Please Hurt Me

We had become close friends in high school, and had dated for about a year in college until we decided to set our relationship aside to more fully focus on our studies. Even after the relationship had ended, we would occasionally engage in the lovemaking or the kinky play we had discovered in college - always spontaneously, always without any strings attached. We had become, indeed, not just friends with benefits, but best friends with benefits.

Our kinky play tended to focus on BDSM, almost always with me dominating her. She thoroughly enjoyed being restrained to a bed, a table, a chair, a fallen log, stakes in the ground, or anything else - any means to restrict her movement, to allow her to flail against the bonds, to struggle for freedom yet be completely unable to flee whatever I decided to bestow upon her. While I enjoyed giving her pleasure, I especially enjoyed hurting her, and over time had purchased various tools destined for her pain: several floggers, a single-tail, a large paddle, a crop, even a thin cane. I had also picked up some "everyday" items I could use to hurt her with, like clothespins and bag clips.

When she had come by recently to watch a favorite Japanese film together, the evening had begun innocently enough. Yet as the end credits for 2LDK began to roll, she turned to me in the darkness and whispered a request:

"Please hurt me."

I was a bit surprised, especially since my mind was still filled with the unusual ending of the film. But I turned to her, using the light from the screen to gaze deep into her eyes and finding that she was sincere. She truly wanted me to hurt her, and not for the first time.

"It would be my pleasure," I responded softly, leaning toward her.

Our lips met in a gentle kiss, a counterpoint to the pain to soon be rendered and received.

*****

In the candlelit bedroom, she stood before me, naked save for her small earrings and a slave bracelet, fully exposed to my gaze. It had been several weeks since we had last been intimate, and I still bore a slight remembrance over my left shoulder blade from where her broken fingernail has scarred me during her intense release. Yet each time I looked upon her bare body, it always felt like the first time: full of wonder, admiration, joy, desire, and trust.

"Please hurt me," she requested, her eyes expressive. "Tie me up and hurt me."

During our time as lovers, when we were first exploring BDSM, I had bought a set of foam-padded cuffs with lengthy tethers, designed to mimic those which might be found in a psychiatric hospital. After first pulling the bed away from the wall, I had her sit, her back near the headboard, cushioned by the pillows. Taking my time, I applied a cuff to each wrist, then used the tethers to secure them to the posts on either end of the headboard, giving her just enough slack to pull at her bonds without pulling her shoulders out of their sockets.

Her thighs were next, although I did not have cuffs to fit her thighs. Instead, I produced some of my old backpacking straps, intended for securing tents and sleeping bags to the backpack frame. After looping a strap around her left thigh, I ran the slack through the plastic snap-closure, then tied off the end on a headboard bedpost. After performing the same feat with her right thigh, the result was a mechanism for keeping her legs spread for me as she leaned back against the pillows.

The final two padded cuffs were applied to her ankles. These had extra-long tethers, fortunately, so I was able to reach and tie the tethers around the posts at the foot of the bed. The result thwarted any attempts she might make to close her legs.

I rounded the bed several times, inspecting the security of her bonds, admiring her vulnerable position, and finally decided something more was needed. Having her lean forward as much as possible, I used two more backpacking straps, wrapping them firmly around her torso, above and below her breasts, tying the tails together behind her. Then she leaned back against the pillows, resting comfortably.

I rounded the bed again, this time purely to admire her. She was indeed a beautiful vision of vulnerability. With her arms stretched wide and her legs parted in an unladylike manner, she was on full display for me, yet the trust was clear in her expressive eyes. Judging by the hardened points on her nipples, she was already aroused simply from being restrained.

I was already aroused simply from having restrained her. I noticed her gaze drop to my jeans and her eyes sparkle appreciatively as the edges of her dainty lips curled upward.

She would soon no longer be smiling. I would make certain of that.

I moved to stand behind her, gathering her hair together and centering it so that I could massage her shoulders. Despite the somewhat taut position of her arms, I could feel her already beginning to relax.

"Please hurt me."

"Not quite yet."

"Okay."

I spent a long time massaging her shoulders, moving out along her arms to the foam-lined cuffs and returning to her shoulders again. My arousal was further steeled by these touches, by the soft sighs of contentment. How many times had I massaged her before? Yet every time still felt like the first time.

In time, I stepped away, leaving her bound on the bed. I felt her eyes upon me as I went to the closet and selected the heavy leather flogger from its hook. The many lengthy tails were indeed weighty in my hands as I hefted the source of my companion's impending pain.

I returned to the bed, holding the flogger to her lips. With the grace of an angel, she kissed the handle, then kissed each individual tail as it was held before her. As I retracted the flogger, she looked up at me expectantly, imploring me with her eyes.

I moved to stand behind her once again, and placed the flogger beside her. My hands returned to the previous task of massaging her shoulders, and I felt her relax anew. After a few minutes, my hands began a slow descent down the front of her body, my fingers ultimately curling over the swell of each breast, squeezing gently, lifting each lobe and balancing its gentle weight. I continued until she was whimpering nicely, her body beginning to move sensuously against the bonds, then retracted my hands.

Slowly, I reached for the heavy flogger. I picked it up, attuning myself to its weight in my hand, its texture against my palm and my curled fingers. I then slowly began to drag the many tails across her body, up and down her torso, along her thighs, around her neck, along her arms. She was breathing softly but a little faster, and I could easily imagine her heart rate increasing in anticipation of the impending pain.

For my part, standing behind the headboard, I was fully erect, pressing myself against the headboard for a slight relief from the growing pressure within me. Yet while I wanted to bury myself in her vulnerable body, I knew that that was not the point of the night, that I needed to fulfill my role as her caring tormenter, as the one to master her.

Without warning, I spun my wrist, the tails of the flogger standing on end and splitting the air with in the process. The first kiss of the leather was applied to her chest, an initial bite of light pain to her right breast. She hissed softly, stiffening, pulling slightly against her bonds.

"I like hurting you," I admitted, dragging the tails across the just-whipped swell. "I like watching you struggle and listening to your gasps and cries."

"I know," she replied quietly, relaxing into the pillows again, "and I like the pain."

Lifting the flogger away, I squeezed her right breast briefly with my left hand, slowly pulling outward until only the erect nipple was trapped between my pinching fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as I hurt her with my hand. As the flogger suddenly landed viciously between her thighs, her breath escaped as a staccato burst of sound, her body again stiffening as she instinctively pulled harder against her bonds, vainly struggling to close her thighs and protect her precious sex.

For a few seconds, flogger and hand were retracted, giving her time to drink in the pain, to revel in the experience. The flogger then befell her again, this time across both breasts, the hardest strike yet, a painful kiss which caused a painful groan to pass between her lips.

"Please hurt me," she pleaded again, even as she still writhed from the latest bite of the leather.

"I will," I confirmed. "I will."

It was indeed beautiful, both visually and aurally. As I moved around the bed to various positions, the flogger tore into her, and my hands occasionally groped her violently. She was indeed a vision to behold: her eyes wild and unseeing, her mouth open wide, her hair becoming more and more disheveled, her body flailing uselessly in her bondage, her battered skin reddening in the dim candlelight. Through it all, her voice was a beautiful symphony of moans and grunts and cries and occasionally even a sharp scream.

Yet even more beautiful was the trust she had in me: trust that I would not stray beyond the boundaries within which we had played for such a long time, trust that I would not give her more pain than she could truly handle, trust that I would put her safety first and foremost no matter how outrageous our activities may become.

Standing behind her once again, I wrapped my left hand around her cheek, nudging her head over the headboard and against my chest. Tears were trickling from her eyes, and she was still whimpering from the last strike across her upper thighs. I kissed her forehead, noting the thin layer of sweat which had formed near her bangs.

"One final salvo?"

She nodded, looking up at me with tearful, unfocused eyes and a wavering smile. "Hurt me bad," she mouthed slowly to me.

In the dim candlelight, I pussywhipped her long and hard, putting all my strength, all my desire, into each powerful strike, battering her ruthlessly, showing her no mercy. I had never seen her struggle so violently before, her entire body bucking and twisting and lurching as much as the bonds would allow. The bed protested loudly from her mindless movements, yet those sounds were greatly muted by her screams, her vocalizations of pain, of agony, of trust.

I continued to pummel her unprotected sex until I sensed she was about to use her safeword, then suddenly threw the flogger aside and leaned over the headboard, hugging her from my awkward position, caressing her, comforting her as she was consumed by the intense pain. She sobbed long and loudly, wailing her physical distress even long after she had relaxed in my hold.

Eventually, I moved around the bed, taking my time in releasing her from her all-too-willing captivity. Her body was still prominently red, especially her chest and her lower torso. Her face was still flushed and wet with her tears. Yet she was smiling weakly, thanking me with her eyes because her voice was too hoarse to speak.

I should have also thanked her, for while she had clearly needed to feel pain, I had definitely needed to grant pain, and our needs had been sated because of the solid bond of trust which linked us.