Do you like to hurt me? I asked looking for something. I wanted him to admit. I needed it to focus on his tongue and the pleasure he was trying to give me. I desperately wanted him to want it. But I didn’t believe he would. I thought it’s just a game we play within this dynamic. I believed he’d play this game with me, to get me more aroused, to toy with my stupid desires. To toy with me.
His yes was muffled by my cunt, but still audible. He never lies when we shift into our roles. He always tells the naked, unpretentious truth. It’s hotter than anything he could fabricate. My whole body answered to him as I let out an animal groan. The warmth of what he confessed went through me and pinned me to the bed.
I enjoy hurting you, he added between quick licks. I could feel my cunt swelling and opening. The orgasm was building like a tidal wave. So close.
I felt happiness beyond words, beyond sex, beyond the love we share and beyond the commitment we made when we married. He enjoys hurting me. He enjoys it. It makes him growl like a wolf, nasty, primal, violent and powerful. It’s in the core of who he is, underneath this civilized behaviour, underneath emotion. There it is. Pulsing in his veins. Hunger.
This is something in my blood. It’s a miracle, that’s what it is, that he should want to make me suffer. That he should get satisfaction and happiness out of hurting me. Because it is my secret want to be hurt. It’s written in my every cell. Suddenly I can barely believe my luck. It’s only now that it hits me no matter what I’ve done with him and without. There is a chain of pain between us, and when he gives it a tug, I answer. There is a need in me that only he can answer, and the same goes for him. He can put his hands on me and be happy about it. Finally he can make me suffer and love it. Finally he can love himself for hungering for it. He knows this through his flicking tongue on my quivering flesh. He knows now.
When I think about it now, my ears start to hum and my cunt starts pulsing. It goes into my head. We are counterparts for each other. Our blood is entwined.
My hands were tied together with rope and I’d extended them over my head to see him working his way to my mound and then the wet lips. He had left me there on the bed after securing me and gone to search the cubboards.
After saying: Now that you are completely under my control and can’t run away, I can do things to you. Things that will hurt.
When he came back he had a clothespin on both hands, the old wooden ones, and he smiled. They looked serious.
You don’t have to be afraid, he said to me consolingly. I had just admitted to being afraid. I’ll just put them on and hit you. Nothing more.
He put them on my nipples. First he had to pinch my nipples a bit. He rubbed them between his thumb and forefinger to get them erect again. When he’d attached the clothespins he licked my nipples around them. They didn’t hurt as much as I anticipated. But when he left my breasts alone, when I started to trash from his pleasuring, the air, the moving skin hurt. The pain was like a light fire burning my nipples. The air felt cooler, because he’d licked my nipples, and made the pain even more pronounced.
Say I want you to hurt me, he whispered to my wet cunt, his lips brushing against it as he spoke.
I want you to hurt me, I answered humbly.
Say I enjoy you hurting me.
I enjoy you hurting me, I obliged again tearing away the defences I’d build. There was no need for them anymore. I was hungry for the pain he was eager to give. With the pain he branded me. It was simple, I was his. There was no body without the mind, no soul without the heart, and there was no food to meet my hunger but from his hands. He would graciously give me what I deserved.
Say I deserve this, he said still like he was reading my mind. I couldn’t hear him and he had to repeat himself until he only said I deserve this, and it hit me in my gut.
I deserve this, I hastily let out a hoarse whisper.
The sentence was two-fold for me. If I was being punished, the punishment was his to give and I recognised his right to do so. But I was also deserving of his hands, of the gift of pain.
I felt a pure and simple catharsis. He had made me confess. I had finally seen what I’d always known in my blood to be true. He would take me in his hands. He would give me the gift of pain and take away all pain. He would make me disappear and burst into flames. For this he is a good man for me. He is the only one for me.