Beating

Well I've told you about Friday evening. But I had other plans for later. I'd been exchanging messages with a guy who wanted to beat me. I'd had a couple of mild spankings over the years. But this guy didn't do vanilla: if he was going to beat me it was going to be the real thing. Whew. I decided I was game for it. Anything once, I guess. We arranged to meet at the club about midnight.

We had a long talk before we got under way. I was nervous but figured it was now or never. I confirmed I knew what I was letting myself in for. It wasn't going to be slaps and taps. I was looking for someone to take me to my limits, and then some. There would be no safe word. And I would be tied down.

He took a while to organise the room and then came out to bring me in. He had me strip and bend over the bench before shackling my wrists and ankles and strapping my thighs to the legs. Then it began.

He started with his hands. I hadn't imagined that bare hands could hurt that much. That was just the start. He had brought all his toys. He used a flogger next. I guess he knew he could use that on my back and legs without leaving bruises.

The bruising started with the next toy. He had several wooden paddles. I couldn't see which one he was using but it felt like being hit with a wooden plank. It hurt like fuck even though he only gave me half a dozen strokes first time.

Beyond that the sequence blurs. He would beat me for a couple of minutes at a time, mostly unhurried strokes, then pause, check the damage to my arse, sometimes stroke my head or my back to reassure me before getting back into it. He would push poppers under my nose when he was going to use the paddle or the big strap.

What I had feared most was the cane. I was right to be afraid. He had brought several with him and he didn't hold back. He was very accurate: he was able to place his strokes anywhere from the top of my butt to the join at the top of the thighs. I think he gave me half a dozen strokes at a time, though I can remember one point later in the session when he was started lashing me harder and faster. I was writhing and yelling.

From what I could work out later we must have gone about two hours altogether. He stripped down at the start and wore just a jock the whole time. Between beating me he would often squat down and play with himself - he obviously found it all a real turn-on. And if you want to know whether all of this made me horny the answer is no - i didn't get a hard-on at all.

A week later I still have bruises all over my arse. From the bottom of my back to the top of my thighs he didn't leave any place untouched. I took some photos in the mirror the morning after and I could see that he had even got right into my arse crack - everything except my hole was red and swollen.

My mind is still buzzing from the whole experience. I was a bit shaky when it ended, took a while to regain my composure. The strange thing is that I've come out of it a bit dissatisfied: I had expected to be pushed beyond my limit, lose control, end up a complete emotional wreck. Yet through it all I was able to force myself to push my butt up to take each stroke. I remember making a lot of noise, especially when he really started laying it on after the first half hour: a guy I met when I was walking around the club afterwards said he had found it a huge turn-on looking through the port-hole at what was happening, and hearing me yelling. The guy who beat me said he eventually stopped because the thought he would start to do real damage if he kept going.

If I do it again I think I would be looking for a full-on punishment beating. Yet the idea of that sends a chill down my back. We'll see.