He swirled the last few mouthfuls of his drink in the mug, watching the liquid move.
“She might be. But often that’s because the recipient mostly gets pleasure from the pain. Just like a sadist enjoys giving pleasurable pain. At least in many cases. It can be more extreme. In what way does the pain help her?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? “I have no idea. She said it helps her control the voice.”
Marco sat forward in his chair. “Voice?” Fuck. That was her business. I shouldn’t have told him.
“I’m just fucking up more and more, with each fucking word here. Jesus.”
He sat and pondered for a moment. “So she needs it for control. Control of herself. Of her emotions.” He rubbed his chin. “There are things that you can do that will give her that, without harming her.”
“Like rough sex? Hair pulling, biting, that sort of thing?”
He smirked. “That’s a start, but you probably need to find one thing that works for her. Maybe a belt or cane. Something to bring controlled pain. Don’t risk blades, or anything like that. For an amateur, it’s too easy to do proper harm.”
The thought horrified me. “Jesus no. But then… that’s how she’s been coping. She cuts her inner thighs.”
Marco nodded, a serious look on his face. “Yeah, I mean, that’s a risky place to do it, but I’ve known a few people who self-harm. They usually do it somewhere they can hide it.”
“I shouldn’t be telling you her private business like this. I feel like such an asshole for doing it. I just didn’t know what to do or where to turn to. I felt like such a fucking monster, after I fucked her like that. Like she was just anyone… and not the woman I love.”
Marco poured more scotch into his mostly empty mug, and topped mine up.
“This is something you probably need to talk through with her a lot more, before you try any more of this stuff. I mean, you might also benefit from talking to an actual sadist, rather than me. I’m all about being rough, but not generally more than some basic impact play. I mean, nipple clamps are good. You might want to look into those. Clit clamps. Is any of this helping?”
I groaned, gulping the entire mug of mostly scotch. “I have no idea. I shouldn’t have come here and laid this shit on you, man. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He shrugged, getting up, and rubbing the back of his neck.
“What we’re going to do now, is get some sleep. We’ll talk more when we wake up. Again.”
“I should go back to Julie.”
“Not with a faceful of scotch, you won’t. You leave this couch other than to go for a piss, and I’ll beat the crap out of you. Got it? Cloakroom is the door off the front door.”
He started off into the hallway, and turned back. “I’m keeping your keys.”
He returned briefly with a glass of water, placing it on the table beside my empty mug, and then he went back up to bed.