Sadistic Little Shimmy by Anonymous

When I do something bad,
Not... too bad but bad enough to need correction.
Or perhaps, just because my Mistress is a little bored.
The most evil little smile spreads across her face for a moment, that moment when she decides upon what I must do.
It's always the same.
It's that one excruciating action which she loves.
She loves it so much because of the discomfort it causes me.
She delights in it.
Revels in it.
Feeds on it.
She bathes in the power that it makes her feel.
The knowledge that I hate it.
That I would never do it by choice.
Or at least, not by preference.
I do it because of her.
I do it because of that devious smile.
That evil grin.
That power.
She looks me in the eyes, and speaks calmly.
I can see her struggling not to giggle already.
I can see it because I know it's there.
But it doesn't break her calm.
"Dance"
I hate that word.
I hate the simplicity.
I hate the understanding.
I hate that I don't even hesitate.
She watches, fingers spread demurely across her jaw.
Not supporting her head, but her mind.
Her focus.
I start to move to music that doesn't exist.
I weave the lyrics that spell out my own torment, into clumsy little moves.
Sexy little hip wiggles.
Twists.
Turns.
I watch for the hint of that little smile at the corner of her mouth.
It's the opium for that pain.
It puts me under.
Nulls my fears.
Reminds me why I hurt.
In turn I remind her of my love.
In that I am defined.