Cry Me A River (The Hers Forever Remix)
"Do you want to be my boyfriend?" Britney had asked him that night, the first time they ever made love. Scratch that. The first night they ever fucked. He'd say yes without much thinking. And that had been the beginning.
To the world they were the Perfect Pop Couple, all bubblegum and denim and catchy, vapid tunes. Behind closed doors it was another story. She was the cruel master, he was the willing slave. He would let her tie him up and paddle him a tease him, her huge eyes promising a world of painful pleasure ahead of them.
Not that innocent indeed.
A part of Justin knew he should just walk away, regain some of his dignity and self respect back. Then again, he'd probably lost them the day he'd accepted to be his boy(toy)friend. But he never walked away.
Instead, he'd cry rivers for her as he made her happy, when she'd hurt his body with her hands, his soul with her actions and his heart with her words. He'd bowed his head in forced approval when she decided he would fuck a young fan in front of her, then when it happened the other way around, Britney and another fan, Justin tied up and watching. But there was nothing he could do. He loved her too much to let her go. And he was foolish enough to think that, underneath whips and cruelty, lay a tiny bit of love for him as well. Until the day a random day of pain and pleasure when he finally gathered the courage to take in the cold reality. Love had never been a part of the equation. She was just using him.
That night she was the one tied up and whipped. And for the first time ever she'd cried. But her tears came from physical pain, not the constant ache that seemed to be a constant companion to Justin's soul. She was crying rivers that were worth nothing for him, she would never give him the submission he craved. Eventually he took her right one last time against the wall, not caring if she was enjoying herself or if she was in pain anymore. He finally untie her and started to walk away.
"Good night," she said to his back. And he stopped. Her first words of the night and they were said in that cool, sweet voice of hers. The one she used when she was the mistress. He stopped and stood in the doorway, taking her words in. What about his own self-liberation? Had the last two hours meant nothing?
He already knew the answer to that.
Without replying he finally left, knowing the night had changed nothing. He was and would always be, the slave. He could announce their breakup to the world, take other bodies to his bed, try to humiliate Britney in every possible way. But sooner or later, he would be back to her, maybe as the official boyfriend again, maybe in the cover of the night and heavy drapes, her willing play ready for her.
So he went home. And cried rivers for her, like he'd probably do for the rest of his life.