  I let you rape me again. At least, that is what I like to tell myself. I can't really fathom that I am too weak to escape you. And, I am ashamed. I want to believe that everything is ok. I want to take in all of the disappointment as a form of addiction.
I don't want to feel alone. But, when you are inside of me, biting me, bruising me, choking me and muffling my screams, I am reminded that I am not. You live wrath like me. I can't tell you why I am so enamored with the ache you inflict on me. I lie beneath you and watch your pupils dilalate, I feel your pulse quicken and you become infused with a strength that is only meant for your evils. Sometimes, when I am alone and I don't have to pretend, I close my eyes and imagine you pinning me down, your legs on my thighs, bruising the tender flesh as it is being forced unwillingly against the bone. I can feel your hands pinching the blood from my hands as you squeeze effortlessly on my wrists as I writhe beneath you, gasping for breath, because you just released your hand from the base of my throat.
Tears wet my cheek with a sting. The skin on them still burn from the fervor of your hand. I should be so enraged by this torture, but when you ask me to tell you to stop, the words become vapor. Even when you wrench at my nipples and smother my face, my body defies my thoughts and my knowledge of right and wrong. My clit gets harder and I become drenched. When you feel this on your swollen cock, it begs to have you fuck me harder.
You tell me that no words can match what my body tells you. You are right. I should loathe you, but I need you. Purple, blue and crimson, welt and blister on my neck then trail down and blanket the white of my breasts. With each suck and gnaw, my mind floods with the images of you marking me. Just thinking of this heightens the heat in my groin and I have to beg you to hurt me, to be in me deeper, harder and faster. I know that I will look at myself later, blankly staring at the marks and bruises and I will rub and pinch them so that I will be reminded of you.
When my friends notice the discoloration of skin, the sallow green and muted yellow as the wounds begin to heal, they mourn for me and build contemp for you. But, they don't know and I can never tell them. I need the temporary scars. I need the pain. It smothers everything else that pulses through me and consumes me. Letting you hurt me encapsulates all the rage that I am fettered to and knowing that it does the same for you, enraptures me.
I try to shout at you from deep within. The helplessness in me clamors to escape but evitably gets stiffled by your pleas of afflection. I can feel every muscle of your being as your forced intimacy melts into soft reminders of your adoration of me. My head wavers at the influx of your lips covering my mine and the whispering commands of reciprocal affection. I ache. I can't protest through my bewilderment. You own me. The quandry begins to fade when you embrace my face with your hand and swoop my lower back towards you and bury your cock deep into me.
With each touch, I relax more and more as if I was part of your own skin. I wouldn't care if I were cut and bleeding, which often happens. You bandaid the pain with each heave of your chest. I can only get wetter and wetter and I am rewarded for being punished when you cum inside me. 
