I don’t know what M sees in me. She lives and works with strong men, physically and mentally. She is surrounded by them in her line of work. Men that are physically capable of beating me easily, and men who would do it easily if provoked. These are men with the capacity for violence, and she says that she likes that they can protect her, that she knows they would kill for her. That if someone ever hurt her, they would hurt them even more. It seems that the capacity for violence in these men is very attractive to her. That is understandable, its only natural.
I really like that she finds the violence of such men appealing. This is so much the opposite of how I am. I am physically weak by comparison, and I go out of my way not to hurt people in any way, even if it means that I am hurt instead. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone, and if I do accidentally, I feel absolutely terrible about it afterward. I can’t stand up to people. M is confident in that way, that she can handle herself in any situation. She knows that not only can I not defend her, but that she would have to defend us both. I am not a man, not a real man.
Its natural and right that women are attracted to strong men like this. I struggle to understand what I can offer such a woman. I can be the soft emotional support she needs. I can take her to dinner, buy her gifts, serve her domestically, anything that is beneath a strong man. I can please her sexually in some ways. I can provide an outlet for her frustration. But I will always know that she prefers a different kind of man, one that would not be held captive by a relationship with a woman. A man that can please her sexually in ways I will never know, and give her emotional support through his strength that I am not capable of.
Last night as we talked on the phone, M expertly took my hand and guided me to a dark corner of my mind. She told me she was talking with someone online; a prison guard, very large, very strong. Someone who took pleasure in hurting others, abusing his position of power over others to beat them. She said that if I ever hurt her emotionally, she would send him to my house to beat me.
All this excited me terribly. The perceived betrayal of her talking to other men made me physically ill, and made my cock rock hard. The thought that this man would be dispatched to beat me made me cum very quickly, and she made note of my lack of stamina. I couldn’t resist the beautiful sadism of such an act, and how worthless it made me feel just thinking about it. I don’t think M actually has the capacity to hurt me that way, but maybe in time, she will learn that I truly am nothing. Its not an act, there is nothing more to me. Just about the only thing I am good for is being the victim of a sadist’s beating. In fact, its a good thing to beat someone like me, to demonstrate to me and others how people like me should be treated. Maybe in time, she will see this and be able to take pleasure in beating me, or having others beat me. If she were sexually excited by seeing me hit and cry out in pain, it would make me feel I have some value in her eyes.
This would have to be done in a way to keep my secret. The wounds would have to be hidden. Or, it could be done at the start of a vacation, so that the wounds have time to heal away from my public life. I could also use the vacation time to focus on my deep shame and other negative emotions from the beating. It will take me time to deal with these emotions, and it could be too much of a distraction to cope with this and still go to work. While on vacation, people can see my black eyes, fat lips, etc, and see how I am with my owner, and know that I am an abused intimate partner.
I don’t think that M truly appreciates that that is how I want our relationship to be. I want to be a prisoner in our relationship, even if the bonds are mental, and I want to be someone that can easily be abused for any reason, even if its boredom. I want to be her good little wife, and a beaten, emotionally abused wife at that. Abuse is such an intimate act, in some sense even more intimate than sex. Shared by two people who are close to each other, the one moved to violence because of the emotions the other creates in them. After all, its the people closest to us that inspire the most intense emotions, positive and negative. And in any relationship, each person feels a sense of ownership over the other, and that the relationship entitles them to certain things that strangers don’t share. And there is a power and value imbalance present too: the beaten partner is not worth being treated with resepect, and they both know it to be true. It would be natural for my owner to think that its perfectly OK to beat her wife for not performing her duties properly, or just for my owner’s amusement. I am happy to be that thing for her. Its an honor.
This is how I think of domestic abuse. That each strike is a confirmation that someone is close to me and cares about me enough to strike me. And it makes me feel good that I have some value to you, even if I’m just something to beat. Sadism is a good thing, it is morally right. It should be cultivated and celebrated. Sadism is beautiful, and the sadist is a good and beautiful person. I would be honored to be the thing that person pays attention to, beats and uses. That is my natural place. I am too ugly for such beauty myself, so I am fulfilled by being beaten by this superior person.
Each time you hurt me, either physically or emotionally, it makes me feel closer to you. That is why I want to be owned and completely broken. Once there is nothing left in me to hurt, I will be yours completely. There will be nothing left to separate us. It will be nirvana. The final intimate act left would be to kill me and destroy me completely. As I take my final breathes, I will be comforted that my suffering and its value may not end there either. After I am gone, erase any evidence of my existence, so nobody learns of it, and those who know, forget. Continue to take pleasure in hurting me even after I cease to exist.
I had to learn this over time. I didn’t always understand the beauty of violence and that my mind and body are the right place for violence to occur. The women in my life gave me these gifts that I didn’t know I wanted, needed, and I didn’t appreciate them enough for it at the time. I even foolishly thought I hated them for it. I should have thanked for taking the time to hurt me. What a selfish and thoughtless person I was.