He was hungry for me (and I have the bite marks on my ass to prove it! ) I could hear it in his voice on the phone, and  again when we were in the parking lot before we went up to the room. There was a tenderness in that public venue, that is a reflection of our day-to-day conversations and texts. He kisses me gently, his hands cupping my elbows in the tenderest way.

But once the door closes on the outside world?

Everything changes. He does. I do, and the situation does.

It’s funny to me, really. Because just days before I was wondering if this was it, our last hurrah. I’d say something like ‘it’s been a great 8 years but…I’m not really into being beaten and submitting anymore.”



He touches me and I become a fucking geyser of want. Liquid drips down my inner thighs. When he grabs a hank of hair and spins me around, I swear I almost drool. Oh it hurts, yes indeed. I was yelping and whining and crying with the best of ’em there.

Muttering about how much it hurts to get to the good part.

He did chuckle at that. And then went back to pinching and biting my ass. Oh yeah, it hurt. And oh my, it turned me on so much. I came at least twice from the hitting. Not giant gushers, but the kind that just slicks everything down.

He touches me, cups my vulva with his hand, feels my wetness.

“You cunt,” he says. “You’re so fucking wet!”

His fingers slip into my cunt and ass, twirling and fucking. I cum in his hand. He laughs again, calls me a whore, a dirty little pain whore.

I eat it up, those words. I wonder, later, how I could have ever sloughed off this…this need inside of me. It’s part of me. Knit into my DNA. I don’t have to explain it to need it. I don’t have to have a psych profile to understand it. I just want it, and that’s okay. It’s okay to want. To crave. To need.

It is a weird thing, this lifestyle choice. But it’s also uniquely awesome in a way nothing else touches.

And yes. I’m hungry for more.