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A truer kind of love

She looked up at me, her cheeks smeared with mascara and tears.

"I know you love me and you want the best for me," she said. "You would rather caress me than slap me like that."

I grimaced. It's true. I would much rather thrill her with my tongue on her sex than apply the lash to her pretty ass. I've told her as much. Many times.

"The fact that you brutalize me with straps and fists is proof of your love," she said. "I know it's the last thing you want to do, that it feels unnatural and wrong to you. But you do it because I need it, because you love me so much you want me to have that experience. And you wouldn't trust anyone who loves me less to give it to me."

I hadn't thought of it that way, but she was right. I wouldn't trust anyone else to do it. It was, in a peculiar way, evidence of love.

"So you beat me. And every blow hurts you more than it hurts me."

Yes, sweet girl. Yes. It does.

"I want you to know that I know that, that I see it. And that's one of the reasons your blows feel like love to me. I can't think of a more honest, deep, pure proof of love than your willingness to hurt me when it's contrary to everything you feel about me."

I thought about that for a long moment. And then I looked down at her, still on her knees, the tears drying on her cheeks. I hefted the belt in my hand. "I think I may not quite be done loving you tonight."
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  1. AnonymousOctober 19, 2017 at 3:45 PM

    such a true story, to feel the sting and pain of a paddle or whip to bring the pleasure through a little pain, administered by the one you love is indescribable and so much pleasure is derived from the fact that she is truly pleasuring you,to give what you so desire .

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