Yanking the Whiskers of the Tiger

As N and I lay in bed before passing out after our last thrash, I screwed up my courage, swallowed my pride and thanked Him.

I need the occasional snot beat out of me. I need it to stay focused and balanced, to really feel fear and vibrant life.

He grinned, then paused, a thoughtful look on His face. Then He flashed the A-1 smile, the one He always flashes when He tells me not to worry about a thing, it won’t hurt a bit…

…And says “Y’know, I might be a bit of a sadist after all. When I was sitting on you, holding you down, nailing you with that paddle, it was all I could do not to just let go and beat you until the paddle broke. You were screaming and bucking, fighting…it made me hotter and there was this rush. It was awesome.”

This is why my parents warned me that I might just get what I wished for. Well I doubt it was this particular situation, but the idea still applies. He got a taste of the blood thrill, and instead of being awed and a little fearful of the entirety of it all, He wanted more. Can I give more? Can I handle it if this goes from the occasional visit from the inner maniac to permanent visitor?

This should be interesting. The gleam in His eyes, the twist of His mouth as He reminisced about the sudden flame of thrill and arousal…it raised a little flutter of real fear in the pit of my soul. It always made my pink bits twitch sorely again. I’m Horrible.

 

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