…And nothing hurt: Masochist Musings
Bruising like this leaves me tender and vulnerable for weeks afterwards, it affects my day-to-day and is a constant reminder that I am someone who wants this to happen to me, who lets someone harm me beyond the level where it can be brushed off, moved past.
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.
I adore canes. When me and Kristan do impact play it nearly always includes canes, and it’s also one of the things I fantasise about a lot. I love the immediacy of the biting sting that is impossible to block out, I love the noise it makes both whipping through the air and on impact, and I especially love the marks it leaves me with.
It is an effort to still my breathing and swallow sobs. There is a place inside that they are all forced into until my chest feels like it might expand and burst. I bite my cheeks and swallow again. Feel my eyes widen with the effort. Squeeze them shut.