THE CROP – part one

The age of fifteen/sixteen was a time of exploring the boundaries of my masochism, my response to it becoming more strongly sexual as I grew up. One day I rode into the small town near where we lived and bought a riding crop. I remember even today, the nervous anticipation as I walked backwards and forwards in front of the shop window, summoning up the courage to enter.

I remember running my hand over the line of whips, imagining how each might feel; picking one up and feeling the weight, checking I wasn’t being watched before tapping it on my calf, relishing the sting. I remember paying for it, sure that at any moment the shop keeper was going to ask me a horsey question that I wouldn’t be able to answer.

Oh, the anticipation as I cycled home!

I have bought, made, or found all manner of implements over the years. So it was no surprise to me when, looking to buy Mistress Elita a Christmas gift, I found myself scrolling though the websites of equestrian equipment suppliers. It felt such a deliciously kinky thing to do.

When I saw the whip, I knew it was perfect.

My pulse rate told me so , spiking as I imagined it in her hands; imagined the damage she could cause with this whip. It was antique, made by Swaine and Adeney, founded in 1750 and whipmakers to King George III. I knew she would love it for its age and for the fine tooling of the leather. I knew she would love that, as a BDSM instrument, it was clearly far removed from the ‘toy’ crops you might find in a high street sex shop.

It was 72cm long, in good condition and looked positively vicious. The sense of anticipation and fear was palpable as I entered my credit card details. I’ve never been hit with anything quite like this so I can only imagine what it will feel like.

But imagining what it will feel like is exactly what is so stimulating to someone who counts fear among their kinks. And Elita, of course, is stoking that fear, with her tweeted picture of the hard leather end of the crop and her description of how it felt when she tapped it on her hand.

The nervous tension, the anticipation and, yes, the fear, build relentlessly.

But I only have to wait till tomorrow.

Jeez.

Part two, where Elita gets to try out her new gift is  here