On Sunday. I mean, she’s always in me, happily waiting for a bit of fun time pain to come her way. But for a while she’s been relatively easily pleased. My last play session involved some fantastically evil implements, but it was more about sensual fun, laughter and mind fuckery around that pain.
I had no real sign that the masochist was ravenous, there weren’t any signs.
I was looking forward to play with Avalon of course, I always do. But this time we’d agreed to do something new for us, combining restraint with a beating. Something I’ve been curious about but have only a small amount of experience with.
I wasn’t sure how I’d feel but as I knelt, naked on the spanking bench, Avalon methodically attaching me wrist by wrist, ankle by ankle with rope to each corner, I felt at peace. Relaxed. We chatted about this and that, including the safety aspects of making sure things weren’t too tight, that I was comfortable and establishing I’d shout up if something was wrong.
That time, just lying and waiting really calmed me. I suppose I had time to prepare for what was to come, to focus on the experience. I suppose I enjoyed being put in my place too. I’m submissive, yes, but I don’t always let it show too much.
I wasn’t so aware of the binds as the beating started. I was aware of Avalon’s hands, his rhythm, the increasing pressure. I think we are fairly attuned, now, after a year of playing together.
I found the fact I was tied more apparent once the implements came into play. When he went from eliciting soft moans and croons of basic happiness to yelps and mews of discomfort. At the points when I started to circle my feet, which is something I always do to process pain, then I realised there was rope around them.
When the impact got harder…then I found my focus very much darting to my bound wrists. How can I bury my head in my arms when I can’t fold them? How can I bite the back of my hand when I can’t reach it?
Funnily enough though, I didn’t feel any kind of panic at this, just a kind of gentle resignation to my predicament. I moved my arms more, grabbed at the top of the bench or clenched up my fists instead.
Avalon managed to get a few giggles from me. Just from running a new implement down my back. It’s a great way to introduce what’s next. I rarely know exactly what it actually is but I get the idea. Stingy cane or thumpy club. Something with an end that can be prodded into sensitive spots and make me squeal.
And through it all that spare hand, sitting on my back, stroking or squeezing and just reminding me of that connection. I needed that more. I think there is an obvious extra vulnerability in being tied down that meant I needed extra reassurance.
There was one implement, that I really couldn’t quite tell what it was as he ran it down my back. When he got it to the curve of my bottom he turned it around and I felt the bite of familiar wooden teeth and I knew it was the venator club. The brutal, evil, horrific club.
Terror gripped me. Like an ice cold blast over my hot skin but it also excited me. The anticipation was delicious. I couldn’t doubt in that moment my masochist nature. It might have been the very moment the beast roared to life.
He was brutal. Yes, the strikes were gentler to begin with but they were not gentle. They were hard, bone crunching hits. He focused in on the left thigh which was already screaming with pain and was thumping me with such force that I forgot to breathe.
I started to realise I couldn’t take much more. My cries became more strangled, more plaintive than before, I was close to tears. I had just decided to take one more strike then call ‘yellow’ when Avalon stopped, stroked my back and checked if I was okay.
I told him I was about to shout up, that it was almost too much. He read me well. And at this point, I’ll say he asked several times if I was okay, if the ropes were still fine, he looked after me very well.
I appreciated that. I always appreciate that.
When he knelt beside me to pick his next implement of evil, he rested his hand next to me. I leant to the side and pressed my head against his arm. I needed that connection. I wouldn’t normally do that but I was needy. At no point was I not enjoying myself, I was, but I was also vulnerable.
The next implement was evil, I can’t tell you what it was, I think I was too far gone at that point to work it out. It hurt, so much. In pleasant, wonderful brain-freeing, stomach churning ways but the intensity was turned way, way up and I felt completely dominated. Physically beaten.
I was so relieved when the next impacts were significantly lighter and I knew we were winding down. I don’t often feel that. I’m usually disappointed, craving more, but this time we’d played very, very close to my limit. Whether that was closer because of the restraint, I don’t know. I suspect it had its role to play.
And It was pleasant to just lie there as he untied me. Occasionally ruffling my hair or stroking my arm or back. Talking a little bit, but mostly I just recovered. When I stood, I was still dizzy. So I grabbed on to the bench close by. I needed to move. But not too far.
After a few moments I got my hug. I said thank you, I make a point to thank the meanie who beats me and I asked him to hold me a little longer.
“I need it, you nearly made me cry.” I whined.
He was not very sympathetic in word (as I expected) but he held me tighter and longer until I was ready to let go.
When we got back to the social space (up the damn stairs, ooooowwwwweeeee) I sat with Avalon for a while and as I came back down to earth we chatted about this and that. And it was then he clarified that if I had started to cry, he’d have checked in with me. I don’t normally cry and I don’t know how I’d react to that happening. So it was good to talk about it with him. Good BDSM communication in action, I’d say. It’s not just one conversation, it’s got to be continuous.
When I got my breath back, I was still in the mood for play. So I volunteered to be a target for MJ Cheshire’s whips. Oh, I’m so very selfless. *ahem* It’s nothing at all to do with me craving the lick of the whip.
It was a wonderful taster, against the St Andrew’s cross. MJ discovered I really was a masochist, when I preferred the harder, deeper strikes with an implement. I enjoyed the surprise in his voice.
I also enjoyed the teasing lash of the whips. Although the sound, in such a relatively small space was deafening. I was just getting into it, when it stopped, leaving me with the taste for more.
So of course, when the guys from Funishments were asking for volunteers, I selflessly volunteered as bottom. In the end a number of tops and bottoms assembled so we got on with playing. It’s a really simple game. There’s a dice with a number, a dice with an implement and a dice with a body part. You read off what those things are (the bottom rolls all three or the Dom gets to roll one) and then the bottom takes the hits.
Fun times. The lovely Lookin’ handed out some hits and I ended up with some lovely marks on my boobs and the front of my thighs. I think my favourite impacts though were with the chain flogger to the back of my thighs, which were already very marked. I really do love chain. Mind you, I loved it all really.
A great fun game to add a little variety to play.
So it turned into one of those days when I played and I played and I played a little more.
And the masochist beast awoke as the pain slut stretched and at the ache of her marks, smiled.