A scenario where one player appears, at least on the surface, to be forcing some action on another against their will can be the most thrilling of BDSM scenes. It requires trust, good communication and a deep understanding of where the submissive player’s real limits are. This little story draws somewhat on an actual scenario I played out with a mistress. I will leave you to guess which bits are real…
He had set the hotel room up before she arrived, moving the padded bench from the end of the bed into the centre of the room. Six feet long and strongly built, it would make a perfect punishment bench. When the Mistress arrived she unpacked a large bag full of the tools of her trade: canes, whips, paddles, floggers, nipple clamps and rope, laying them in a very precise deliberate manner on the bed, as if each item had its proper pre-determined place. She was of Chinese origin, with beautiful clear skin and a slim body firmly honed by hours in the gym. The combination of the calm, dancer-like precision of her movement, the fact that she was ignoring him while she made her preparations and the knowledge of what was coming had him slipping into a deeply submissive state of mind.
She seemed to have the session planned as a symphony of pain in four movements: nipple torture, CBT, flogging, caning. Each movement had its beginning where the melodies were introduced with only mild discomfort; a central section where the theme was developed, sending rivers of loud sensation through him; finally, an agonising crescendo where he was taken to the limit of his endurance until she stopped, allowing him time to recover, ready for the next movement.
Having gagged him and tied him firmly to the bench ready for the caning, the final movement of her symphony, she looked round the room and spotted his laptop computer. “Hmmm”, she said, “Let’s see what you’ve been up to”. He couldn’t see her but the sharp intake of breath told him she had found the pornographic video of a young woman being spanked that he had been watching before she arrived. Berating him for looking at such a demeaning scene she picked up a cane and started to beat him. Hard. This wasn’t the controlled “Stroke One…. Stroke Two” of a regular punishment session. This was a thrashing; stroke after stroke of the cane setting up an uncontrollable relentless wave of pain that he struggled to stay on top of. This was what he wanted; the feeling that she was genuinely angry, the loss of control, the fear. This was why the spanking video had been on his laptop, waiting for her to find, exactly as they had agreed.
As he neared his absolute limit, safe word ready, she threw the cane down and picked up a flogger. This was not the type of soft ‘toy’ flogger that can be bought in any sex shop. This was a serious implement of punishment, a wooden handle with perhaps a dozen heavy rubberised tails. It took two strokes on his back before he could get the safe word out; “Red, Red, Red!” shouting it loudly into the gag, twisting desperately against the ropes, trying to avoid the heavy strands of fire, the pain way beyond his capacity to endure it. She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door, leaving him gasping in shock.
Gradually he relaxed, letting the pain wash away, relishing the feeling of having survived, settling into the endorphin fuelled calm that always followed this type of punishment. Session over, he congratulated himself for so carefully setting up the non-consent element of the scene, allowing him to play out his old “session that went wrong” fantasy for the first time. He waited for her to return and untie him. When she re-entered the room he noticed she still held the rubber whip.
“Now, Peter”, she said, her words clipped and angry, “How can you possibly imagine it would be OK to show me that video? A Chinese girl, looking about 15 years old being ruthlessly whipped by a fat middle age white man. Is that what turns you on? Really? Did you choose that because I am Chinese? You perverted, deviant, absolute shit!”. This last was spat at him loudly and with real venom, her face contorted with rage.
“Noooo! Oh my God!” he shouted in his head. Sure, he had seen the video with the Chinese girl but had closed it, choosing something much milder…. Hadn’t he? It dawned on him that, with the door buzzer sounding when it had, he may never have closed the page. Obviously it would be deeply, genuinely offensive; the Mistress a young Chinese woman, him a middle aged white man just like the video. A spasm of real fear ran through him. Bound tightly to the bench, a gag preventing him from explaining his mistake, he realised with sick certainty what was about to happen. He could do nothing to prevent it. His fantasy of “the session that went wrong” was suddenly his terrifying, inescapable reality.
She raised the heavy rubber whip high in the air……..