A Masochist's Beatiuful Suffering

There is this moment that always catches me by surprise. Your eyes turn red before your past flashes in the iridescence of your despair. Your body wilts by our unmade bed, waiting in the space between nothingness and the pain your masochist's heart begs for me to inflict. The silence of your torment calcifies around your bone marrow. I wonder if you noticed the volume of your tears doubled since the first time I made you cry the tears you needed to shed so you could be reborn stronger. Your beautiful consensual masochistic suffering pulses across my fingertips when you say, "I need you to hurt me so I can feel close to you." I don't gently massage your throat to hurt you. I need something to hold. The tighter I clench, the lower you sink until your knees find the floor.

Your nails claw into my jeans. Did your instincts tell you to reach up and touch me? Letting go of your throat, I step into you. Your face rests against me. Petting your hair, I press you to my erection. Some people see a defenseless little thing and they rush to save you. I react differently. Your need floods adrenaline into my arteries. The more I pet you, the harder I clutch your scalp. Your whimpers vacillate through me, and the only way I stop them from evolving into a soul-shattering earthquake is by squeezing your jaw and making you look at me. You gasp, but I stuff it back into your throat by shoving three fingers in your mouth.

You used to be human. Do you remember her? She tasted like perseverance and insecurity. She smelled like trauma and redemption. The first time I ripped her clothes off, I saw compassion and judgment in the scars on her skin. What happened to this woman you used to be? Has my sadism helped you grow, or has it forced you to forget? What do you remember as I pick you up by your hair and bend you over the bed? My spit-covered fingers enter your cunt and you remain silent. I may not be the best monster for you, but I am the monster you love.

In one hard pull, I yank my belt off. I fold it over and smack your ass, giving you permission to cry for the first time in too long. The more forcefully I whip, the stiller you become like glass that forgot how to shatter. I take little joy in uncovering so much hurt. My sadism is nothing more than a means to an end. The pleasure I gain from gifting you pain is eclipsed by the closeness we feel when your suffering peaks.

I scream each time the belt collides with your ass. "Let it all out!" You once told me you don't exist. Ever since then, I've been trying to prove you wrong. I rear back and shift all my weight behind the next strike. Parallel red lines criss-cross your flesh. At some point, your cries turn to moans and you writhe on the bed. "Look at you getting off to this. Is this what you want me to turn you into?" I spit, and my saliva collides into you with the same force as the belt. You slip your hand between your legs and touch yourself. "Where the fuck did you go, huh?"

I try spanking you back to me. The more I hit you, the further away you get. You barely moved for fifteen minutes. At a loss for what to do, I wrap the belt around your wrists, securing you for no reason. I lift your cunt to my cock. Holding you up, I thrust into your lifeless body, trying to reach your pain. At some point, I realize it no longer lives inside you. It silently seeped out and filled the room. It's what drives me to fuck you into oblivion. A million miles away, I know you hear our squeaky bed and my animal grunts. They're like the words of a loved one reading aloud to you in the tenth year of your coma.

I wonder if you bask in my aggression the same way I bask in your ache. The muscles under my flesh stretch my skin as they grow. The bags under my eyes vanish. The gray in my beard turns black. "Give me what I want, you pitiful little whore!" As the words shoot out of my mouth, I realize I have no idea what I'm doing. This isn't something with a start and endpoint other than birth and death.

I know you exist because you're wrapped around me. That might not be enough proof for you, but I hear you even though you don't make a sound. When I cum the belt loosens around your wrists and I grip your red, tender ass. You pull free, reaching back to caress my leg. The affection in your touch only grows. The more love you give, the more I shake. For a moment, I think we're building to something. I always think this when I fuck you into the darkness. At the last moment, the ground disappears under my feet. I crumble next to you. Your hand never leaves me. It's the tether that stops me from falling into the sinkhole. I pet your hair as you pet me. We say nothing. I lay there waiting for your eyes to open. Sometimes it takes a few minutes. Sometimes it takes hours. When they do, you blink out the dried tears before a smile builds into a cheek-stretching grin.