It is not a large, well known or even especially expensive hotel, at least not when its centeral London location is taken into account. However the shower attachment is the latest in high-tech water management. I have it set to “waterfall” and a constant stream of hot water pours down like thick paint from a can, washing away my tiredness and bringing me round.
Looking at the stats on my blog, I see that you really like descriptions of heavy BDSM sessions and their aftermath, while erotica goes quite well but takes longer to get established. Oh, and you all go completely nuts for anything that includes a naked picture of Mistress Elita. That last one is SUCH a surprise! Lascivious lot! So obviously my next post is going to fit one of those categories, right?
I once told a beautiful escort, with whom I was lucky enough to be playing kinky games, that, of all her wonderful atributes, it was her back I found most enticing. Her shoulders slumped a little, perhaps disappointed that I seemed to have passed over her beautiful face, her outrageously spankable bottom and her sparky intelligence. But these attributes were all self evident when we first met, while her beautiful, perfectly sculpted back had been revealed to me slowly; unwrapped, touched, stroked, carefully explored one vertebrae at a time.
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I recently read some posts from @Ferns_ a lifestyle Domme who writes explosively about her real and fantasized relationships. I find her writing thrillingly intense and it can trigger dark reciprocal fantasies. Anyone who can write this: “God, you are so beautiful, I want to tear you to pieces” is peddling strong medicine.
He sits across the aisle from me, displaying all the outer trappings of wealthy convention; a suit, good shirt with gold cufflinks and a smart leather briefcase open on the table. The carriage is mostly empty so he has four seats and a table to himself. I watch him from hooded eyes, pretending to be asleep because I recognise this man. I don’t exactly know him, but I know what he is and why he is on this train. His actions give him away as clearly as if he wore a sign.
It’s nearly two weeks since these marks were created and they’re fading but taking their time.
It takes nothing to draw blood with a knife – the words even feel right together: knife-blood, blood-knife. A single-tail whip, such as a bull whip, with its thin waxed cord moving at the speed of sound, will draw blood readily; indeed it takes great skill to stop it doing so. But a cane; a cane is different. A cane doesn’t want to draw blood; it has to be forced. It has to be swung fast, hard and repeatedly.
This weeks prompt of ‘B’ could have stood for many things in this picture. Bottom and Bum are obvious and I nearly went with Brave but I chose ‘BEATEN’. The picture doesn’t really do justice to the 12 truly brutal stokes with a cane that Mistress Elita took from her man during our heavy corporal punishment session.
He’d beaten me until I was a gasping, sweaty mess. Then it was Elita’s turn. He’d wanted to give her more strokes, but the way the session had been set up had allowed him just 12. He changed canes; the one he’d beaten me with had blood on and would not have been safe. He chose a heavier cane. I imagine he wanted to make up for the lower number of strokes.
He had me hold her down and forced her to look directly into my face so I could see her pain.
Then he beat her.
The violence of the impact of the cane was hard to watch.
It was hard to listen to her yells of pain.
Yet it was impossible to turn away.
It was horrible and disturbing.
It was beautiful and thrilling.
It was as hot as Fuck.
The experience of my beating, together with the emotion of watching hers, left me shaken for days. Sometimes though, it’s good to be shaken to your core, have your perceptions reset and be forced to contemplate the journey you are on.
If you would like to read more about this violent yet rewarding and memorable session you can find it here.
For generally less violent Sunday Sin go here:
Sometimes the build up to a session; the tension, the anticipation, the fear, leads to expectations that can’t possibly be matched by the reality. In this case that was a real risk, particularly as I had created further pressure by writing about what was going to happen. However I was not disappointed. The session was hot, challenging, really fucking painful, super-rewarding and hot (did I already say hot?).