My boyfriend beat me up... and I loved it.

I can't tell anyone this in real life because they'd probably try to have me committed, but I need to get this off my chest, so clearly the answer is to tell strangers on the internet. Two nights ago, my boyfriend and I finally had our first CNC (consensual non-consent) scene. We had talked about it for a couple months, and we knew we wanted it to be as intense and realistic as possible. And, uh... I got what I asked for.

It started with the usual grabbing, shoving, slapping, hair pulling... but then came the punches. I was gasping for air, trying to twist away, but every time I fought, he hit me harder. And then when he landed a solid punch to my right side, I felt it. A sharp pain shot through me and I immediately thought, "Oh. This might be bad." But here's the messed up part: it only made everything better. The pain, the panic, the helplessness that came with the sudden realization that I actually couldn't fight back very effectively— it sent me into the most intense sub headspace I've ever been in.

And yeah, I was already working with some questionable decision making because I may have fractured my ribs six weeks ago (not BDSM related). So uh... that probably didn't help things. (or did it..?) But by that point, the damage was done, and I was so far gone that it just didn't matter anymore.

But I kept fighting for as long as I could. I was dazed, weak, barely able to resist, but I still tried. I punched him, I clawed him, kicked, and twisted— I refused to give in. But I was exhausted, gasping for breath, and he just laughed at me. Every movement I made, every blow he landed, sent fire through my side, and I knew that I was losing. And that's when he wrapped his arm around my throat.

I don't really know how many times he choked me out. I remember the one time, I was already breathing so hard from the pain and struggle, so when he tighted his grip, I felt the most primal panic flood through me. Survival instinct screaming. And then... nothing. I would come to with him having his way with me. Again. And again.

He overwhelmed me completely, overpowered me so easily that it was humiliating. Eventually, I had nothing left. My body gave up. I was limp, crying, and helpless. I was his, and he knew it. I was degraded, spat on, beaten, and used however he wanted. He could have done anything. He broke me. And I loved it.

Afterwards, I had a little cry, and he took me to the hospital the next day, where they sent me home with some meds for the pain and told me another 6-8 weeks of healing. And now I'm sitting here, knowing full well that I can never tell anyone this in my real life without genuine concern. But the truth? I would do it all over again.

So am I crazy? Messed up in the head? Or am I just more in tune with what gets me off? Because I don't regret it. Not even a little.