I say that as a non-masochist. I say that as a woman who doesn’t derive pleasure from pain itself, but from the purpose behind the pain. If I want you to beat me, it’s not because I crave aches and stings for the sake of aches and stings. I crave what they mean.
They mean that I am yours to do with as you please. If you happen to have the sadistic urge to hear me whimper and cry out, or the urge to mark me as your possession, I’d willingly submit to all of it. I’d submit to having my wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts, all so you can take a flogger to my back or a riding crop to my ass. You’d probably make me beg for it. You’d make me beg for the pain and the marks, the cane or the belt, even though you’d know I’d rather live painlessly. I’d beg anyway. I’d say, “Hurt me, please, Sir” again and again until I start to believe that I actually want it. With every smack, bite, welt, and bruise, you’d be pushing me to see how much I’d endure for you. I’d like to think that I’d endure anything, because it call comes down to the intense, undeniable desire to please.
Sadism isn’t just physical, though. You’d know how to play those evil mind games, too. That’s why you’d tie me up facing the bed; you’d know I’d desperately long for the comfort of those sheets and pillows when you’re in the middle of beating me. In a way, the bed would symbolize the reward, challenging me to withstand everything you give me. When you’re leaving welts across my thighs and cane stripes on my backside, the bed would promise the glorious reward of your hands untying me and bending me over the soft edge. That would be only seconds before your cock is pushing inside my tightness. With one hand pressing down on my sore back, you’d fuck me so hard that the pleasure would be an overwhelming contrast to the pain you’ve just inflicted. I bet your view would be amazing. You’d look down and see your cock buried inside a hot, sweaty body that’s covered in your marks. You’d see your cock pumping in and out of a a round ass that’s red and sore and owned by only you.
Best of all, you’d be seeing an extremely grateful girl who would be clutching the sheets in her fists and thanking you for every single rewarding thrust.
And she’d be all yours.