For One, You're Secretly a Sadist

Later that night, you were laying in bed Tammy, arms wrapped around her waist. You could feel her breathing. It felt normal.

"Hey, do you want to...?" She started, turning towards you and looking in you in the eyes. Was it an obligation or a legitimate want? Did it even matter which it was?

"I don't think I'm in the mood tonight." You say stiffly, trying to muster a smile for her. She nods softly, accepting your answer. You're both only college aged, but already all of the sex had fallen out of your marriage.

You plant a kiss on her forehead, and just like that it's lights out. Like usual, she's out like a light within minutes. You're still tossing and turning a bit slightly. The transition from a one person bed to a two person bed had never been easy for you. She could go out like a light, but you'd be struggling to sleep right even hours later.

In the dark of the night, you look softly as your wife. How could she ever understands?

How could she ever understand just how boring that plain old vanilla sex that you two have is. Anything more advanced then the missionary position has her hemming and hawing about how different it all is. If you asked her to try her something kinkier, she'd probably even do it for your sake. But, the thought of her doing you a favor that way was just the antithesis of sexy.

How could she understand the desires that you've been laced by for your entire life. The urge to see a girl squirm in pain as you pinched her nipple. Or to beat her ass with a paddle until it was black and blue. How could she ever understand the urge you have to cause pain? To cause a marking? Sometimes even to draw a bit of blood?

How could she ever understand the attraction that it holds? The sound of it. The sound of leather or wood against flesh. The scream or groan of pain seeping out of a girl's lips. The sounds you've heard so many times in the videos hidden away in your tabbed browser.

Even thinking about it takes you back to a specific fantasy. There's a girl lying cuffed down to a wooden rack. Mya Wexford. She's helpless. Looking up at you with dark fearful eyes. And perhaps...perhaps a bit of excitement. You imagine your hands trailing through the straps of the flogger. The first few light blows to her breast to get her used to it, so that the next few can really...

Even fantasizing about it for a few seconds is enough to get your cock hardening. You turn away from Tammy, so she can't feel it against her body. God forbid she wake up and get the wrong impression.

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