Questions I couldn't ask

How does it feel to own another human being? When I say that I love you, that I am yours, body, mind and soul, does it give you joy? Is having a whole person at your disposal, to do with what you will, anything like the warm bliss I feel at being that person?

Do you think of me, Sir, as tenderly as I think about you? When you ask "how much do you love me?" and I struggle to express it, do you trust that I do love you? Do you understand the fear I feel? Do you know just how much you own me, and how easily you could break me?

When we met, did you decide that this new slut would become your property, or like me, did it take you by surprise? Did you want to rescue me from my self-destructiveness, or was that a side effect? Did you see straight through me the way you seemed to, or was it just confidence and luck? When you stripped away my dignity and exposed my dirtiest self, then praised that, did you know it would make me need you? Did you know it would make me love you? Was it kindness? Was it just a way to bring out what you wanted? Or did you deliberately use my vulnerability, even as I could see what was happening to me, but was powerless to resist it?

When you pointed out the origin of my son's name, did you really know it, or were you just observant and attentive to items in my house? And how did you know my surname?

Some questions that I could never ask, and some that I would never get an answer to if I did. But I surrender to that, as I must - humans all have curiosity, but when we push for it to be satisfied, it is only for a sense of control and power. So I leave these mysteries alone, except in my imagination. None of the answers would make a difference, anyway: because I love you unconditionally, Sir.