This had not been my intent

written for me by dominick. see my version of the story here.
11 March 2007

I wrote this for you, and whilst it does not convey the intimacy i would like, it seemed to sate a creative streak i felt...
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this had not been my intent as I set out that evening, and I did not know what she expected would happen, but the progression felt entirely natural. I was curious, momentarily, as to what she was thinking as she lay on the bed, her hands bound above her head, her legs splayed, her feet secured at the far corners of the mattress, face downward, her head turned to one side looking at her upstretched arm. i would not consider myself a sadistic man, and certainly not lacking compassion for others, and was genuinely interested as I listened to her talk at the bar. i cared for her troubles, and I felt empathy as she described her sense of alienation, the troubles and travails of everyday life. it was not even that she was particularly alienated, she merely experienced the moments of ennui that we all feel. I really wanted her to feel a sense of companionship when I took her hand in mine, to let her know that she did have a friend, that I cared for her, despite having known her only a short time. we had laughed easily together, our conversation had been one lacking pretence, our gaze was one of shared warmth. having said that, I knew exactly what I wanted to do to her as I led her to the elevator and into the room that I was staying in.

I lifted her head slightly to slip the gag under it, forced her jaw open with my thumb and fingers on either side of her mouth, pushed it between her teeth, then clasped it at the back of her head. I moved the strip of fabric over her eyes and tied it, not too tight, behind her, ensuring that no light would reach her. I had asked, as we entered the room, if she trusted me, and she had said that she did. I looked at her, prone on the firm mattress, stretched, agape, and recognized that she was helpless, open to violation, mine. i ran my fingers gently from her shoulders down her back, and saw goose pimples rise on her skin, despite the warmth of the room. I kept running my hands down - over her buttocks, down her thighs, behind her knees and over her calves and saw her twitch slightly. I touched her lightly under her arms, tickling her, largely to see if the bonds were tight. Her muscles contracted and she pulled hard at the restraints, but could not move. I moved both of my hands firmly down each of her legs and felt the muscles under her skin pulled taught. I moved my hands back up the insides her thighs and felt the tendons on either side of her groin stretched to her legs spread wide across the bed. I pressed hard with my short nails until I could see faint red lines trail behind them. I sat astride her, the woolen fabric of my pants rough against her, as my fingers moved over her, pressing hard, creating four lined figures of eight on her skin. I moved down her body, my hand between her legs, fingers moving along her wide open sex, finding her wet, casually pushing against the contrast of soft flesh made hard as it became engorged, wiry hair and soft, tender slick skin, enjoying exploring the way that she felt. I made my fingers damp with her secretions, then spread her cheeks apart and moved my finger to her butt, resting it gently for a second against the sphincter, then pushing it a short way inside, watching the involuntary constriction at the touch, feeling the tightness of the muscle. then I stood, moved to the chair, retrieved the long slender crop, came back to the bed, raised it high above my head, kept it there for a short time, then brought it whistling down through the air, continuing the downward pressure as it hit both her buttocks hard, quickly wrapped down around her body then sprang back again, much as she moved her hips downward to escape the sensation, then brought them back up again. As I took the black rod away from her skin, I could see the red welt forming, a line neatly creating a perpendicular intersection across the skin, extending from one side of her body to the other. I raised the rigid strip of woven leather again, and repeated the downward motion, noticing the tension in her jaw as she anticipated the imminent sting, coming into contact with her slightly below the previous line, leaving it there for a short time. I could see her body wince as leather hit flesh, her head rose from the bed slightly, her hips moved down and the muscles in her legs flattened. I repeated the motion with the crop, bringing it down to create striations at small intervals from the top of her thighs to the small of her back. I then chose a single spot and brought it down ten times at that one place. I could almost see the blood rising to the surface of her skin, which was not quite broken.

she now lay still, the tensing and relaxing of her body seemed to have slowed. the blows did not rain upon her, but came in steady, almost hypnotic intervals. I brought the lash down one last time, then slowly took it away and moved to the side of the bed, lent down and felt the red skin. it was unnaturally warm to the touch, a strange contrast in color to the rest of her body. I reversed the earlier process, removing the blindfold, unclasping the gag, untying her feet then her hands. I stepped back to the chair, lit a cigar and watched as she blinked in the unexpected light, slowly moved her body, trying to find positions that did not cause her pain as the blood came back to her limbs. she rolled herself into a fetal position and self consciously wiped the tears from her eyes.

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comment by the author on 24 March:

the greatest difference between the story and reality is the end - to purport that I would be that cold after such a session is a little ridiculous - it would imply that I am completely callous, and although I may fantasize like that at times, or carry a scene through to a callous end, such as lighting a cigar and sitting back, the real end is when I offer comfort and tenderness. the fun of a scene is, to a degree, the closeness that develops, the trust and the intimacy, and having developed that, it is impossible to not be tender having administered so much pain, irrespective of the degree to which the person receiving the pain craves it. the tenderness may be the two you lying afterward, having had sex as a natural progression from the play, relaxing, or, especially, after a hard spanking, having had anal sex, which seems to develop a special bond.