#make it hurt

I’m having to pull an all-nighter for work because I’m doing a training all week, but someone still insisted that it was very important for me to do something for them, so that sucks.

On the other hand, I just had a very lovely evening with The Violinist where he came to my apartment (instead of me having to drive). When he first arrived, we talked about our days and he did some rope with me. Throughout the evening, I tried to be good about responding with his chosen honorific-type address, his name. Of course, I failed to do it consistently enough, and each time, he’d smack me hard on the sternum. I like to think I improved after the corrections. I know that I definitely felt more natural saying, “Yes, [The Violinist]” and “I’m glad, [The Violinist],” and such as the evening progressed. After he put on a chest harness that made taking deep breaths very difficult, he started hurting me, eliciting gasps and whimpers and yelps that made him grin.

Turned on by my suffering and the d/s-y use of his name, the obvious next step was for him to fuck me hard. He pushed in, clearly loving it, and told me, “I missed my cunt.” Then, when he flipped me over to fuck me from behind, he told me, “I missed your cunt.” I responded in kind, that I’d missed his cock. I loved hearing both of those things from him. It makes a girl feel good to know that her cunt is satisfying enough to miss. And it makes me happy to have someone say that it belongs to him, not to mention the second meaning of cunt that tells me he missed me. (Which he also said outright in a super adorable way, “I missed you. Like, way more than I thought I would.”)

He thrust deep, hurting me even more (better) in that position. He went hard and fast, and I pushed back into him, his cock slamming into me. He sped up, his breathing changed, and then he came, sliding in and out of me several more times as he did. He pulled out and we cuddled as he basked in his post-orgasm glow.

When he came out of it, we kept playing. He teased me and grabbed me and drew out some lovely pain noises as we kissed and touched each other. Eventually, he pushed my legs up and started slapping the backs of my thighs rapidly and hard. I gritted my teeth and groaned from the sting. When he stopped, he smiled at me and said, “What’s a warm up?” in a laughing tone of voice. I smiled back and said, “That is a warm up.” The way his eyes lit up almost made me regret saying that.

He repeated the treatment, and when he paused, I dropped my legs and rolled over onto my stomach, whimpering. He asked, “What?” and I pouted and said, “That hurt.” He laughed a little and replied, “I know. That’s why I did it.” Then he knelt on my shoulders, holding me firmly in place. I began to wince in anticipation, gasping when he moved. When he resumed smacking my thighs, I gripped the sheet and cried out. I was relieved when he started punching instead. He started pretty light, but as he got more comfortable with the position and my ability to take what he was doling out, he hit harder, alternating between the two legs.

Of course, he’d intersperse this delightful thuddy pain with more smacking, which made me thrash. To no avail, of course, since he was on top of me, keeping me where he wanted me. When he finally stopped, I turned over, laying on my back and looking at him. I said I’d enjoyed it, and he said, “Well, at least the punching.” I did like the punching more, but told him that I liked the slapping as well, since “I like bruises and slapping breaks things” (clearly coherent after that bit of impact play). I also said I liked the fact that he was on top of me, since it made it easier to take the pain. He lifted my legs to admire his handiwork and, after seeing that the right was more red than the left, asked me, “Should they be even?”

I cringed, not answering at first, but knowing full well that I would throw myself under the bus. I hemmed and hawed for a moment until he made me answer. I looked down and said in a small voice, “Yes, they should be even.” He was pleased, and lifted my leg back up. Instead of slapping it, he punched it, not starting soft this time. He punched repeatedly, hard enough that I could tell I wouldn’t be able to take it for very long, even though I like and can handle thuddy better. He was beating the shit out of me now, and clearly super into it. I teared up a bit from the pain and feeling bad about wanting to make him stop. I resisted safewording for a little, but as I turned onto my side and he held my leg in place, the pain and (totally unnecessary) guilty feelings about wanting to put an end to the impact made me start actually crying. I managed to whimper out, “Red, red!”

Without hesitation, The Violinist stopped immediately and lay behind me, holding me as I cried. I apologized for safewording, to which he responded, “No.” I know it’s not something to feel bad about or apologize for, but I did. I communicated that to him and told him that I was okay, I just needed it to stop. He was entirely understanding and reassured me repeatedly that it was fine and good for me to tap out when I need to. That’s obviously the response I should expect, but it’s nice to have it happen.

We cuddled, kissed, and played a little, and then he asked me if getting off would help me get work done. I said, “Whatever you want, [The Violinist],” and he told me to give him a real answer. “Well, it couldn’t hurt?” I responded. He laughed and told me I could masturbate. I caught the wording and asked if I could come.

“Ask again later,” came the obvious response. I lay back and pulled out my bullet, pressing it to my clit. The Violinist sat next to me and watched, slapping and punching my inner thigh occasionally, which both turned me on and distracted me. I settled into a groove and he got on top of me, pressing me into the bed, his thigh between my legs. I moaned and started fantasizing hard. My orgasm snuck up on me, and I almost forgot to ask permission. Almost.

I opened my eyes and asked, “May I please cum?” He responded, “Ask again later.” I tried again, with what I thought was a good enough correction, “May I please cum, [The Violinist]?” but he repeated his previous response. My eyes widened and I worried my orgasm would be ruined. I said, “May I please cum, [The Violinist]? [The Violinist], may I please cum? Please, [The Violinist], may I cum?].” It was some of the most genuine begging I’ve ever engaged in. I was frantic and heartfelt and incredibly desperate. [The Violinist] finally granted me permission and I got back into it. I started to cum and he wrapped his hand around my neck, squeezing. I felt it in my head as my orgasm continued, and rode that lovely combination of sensations as long as I possibly could.

When I opened my eyes, [The Violinist] was looking at me. He looked pleased and said, “Your face when I told you to ask again…” he trailed off, closed his eyes, and made a pleased noise, like he was savoring the memory. Hearing him say that was a big turn on. I really enjoy how much pleasure he took from my reaction to him playing games with my head. Sadists are fun.

What a lovely evening. The fucking and the beating were quite satisfying, and I’m even optimistic that I’ll get bruises out of it. I’m so glad he came over. It was something that both of us needed, even outside of the fact that it was incredibly fun. It was a lovely preward (pre-reward?) for staying up all night doing work.

Last night I went over to Legolas’ place. He was sore from a bike ride over the weekend, so I planned on it being a low key night. I offered to make butternut squash mac ‘n cheese and some kale, and he made us baked potatoes. We chatted while we cooked, he groped me a few times, and it was all very pleasant. Eventually, we were just waiting on the pasta to cook. Legolas asked me if that was all that was left, and when I said it was, he said “Get on your knees.” I smiled and complied immediately. He took out his cock and I got to work, wrapping my lips around it and taking it into my mouth. He allowed me to control the pace at first, but then he grabbed my head and used my mouth like the fuckhole it is. I tried not to pull away and be a good hole for him, even when there was spit all over my face and I wanted to wipe it away. Shortly before the pasta was done, he stopped and pulled his cock out of my mouth. He seemed pretty pleased with himself. I know I was happy to get a chance to be doubly useful in the kitchen.

We took the food up to his room and watched a documentary about atheism on Netflix while we ate because obviously. When we finished, he asked if I had to go. I told him I could stay if he wanted, and he asked, “If I fuck your cunt, are you going going to be a whiny little bitch about it?” I smiled, because I love having him hurt my cunt, and told him that no, I would not be. He grabbed me and dragged me by the hair over to the bed and threw me down on it. Before I really knew what was happening, his cock was in my mouth and he was fucking my face. I did my best to just take the abuse as his cock hit the back of my throat with force. He stopped at one point and as I gasped for air, he asked me “Do you want more of that?” I took a breath and told him that I did want more, which he gladly gave me.

When he stopped fucking my face, I didn’t get more than a few seconds before he pulled me by my hair over to the side of the bed. I knew what was coming, but it’s always a little bit of a shock when his cock slips all the way in when he starts throatfucking me. It hurts and I can’t breathe and it’s scary. I always end up crying at least a little bit from the violence and from having my airway blocked. And I love it when he uses me that way.

Tonight was no different, and he pushed his cock all the way in, making me grip the sheets, struggling not to panic and, more importantly, not to jerk away from him. He used my throat hard, pushing almost until I couldn’t handle any more before letting me up to cough and breathe for a moment before pulling my head back down and sliding his cock back into my throat. He did this repeatedly, slapping me and pulling my hair when I wasn’t taking his cock. When I gagged and half-vomited in my mouth a couple times, he just laughed at me. My face was covered in my own sputum, which is one of my least favorite substances to be covered in. Partway through, he opened his bathroom door so I could watch my hole being violated. As he fucked my throat hard, he commented that I’d improved since he’d started doing this to me. I would have smiled at the compliment if I hadn’t been busy fighting my own body’s natural reaction to pull away when something big is shoved down my throat.

Finally, he stopped abusing my throat and pulled me over to the side of the bed. He lay down in the middle of the bed and said we could take a break. I like to think I earned it. Of course, I wasn’t going to get to just sit back and relax. No, I was to continue using my mouth on his cock. He told me, “If you do it good enough this way, we don’t have to go back to the other way.” I took as much of him as I could, pushing myself and using my tongue at the same time. I was focused on what I was doing, so when he asked, “Have you been giving a lot of blowjobs lately?” it surprised me. I told him I hadn’t been and he said, “You’re better at it.” I appreciated the compliment and went back to servicing him with my mouth.

Either I didn’t do quite good enough a job, despite my improvement, or he just felt like fucking my throat again, because Legolas grabbed my hair and pulled me back over the side of the bed. I shied away once or twice, instinct overtaking my brain for a moment, but then gripped the bed. He held my arms down and slid his cock all the way into my throat. I did my best to just accept the violation, wanting to be good for him. He stopped for a moment and told me, “I’m going to do this for a while longer, then I’m going to fuck your cunt, and then I’m going to cum on your face.” I liked the sound of that plan. Not that it mattered, since he wasn’t asking if I was okay with him doing those things, he was telling me what was going to happen.

He fucked my throat for a while longer, and when he finally finished, I coughed and caught my breath for a moment. I took out my tampon and sat back on the bed. “Spread your legs for me.” I opened my legs, hesitating only a little, both looking forward to and dreading the pain I would be getting. “Look how wet you are,” he told me. And I was. I was wet enough for him to get his cock in, just from having my mouth and throat abused. He pushed in, making me wince, and started fucking me hard. He looked down at me, alternating between moaning with pleasure and grimacing from pain and discomfort. “Do you feel like a third wave feminist now?” he asked me. I said “yes,” and I did. I felt like a silly woman who gives men whatever they want under the guise of being “empowered.” In reality, I know I’m just fulfilling my role as a woman, having my holes used for the entertainment and pleasure of men.

In the middle of hurting me with his cock, he slowed and started thrusting less deeply. “See?” he said, “I can make it feel really good.” He pushed a finger in my mouth and started rubbing my clit while he was fucking me. Now I was just getting pleasure, and I started moaning a little, although I was still jumpy, sure that he was going slap me in the face at any moment. He asked me if I was going to get off, and I told him I didn’t have permission. He pointed out that I can always ask him and see what the answer might be. I asked if I could please have permission, and he asked if I was going to get off. I responded that I thought maybe I could, but that I didn’t want to take time from him doing something else. He told me that he was doing exactly what he wanted with me and I shouldn’t worry about it. “Just sit there and look pretty,” he said, making me laugh, “And laugh at my jokes.”

Well, even a dumb cunt like me can do that, so I relaxed as he started working on my clit. “Let’s bring in some help,” he said, and grabbed his Hitachi and put a condom on it. (Ladies, try not to date men who don’t own their own Hitachis.) He pressed the Hitachi against me and started fucking me again. He was giving me the D and the Hitachi. I did get close, and normally I would have been able to get off without much difficulty with treatment like that, but I’ve been having some depression-caused sex drive issues that are accompanied by orgasm difficulties. Eventually, I stopped him and explained that I didn’t think I was going to be able to get off. He was very understanding and told me I had nothing to worry about. “I was going to ruin it anyway,” he told me. What a sweet guy. How did I get so lucky?

He said he’d been getting close and started fucking me again. Looking at me, he asked, “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve given me whatever I want from you. Why?” “Because you give me a little attention,” I responded. That’s the truth. I’m desperate, and I’ll do pretty much anything a man asks of me, just for a bit of the male attention and approval I crave. Legolas commented that getting fucked hurts more when he does it from behind, and made me flip over. He pushed back into me and started fucking me, making it hurt. From behind it’s less of a mix of pleasure and pain, and more just plain suffering. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head up, his cock slamming into my cunt and making me cry out in pain.

He pulled out and tossed me a towel to put under my head. Kneeling over me, he stroked his cock while I licked his balls and rubbed my cunt. He had me stop and instructed, “Beg me not to cum on your face.” I don’t feel like I’m very good at begging, but I wasn’t about to refuse. “Please don’t cum on my face. I don’t want you to. It’s going to be a mess. Please don’t. No, please! Don’t cum on my face!” I pleaded. Legolas grabbed my head and covered my face in his cum as I begged him not to. It was incredibly hot to have him want me to ask him not to do something and then, of course, do it anyway. I really like having my desires ignored and even actively violated.

“I almost believed you didn’t want me to do it,” he said as he wiped himself off. I’m glad my begging was satisfactory, if not prizewinning. We cleaned off ourselves and I got dressed. We took the food downstairs and I did the dishes, like a woman should do. Legolas told me a couple times that he really enjoyed the evening. I did as well. I’d been feeling depressed and mopey and antisocial, and my sex drive has been mostly dead. Obviously I’m not completely fixed, but I feel rejuvenated and more like my old self. Happier.

Sometimes you just need a night of delicious vegan food, being treated like a set of holes, and getting fucked. Hard.

We got up to his room and he told me to take my clothes off. I stripped while he got some things together. He had a hood in his hands and asked me if that’s how I wanted my hair. Seeing the hood got me excited, so I quickly put up my hair. He pulled the hood down over my face, a hole over my mouth to allow me to be as useful as possible. I lay back, now unable to see what he was doing. The uncertainty that comes with having my eyes covered made me tremble. I really do enjoy not knowing what’s going to happen next, whether because I’m blindfolded, or because my partner is being unpredictable. It drives home the fact that I’m not in control and that anything could happen.

After the hood was in place, he leaned back away from me and pushed my legs apart. I thought he was going to start fucking me or hit me or something, but instead he spit on my cunt. I whimpered when I heard and felt that, since spit is the most gross. Which, of course, he knows. That’s why he did it. Next thing I knew, he was on top of me, his cock in my mouth. He fucked my face, his cock hitting the back of my throat and making it hard to breathe. He stopped, and then I felt him tying rope around my ankle. He bent my legs and tied them like that. When he finished, he said, “I don’t know how we handle being in public.” “Why?” I asked. “Because I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you.” came the ridiculously hot answer. Hearing that he’d been wanting to use me and abuse me, and that he’d been thinking about it made me a happy and wet little cunt.

Done with my legs, he spread them again and pushed his cock into me. I moaned, feeling his cock filling me, and heard him say, “Fuck, you’re tight.” He fucked me hard and deep, hurting me and making me feel good in equal measure. I whimpered, and he pointed out that it was my fault this was happening. He was right. I didn’t clean my ass out for him to use before I came over. If I had, he’d be using that instead, which would hurt less. I need to be a better slut for him, and I deserved the hard use my cunt was getting.

Legolas pulled out of me and made me move to the side of the bed, the ropes making that task more difficult and uncomfortable. I knew what was coming, and with as little hesitation as I could manage, put my head over the side of the bed. He shoved his cock into my mouth and down my throat, and I fought down the panic that always comes with being unable to breathe. He repeatedly pushed his cock in and out of my throat, and I did the best I could to handle it. He told me that he was being too nice to me. He’s always too nice to me, giving me his attention and being willing to use and abuse me. I’m lucky he’s willing to spend time on me when I couldn’t even come over with my ass in the state he wants it. Especially considering the fact that, as he pointed out, he could get a more conscientious cunt to come over instead.

He yanked the hood off at some point, and stopped the throatfucking to let me breathe for a little while. It wasn’t a break, of course, and he lay back while I licked and sucked his cock, listening to his breathing and the noises he made. He pushed me off and it was back over the side of the bed for me, his cock in my throat. Eventually he stopped. He went around to the other side of the bed and put on another condom. I looked at him and he said, “Did you think I was done using your cunt?” before starting to fuck me hard again. He was rougher this time, hurting me with hands while he hurt my cunt with his cock. He slapped me in the face quite a few times, and my left cheek actually hurt for a short time after he stopped.

I started apologizing for not preparing for him to use my ass and promising to do better. I was talking about how I deserved all the pain and suffering he was inflicting on me because I hadn’t come over clean, when he said, “We can make it hurt more,” and told me to turn over so he could fuck me from behind. I turned over, the rope making it difficult and painful to get and be on my knees. He thrust into me again, going deep and making it hurt a lot. I whimpered, but managed not to move away. I deserved it, basically asked for it, by not doing the best I could for him.

He flipped me back over, and continued fucking me as he took the rope off my legs. When they were free, he pulled them up straight and pushed them back, changing the angle and making me moan. He continued fucking me and then pulled out and took the condom off. He came all over my stomach and chest, and all the way up to my collarbone. I sighed, satisfied, when he was done, and looked at how much prettier he’d made me, covering me with his cum.

Perfect Saturday. Friends, food, fun, and fucking.

derangedbabydoll:

I think what some people don’t realise is that I’d rather be hurt than fucked. Fuck with my mind, torture me and make me into your compliant little doll covered in bruises, spit and blood. Fucking is just an extra.

A girl after my own heart.

It’s also great when the fucking hurts, too. The feeling of being stretched too wide or having their cock slam hard into your too small cunt.

And sometimes they’re nice enough to use their hands on you to hurt you while they’re using your holes. Mmph.

Two of the sexiest words a Sir can hear