My body can be a cage, but not for me. You can prowl around inside my arms, struggle, squirm, try to get free. That’s the half of it, the fun half. The half that gets me hard, the part that makes you throb. I can hold you, like that. Hold you back, hold you tight. Hold you and not let go.
But they can be walls, too. You can be held, just as much as I can hold. My arms are long, and they can wrap well around you, hand against arm, one gripping the other. You’re in there, somewhere, and you’re safe. Cared for. Not alone. Never that.
My arms, my mind, my Dominance, me. Synonyms that blur into one another, lines that aren’t lines, just transitions. It’s what you make of it, when you make it. You can treat me as the ruler, the restrictor, the prison guard. You can enjoy the thrill of it like that, rail against your bonds like the caged animal, let a little wild seep into your captivity.
Or I can be a protector. I can be a keeper. A guardian. I can be the walls that keep the outside out, the cliffs that the ocean crashes against. I can be the window that lets you see the rain, the window that keeps you warm and snug even as the hail ricochets off the glass. You can be safe, warm by the fire, curled up and sound asleep.
I can be both. Let me be both.