Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage From: lmartell@nyx.cs.du.edu (Laylah Martelli) Subject: a "shamanic" whipping scene Date: Mon, 28 Dec 92 23:19:12 GMT [Laylah:] Saturday Dec 26th; night; the kids asleep in bed - playtime at last! All day I've been under strict orders not to play with myself - what a HARSH command...! - and I just can't wait!!! Bedroom warm and cozy; now - HOW shall we play tonight? Alex starts telling me, "You see, Laylah, there are several things we haven't been doing for a while which I wouldn't mind at all, but, I see a problem - what with one thing and another, I've been on top just about all the time for more than a week, and, should I stay on top tonight as well, don't we risk your wonderful tigress getting, well, out of practice, or...". Now, I don't *GENERALLY* do things like this - I don't want to give you a wrong impression!!! - I'm ALL in favour of explicit detailed negotiation and everything - it's just that this particular time, I saw an excellent way to remove any doubts he might justifiably have, and at the same time the "tigress me" was QUITE miffed at the suggestion it might "get out of practice" (HA!!! can you EVER forget how to ride a cycle, once you have learned?!), AND my adored slave was so, SO, beautiful and vulnerable and offered, and... So I backhanded him on the face, sharply, with all my strength, and, for good measure, I added another slap to his other cheek. He threw himself to his knees, as expected, begging forgiveness. (It's wonderful to be always so attuned - never a surge of power in me isn't matched by one of submission in him, or viceversa... took us many years to get here, of course.) So I took his chin in my hand, turned his face upwards, and glaring at him with all the fire erupting from my eyes, I spoke to him, while at the same time I was, first, giving him my other hand to kiss, and then raking my nails *lightly* over his violently reddened cheeks... "``out of practice'', INDEED! Are you FORGETTING, slave?! I am your Lady, ALWAYS, ALL the time, even when I'm tied up and you make me scream... exactly as you are my Master even this very moment...! So get up off those knees and explain all the nice things you had in mind." And I helped him off the floor and hugged and kissed him all over neck and shoulders. [Alex:] So I explained. Nothing very complex, actually, just a bit too many things to fit into one night comfortably. So we agreed on a somewhat reasonable subset of those things - a "shamanic" scene, as we call it, heavy on pain and spirituality, light on roleplaying/humiliation/ submission, basically; one of the things we hadn't been doing for a while was a heavy-pain session (well, apart from the pain of her piercing, of course!), and I preferred that undiluted by those other considerations. So I had her strip naked ("Even the new sexy stockings and garterbelt which your sister gave me for Christmas, Master...?" "*Particularly* those, slut - definitely NOT ``Crazy Horse'' night, tonight!"), and removed most of her jewels (not the nipple ring, of course!, and not any of her many earrings either - indeed I played with the latter [it being far too early to play with the former, alas!] throughout the night, sending shivers of pleasure all over her). Then I had her prepare our new contraption for spread-eagling, while I selected the night's music - DEFINITELY Bach tonight - I chose two of the CD's I had gotten as Christmas gifts, one very traditional rendition of Weihnachtsoratorium and one very "studied" one of "Was mir behagt", aka the "Hunt Cantata". Back in our bedroom, I was pleasantly surprised to see Laylah waiting for me, not in her favourite "slave kneeling" position (knees wide, head bent, hands clasped behind the small of the back), but sitting in lotus. Not that I have anything against the former, mind you, but I was glad to see her getting into the spirit of the scene so fast! So I had her lie on her tummy, placing a few cushions strategically to keep her comfortable, and I secured four leather cuffs onto her wrists and ankles, then adjusted the ropes holding the cuffs so that she would be almost immobilized, but not stretched. "I'm going to start with the little red silicone whip, dearest. I do want *you* to call the shots, of course, and more detailedly than usual: not only the moment of each stroke, but its location as well. I plan to cover you with welts all over, let's say from the elbows inwards, throughout your upper arms, back, buttocks, thighs, and calves, down to the ankles; but, there's absolutely no hurry - we CAN sleep late tonight, after all... so you call the location you like best each time, and I'll compensate later if I find some place that's been marked too little. All right with you?" [Laylah:] I don't answer at once, as for a while I'm too busy shuddering with anticipation and fear - GOOD fear, I WANT my Master to make me into a quivering mass of welts, but, FEAR all the same: when he SAYS welts, he MEANS welts... I also know it's not a rhetorical question when he asks if that's all right with me, not tonight, I can tell! Other times we play even without safewords, but THIS time he wants full cooperation from me. The contrast between this almost equals-relationship, and the total submission welling out from my heart, and the total helplessness into which I'm physically placed by my bonds, is already in itself something deliciously unsettling. "Cognitive dissonance", I think is the technical term: the mind works by "frames", by expectations, and with a naked woman helplessly bound spread-eagled on a bed, and a man standing over her with a whip, one associates other than a sort of, hmmm, "consulting" dialogue about where the next blow should land, and when... I am sure the dissonance itself is part and parcel of tonight's lesson. I drink of it, fully, and clear-headedly decide I'm ready for whatever he wishes to make of me. I voice my explicit assent; I feel he's glad that I've taken my time to think it over... He then goes on, "I plan to choose the strength of the blows myself, at least by default: the idea is to strike each time just a LITTLE stronger than what you would find most pleasurable - I need feedback, though: if the blows are TOO unsettingly strong, or, on the contrary, if they give you too much pleasure, please let me know at once. Also, you may, if you want, give explicit indications about a given blow's strength, as in ``a light one to the left calf'', ``a medium one to the middle of the back'', and so on, but you need not; OK?" We have played similarly in the past, but never to such an extreme level of detail; it worries me a bit. I'll have to keep my mind right here and now to be able to "call the shots" SO precisely... which is surely part of what He wants - so be it, then! Again I accept it fully. I'll be the conductor and the arranger tonight, as well as the violin He plays; He, the composer and the performer. "Yes, my Master; I'll warn about too much or too little pain, and I shall call for some explicit strength, if I feel it's warranted. I am yours, and fully, and I shall be *whatever* you want me to be, at all times, with no limits, no reservations, no holding back. Please let me kiss your adored hand ere we begin..." "Too late, dear Laylah: we've started already. The hand-kissing will have to wait for later.", he replies. OK, he's right: it's not my unbridled submission he wants to taste right now! So I lay back, I relax, ready to offer every fiber of my body to His whip's burning kiss, and I wait for the first blow... And I wait. And I wait. And it doesn't come. Oh! How soon I forgot! *I* have to call for it. "Buttocks", I say. And at once a medium blow stings my ass-cheeks; just a BIT too heavy for a warmup stroke... "Again", I say, and at once my buttocks feel, again, the pain. His choice of strength is perfect, according to his stated plans. I now say, "Right shoulder", and a somewhat lighter stroke, in exact proportion to the different sensibilities of bottom and shoulders, burns me there... [Alex:] I'm a bit surprised at the rhythm at which she's calling the strokes: noticeably faster than I generally use for a warmup, QUITE faster than she normally does when she calls the shots. Hmmm, come to think of it, that's about the rhythm at which SHE strikes, often, when she's on top. It may have something to do with the purely-stingy nature of the little red toywhip - it IS painful, but in an extremely "skin-deep" way; it may have to do with the fact that she calls for the place to be hit, so she can let one place rest a little while others get warmep up; it may be that I've managed to confuse her enough that she feels "on top" and falls into her natural rhythm that way... whatever it is, it's definitely interesting. No rhythm-breaking at all, no "surprise", but, apart from that, a rather severe whipping she's calling on herself. She keeps building it up, her voice soon hoary and throaty - "three on the buttocks, heavier, same place each time, two lighter ones on the calves, one each, then left arm, middle of the back, left shoulder, right arm"... I can keep up (thanks be that whip is *light*!), but I couldn't go any faster if I tried! A web of angry-red, still-light welts is very soon crisscrossing her soft, tender skin all over. I needn't have worried that she would "favour" some place: she's doing a great job everywhere... including parts I often treat more lightly (asshole, pussy, armpits, backs of knees... all wonderfully exposed by her spread-eagled position; she screams quite loudly each time, and pants heavily for a while, so, soon, she starts specifying in advance what's to follow after blows to such particularly delicate locations, as in: "wait: four on the pussy, light, then a medium one to the asshole, then four with all your strength to the buttocks, ok go"...). I think she should be resting now, for some time; it's going to be a long night, and I don't want to burn her out too soon. I tell her I think some rest is in order, and please to inform me when she thinks that rest should come, but her answer is on the order of a sob-racked "yes, surely, in a while, but now, two heavy ones on the calves, two heavy ones on the back, same spot each time, two medium blows one on each thigh...". She's getting a bit carried away, I think; it's her endorphins speaking, not herself... [Laylah:] I AM here, how could I not be with all this speaking I must do!, yet I'm elsewhere as well - a raging fire of burning pain reigns all over my buttocks, back, thighs, calves, arms, shoulders, a raging whirl of endorphins courses throbbing and exhilarating throughout my veins... "right thigh, three crescendo blows on same spot, left buttock, ditto, then four medium blows on the back starting at the top and a bit lower each time..."... the "elsewhere" is a sort of out-of-body experience, where I'm looking at this lustful, exciting woman's body, tied spread-eagled, racked by sobs and blows, all red and flayed her skin, and each shudder and each little scream she makes drives me wild with desire for her... uh, "she" is "me", I guess, but that seems of little import right now! *rest*?! REST, _indeed_! That man whipping her, he's got good technique, but, he's a SOFTY! Lucky there's me guiding him - we'll put that wonderful little sexy slut right in her place - I want her to scream her throat out, I want every square inch of her silken skin purple and enflamed and SO pain-filled that, when I crush her under my body and start on her with teeth and nails, she'll... uh... what the hell am I *thinking*?!?! That's ME screaming and reddening under his whip... My Master stops talking about rest, and just starts using a little bit more of his strength with each blow... more... AND more... I manage to call just a few more strokes, then the out-of-body me merges back into the spreadeagled-bound me, and, OUCH!, it hurts like CRAZY, all over... I think for a second, then ask, "Rest?". At which, HE goes "Phew! I'd say!", lies down the whip, and starts massaging his right arm. Oh, I'm sure he's acting, wonderfully delicate and sensitive man that he is, making believe he's tired, just to lessen my own shame at asking for rest so soon, after so little... I ask forgiveness for it, all the same. "So SOON?!", he says. And I find some LCD digits in front of my eyes, our bedside alarmclock I guess, but I can't figure out what those digits are supposed to signify... I just stare at them. He realizes I'm not connecting, and clarifies verbally. "Fortyfive minutes so far - and a rather intense rhythm, let me assure you - and that was just the little red whip, you've still got the heavy cat coming..." "Master? May I beg for something?" "No, my beloved wife: tonight you cannot ``beg'', but, of course we can *negotiate* about anything. What, specifically?" All right, I'm not *begging*, I'm *asking* - a little bit more of the plastic whip, before the cat, I mean, not instead...". He's reflecting about it; I see he's on the point of asking *why*, but then, he understands that, and he's just checking how it fits with the scene he had in mind. The reason's rather obvious actually: I'm NOT finished yet with that little wonderful sexy slut, I want her to COME under our whip, I know she's close - but once the heavy cat starts, orgasm will be out of the question (let Alex prattle as he will about what a wonderful pleasure-machine that flogger is, to ME it IS, yes, wonderful, BUT, terribly painful and frightening as well... I just CAN'T imagine *coming* from its blows!). But, will an orgasm right now fit into his concept of tonight's scene? What will He decide...? [Alex:] Her skin's already in a pretty sorry state... if I go on much longer with the silicone whip irritating it, she won't be able to take much of the flogger, if any. Still, I'd just _love_ to give her the pleasure she craves... I think I can do it, if I take full control for a few minutes, and allow her to let herself go fully. "What do you say to this, darling?", I propose, "I *shall* go on for a while with the plastic whip, but you need not call each blow any more, although I still _will_ respect any call which you may make; that is, you may also choose to keep quiet, and I'll follow on in the same rhythm and style you've been using til now, since I think I've picked it up rather well by now. Deal?" "I may - you mean I may - I mean - just FLOAT?" - I hear something like too-perfect-to-be-true disbelief in her surprised and happy voice... "Yes!", I smile back at her - "you MAY! Now, if it's agreeable to you, just let yourself go, and I'll do the rest". She does lie down, with a moan of anticipation, and WRIGGLES her delightful hindquarters, VERY enticingly. Soon you'll be wriggling them pour cause, delicious beauty mine... I start hitting, rather lightly, on the periphery - her calves and arms. Then, stepping up the strength a bit, I move my target area inwards - lower thighs, shoulders. She's wriggling and moaning more and more intensely - a mixture of pain and pleasure, but, more of the latter, I'm sure. Upper thighs, back. She starts heaving her pelvis up and down... At last my strokes are targetting her buttocks - QUITE heavy strokes, by now - and I start spacing them out, to let the not inconsiderable pain sink in fully each time. The moans become very loud, little shrieks get mixed in with them, and the wriggling and heaving are positively FRANTIC. I adjust the strength downwards a bit, and the pace upwards a LOT, suddenly _assaulting_ her behind (and, a little bit, her pussy and upper thighs - hard to control this tricky little whip _that_ precisely at this rhythm - but, I'm sure she doesn't mind...)... [Laylah:] A pink and golden ball of ecstasy finally explodes outwards, from my over-stimulated cunt and well-nigh-tortured ass, enwrapping all of me into a cocoon of pleasure and release. I shudder convulsively, my bonds holding me so safely, so snuggly, that I *know* I don't have to hold anything back, or to deny even the slightest particle of this sacrament of love - the greatest boon of bondage, this one! As I float back to the surface after awhile, I notice the whip has stopped tormenting my skin - there is not a bit of it, between the ankles, the neck, and the elbows, that's not screaming with pain. VERY pleasurable pain... I *purr* at him, ondulating my head slightly to suggest he might now give me his hand to kiss... ...and my nostrils are assaulted by the inebriating, pungent leather smell of the heavy flogger. Oops... I had forgotten all about that. I look at him pleadingly... SURELY he doesn't STILL want to hit me with THAT, after this *wonderful* close to such a wonderful beating? The look in his eyes doesn't leave space for any doubts on that score. Oh yes, he very much does so want. I dare let my eyes express an unspoken ``please...?'' ... "Yes, darling", he answers verbally, "it's flogger time now. Don't worry, I'll go light on your back, I DO know it's in bad shape for the in-depth pain this baby deals out - but there's plenty of good whipping targets left for me to flex my muscles against. Indeed, you'll be calling the shots, again... but, hey, of course we can re-negotiate if that doesn't suit you!" Negotiate? Should we? I'm so flooded with pain, and pleasure, and utter, total LOVE, that my terrible fear of that flogger is as nothing in comparison. I kiss its heavy, threatening blades as I wish I could kiss my Lord's hand right now - I can, at least, hope that He'll let me adore Him this way, later - I force my body to relax again, close my eyes, take a DEEP breath, and speak...: "Buttocks, medium strength, please". +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ [There WAS more _interesting_ stuff to follow, that night (including one more brand for the spiral of scars and burns on my right flank, and an ATROCIOUS full strength crop-stroke on that burn itself, which tore out of my body the loudest, most anguished scream I had ever screamed...), but, this seems so narratively RIGHT a point to close the story at, that I think I'll let it drop right here, in mid-scene, for a change (you're welcome to send us feedback to make us change our mind of course, as always!-).] Blessed be, Laylah and Alex -- Thou art a Man, God is no more // Thine own Humanity learn to Adore Laylah Martelli - lmartell@nyx.cs.du.edu, an1826@anon.penet.fi