Grab and pinch

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I am teasing Michael in the kitchen about something, I can’t remember now, but the next thing I know he has grabbed me and administered a stinging pinch to my thigh. “Ouch” I screech and wiggle away. Placing the worktop between us I grin at him and he gives me The Look in return. My work here is done.

It is not uncommon for little bruises to dot my upper arms and thighs. His two favourite places to grab and pinch. My arms are often the recipient when we are laying in bed and my legs at other times. For an old man he can be surprisingly fast and accurate and also I just never seem to learn and he nearly always captures me unawares.

When I told him Kink of the Week was pinching I also said to him, really you should be write something not me, it is so your thing but he then pointed out that actually it was just as much my thing too. Not because I like the sensation, as I don’t. For someone with very short nails he is able to deliver a surprisingly sharp stinging pinch. It always makes me pull away with a ouch. It has, on the odd occasion, even bought tears to my eyes but once that initial sting is gone it is replaced with the bits I do like/enjoy

Sometimes, such as when were taking these pictures, I can still feel it afterwards, the skin feels sensitive and sore to the touch and there is a slight dull ache that lingers and then hours later or sometimes the next morning there is the bit I really love. The bit that makes the stinging pain totally worth it, the bit I will admire and stroke and keep showing him and that is the bruise or in this case bruises.

I wanted to get the picture just right but angle lighting and then realising my book was in the background down the bed meant repeated shots. He took absolute advantage of that as I knew he would. I have to admit I kinda enjoyed it, even the pain, which usually has me begging him to stop. I think psyching myself up for it and knowing it was coming, laying down and relaxing too meant I was ready for it, and I found myself sinking into the pain but then as he repeated the process for multiple images I could just tell by how my thigh was starting to feel that it was going to turn into a little constellation of dark bruises.

At bedtime it was too dark and dingy to get a picture of them but by this morning they had blossomed into a series of shadowy marks peppering my thigh. Every time I go to the toilet I run my finger tips over them, tracing from one to another and giving the couple that are sore a little press, just so I can feel them.

The problem with writing this post is that all protests that I don’t like pinching and he is meany to do it are kinda held up to the light of truth. I mean I don’t like them, I hate that mean little stinging sensation of them but then things get less clear cut and hate kinda vanishes and something more like love or lust replaces it. I have said before and I will say is again, I am not a masochist for the pain but for the bruises and marks. That is the bit that I ache for, that is the bit that I want and need.