For someone who pays for their kinks, while living an outwardly vanilla home life, Christmas can seem an endless stretch of enforced vanilladom. For me the only answer was to plan a kinky encounter as close to Christmas as I dare, something that would stay with me through the entire holiday period. My thinking centred on buying a gift for Mistress Elita and then experiencing that gift. Experiencing it in a way that would be hard to forget
I wrote about my selection of the gift earlier but repeat that here for those that missed it. Jump straight over if you prefer.
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.
It was clear from her excitement on twitter that she loves the whip and now, seeing my on-line purchase up close for the first time, I can see why. It’s beautiful. The woven leather is finely tooled and has the beautiful patina of age. The whip combines finesse, delicacy and precision in its design and manufacture, with a weight in the hand, a firmness, an intensity of purpose that is inescapable.
She puts it in my hands after I arrive. To feel it, to sense it’s weight and flex its whalebone core, knowing that I chose this for myself as well as for her, knowing what is coming. This simple act feels so intensely erotic, going directly to the very core of my kinks. More than that: this whip; this moment where she shows it to me and lets me admire it before beating me with it, this is about us. It feels like the perfect culmination to the year I have spent playing BDSM games with Elita, letting her push both my tolerance for pain and my submission far beyond all my previous limits.
I am ready for this. Want this. Need this.
She hits me with it. She hits with me with it a lot. She slaps my backside with the end, a sharp stinging sensation. She hits me with the full length of the crop, adding the bite of what is effectively a leather covered whalebone cane to the sting of its end. This is a serious implement, providing a real challenge. Yet the sensations it causes are perfectly balanced; it has sting; it has bite, lots of bite, all underlined with just the right amount of thud as it impacts.
She ties me to the bed and overloads my senses with pleasure and with pain. She sensitises my nipples with clips and her teeth then hits them with the crop. I’m lost. Lost in the intensity of it all. At the end I orgasm hard, shaking and shaking with the release
Allowing little time to find myself again, she pushes me over the cage in her lounge and she beats me: left side, right side, the end of the crop, it’s full length; relentlessly. This should be agony but the earlier session has left my entire system awash with endorphins, able to immerse myself in the waves of sensations running through me and relish them. When she’s finished I stay there for a minute or two soaking it up, breathing deeply, mind set free and untroubled.
I leave her apartment knowing that our time together will stay with me through the vanilla, kink-free space that is Christmas and sustain me till I’m free to throw myself into whatever intense experiences 2017 might have in store.
I leave her apartment feeling rather pleased with my choice of gift for the Mistress.
Oh! You want pictures?
Well if you insist.
After the first few blows the shape of the end of the crop is clear.
After the first part of the session (but before the final beating) you can see where she’s been!
After the final beating? Well that’s for Elita and I.
More Christmassy kink at: