How I Gave My Body to My Beloved
My boyfriend loved to hurt me. Not emotionally—in that regard, he was wonderful, loving, and attentive, though a bit obsessed with control, but very good. He loved to hurt me physically. Moreover, he enjoyed seeing that his actions humiliated me. It was clear he got hard just from the thought that I would allow him to do whatever he wanted with my body simply because he had instilled in me the idea that "I am his." And not just in the vanilla, classic sense of the word, but much more.
He hammered this idea into me, taking me whenever he wanted, roughly pulling my head back by the hair
and forcing me in that uncomfortable position to repeat over and over that I belonged to him. He spanked me, in the first months after we started living together, playfully, and asked me to lift my head, look him in the eyes, and say that I allowed this because my body no longer belonged to me. He took me shopping, buying me things he liked.Yes, I knew he sometimes took things too far, but I couldn't imagine the scale his fetish would grow to. At some point, the person who was usually absolutely tender and loving became very… very rough in bed. At first, I liked it, it turned me on. Though I lie—it turned me on even when it stopped being normal.
My N. (I'll call him that) crossed the line when, suddenly at breakfast before work, he demanded that I sit on my knees in front of him and slap myself on the cheeks while he ate. He said it very seriously, with that glint in his eyes that appeared when he was aroused. Like a little child who had mastered a long-awaited toy.
"Honey, are you serious?" I asked, trying to maintain a mocking tone, not looking him in the eyes. I had just picked up bread to make myself a sandwich when he silently took it from my hands, put it back on the table, lifted me from the chair, untied my silk robe but didn't take it off, and lowered me onto my knees. Ignoring my stunned and frightened look, he leaned down, kissed me on the lips, and straightening up, gave me such a slap that I probably would have flipped over if he hadn't caught me in time.
The silence that fell in the room was broken by my crying. I started sniffling loudly, and tears treacherously streamed from my eyes. And at the same time, as always in those moments when he hurt me, I wanted to kiss the hand that had struck me. Whether as a sign of submission or some primitive instinct of female obedience to brute force dictated what to do. But I remained kneeling, with my breasts peeking out from under the robe, swaying, and my bent knees spread apart, as he liked.
Watching me cry intently, N. sat back down on the chair and continued eating his yogurt.
"And now, darling, do what I asked you to," his voice was dangerous, excited. It seemed that somewhere deep down, he was waiting for my disobedience to use force again.
I knew that if I wiped my tears, got up, and said I didn't like it, he wouldn't continue. He would just apologize, kiss my cheek, and go to work. Most likely, a chill would grow between us, which would later turn into hot sex, but I knew, I knew that sooner or later this situation would repeat. Because my beloved N. needed to do what he was doing. I love having orgasms, playing tennis, and eating éclairs, and N. liked hurting me. Such is the simple algebra of life.
Life is a strange thing, after all. N. was liked by my friends, my mother, who raised me alone and cherished me like the apple of her eye, liked by my colleagues, and basically everyone. When he appeared in my life, I, although I was a beautiful girl who was liked by almost everyone I interacted with, was happy. But what would happen if any of our acquaintances knew that N. could never come without hurting me?
Taking a deep breath and not even trying to stop the flow of tears, I slapped my left cheek, looking intently into his eyes. The blow wasn't strong, but very humiliating. Something changed between us at that moment, and later I realized what: it was the first time I did something like this not during sex, but just in a normal, everyday setting.
"Continue. Harder," he sprawled more comfortably on the chair, and it was visible that his cock in his pants was practically tearing the fabric.
I gave myself a second slap, crying bitterly, pitying myself, but my nipples hardened from this pity and humiliation, which couldn't escape his gaze, which knew every part of my body. Then a third slap… With each blow, he asked me to do it harder, and I whipped my cheeks, no longer holding back my sobs. erotic stories My face was burning, and the robe slipped completely off my shoulders. Finally, I had no strength left, and I remained sitting on my knees, holding my cheeks.
"Did I say stop?"
"Please, darling, I can't anymore, what's gotten into you?…" I barely managed to utter the question before I received another slap across the face. I felt the taste of blood in my mouth, and apparently, he saw it because he stopped, lifted me from my knees, and licked the droplet. Then he took my hand and led me to the full-length mirror in the hallway. Taking me by the hair with one hand, he lowered me back onto my knees, and with the other, lightly gripping my throat, he whispered, leaning to my ear:
"Look what you've done to yourself. Look how beautiful you are when you're in pain."
I stared at myself mesmerized and couldn't believe I had done this myself. After holding me like that for a minute, he carefully lifted me, threw the robe he had brought over my shoulders, pulled me to him, and kissed me gently. Then, very seriously but somehow fearfully, he looked into my eyes and said what turned our lives upside down:
"Do you agree if your body becomes completely mine and I hurt it? If not, I'll accept it, and we'll try to manage with what we had before. I love you and will always be by your side." It was clear he was waiting for my consent but afraid of refusal. My beloved man…
"I agree. I trust you." And I leaned in to kiss him.
The next month, our sex was amazing. As always, though. We even stopped arguing over minor everyday issues; he even started agreeing with me more often, only to punish me more harshly in bed later. But I saw and felt that he was internally deciding on something, an idea that haunted and aroused him, and at the same time seemed to horrify him…
It was the morning of the first day of our vacation! N. had bought us tickets to Spain, our first trip together, and until then, we had planned to just stay home and enjoy each other. But waking up, I didn't find him in bed. Last night, he had warned that he had something new planned for today and asked me again if I really wanted to belong to him completely, to which I, of course, answered positively.
When I came out of the shower, he was waiting for me in the living room. In the middle of the room stood a low stool, in front of which he asked me to kneel; it came up to the middle of my chest.
"Place your breasts on it and put your hands behind your back," my beloved's voice trembled slightly, either from impatience or nerves. His excitement transferred to me, and I tried to calm my heart, which was jumping out of my chest. My nipples swelled, and my lower lips began to fill with blood. He walked around me from behind, tied my hands bent at the elbows, and stroked my long, smooth black hair. Kneeling in front of me, N. looked tenderly into my eyes and said:
"Beloved, I'm doing this because you drive me crazy. I love you. Trust me and don't move. You've already given your consent."
I trembled with a fine shiver as he inserted the red gag we used in our games. For some reason, I understood that this time we wouldn't be playing, and he would do something that would require all my endurance and perversion.
Of course, I understood that I wouldn't be standing in this position if I didn't want it. And he wouldn't do anything to me that was too… but God, it was too…
Finally, he approached me, holding a small hammer and a nail in his hand. I was shaking so much that if not for the gag, I probably would have bitten my tongue. From crying, my nose was stuffy, and a haze covered my eyes; I was breathing heavily through my nose, drool dripped from the gag onto my breasts, lying obediently for the ravaging on the stool.
When he placed the nail against my right breast, I tried to scream through the gag, looking at him with the crazy eyes of a submissive cow making no move to save her body from this abnormal pervert who, strangely, truly loved me.
He placed the nail and, raising the hammer, struck the first blow. Pain pierced my body, unlike anything else. The skin tore from this rough penetration, and thin droplets of blood trickled down my milky skin. He struck the nail a second and third time until he nailed my right breast to the stool. I moaned through the gag, afraid to move, in a semi-faint state.
Despite all my screams and pleading in my eyes, he did the same with the second breast. His movements were precise. Only after completing the work did he sit in front of me and stare admiringly at the work of his hands.
"Look what I've done to my beautiful breasts… You have no idea how much you arouse me…" he whispered compliments to me, wiping tears from my eyes and jerking off his cock.
And no matter how ashamed I was to admit it later, I flowed so much that my juices started dripping onto my heels. As if sensing this, N. walked around me from behind and plunged two fingers into me at once.
"Beloved, this excites you!" And as if convinced he hadn't done anything wrong, he started fucking me with his fingers, and every movement echoed in my tormented breasts, nailed to the wooden stool with two nails.
"He'll probably do this to my whole body…" I thought somewhere deep inside, and came powerfully, supported by his hands so I wouldn't fall and tear my skin.
This madness lasted a long time… or not, I don't know, I lost track of time. I only remember how he came on my face and, with one jerk, pulled the nails out of my breasts; after the second, I passed out. And that was the beginning…