“Beautiful.”
It was breathed rather than said. A single word, uttered in an almost absent-minded way; a commentary to herself rather than a complement to me. I barely heard it, but it was definitely there.
“Beautiful.”
Miss Hunter had just hit me on the hand with her tawse, the infamous, split leather punishment strap used in Scottish schools for many years. It was the third of three blows on my right hand before changing to the left. The second blow had been brutal and I hadn’t been certain I would be able to hold my position for the third, but I’d looked straight into her eyes as she feinted, three, maybe four times before she finally brought the tawse down on my unprotected hand.
The unyielding weight of the heavy shoe-sole leather, the ferocious heat of it, the way the pain went straight through the thin flesh of my palm and seemed to be communicated through my bones rather than through the nervous system; these sensations were part of each blow.
But why “Beautiful?”
She would have heard my sharp intake of breath, heard the cry of pain start in my throat before I strangled it at birth. She’d have seen the way my eyes narrowed in shock but never left hers. She might have sensed the shudder that went through me as I fought the sudden, urgent need to drop my hand and rub the pain away. She would have understood, in the middle of her assault on my senses, what it took for me to move the right hand slowly below the left and, with apparent equanimity, offer up my other hand for the same treatment.
“Beautiful.”
I was so proud to have made that moment beautiful for her.
I was touched that she thought of my response to her blow in that way.
I knew with absolute certainty that I would accept the three blows on the other hand the same way; that I would try my very best to make them beautiful too.
“Beautiful.”
I think I need to book another session with Miss Hunter.
This is just a brief moment from a session quite some time ago, but it stuck with me to the point where I needed to write it down and share it. It is moments like this that make BDSM-type corporal punishment so much more than simply paying someone to hit you. I like Miss Hunter and she is very, very good at what she does.
This reminds me of hand punishment for girls back in South Africa and actually made me shiver, but then I wondered… how would it be now if I am punished like that? Maybe it’s something I should try so I can see whether this might be a limit for me or not…
Rebel xox
I don’t do hand punishment as it makes using my walking sticks difficult but I understand the sentiments expressed. It’s rather unfortunate because it means that when I’m being punished I’m usually facing away from the Mistress and can’t see their beautiful faces or eyes which may be why I enjoy having the front of my thighs and even more sensitive areas punished. I also enjoy the moments when a Mistress expresses her delight with a particular stroke or effect.