#im only going to corrupt some poor innocent

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I’ve got my own brand of masochism, and it’s wrapped around my sadism like a double helix, inextricably interwoven until you can’t see where one ends and the other begins. It’s reveling in the pain of giving pain, that exquisite backdraft of sensation that is the heat of an afterburner that’s taking me to where I want to go so very very fast. 

It’s the sting on my palm when I bring it down on you hard, but it’s also the twinge in my arm after the paddle comes down on you for the umpteenth time. It’s the soreness in my pelvis when I fuck you hard and fast, leave you a quivering wreck on the bed. It’s the slowly hardening callouses that are forming on my hands as I work with the rope more and more. They’re moments of pain to take pride in, something to grin and bear rather than some deliciously crossed wiring that has you squirming the instant you feel that sharp sting. 

But it’s still enjoyment, and it’s still coming from that dull throb that meanders through my body, a winding river of pulsing veins and flushed skin. It’s nothing compared to what you’re experiencing, but then that’s always been how this dynamic works. But it’s something, and it’s something I enjoy, like a burn in the roof of my mouth that I just can’t stop tonguing. Something earned, something healing. 

I don’t pretend to understand how your enjoyment works, but this gives me a glimpse, a third hand account of what it might feel like. Sensation warped through some psychological broken telephone transmitting only half the information. It’s enough, though, to give me an idea, and to get a little closer to accepting that you really do get off on this, and it isn’t just some lucky fluke on my part. 

Because I really, genuinely do enjoy hurting you. You make all these wonderful noises and expressions, it’s really quite intoxicating to witness.