A First with Whips

*Originally written 6th March 2010*

For about a week, I have been being told that I would meet someone with some very lovely whips. I have been excited about it, terrified, and, in my usual style, trying to make sure that I wasn't going to get it easy.

Last night, we walked into the club, and one of the first people we met was a gentleman with a grin. My introduction to him went: 'This is *insert my name here*, she doesn't think that we can get her to safeword, what do you reckon?' The response was a smile with a glint in the eye.

Spent some time wondering around and meeting people, and then went to watch some play. I had no clue when it was going to happen, but I was getting nervous. After what seemed like AGES, I was told to go and fetch the floggers. I did, and was led over to a cross. Naturally, I resisted when he tried to fix my hands, but very quickly a finger was pressed into a pressure point behind my ear and I couldn't fight any more. Control with one finger. Yum.

I thought that he was going to start soft when he picked up the gentle (i.e. weedy) flogger and began stroking my back with it. But he only reached 4 or 5 strokes before I felt a thuddy blow from the sash chord flogger. He started very slow, letting me watch him prepare for every stroke and anticipate it, and then giving me plenty of time to recover before the next one. Just the right speed and intensity to make my head begin to float.

Then, he decided to increase the intensity. I watched him turn to someone with a large collection of canes, ask to borrow one, and slowly select his weapon of choice. The biggest, fattest, scariest looking one that he could find. The wait for that first stoke felt like an eternity, but when it came it hurt. And then he put another in exactly the same place. And another. And another. Slowly but very certainly building up the intensity.

Then he came around to look into my face, and said 'how about we give *the man with the evil scary whips* a turn now? I think I just gave him a look of fear in response. The fear just got worse when he secured my ankles, which had previously been free to jump around in pain, to the cross. I suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable, wondering who this man was and what he was going to do, how it would feel, would I be able to cope. A face appeared in front of mine, telling me to look into his eyes and focus on him. Then I heard the CRACK of the whip. But I didn't feel anything. Bastard. And again, another crack. I felt a breeze next to my skin, but again no impact. And again, a third crack. By the time the fourth crack came, I was desperately anticipating the pain. And it came. Much gentler than I was expecting, a kind of faint stinging sensation. Then another, barely touching the skin, barely registering. Then the third, slightly harder this time. The face in front of me stared into my eyes and said 'it all stops when you say the safeword.' My response was something along the lines of 'fuck off I'm not going to say it.' So he, very calmly, turned to the man weilding the whip and said 'she's fine, carry on.'

The intensity built, the number of cracks with no pain less frequent, until my head felt like it didn't have the capacity for more pain. I screamed. But whenever the question 'do you want to say it yet?' came, the response was the same: 'fuck off no I don't'.

Before I knew it, another sadistic bitch had appeared. She had sjamboks. Two of them. I had watched her playing with them earlier in the evening, seen how they hit the flesh and drew screams. Unlike evil whip man, she didn't give me a warm up. She went straight in, both at once, one hitting my shoulder and one my arse. Completely relentless, no chance to recover between blows, hitting exactly the same spot every time. My breathing was getting shallower, my body was struggling to cope, I felt weak, I couldn't get control over my body at all. Yet she kept going. I couldn't help trying to jump out of the way. Until a firm hand clasped my throat, holding me still: 'Don't fuckng move, we want to make sure we can get the same place each time.'

Finally, I couldn't take any more. In between gasps, I managed to yell out my most hated word: 'C*NT!!!' And it stopped. But I didn't feel right. I wasn't crying, I wasn't a wreck on the floor. And my lovely sadist knew it. He didn't untie me, but put his arms around me and gently said 'you're ok baby. you did well, *evil whip man* was about to have to get the bigger whip out.' I'm sure that he knew what my response was going to be: 'ok then!' And they all grinned. And then the pain started again. I was at that point where my head was all spinny. Every blow was a huge explosion of pain in my head but it all made me more spinny. They were landing everywhere, across my shoulders, between my legs, they kept coming faster and faster. I didn't last long this time. 'C*UNT!!!'. And with that I collapsed into his arms, convulsing, in floods of tears.

In a complete daze, and apparently with a giant grin on my face, I was lead to a sofa, had sugar forced into my mouth, wrapped up all warm and hugged. It was incredible. It never fails to amaze me how close you can feel to someone when they have just reduced you to tears and enjoyed it. All in all, it was one of the most perfect scenes I have ever been involved in, because everything happened at just the right point. The right level of pain to start me off and get me all spinny. The right evil sadistic look at just the right times. The right mix of anticipation and delivery. And the hand around the throat, the 'I really couldn't give a fuck' demeanour.

So thank you, and more please!