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.
Had you told me a couple of years ago that that I would soon willingly participate in hard BDSM sessions with a man, you would have earned a quizzical raise of the eyebrow and, quite possibly, outright scepticism. Yet I recently had my fourth such session and was comfortable with his presence; terrified by his willingness to hurt me, but comfortable that this was a sexual experience and he was a man.
However, I’ve found myself asking the same question after every occasion: How much of my enjoyment of these scenes is about awakening some long hidden part of my sexuality and how much is simply a new way of exploring my masochism? Perhaps writing my feelings down might get me to the answer.
I am going to hypothesise:
It’s not about him at all. He is simply an extension of Elita, a new means for her to exert her dominance over my submission. My focus while he hits me is all on her; I let her see the pain in my eyes and I relish her enjoyment of it. These three way sessions are in reality an extreme form of Femdom.
It is that, but I feel there’s more to it.
I’m a masochist and the stronger the sensations to which I’m exposed, the more I revel in them. And he delivers the strongest sensations of all, roughly pushing through the limits of my tolerance, and finding new ones. The fact that he’s a man is irrelevant.
It is that, but I feel there’s more to it.
This isn’t a Dominant/Submissive or even a Sadist/Masochist thing at all; it’s all about combative male egos. “His ability to inflict pain goes toe to toe with my ability to endure it and the winner gets the pretty girl.” Nonsense, right? Well yes and no. He’s a serious BDSM player and I want to show him that I can be that too; I want to show him that I can take his cane till he’s worked up a sweat so that, when I shake his hand afterwards, I can look him in the eye as an equal. I don’t feel submissive after this, I feel strong and masculine. “Thirty strokes? Hell, yeah! Let’s do it, then go have a beer.” Mind you, he does always get to walk off with the pretty girl!
It is that, but I feel there’s more to it.
In BDSM there can be a unique connection between the giver of pain and the person receiving it. In our second session, once I was into the second half of a potential 54 strokes, I had lost any sense of place; there was no dungeon, no traffic noise filtering in; even Elita looking up at me was no longer my focus. My whole world had reduced to the wave of pain that engulfed me with each stroke of the cane. The end was too far ahead to think about holding out for it, the beginning too far behind for me to remember anything else. My whole world had reduced to just this one thing and he was the source of it. My whole world had reduced to HIM. I became deeply conscious of the fact that I was his creature to do with as he wished; to hurt or to release from hurt, to humiliate or to praise. He was all there was. And being in that state left a mark longer lasting than the bruises, however deep they seemed at the time.
And I think, right now at least, that this really IS all of it.
Writing this may have given me some small insight into my feelings for and about Elita and the strong effect our sessions have on me. When we’re deep into a caning, when she has driven me far into sensory overload with her nipple clips and electrics or when her hand tightens over my throat and I feel myself starting to slip away; at those times I am so utterly dependant on her, so entirely focussed on the sensations she is causing that everything else disappears. I am, in that moment, so completely hers that nothing else is real for me.
And, though it be for only the shortest period of time, you can’t give that much of yourself to someone and not leave a little bit behind when you go.
More wickedness here:
Beautifully expressed. This is so far from my experience that I find I appreciate it like art or poetry – getting just an overall impression but knowing that it’s serious, deep stuff.
Well written and a heavy topic at that it seems. Sounds like you are finding you peace in some ways.
I have a feeling this is a subject that will be revisited for you again, maybe multiple times. I think you are only scratching the surface here of why this works for you and I suspect that with time there will be more as you work it out
Mollyx
This is beautiful and intense! In those moments you return to ‘be’. Precious, intense, beautiful moments!
These words “you can’t give that much of yourself to someone and not leave a little bit behind when you go” ring true for me, not only of intense BDSM sessions, but also of this blog. Every time you give something of yourself by writing about your sessions, you leave something behind for the reader to take with them. That is what I experience when reading your words… there is always something in it that stays with me or awakens something in me! This makes me long for intense sessions (which due to circumstances at this moment is not possible) where I can give something of me, and leave something behind too.
Rebel xox
Bravo for going there and staying there and taking it out of it slippery hiding place and looking it straight in the eye. Tricky stuff, bravely engaged with x