Ahh…my leathers fit tight around me, my whip is always beside me
You want the same thing every day, I'll teach you love a different way
You'll learn to love me and my sweet pain, my love will drive you insane
Sweet pain, my love will drive you insane
Pain has got its reason, and if you don't stop your teasin', baby
I'm gonna show you now - you'll get your lovin' anyhow
And you'll get to love me and my sweet pain, my love will drive you insane
Ahh, sweet pain, my love will drive you insane
Ahh, you get to love me any way I say, you get to love me and my sweet pain
Pain has got it's reason, you find it pleasin', yes you do
And I'm gonna show you now
You'll get to love it anyhow and you'll get to love me and my sweet pain
My love will drive you insane, ahh, sweet pain, my love will drive you insane
Sweet pain my love will drive you insane

The hard crack of leather slicing through the air, the sweet melodic smack of the thin strip striking flesh, and the wonderfully agonizing scream that follows - this is my anti-drug. But, he loves it. He wouldn't have it any other way. He comes to me day after day, night after night, begging for me to save him, to make him whole, make him pure.

I give him what he wants, simply because I want it, too. We all have our demons, those secrets that life deep within us. And those demons must be exorcised, or they come alive, eating away at us, slowly reducing us to nothing. Alone, he and I are nothing - together, we are the most basic, simple emotion that ever existed. Love.

Webster's Dictionary defines love as "a strong feeling of affection for another; strong liking or fondness for something." That's what we have. I love to see him reduced to a begging, quivering mass, and he loves to do it. I know, some might say that what we have is sick, twisted. It's an abomination, an unnatural connection between the giver and the receiver.

For us, it is sweet bliss. It is the closest we will ever be to heaven while we're still breathing. Well, except for when I'm buried in his ass, pounding away those demons that exist in our souls. That's when the lines blur, our roles reversed. He becomes my master and I his slave. We have no safe word, no signal for him to tell me I've gone too far.

There is no such thing. There is no "too far", no boundary we can't cross. He heals quickly, thank god. When people see him, there are only faint lines crisscrossing his skin, no real evidence of the pleasure we share with each other. That doesn't matter. Ours is not a love to flaunt to the world - it is a special thing, a private moment in which the world ceases to be, and we are one.

Looking at him now, seeing his muscles strain against his bonds, carefully surveying his skin for the perfect spot to make my next mark, my heart swells with love. The whip licks across his chest, causing his nipple to harden beneath the welt there. I smile at him, knowing he is ready. It's time for me to cease being his master. It's time for him to lead me.

His eyes are brimming with the unshed tears of pain that he holds back. His wrists are red and raw, the tender flesh there victim of the leather restraints tethering him to my bed. I rake my nails down his chest and stomach, irritating the already smoldering flesh. His soft cries of pain shoot straight through me, settling in my groin, making me ready to give him what he needs, what I need.

As I enter him, I smile at the irony of this thing we call us. Our coupling is a complete contrast of the events that have just taken place. I release the bonds holding him, gently kissing his wrists, my attempt at soothing him, easing his pain. His hands find their way to my back, gently caressing my skin. I lean down and remove the nipple clamps, licking the deep indentions caused by the metal teeth, sucking them into my mouth and hearing his hiss of pleasure and pain.

I wipe the sweat from his face with the edge of the pillowcase, waiting for him to tell me to go on. Inside him, I am whole. He is complete. We are us. We are love. Finally, he plants his feet on the mattress, bending his knees, his hips rising from the bed to push me in further. We share our first kiss of the night, tongues dancing a rhythm as old as time.

I feel his hands on my ass and know he wants more. He wants completion. I move, in and out, stroking every inch I can of his incredibly tight heat, feeling the explosion creeping up on me. Together, our hands wrap around his cock, stroking him to our grand finale. I will finish when he says so. Like I said, I have now become his slave, existing only to please him as he pleased me earlier.

No words are spoken. The only sounds filling the room are of our skin slapping together, his soft moans as I stroke his sweet spot, and my strangled cries as he tightens himself around me. He pulls me down for another kiss and I happily indulge him - my love, my slave, my master. I know he's standing there at the brink, ready to fall into his euphoric abyss.

He looks into my eyes and whispers, "I love you," before his voice rises to a scream, my name echoing off the walls. He spills out over our hands, the thick sticky substance forming an unbreakable bond. A split second later, I follow him into the darkness, screaming his name like a mantra, the only thing keeping me from delving into insanity.

We lay there, exhausted. His hands soothes my now burning flesh, calming me, bringing me back to him. I smile at him, as I tenderly kiss his face, his chest, anointing him with my love. As we curl around each other, I look into his eyes and whisper the one truth in my life - "I love you too, Brock." We laugh, manically, and wonder just how far we would have to go to be insane. For me, insanity is on the other side of the bed. I hope the same is true for him.