THE HIDDEN PRINCESS

A brilliant whore she was...Jamming her heels into my eyes.Sliding that leather down my back,and stinging me with latex slaps...Yes,she put up such a tough front.What most who encountered her didn't realize,was these sessions of aggressive sex,were the only way she knew how to express any ounce of who she was...The rule was no blood...I always let her draw a little...Begging for punishment wasn't a kinky fetish.It wasn't a twisted sense of gratification.It was what she thought she deserved.It only took a few violent nights to see who she really was.To see that hidden princess inside,waiting for her rescue.Instead,she told me to cuff,gag,and spank...I recall one moment,staring at her beautiful ass bent over.She was slithering her fingers over,in,around her drenched vagina,at the same time,smacking her cheeks into a deep color red.I thought to myself,how a woman with the softest eyes,could be so dirty???So fantastically erotic,with not an hint of shame...and then the princess started bleeding through.She would go for hours on herself.Long after I was done.Humming toys,and screams of pain...Sharp sounds of hand to flesh,and moans of pleasure...She need not I.She need not anyone.Emotion only surfaced when she climaxed.The tears she would blame on the excitement,or the gag,but you can't hide pain like that...Not that much...I learned quickly,that comforting her,was asking for a fight.I taught myself well to hold back the urge of placing an arm around her and whispering words of encouragement.It was always the perfect balance of confusion,and sadness...The first time I tried,she pushed me away,and clawed her way out the door.I could hear her cursing the whole way down the hall.The next time she came knocking,it was as if nothing happened.Yes she was a brilliant whore.Just another fucked up human being,wired in a way,that feeling meant nothing,unless it came through self destruction.She moved on from me very fast.It was too hard for me to hide the fact,that I had figured her out.The souvenirs she left behind,were some devices of penetration,a couple pairs of panties,and two pictures she let me take.One in which I caught her face,as her ankles were on her shoulders,but the eyes...You can see the princess...Even in such a disgusting pose.It was the only thing I kept,after she stopped knocking at my door at 2am looking for the pain she felt she deserved.I think about her so often,as if I was capable of loving her.I know this couldn't be what it is,but her sadness lingers.I've attempted many times,to copy her face,through paint onto a canvas...It never works...I pray she finds her prince.Perhaps she'll reach a point when she feels she has suffered enough.Someone will fight a little harder at calling her out on the masks she wears...Maybe I'll wake one early morning to that old,familiar knock on the door...and she'll be there...Ready to climb into my arms,and let me comfort her,like I know she really wanted,all along.