Warning: The following is a real life recollection of a BDSM experience so if you don’t want to know back away now. If you’re curious and kinky, read on friends, read on!

I was squeamish back then, worried and unsure. I wanted to try but I wasn’t sure how much I could take. When I thought of a spanking it turned me on but I didn’t know if I would actually be able to take the pain. I worried, I pondered, I held back. I’m an overthinker and because I was so scared to try just in case I didn’t like it, my fantasies of being spanked stayed just that with just the odd playful slap featuring in my sex life.

Fast forward to Friday night. I was at Miss T’s (fast becoming my home from home) where I got pulled into the dungeon because I heard the glorious crack of whips. I love that noise, when I hear it I have to find the source.

The source was three Doms. PhoenixPhil, SirHacksalot and Sensei all using some poor, innocent suspension ring for target practise. I watched, with others, for a while. I listened intently. The crack of whips, the whoosh and the thud of impact and the clatter of the ring as it moved.

“It sounds like a battle.” I commented. I could envision knights in armour clashing when I closed my eyes. It was very atmospheric. There was a tension as concentrated meanness built up and needed release.

I don’t remember the exact invitation but it went something like.

“Now who wants to stand in the middle there?” with an indication to the middle of the gathering of whip-wielding wicked sadists.

The subs in the room reacted instantly with head shakes and nos….except me. I nodded my head emphatically with a huge grin on my face.

I’m a special kinda snowflake. The kind of sub who gets turned on by the battle of three whips and desires to feel that impact on her skin.

So 2 Doms adapt their stance to reach the St Andrew’s cross (I was comforted by this, actually, that they were planning for my safety) and I whipped off my dress. It’s my favourite, I didn’t want it snagging! I stood in front of the cross, in just my undies, grabbed the beams and waited.

It was maybe the third strike that reminded me how painful whip strikes can be, especially on skin that hasn’t already been warmed up. It was maybe the sixth or seventh that reminded me how fucking much I like that.

At first I was aware of the people around me but as the pain mounted I became more focused on that. On the hot burning strike, the lasting stripe across my flesh, the explosion like a firecracker against my skin and the tickling trickle that actually made me giggle a few times.

But mostly I was yelling, sometimes squeaking and a few times all out girly screaming.

I made comment that I had to meet the in-laws the next day.

“Well, your husband subbed in for me,” I heard Sensei say, “and he knows full well about the in laws and he doesn’t care.”

It made me smile. My husband knew I needed the pain more. He’s so good to me. Giving me what I need.

3 whips are intense. There’s no predicting the next hit, there’s no rhythm of strikes and there are very few breaks. If one Dom isn’t hitting another is and sometimes they’re all striking if not together very close to it.

I had to take a breather after 3 strikes hit the precise same point on the top of my hip and I couldn’t catch my breath. Once I caught it, I got them to continue though. The noise, the chatter, the focus of 3 whips and 3 Doms on me, the little audience all contributed to how much I enjoyed the whipping.

When I called quits I went to hug my husband, then Phoenix and SirHacksalot in turn. They were grinning almost as much as I was. My back was on fire, hot and stinging, warm and throbbing. Of course, I wanted a photo. After which I sat (gently) on the cool leather chair and mentioned how much of a wuss I was and how I really wasn’t sure, when I started out in BDSM if I’d be able to take pain.

We all smiled. Clearly, it’s not a problem.

And the pain didn’t stop with the whipping. I was introduced to a new paddle – very hard hits with the new paddle in fact and got swiped several times with a lil’ fecker (rubber strip of pure, stinging evil) and I loved it all. Every moment. Even when Phoenix hit me so hard with the new, long, plastic paddle that I had to keep moving because my body was vibrating so much I swear if I’d stood still I’d have fallen apart.

I had the best of times. Even now as I can still feel the deep burn of the whip marks and the rounded pain of my bruised butt I am smiling. I am content.

Yes, I am a pain slut and I’m proud.

Thank you to the wonderful sadists who revelled in dishing out the stripes, strikes, slaps and ouchies which I treasure and adore. You’re meanness makes this masochist happy!

 

Check out other Wicked Wednesdays by clicking the button below. I hope this writing satisfies some of the curiosity generated by my Sinful Sunday Post and if you want to see photos of my marks then do look me up on Fetlife…I use the same name!