PAIN – BALANCE – CONTROL

I have been caned, but not by Elita.

So why the picture of a catamaran? Bear with me.

A short notice session in a city centre dungeon. I wanted it, needed it. Needed it as a relief from unremitting stress and sleep loss; needed it because my masochistic submissive had been caged while I played vintage Dom games with Lilly; needed it because I wanted to see Elita, missing her since our beautiful opera trip.

She’d been wonderful as always, alternately sensual and demanding. She had brought all her weapons to bare: clips, biting, slapping and electrics before whipping my arse for a long time.  Nasty, bitey whip; hard round knot at the end. Fucking thing. I handled it badly, writhing and vocalising my anguish.

Just when I couldn’t take any more, and of course she judged that point perfectly, the whip was put away and the sensuality returned,

At the start of the session she had said she had a new implement; a surprise. Now she went to get it. Only it wasnt an “it”; it was a him. Regular readers will know that Elita’s man, a serious CP player, sometimes participates in our sessions. It always changes the tone when he appears – introducing a seriousness, an immediate recognition that one or both of us is to be truly challenged. And so it was here.

He caned me. He caned me where the whip had been. Twenty four strokes. Hard.

I sometimes holiday at a place in Greece which is legendary for its unique wind conditions. It produces a force 5 or 6 every afternoon that seems to blow out of a cliff face. I sail small catamarans there. I have no great skill, not compared to some at this place, but I can handle a boat. A Hobie 16 could be characterised as a ludicrously oversized sail on two ludicrously undersized hulls; in a big wind it always feels over-powered and on the edge of disaster. Only constant changes in the position of the sail through the rope in one hand (it’s called the main sheet!) and adjustments to the tiller held in the other, prevent a violent ejection into the sea.

Last time I was there, I went out on a Hobie 16 with my son one afternoon; him out on the trapeze, me inboard, driving the boat. It was blowing a hooley and most of the time I felt on the edge of losing control.

Then this one time I tacked about a mile off shore,and we paused and took a few breaths before grabbing some wind and feeling the surge of acceleration. The boy jumped straight out on the trapeze and I took some more wind to balance his weight, letting the hull rise out of the water. I headed downwind slightly, taking yet more wind.

And there it was.

Perfection.

A huge wind, blowing the tops off the waves, feeding force through the oversized sail, force exactly balanced by my son leaning hard back on the trapeze, and by the resistance of the water. We were flying, barely touching the sea, my adjustments so slight I wasn’t aware I was making them. All this power was held exactly in perfect balance in my two hands.

It seemed impossible that so much force could be so much in my control.

And so it was with the caning. A thuddy, bitey impact and a huge wave of pain with each stroke. For most of the twenty four strokes I looked straight into Elita’s eyes, showing her the impact, sharing the force of it with her. I love how her eyes widened, turned on by the sight of her man beating her submissive. In the middle it nearly became too much and my head went down, eyes closed as I tried to dive down to the safe place inside myself. But after a few strokes there, hiding from the worst of the pain, I realised I wanted to experience it all, so I returned and once again looked into Elita’s eyes.

And that was when I felt the wonderful sense of huge forces being perfectly in balance; not wind and sail and sea but pain and reaction and emotion; I was the island of calm in the middle of a huge surge of pain, feeling perfectly in control of my response to it, and feeling perfectly connected to Elita and to her man.

It seemed impossible that so much pain could be so much in my control.

It was erotic, empowering and deeply, deeply satisfying. Amazing stuff and it’s still with me days later.

OK, so it didn’t quite happen this way. Elita had planned her man’s entrance as a surprise but something made her pause before bringing him in, telling me what was going to happen and asking if I was sure I wanted it. Perhaps it was knowing the stress I was under before the session, perhaps the way I had struggled with her whip.

Elita takes so much care, and the harder we play, the more care she takes. That’s why I still seek her out. That, and the fact that she’s unfeasibly fucking gorgeous. 

If you fancy a change of pace, I once wrote a very spanky little story set at the same hotel.