Toy Collection Report #1

Master wrote, in His comment on the first of the toy collection posts:

"I am wondering,since you are intent on writing about various ones of our toys, if after you introduce each of them we shouldn't use them so you can describe the effect from recent memory:) "



And so, of course, this morning's session included the paddle I spoke of in that post.



He wasn't mean (at least, not as mean as He CAN be...). The session began with a lot of hand-spanking. I felt myself settling in under His touch. Then, He traced the cutting with the point of His knife... deeply enough to bring intense sensations up, and deeply enough to send me far down into my mind, flowing with the meaning of that act for us both. I felt myself beginning to float away, and began to think that perhaps I'd simply fly through this session.



And, then... He drew me back up and sent me off to fetch the paddle off the wall. Fuzzy-headed, I stumbled off to the living room. When I brought it back to Him, He pulled me to Him and smacked my ass soundly with it several times as I leaned into His frame. It didn't take long for me to come up out of subspace and fully into the pain of the moment. By the time He sent me back to my pillow for the "actual" session, I was completely out of the headspace, upset, and on the verge of tears.

He held me, told me to go right back to where I'd been. I whimpered, He began again, repeating the hand spanking and re-tracing the cutting. I settled some.

I know that He used some straps on me. They felt sharp, but not heavy. At some point He switched over to a paddle, but not THAT paddle. I was processing the pain, and managing alright, not struggling horribly. It was work, but I was OK.

Then He started with the "featured" paddle. The first few smacks were just heavy; hard; un-yielding. I didn't count. I don't count if I don't have to. He counts. I hear Him sometimes.

Because I wasn't counting, I didn't have any sense of how many strokes it had been. Not many I think. Suddenly, I was not OK anymore. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed. I heard my own voice, crying, sobbing, and begging: "Please! Please! No more, please! Please, please, please!!!" I didn't move. Didn't flail. Didn't resist Him or fight -- just begged Him to end my agony. I remember He said something into my panic as He continued to smack my ass with that paddle. I have no idea what it was that He told me in that moment.

And then it was done, and I crumpled into Him sobbing. He held me for a few minutes, calmed and soothed me, and then told me that He was going to finish off with the cane. That was relatively, easy; after the rest.

Finished, I kissed the paddle, and asked His permission to snuggle into His arms. I cuddled with Him for a bit of time -- recovering and calming down. We made love then, and it was good. We finished happy and satisfied with ourselves and each other.

The whole business gives me pause. If there is to be a "featured" attraction to every session as I work my way through this toy collection project that I've begun, it seems that I have some ability to "control my own destiny" in a sense. I was simply planning to work my way along sort of methodically, looking at each implement as I came to them; organizing, perhaps, by type, but without much intent to "choose" them for any particular reason. Now, given this dynamic, I could, I guess, choose depending on my mood and "desire." As I've contemplated that notion today, it feels "icky." I don't want to be led down that path. I want to not direct things in that fashion. So... I am going to do my very best to follow my original plan -- to simply look at the individual toys in our collection, one after another, without being influenced by Master's plans around all of that.

swan