…And nothing hurt: Masochist Musings
I’m chained and kneeling in the corner of the room when the doorbell goes. He put me there – naked but for the collar around my neck, chain lead attached to the wardrobe to keep me in place. I’m on my knees, legs a little splayed, bright red cane marks striping my thighs from earlier when I voiced my disagreement about this proposed treatment.
He has never hit me in the stomach before and whilst the blow is not hard it is shocking, as is the change in him as he hits me. I feel rather than hear myself gasping and I am scuttling backwards on the bed like a spider, like a man falling, but there’s nowhere to go and I end up in a corner with him almost on top of me, crouched over me with a raised fist.