over.
I try to focus on other things, random things. A surprise birthday party from three years ago. I play the memory. Walking into the darkened room and everybody suddenly shouting “surprise” and laughing as the lights come on.
Your struggle wastes time. It is unnecessary. It will eventually end.
I try to play the memory again. Walking into a darkened room but now there are no people there to welcome me. Instead there is a shadow behind me, grabbing my arms, pinning them to my sides, forcing a cloth over my face. I feel myself fading as a scent on the cloth invades my senses. With a sense of revulsion I push the memory away.
I am in all your memories. You cannot escape me. There is nowhere to hide.
Desperately I reach for a different memory. I know better now. No memory can be played twice. Once is all. Otherwise he will follow and corrupt the memory. But I have plenty of memories to play. This time it is of a park on a sunny day in July of last year. I see children playing on the swings, ducks swimming on the lake, people jogging on the path…a shadow hiding beneath the trees. No, no, no, it cannot be…
I know where you will go before you go there. I am in control of these thoughts, these memories. They are no longer yours.
I have lost my memories to him. Another part lost. Another defeat for me. Another victory for him. Where can I go to now? I am so tired. Tired of the battle, the struggle, the fight.
You need not be so tired. You can rest. There is a way to end all this.
And yet I cannot yield. I know that if I do I will never come back. It has been made clear to me that once I fall I will never be myself again. He does not want me, not as I am. He wants my physical body but not my mind. Instead he will recreate me according to his desires. He has played those desires for me.
I see myself kneeling, naked and mindless. I see him approach me. Sometimes he is naked, sometimes he wears leather or rubber. His cock is free. It is large and hard, a physical representation of power. As he draw nears I feel my cock harden with desire and the desire is for him, for his cock to be in my mouth or in my ass. I willingly embrace my destiny. I serve him as he sees fit and I enjoy every moment of it, sucking intensely or being fucked deeply, riding my own ecstasy until in a burst of rapture he comes inside me. It is my role to serve, it is my role to serve him, it is my role…
I reel from the image, push it away as much as I can, trying to find some refuge in my mind. Each time he plays this it becomes more powerful. The first time my feelings were of disgust, revulsion. But eventually I could feel arousal start to creep into the vision. To my horror I could feel a physical reaction in my body. And now it grows stronger and stronger, threatening to overwhelm me. Instinctively I know that a part of me is starting to want this. I am being changed, have been changed. Even if I were free I know now that my wants would be different.
And now I realise that there are no refuges left. I have no physical sensations; I have no memories of my own; I have nothing left to cling on to. All the branches have broken. All the solid ground has disappeared. I have nowhere to turn. And worse I know that he knows this too. And his point of attack changes with that knowledge.
In my mind he stands behind me and I know that this is also happening in reality. Now in both places I can feel his body make contact with mine. Our naked bodies mould together as his arms wrap gently but firmly around me. He is strong and I am weak. I feel his warmth, his breath, his living spark. He will protect me. He will guide me. He will love me. He will be my refuge. Yes, I will not be me but would that be so hard to bear? Would I even want to be me? Would it not be better to be someone, something else? He is right.
Your struggle is over. You know this now. You are mine. Accept it. Embrace it. Submit.
Now I know I can no longer hold on. Part of me is still screaming but I can’t hear it. Part of me is still struggling but I can’t feel it. Part of me is still fighting but I can’t resist it. The effort to hold fast is too much, too hard, too painful. In the deepest part of my mind the words form - I submit - and then I fall off the edge of a cliff…