A Masochistic Vignette (Flogging) by Lottie

I watch you stand and I feel an almost ridiculous childlike pleasure in the visual acknowledgement you make of your enjoyment in my dance. You take my hand and ask,

“How does it feel to be the centre of attention?”

For the first time realisation that other people have taken notice of my display finally makes an impact, resulting in a surprising and somewhat embarrassing acknowledgement that being the centre of attention is not at all unpleasant, quite the contrary, it is in fact actually rather exciting, you smile as this revelation becomes apparent in my expression.

“Perhaps I was wise to give you this.” you say raising your hand to the collar sitting so possessively around my neck.

I instinctively tilt my head and witness an almost predatory look momentarily flash across your face and insight suddenly emerges, you understand exactly how its cold, commanding touch affects me and much more than this you also understand completely the enigmatic source of my reaction.

For a second I have the urge to pull my hand from yours, wanting to flee from the possibility that I am laid so vulnerably bare to another persons appraisal, an almost foreboding shiver of fear steals across me. My instinct towards flight however is very quickly subdued by the possibilities revealed in the acceptance of your knowledge coupled with the undeniable and overpoweringly sexual reaction I have to your teasingly light touch underneath the rim of the collar.

Breathlessly entranced by this exaggerated response I fail to understand the true implication of your words.

“We should put on a show.”

I follow you obediently, curiosity now merging with the unrelenting sexual tension I feel so powerfully. I glance down at my hand encased in yours, there is no pressure or coercion apparent in your grip, I cannot help but wish there was, as this would explain my surprisingly passive compliance with your actions and requests.

As you lead me up onto the small stage anxious excitement swells again, I grip your hand tightly, not in an effort to pull away but to draw some sense of reassurance from you. As you turn me around with your hands on my shoulders to face the interested audience you whisper, with perfect timing,

“Trust me.”

I look out at the curious faces turned towards us and I wait for the discomforting heat of embarrassment to wash over me, I am so surprised when I realise that the only emotions I am feeling are excited expectation coloured by a little nervous anxiety. You gently lean me back against your chest as you begin to rebind my hair, every touch of your hand adds to the weight of arousal I am already experiencing.

By the time you have completed your task I am so enthralled by you that I no longer care what form this ritual between us will take, I just hope that whatever it is has the strength and intensity to match the now unstoppable need I have building inside me.

The realisation that you have bound me so successfully only emerges as I feel the tension of the winch through my hair, I have no choice but to strain to accommodate it. The effectiveness of its restraint amazes me, even with unbound arms I have no hope of freeing myself from its unrelenting hold.

For a second I close my eyes, luxuriating in the sensations of surrender and capitulation that now add to my growing level of desire. I open my eyes as I feel you gently grasp my wrists, I am now unquestionably aware of the people watching us, but their regard far from being unwelcome almost adds to the breathtaking level of domination I am experiencing, another stimulating factor imposing a different level of control over my reactions.

I am very aware of my exposure as you shackle my wrists together, the upright posture with my shoulders pulled slightly back leaves my lace bodice totally open at the front. I cannot look downward because of the restraint of my hair but I can feel the cool air across my breasts and nipples and I know that their response to this sensation, and even more so to your touch, is clearly obvious for everyone to see.

You begin to manipulate my stance now, forcing me to widen my legs, however for every few inches gained the pressure on my hair increases and I have to stretch higher to accommodate this. You appear to know exactly the point at which my physical limit has been reached and you strap both of my ankles to a bar forcing me to remain in this stance.

I mentally scan my body and I know that it is on that exquisite border of pain, I breath deeply, it is far to soon to lose myself so totally to this internal reverie. I curiously wonder what reactions are being stirred in those that are observing this display. The idea that my partial subjugation in this way can cause them arousal is very empowering and seductive, I cannot help but have an almost narcissistic reaction to this, wondering what exactly it is that they see when they look up at us.

I am brought back to reality as you move to stand in front of me, I look at you and for a second fear and rationality reassert their hold, how can I trust someone as explicitly as this when they are, in effect, a stranger to me, I see the clamps in your hand and I finally rebel.

The rope continues to hold me fast as I briefly struggle, I realise very quickly that there is no physical escape from this situation, the only option left to me is to voice my rebellion, leaving you with no choice but to release me. Understanding washes over me and I relax, you have bound me with such practise and effectiveness that the choice to leave me free to speak my dissent could not have possibly been on oversight on your part, I am still in as much control as ever.

You deftly apply the first clamp, seemingly unperturbed by my brief rebellion, my already tense muscles clench even further as the initial sharp stab of pain bites, the placement of the second clamp adds disproportionately to the brief agony, I hold myself very still for a moment waiting for the sharpness to dissipate and settle down into that beautiful warm aching glow as my body readjusts itself to accommodate this assault.

You stand back to look at me, I am troubled for a moment as I cannot read your expression, I can, however, see the faces of the people sat close to the stage behind you and I clearly recognise approval and pleasure in their regard.

You move out of my line of sight and, with the removal of your scrutiny, I become strangely less aware of the audiences observation. My attention now focuses with anticipatory curiosity on what you plan to do next, I am also acutely aware of the numerous low level demands of pain and pressure being made upon my body. This combination of sensations leaves me in an almost frenzy of unmet need. I do not have long to wait.

Once again you stand before me, this time I feel no fear just a continual deepening need to find some form of release for the overpowering sexual reactions you are provoking in me. With a horrified thrill I see the whip in your hands and, as you teasingly trace it across my body I realise that any outward response to its touch will simply place increased pressure on my hair and body, I could scream in frustration at this need to remain focused on my position. You seem to be aware of this and tease me unmercifully with its touch, alternating the sensations I experience by the position in which you place it.

Pain courses through me as you agitate the weights biting sharply down on my breasts, whereas its cool light touch on the metal collar around my neck sends waves of arousal chasing after the pain. You end your torment by allowing it to trail loosely around my neck, this acknowledgement of your understanding of my deepest needs causes me to bite viciously on the leather, as you place it between my teeth, in an effort to release some of the built up tension that suffuses me.

You move behind me and I tense. I know what will happen next. I dread the first couple of lashes. My body will take time to catch up with your actions. I hate and fear the initial agony but that is the trade off for the ecstasy that follows.

The world seems to stop for a moment. The immediate audience focused and waiting, I close my eyes knowing that my tears will be unstoppable, the tension in my body is now almost unbearable, then suddenly the crack of the whip rips through the immediate silence and pain tears through me as your first strike hits perfectly.

That first explosion of searing pain was as hideous and as sickening as I had expected it to be. That physical hypersensitivity which is such an integral part of my make up leaves me so exposed and vulnerable to its initial impact that for a few seconds I have to physically fight the urge to scream.

Your first strike wasn’t actually all that severe, however, it was strong enough to provoke an instinctive, uncontrollable response to escape from its burning touch. Every muscle in my body strained tensely in angry protest at this immediate assault. Secondary pain impulses from my now weight bearing hair and my viciously gripped nipples curiously did not add to this initial cascade of pain but, they did prevent me from focusing and managing the whips results quickly.

For a second panic edged into my awareness, inwardly I struggled desperately to find the purchase I needed to carry me over these initial horrible sensations. Support came unlooked for and from a totally unexpected direction. I felt a strong arm around my waist providing the support I required to rebalance myself physically, and that relief then provided the opportunity for me to regain some degree of control over my emotional responses.

As my breathing slowed and the pain began to dissipate I became more conscious of your contact, strong and supportive, and for a second I had an almost dual, disassociated image of you, one that I couldn’t resolve into a single person. You had restrained me so harshly and cruelly, knowing that to manage the pain of the whip I would need stability, something firm to counter-balance its force, yet you had positioned me in such a way that there was no physical “earthing” mechanism into which I could channel my responses. I was in was in a type of uncontrollable “free-fall” to the touch of the whip. Yet on the other hand here you were, with your arm holding me tightly against you, gently concerned and anxious about my ability to tolerate this activity.

Your two personas left me totally confused, yet highly aroused at my inability to calculate just exactly what it was that was driving you to participate in this strange show. Your physical contact very quickly allowed me to reassert my self control, you stood back as you sensed my strength return and I could see the hesitation in your face.

A different kind of panic now coursed through me, ‘Please don’t stop now!’ my mind begged you. I took a deep breath. “Again!” I gasped. The realisation that we had gone rushing into this without understanding each other at all, prompted me to add “Mercy to stop.” I prayed that you understood. You nodded slightly, and the hesitation disappeared from your face leaving it as inscrutable as ever.

The next assault was almost as brutal as the first, again knocking me from my feet with a cry of pain, the crack of the whip echoing around the now near silence of the immediate audience. This time you merely leant forward and lifted me back onto my feet by my arm, no hesitation or concern apparent in your movement.

Tears run freely down my cheeks now and, it is at this point that the cold realisation of what I am doing surges through me. The urge to stop you is so very difficult to deny yet I know that this feeling is transitory and that the rewards for passing through this barrier can be gained in no other way.

“Please be quick!” my mind begs you, still afraid of the pain and knowing that any long pause will merely add to the time it will take for my body to respond with the endorphin release that I am searching for, and as if you are aware of my inner struggle you very quickly and purposefully strike again.

It is this third explosion of pain overlapping the previous one that hints at the possibility of the desperately looked for inappropriate response I crave. The touch of the whips cuts with fire but that is now tempered slightly by an almost soothingly cold sensation that triggers an undeniable sexual reaction in me.

This time I stagger in my restraint but I do not loose my balance again, my body now seems to provide its own counter-balance as it pushes back almost unconsciously looking and reaching for the next assault. Each crack of the whip now brings less hot pain and more coldly arousing pleasure. I moan out loud, no longer in protest at its touch but in response to the sexual stimulation that is now my bodies over whelming answer to its bite.

I am totally lost to my surroundings, nothing else exists just physical sensation. It is so totally consuming, an almost orchestrated blend of pain and pleasure with no understandable boundaries so that it becomes impossible to tell them apart.

I no longer hear the crack of the whip, all of my senses are now totally absorbed in fully experiencing this rarely felt but totally unique experience. A very small part of me remains connected to reality and its eats into my awareness as the sensations of pain vanish completely, leaving only pleasure and sexual arousal to be registered.

It is at this point that I know that I must stop you, my body can no longer tell what its limits are or register what damage is being done to it. Real danger lies in allowing you to continue. The internal struggle to find the will to make you stop is far more intense than was the struggle to allow you to continue. Eventually a basic sense of self preservation over rides all other sensation and, despite a yearning need not to I manage to shout at you for,

“Mercy.” For an eternity everything seems so still and quiet.

The only thing keeping me upright is the brutal hold of my hair. I feel you begin to unbuckle my ankles from the bar that had so viciously prevented me from balancing. I realise at this point that I still have my eyes tightly closed and I slowly open them to the glare of the light, allowing the immediate environment to gradually reassert its hold on me.

You stand and reach above me to release the rope of hair from the winch that has so far kept me standing, I struggle to adopt a position with my now aching legs that will prevent me from falling to my knees once I am released, aware once again of the audience that has witnessed this display. You again come to my rescue and as my body weight is suddenly returned you wrap an arm around me allowing me to rest against you to compensate for the support now removed. I lean forward with my head against your chest, grateful for your consideration.

My shoulders ache with the effort that had been needed to hold my hands above the range of the whip. As if you sense this you reach behind me to unclip my wrist restraints. As soon as I am free I reach up and with a strength that surprises even myself I pull your head down to kiss you with a most urgent and needful passion. You do not resist and I feel your arms wrap around in me in a tight embrace, one of your hands on my neck pulling me into you, whilst the other hand very gently and soothingly stroking my now burning buttocks through the shiny, sweat filmed latex of my trousers.

Once again uncertainty clouds my mind, I want you so very much, I want to explore this experience further, I have an overwhelming sexual tension that now needs to be addressed however, I have no idea what your wishes are, and I realise that I don’t know how to ask you for what I want.

As I disentangle myself from our embrace you reach down to remove the small clamps attached to my breasts.

I grasp your wrist, make myself look you fully in the face and ask,

“Do you have to?!”