Every once in a while, I agree to something with some reticence. Flogging is one of those areas, particularly when it is a new flogger. I received a gift not long ago ahead of a weekend trip. The message was unmistakable. As much as I am a submissive by nature, and want to please my partner, there are also some areas that have the potential of scaring me. A new flogger, one that has the potential for very severe bruising is one of those.
I have known my play partner for many years and trust him. He would not have sent me the new flogger, unless he felt that I was ready to handle it. He is thoughtful, experienced, and above all, cares about me. He is also demanding, pushing my limits, and wants me to emerge from every scene proud of my accomplishments. For me, the line between taking pride in having gone beyond my boundaries is always balanced against the anticipation of stepping into unknown territory. That is a scary step.
We had discussed how the session was to proceed. Slowly. I needed to get into the headspace, where I can push myself. He needed to see how my skin responded to the new flogger. The flogger was from made of solid heavy rubber strands.
He had made sure that it was hanging prominently in my closet to remind me from the beginning of our date that it was going to be the main scene. Not necessarily the first, but eventually, he would try out my new toy. It looked scary. Even when it was hanging casually next to my clothes. The red and black colors were unmistakable. They were designed to instill respect, maybe even some fear in those who would be exposed to its rubber tentacles.
The preparation for the session was meticulous. That made it even more intimidating. But it also provided me with the necessary time to breath, calm down, and relax for what was to come.
Normally, we do flogging sessions either with me lying on a bed, or bent over a chair. Rarely am I restraint in a serious way. This session was different. As simple as it looked, the restraint was inescapable and made it clear where the focus of the impact was going to be. The hotel robe I was wearing had sleeves long enough to tie my arms around the sizable cement column. It felt like being tied inside a straitjacket. Simple, but inescapable.
When he pulled up the bathrobe to expose my behind, which had just recovered from an earlier session, the picture began to take shape. His choice of the bathrobe was not just to restrain me. He could have done so more easily. It was also to avoid any accidental blows to areas that are more sensitive. By leaving the sides of the bathrobe down, he could avoid the whiplash of the ends of the flogger to dig into my skin, while still hitting my bum with as much force as I could take.
The anticipation was both soothing and terrifying. I knew he had made sure no harm would come to me. But that also meant the severity of the impact area was going to be high. Perhaps higher than I could take. Waiting in position for the session to begin, the anticipation, is what turns me on. I stay still, don’t move, close my eyes, and prepare my mind for the scene. I clear my head, push the fear away as much as I can, and ready myself to let go of any control that I would otherwise want.
I embrace the column, it give me strength, feel the chill around my bottom and my legs, knowing they will be burning hot later. As much as I can, I prepare to let the pain not get into my head. Skin heals. I don’t think about my safeword; only the pride in pushing beyond my limits.
Then it begins.