Pleasure and Pain

Pleasure and pain

My pain has ALWAYS brought him pleasure, the look of anguish or devastation on my face, my tears or slumping of my body, somehow brought to him a great sense of relief, pleasure, and deep satisfaction. More than my pussy ever could.  He desires my pain more than my love. My love I tried to give him but he discovered that my pain felt so much better. My tears his treasure, breaking me down his triumph.

It took many years for me to recognize and understand this; I was confused and perplexed, always thinking that I if I improved his love would come. There was no way to gain what my heart desired the love, the hugs, the caresses, the sweet words, the looks of love and admiration. I did not know there was no way to earn these things but I did try. How can you satisfy a man with a taste for emotional pain? Not by giving him your heart, your affection, the warmth of your embrace, or even by your taste. This does not satisfy him, but the taste of your salty tears, your cries of anguish, the pain in your downturned eyes. For him what he loved the most was my pleas, pleading for love, pleading for him to stop. My pleading music to his ears, his favorite melody, even today after years of separation I know he desires it to hear my pleas for mercy, he desires for cries of pain far more than for cries of pleasure.  Truly orgasmic for him, he starts with words slowly, builds up and digs deeper into my soul, first my anger, then my pleas, then my tears, and then his release. He is relieved and he releases me from his hold, basking in the afterglow.  For me there is no relief but continued pain and a scar each time a keepsake a lifelong memory.

Yet just like a man addicted to drugs, it becomes harder and harder to achieve that high, so you seek out a stronger drug, he seeks out new ways to ensure my tears, through the years.

I know what the ultimate is I know what he wants, the only thing that will satisfy him, I knew than and I know now, my blood running from my body like a natural spring, the stilling of my beating heart, the ultimate silence of my mind and word, the warmth slowing leaving my body, my spirit slipping out of my body. This is what he wants from me not my heart, not my loyalty, not the warmth of being inside me. The ultimate gift for him to watch me die, the greatest gift, my life. I know this and he knows this. But I cannot give this to him, because I gave him his first-born son, and I will not hurt our son. So instead we go through the years with him unsatisfied but resolved to kill me slowly, to watch me die a little bit at a time, but hoping for the ultimate gift of warm blood and forever silence. Me trying desperately to keep going on with scars, pushing forward while in pain, broken by his thirst.

At times I think what a beautiful rest it would be that forever silence.

Original Work by Najwai