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Part II


After you settled and caught your breath, you were still trembling, not from the cold, but from everything that just happened.
You sat there, knees on the floor, body humming with leftover sparks of something too vast to name.
You didn’t cry.
You didn’t speak.
But your eyes screamed: What have I become?

Guilt wrapped around you like a second skin, sticky, hot, alive.
Happiness tried to ***k through the cracks.
A rush, anger, shame, defiance.
Something holy and something unholy, all tangled inside you.

You looked at me like a sinner facing a reluctant god.
Like a priest in the middle of a flood, clutching soaked scripture, begging the sky for a reason not to drown.

Your lips didn’t move, but I know you.
I knew exactly what echoed in that beautiful, broken silence.

And I spoke it before you could.

“Do you wanna know why you’re on your knees?”

You stared at me hard.
“Rebelliously, yes,” you said.

No Sir.
No Master.
Just yes.
Like an equal, ready to rise or die for a simple truth.

I smiled.

“Because you’re worth more than you ever allowed yourself to believe.”

You flinched, not from ***, but because something deep inside you stirred at those words.

“You’re worth more than this game.
More than me, even.
Don’t you think I could’ve played it differently?
You think I couldn’t have broken you in prettier ways?”

I moved closer.

“I didn’t want pretty.
I wanted raw.
I wanted you torn, not for cruelty, but for clarity.
I wanted you to feel. To hate me. To love me. To want me and despise me, all in the same breath.”

I brushed your chin with two fingers, lifting it just enough to meet your eyes.

“I wanted you to see yourself without the mask.
To understand that every greedy moan, every act of surrender, every so-called sin you think you’ve committed, was a prayer.
A real one.”

“You weren’t kneeling in shame,” I whispered.
“You were kneeling because you chose to.
Because something in you finally decided to burn the cage you built around your own worth.”

And you, still breathless, still seething, still half-shattered, didn’t look away.
You didn’t have to.

Because beneath all of it, there was fire.
And beneath that fire, there was a woman finally learning how to love herself.

Through ruin.
Through madness.
Through truth.

And love?

Love wasn’t the reward.
It was the foundation.

You are worthy of love,
Not despite the ruin,
But because of it.

Even if it came dressed in hunger.
Even if it tasted like power and burned like shame.
Even if it sounded like a $1000 orgasm.
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