Her bladder almost opened as she swung the belt. Done perfectly, only the buckle touched his skin, raising a welt like a curved V. He cried out, but did not turn around, hurrying to undress. She brought the buckle down across his back again. He howled. When he was naked, he crawled onto the bed and curled into a fetal position. She kept hitting him, flicking the buckle as deftly as she could. It was his fixation, but her effort was the secret that made it work. She had to hit him until she grunted, until heat radiated from her body, until her aching arm made her tighten her stroke. He was aware of what was happening to her—and she believed he took it as evidence of her willingness to join him in a personal hell she could never understand. Love! He saw it as love, for God’s sake! Suddenly he reached for her, not looking at her, but clawing desperately to get her close to him so he could bury his face against her breasts. He had to tear at her underwear, too, never able to bring himself to look at her while he did it. Tearful and still in pain, he wanted to hide from her even as he pushed himself into her. He fucked her hard, as hard as he could, still crying, hiding. She held him around the neck so he couldn’t show his face even if he wanted to, and as always, that roused him more—and her thrills began. They didn’t last all that long, but sometimes her orgasm was as deep and intense as any she had ever known. And this was when he seemed, strangely, more vulnerable to her; as out of control as he was, this was when she liked him best. This was the time when his cock was hardest, thickest, when it plunged pistonlike in and out of her, relentless, when he was about to flood her with semen, that the mystery of his craziness served her, too, at last, when the thought of being able to beat him again thrilled her so much that she exploded into laughter, and came with him.…