Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Masochist, part 1

Oh, I wanted him. He'd made me want him and I was already in deficit mode so it really wouldn't have taken as much effort as he'd given it to make me beg. Then he was on top of me and his cock entered me - just a little at first, as I shrieked. Not even halfway in and it was already too big.

It was hurting. His cock was too big - either it had grown during our days without vaginal sex or my vagina had shrunk. At first it was a pleasant, stretchy sort of pain, but as he continued fucking me for what seemed like forever, it became the dull throbbing pain of being punched internally over and over. My insides felt swollen and he kept fucking.

"It's too big," I kept saying as I cried out. "It hurts," I would beg.

"Is my cock too big for you? Does it hurt you when I fuck you? Like this?" he would ask, driving his hips down, his cock forcing all of itself inside of me, making me scream.

There's a little problem with being a masochist.

If my husband is hurting me to gain his own pleasure, I like it.

Even when I don't like it. Even when it's actual pain, I like it. I like it because it's for him, because he's enjoying himself, because I "don't have a choice." I revel in the pain while he is causing it. Afterward, though, I feel broken, achy, unhappy.

I was begging, close to sobbing, before he stopped. "Too big, too big, too big," I groaned, wriggling my hips, trying to roll to my side. He finally relented, rolled off me, stroked my body while I panted for air. My pussy throbbed and felt bruised.

"Had enough of a break yet?" he asked while I gasped for air. "Ready for me to fuck you again?"

I was speechless. I was not ready for such a thing. Under normal circumstances I would have begged to suck his cock, but with the incredible mass of blisters on my lip we couldn't even kiss, much less put his cock near those horrible things. Not that I could open my mouth that far anyway.

He interrupted my train of thought: "Of course you are! Turn over." His hand pushed me over onto my side, and his cock nudged at my opening. He penetrated me and I squealed and pulled away.

"Oh, does that hurt? Do you think I care? Give it here, I want to fuck it," he growled.

I obeyed, and the entire exchange burned itself into my memory. My favorite part. The part I would replay over and over in my head, as I held still while he invaded my bruised insides, as I squealed while he delivered pain with his enormous cock.

I couldn't handle it docilely for long. I was trying to pull away, but his hands kept our midsections locked together, even as I tried to escape. "Where do you think you're going, girl? I'm fucking you here."

I have a safeword.

I didn't want it. The pain was consuming me, but his dominance was like a drug. I would endure anything for him. Give it here, I want to fuck it, he growled in my memory.

"Good fuck hole," he growled in my ear, and I shuddered. "I'm gonna come inside you. You want that?"

"I... I don't know," I answered honestly. Sometimes it burns terribly, and I was afraid this would be one of those times since I was already suffering quite a lot down there.

"I guess you'll let your master decide then, huh?" he asked, and I heard the soft groans of his orgasm. "There you go," he said, slowly pumping his spent cock inside me.

I buried my face in the bed, and there were tears. I was still terribly turned on but didn't see how anything could come of the mass of pain between my legs. The tears were more in frustration than anything. He was dismayed by the tears. "Why didn't you safeword?" he asked.

"That's the problem. I didn't want to."

"Poor, complex girl," he said, pulling me into his arms and kissing my cheek. "Good thing for you I know how to be gentle," he murmured as his hand wandered between my legs.

To be continued. . .


  1. Complex indeed. Glad he was gentle and hopefully soothed the pain with pleasure.

    1. Frustration, then pleasure. :) That bit's coming tomorrow.

  2. I couldn't have done it. I would have safe worded. But isn't it interesting what we are willing to give them and make sure they are pleased beyond means. :-)

    1. I pondered it. But it was all so hot to me that I couldn't put a stop to it. It's certainly something I wouldn't have said I'd do even three years ago....

  3. Oh baby... sorry for the pain. But that WAS still hot. I totally get it.

    1. Oh, me too. If only there was some way to prevent the closing up... oh! I know! He should fuck me more often. :)

  4. Sorry about the pain. I can feel for you. We have a yellow word that kind of means "slow down for a second and let me breathe" because if there is something being hurt that shouldn't be hurting, he needs to know. Like one time I had a bladder infection that I wasn't aware of yet. But the more he pounded the more obvious it was that something was wrong. I think that that is the only time I have ever said anything close to our safe word. I too love how my pain turns him on. Hope the rest of your story ends well.

    1. If I felt he was genuinely tearing me or something, I'd like to think that I would stop him. . . damaging the toy is counterproductive, after all. I don't think he'd be pleased if I didn't.

      It ends with blinding orgasms, but that's coming. :)

  5. Glad you're back. Missed you! You get all closed up after only a week? Wow. Master and I have intercourse maybe once a month, maybe, so I'm always closed up, and it always hurts, but not in a bruising way. I pull back or he would hurt me too much. The first time we had sex my insides were bruised for a week.

    1. It was more than a week. 9-10 days? A week since ANY sex, but that was a face fucking and he didn't even penetrate my vagina with his fingers on that occasion. Stupid parents.

    2. I don't know if there's any hope for mine. I hadn't had sex for 11 years before I met Master, and probably only once a year for the 10 years before those 11.

  6. When the safe word is on the edge of the brain, I think we are supposed to use it. But since H is already overly concerned with anything he perceives I don't like (IMO), I hesitate to as well.

    Still, situations arise that are different for whatever reason. (full moon? third Tuesday? Who knows?)

    On a slant, I have to wonder - do we hesitate because of masochism or do we hesitate because we are women (ingrained sense of duty)?


Thank you for reading. I hope you'll let me know you were here - I like friends!