I can tell the real glares from the fake ones. I know strength, and I know bravado. They have their

I can tell the real glares from the fake ones. I know strength, and I know bravado. They have their own essence, something that transcends the senses and twists you right in your gut. I know when you’ll break, and when you’ll hold fast. It’s why I can do what I do.  But you’ll test me, you incorrigible brat. You won’t learn, but you’ll test me every time. You’ll test me because you have to know that I’m capable of passing, flying my colours past you rather than letting them run. You test me because if I couldn’t pass, I’m not worth it. And to give me as much as you do, and have me not be worthy… fuck. That’s not worth thinking about.  It’s not just for me, though, those glares and leers, the taunt between your eyes. Just as you probe and press, try to find the weaknesses and hope with every push that you won’t find a soft spot, I’m just glad you’re doing it. Glad to know that not anyone could own you, that not a single other man could be in the position I’m in, doing the things I’m doing. To know that I’m worthy shows me that you are too. That your submission is something that’s actually got value, rather than being thrown like change to a beggar. I’m not the one who begs, my favourite little slut.  No, that’d be you. Beg for permission, beg for my fingers. Beg for me and mine, to be mine. Test me all you like, but I know bravado when I see it, and girl, you’ve got bravado up to your eyeballs. It’ll snap just as soon as you come, just as soon as you surrender.  You test, and I laugh your little exam right out of the hall.  -- source link

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