Entering the hallway, I’m pleased to see Lilly’s stood exactly as I instructed, hands at shoulder height against the wall, her bag on the floor. She’s followed my other instructions: a dress that will slip off easily, little make up, simple hair. Good girl. I slip an eye mask over her head, tightening the Velcro; it denies her any light at all. For the next 30 minutes or so her world will be only sensation. Lots of sensation.
I pull her hands down till they clasp each other behind her back and manoeuvre her gently but firmly into the room. There’s a tension in her shoulders. Fear. My plan is to manage that fear, feed it; build it up till it threatens to engulf her then let it out slowly. Then I’m going to do so again and again.
I stand back, let her breathe. She’s attuned to my every movement: the steel chain I pick up then put down, the whip I move through the air. Every sound triggers a twitch of her head, one side then the other as she tries to get a fix on it. She knows I’m going to hurt her. She doesn’t know when. Or with what.
The dress comes over her head in an easy motion. No bra. I leave her pretty crème coloured knickers in place, allowing her this small protection.
I move her to a bench, lean her forward slightly. No ties – let’s see if she can control herself. Spanking, lightly, then more heavily. Ten smacks; pause; ten more, little yelps from her with each smack; fighting to hold position. She’s doing very well. I’m proud.
I still haven’t spoken a word.
Moving her around the room is good. It emphasises her utter dependence on me. At first, she’s frightened she’ll bump into something; hesitant. Later she trusts my guiding hands placed firmly on her upper arms.
Trust. This whole session is about trust.
She jumps as the mechanical hoist whirrs into life, a discordant, aggressive sound. I cuff her wrists to the end of its twin chains, moving her pretty bracelet out of the way as I do so, then clip her ankle cuffs to a wide spreader bar; perhaps it’s a bit uncomfortable. Another grinding, industrial whirr as the hoist stretches her up. I stand back, admire her beautiful body. Again, her head moves, trying to sense where I am, what I’m going to do. She’s frightened but managing it. At this point what she hears through a loudspeaker is BDSM actress Nikki Flyn taking a whipping, crying out with every strike of the whip. It’s a loud, anguished, almost feral noise. Lilly’s breathing accelerates and she moves against the restraints, knowing, I am sure, that this is a recording, yet still terrified by it. I watch carefully, gauging her fear. I make the music return.
The flogger moves air backward and forwards over her skin. I let it kiss her backside, then her back. She jumps each time it touches, partly from the impact, partly from the fear of it. After the sounds over the speaker, this really is too much. I rest my hand on her shoulder, squeeze lightly, kiss the tip of her shoulder blade. I want her to know that I am here; that the man she knows and trusts, the man with whom she arranged this kinky encounter and who knows her safe word, is still in the room and understands what she is feeling.
But this is intense medicine we are taking here and I am moved by its intensity.
I’m not done with her yet. In fact, she’s doing so well that, once she’s calm again, I kick things up a level.
While she’s still stretched by the hoist I apply clips to her nipples; heavy, bitey clips on a weighted chain. The pain of it shoots through her instantly, messing with her breathing, destroying her composure. Again, I worry I may have gone too far but we’ve done this before, so I leave them on, distracting her from the pain by slipping my fingers into her knickers and stroking her clitoris till she comes in a moaning shuddering orgasm. I hold her close as she comes, briefly allowing her the contact she craves before I remove the clips.
I flog her again, letting the tails of two floggers wrap over her bottom and her back. I’m not hitting her hard but one flogger is bitey, the other thuddy and I know she feels both deeply in the blackness.
Finally, I undo the cuffs, remove the spreader bar and again join her hands behind her back, leaving her standing in her own well of darkness, her mind desperately reaching out to mine, seeking connection. I move her across the room and use the single word “kneel,” almost the first time I have spoken. I sit on a chair in front of her. She kneels nervously but quietly for me, waiting; she’s so beautiful, so still and, in that moment, so completely mine. I feel a rush of emotion towards her: for what she’s been through for me, for her bravery in overcoming the darkness, the pain and the fear. I could sit there looking at her for a very long time.
I reach behind her head, undo the Velcro fastening and remove the blindfold, looking into the beautiful eyes it reveals.
I smile at her. “Hello, Lilly” I say.
She breaks down.
She breaks down and cries, sobbing into my shoulder and shaking softly. It’s the most moving, lovely, intimate thing.
At first, I’m concerned by her tears, concerned that I’ve pushed her beyond her limits, gone too far. But as I hold her close, stroking her hair, murmuring my gratitude and appreciation, I recognise her tears and understand them. These are not tears of pain or fear, but tears of pure emotional intensity, a great reservoir of emotional intensity, held back by the dam of the blindfold, waiting to be released by its removal.
I know these tears because they are the ones I shed for Elita after she whipped me.
That Lilly would feel close enough to me to cry for me in this way, close enough to make herself so vulnerable and emotionally exposed; that is a special thing.
It’s a very special thing indeed.
We stay there for a while, her leaning into the wrap of my arms, crying and laughing and kissing; each seeking, and giving, much needed reassurance to the other.
We are exactly thirty minutes into our two hours together.
What else might the evening reveal? So far, it’s been quite a thing.
This post may raise questions about consent and whether it is right to be this far out with someone relatively inexperienced. All I can say is: I stayed very much in touch with Lilly and her emotional state through the session; all the play consisted of things we had done before in a more normal environment; I have spoken to her at length after the session and she has insistently reassured me that all her memories are good ones. As are mine!
This session was set in The Secret Dungeon, in High Wycombe, just a short trip from London. This is a fantastically kinky place: clean, friendly, well run and superbly equipped. I would especially recommend it if you are looking for an overnight kinky B and B. Lilly and I have agreed we will visit again, perhaps for a longer session or an overnight stay. Perhaps I’ll kidnap her again…..