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Expect to be disturbed.

Two men; holding my arms apart in a dirty alley. My clothes are torn; ripped to unfixable shreds. A third man walks up to me as I scream, thrash and try to get away.
His fist on my face; hot pain. Over and over he punches me as I fall to the ground and the blood from my nose starts to pool on the concrete. He kicks me in my stomach and hip as I lie on the ground struggling to breathe and stay awake. He pushes me onto my back and makes a crushing motion over my face with his boot before I fade to unconsciousness. Silent tears still flowing.
That’s the kind of pain I find myself wanting.

A little cubicle; barely enough room for me to stand up straight. Thousands of little red ants crawling on the walls. Climbing onto my legs and my arms and my stomach and every surface of me they can reach. Unbearable stinging. I squash at their tiny bodies until hundreds of them lie dead on the floor of the tiny space. I scream as more parts of my body require my attention than I have fingers. I drop down on the floor to whatever extent that I can and break down. The stinging prevents me from finding any kind of calm, peace or serenity for a moment.
That’s the kind of pain I find myself wanting.

The magic pill begins to have effect as they lower me onto my back and tie my hands and legs apart. Hundreds of men, dirty and unworthy, line up before my naked body as I struggle against the drowsiness. Faint snippets of unrelenting thrusts into my orifices are all I remember. Too helpless to do anything about it; just aware enough to stop feeling completely. Everything fades except the ache and the stench.
That’s the kind of pain I find myself wanting.

There are needles. Dozens of them shoved between my nails and my fingers. Dozen others shoved between my toes and my toenails. He lowers me into a wooden box; just big enough for me to lie perfectly still with my arms on my sides. More needles in my breasts and thighs and arms and neck. He digs a hole in the ground and all I can do is lie perfectly still as I hear him dig. He puts a lid over the box that holds me and lowers me into the pit. Darkness and fear and pain; that’s all the things that remain. I hear the soil poured over me as I try not to move.
That’s the kind of pain I find myself wanting.

He ties me to a tree; arms spread out to hang from the roots and legs freely moving about, still with no place to go. He attacks me with a flogger with little blades tied to the ends. Each strike more unforgiving and unbearable than the last. He laughs because he doesn’t know who I am and is concerned only with my suffering. All I can see is red; all I can feel is red. It doesn’t last long; how could it? His hands covered in my blood squeezing at my throat until nothing remains.
That’s the kind of pain I find myself wanting.

I lie on the wooden floor with my palms nailed into the ground. He kneels at my feet smiling as he menacingly shows the pliers to me. He holds the toenail of my little toe between them and tugs. I scream in anticipation; he tugs again. I close my eyes and he pulls. Searing discomfort as he pulls again before I have even had the time to recover from the first. He puts the pliers around the nail in the big toe and pulls it out in one go. Tears flow as if someone opened a faucet at its maximum capacity.
That’s the kind of pain I find myself wanting.

He pushes me onto our bed and comes at me with his belt. He beats me until I am blue and red and purple. He bends me over the floor and takes me without warning or foreplay. He ties me up in the back of his van and beats me with wires while we are parked outside his building. He comes at me with his knife and cuts me just deep enough to not cause damage. He dunks my head in a bucket and slaps me each time he brings me up for air. He throws me against the wall and bites until his mouth his bloody. Then he tells me he loves me and holds me in his arms.
That’s the kind of pain I find myself taking.

Because quite frankly, it’s all the same, isn’t it?
It’s all just masochism.

I’ll just keep telling myself that.

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About ancilla9876

I'm a young, female, Indian submissive and masochist. I am many other things, of course. But this blog mostly deals with the contents of my lede sentence.

One response to “Expect to be disturbed.

  1. Ahzi ⋅

    you make my heart beat faster. i love what you write. i love what you want. i find myself wanting it too. it is all masochism. or is it? pain is pain is pain is pain. isn’t it? which hurts more, an emotional wounding or a physical one? hand me the pliers. it’s been a long fucking day.

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