The Ex-Boyfried

This is one of the two most hated people in my world (the other is my college creative writing teacher who felt that he was justified in criticizing and grading down my work based on the moral valued expressed therein). Why do I hate him? I mean I didn’t even like him. I started dating him so I could use him, essentially as a sex toy, and, no, he wasn’t even good in bed. I hate him for the same reason that wives of kings (think Henry VII) had to be killed or sent to a nunnery. The person of the king was sacred and he couldn’t have a woman he’d slept with at large, sleeping with other men and comparing his performance, possibly unfavorably to theirs. He also couldn’t have other men sleeping with those women and thinking it made them more equal to him. It damaged his majesty. Likewise, I am a Goddess and my sexuality is sacred. By leaving me and sharing the body I had claimed with others, he has harmed the majesty and exclusivity of my sexual power.

I have two words for this scene: heavy corporal. It would not be sensual at all. I don’t have feeling like that for this guy, nor do I want him getting any enjoyment out of it. There would be no warm up. I WANT it to hurt. But that doesn’t mean I would randomly flail away at him, losing all control. No, I would be very much in control, to make him feel helpless before me, the way he once made me feel helpless to influence my own fate. More, it would show him that he is so far beneath me that he can’t even manage to unleash the full fury of my rage. So, although using my most brutal whip strokes, each one would be aimed precisely and snapped back crisply at the end to give it that added sting. I would use as many different implements as I could get my hands on, floggers, crops, canes, straps, to impress upon him my mastery of each. I have the skill. I have the power. I can deal him pain in so many ways that it breaks his mind.

And the final way would be the most horrifying of all: needle play. It would very much please me to pierce his body, to penetrate him, as a kind of sexual role reversal of what I felt in the past put me at a disadvantage with him. I would enjoy putting him in predicament bondage, using strings to connect the needles to things so he couldn’t move without pulling on them. Or maybe even put needles all down his arms and legs and lace him up like a giant corset. He put me in a painful no-win situation so it would give me great delight to do the same for him.

The crowing glory of the scene would be a piece of scrotal butterfly boarding. But I wouldn’t just pin his skin down any old way. I would make some kind of nice design, like a star or a pinwheel, something that involves a lot of stretching. And, since, he is rather small in the balls department, the stretching would be particularly awkward for him. This would be a time I would want to make sure to use a mirror, so he could see exactly what I had done to him. I would let the reality of his situation sink in and then begin plucking the needles out with the same clinical precision with which I had conducted the whole session.

And then…I would let him go. I would simply turn him loose, to show that he means so little to me that he’s not even worth making the effort to keep around. But, in my heart, I would know I had overwhelmed his spirit with my dominating presence and it would only be a matter of time before he came crawling back to beg me to torture him all over again. That is what I want most of all. Not just to deal him pain but to have him actively solicit the pain, whether out of a sense of guilt or simply because he craves my presence so badly he’ll take anything he can get. I want him to want me to hurt him. This concept fills me with a grim, sadistic pleasure.