At the start of the week I had been cautious about hitting L too hard or for too long. It seems that on occasions her need for punishment isn’t just living out a fantasy but might be based on something darker and deeper. This is familiar territory for me, having explored where the boundary might lie between self gratification and self harm in my own masochism. I had already refused to hit her, or stopped doing so when she clearly wanted more, on several occasions.
This time though, she seemed happy and turned on, and “happy and turned on” is, in my humble opinion, the perfect starting point for the more demanding type of kinky adventure. Our conversation in the lead up was loving and positive and she seemed strong and determined in her desire for the belting I had so far failed to provide.
This time, I was going to give her what she asked for.
Exactly what she asked for.
The account below is hers.
I’ve wanted a proper beating with a belt, for ages. A few years ago I even payed a local Dom to give me one. In fact, my kink for receiving the belt has been so strong that whenever on of my male colleagues or friends absentmindedly fix their belt, or move it by holding the buckle to feel more comfortable I feel slightly uncomfortable; squirmy, and light headed.
On Sunday night, a couple of nights before B was due to return to UK, in a voice I could barely hear myself, I asked him if he would tie me to my bed, tightly, and take me for a ride, with his belt. I had tasted “that bloody thing” in Vegas and since then I was craving it.
Are you sure Lyra?
Yes.
It’ll be hard. I’ll move past your crying and continue beating you.
Yes.
I won’t give you a number.
Yes.
What’s the safe word, Lyra?
Red.
What do you say when you want me to stop?
Red.
Are you sure this is what you want? I’ll hit you hard, my little one.
My little heart was crumbling from wanting him.
Yes, please.
I’ll tell you when I’m ready for you.
And with that, I left the bedroom and waited outside, for what seemed like a few hours.
He opened the door and let me in. He had fixed the light and the room looked more cosy. He had put on some nice floaty music. He was wearing his black Dom shirt. His wide brown leather belt was placed neatly on the bed and two pillows were stacked in the middle. Cuffs and ropes were at each end of the bed. My heart was sinking lower and lower, taking me down with it.
Are you sure this is what you want, Lyra?
Yes, I’m sure.
Take off your clothes but keep your panties on.
I was wearing my silky underwear. I don’t know why, but I wanted him to desire me while I was laying on my stomach, vulnerable, exposed, and determined.
I remember squeezing his hand firmly when he was cuffing my wrists. My heart was beating like a scared sparrow. He cuffed my ankles, pulled the ropes, my legs and arms were spread, my behind was elevated on the pillows. I buried my face into the mattress. I was running after my own breathing trying to catch it.
What the fuck did I just ask for?
He told me how it was going to be. He knows how it terrifies me to know what would happen to me. He knows my kink is fear and the pain is its honourable company.
He knows me well.
He moved the sides of my panties. Exposing me more. Touched the curves of my butt cheeks. He asked me to repeat the safe word. Then it began.
He used half the length of the belt and gave me a long warm up with it, skillfully increasing the force of each hit. He was moving around the bed. I was breathing fast, I could hear myself struggling with the cuffs. I was both observing myself from inside and outside. My mind was trying to figure out his pattern of beating so I could send my defence ahead of the next impact.
My mind was a sinking whale, becoming heavier and heavier each time he hit me with the belt. I was in a trance.
Now, he says, he is going to hit me with the full length, alternating between the two sides of the bed. I’m panting so loudly that he stopped and sat next to me, putting his hand on my back.
This is not a punishment Lyra, this is just you and me. Do you understand that?
And with that I broke down in tears. It wasn’t the pain or the viciousness that he put into each whack of that beastly belt, it was my loving him so much that broke me down. The fact that he was going to leave in two days and leaving behind a hole.
The belting I asked for, the one he was in the middle of, was a passionate, violent love dance between us. I cried and he kept on beating me, hard, with a lot of force. The sound of the impact of the leather on my skin was loud, scary. The fire in my behind was warm, spreading everywhere.
One stroke after another.
He stopped and kissed me lovingly.
Ten more and you’re done. Ten very hard ones. Are you ready?
No, yes, oh god.
He beat me ten more times, with a full length of his belt, very hard. Very very very hard. It was force and fire. I was sobbing and yelling into the mattress. And then it was over. I was shaking in ecstasy of the rush of happy hormones. He released my hands and held me tight for a long time.
I smiled at him.
I might have even told him: “I love you, you bastard.”
Day two belt marks
In case you should think our play was all one way, in my next post it’s very much me who is getting it. All of it.
What a passionate love story.