Seeing Peace

"Nancy, do you really think this crazy idea is going to work?" I asked myself.

Let me explain. A few months ago I was fascinated by the idea of submitting to a dominant, and I rashly talked a man into being my 'master' for a scene. He agreed, and I chose a rather advanced toy in his dungeon, the wooden pony. A mistake, but not a fatal one.

During that pony ride I experienced a fleeting taste of a separate reality, a place where I have no obligations and am free to experience and enjoy. It was like the first taste of an addictive drug, I can't wait to let go of responsibility and return to that carefree place.

I'm now back in his dungeon again, in search of that quiet place that I glimpsed in my pony ride. It is a calm, peaceful place where I haven't a care since I have no choices and only exist for the moment.

My life is full of deadlines and stress and contracts and difficult clients and even more difficult investors and CEOs and CFOs ... and that quiet place calls me like the sirens called to Odysseus - alluring, dangerous and potentially deadly. The man I know as 'Sir' is in the process of taking me there in the (relative) safety of his experience and his dungeon.

It wasn't that easy, things never are simple with this man. He insisted that I tell him what I am hoping to achieve by submitting to him and him how this would benefit my life and my development as a person. Sheesh! It was as exhaustive as being back in school, and he doesn't grade on the curve, either!

Only after my reciting (to his satisfaction) what I wanted was he willing to discuss the 'other reality' he he introduced me to in my first scene. I told him that "this 'other reality' has a fascinating attraction to me, I feel like a bird who is frozen under the steady gaze of a snake - both hypnotized and waiting in fear and trepidation."

"Do you think this is what is called 'sub space' by some people?" he asked.

"I have only glimpsed it," I replied, "but I get the feeling that it is the calm space that I need and want. How can a person get to a calm space in this crazy world?"

"I know of three ways to achieve a calm state of mind," he said after a long silence. "One is to learn from an accomplished shaman, the second is to spend a lifetime practicing meditation, zen or martial arts, and the third is to turn your will and your entire being over to the care of an experienced dominant".

Wow! That was a hard one to accept, the idea that it would take years or someone to guide me. As a successful modern woman who is charging to the top of her field it is not easy to think that I cannot do this by myself.

"But, but..." I began to reply, then sputtered to a stop.

He gave me a rare smile, saying: "I'm in no hurry, come back when you've proven to yourself that you cannot do it alone. You know how to get in touch with me."

So here I am, many weeks later, in his dungeon again and under his complete control. "I can live with this man seeming to be able to read my mind," I said to myself, "but does he always have to be so damned RIGHT????"

Today seems full of mistakes, I arrived wearing the sweats that I wore away from his dungeon after my pony ride; I didn't fear that he'd wreck another set of my clothes. The sweats also made it quite easy to obey his command to undress; I expected he'd want me naked so I didn't wear anything under the sweats.

A lesson here: DO NOT expect this man to do anything the way you think a normal person would. When I took off the sweats and he saw I had nothing on underneath, he put bra and panties on me and then ordered me to undress. They were not my size, and the styles and colors were atrocious. He must have bought them at a garage sale held by insane, blind hoarders, or something. The underwear did, however, appear to be clean. Basically he dressed me so I could fully comply with his order to undress - go figure.

My second mistake was something I should have remembered from my first lesson. He asked: "why are you here today?"

I answered, "I want to find that calm space you introduced me to."

"How quickly they forget," he mused with a sad expression. Pointing to a rack of whips on the far wall he ordered: "girl, crawl over to that rack and return with the black strap hanging next to the long buggy whip. When you return you may NOT allow the strap to touch the floor."

I dropped to hands and knees and crawled to the wall, thinking: "Shit! I wasn't thinking! I remember that last time he made me hurt until I started saying what he wanted to hear."

I placed the rubber strap on my back for the crawl back to him, checking frequently to make sure it wasn't slipping off. I sure didn't want it to fall and touch the floor, I have an idea painful things would happen if I did.

I remained in crawl position in front of him as he picked up the strap from my back. "You may speak one sentence, girl," he said quietly.

I knew what I wanted to say: "I am very sorry, Sir, it won't happen again."

With a resounding "THWAK" the rubber strap hits my ass cheek. I cry out with the sudden pain. There has never been a pain like this before, it feels like my ass is on fire.

"You forgot something, girl," he replies. "You must own your mistake."

With that, another strike of the strap and my other ass cheek feels like it's also on fire. "You may have one more chance," he says.

"I made a mistake, Sir, I won't make the same mistake again," I reply.

"That is an acceptable apology," he says. Then he orders: "stand!"

I stand, then at his prompting I recite what he calls a 'contract'. Using my own words, I state that "I am submitting to him voluntarily, I am here of my own free will and there is no coercion, threat, money, or property changing hands." I suspect the whole thing is being video taped and wonder if it's an insurance policy for him or if it's a device to make me realize that I am relinquishing control.

He then orders: "stand in the exact center of the room." While I stand there he ties my ankles to a ring set in the floor and my wrists tied to a bar that he lowers from the ceiling. When my legs are tied down and my arms are outstretched and up in the air, he touches my lips and orders: "open!"

I obey and open my mouth. He places a ball gag in my mouth; In an odd twist of humor the ball gag is bright blue and has a yellow 'happy face' printed on the part that shows when it's in my mouth.

He buckles that hated "slave in training" collar on my neck, it's tall enough I cannot bend my neck to look down, I must face forward and only look around with my eyes. This time I can see, without a blindfold I can watch both him and myself in the mirror that is mounted on the wall in front of me.

I watch him return the rubber strap to it's place and approach me with what looks like a medium sized flogger, testing it against his arm. "One little detail before we begin, he says, "I don't expect to get anywhere near where a safe word will be needed, but if we do the safe word for this session is 'budget'. And let's not try to pretend that you can't make yourself understood through a ball gag, OK?".

I remained silent, not knowing if I was supposed to try to say something and not wanting to give him the amusement of me making incoherent noises while trying to say something.

He begins walking around me slowly, striking my body with slow, stinging strikes of the flogger. It has many 'tails' and each has a sting. They all add up to be painful, not a lot but somehow I get the feeling that it will soon be painful enough.

Slowly walking around me he strikes with the flogger in a deliberate pattern, first the front of my shins, then the sides of my knees, then the backs of my thighs, then my waist, then my stomach, then my ribs, then the middle of my back, then my armpit, then my throat...and he moves back down with the same deliberation.

Soon the time comes when he is flogging the very essence of my womanhood, my pussy and my breasts do not escape his attention. I feel violated and angered that he would flog the parts of me that make up my sexual self.

"How is this helping, whipping my tits?" I inwardly rage. "He's getting his sick pleasure abusing my sex, knowing I'm helpless to avoid his whip and can stop him only by using the safe word, admitting I'm overwhelmed and defeated."

I wonder if this is how a rape victim feels.

Suddenly he says: "Get over it, your true sexual organ is your mind." Again he seems to read my mind!

"Who the hell does he think he is?" I again rage to myself, "If he cannot respect my most private and intimate parts then what does he respect?"

I knew the answer, of course. In my first visit to his dungeon he placed me in a position where I had to abuse my private and tenderest flesh myself, this time he's doing it without forcing me to do it to myself. Small difference.

With a smothered "AHHH" I realized that sexual parts had nothing to do with his flogging me, he'd equally flog my penis and balls if I were a man. It has to do with forcing me to realize that I have no control, and (I suspect) is intended to lead me toward acceptance of my situation. By accepting my situation I can begin to accept that everything I am and have done up to this point has brought me to right here, right now - being bound and flogged in his dungeon, totally at the will of a person whom I barely know.

After some time I am completely flogged, every exposed part of my body has been touched by the whip many times. The only untouched parts of my body are the soles of my feet and my head. I'm secretly glad that my face has been spared, and I wonder what his motivation is. Our agreement was, after all, that he would leave no permanent marks on my body.

The flogging is still not hard but the repeated blows leave an increasingly lingering sting that borders on real pain. Now I watch as he puts the flogger away, slowly hanging it on the rack and selecting from the rack a slender bamboo cane about four feet long. He dips it in a bucket of water and carefully wipes it with a cloth. I notice that the end has been split into many fine slivers and wonder why it was made this way - or does this happen when it is used?

That gives me shivers, thinking that I'm not the first and only one to have been beaten with his flogger, or peed on his wooden pony, or felt this bamboo cane that he is approaching me with.

I find myself wondering why I have a vague feeling of jealousy, certainly this man is much older than I and has had a lot more experience in life, both 'normal' and BDSM. Why wouldn't I appreciate his years of experience instead of feeling somehow like I should be the first and his only person to submit to his attention? Why should I even expect an amateur to know how to do what this man seems to do without even thinking about it? Wasn't this why I rejected all the young, horny men who wanted to be my 'master' for my first experience?

I sighed to myself, thinking "I'm such a mixed-up person".

He unties my ankles and taps my leg with the cane, ordering me to spread my ankles apart. When I obediently spread my legs he repositions my feet so that each ankle is tied to a separate ring in the floor and my legs are now spread, then he begins striking me with the bamboo came.

Where the flogger was many small spots of stinginess, the cane is one large hunk of stinging pain. He doesn't try to cover my entire body with blows from the cane, he focuses on particular areas. My thighs and butt receive many of the blows, while my calves and back and stomach also get a fair share.

For the first time the insides of my thighs and calves are exposed to his attention and the cane finds them an attractive target. I watch in the mirror as he canes just below my stomach and upper thigh fronts, red stripes appear that remain for a few moments after he moves on.

Gradually he settles into a rhythm, beating the backs of my upper thighs and my butt. My grunts gradually subside as my body gets used to the stinging blows, then guiltily I realize that I am beginning to get into the rhythm of my beating and I'm enjoy the feeling.

He continues to cane my thighs and butt while I begin floating along in subspace reality and I barely notice the stinging blows of his cane that take me there and keep me there with a vague sense of pleasure at each blow. A huge calmness descends on me, wrapping me like a warm and comfortable blanket on a cold day.

My noises - or lack of - must have tipped him off that I was no longer feeling pain but beginning to enjoy the strokes of his cane, he unexpectedly pounces with a strike that is much harder than any which came before. He hits me on the spot where my ass meets my thighs.

The sudden flood of pain brings a gasp, and I realize that he has just made me orgasm! God! I hope he doesn't notice! I am mortified beyond belief, thinking: "what kind of girl would orgasm with pain? Who would orgasm from being hit in the ass?" Certainly the time I had sex up the butt it didn't feel good, certainly didn't stimulate an orgasm, just caused a lot of pain and feelings of being ripped apart.

"Only a twisted, slutty, sick and warped personality would even think of getting pleasure out of pain," I think to myself; yet here I am...

Of course he notices my orgasm, this man doesn't miss much. He stops stroking me with the cane, comes the front of me and looks at the moisture running down the insides of my thighs, then he rubs the handle of the cane up my inner thighs and into the dripping folds of my pussy, then slowly pulls it from between my legs. Looking at the wet handle he says: "Ahhh, success!"

He removes the gag from my mouth. I gratefully close my mouth, feeling relief flow into the jaw muscles as I moved my jaw gently closed.

Touching my lips, he orders: "open!". I open my mouth and he places the cane handle right in front of my face, touching my lips, and orders me to "lick it clean."

I'm completely blown away that this is something he seems to have expected to happen; does he think I'm such a twisted person that I would become sexually aroused by being beaten?

Dutifully I begin to lick my juice from the handle of his cane, thinking that I cannot be more shamed and mortified; but yes, I can! I find I enjoy licking my cum from his whip, I enjoy the taste, and I enjoy the freedom of liking it because I was ordered to do so and I have no choice.

Weirdly, I enjoy licking my cum even more because he took away the shame by giving me his orders, even though I'm surprised at liking the taste of my juices I'm even more surprised at the sense of freedom that he gave me. I can't help showing my enjoyment to his sharp eyes.

"Now let's see if we can take things to the next level," he says with a gleam in his eye. He brings over an ordinary wooden kitchen chair to where I'm standing, unties my hands, and bends me forward over the back of the chair. The chair is exactly the right height, I bend forward at the waist and fold over the chair.

He ties my forearms to the arms of the chair, leaving my legs spread and my ankles tied to the floor. Now the highest part of my body is my butt and the spot where he made me orgasm is very accessible to him, that spot where my ass meets the top of my thighs.

He then begins to stripe my butt with strokes of the cane, about the same force as before. I think I know what's coming, I think I am prepared for his manipulative tricks and won't let it happen again, but I find myself lulled into the rhythm of the cane strokes and again begin to enjoy the feeling of his rhythmic strokes.

Again I enter into a space of not feeling pain but feeling taken care of, floating in a bubble where I am totally free because I have absolutely no choice and no control. Again without any warning he strikes the spot where my ass meets my thighs, but this time with an angle that is directed upward toward the middle of my body, sort of like he's trying to hit my navel by going through the inside of my body.

The chair allows him easy access to this angle and he strikes with sudden power and force that seems to travel in a shock wave throughout my entire body.

With a cry my entire body tenses and then shudders with the most intense orgasm I've ever felt in my life. It feels like I'm cumming a gallon, and then I realize that I've squirted ejaculate all over myself and the floor at my feet. The liquid is flowing down the inside of my thighs and my feet are soaked with my own juices.

At first I think I've peed with the force of the orgasm, but the smell and feel isn't right. I hear the delight in his voice when he cries: "Bingo! a squirter".

He strikes the same spot again forcefully, and again I squirt copious amounts of juice. This time I am more aware; I am certain it is not urine, it is fluid from within my vagina coming out for the first time in my life. Again and again he strikes me with his cane and each time I ejaculate and squirt some more fluid, until I am wracked with exhaustion from so many orgasms and apparently have run dry, for I neither orgasm nor squirt when he strokes me with the cane.

He unties my forearms and lets me stand, the blood running back out of my head and chest and again circulating freely throughout my body. My pussy tingles with the sudden flow of blood, I tremble with exhaustion and wonder to myself: "just exactly what the hell has happened here?"

I feel betrayed by my own body, it seems that my body revealed a secret to this man that it has never exposed to me in my entire life. This man has just managed to sexually drain my body without so much as touching me sexually, and I loved every minute of it.

How could my body side with him, the one with the whip, rather than with me? Why couldn't I have discovered this while enjoying sex with a man in my own comfortable surroundings?

What strange power does this man hold over my body, and why is my body cooperating with him? I feel that my body, my best and most loyal companion, has just betrayed me and suddenly sided with this man. Certainly he has all the control and I have absolutely no choice in what happens, is it possible that my body realizes this and takes advantage of the freedom he is offering? Freedom to enjoy without guilt and without judgment - a rare thing, indeed!

His dungeon has a bathroom tucked away around the corner, complete with shower. At his command I shower, then draw a bucket of water and begin cleaning the floor where I squirted cum all over. While I'm doing this he's talking quietly, almost lecturing,

"Don't blame your body, girl, it's anatomy rather than a twisted personality. You see, there is a nerve that runs right along the bottom of your ass that also connects to your genitals, so if I can hit it just right I stimulate that nerve and cause an orgasm. I expected to bring you to orgasm, but I did not expect to see you squirt."

He was silent for a time, then said: "There is a lot of controversy about females who squirt and what it is and where it comes from and so forth, but I know what I see and you know what you feel." He paused a while, watching me work, then went on to say: "I did not set out on an exploratory trip to drain you sexually, but I'm not sorry that's were we ended up. You learned something about yourself today, a thing you may never have known otherwise."

He then went on: "Watching the stripes disappear so quickly on your body, I wonder just how hard I'd have to whip you to leave a mark that will last more than a few minutes...Oh, well, we'll leave that for another time."

As I dress in clothes from his box he muses: "it is said that the master makes more mistakes than the apprentice has made attempts. In one sense today was a mistake, I allowed myself to get distracted. Still, I think today was a success: we discovered more about you".