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. . .