Maureen didn’t know she’d shredded my back until I turned away from her to check the time. She saw the blood on my back and on the sheet where I’d been lying. “Oh god, sorry, Jaime.”
When Maureen got excited, and a well-strapped bottom followed by a hard pounding was guaranteed to achieve that, she tended to reach up and dig her nails into her lover’s back.
It seemed to be more or less instinctual; she didn’t decide to do it, and I don’t think she really knew, at a conscious level, when she was doing it.
It had been one of the things she did when I’d pushed her down into her animal brain.
I was some way into my own animal brain, because all I could see was that Maureen, contrite and sorry, was too good a thing to pass up. I growled, “Oh. So you think ‘sorry’ is good enough? Maires?”
Maires was my lover’s name for her. When we’d been a couple I hadn’t really minded her nails. It never hurt, because when I’m sexually excited I don’t seem to feel pain.
I discovered that inability to feel pain when I was 18 and a girl accidentally slid a shower door shut on my erect penis. For a tenth of a second or thereabouts I could see it about to happen, with not enough moving room or time to get out of the way. I’d been horrified. But when it hit I was astonished to find that it didn’t hurt.
When my cock was pumped hard with blood, and I was intent on following that girl who’d just left the shower, the pain seemed to come from a very little, far-away place, and to be completely irrelevant. But if I hadn’t been so turned on I’d have been dancing in agony and howling at the moon.
This is different from what submissives do. When I’d been warming up Maureen’s ass and thighs with my belt, I was certain that she felt it and that it hurt her: but she could take that pain and turn it into arousal.
And that’s why she said, “Oh. No, Jaime, I don’t think my saying sorry is enough at all.” She waited, horrified and delighted, for me to pronounce sentence.
The really important thing for a species is to keep reproducing, and that means that fucking should override almost everything else.
Still, I wonder if that is a Dom/sub divide; for doms, sexual arousal cancels or overrides pain, while for subs the right kind of pain builds sexual arousal.
That’s my half-arsed theory #213.
Anyway, fucking Maureen, at least in missionary position so she had access to my back, meant coming away with wounds. Overall, when I was her boyfriend I was kind of proud of the wounds on my back, because I felt that they showed how much passion I’d roused in her.
I said, “No, Maires. It’s definitely not enough. I want to see and hear that you’re sorry. Tomorrow I’m coming back. You’re to have a cane ready for me. Ok?”
“You’re going to make me wait? Can’t you cane me now?”
“I have to go now. But the waiting will do you good, Maires. Make sure you’re in the kitchen waiting for me, same time as I arrived today. Alone, naked, facing the table, holding the cane between your thighs. You’ll get at least a dozen. Whether you get a second dozen depends how well you behave.”
“Jaime!” She was wide-eyed. Whiny and thrilled, at once.
I wanted to push her down again then and there, down onto the sheet and down into her animal brain. Make her rest her feet on my arse while I rode her to the end.
But I really had run out of time. My problem was that I was due home in a bit over an hour.
I was due home because my new girlfriend, Fliss, was coming over for dinner. She expected to be fed and fucked, of course. Fucking involves nudity.
And Fliss was not going to be pleased with the state of my back.