I have been raped and tortured, strung up by my own guts and impaled on a burning cross. I died and was re-born, and yet you keep finding ways to hurt me. Breaking my hip as you manoeuvre my leg up and against the wall, causing me to howl howl and writhe in agony. As you nail it in place, you talk of the mundane pain us women usually object to. Even if I couldn't read your mind, I'd know what you mean. My hands shake as I grip your shoulders, too weak to push you away. "Not my ass..."
You grin at me in silence, your cock already stirring against my thigh. Briefly, I consider dissolving into mist, but you'd only catch me and punish me. I'm screwed, well and truly. Hanging my head, I groan in agony. "Oh fuck..."
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I'm a wicked, vile, horrible and perfect man. - the Savage, during one of his more modest moments.
"I'm a sex addict - it's my cross to bear." - from "The Blades of Glory"
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