I like the sounds he makes, when I hurt him.
I like the look in his eyes, when I hurt him.
I like the tension of his muscles, when I hurt him.
I like the way his ass grabs my dick like it’s never been as satisfied, when I hurt him.
I like the fact that, for a few seconds, he leaves me alone in the room when he goes wherever he goes in his mind, when I hurt him.
In fact, I am counting down the days until I can hurt him again.
Hurting him is fun. Hurting him gives me pleasure. Hurting him makes him “hard”.
This all started last week when Thumper tweeted the phrase “he likes the way I sound when he hurts me” and as mentioned, fuck, yes I do. In fact, while reading that phrase, my mind got turned on something fierce (my mind, of course, since, at that point my penis was still bleeding like a skewered goat and couldn’t react accordingly. He has since resumed his excitement over it; however).
Of course, me being me, I could not just accept the fact that his non-comfort, when naked and under me, makes me happy, so I have also been trying to figure out what it is that makes me want to hurt him and why when he begins this weird purr like guttural growl it makes me harder than I have been in years. See, he already has the sexiest voice in Minnesota, but, when it goes into that growly sound, it’s like I have just opened a Costco sized box of Cracker Jacks and the giant prize inside is just pure, dirty, sticky, wonderful sex.
Is that alone the reason? I dunno.
Today, Thumper wrote some advice back to one of his readers about how she should embrace her kinks and feelings because that is not going away and, through this post, I decided to do the same as I am now further embracing mine and have vowed not to even worry about why I feel that way, but to just let those feelings take over when that collared bunny presents me his fine tail and run with it, when possible.
In fact, let’s consider this my coming out as, at least, a part time sadist. Part time, meaning that the absolute only time I don’t want him comfortable is when we are on that path to his internal fireworks. Of course, this may not be a direct path and I have plenty of plans to make this take some time, but those will be between he and I until he shares them, (and you know he will). I want to get him there faster next time, but in the days leading up to my next visit, we will be taking some steps to insure that as well and those may not be pleasant for him, but he will do them because he knows he has to in order to make his eyes roll back later in the week. It’s the simple carrot and stick approach, really.
Anyway, let’s go back one week from tomorrow when he reached that place he described, shall we?
What he forgot to mention is that I had also linked the ring of his Steelheart to his locked ankles, so every time I would push him nipple wise, he’d pull himself ball wise and had linked nipple clamps through his collar so when he pulled his balls, he’d also “tug” his nipples. (I am a twisted fuck at times, btw). Actually, in hindsight, he may not have even realized that these elements were there as the scene escalated, but I did take some notes for next time and plan an updated configuration to make sure he won’t make that mistake again. In fact, next time we will get him there faster, keep him there longer, and we will spread out the pain so he may not even realize exactly where it’s coming from. I’ve been reading, my friends, and have all these notes neatly diagramed in my mind for the bunny to try to hop right off the bed, or floor, or windowsill, etc.
But he won’t.
Now, all of this is very relevant to his post last week about “That Place Where You Can Only Take Trust” because, like the twin towers he mentioned at the end, NONE of this can or will happen until I make sure we are both at the right place, the right time, and that our minds are thinking the same way. It’s only been a few months, but I suspect that if we were at a cocktail party right now we could read each other’s expressions from across the room – his would be one of fascination because he had just seen something sparkly and mine would be some sort of intense look because I’d be pissed we were still there – but we would know, sorta, where the other stood. This party game skill transfers to sex too, because, I like nothing more than to make his downward looking submissive eyes look me in the eye while I control him and one learns a lot during those moments. Trust me.
To answer some more of those questions from earlier responses, yes, we did have a safe word, which was something so unique that I have forgotten it. However, I knew he’d never use it at that point because if I was doing my job right, deep down he’d know that I would never really hurt him and I never ever would. But, at that moment, I know that he was no longer processing such trivial things as bruises, marks, or ER trips, so I had to, and will continue to do so, because, that’s my job. During those times when he is my submissive, my masochist, my hole, and my object, he’s also my responsibility and I do not and will not ever take that lightly.
Besides, the bottom line is something my grandmother always told me as a child:
“Drew, when you grow up, make sure you never send your locked DILF boyfriend home to his wife broken or there will be trouble, young man”.
Words. To. Live. By.