"You know I'd never hurt you, my love, mh?", spoken oh so tenderly while the sharp edges of their boots press into your back, keeping you down on all fours, your forehead pressed against the cooling floor to hide your shame - or the blush that you tell yourself was caused by shame - and your knees already hurting from the pressure and the uncomfortably hard underground.
"I'd never, even if you give me-" Their soles bury themselves harder into your skin, you flinch, whimper, moan, "-so many reasons to."
"You're basically begging to have me hurt you." The words cause you to drip onto the floor - you can feel it, you bury your head deeper into your own elbows, as if it's able to hide anything. Their words make you feel hot, high, not like yourself.
The sigh that leaves your lips when they lift their boot off of you and stand up is equal parts relieved as it is disappointed. The sigh also turns into a sharp, shocked whine, when you feel the tip of their boot rub up against your crotch from behind, rough, anything but soft, and almost enough to make you come on the spot.
"Beg."
And you do. Of course you do. You barely consciously notice the words falling from your lips, depraved requests, gross demands, begging, begging, crying to have your disgusting, masochistic needs met.
That night, you come to humiliating tasks, to pain and to a voice that couldn't be both softer or meaner to you, yet, the moment it's over and you're being carried towards the bathroom, you already find yourself craving more, more, more.
