I Don't Know What Happens To Him When I Cry.

It's never a good sign when he fucks me before anything else. Well, when I say it's not a good sign, I mean it's ominous. It's like when we were children and our parents made sure we went to the bathroom and had a snack before we got in the car, it just meant it was going to be a long drive. When he fucks me first, it's going to be a long night. In some ways his cock is like a Hail Mary when he's torturing me and I know I cannot stop it by screaming or begging. I know the end will come because at some point he'll look at my trembling jaw and disheveled hair, and his sick little brain will want to fuck that mess. A trembling lip is like a little black dress to him, and while I am rarely inclined to wrap myself up in lace and leather, I can almost guarantee the aesthetic pleasure of a trembling lip, and impending tears. That cannot happen when he fucks me first. 

I cry way too often when he fucks me. I've always cried a little when there's a cock in my cunt, but it was never as frequent as it is with him. There was a time when not crying was a point of pride for me, I think, you could whip me for hours and there was no way I would break before your shoulder gave out. In some ways that's still true of impact play, past a point, I get too floaty to have a tearful response. Last week we had a long and detailed discussion that covered loopholes that legalise child marriage, Lukashenko and the insane construction of our new house while he caned me, and not once did I even lose my train of thought. Not even a pause to wince. It surprised me too a little, and he stopped a few times to ask if anything was even happening to me, and it really was, I could feel everything and it really hurt, but I didn't feel the need to express it any way. It was a nice way to spend the evening, and certainly much more painful than when he fucks me but there wasn't a single tear. Not even close. Yet when he fucks me, it often takes only a few minutes for actual tears to come out of my eyes. 

He's just so mean when he's fucking me. It's not the physical aggression, because while getting fucked can be intensely painful, it's been a while since I've been getting fucked, and I know how to manage that pain. It's my favourite kind of pain, even, because it's just so hard to manufacture in any other way. Nothing else feels like it. It cannot be defined, and I can never show him exactly where it hurts. I cannot even identify it myself. It leaves an impact *inside* me, and it's the only thing that can truly debilitate me. You can kick me on the ground a dozen times, I'll still stand up and make dinner, but you fuck me a little too much, and it's honestly difficult to stand the fuck up. It's difficult to walk. I'm in awe of this mechanism. It's so simple. It takes no tools. It takes much less time compared to other pain-dispension mechanisms. It's so thorough and efficient. The pain is not what makes me cry, not most of the time anyway. It's something else. He just fucks me with such complete and utter *disregard*. 

I know it's very hot, this sentiment that when someone fucks you it's not about you at all, you're just there to facilitate it, but I'm learning more and more, of late, that the repetitive reinforcement of a sentiment for a long time has a much, much deeper impact that I could have ever fathomed. I guess I'm learning that for the thirteenth time. When he fucks me he is not telling me that I don't matter, he's telling me *again*. He's told me so many times I know exactly how to behave so as to be least in the way. I know I have had sex that is different than this, and many times, and often whenever I did, I just wished I had been doing this instead, but something about having it become the norm so totally and completely, makes me ache for something else. Not tenderness, but consideration. I cannot quite remember what it feels like to have sex where you're not being *used*, but sometimes I crave it so much. There's always a moment, a small fleeting moment, when he's pushing his cock inside me, when I wish I could just reach out and hold his hand. Sometimes I will put my arms behind my back, but he only ever grabs my wrists like a harness. Sometimes I move my hand six inches to the right, he knows what it means, and on his kindest day he ignores it, on his most cruel, he declares he knows what I am doing and then rejects my request for just a little bit of tenderness. It makes me feel like Oliver Twist, and I didn't have any idea when I first read that book, that someday I will say that. 

So usually when I feel that fleeting desire to reach out to him, I crush it, and I think that's what makes me cry. I'm no longer crying from the pain of being fucked, and I think the 20 year-old me would see that as progress. She was somewhat myopic, and I have not taken the necessary steps to correct her vision. I guess I'm just curious to see how all of this turns out. It's hard not to be, not when it feels so good to feel so bad. And most of the time, it's really okay. He fucks me when he's done, and then he leaves me there, and I finish crying, and I get up to pee, and when I come back, he's a marginally nicer person, and I'm a marginally stronger person. He doesn't really see me cry, and that's a good thing. That's why it's not a good sign if he fucks me first. When he fucks me first, he pulls me up to my feet the moment he is done, and he sees me crying. He sees my tears. When he fucks me first it's because of that, it's because bhe wants me to be crying at the beginning and not at the end. 

He's very strange with tears. A lot of sadists want to make you cry. They fall in different and probably endless categories. There are those to whom your tears are the goal, or at least the peak of pleasure in the experience, and they either stop or descalate past that point. There are those who savour your tears in a calm and almost kindly way. There's some aesthetic pleasure to the tears for them. Then there are the purely utilitarian ones, they understand that if you cry, you'll likely experience pain relief and be able to take more. There are the ones in whom tears evoke protectiveness and a signal to stop, and I think that type is the most common. They never really intended to get to tears, but if they did, they will nurse you through them. I don't know what to call his category. When he sees me cry, it makes him meaner and much, much more likely to hurt me very much. It's insane because when I cry out of sexual context, he's like a human antidepressant in the form of a warm blanket, but when he caused the tears, something truly insane breaks inside him. 

I feel a flash of insanity and madness inside me a lot, and usually when I'm at the peak of pleasure in my experience, that is at the height of pain, and in those moments I cannot control the feeling inside me. There's no way to think or speak or even do, I can only stand still and feel. If I could express with adequate sound the emotion I feel in those moments it would destroy me, I would die from exertion. It's very rare for me to see that insanity in his eyes. It only happens when he sees me crying. Many years ago, and this is a moment I can never forget, it was one of the first few times I had ever cried from being beaten by him. I cried, and what I thought was a beating almost concluded continued for another hour. Later I was sitting at the foot of the bed, and he was sitting on the bed and stroking my hair. He was speaking to me but I wasn't registering all of it, but I heard this bit. 

"When I see you cry.." he started, and I listened intently expecting some warm daddy kindness because he wasn't the complete monster he has become back then, "..I just want to destroy you completely." 

I can never forget that moment, because I was broken and done, but I got on my feet, brought him a belt and made sure he got to destroy me completely. The first time is always so hot. It was the first time I saw that flash of totally insanity in his eyes. We finally, for a moment, felt like we were of the same species. Since then I've seen it many times, he knows how to manufacture it now. He fucks me first. He looks into my tears. He condemns me for them. He makes me feel like the crime of leaking eyes is so dire, I must be destroyed to pay for it. He makes me fear the moment I cannot hold back tears in plain view of his eyes, he makes me scared to cry. It's a part of him I cannot access. I cannot understand. I don't know where it comes from. I don't know what it wants. I don't know what happens to him when I cry.