I need to hurt my Boy.
I need to find a place, a time when I can just relax and let go and hurt him.
I need to be more than gentle. To give him more than those teasing spanks where his bottom wriggles eagerly for the next one. More than the hurried dozen strokes before something else intrudes on our time together.
What I need, right now, is to hurt him. To cause him pain. To hurt him until he wants it to stop. Wants it to stop but doesn’t stop me. Taking each blow willingly for me.
I need him bound. Committed to what is to come. Helpless to prevent it. Knowing that there is no ending until I am spent, until my love is played out in full upon his flesh.
I need to hear him crying out in pain. I need to hear his love spilling uncontrollably into the air. I need to hear his anguish. I need to hear his breath, sobbing, as he begs me not to stop until I am satisfied.
I need to hit him. Again and again and again. I need my arm to ache with tiredness and to force myself through my pain to add to his.
I need to leave his body marked and bruised. I need to know the fall of water in the shower, each casual brush of fabric against flesh will remind him for days what I have done to him. I need to see him wince as I run my hand across his flesh.
I need him to know that he is mine. That his body is mine to hurt. I need him to know he is owned, possessed and used. I need him to be willingly offered to my desires; given to my needs.
I need him to know he is loved. More than words can say or flesh can show. More than any single moment can hold. More than all of this.
I need to love him and I need to hurt him.
Sometimes those two are the same thing.