I watched her, handcuffed to the cross, as she took the beating. At least, it looked like a beating to me. Even though I know that for her, it was part of the path to ecstasy. Her knees buckled at times, and just her wrists held her weight for a few moments. He was very aware of what he was doing to her, backing off slightly here and again to see if she was able to take more. Her body yielded and resisted. His power and strength were evident in each strike. Her pleasure in the pain was, too.
I watched another woman, this time laying across a bench. She seemed to be sampling the merchandise, and I think it was her first time to be spanked and otherwise struck with toys (toys?) that look dark, scary, and dangerous. Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes she grimaced. Sometimes she looked over her shoulder as if to ask what exactly the fuck did you just do? At the end she got up, pulled her dress down and gingerly rubbed her ass. She looked as if she wasn't sure whether she enjoyed it or not.
|“Dampness” - Mirabilia Images. Used with permission.|
I knew the man wielding the toys. I asked if he would take another customer. Hitty things have never really turned me on, but to be fair, I’d never been hit with them. I appreciate the concept of a good spanking, but my own experience has been occasional smacks to my ass during sex that I then have a tendency to forget. But all of a sudden I had a chance to explore. And to be spanked and flogged by an expert.
He began to ask me questions--do I enjoy being spanked? Um, well, sort of? What's my pain tolerance like? Not great? Better than most? I have no idea. What about erotic pain? Oh. Well. That’s different. That got me going a little bit.
I knelt on the bench, bent at the hips and lowered my chest to the platform. It was strange to find myself on a piece of furniture designed just for this. Or maybe it’s also for all sorts of acts that involve someone else behind you while you’re bent over and vulnerable.
Over the skirt or under? With my permission and D’s, he lifted my skirt.
He talked to me. We exchanged questions. My husband stood over us, watching my ass begin to glow.
Could he try a toy or two? Yes. Even though they all looked dark, scary, and menacing to me.
I was a little afraid, but not sure what exactly scared me. Fear of the unknown more than anything, I expect.
He began to strike me with insistence, even in the warmup. As the strike became harder I was pushed forward on the bench. I tensed and clenched my muscles.
“Breathe.” He stopped. Didn’t go on until I was breathing and relaxing again. I tried to flow with the rhythm.
“I’m going for yellow.” The strikes were harder. I grimaced with each one. I felt the force push me each time. I don’t know how many or how long or how hard but YELLOW.
And he backed off. And we repeated the cycle. I was very present, and we gave and took feedback all the while.
Two different floggers and a canesnake. Each different. Where one felt thick and hard and diffuse, another felt concentrated and deep. And again to YELLOW. And again.
And yet, there was absolutely nothing arousing about the experience. No. Arousal. At. All. At the start I was a little turned on, but probably more from the idea of experiencing something new with my skirt up. But it quickly went away. Maybe because I knew the experience was “just to see”? Or because I have no romantic or sexual connection to the person who spanked me? In the end, I realized that all I was doing was “taking it.” So, it would seem, impact activities of this sort don’t get me off.
When we came back into the room after our relaxing cuddle I saw something else entirely: a beautiful young woman bound in rope in such a fashion that she was balanced on only one joint. She was completely immobilized and at the mercy of her captor. Now that. That made my cunt wet. Maybe next time.