Waking in the dark, like so many nights before, the firm chest of someone bigger than me pressed against my back

A soft blanket over us like we're lovers, but the soft, warm words murmured in my ear are things like

Just hold still

This is going to hurt

Is that okay?

While the shock collar grips tight around my neck, waiting for anything more than a whine to trigger it, rendering my words impotent

A wide palm roaming over my stomach, fingers that dig into my ribs as though punishing a peach for its ripeness

A cuff on my ankle, pulling taut when I try to move and keeping me from folding my legs up away from the base of the bed

The petting motions as his arms wrap around my sternum, the praise as he slowly crushes me in his embrace

The feeling of something brutal forcing its way inside

Sweet little thing, you're being so brave

As if there's a choice not to be

It's almost in, you're doing so well

As of being empty and being whole were not opposites

As if I could ever be complete without being filled,

As if I hadn't already learned that the wrong kind of struggle only brought a worse kind of pain, and a different kind of cage