All my sessions as a submissive contain at least some element of Corporal Punishment (CP) and it is frequently the culmination, the “main event,” of the scene we play out. However, only rarely do I have a session made up exclusively of this one kink.
Last week I booked into a hotel room, lay on the bed and waited for an unknown Mistress. My earlier Sinful Sunday post described the unnatural stillness of the moments before and after the beating she gave me. As happens sometimes, it’s taken me a while for me to rationalise my responses to the session itself.
It wasn’t actually in the dark or there wouldn’t be a picture, but I was waiting with a blindfold on, waiting for the mystery Mistress. No name, no email, no website address. No communication of any kind. All I knew was that Mistress Elita, who had kindly set this up for me, had given her the… Read More »
“Get back here, you!” called the gaoler, as she neared the relative safety of the hallway, her bottom sore from the impact of his hand through the thin cotton of her bloomers. Her friend was already there, shaking in fear against the cold stone wall. “You didn’t think that was your punishment did you? HaHaHa! That… Read More »
I once rented a chainsaw and had to wade through 20 pages of safety information before I learnt how to turn it on. I was STRONGLY advised to seek a course of instruction before first use and rightly so; in the wrong hands a chainsaw could cause untold havoc.
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.
My image this week comes from my first meeting with Miss Hunter. She introduced me to the Tawse, the feared instrument of punishment in Scottish Schools until it was banned in 1987.
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… Read More »
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… Read More »
Catherine took her seat in Patisserie Valerie on the corner of St James Street and Piccadilly and ordered an orange juice, exactly as she had been instructed. When the client, one she knew well, had suggested a shopping trip she had been thrilled but the instruction to take a table on her own and wait… Read More »
This post will not make much sense if you haven’t read my recent writing about what turned out to be the most physically and emotionally demanding BDSM session I have ever had.
The first part of this story left Miss S and I in a fuzzy, post coital haze, sharing a glass of champagne. However, I was becoming more nervous and jumpy as time progressed and Miss S knew why. Mistress Elita was on her way across town and that could only mean one thing: violence. (The… Read More »