My Real Life BDSM session

As per usual the pre session discussion I found difficult to expose what I’d been thinking about for the session but Mistress made it easy for me and said I was not alone in that. These kinds of interactions are huge for me, working at the acceptance level of my self-stigma for having this need.

Then when we enter the dungeon I have all the same feelings of excitement to be there, of expansion-relief and coming home. I feel like ‘I have arrived’ and now it’s happening at long last.

There is no ambiguity in the dungeon, it exists for one reason, the reason I am there. It offers a promise that I know will so soon be delivered and that feels so good.

The session itself proceeds extremely well with all the feelings of dread, excitement, surprise, out of body floating and cathartic relief. All my fetish and kink buttons are pushed and pushed hard with Mistress working the moment to full effect.

Mistress is empathetic, sensible, careful and fun, strict and stern yet engaging. Her sessions have a light hearted aspect yet at the same time can be heavy and severe making them a total success, all created and catering for me, my own private theater.

As is typical of just about all my sessions I experience the usual plurality of contradictory feelings. My leather fetish and feelings for belting and strapping compete with the need to endure the corporal punishment Mistress gives. I feel the disjoint between my inner desires, my deep fetishes competing with the effects of it and the logic of what is happening. I want it to be over, to have accepted it yet at the same time I want more. I need more. It calls to me.

The warm-up is a belting to my butt from a doubled over inch and a half wide belt, a perfect choice by Mistress which sets the pace for the session with her enthusiasm and skill. The belting is firmly delivered making my butt flare instantly in sting lifting me out of the here and now to start me on my journey of relief. As she wields the belt Mistress brings the whole area up into a deep warmth, suffused with sting, as the strokes power down. My increasing reaction shows the power of her strokes but soon the belting takes another form within me so I take the strokes better, accepting them better.

All through the session, the sound of the implements in use is a highlight. The crisp crack of the folded belt landing changes from belt to belt, from strap to strap. Then the deeper thuddy sound of the prison strap, the sshhwack of the tawse on a hand and the sshhwick of the cane all have their distinctive sounds. These echo in the dungeon and I have no doubt, echo down the corridor outside for others to hear.

Mistress makes it a complete experience, telling me I’m getting a belting as I watch her winding up and delivering, and this is part of my thing, being told by Mistress about the strapping, belting, caning and the tawsing I’m to receive.

Much later and many strokes from many implements later as the session draws near to the end, Mistress picks up my heavy prison strap that looks so challenging. I feel dread, ‘can I take that strap?’ goes round in my mind, but then the strokes from it slap down in a broad band of pain strangely less challenging than expected. But the visual of Mistress wielding the prison strap is all. She sees my ease of dealing with this strapping, so she takes the challenge then delivers more and harder. Mistress has her own prison strap I wish I had asked her for as well as mine, but my gag stops that request. It will be as Mistress wishes, just as it should.

Then the cane is painful, sharp and deeply impacting with each stroke cutting deep into my self. I push myself out to the punishment, inviting it down, inviting more, yet dreading it. I let it fill me, taking it in but not fighting it. That is key, to accept and not fight the cane, the strap, the belt and tawse.

The first carefully measured and increasing in severity cane strokes hurt, deeply. Then I get past that pain, I accept it. I take the caning into my being, leaving the pain behind. Mistress senses my acceptance of the cane, the slow measured strokes becoming harder as she watches my reaction reduce, as I push myself back to her, to the cane, to invite it down.

Nothing else exists except the dungeon, Mistress and the cane.

Then there is a delay as Mistress re-assesses. She knows I must be pushed, extended, challenged and that is her challenge.

Mistress delivers three quick hard strokes bringing a reaction from me. Those get in, overload me, make me react, taking me deeper. Then there is another delay as I come down to regain my senses. Mistress watches then gives a quick six, all delivered hard to produce the same effect. This builds and builds, extending, challenging, sending me deeper. The delay, the quick hard caning increasing the number of strokes, then the delay, then it repeats. The final caning of nearly two dozen hard quick cane strokes lift me onto my toes making my head go back and close my eyes as I’m engulfed in the experience. There is no me any more, I am sent, spent, engulfed.

Against my desires, I had found myself counting the strokes, something I shun, then I want to ask, ‘why stop at twenty three? Shouldn’t it be twenty four, a multiple of six of the best?’ Of course not, I know, it is as Mistress wishes.

The pain is not the pain. The pain in bondage, in the dungeon, from Mistress is just part of the experience, the transport, the route to another existence to another me. It is all things, it is nothing.

The tawse is flicked up onto my palm to lay for a second, then it’s withdrawn to be raised over a shoulder. I feel the dread as I look at Mistress in front of me, at the tawse she holds, as she readies herself for the stroke which I know will hurt. This is my XH tawse, the really painful one with the three stiff leather tails. Then it doesn’t come. Mistress just flicks the tawse back down again gently to lay there on the waiting palm, time and again. I tense. Mistress teases, gets her aim in, holds the tawse in readiness, the gentle slaps of the tawse almost a caress. Mistress is training me to wait, to accept whatever comes.

The visual of Mistress is engrossing, filling the head space. How can it not be? A gorgeous leather dominatrix stands with a tawse raised over a shapely bare shoulder poised to strike leaves nothing to the imagination other than ‘Will she or won’t she?’ Will she flick it down to lay benignly or will it crack down hard? Each time the temptation to move the hand must be overcome even though it is bound to the bench. Then, when Mistress chooses, the tawse cracks down devastating me, making my eyes close tightly, the pain engulfing then receding slowly to a hot deep ache. Then there is more. There is never one stroke, there should never be just one stroke.

Mistress makes the experience completely engrossing

And I want it all. There is no single feeling, no single desire, it is all I want. I want more. I can’t take more. I need more. It will be As Mistress Wishes and that is as it should be. I must endure.

Then as the session draws to a close I feel disappointed it is over, disappointed to be finishing and thinking I must wait till the next repeat. I really don’t want it to be over. My time with Mistress has been sublime.

I wish the session had been longer, that I’d been left in bondage for lock and leave time, with straps binding me tightly as I experience where the corporal has sent me. But it is not to be. Should this be a goal in a future session, or should it be the unrequited desire that calls from the distance, calling me, inviting me, bringing me hope for the future? Maybe some goals should always remain, always be there to draw me forward.

I feel regret that Mistress did not use that belt or strap again, that the caning should have been harder, that the prison strapping should have been more strokes and harder. I regret that the blindingly powerful tawse strokes to each palm were not repeated again and again.

But intellectually I know I’m wrong, I know the contradictions for what they are; fantasy versus reality versus wishful thinking. And I know Mistress took me to my limit and more would have been maybe too much, but I know I want more. All those thoughts swirl around as the session finishes.

Later at home the change in me, the relief I feel is evident. My wife asks me how I feel, wanting to know yet struggling with the whole thing, the strangeness of it to her. I tell her of the relief but precious little of the session itself. She asks about Mistress, to gain some idea of the person but she is lost in her non understanding. To her there is only being hit, being beaten, while to me that does not happen as for me it is a caning, belting, strapping and tawsing which are at the heart of me. Hitting and beating is not caning and strapping, the difference impossible for her to grasp.

To her there is only the pain, to me it is a small part yet a large part, a transport mechanism yet a destination in itself. I try to explain the contradictions but I fail. I think to myself, ‘Do I really know, do I really understand myself?’

The following day I sit feeling the presence of the session flare up, the tingle and the bruising evident. I look in the mirror then feel disappointment that the marks aren’t deeper, the welts more pronounced. I smile at the strangeness of that.

The day after that as I revise this, I still feel the sting in my butt and I still feel the relief from the session. I feel happier than I have in a long time.

Two weeks later I am wanting it even more as the whole experience calls me. Maybe I need to go into BDSM training again.

I know I will be back as I glance at the calendar to find my next session date. I ask myself how the session can be improved or changed. Should I ask for a cold caning and prison strapping to really challenge me? I say to myself that with so many sessions behind me, I should suggest some changes.

Yet the session was so good.

When can  I have another?