I’ll Take That: The Tear

     I saw a man at the Studio today.  Not an hour previously, I’d been sitting in the office of a Columbia U. epidemiologist, dressed in my dove-gray skirt suit with pink pinstripes.  The fall back through the veil, back into my secret life, was unusually jarring. 

      The man was in his early 40s, boyish-looking, and has usually hired me as a sub.  I’ve had to suspend most of my sub work since the Surgeon rode back into town, because I can’t get away with being seriously marked again (and God, I forgot how stressful it is to be running around on the guy), but today, the client said: You can be in charge.

      “Very well.  What can I do to you?” I asked, pulling on a pair of my soft suede gloves.  

      “Whatever you want.” 

      I barked laughter in his face.  “Sure you want to put it like that to me?”

      He shrugged sheepishly.

      “There’s a new girl here I like a lot.  Her name’s Dannie.   She needs to watch in order to learn.  Want to be our little guinea pig, Steve?  Our little lab rat?”  


        I reached over and snatched a big handful of his hair.  Then I started pull his head down.  The pain radiated off of him; he resisted.  “OW!” he said.

       “Been a while since you haven’t been in charge, eh…?  Don’t answer.  It’s a rhetorical question.  You see where I’m going?  You feel where my hand is moving your head?  You can answer that.”


       “Fine!  If you see where I’m going, then why don’t you do it?”  I am, as a personality, very partial to rules and structure.  I express my rules to the men I control or dominate, and make allowances based upon their experience, expertise, and character.  But my first two rules–the rules most crucial to me–are: 1) Don’t resist.  2) Obey.  Steve here wasn’t immediately getting with the program.  He needed a little reminder (it’s okay.  We all make mistakes, after all). 

       He bent over at the waist and I led him out like that, by his hair, down the corridor and past the locker room.

       “Oh, my!” said one of the girl by the refrigerator.  “What have we here?”  A few others laughed at him.

       “Dannie,” I said.  “I’m going to show you a few tricks on this one.  I’ll be in (room).  Come give a knock when you’re ready.” 

                    *                              *                        * 

       Twenty minutes later:

       He was suspended from the ceiling and his weight was carried–barely–on the balls of his feet.  I was strapping him with his own leather belt.  It made a whistling noise as it cut through the air.  I do love belts.  I have to say, I do love belts.  

      I’d say that the bark of this one was worse than the bite, but the edges of it were so thin and sharp, that they were leaving some decent marks.  His sweat had sprang up all over his body, light and eager.  So had mine.   

       Dannie had just entered the room.  I invited her to pull up a chair and have a seat in front of him.  I didn’t interrupt my beating. 

       She sat.  She is a beautiful brunette, petite, immaculately coiffed.   Her posture is absolutely perfect.  She sits like a ballerina; a finishing-school graduate.  Crosses her legs below the knee and all that. 

       “Isn’t she pretty, Steve?” I asked him.  WHAP!


        “Then tell her how pretty she is, Steve.  Where are your manners?  Tell her how lucky you are to get to look at her and admire her and be the center of her attention.”  WHAP!   WHAP!  

        Steve babbled some stuff.  

        “Does he sound sincere, Dannie?  Does he sounds like he means it, or is he full of shit?” 

       “Oh, he sounds sincere,” Dannie said. 

        “That’s good,” I said.  WHAP!  “Do you know, Dannie, that before we got started, he asked me if I thought I could make him cry?”

        “Oh no!”  Dannie said.  She giggled. (This girl is gonna be a natural.  Trust me).  “Really?  That’s doesn’t sound too smart!”

         “Yes, indeed!” I said happily.  WHAP!  “What do you think, Dannie?  Does he look like he’s about to cry to you?”

         “Hmmm…well, I don’t know.”

         “Does he look distressed, at least?”  WHAP!

         Steven screamed.

       “Oh yes, very distressed.”  Dannie said.  Her tone was amused. Like I said–she’s going to be a hit.  

       “Well, that’s a start.  That’s a start.  A good way to start.  Everyone needs to start someplace.  Don’t you agree, Steve?  Steve?”  WHAP!  WHAP! WHAP!  “Steve, why aren’t you answering me, Steve?  Does pain clog your stupid fucking brain, Steve?  Does it make you stupid?  See, Dannie, you have to be prepared for this: pain makes them stupid.”  

        She leaned forward, close to his red, sweating face.  “Oh!  Margo!  I think he might be crying.”

        WHAP!  “Are you sure?  Sure it’s not just sweat?” 

        “No, he looks really sad!  Awww, poor thing!”

        “Let’s take a look.”  I dropped the belt.  It fell to the floor and uncoiled like a dead snake.  I walked around in front on him.  The metal horseshoes on my boots clanged on the hard concrete floor.  

       I moved my gloved hand towards his face and as I did so, he flinched.  Delicious.  I love that part.  I love it when they flinch.

        “It doesn’t have to hurt every time I touch you, Steve,” I said gently, and grabbed his face in my hand.  I looked into his eyes.  Yeah, they were tearing up.

         “A tear!” I exclaimed happily.  “I’ll take that!”

         With my other hand, I brushed a teardrop off of his cheek with my gloved index finger.  I looked at the water on the leather and turned around to show it to Dannie.    

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