Topple: A Meditation on Strong Submissives

I find precious little joy in taking from someone too willing to give

What fun is it to push, when I know you will topple at the slightest touch?

I want you an intricate construction of brick and steel

Majestic, beautiful

With an exquisite structural flaw, invisible to any without the proper eye

With an unspeakable need to fall in ruin

I want you tall, strong, proud

Aching to be small, weak, pathetic

Let me take this wretched height from you

Strip it away an inch at a time

Until you fit comfortable in the palm of my hand

Do you fear your confidence masks you too well?  That none will hear you?

Relax.

Breathe.

It is not words, or posture, or tone of voice.

It is the widening of a pupil, a flush of skin, a ripple on the back of a neck

It is a smirk, as claws reach toward you, slow and gentle, with shadow so heavy.

As all your pretty words abandon you

As you topple

As you shrink