Bruises and Bitemarks

Baby, when you look at me with those puppy dog eyes, you make me want to die. Maybe my vocabulary fails me. Maybe I don’t know what I mean. But if I’m ever mean to you, I want you to be much worse to me. If I hurt you, I want you to hurt me. I need to suffer for my sins. Last night, it was the same, I admit. Recreational pain is just self-punishment. But you see the heights it drives me to? You see how I writhe in ecstasy under your teeth? I begged you for more but you said no. Because despite what I say, we both know it’s serious.

It’s not just for fun. I need more than a kick out of it. I need bruises. I insist like a monster, like a madman, begging for more.

Maybe it would be easier if you just hit me instead of crying. Baby, you know I can’t say no to you. And if I ever do, I need you to do this for me. 

Alas, I only add to your woes. Ever so selfish.

Talk to me. 

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