Full disclosure (and sorry to be crass), I was kiiinda thinking with my dick when I wrote certain parts of this. My bad.
Back. Home.
We are in the basement as usual. She draws her arm back, holds my head in place and punches me, hard. Hard enough to make me dizzy, to make me bleed.
The blood drips slowly onto the white tile floor, each drop's impact seemingly punctuating my ragged breathing. I want to thank her, but I can't get the words out between sobs, so I look up at her instead. The look of pure disdain she gives me drives me crazy; I can't stop shivering, almost whining in eager anticipation for the next hit, and I know she knows this.
I kneel here, beneath her, where I belong, where the entire world makes sense the way it hasn't in too long a time, and here I am filled with the utmost gratitude towards her; I would bow and kiss at her feet if it didn't mean turning away from her gaze.
She raises her open palm, ready to slap me. I cower and I flinch, but the impact never comes; the sting of not being hit hurts worse than any physical violence she could ever gift me. I hear her laugh under her breath, a sound so breathy and soft it makes my pain worth so much more than any pleasure I could selfishly derive from it.
I feel her grip and pull at the back of my hair, dragging me up so she has better access to my face. My mouth falls open as I gasp, the blood I was not allowed to swallow pouring out of it as she shoves her fingers into my mouth and down my throat, feels me gag and drool around them, pulls at my hair so hard I fear she'll truly rip it out this time, only to let go and hook her fingers on the inside of my mouth instead, pulling the corners as far as they'll go so she can fuck my mouth properly.
The stretch is painful, and my throat spasms around her wildly as I fight the instinct to double over and cry out my love for her. I somehow manage to stay in place as she abuses that weak spot on the back of my throat, making my vision blur until I finally vomit onto the floor once she pulls out; all that comes out is a disgusting mixture of bile and blood, forming a dark red pool my face is soon shoved into, and I can't help but smile.
Nothing compares to this feeling of helplessness. This tortured feeling I bring upon myself, this pain I beg for relentlessly, this brutality I can't find anywhere except here, in the palm of her hand, the only place I have ever belonged.
I can only hear my loud gasps and quiet sobs, then the sound of her bare feet as she walks away, upstairs and out the door —I'll have to check her feet for glass shards later, she can be so careless when it comes to herself—, then, as soon as the door clicks shut, I stick out my tongue and start licking and slurping at the pool of my own blood, desperate to get back this demonstration of our love, to absorb it back into my body, and suddenly I think of how I must look from the outside; bent over, still on my knees, face pressed against the cold, dirty floor as I drool and gasp, dripping with sweat, hands firmly clasped behind my back —since I refused to wear restraints—, and I realize it doesn't matter. I understand I look pathetic, pitiful, vulgar and perverted, yet I also understand it doesn't matter, not when this is who I truly am: a selfish man who will do anything, pray and beg any way he must if it means satisfying his own desires.
I seem to have lost track of time as usual, but she always comes back quickly anyways. I sit up and straighten my back as soon as I hear her coming downstairs, and even though my vision is still slightly blurry from both swelling and tears, I can see her face clear as day. Her hypnotic eyes; her twisted grin and permanent dark circles; the beautiful face that haunts my dreams and blesses my nightmares.
"You drooled all over yourself again", she says, making my face burn and my stomach turn with joy; she teases me lightly now, though we both know I can take more.
My mind fogs over as I feel her hands on me once again, now so gentle I almost want to cry. This turmoil I feel is not born of her violence: I have simply gone too long without this, my entire, miserable life in which I have known nothing but bitter apathy I have longed for this. Never could I have dreamed of this level of bliss. This feeling of utter fulfillment, of my own blood, drool and tears running down my face. Nothing comes close to the ecstasy of feeling your devotion drip down your chin.