Chapter 4

Nothing. No pain, nothing. I had invested so much emotion, so much expectation, only for there to be nothing.

The blindfold fitted so well that I couldn't see anything, not even light or dark, the sides covered my ears, not intended to block out all sound, they just muffled everything, except there was nothing to muffle. I tugged at the chains holding the cuffs, not to get loose, just to check they were still there, my mind working overtime, perhaps it was a joke? Perhaps nothing would happen?

I forced myself to relax, trying to stop my mind from racing. Little by little I felt my body relaxing as I concentrated on one part at a time, willing my muscles to relax.

I screamed.

I felt so stupid, the snap of the leather as it struck me was a shock, but not painful, it stung just a little and left my ass tingling a little. I didn't scream at the next one, or the next. I was quite proud of myself. I think I smiled, I know I felt happy, relieved, I was finally going to find out what it was all about, what gave those people the looks in their eyes, I needed to understand how it felt, the mix of emotions, sensations, now I would.

The strokes were relentless, endless, the only variation was where they struck, sometimes seemingly random, other times concentrated in one place, my ass, my upper back, thighs, tits, stomach, those on my inner thighs were the worst, not because they were more forceful, but because each time I expected the next to strike my cunt. Yes, my cunt, somehow with the threat of being whipped there, it seemed wrong to think of it as my sex, my pussy, if the whip was going to strike me there, it was my cunt.

I had tensed up again at the beginning, now as the whipping continued I found myself relaxing, the regular strokes stung, but their perfect timing and the soft tingling lulled me, even the constant changes of target became part of the routine. Not at all what I had expected, no searing pain, no feeling of my skin being flayed as I writhed in agony, part of me was disappointed, another part relieved, whilst all the time I was aware that what was happening was out of my control, I could only accept whatever was decided, how hard, how long, how painful.

The stinging grew slowly, seeping through my body, my senses. Little by little my only thought became the stinging, so gradually did it build that there was never a point where it began to hurt, it was like watching the sunset on a summer evening, day becoming dusk, dusk becoming night, so slow you only realise it is dark when you decide to walk home and someone shines a torch.

A sound distracted me, a low moaning, almost crooning. As it grew louder I realised it was me, the stinging had built in intensity so much I could no longer contain it, the moaning seemed to release it, release me.

That was when I realised I was free, not free to go, not at all, but free to let the stinging out, to moan, to scream, to express my feelings, it felt strange, liberating, an unexpected gift. A gift I accepted fully.

I wondered at the strength needed to control the whip, to keep the speed and force so perfectly uniform, so precise, I tried to distract myself with thoughts of how it must look, how it must feel, the power, the control, but I could only imagine, that was not enough, not to distract me, my moans turned to screaming sobs, not words, just sounds of release, the sound of pain escaping my lips.

Then I noticed that the strokes were not all the same, that those on my inner thigh were different, they seemed to slap more, my skin there felt different, tingling, stinging, but ... Oh fuck... !!! I was wet, dripping, aroused, fuckin' hot... !! For a moment I felt betrayed, my wanton cunt dripping, coating my inner thighs, all because I was in pain, my cunt was a traitor... !!

Often when I sit and sketch I find my body and mind separate, my mind immersed in the sketch, unaware of my bodies needs, until the cramp bites or the cold becomes freezing, even thirst and hunger take time to get my mind's attention. All this I knew, was used to, yet right then it surprised me, shocked me. Even as my body was in pain my mind was preoccupied with understanding why, not caring that my body was screaming out for something, anything, make it stop, make it more, make me cum, make me pass out, just make something happen, anything to relieve the cruel endless rhythm of the whip.

My throat dry, sore from screaming, hoarse from moaning, I realised I was sobbing, tears hot and wet on my face, salty burning on my lips. Sobbing became begging, pleading for it to stop, for it to end, hit harder, stop hitting, I no longer cared what, just do something, change the rhythm, please... !!

Oh fuck it hurt... !! Really hurt, my body so tender, muscles strained, shoulders burning from supporting my weight as I hung there begging, wanting it to stop, wanting the end even more, I needed to know, needed to feel the final coup de grace, the pain of enlightenment, of finally knowing. I feared more pain, I feared it stopping, not knowing even more.

Why Ma'am chose to remove the blindfold I don't know, the sudden change from pitch black to seeing momentarily checked my pleas, the light was not bright, even so it hurt my eyes, my vision blurred at first, then cleared to reveal Chris standing staring at me. Our eyes locked and she leapt forward, screaming, "No... !!, No... !!" Over and over she screamed that one word as she hurled herself at me, wrapping me in her arms.

I tried to shake her off, tried to tell her to stop, but it was too late, the rhythm of the whip was broken, and with it went my consciousness.

I don't remember what happened after that, I remember being conscious, I remember the pain when Chris held me, remember even my clothes feeling painful against my skin, but what happened, what was said, I have no idea. The first clear memory was later in Chris's car driving home, her apologising over and over for agreeing to help me, for arranging the time with Toni, Ma'am.

Everything was too raw for me to say what I felt, so I just sat there, whimpering every so often as the car bumped or I moved, tried to get comfortable, Chris cared so much, was so sorry, how could I explain that when she threw herself at me I hated her, hated that it had stopped, hated that I would have to go through all that again. That one thought burned brighter than the pain, I would do it again, and next time nothing would stop me.

Chris did everything she could to care for me, desperate to hold me, drawing away every time I flinched at the slightest contact. I undressed as we entered the flat, pealing off my clothes hurt but brought some relief, Chris had rushed ahead to prepare a bath, the water still flowing as I gingerly lowered myself into the warm water, heaven... !!

I lay there soaking so long that I had to add more hot water twice before Chris finally ordered me from the tub. Standing before the big mirror I turned left and right, looking for signs of the whipping. All I could see was large areas of reddened skin, no bruises, no cuts, just very red, very, very tender skin wherever the whip had been.

That night I did not expect to sleep, surely I'd never get comfortable? Chris ordered me to bed, I obeyed and lay there trying to relax, for a while I felt drained, then I must have slept.

I awoke sobbing, shivering as if freezing, Chris woke and took me in her arms, hugging me close, talking so softly, soothing me, I could not hear her words, they didn't seem important, I just focused on her voice and her arms, and slept again.