The real-life adventures of a girl who is willing to try just about anything.

broken

Epic Weekend: 6 Months Later

[This is a follow-up post to the tale of my Epic Weekend. Click here for part onepart twothe finale, and Aftermath.]


It has now been about 6 months since my wonderful, Epic Weekend. Six months since he broke me, before my closest friends and perfect strangers alike. I thought that perhaps you would want an update on the situation.

The two-hour drive home on Monday was fairly intense, and not only because every time I shifted in my seat, I was reminded of the bruises that covered my ass. My mind was churning with the myriad possibilities that could go along with this new change in our relationship dynamic.

I was beside myself with excitement. I felt like a whole new world had opened up for us. While I am truly naturally dominant, a part of me has always yearned to be submissive. I like to care for and spoil my loves, do whatever I can to make them happy. Until such point as it is expected. Then it becomes a problem for me. It is said that true submission is a gift and that’s how I feel about it. I will give it freely (when deserved and inspired), but once it is demanded I have none to give.

Very few people in my life have ever inspired me to want to submit to them. I’m not very good at relinquishing that sort of control. I need someone who wants to take control and can handle it once he/she has it. I need to feel loved and appreciated in my service. And I don’t ever want to be thought of as inferior or beneath someone. It has to be someone who loves and respects me as an equal even though I choose to submit myself. That may seem like a tall order, but I know that it exists. I’ve seen it in action and I’ve been party to it.

Before the events of the prior week and including the time just after he met our Diva, Roland had not expressed any interest in BDSM. He knew of my history, my avid interest in getting involved in the lifestyle again, and supported me in it, but he professed to not have any desire for it himself. In fact, he was quite adamant about his disinterest.

But one day he had an epiphany that his attitude toward it were due to feelings tied to a previous relationship where they had briefly dabbled in the lifestyle (at his ex’s request). Having that realization wrought a change in his feelings about it and he opened himself up to the possibilities.

All of that combined to form the perfect storm on the night of our first visit to the Woodshed. Everything fell into place.

So on the drive home, we did a lot of talking. He expressed a lot of uncertainty about how far he wanted to go. I explained that I was fully willing to go as far as he wanted to, up to and including 24/7 total power exchange (TPE). In my mind I was rapidly going through all the different ways in which I could give up control to him. I kept throwing out ideas for the rules and restrictions he could place on me, things to give me structure and discipline. The littlest details made me giddy, like the thought of sitting at his feet with the other subs at the munches. I think I actually squealed with delight thinking about it.

Looking back, I think I might have completely blown his mind and overwhelmed him. Here I was, someone who’d already had experience in this area despite having been dormant for so long, feeling like I had awoken from a deep sleep, ready to jump back into life again. And there he was, having essentially just opened a door to a practically new, unknown plane of existence. He just wasn’t ready for everything I was so eager to do.

What we, or rather what I, decided to do was to just try to behave as if our relationship was TPE. I would give myself rules and restrictions, things that I felt would please him. I felt that this would give him an idea of what it would be like, without him actually having to take control and figure out what he wanted me to do. I thought it might be the easiest way to show him what it would be like.

One of the things I started doing in the first week after our trip was going to bed when he did at night, instead of staying up online for an hour or three after he’d gone to bed. I would undress him from head to toe, starting with his shoes and finishing with his underwear. Once he was naked I would kneel before him to suck his cock. Then he would fuck me on the bed in whatever position he chose, and go to sleep afterwards.

I tried to wait on him hand and foot, pouting whenever he got something for himself. I let him make all the decisions about any plans. I didn’t talk back to him or verbally spar with him as I am wont to do. I called him Sir. Whenever I got home before he did, I greeted him at the door in prostrate position.

All of that lasted for less than two weeks. He just was not comfortable with it. He said that he was used to doing things for himself. He also said he didn’t want to get used to any of it, because he felt like at any moment I would decide that I didn’t want to do it anymore. He didn’t want to try to assume control in anything, because he expected that at some point I would rebel. He couldn’t get invested because he knew I am not truly submissive.

And as much as I would like for it to be otherwise, he’s right. To me, it’s a nice idea, but I just can’t do it all the time. I am a very willful creature. And moody. I can never be any one thing all the time. I can play at submission for a time, but it just doesn’t stick. It doesn’t come natural to me at all. Despite how much I love him and want to make him happy. How much I think I would enjoy his will being my own.

See, the first thing that got me interested in BDSM was the Sleeping Beauty trilogy by Anne Rice, closely followed by Exit to Eden (the book, not the atrocious movie adaptation). The idea of forced submission that I would eventually abandon myself to was my supreme fantasy. I longed for a Castle or Village or Eden island resort where I would have no choice but to submit to the will of someone else. Essentially a world that does not and cannot exist at this time.

Where are we now, you might ask? Well, I submit myself to him on the infrequent occasions when he tells me he wants it, in whatever fashion he chooses. It may be that he explicitly tells me. Or he grabs me by the hair at the nape of my neck to direct me. Sometimes he just gives me a look or changes the tone of his voice. And then I do my best to give him the gift of my submission. I don’t fight it, I allow him to take it in his own way. For now, that’s how it works for us.

Epic weekend: Aftermath

[This is a follow-up post to the tale of my Epic Weekend. Click here for part one, part two and part three.]

Although it’s been a while, the tale of my Epic Weekend didn’t end at the Woodshed. What happened afterward was just as important. So now let’s slip comfortably back into that weekend, starting with the limo ride back to the hotel…

What a night it had been. I was buzzing with endorphins, my head was firmly rooted in the clouds, and the cheeks of my face would likely ache as much as the cheeks of my ass, only from smiling. In the back of the limo on the way back to the hotel, I was completely melted against Roland. Although we had a full load of 5 other people, for the ride back to the hotel nobody existed but he and I.
We had the limo driver stop at IHOP on the way back to the hotel so we could get some breakfast to go. I was in no shape to to be seen in public, or even walk really, as I was barely more than a puddle of goo. Roland went in with the others to order food and I stayed curled up in the back of the limo, smiling and sighing contentedly to myself. It took about 15 minutes for the orders to be ready and then we were on our way again.
Upon our arrival back at the hotel and before eating, I went into the master bedroom that Roland and I were sharing to turn on the water to fill the huge, pillared jacuzzi tub. There really wasn’t a whole lot of conversation while we each ate our breakfasts, at least not that I remembered. All I remember is being warm and fuzzy and floaty. And giggly. So very giggly.

By the time we finished eating, the tub was full of steaming-hot water. Roland and I excused ourselves to the bedroom and closed the door. The weekend was originally intended to be one filled with group debauchery. However, partially as a result of the unsexy news I got on the Friday before the trip and mostly because of how close I was feeling to Roland right at that moment, we spent the rest of our time that night alone.

I truly felt like a queen in this room.

He and I didn’t have much need for words at the time. We each undressed and slowly slipped into the inviting water of the tub. Of course, I could only sit very gingerly on the bottom. The hot water reignited the fire in my cheeks and made it difficult to sit in the tub at all. However, the encompassing warmth was worth any suffering.

While I washed the makeup from my face, Roland massaged my shoulders. After my face was clean, I let myself fall back against him and his arms wrapped around me. We sat like that but for a few moments before drowsiness threatened to overtake us. The hot water was just so very relaxing.

Roland broke the spell first, reaching over me to get my shower poof, loading it with peppermint soap, and then scrubbing my back and shoulders with it. He washed each of my arms in turn. Next he methodically worked the poof over my chest and breasts while still sitting behind me. When he finished, he gently nudged me forward so that he could stand, taking my hand to signal that I should stand as well. He washed the rest of my body in a thorough manner, paying careful attention to my sore behind. He put his hand on my shoulder, applied light pressure to let me know I should sit, and then he washed himself.

Once we were both clean and rinsed, Roland again took my hand and stood, pulling me up with him. Still holding my hand, he stepped out of the tub and helped me out as well. He grabbed a nearby towel and used to it to dry me off before drying himself. He stepped forward and kissed me while leading me a few steps to the bed.

I broke our kiss and spoke for the first time. I asked if he would make love to me. That sounds cheesy, I know. But generally, our sex tends to be very rigorous and sometimes rough. What I wanted that night was for him to be slow and sweet and I told him so. He agreed and lowered me to the bed.

He took his time kissing me all over my body and trailing his fingertips over every square inch of my skin. I sighed, gasped, moaned, and whimpered. My whole body was awake and tingling. Finally after an unknown length of time, he moved between my legs and slid his cock into my pussy. We moved against each other, matching rhythm, with my legs wrapped around his waist and our lips locked together.

I had been playing with clit and was getting close to orgasm. He had pulled away from our kiss, standing up on his knees and I could see by his expression that he was close as well. Looking into his eyes, I made another request, “When we cum, will you tell me that I belong to you? That you love me? And say my name?” He looked a little confused and asked me if I did not already know. I replied that I just wanted to hear him say it.

Less than a minute later, the moment had arrived. As he thrust harder and faster, he looked into my eyes and said to me, “Did you not know… that even before tonight… even before the ‘Shed… you have always belonged to me. You are mine. I love you, Tonya.” As soon as the words were said, I burst into tears and we both exploded. There is no question that it was the biggest, best, and longest orgasm I have ever had in my life. My whole body quaked and shaked and the trembling afterward seemed to last forever. He collapse into my arms and for one of the few times in our history, we fell asleep almost immediately, entangled in each other’s arms.

The next morning (which was only a few hours later, actually, as the sun was just rising when we went to sleep) we were still wrapped around each other and I’ve never felt so close to him. We could hear the others moving about and packing up to go. Roland and I were going to be staying for another day, but everyone else had to return home that afternoon.

We went for a late breakfast/early lunch with everyone. All during the meal, I was in a state to which I am completely unaccustomed: I was giggly and blushy and bashful. I was practically Velcroed to Roland’s side. I felt like a young girl in love for the first time. Jane and Lucy had both known me for about a decade and neither had ever seen me behave anything remotely close to that. Everyone teased me incessantly, even our waittress, but all I could do was giggle and bury my face in Roland’s shoulder.

After we parted ways with the rest of the group, we went grocery shopping to get stuff for dinner because we planned to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening curled up watching movies in the room. It was just a quiet, relaxing time spent luxuriating in the newfound closeness in our relationship. As we didn’t get a lot of sleep the night before, we went to bed around 10pm, but not before making love once more.

It was the best ending for the best, most epic weekend of my life.

[Please, follow along as I tell you about what life is like for us 6 months after that weekend.]

Epic weekend: How he broke me, finale

[While each stands alone, including this one, you may want to catch up on parts one and two first.]
“It’s your turn now,” he said.
My heart skipped a beat at his tone. Of course I hadn’t forgotten that I’d asked him if I could be next. I just got a bit wrapped up in my scene with Tammy. I wasn’t expecting him to be right there, waiting to work my flesh. I giggled and shivered with anticipation. 
He stepped over to the array of implements laid out on the table from where I had just used them. Up until this point, he had only ever spanked me with his hand, except for the night of Valentine’s Day when he used my two floggers on me. Tonight I had added selections from a friend’s toy bag, so I briefly described the finer points of each and suggested an order in which they could be used. It was the same order I used them on Tammy, going from light and soft to heavy and hard.
Once his questions were answered, I asked him how much he wanted me to strip. He said I could go as far as I was comfortable. I took off everything but my stockings and my panties, stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, and turned toward the Cross. He didn’t bind me to it, I just leaned against it with my arms crossed in the V. I rested my chin on my arms, sighed contentedly, and waited for his lashes to begin.

He began as I had suggested, with the small black and blue suede flogger with twisted tails. I like this flogger for warming up, as I mentioned previously. Since it is very light, it offers more of a sting than a thud, which is my preferred flogger sensation. However, the stings made fast work of waking up the skin on my back, shoulders, and ass cheeks, although he did not use it for long as the weight was not to his liking. 

He skipped over the unwieldy bungee flogger and went for the purple and black buckskin instead. I loved the way each swing caressed my skin and left behind the slightest sting, but it was also not heavy enough for me. Even if he put his full force into it, he would never be able to hit me hard enough. That being said, each lash I received released tension in my neck and shoulders, relaxing me more and more. If it was a skill that I possessed, I would’ve begun to purr then.
After using the buckskin flogger up and down my back and across my cheeks for a while, he still was not satisfied. He put it to the side and reached for the tool that is the best extension of his arm: my heavy black suede flogger. While Big Green is my favorite for the sheer weight and force behind the tails, this flogger is the personal favorite of my collection. I love to use it on others and I discovered on VD that I love it to be used on me as well. Each swing is the perfect combination of thuddy blunt force and stinging bite. Although he never would, I believe that if he hit me hard enough, this flogger could break my skin and draw blood. 

A few strikes in, the first of many moans escaped my lips. I lifted my head from my arms so that I could uncross and wrap them around the upper arms of the cross, gripping them lightly. The best part of our session had finally begun. I was completely warmed up and my flesh yearned for for more. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Everything beyond me, him, the flogger, and the Cross pressed against my body ceased to exist. I alternated between melting into the wood and pushing myself away from it, to meet his strikes halfway.

It was not long before my skin was tender and extremely sensitive to even the most delicate touch. During a short break in his rhythm, he came in close behind me, grabbed one of my pigtails and pulled my head back so that he could kiss me. The touch of his soft, sensual lips on mine after the bite of the leather was such a contrast that it took my breath away. As he kissed me, he trailed his fingertips and nails across my back. My whole body shuddered as I moaned. I felt wetness drip out of my cunt to soak my panties. He let go of my hair and my head lolled forward. My chin nestled once again in the upper V of the Cross as he continued my beating.
Not long after that I guess he decided then that I’d had enough flogging (which is practically never possible), because the next thing I felt was a sharp sting on my ass. I didn’t know what it was, but it hurt like hell! For the first time I really flinched. Our scene took a definite turn from there. Before that moment, while there were some painful strikes, for the most part it was very warm and relaxing to me. This was altogether different. Instead of pushing my ass out to meet his strikes, I was pulling away from them. I went from lightly gripping the Cross, to grasping it, and digging my fingers in with each lick. My breathy moans became loud groans and cries. The first tears started to gather in my eyes and a few spilled over.

I don’t know how long he continued with what I only later discovered were just the tails of my favorite flogger (it FELT like a single tail!!!), but he stopped only long enough to quickly change implements. Next came a hard smack with my leather paddle. I didn’t have to look back to see what it was; I could tell by the sound it made. Again, this was an implement I loved using on others, but hadn’t had much experience receiving. My ass was on fire by this point and each firm slap only accentuated it. I tried to turn my cheeks away, but he planted his hand against the center of my back to hold me in place while he paddled me extensively.

I love seeing stars

A short time later, he lifted his hand and stepped away for a moment. I was trying to catch my breath when I was distracted by cries of real agony elsewhere in the dungeon to my right. I stole a glance in that direction to see if I could determine the source. My eyes were met by the asses of two young girls bent over a table. Blood was flowing freely down their cheeks. Instantly I became woozy at the sight and turned my head away. In addition I felt like a complete wuss for thinking the trials of my own ass were bad. Little did I know how much worse they were going to get.

My torture began in earnest then, as Roland was right there again, this time with the riding crop in his hand. As if he had radar to guide him, he set to smacking me with the crop all of the spots that hurt the worst, also targeting my super-sensitive, soft inner thighs. My tears leaked in abundance then, wetting my cheeks even as my pussy felt as if would flood. I writhed and jerked as he used the cane portion across the backs of my thighs and calves. When I danced from one foot to another, he immediately brought the crop down on the soles of my feet. Without actually leaving the cross, I tried to move my body as far away from him as possible, to free myself from the endless litany of his strikes.

What happened next is a moment that will be forever frozen in time in my heart and mind. I cannot imagine that the perfection of that one instant can ever be equaled. Thinking of it right now, more than two months later, sends shivers down my spine, blankets my skin in gooseflesh, and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Roland stepped close enough that his body was against mine but barely touching. He put one hand on the back of my neck, leaned in to my ear, and uttered a barely-audible, single word, “Behave.”

With no hesitation whatsoever, I halted all movement. My tears stopped. Where my nerves had previously felt jangled by the pain I was undergoing, they were stilled. My pulse slowed and my breath eased. I calmly leaned against the Cross as I had in the beginning. Not an ounce of tension remained in my entire body. It was like I was a terribly wrinkled shirt that had been smoothed all at once. I have never in my life experienced anything like it.

I could not tell you a single thing about what he did to me after that. There’s no way for me to even begin to guess how much longer I remained on the Cross. All I remember is that eventually he was done. I only knew it was over when he came up behind me, turned me around, and enveloped me in his arms. I rested my head on his shoulder and I felt like I was home.

He held me and comforted me for some time and then tilted my chin up to face him. He tenderly kissed my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, and finally my lips. He squeezed me tightly.

I started to shiver then, not with desire, but with cold. The world around me came back into focus and I realized I was standing mostly naked in the middle of a warehouse. I was also getting dizzy. “I need to sit down.”

Roland gently escorted me to a nearby couch after first grabbing a towel for me to sit on and a blanket to wrap around me. (The Woodshed is excellently supplied for aftercare and comfort.) He asked if I would like a cup of coffee and I only nodded, as I was not quite yet capable of speech. He returned in no time and I gladly accepted and sipped the hot liquid. I was a happy puddle of girl.

When I’d mostly recovered a few minutes later, I saw that he was protectively standing a few feet away, watching a fire-cupping scene at a nearby table. (Something I tried a bit later, but didn’t care for. A tale for another time.) I looked up at him and I felt that everything about my countenance exuded love. He finally looked down and noticed. With an embarrassed grin, he inquired, “What’s that face for?”

“This face?” I said, circling a finger around my visage. “You don’t recognize this face?” Again I circled.

“No, what is that?”

“This is my ‘worshiping you’ face, Sir,” I replied.

“Oh yeah?”

When I nodded to the affirmative, he told me to prove it. I asked how and he pointed to the floor in front of him. I was on my knees before him faster than he could blink an eye. I beamed up at him from my new lower vantage point.

He pointed to his feet. “Kiss them,” he commanded.

Without sparing a second’s thought about it, I leaned down and lovingly kissed each of his shoes. Never before had I publicly, or even privately, given myself over so willingly and completely to another. I had been broken. For the first time in my life, I felt owned. I felt like I belonged to someone. I felt like I belonged with someone. I felt whole.

[In case you missed it, he gave his perspective as well.]

Epic weekend: How he broke me, part 1

Sometimes when you don’t know where to begin, you should just dive on in and let the narrative build around you. I’ve been wanting to write about this weekend ever since it happened over a month ago. It was beyond a doubt the best, most epic weekend of my life. Perhaps I’ve struggled with it because to finally put it all down in words would somehow diminish the greatness. So much occurred in the short span of a few days that it’s hard to capture it all. Some basic details… A night of karaoke and drunken debauchery, followed the next day by a posh 2-bedroom villa at a resort in Orlando, friends from near and far, the love of my life, my first limo ride, and a trip to a public dungeon…

Our weekend began Friday afternoon when Lucy picked up Alan from the train station and Tammy from the airport shortly thereafter. I met up with them at Cracker Barrel so we could all eat, and then went on a 3-hour long shopping spree. The part of sugar mama was played by Lucy for the weekend. Once we were all shopped out, we came back to my place to rest for a bit before getting ready for Fred’s karaoke birthday extravaganza. Our later dinner of Chinese take-out made us all fatted up and lazy, so we were slow getting ready. And by us/we, I of course mean me.

So we were late to the party but we hadn’t really missed much. The party didn’t start in earnest until we arrived. Many drinks were consumed and some amazing song renditions occurred. Standouts included Alan’s cover of “Dancing in the Dark” by The Boss, Fred totally rocking AC/DC’s “Big Balls”, and me vamping it up with “Sweet Transvestite” (accompanied by a sexy striptease from the birthday boy). The highlight for me was when my love gave the best performance of all… “Boyz in tha Hood” by Dynamite Hack. I literally fell to my knees before him. It was one of the greatest moments of my life up until that point. And illustrates perfectly one of the many reasons why I am so madly in love with him. He’s just so completely swoony!

Everyone but myself and 2 others were pretty thoroughly trashed by that point. Luckily I’d had had the foresight to stop drinking way earlier because someone had to drive. As it was, there was still one person from whom we practically had to steal her keys to get her not to drive. Then we had to figure out arrangements because we were technically short a car. The result was that Alan drove my drunken friend home and I ended up with a drunken orgy between Fred, Tammy, and Lucy in the backseat of my Jetta. Which was an incredible experience by itself. Just imagine live porn happening and you can listen but not watch. It was like a live episode of Sonic Erotica‘s Aural Voyeurism. Somehow I managed to get us safely back to my house.

Disappointing though it may seem, I was largely uninvolved in most of the debauchery that evening. While my love and I attempted to have some fun of our own with one of my lovely girlfriends, Jane, it was not meant to be that night. It had been a long, exhausting evening, so he and I were too tired to even attempt anything with each other instead. He quietly passed out while I took our girl home. By the time I made it back to my house, there was barely an hour left until sunrise. Fred & Lucy, upstairs in the loft, and Alan & Tammy, downstairs in the living room/office on an air mattress, had finally fucked themselves to sleep. I got undressed, crawled into bed, and was quickly asleep.

Being that I was up until almost sunrise, I slept until around noon. Lucy had taken Fred back to his truck at some point in the morning before I arose. As I mentioned, there had been a large amount of alcohol consumed by all but myself and Alan the night before and as such, everyone but the two of us was hungover. My poor Roland was in bed until almost 3 in the afternoon. Although we had a 2.5-hour road trip ahead of us that day, no one was really in much of a hurry to get going. We were all struggling to recover from the night before.

Sometime in the afternoon before Roland got out of bed, Tammy and Alan started feeling frisky again. Tammy took his hand and started to lead him up the stairs to the loft. I was sitting at my desk downstairs, mucking around the internet, trying desperately to secure my tickets to Bonnaroo. Due to heavy traffic, the ticket ordering page kept timing out before I could complete the transaction. Before she reached the foot of the stairs, I stopped her. “Why are you going upstairs? Are you shy all of a sudden? I don’t mind watching.” I motioned to the air mattress, mostly deflated, still lying in the middle of the floor. They looked at each other, stripped, and quickly got to it while I watched and Lucy sat nearby, doing her homework on her laptop.

I had been chatting with Jane online and mentioned what I was watching now. She was a little bit surprised when, after securing permission from the couple fucking on my floor, I asked if she and her husband, Clayton, wanted to watch on my webcam. Of course they readily agreed, although they both got too shy and embarrassed (or maybe it was hot and bothered) to watch for long. A few minutes later, Alan decided to get up to go grab his camera. Completely forgetting that I was working on a timed transaction, I took this opportunity to get on the floor and give Tammy’s pussy a good licking. She was just starting to moan and get into it when I remembered what I was supposed to be doing and had to jump back to my seat at the computer, apologizing profusely as I did. It mattered not because Alan had returned and slipped his big cock right back into the place where my tongue had just been, passing his camera to Lucy.

It was about that time that Roland finally emerged from the bedroom. I don’t know if it was the commotion that roused him or if he was finally feeling better. His only response to walking in on the decidedly hot live porn action happening in our living room was, “Well… okay then.” He carefully stepped around them and a seat as his computer desk, which was adjacent to mine. I think that might have been one distraction too many for them, or maybe they were still fucked out from the early morning hours, because they gave up and put their clothes on.

Eventually we did start to get the show on the road. Check-in for our villa was supposed to be at 3pm and there would be a limo arriving at 8pm to take us to the dungeon. Lucy, Tammy and Fred kind of collected and threw their stuff together into the car and left, opting to shower and refresh themselves once they arrived. Roland and I took our time showering and doing last-minute packing before we got on the road. We left about an hour and a half after everyone else did. After stopping to get dinner and some supplies for the weekend, we finally arrived at the villa just before 9pm. The last part of our group, Clayton and Jane, arrived shortly thereafter.

The 4th floor villa was pretty amazing. It was really more like an apartment than a hotel room and easily the nicest hotel room in which I’d ever stayed. It had a full kitchen, dining area, and living room. The screened balcony overlooked the pool. There were 2 bedrooms with full bathrooms in each, one with 2 full-sized beds and one with a king-sized bed. The bathroom in the master bedroom, which was mine and Roland’s for the weekend, also had a large Jacuzzi tub.

We were behind schedule, but the schedule was really just a suggestion. We had the limo reserved until the dungeon closed at 4am. Although Lucy was patiently waiting for everyone else, Tammy was still getting ready, so I didn’t feel like we had really been holding anyone up. I freshened up a bit, then put on my makeup, got dressed, and was ready to go. Jane was all set a few minutes later. At last the best part of our weekend was ready to begin!

This was my first limo ride and it has been booked for just that occasion. Lucy and I had been talking about getting down to Orlando to check out the Woodshed for ages, but it just hadn’t really worked out any other time. She had recently come into a little bit of money and wanted to treat us all to a good time. The limo was fully stocked with champagne, ice and glasses. As we got underway, we toasted to all the possibilities that the night had in store.

The 20-minute ride was long enough to both relax our nerves with champagne and also build up our excited anticipation. That feeling was only able to build further once we arrived and everyone had to hang out in the lobby to complete the membership applications, along with paying dues. One of the dungeon masters, a sprightly British gent going by the name Master Penguin, gave us a thorough explanation of the rules of the house before we were able to go through the door to the dungeon itself.

Continue on to part two.

His words – Breaking T

As I’ve mentioned a few times recently, the weekend before last, I made my first trip ever to a public dungeon. While I have not yet had a chance to detail the experience in my own words, I give you now the words of my love about the evening in question. Please look for my perspective shortly.



The sights and sounds washed over us as we crossed the threshold of the dungeon. The sharp crack of leather on flesh and cries of ecstatic pain penetrated through the din of the crunchy guitar chords piped in via the soundsystem. Everywhere there were toys being used – of both the inanimate and the human varieties.

In the far corner an older fellow in a kilt and tall boots was flogging a nearly naked woman’s back on the St. Andrew’s Cross. Near the door another woman was laid face down on a table with her legs open while her partner tortured her thighs and nether regions with firm, bare-handed slaps. In the center of the room, the dungeon’s owner was suspending two nude ladies in a lattice-work of white ropes from a metal hook hanging down from the ceiling.

For everyone in our group, this was our first trip to the Woodshed, and it was a lot for us all to take in. The more vanilla and inexperienced among us simply had to find a safe place to stand and soak it up for a bit. Others in our group, however, felt like children stepping into the biggest candy store they had ever seen. My girl, T, was of course among this latter group.

It was a busy Saturday night, so all of the stations were currently in use. This was probably for the best as there was so much to absorb, and this gave everyone time to process everything we were seeing and hearing. Eventually, however, the kilted gentleman unbound his partner from the cross. The scene had ended and he wrapped her lovingly in a blanket and led her away to the couches.

As a group, the seven of us made our way over to the now vacant cross. Nearby was an old-fashioned shoe-shine bench used for bootblacking. I perched there for a better view of the happenings in the room and watched as my girl helped prepare her intended victim for a beating. Once her friend was in place, T turned to me and asked if she could be next on the Cross – with my hand swinging the toys. I agreed, then settled back to alternately watch the scene in front of me and to scan the room for other ongoing scenes.

I was watching a young athletic fellow flog a naked blonde on a nearby pommel horse when I heard T call my name. She had finished with her friend and was now ready to take her place. I stepped down to examine the spread of toys that she had been using. I still had limited experience with inflicting pain on her so we discussed the implements and the nuances of each. She also advised me of the order in which she might prefer to receive them.

While I continued to survey the toys, she removed her blouse and skirt, revealing a black bra and delicate black lace panties that perfectly framed her round cheeks. Black thigh-high stockings completed the look. The bra came off as well before she turned her back to me and cradled her head in her own arms against the hard wood of the Cross.

As a starter I grabbed the smallest flogger, which was appropriately black and blue leather. I stepped back and began striking her about the shoulders for a warm up. The flogger was light and speedy, but didn’t give me a very satisfying feeling when it impacted her bare flesh. I tried different angles, different speeds, and switching my target area to her smooth ass cheeks. I needed something bigger. Heavier.

I picked up the next flogger in line, which had soft purple and black buckskin tails twice as long as the previous one, and gave it a few test swings on my open palm. Then I returned my attention to her backside. More rhythmic slapping of soft leather on softer skin. Her shoulders were becoming slightly rosy, as were the cheeks hanging out of the black lace panties. But it still wasn’t enough.

The next flogger I chose was one that I had used on her just a few days prior – Valentine’s Day to be exact. This is one that I liked best and was most comfortable with. It was heavier and thicker than the other two, made from black leather suede with tails a couple of inches shorter than the last. I continued the beating. After a few minutes, I paused and pulled one of her pigtails back so that I could kiss her on the lips. Then I rubbed her down and continued the flogging. I changed pace and technique. Up to this point I had been using forward and backhand swings. Now I gathered the tails of the flogger in to my free hand instead and snapped it on her ass – much like popping someone with a rolled up towel.

She jumped, and the dungeon faded into the background.

I lost track of time as I continued to make her dance and writhe on the cross. Angry red blotches began to appear on her ass as I continued to pop it with the flogger. I don’t know where I was – I found a place inside my head that I had never visited before. It was scary and dark, but also warm and relaxing.

From the flogger I moved to the leather paddle. It made a gratifying slapping sound each time it impacted her rosy cheeks and the backs of her thighs. Her dance had begun to be more frantic as each impact caused her to reflexively shift away from me, but I held her firmly to the wood.

I gave up the paddle in favor of the riding crop now, precision-stinging tender spots – the angry red blotches on her ass, the inside of the thigh. She raised her foot as I struck the back of her knee. I struck the back of the other knee, and again the foot came up off the floor as a new step was added to her dance. I grabbed her outstretched ankle and popped the bottom of her foot with the crop. She pulled away – almost completely away from the Cross.

I placed my hand on the back of her neck. I leaned in close and uttered a single word just loud enough for her to hear.

“Behave.”

Something between a sigh and a moan escaped her lips as she lowered her head into her arms and visibly melted into the wood of the St. Andrew’s Cross.

The beating continued with the riding crop – much the same as it had before, but this time, her flinching dance had ceased completely. After a few more minutes I sensed that she had enough and I gently caressed her pink shoulders, rubbed the bruised cheeks, and turned her towards me to kiss her gently and hold her.

She gazed up into my eyes for a long moment.

“What’s that look for?” I asked.

“Don’t you know this face?” she asked in return.

“No. Tell me.”

“This is my ‘worshipping you’ face,” she stated.

“Prove it,” I demanded, as I stepped back and pointed to the floor between us.

Slowly, she got down on her knees, then looked up at me expectantly.

“Kiss them,” I commanded, pointing at my shoes.

Without a word or a second of hesitation, the brassiest, most independent woman I’ve ever known, prostrated herself before me.

Even now, reading this for the countless time, it still makes me giggle and glow. And want to curl up at his feet where I belong.

Follow along to my perspective of those events.

Follow

Get the latest posts delivered to your mailbox:

You must be 18 years old to visit this site.

Please verify your age