Kind

‘This will hurt a little,’ he says. ‘Perhaps more than a little.’

There’s a sharp intake of breath. ‘I’m going to do it again.’ he says. This time she whimpers.

‘Poor baby,’ he says. He does it again. ‘It hurts. I know it hurts. But it’s good for you.’ His voice is soft and low.

He does it some more. ‘Good girl,’ he says. Then he does it again. She gasps.

He waits for a moment, then he tells her, ‘It’s going to be bad this time.’

She moans; it’s really bad, like he said. ‘Please?’ she says. Is it a plea for mercy or a request for more? Perhaps she doesn’t know herself. He twists again.

‘Oh god,’ she says between gritted teeth.

‘I know it’s bad, baby,’ he says. ‘But it’s not over yet.’

He does it again and watches as she writhes in vain against her bonds. There’s a film of perspiration on her brow. She’s never so desirable as now.

Once more he does it, then he kisses her.

‘You know how much I love to hurt you,’ he says. ‘So a little more now, just for me.’

He does it one more time, harder than ever, though not quite as hard as he can. She cries out.

‘Say thank you,’ he says. ‘It’s my gift to you.’

He wonders why he is finishing at this precise moment. Could she have taken a little more? Next time he won’t be so kind.