Twenty four hard strokes in groups of six for both Mistress Elita and I. An unusual session to have with a dominatrix perhaps, but Elita occasionally likes to play hard games as a submissive. It was a lot. The bruises are still visible, though somewhat faded, a week later.
(I described how this scene came about and the build up to it in earlier post.)
What made this caning different was that the strokes were delivered to both of us by a man. They had more force behind them and the pain was felt more deeply than with even Elita’s finest. Yet the added level of pain is not what has taken me a week to process to the point where I feel secure enough in my feelings to write them down.
I was naked, having a sensual, sexual experience with a man.
I could perhaps tell myself that, as the only physical contact between us was through the cane, the experience was neither sensual nor sexual. I’d be lying. This type of pain is always sexual for me.
Elita had set the session up carefully. She was responding to the concerns I had expressed about how strange it would be to relate to a man in the context of a BDSM scene. The instructions she had given him put nudity, physical contact and verbal humiliation all off limits. His role was quite simply to cane us, one then the other, six strokes at a time. Hard. As hard in fact, as he thought we could take. (He was also to have sex with Elita, but that’s another story!)
I have always regarded myself as unambiguously heterosexual and went into the session with that mind-set.
Had I really suggested this session because my masochistic side wanted an especially hard caning?
Had I really suggested this session because of the satisfaction my sadistic side might get from watching Elita take a beating from her man?
These are the reasons I gave myself and I was certainly excited and stimulated by them.
However, might it also be true that, deep down, somewhere else entirely in my subconscious, I wanted to put myself into an erotic situation involving a man? Perhaps, despite my repeated expressions of concern and uncertainty to Elita, I already knew I was going to be alright with it.
Because by the end of the session I was very alright with it. Very alright with it indeed.
He projected exactly the calm yet forceful presence that I seek to create when taking a dominant role myself. No histrionics, no “down on your knees, Slave!” verbal domination. He relied only on his physical presence to assert his dominance and yet it was immediately clear who was in control in the room. I completely understood how Elita, a forceful woman and totally convincing dominatrix is able to submit to this man.
In fact it felt natural to submit to him myself. As my first set of six strokes approached, I actually wanted him to cane me. I wanted to feel his strength; to be the subject of his focus and attention as Elita had been before me.
I had decided before the session that the way to deal with the presence of a man was to see him only as an extension of Elita. I would, I told myself, think of him as the means by which she, my Mistress, was making me submit to her.
Yet as the caning went on and the sensations became more extreme it became in my mind more about him. Yes, I interacted with Elita, but I was taking HIS punishment, feeling the pain that HE was inflicting. I was becoming HIS creature as I was already hers. In the midst of the very considerable pain I found that I was very conscious of his physical presence, his strength, and his absolute focus on what he was doing. I was able to revel in the smooth, powerful movement of his muscular body and in his skill and accuracy with the cane.
It is strange for me to write these things. Unexpected. Unsettling. Yet real nonetheless.
One of Elta’s favourite sessions is a Consensual Non Consent scene where her submissive client is ‘forced’ to accept anal sex from her man, in an extreme act of submission to Elita. I find myself wondering if I would ever participate in one of these “Forced Bi” sessions.
It is too early to say for sure. I am still too uncertain of these new thoughts and what they might mean.
Right now though, as the act of writing this takes me back to the room; as I remember being over the bench in front of him; I am not sure how “Forced” that scene would need to be.
This was a very intense sessions on many levels. It left me quite shaken up, but very exhilarated, for several days. As I published Elita’s marks in an earlier post I suppose it is only fair to show mine:
More ‘off limits’ wickedness can be found here: