I know you'll give me exactly as much as you want to, or maybe less if I really need you to. I know that you hurt me because you love me, just as I ask you for pain because I love you. I know that the thrill that runs through me when I notice you packed your sap gloves wouldn't happen for anyone else. I know that there are few people in the world of whom I would ask such pain, to whom I would give my tears happily, but they don't come because, simply put, I just enjoy myself too damn much when you're hurting me. All is right with the world and my eyes are shining with happiness, not tears, and I worry sometimes that you might only like the single tear that rolls down my cheek when you make me cum so hard even my eyes try to squirt. Maybe you're not a dacryphiliac, and you don't want to hurt me till I'm in tears. Maybe that's why I ask you for more and more, because I don't think you'd hurt me so much if I didn't ask for it, beg for it, love it, thank you for it.
I've met sadists who have ordered me to be thank them for every horrible stroke of the cane. I thanked them though I wasn't grateful, just hoping and praying for it to end. You I thank Sir, for the pain you give me, though you never told me to, and I don't know that you expected me to. I thank you because I am sincerely grateful, I thank you for the gift that you give me with every impact of your fist, your open hand, your boot on my wild, begging soul. I thank you for the ways you push my body, tying me in hard, painful positions, asking me to push. I know when you do that, I can. I can do anything my Sir asks of me, I can let my body relax into the stretch of every muscle, even as they scream at me for release, I can push, I can stay, silent and happy in the sharp ache of the tie, as the rope bites in, and my head spins with dizziness. Of course I can, you asked me to.
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