Addiction

I am looking at pictures on Fetlife. Not pain pictures, not pictures of torture, but bondage pictures. “Nice” bondage, I call it. The “damsel in distress” variety. Not the kind W usually does with me (being more likely to place me in perilous, predicament-style bondage, in which I have to choose pain over fear, or one pain over another, or being still to suffering more pain), although he does it all. All the many varieties of bondage.  And I like it all. And I like a lot of it. I was only there last Sunday, playing predicament games with him, and already, seeing those pics on Fetlife, I am craving it, craving these feelings, and all the others that come with what it is that we do.
“I want to be tied up,” I said to Ad, who sat across from me, reading.
“You’re an addict,” he said, laughing.  Hi, I’m Jade, and I’m a bondage addict.
I can accept that label.
Tie me. Feed my addiction.
Bind me with your rope and your steel and your words and your desire.
Tie me, make me yours, take away my will, capture me, own me.
Feed my addiction.
Please.