Before I get into the slapping and biting, I want to emphasize that I do love a quiet, romantic evening with Sinatra in the air and a glass of wine and soft kisses and scented candles and tender love-making. L and I don’t always have to go to the strange crazy place; it’s just that there’s more to write about when we do.
I don’t think it really makes me a freak that I love the mental kick as well as the physical sensation when L turns fierce on me; when she takes on the mood where she scratches, twists, bites, slaps me. There is the psychological boost just because it’s fun when she gets that way. But there’s also something physical going on there that makes me curious, so I’ve been reading up on endorphins, which are pain’s happy shadow.
Thanks to Wikipedia, it’s easy for me to learn that pain is an effective trigger for endorphins: “When a nerve impulse reaches the spinal cord, endorphins that prevent nerve cells from releasing more pain signals are released. Immediately after injury, endorphins allow animals to feel a sense of power and control over themselves that allows them to persist with activity for an extended time.”
Endorphins are “endogenous morphine,” which is impressive considering the reputation of the exogenous kind that generates something like a $trillion worth of business every year.
It is interesting in a way that L was addicted to the exogenous stuff in her early 20s, whereas I was a pothead during those years; we were both drunk for most of our late 20s. This is only marginally interesting because our previous relationships with painkillers could have something to do with why we think it feels good to have a nipple twisted like an ignition key while we’re making love.
* * *
Last Thursday we tried watching a Netflix movie and got bored. We checked my blog stats, and looked at comments, and clicked on a link to Der Erzahler’s collection of intensely erotic stories and photos. We got trapped, clicking through his photos pages, remarking on the quality and eroticism and strangeness of his collection. I have my favorites, but the one that caught L’s attention was this one:
“Why interesting?” I asked her. Kind of a stupid question, I admit; I guess I was hoping to get her to talk dirty to me.
“It just looks interesting,” she said.
By the time we’d tracked through a couple of years’ worth of Der Erzahler’s dirty pictures, it was time for bed.
We nestled in together innocently enough; it was late and we both had to work in the morning so we weren’t committed to anything more than dropping off to sleep together. But before anyone had drifted off, I found myself petting L’s arm and shoulder absent-mindedly, and she petted me back, and before we knew it, I’d pulled her shirt up and was stroking one of her nipples, trying to see how sharp a point I could bring it to.
And then wicked thoughts presented themselves in my head. I remembered days earlier when L had replied to a question I’d asked. “Sometimes I like to get slapped,” she’d said. “I wouldn’t like my face slapped though.” She had to add that because she knew I didn’t object to a face-slap delivered in the right spirit.
With that in mind, I decided to experiment in a way we never had before. I left off gently massaging her breast, and raised my hand and slapped her across her nipple sharply, one time.
She said, “Oh!” but didn’t sound angry, so after a second I slapped again, really just a hard pat against one nipple, then the other. I know it had to hurt a little, but she didn’t move to cover herself; instead she settled back, steeling herself maybe, and waited.
I petted her breasts gently for a minute where I’d slapped her, and then I hit each of them again with glancing blows across the nipples. She squealed, but again didn’t move to stop me or to protect herself. I grasped one breast and squeezed, bringing the nipple and aureole out prominently, and took three hard swipes at the nipple. L flinched each time, but that’s all.
“Okay?” I said.
I could see that this was good for her in some strange way, and I always revel in the chance to explore a new room in our love life.
I worked up to harder slaps slowly, allowing her every opportunity to cover herself or to stop my hand. Although she whimpered once or twice, and flinched when she was caught by surprise, she seemed to be doing her best to lie still, receiving each blow passively. It’s hard to explain why that was so exciting to me.
According to Wise Geek, endorphins attach themselves to the brain’s opioid receptors, dampening feelings of physical pain. At the same time, endorphins enhance feelings of well-being and pleasure, by stifling neural activity in the cerebral cortex and thalamus. When activity there is diminished, levels of the feel-good neurotransmitter dopamine rise in the area.
I worked her breasts over until I was pretty sure both nipples must be stinging, on the verge of soreness, and I hadn’t heard a word of complaint, I felt my way slowly down to L’s pussy and petted her there lightly until she parted her legs and let me in there . She knew what was coming.
She knew because once before we had played at this part, and I had found the right level of pressure for her, and had slapped and smacked her mound into an orgasm that she talked about enthusiastically later. I could only guess exactly how much this kind of play actually hurt her. It must be worth it, I decided as she spread her thighs for me again on this night, opening herself for more.
To make sure she was ready, I patted her mound softly a couple of times, stroked her pussy lips, then patted a shade harder, then stroked again and kneaded the soft flesh over her clit, bringing as much pleasure as I could, to cushion what was coming next. I raised my hand to give her a moment to be ready, and then I slapped her harder than before, making a sharp crack of a sound at her pussy, and a squeal escaped from her lips.
I waited, and L pushed her mound up toward my hand for more, so I slapped again, several times against the lips, then a few times on the padded mound where the flesh softened the blows before transmitting the waves to her clit. I dipped my longest finger into her pussy and found it wet and eager; I spread the wetness from my finger to her nipple and licked it clean, sucking tenderly and gently for a moment.
“More?” I said, and L made a sound I couldn’t make out.
“What?” I asked. “I don’t want to do this if it’s bad for you.”
“More,” she said quietly. She was holding her hands straight at her sides and her knees wide apart, and her breath came faster as I slapped her again and again, not nearly as hard as I could have, but just as hard as she seemed to want. She let me hear soft whimpers, but didn’t say a word, and when I said, “Roll over,” she did so quickly.
I love L’s ass, and I petted it tenderly before I took a whack at it. She lurched, but her hands were under her, cupping her breasts, and she waited quietly for another blow.
I delivered. Alternating cheeks sometimes, other times concentrating on a single spot to bring out the sharp sting. When I touched her pussy lips they were wet and ready. I turned on a light so I could have a look.
“You’re really red baby, are you all right?”
She had raised one hip to make room for her hand, that disappeared beneath her and moved slowly there.
I joined her, tending to her lips, the crack of her ass while she worked her clit.
I was going a little crazy with desire by then, and I went for the oil. I lubricated her rectum with a finger, then two fingers, and she continued rubbing her pussy, panting heavily, as I lubed up my cock and eased the head into her ass.
“Oh careful,” she said, and I trickled more oil over her and slid the head in carefully.
“Is that okay”?
I think she said yes, but it was hard to make out her voice. She rubbed herself into a climax about the time my dick slid neatly into her asshole. I wasn’t inside the warm, tight, dirty place long, before her gentle happy sounds and soft rounded cheeks and taut muscles drew the orgasm from the base of my spine, shooting up inside her, rushing with her to completion on waves of pleasure.