Fantasy... and Reality

It started sometime in the beginning part of last week. Or maybe it was closer to the middle of the week. I'm not really sure. a comment made in passing almost, early one morning as we were still in bed together. He told me that He'd been having huge fantasies about switching.

I felt my stomach clutch and my breath catch for just an instant, but I managed a question that served as the agreement He was seeking: "Will you hold me afterwards?"

From that point on, the impending switching was in the back of my mind as I flew through the rest of a very busy, very demanding, very exhausting week. We didn't talk about it anymore, but I knew it hadn't gone away. Each time it crossed my mind there was the dark fear mingled with just the passing bit of heat. Whippings, floggings, paddlings, canings, strappings -- there is nothing that terrifies me more than switching. There is probably nothing He loves more. I've only ever been switched once; in the spring when I visited before we were living together full time. We've come close a few times since...

Then there was Friday night. Late. He'd had more than a little Jamison's by the time we'd gone to bed, and the struggle that has been stirring between us for months finally bubbled to the surface. Spanking, paddling, caning -- did I find any of it erotic anymore? I struggled to find an answer. What's erotic? My body doesn't DO that anymore! Not like that. So is that the only way to talk about this?

"I still fantasize," I told Him.

Not good enough. He wanted specifics. "What kind of fantasies?"

"Spanking." I told Him.

Still not good enough. "Tell me how. Tell me exactly."

So, I told Him. About imagining being tightly restrained, unable to get away, unable to protect myself, and being flogged on my front -- thighs, belly, breasts, and cunt. Told Him how I imagined the whipping intensifying and my helplessness to do anything about it. I told Him that, in my fantasy, I would be turned over and then whipped and paddled on my butt, still unable to escape or avoid any of it. The whole scene, in my fantasies, ends in fantastic sex and the kind of release that I don't experience any longer...

All this spoken into His chest as I shivered and shook in fear. Fear, because I know that the fantasy, given to Him, will take me beyond my imaginings into realms that He controls; beyond pain that is for pleasure into pain that is dark. He told me to hold onto the fantasy, He would make it happen for me.

On Saturday, long weeks and months of playing at significantly restrained levels came to an end. The two fantasies, spoken aloud between us found their confluence.

We began, after a serious paddling, with an expedition out into a misty rain to hunt for switches. It took some persistence, but we eventually came upon a grove of willows and cut a number of good green switches. He even delighted in testing one out on me right there where we were cutting them on the edge of the thicket. It only took a couple of strokes to have me yelping in pain. We brought the fresh boughs home, put them in a warm bath, and I scrubbed them clean with anti-bacterial soap.

We set up the futon in the living room so that He could restrain me on my back there.

Tied tightly, wrists and ankles, it began. Not with the flogging I'd been playing in my head but with a leather paddle slapped hard to my tender breasts. It wasn't long before I was yelping and begging, crying and pleading for it to stop. Not long before He was well into the game. Paddling went shortly to flogging, and then from suede to rubber. He'd promised that there would be switches at the end. I quickly became hysterical. It was far more intense; far more severe than I'd imagined.

I am not a happy masochist, but I might be a sadist's dream. With the right push, I'll cry, I'll beg, I'll scream, I'll curse like a sailor, I'll sweat, and drool, and bleed. At some point, He let me know that the way to end the torment was to ask Him to put me into the stocks and give me a good switching. The battle was joined. I hardened my resolve, and tried to hang on. For awhile. But He always has more cards to play in that game than I do. It didn't take long before I capitulated: "Please, Sir -- put me in the stocks and switch me." Close enough.

He unfastened me from the ends of the futon, and then... flipped me over and refastened me face down over some pillows, making sure that I was securely fastened. At the last moment, He'd decided not to put me into the stocks for the switching. A small but significant mercy. I asked for a gag, and He easily agreed to my request. I could hear the blood roaring in my ears, and feel the darkeness dragging at my mind before He even started.

It is His belief that switching should be administered over a fresh paddling. I don't remember if that happened. Don't remember it, but I'm sure it must have. And then the switching started. Fire! Simple, plain, unrelenting burning. Over and over and over. No escape and no way out. Somewhere in the very early going, I hit the edge, and went over it. To pure and unadulterated fury.

I roared. I swore. I screamed. I cursed Him and threatened every kind of destruction imaginable. I'm sure that there was a "Sir" in there somewhere, because if there was any possibility that a "Sir" would have sprung me from that trap, I'd have surely used it. No dice. Thank all the mercies for that gag.

He wore out I don't know how many of those evil switches. Fewer than a million. Enough that the raging animal in my head and guts finally wore itself out. I felt the wave of darkness sweep in and engulf me finally and snuff out the tempest. When the light came back, He was there, holding me, as I knew He would be.

Perhaps that is the answer to His question -- THIS is not "erotic" in the usual sense. It is more that I need Him to guide me into the darkest reaches where I cannot safely go alone. There is no one else that I would trust to take me into that place and bring me safely through it. I know that He delights in my struggle, and simultaneously suffers in my anger directed at Him alone in those moments. For surely, if there is a "BEAST" it dwells within me and comes roaring after Him; intent on murder.

I know that in these long, weary, painful, sad months, He has held back from the hurting because He loves me. It is a difficult path when love is expressed in a dance of pain that unleashes power. We choose the path that takes us to the heights and to the depths.

There are more fantasies. Another day. There's time.

swan