I had a conversation recently with someone who had been caned for the first time. Six strokes. It had obviously had quite an effect and marked an important development in her exploration of kink. She described the anticipation; the pause between the sound of the impact and the sharp pain it produced; the fight to hold position for the next stroke.
The vanilla friend’s eyes were wide as she sat facing the bed where Elita and I were letting our kinks out to play. Her pretty mouth fell open slightly at the shock of what she was watching.
“Oh my God!” she said. “That must really hurt a lot!”
What could Elita possibly have been doing to cause such a horrified response?
She was smacking my arse with her hand!
My heart sinks, just a little, when I enter the hotel. Same lobby. Same plastic plants. Same anodyne music. Same “Good evening! Welcome to the Holiday Inn”. Same as last week and the week before. I check in feeling listless and unmotivated.
This rather lovely picture comes from my recent session with Miss S*. I met her through Mistress Elita but this was the first time we had played together alone. It was also her first fully submissive scene. Although I proceeded with caution, frequently checking in to ensure she was happy, the session went further than I had anticipated. Quite a bit further. I tried to communicate its emotional intensity in my earlier post.
Miss S replied with a beautiful, deeply personal and wonderfully intense description of her experience of the scene. I have posted it below. Continue reading
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I like to switch. My masochism is what really drives my kink but playing the other way is exciting, erotic and emotionally rewarding. This is why I came to be in the kinky theme park that is London Dungeon Hire, planning to introduce Miss S* to the delights of sensual submission and spanking. It turned into quite an experience; certainly for me and I think possibly for both of us.
Why this picture? Why now? It’s a year old after all.
It is, in fact, almost exactly a year old.
This kinky little fantasy scene was prompted by a search term that had evidently brought someone to my site. He (I assume it was a he) would have been disappointed as there is no story here linking Female Domination and chocolate. Well, there wasn’t; not till now. I decided that if “Chocolate Femdom Story” is what people want, then that is exactly what they should have.
The red framed mirror on the dungeon’s black wall shows us a lot, though not clearly, only partially revealing its disturbing charnel-house of pain and perversion.
What stories it could tell us, this mirror; stories of sex and violence, of bondage and punishment; stories of hedonistic pleasures taken and received.
Looking over my shoulder from the bench I see him behind me: all pressed black trousers and white shirt; muscular; his lower body providing the strong platform from which he builds the power of his swing with the thick leather tawse. I catch his eye briefly before it smacks hard into my backside. The impact makes me gasp in shock and turn imploringly to Elita, as if she had the power to stop the next stroke.