Fucking and punching

He fastens the velcro straps on the over-sized gloves and lightly swings my arms. My hands are swamped by the black padding. “Ready?” he asks.

Am I ready? I can’t believe we’re actually going to do this. I thought he was joking when he said I could really hit him but here I was leathered up and ready to scrap.

Once upon a time my compulsion to punch whilst fucking had been an issue. A depression spiralling panic-striking issue. Something that seemed to come quite naturally made me feel horrendous. A dreaded feeling of guilt that led to harsh self-integrations.
What’s wrong with you? Why are you so violent? Why do you want to hurt him?
My failed attempts to deal with this confusion would result in total shut down, afraid to touch him for fear of losing control. Strong denial of any arousal from the act and complete refusal to discuss. Violence was bad. I was bad.

Having my eyes opened to the kink scene, learning about impact play and seeing it openly discussed began to normalise something that I had demonised in my head. Accepting it as part of me helped me to talk about it; opened the floor for him to tell me that it was OK, it’s always been OK. Today he was going to show me it was OK by lacing me into his gloves and giving me free reign.

Luckily for my scrappy feisty ways, he can take it. Bigger and stronger guys and girls had punched him repeatedly during sparring without ill effects. He had become desensitised. And besides, strong as I might be, I’m 5”2 and untrained; I’m unlikely to deliver a fatal blow.

Yet still I’m nervous, a giggly sort of nervous. Suppressing laughter and stilling my waggy tail I take a swing.

It connects, moving his head to the side. The room is filled with the cushioned sound of impact as the soft glove hits his jaw.

Then silence.
Silence that seems to last forever.
A brief flash of fear registers, my stomach turns over.
For a millisecond I feel like I’ve been plunged into cold water, drenched in shame at my inherent violence.
That familiar awful guilt.

My dread is instantly replaced with lust as his head snaps back and I see how his eyes have come alive. His focus on me so intense that my cunt clenches in response and my stomach churning becomes excitement.

A flurry of relieved giggles accompanies my increasing heart rate and quickened breathing.
That was so naughty, I shouldn’t have done that. I want to do it again.

I squirm under his stare, a look I haven’t seen since his competing days, his pumped up ‘fight’ response. Under normal circumstances that look would mean “You’re in trouble” but he doesn’t move, solid in front of me, goading me with his eyes and a subtle flick of the head. Do it again.

Feeling more confident I take a second strike, harder this time, making a concerted effort to emulate what I’ve seen, a real punch. I am impressed with my aim as I land solidly on his jaw. The impact a dull thud that barely registers through the gloves. I cheekily bounce from foot to foot, unable to reign in the giggles.

Again, his head snaps back, his eyes drilling into me, his breathing heavier. Still he controls himself, keeping his hands casually by his sides, smirking at my bouncing and giggling as I squeal about what fun I’m having.

Getting braver I use the other hand this time, a left hook successfully landed. The feeling of taboo remains. The thrill of the forbidden is arousing but the negativity drops away. This is hot. It’s OK that it’s hot. OK between us, in the trusted agreed dynamics of ‘us’. It’s still pretty wrong but wrong in the right way. A primal force, a connection.

Peppering him with little punches I get sloppier and sillier. Playfully jabbing to the ribs and the face. Right, right, left. He pretends my blows are powerful, rocking from side to side with dramatic flair, making comic book *kapow* noises. Who knew this could be so much fun?

My punches become ineffectual as he closes the distance, knocking me off my feet backwards onto the bed. We roll and ruck as we each try to gain dominant position. My lack of technique my downfall as I’m tied in knots. I succumb to a jujitsu hold, relishing the feeling of complete restraint, enjoying him close, warm and strong, the bulge in his trousers pressing eagerly against me.

That intense look is back again as he whispers dark jests in my ear with a smile
“You’re going to regret that, naughty girl *gasp* I can’t believe you hit me in the face, ooohhh that’s so bad”.
His admonishment makes me squirm, wiggling away to hide my blushing beaming face.
A strong hand cups my jaw, bringing it back to face him. To kiss him, fully and passionately. OK, now I am in trouble, as the primal in him is awake and wants me, now.

Still a work in progress to overcome the feelings of guilt but scrappy feisty me is empowered…
…. and very much OK.

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