Sunday, 28 May 2017
First Time Being Whipped
I have written before about how I met Dave and how he got the impression that I was a lot more experienced than I really was, and how I played along with it. This meant that I ended up with my first experience of being whipped taking place on my first night in his hands. He had been doing this kind of thing for many years. He was well equipped. And he knew how to inflict pain at a pretty intense level. So my first time was perhaps rather more special and memorable than it would otherwise have been.
So it was very late at night - I wasn’t keeping track but I guess about 1am in the morning. We had driven from London which would have taken 50 minutes. He has a fully fitted out dungeon - though it is on the top floor rather than underground and during daylight is very well lit. But this time there was only a table lamp. And the wall which has the restraints is black marble, which isn’t as cold as you imagine but it is still quite a shock to naked flesh. I say this because the first thing he had done was order me to strip.
I was not as embarrassed by this as I might have been given that the light wasn’t too strong and I had had a couple of glasses of wine. He very firmly cuffed my wrists and ankles and attached me to the wall face against it. I was in a spread eagle position and it was all I could do to stop myself crying out from the cold touch of the marble.
So there I was - tied in place while this man who at this stage I hardly knew got out his long single tail whip and practised a few strokes through the air. I had no idea how I would take it, even if I would be able to bear more than one stroke. The first one fell on my bottom. This is always Dave’s favourite target, but I didn’t know that then. Boy did it hurt. I had no conception of just how painful it was going to be.
It was all I could do not to cry out, but somehow I managed to stay silent. But that was it, as the second fell I yelped. The strokes started to come regularly, about every 20 seconds, and to fall across the small of my back and my shoulder blades as well as across my bottom. The pain was intense and searing. It really was unbearable and I struggled and squirmed. It was pretty undignified and not at all how I wanted to behave. I had always imagined - and I had thought through this scenario many times in my head - that I would be cool and simply accept what was being doled out.
The session continued. At one point I realised that I was tied in such a way that I could in fact barely move. I was a steady target. Moving was pointless. In fact I was barely moving. But I had no self control.
In the car on the way there he had asked me how I coped with being whipped. I had replied nonchalantly that I was happy so long as the person in charge was careful and knew what they were doing. I had added that I didn’t want any mercy shown me. It was a casual throw away line meant to impress this older and more sophisticated man. It hadn’t occured to me that he was taking notes to decide how to play things a little later.
But I didn’t use my safe word. I didn’t even ask him to stop. My pride got the better of my good sense.
When he eventually stopped - around a hundred lashes later - he very quickly unsecured me. He ordered me to kneel. I obey quickly. There is one good thing about getting whipped - it certainly makes you obedient. The he pushed his cock into my mouth and held my head. He took a while - he is in his early fifties after all - but soon enough he came in my mouth. This at least I had done before.