See, I told you I was a Good Girl #MasturbationMonday

 

Play Club was so busy, hubs and I couldn’t find a place to sit so we stood in the corridor chatting. It was late on as we’d been to Miss T’s first to Celebrate Animal’s Birthday. I promise we didn’t just go for the curry, but damn, does Animal make a good curry! However, I had possible beatings lined up so we headed over to Play blub with Ballet Bunny – Thanks for the lift- before Animal’s party came to a close. I really wish I could be in two places at once.

I felt a little overwhelmed at first. It was crowded and I was wearing not only very little, but a new combo I’d never tried before, including white stockings and suspenders. It was apparently a good combination as I got compliments on it all night! It’s never a hardship to sit snuggled up with my hubby, but as time marched on I started to worry I was never going to get my beating…

The loo at Play Club is upstairs and along the corridor…it’s quite a trek. I was walking back, feeling a little upset when I saw The-Blonde-One. I smiled at him and he smiled back. Moments later as I passed him, I felt his hand impact hard on my butt. It made me yelp and giggle.

“Least you didn’t do it closer to the stairs.” I chuckled.

“I’m evil, but I’m not that evil.”  He replied and that interaction really cheered me up. There were other little moments through the night, a stroke of my hip, nails run down my cleavage, that had me anticipating the beating to come.

I just wanted it to arrive already. At 1am, I really started to panic. Only an hour left! That was when Blonde came over to me and asked if I wanted my beating.

“Yes, yes I do!” I responded enthusiastically. I followed him into the main dungeon. Where he grabbed me by my hair (I was wearing it down for a change) and pressed me up against the St Andrew’s cross. In that moment, rage bubbled inside me.  How dare he? Then I remembered he was going to beat me and I like being bossed around and stuff and that flare of instant brattiness disappeared. I wrapped my arms around the cross and presented myself for my beating.

Excuse me, if I don’t recall everything in order. Blonde does things to my senses that mean remembering precise things is difficult. I know it started with his hand. I love that. There’s such an intimacy with a hand spanking and he reads me so well. Soft strikes mixed with hard ones that make me squeak and squeal.  Hand spanks were mixed in through the whole beating, much to my delight.

“Squeal for me.” He said after a particularly hard impact (with a paddle I believe) and I smiled. Because there was no way I could stop the squeals even if I wanted to.

His words add so much to our scenes, the way he matches them with actions that make me know who’s boss. After a set of impacts, I don’t know if it was a regular number or if he just read when I needed a break, he’d run his hands into my hair and pull my head back. The first few times he said nothing but from there each time he’d whisper too me.

“You took that well.”

“Well done.”

“Good girl.”

And as clichéd as it is, with each word of praise I melted. Pleased to be pleasing him.

The hair thing was particularly good. It centred me, painful sometimes, sensual others, it gave me chance to catch my breath but also built the anticipation.

“Breathe.” He told me a few times. Did he notice me holding my breath and panting to control the pain? Each time I would suck in air and blow it out. Focusing in on just that because I knew I’d be hit and hard soon.  Especially when he said.

“The next one is really going to fucking hurt.”

And it really fucking did.

There wasn’t just hair pulls though. There were nails down my back, hard and penetrating. I’d moan each time, sometimes soft mewls of enjoyment, other times it came out more tormented as he really dug his nails into my flesh. Another way to mark me, another way to subdue me, another way to really turn me on.

Rawwwrr.

What was I hit with? Honestly, I couldn’t precisely tell you. His hand, an assortment (I think) of paddles and Ramsey, the evil rubber flogger. I recognised the hits from that. Wow. Does it hurt.

There was one strike, I can’t remember what hit me, I just remember deep, hard, almost snapping pain that flared across what felt like my whole butt. My knees gave way and I slid down on the cross a little squealing and whimpering in pain.

He gave me a rest then. I think his touches were softer, soothing me back from the edge so he could hit me hard again. He played me like an instrument. I don’t know which, but my masochism hummed in response to his every stroke, strike and touch.

When the beating ended, he grabbed my shoulder and pulled me to turn towards him. I was incapable of speech at first. I just clung to him in a tight hug and breathed as he told me I’d done well. I eventually managed to thank him. There were three hugs in total. Each tight and long and much, much needed. I felt lightheaded, dry mouthed and pleasantly ouchy.

I grabbed a drink and headed back to the social space. I have loving friends you know, however it was the mean, sadistic ones in attendance at Play Club. Little Snowflake started it or maybe it was Kev, prodding at my bruises. Little Snowflake has very sharp nails and they sent stabs of fire through my bruised flesh.

She soon did it again (after asking, because she’s good like that) and started off some kind of weird sadistic experiment where the assembled tried to find out what hurt the most. The finger poking stabs were Snowflakes shout. Then Daddy Cuddly Bear went for an open palmed slap. Both resulted in intense squeals. Kev picked something more closed and that made me whine. Then Ali-Puppy came in with a knee to the butt. Thankfully Little Snowflake got up to hold me in position so I didn’t crash through the wall and dear lord, that knee had power behind it. I think the sound I made was a kind of ‘ooof.’ As the breath was knocked out of me.

They then tried to ask me questions. I don’t think I answered very well I couldn’t think. I hurt and it was glorious.

I thought it was strange when Avalon Isle was nice to me, offering a seat and even a shoulder to lean on and a “Oh you poor thing.” Hair ruffle.

He was lulling me into a false sense of security. It was later, when I was dressed and nodding off on the sofa opposite that he used a long cane to poke at me. He called it a motivational stick. Meanie. He wouldn’t let the poor masochist rest.

Though, to be fair. It was 2am and I had to go home, so I suppose he was doing me a favour. In their own ways, they were all showing me loving kindness. This masochist loves pain always and being centre of attention sometimes. But what I love most, I think, is being a good girl and doing what I’m told.