A Love letter to HL

Dearest HL,

I love it when you hurt me.

When you make me weak with your weight and your strength and it is all too much for me. I resist for a while, but then I curl and acquiesce, overpowered by you. I revel in the glimpses of the need to hurt me that I read in your eyes, and I long to hear the hunger for it laced in through tone of your voice. When you say the words, I want to let you do it, to break me apart, and go further than ever before.

I love it when you hurt me.

When your hand makes contact with my skin, I am set on fire by its sting. The heat builds and I can feel my nerves prickle and my muscles jump in response to the cadence of your powerful stroke. I will you to strike me harder, quicker, to push me deeper. When you touch me so gently; stroking, caressing, rubbing to remind me that you love me, and then, the sharpness of your bite, tearing though me again.

I love it when you hurt me.

When you slice me open with your words, tunneling and burrowing deep, deep into my mind. When you kiss me with each humiliating breath and each dismissing whisper. I beg you, I plead with you, and all I really want to do is to please you. When you make me squirm and make me crawl until I am barely there at all, and then, you scoop me up and let me rest, safely within the palm of your hand.

I love it when you hurt me.

When you draw me out of myself and expose me I feel the thrill of your power over me. I shelter in your presence, stripped by you and yet protected by the hand that has uncovered me. I am yours and nothing else matters … except the pain. I face it and endure it with you, for you. I become nothing. I am diminished and elevated at the same time, and feel new born, stronger, more substantially yours.

I love it when you hurt me.

When you push my body to extremes, filling me, stretching me, making me take just a little more. I gasp and I scream as you shatter me into pieces and I roll around on the thread of the ecstasy, twisting, turning, writhing on the hysteria of the way my body absorbs what you give. Disconnected, floating on some sort of sea of you, and the pain, and the hurt, and the shock of the reality that this is what I have become. And I wish never to leave this place where all the hurt both makes and breaks.

I love it when you hurt me.

When you do these things I know that you love me. I know that you have shown me the inside of yourself and that you have seen inside of me. It is worth as much to me as the tender touch and the loving looks that others crave. This is our way. The hurt, the pain, the love. They become one; synonymous, amalgamated, and connected. It connects me with you and we become us: intense, extreme, fierce.

I love it when you hurt me, Sir.

Thank you.

missy xx

F4Thought
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Posted in Submissive Journal.

17 Comments

  1. That is an amazing piece of writing missy. If you’re struggling to think of a piece to submit for elust I suggest this. Hope you and HL have a magical Valentines.

  2. Not everyone would j understand just how deep a love this kind of connection can be. It remains as me of the poem Annabel Lee… “We loved with a love that was more than love…”

    • Thank you Brigit. That is a flattering poem to remind you of too. I was worried about my sentence structure and was going to change it but the content said what I wanted it to. I think there are lots of different forms for love and the one that we have can be easily misunderstood for sure. ?

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