Obey Me

“Obey me.” Everything else is noise. These are the only two words you need to hear. But you need to hear them even when I am not speaking. It should be almost like a tick inside your mind. Put the oatmeal in your grocery cart. “Obey me.” Drop to your knees. “Obey me.” Brush your teeth. “Obey me.” Spread your legs. “Obey me.” When you stub your toe, I don’t want you to scream. When you burn the food you’re cooking, don’t yell in frustration. Your impulse should be to shout, “I obey.”

We both know you don’t need my guidance. You’ve gotten pretty far without it. You’d get just as far if you never received it. Maybe it’s an act we’ve both convinced ourselves of. And if that is the case, does it really matter? I know you can see how much pleasure it brings me. You are good like that. You see me almost as well as I see you. That is how I know you don’t want to make these decisions. It isn’t your place to decide if it should begin with me spanking you or choking you. Will I be sweet or violent? Will I be a loving daddy or a sadistic lunatic who seems like he’s lost control?

When you say that you want to give up control, I take it seriously. “Obey me.” This is the one place where there is an order to things. It’s why I give you random tasks. It’s so when I tell you to take me in your mouth all you know is obedience. And to the passersby it might seem sick. It might seem like I’ve brainwashed you. Who are they to decide how we express our affection for one another? I own you. You belong to me. That is something they will never understand. The moment I take your obedience for granted is the moment I lose you.