My Beautiful Masochist

(If I actualize my kinky top feelings I’ll probably start another site. For now they go here.)

I dreamt of you last night. More honestly I stroked my cock while I thought of you.

There you were with you wrists bound above your head. My canes cut into your buttocks. First the wooden cane, then the acrylic and lastly the metal one. Your flinched, your breath became ragged but you wouldn’t cry, you wouldn’t beg me to stop.

With the metal cane only I moved down to the back of your thighs. Your twitches told me that each stroke hurt. Still there were no tears. Again you wouldn’t beg. I felt like I was eating you. At least eating your pain. Finally I stopped. Sitting on a tall stool I sat near you and let my hands roam across your body. I licked some of your welts hoping to taste what I’d done to your flesh.

I yanked you around. My cane cut into the front of your thighs. You spasmed, you whimpered. Selfishly you never asked for mercy. Tiring I sat before you and planned my triumph.

I thrust my tongue down your throat. I burned with love for your strength as much as I wanted to conquer it.

Your face assumed so many beautiful expressions of anguish when my cane cut into your nipples. But no tears flowed.

Finally I released you. But had you kneel one more time before me. My fingers rifled your hair. I treasured the shudders that still racked your body and your seeming indestructibility.

Finally I raised you up as friend and equal and hugged you tightly to me.