Recently, we played in public.
My arms were lashed to a St. Andrews cross.
He wailed on me, hard.
Paddles and canes and the flogger.
The flogger with the tied ends.
The flogger that cuts like a whip.
It wrapped around me, over and over.
I made lots of mewling noises.
He wanted tears.
He took hold of my hair with one hand, titling my head back and with his other hand, kept working the impact tools.
He got tears.
Does anyone else loose sense of time while playing? It seemed like only minutes but was almost an hour.
He untied my arms and draped me in a blanket. Gave me the biggest hug ever.
This was an incredible experience, for both of us.
I let go...certainly more than I thought I would in public.
It was a wonderful night.
Aftercare: Or as I have come to think of it, aftercaring.
It went on for a week. I needed a week to recover. Not just to let the welts and bruises fade but to wrap my head around all that had happened.
Horace let me out of most chores last week, with instructions to rest as much as I could.
And I did.
Nestled in soft liens and a nest of blankets, often.
Subdrop hits me in kind of a delayed response: I won't feel it the night of the play or the day after but the day after that is when I feel unhinged and drop-y.
Horace took such great care of me during this week, giving me lots of space and a week without play. Which was a little annoying at times but Horace doesn't think I need bruises on top of brusies. We want to do this kinky thing for as long as possible.
Why risk damage?
We enjoyed the week of recovering and there was this marital bliss that kind of snuck in and enfolded us.
Life is very, very good.
And I felt like the most treasured, most spoiled girl ever.