Pushed Past the Limit

10 implements. 60 minutes. 6 minutes with each tool.

His hands. Wooden & acrylic paddle. Rubber paddle. Three types of perspex cane. Metal cane. Light-up drumstick. Two types of flogger.

I lay face down on the bed, breathing deeply, my muscles trembling and fluttering beneath my skin as the anticipation built in my mind. The toys were laid out on the bed, aesthetically spaced and arranged, my naked body parallel to the instruments of my impending torture. 6 minutes. That's all I had to tolerate. 6 minutes with each item. Some would be worse than others, some would make me cry, all of them would hurt.

"I want you to feel these bruises when you sit down on Christmas day..." I couldn't help but giggle at the thought of unwrapping gifts while my buttocks ached with bruises only He and I knew about. I clenched and unclenched my fists as he began, the spanking easy to take and I let my eyes flutter shut as I sunk into the rhythm.

My concept of pain has always been a little warped. I have Fibromyalgia, chronic and consistent pain is something I am used to, something I deal with, I manage and tolerate throughout my day to day life. My body always aches, there are days where I cannot even bring myself to get out of bed, but when it comes to kink, pain means something completely different. When I experience pain like He gives me, it's something delicious, detailed and exciting. It brings me pleasure and arousal, helps me detach from the constant nagging ache of my bones and indulge my masochistic nature. When I experience pain like this, it reminds me that what I feel outside of this space is merely a scratch, an annoyance compared to the flaming welts and broken skin I am often left with when playtime is over.

The six minutes of spanking were over quickly, the activity that always panders to my Little side, that makes my insides turn to liquid and my pussy twitch and ache, was finished with. It was simply a warm-up, acclimatising my body to what was to come. He switched from a bare hand to the paddles. Flicking between wood and perspex, layering them together for less sting and more thud, reading my body language and the response of my already warm skin. I whimpered and moaned into the pillow, still feeling more pleasure than pain, noticing that one buttock hurt more than the other, rocking my hips from side to side and acutely aware of quite how much I was dribbling onto the pillow as my mouth hung open in pleasure. I let myself fall deeper and deeper, approaching the sensations with curiosity rather than hostility, the rhythm and repetitive motion cradling me like my lover's arms.

Then I felt the tears and the emotion well up in my throat. I had a feeling I'd cry, I had a feeling it would all get too much. The six minutes with the paddle were over, it's not that I wasn't coping, or I didn't like it. Quite the contrary. I wanted more, I wanted the cathartic nature of what He was doing to me to cleanse my mind and tear away the last remnants of sadness and torment, the last of the wounds from my last relationship, I used this, I used this experience to clean out the closet.

I felt the heat of His body move away from me for a moment, He selected a new toy, from my hazy memory I believe it was the thin perspex cane. My mind flickered back to the moment I liberated it from one of the workshops in University, my small smile whisked away as I took a deep, laboured breath. From the heavier thud of the paddle, this nasty, biting piece of plastic nipped and pulled at my soft skin. The end of it struck the most delicate places, somehow catching every part of me that was tender and fragile. I squeaked and whined, my body twitching and face flinching with every strike. He went a little harder with this one and whilst the perspex carried no weight the swish and flick as it cut through the air was so, so satisfying. My body tensed with the pain and it took every bit of what conscious thought remained in my mind to force myself to relax.

Things got harder and harder as the implements got more brutal. I'm sure I've discussed before that I dislike caning. It's never pleasure, always a punishment, the pain is intense and almost, almost unbearable, yet still I lay there and took every strike. That's when the tears began to flow, silent crying turned to audible sobs that wracked my body, His soothing voice encouraging my crying. I gripped the bed sheets, dug my stubby nails into my palms and gritted my teeth as welt after welt rose across my skin.

I let His torment and torture carry me, I trusted Him completely, knowing this is what I wanted, and ultimately what I needed. I'd never had a bond like this, a connection like this. Dominance and submission is such an intricate dynamic and I laid myself bare to Him, let Him pull each cry and each plea to stop from my lips with love and affection at its core. I knew when this was over, I knew when my 60 minutes were up He would hold me. He would wipe my tears away, kiss my forehead and tell me just how proud He was. So I clung on, I cried through the pain, kicking my feet up with each slap, with each strike, with each blinding flash of pain as He pushed me past my limits. Often I'd lift my head, if only to plead with Him that I couldn't do it, that I'd had enough, but still I didn't call Red or Mercy, not once did my safe words come to mind, despite my protesting. The desire to please Him, the personal challenge to push myself, the need to make Him happy, to be the best submissive I could be is what kept me going in those moments where I simply wanted it all to stop.

He broke skin once or twice, tiny beads of blood and plasma rising to the surface as my skin began to weaken at his endless ministrations. He would build me up, expose me to intense pain, only to bring me down again when all the canes were through, flogging felt like an indulgence after the bite and scream of the cold metal and sour sting of the perspex. I was trembling and shaking, adrenaline coursing through my veins, making me dizzy, my head pounding from grinding my teeth and when the flogging was over, when I only had six minutes left and tears still flowed, I felt weight move from the bed and my heart seized.

He has a paddle made of recycled rubber, as vegans we choose not to use toys made of leather, and whilst leather can hurt, whilst leather can deliver pain, nothing smacks like this paddle. Often described as its impact like that of being hit by a truck, it is without a doubt the most brutal toy in His collection. My underarms and shoulders were damp with sweat, my baby hairs clinging to the back of my neck, tears pooling makeup into my eyes and as I tried to blink away the sting, I turned my head as far round as it would go to stare in horror at the paddle. It was the last toy on the list. The last six minutes of pain to withstand. My body was broken, my resolve shaking but I had to see this through. I couldn't give up now.

I cried, no, I screamed into the pillow as He struck me. The force and impact making the bed quake beneath me, driving my body into the mattress as I howled in pain. My ass cheeks were so tender, and it wasn't just the sting, it was the sheer weight of the paddle that made me cry so hard. Having managed to calm myself before, the almost aggressive crying came back vehemently and I shuddered and shook with tears and emotional release. The six minutes dragged, despite Him taking time between each stroke, despite Him giving me room to breathe, a minute still felt like an eternity. I counted under my breath, the numbers interrupted by sounds I wasn't even aware I was making, the pillow stained with makeup and tears as my tense muscles screamed in protest. But I took it. I made it to the end of my six minutes and immediately He bundled my shaking frame into His strong arms.

I cried a little while longer, unable to make the tears stop, even though the pain was over my body and mind still needed to weep. Over and over He told me how proud He was, how well I'd done, how much I'd achieved. I was glowing inside despite the emotional overload, I wanted to kiss Him and thank Him for this journey and this experience, I wanted to hold Him and rest, but for a moment, for this moment all I was really capable of were tears. And that was okay.

Thank you, my love, for travelling this road with me, thank you for gifting me these experiences and feelings. Thank you for trusting me, thank you for indulging me, thank you for holding my hand and guiding me as we explore. But most of all, thank you for honouring me and respecting me.

"We cannot be more sensitive to pleasure without being more sensitive to pain." - Alan Watts