I am the sea, tumultuous and calling. I am the storm, tossing him about. I am the moonlight falling on his hands. The hands that cradle her breast, the hands that grip the helm. My tide lifts him and soothes, and my depths swallow him for an eternity.

"I win. Again." It's vile laughter fills the space for a moment before the grinding returns.

And my throat hurts.
I've lost my voice.
I'll rest and then...
Protest. Again.

I protest, "No", and it hisses "Yessssss". I whimper "But...", and it taunts, "Seeeee?". I search for proof frantically, urgently, and it smacks me across the face, "Focus! Focus on my words, silly girl."

He is pure madness.
And he is lucid. Focused.
And I am his study.
I am his concentration.
I have brought this madness to him.
I have driven him to this perfection.
"Start over.
Do it right this time.
Again."
Crack. His tongue lashes me.
Crack.
He's mad.
And I bend at his will.