A bit of Arnica, wearing underpants to bed, generally being careful. Dealing with bruises, so long as they are in the right place, has not, so far, been a problem for me. Only a couple of times has a Mistress (never Elita) marked me outside the target zone when I had asked her not to. Even then a bit of extra care is all that has been required.
Caning is all about the cane.
The sensations of a thick, stiff cane are quite different from those of a thin, flexible one. As are the after effects.
Elita removed the blindfold to reveal the Unseen Mistress who had been tormenting me for the previous half an hour. She was stunning; attractive and slim, with the imperious presence of the true dominatrix. We greeted each other with knowing smiles. I’d have shaken her hand if both of mine hadn’t been tied above my head.
Black. Everything’s black. The blindfold’s not one of those cheap, useless bits of cloth you get on airplanes. This one offers me nothing. I’m very conscious of my own breathing; shallow and faster than normal. I can hear my heart beating.
I write this on the train, as I travel to a session with Mistress Elita, my first meeting with her for five weeks, though it feels longer. It’s not going to be a normal session and, as they say in the deep South of the USA, “I’m as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
(You may not have known that was the full expression!)
I’m stood in the shade, only 100 metres from the rental dungeon in central London where we are due to meet. My heart’s running at about twice it’s normal rate, pumping liberal doses of adrenaline around my body. My mouth is dry, my breathing shallow. I curse myself for arriving too early, feeling I must look suspicious, a middle aged man on a street corner near a school, constantly checking the time. Still ten minutes. Dammit.
Seeing Mistress Kikko is always a highlight of my occasional poker visits to Las Vegas. Two years ago she completely took me apart, leaving me shocked right to my core by what I had been through, opening me up to a world of BDSM play that went way beyond what I was doing at the time. This experience led to me exploring my kinks with a number of London Mistresses, before focussing on the wonderful Mistress Elita, and starting this blog to write about my experiences.
I’m not sure this image needs any words.
Perhaps something simple like: “Doesn’t she look amazing.”
This post is all about sex.
I’ve been asked why my posts don’t include much sex. It’s not very complicated really. I don’t have much sex to include. Not penetrative sex. I get into some outrageously sexy situations; I sometimes orgasm, either during a session or on my own but actual….y’know….actual sex; not so much.
In twenty years of seeing spanky sex workers I’ve never once played a school uniform role play. A submissive I once saw at a well known London establishment walked into the room in school uniform and I asked her to get undressed straight away. I know it’s THE staple for many professional submissives; a fantasy played out harmlessly by consenting adults every day, but there’s something about the simulated non-consent nature of it, together with the implied age of the role the sub is playing, which makes me uneasy.