Posted at 20:34 on 18 Jun 2009 by Pandora / Blake
For the last few months, I've been working two days a week in the same office as my kinky friend J. Tuesday was my last day at that contract, and I was glad to have someone to moan at when I took my seat at the desk next to his.
"Ow, ow, fucking ow," I grimaced, just loud enough for J to overhear. He grinned at me. I winced. My bottom felt like one enormous blister waiting to pop. I sat down gingerly, half-expecting the swollen skin to split as I put weight on it. The tube journey into work had been a misery, and I was glad J was there. Having a domly friend on hand to cheerfully enjoy my suffering made it much easier to bear.
As soon as we had a moment alone, he flashed a sly smile and asked, "So! Who were you shooting with at the weekend?"
I blinked a bit before replying. "Not shooting playing. Last night." He blinked back at me. I laughed. "I know! Not often I scene this hard for fun. I haven't been this bruised from a private play session in years. It's brilliant."
Here's the photo I took that morning, in the work toilets like the classy lady I am:
It started in the pub on Saturday, when Tom and I met Caroline and Graham Grey for the first time. They are both very like their virtual selves, although Graham hadn't let on how cute she was (very.) Caroline in particular is someone I've felt a real connection to since we started talking online, and I was delighted that we clicked in person. Good job too, as I'd offered her my flat to crash in for the few days she was in London: I'm the most territorial person in the world, so this was a big deal for me, but it was lovely having her around.
The four of us drank and talked and laughed and gossiped and talked and drank, and Caroline and I swapped tales of our misspent youth (I like to think I'm still misspending mine) and embarrassing poor Graham by talking loudly about spanking where everyone could hear. Originally we had planned to reconvene on Monday night for a playdate, once we'd all got to know each other, and Graham had had her baptism of fire at the Lowewood school day on Sunday. But (thanks to a series of hilariously implausible events) she told us she couldn't make it on Monday night after all.
I didn't want Graham to miss out, so we flirted with the idea of playing that evening instead. But we'd all only just met and Caroline and I were both feeling tired, and Graham seemed hesitant, so I was reluctant to push it. At which point Caroline made the genius suggestion that we just head back to my place and just dress up in school uniform, and see what happened next.
So that's what we did! Graham was unbelievably adorable in white kneesocks and matching tartan tie and alice band, and Caroline made an unfairly cute netball player in her gym kit. I was declared a "sweet little convent girl" by Caroline in my grey cardigan and pleated skirt, but I felt a bit like I was cheating because it didn't match their navy blues.
No spanking resulted that evening, but that was fine. It was fun, and it was really lovely to get to spend some time with both girls.
By the time I saw Caroline again on Monday night, she'd had her Lowewood day and I'd been back at work. She was an absolute angel while I was out I got home to find the groceries bought for dinner and my washing brought in before the heavens opened. And I was astonished by how comfortable it felt having her around. Normally I'm an antisocial wreck when I get in from work, but we just fell straight back into nattering, drinking tea, talking about Lowewood and picking up where we'd left off on Saturday night with swapping life stories.
Tom arrived; we stuffed ourselves on fajitas and wine; Caroline and I got a major case of the giggles. We were having such a good time just hanging out that I couldn't work out how to segue neatly into playing, but I was determined to take advantage of Caroline while she was here, so in the end I just came right out with it, in my usual shamelessly blunt fashion. "Are we going to play, then?"
Not the most graceful of openings, perhaps. Tom had me pull down my jeans and go over his lap for a warm up. The spanking was slow and felt good, but I was fretting a bit about Caroline, who was sitting and watching. I hoped this wasn't weird. Usually, if I'm playing with new partners there's some sort of theatre to the event a planned scene or roleplay. I felt awkward going straight from sitting chatting to spanking without any psychodrama. Of course I'm Tom's sub, and he reminded me of that, but I held back from sinking full into a D/s atmosphere - I didn't want to exclude Caroline.
By the time it was her turn for a warm up, my worries had been partly spanked out of me, and then I had her spanking to distract me. I very quickly realised that Caroline is:
1. unbelievably gorgeous.
2. really quiet when she's playing.
3. way more hardcore than I am.
It was weird and amazing to watch. At first her lack of reaction made me think she wasn't into it, but pretty soon it became clear she was just signalling that she needed it harder. So she got it harder, and she still wasn't yelling, but when a stoic sub starts to kick you know you've really got to her, and it's all the more precious.
We took turns to bend over the pillows in the centre of the bed while the other girl kept count and held the victim's hands. It was a quiet scene - not much fuss or dialogue, just the slow, inexorable rhythm of the strokes. I had my first taste of the rubber singletail I bought at Boundcon, which is a horrible thing with a real sting in the tip, far weightier than you'd think to look at it. We both got the martinet and the tawse. Caroline took an incredibly heavy flogging with the martinet that made my heart pound in my throat. The next day her right cheek was covered in that distinctive stippled bruising.
We played and we played and we played. There was the inevitable Tour of the Canes, starting in the middle and working up to the Master dragon cane by Chopper. I think it went 18, 24, 36, 48; and they were hard, hard enough to break my skin and my resolve, if Caroline hadn't been there. Tom paced it slow, and the deeper we went the more attuned I became to her responses. It wasn't that the pain wasn't making an impact on her: she was zoned into her own world, absorbing it, and processing it internally. Her quiet focus was infectious and I found myself responding more and more the same way. I was still yelping and wriggling in the way that is natural to me, but her calmness was soothing. I started to breathe through the strokes, taking far more of them without a cry than I ever normally would unbidden. Instead of finding expression in my voice, each impact blazed inside me, magnified in the echo chamber of my body.
Her count was very steady, but she held my wrists tightly, stroked my hands and my hair, cradled my head in her arms and clung to me as I struggled with the harder strokes. Her response to my pain was much more expressive than her response to her own. One of the reasons I tried to be brave was so as not to worry her. The atmosphere was quiet and intense. I was focussed wholly on her, on her little flutters of dismay as I cried out in pain, on the fragrant dark of her hair and breath. The softness of her hands contrasted with the fierce pain of the caning, and made it easier to bear. Whenever a particularly harsh stroke made me jump, she caressed and kissed and comforted me until my breath came back, and I was ready for the next.
I felt so connected to her. It was wonderful. But I was also interested to realise that I felt most connected to her during my own canings; during hers I was much more attuned to Tom. I think he set that up deliberately. I held her wrists tightly, remembering how hot I find it to be pinned down. She barely made a sound as the strokes slammed into her, but I felt like the energy of each impact jolted through her body and into mine, up through my arms and out of my mouth as I spoke the count aloud. I was counting to Tom, for Tom, addressing each "thankyou, Sir" sincerely and respectfully to him. For the whole of her second caning I fixed my eyes on him, his face and his body, his controlled power.
During the rest I held her and kissed her hair, drinking in the sight of her body, the savageness with which she was whipped. I appreciated her beating with a sensual, sadistic enjoyment.
The most interesting thing is that we weren't competing. One of the things we'd clicked over online was our shared competitiveness and exhibitionism, how much easier pain is to take with an audience. But that evening, there wasn't a shadow of jealousy or oneupmanship. We were just in tune.
Towards the end, I remember laughing and commenting that this was no good, I could never take this much when she wasn't here - and after this I was worried Tom was going to expect it regularly. Sharing energy with a third person, especially when you're discovering a new intimacy with them, completely changes the flavour of a scene. Tom was able to take me further that night than he's taken me in years. He's reassured me and I'm not seriously afraid that he's going to expect the impossible. In fact, I think it's good for us to deepen our connection through opening it to others; to know that this place is still there, if we can find a way of reaching it. Maybe it will be easier for him to take me further next time; each encounter fuelling the next one, reinforcing the pathways. In the meantime, I have the prettiest marks I've had since shooting with Pain4Fem in January. And some wonderful memories.