Posted at 21:19 on 5 Oct 2011 by Pandora / Blake
My fellow blogger PrefectDT used to host a recurring feature on his blog before he moved to Wordpress: "Kinky Island Discs". Based on the classic BBC Radio 4 show Desert Island Discs, he asked well-known scene personas to name the five kinky DVDs, vanilla DVD, music track, book and implement they would take with them on a desert island.
I've known what my answer to that last question would be for some time.
Since moving in with D, I have been relatively well spanked. I say relatively because the stresses of the move combined with working, breathing and dreaming spanking in the run up to my site launch has given me a rather large need. Still, D has done his best: he welcomed me to his home with a stinging caning a couple of nights after I moved in, and the next evening we finally had time for a more extended session.
I was in high heels - of course - and nothing else. After our usual tender foreplay consisting of him shoving his cock down my throat (he knows how hot it gets me), I found myself in the likewise familiar situation of being facedown over pillows on the bed, grinning at his reflection in the wall mirror and wondering what he had in store.
When he drew his belt out of his jeans, I melted a little inside. I'd heard that sound at least twice a day since I got here, and it always makes me go a bit gooey. This time, he was removing it with intent - and suddenly excitement gave way to terror as I remembered that this was going to hurt.
The first few licks were more bearable than I feared. I was able to tamp down my dread of the next few, soothing myself with idle fantasies of beltings that were really bad, so that these strokes would not seem so bad in comparison.
Once he'd got the measure of my tolerance, the whacks intensified... and as my bottom warmed up, I stopped yelping and wriggling and sank down into the mattress, head pillowed on my arms and murmuring my contentment as the leather slammed into my cheeks.
But that's not all, you see.
It's not only that being spanked with a belt combines lust, terror, submission and hedonistic enjoyment in the best possible way. It's not just that knicker-wettingly evocative sound as it's removed, or the satisfying whoosh and thump of impact. It's not just the horror of watching his arm upraised in the mirror; or even the lovely long lick of flame that wraps tenderly around the curve of your upraised bottom, painting you in stripes of glorious dark pink and leaving an achingly sweet burn.
The reason a belt is my number one desert island kink accessory is the way, later, after he's taken his pleasures from my body and given me no few in return, when I'm facedown again and breathless with my knees bent and my arms stretched out in front of me - it's then, when he picks the belt up again, snaps it open, catches my eye in the mirror, and leans forward to wrap it around my neck.
It's feeling the leather warmed by my whipping enclose my throat, lifting my head up and back as he pulls on it. It's having my breathing and cries cut short as he rides me, chin lifted and eyes closed, barely able to choke out a scream as I come.
As if I needed another reason, there was the next day, too. Having not seen Tom for a week I'd missed him like crazy, and was pleasantly surprised to discover a visit was on his agenda as he passed through London. D tactfully offered to go to the gym and leave us to it, and mentioned that he had no objection to us using his bed if the opportunity arose. I said that I had no such expectations, given Tom's usual state of health and the stresses of travel, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless.
Oh, sometimes it is so very lovely to be wrong.
After kisses on the sofa and a session over Tom's knee being reminded just how hard he spanks, I ended up once again in that same position: facedown on the bed, not knowing what awaited me.
The lovely thing about belts is that they're something a man might wear as a matter of course: not having had any particular plans in mind, but just happening to have one on his person for entirely unrelated reasons.
As I succumbed yet again to the thuddy pleasures of a sound belt whipping, my enjoyment was multiplied by the heady awareness of today's belting as a reflection of yesterday's. Being spanked by my boyfriend in my other boyfriend's bed, in the same position and with the same implement, grinning at our reflections in much the same way - with both boyfriends entirely happy with the situation - somehow magnified every aspect of the experience. It was surreal and thrilling and wonderful.
Add to this a belt's potential uses to bind wrists, thighs, ankles or any other part of the body; the myriad sensations made possible by folding it to different thicknesses - from the classic doubled-over loop to the heavy punch when folded yet again; to the light lick of a single length, or the sharp snap if you use just an end - and you might begin to see why this is the one kinky toy I could never do without.