Didn't have the greatest end to my evening tonight, nothing majorly bad, but...a little bit of an upset. Of course, I found myself unable to sleep, so, I grabbed a beer and thought I'd play a little computer solitaire while I tried to relax (a Xanax tossed into the mix for good measure). I couldn't get interested in the game, instead, I started thinking about BDSM, and kink, and about the fact that so few people around me know any of the little details of who Mistress Storm is.
I was always a top/Domme, but, I always felt like I had to experience the bottom's perspective. Being in the submissive role makes me giggle, and my forays into the world of kneeling and "Yes, sir" or "Yes, ma'am" were not successful, usually resulting in my giggling incessantly as I tried so hard to be something I wasn't. I'm just not submissive, and that part didn't work for me. Bottoming, however, held my attention a bit more. Despite my overall BBW-ness, unfortunately, I don't carry a lot of weight in my butt, so flogging and paddling my ass literally feels like someone is punching me or kicking me in the vagina. Yeah, not a good feeling. But, the occasional spanking from my guy is ok, provided he does it right (plenty of warm-up, not too hard, etc). And, sometimes, I crave a good flogging across the top of my back and shoulders. It feels like a deep tissue massage. There are only 2 people that I bottom for, one of them, my boyfriend, and the other, a lady that I have known for years, and would trust with my life in a heartbeat. She's someone I can go to when I need that extra something to unwind. This only happens once or twice a year. But, with anything I do, if at all possible, I have it done to me by someone I trust before I ever do it to someone else. I feel it's only right that I know what sensations I'm giving to someone. Have I ever caned your ass and left it bruised and bloody? That's because I had someone do that to me once, so that I'd know how it felt. Needles? Yep, I've been used as a pincushion before. Fire-play? Cupping? Mummification? Flogging? Paddling? Single-tail whipping? Dragon Tail? Taws? Carving? Knife-play? Breathplay? I've had all of that done to me, and more, just so I'd know how it felt.
There are such things as "cathartic" beatings, usually done with floggers, or single-tail whips (I imagine they could be done with anything, but, those are the main toys I've seen used for catharsis scenes). A cathartic scene is usually done when the bottom needs an emotional release, but can't get attain it themselves, and need a little extra push to break down the walls and let the emotions they've been holding in get released. Lots of crying and sobbing are usually end result of such a scene. Cathartic beatings start out harsh, and just get worse. They aren't meant to be slow, sensual and comforting. They are supposed to be harsh. They are supposed to hurt, and hurt bad. I never understood why someone would put themselves through that. I haven't equated tears with physical pain since I was a kid and would scrape my knees. However, a couple of years ago, something huge happened in my life.
I lost someone I loved very much when they passed on. I hadn't been there for them before they died, and the devastation and sense of loss I felt was unbelievable. At the same time, I found out that someone else I loved greatly had also passed, without my knowledge, a few months prior. How did I NOT know they passed on if I loved them so much? Because....there was a bridge that was burned, kind of by both of us. I hadn't seen them in a long time, but hoped to be able to fix the situation somehow. Now, I would never be able to do so. In addition to the usual grieving, I was dealing with the guilt of not being there or being able to tell them how much I loved them before they went on to their next existence. Every time I started to REALLY cry, everything inside me shut down. I became one part zombie, one part raving shrew. The slightest thing would make me explode in a fit of temper, or tears. There was just so much inside of me that I had to let out, but...typical Domme, I was afraid of losing control of myself. I guess, afraid that I wouldn't be able to pull myself back together if I let myself fall apart. I decided that, maybe a cathartic flogging was in order.
I negotiated it with my friend, the lady I mentioned previously. Other than my guy, I couldn't think of anyone I trusted enough to take me on such a dark and painful journey. My guy didn't approve of it (he just didn't like the thought of me getting beaten to that extent by anyone, for any reason), and refused to be a part of it. So, my lovely friend W agreed to assist me with it. We met down at APEX during a regular saturday night party. She told me the best way to begin the process was by talking about what it was that was tearing me apart inside. Sure enough, the tears started falling, and (she had warned me this is how it would happen), she quickly tied me to the St. Andrews cross, and started beating the hell out of me with a series of her most vicious floggers. At first, the shock of the force of the beating took my mind away from my emotional distress, but only for a second, then it came back. And this time, thanks to the physical pain being inflicted up on me, those barriers couldn't go up, and I didn't shut my emotions off. Pretty soon, the physical pain became a bridge to the emotional pain, allowing it to be released. The beating lasted a couple of hours, and I was crying and crying and crying the whole time. There are safewords in these kinds of scenes, and I didn't ask for one. I told her to keep going until she thought I couldn't take anymore. I was vaguely aware of the sounds of the party around us ceasing (it wasnt very crowded, and we were upstairs in a loft where it was dificult to see us). I found out later from W that people had stopped playing so that they could come and watch what was happening to me. She said quite a few of the watchers started crying as they watched us, and I was told by a couple of them later that it was because my sorrow and grief and pain were so evident that it was heartbreaking. My back was raw and bloody by then. W would take a break occasionally and rake her nails down my back as hard as she could, and would also drag the blades of a couple knives down my back as well. I was so lost in the haze that I was only vaguely aware of it. It occurred to me as this was happening that not only was I using this to be able to basically "dump" my emotional pain, I was also using it as a form of atonement for not being around when my loved ones were dying. That I wasn't there to offer love, and comfort. I didn't realize how much of what I was feeling was guilt. I guess the pain and trauma I was asking to be put through was, literally, my pound of flesh.
After a couple of hours, my back was dripping blood, my tears had finally stopped, and I could barely hold myself up anymore. I was untied, and W laid me on the floor and wrapped me in a blanket, and held me. The big wad of nasty stuff that I'd been carrying around with me was gone. I had finally let myself FEEL what needed to be felt. I went through all 5 stages of grief in the space of 2 hours. After I came back down to earth from whatever place it was that my mind had gone, she pushed my hair out of my eyes, and asked how I was doing. I tried to look at her through eyes that were almost swollen shut, and said "I think I'm going to be ok now. "
Was I? Yep. From that point on, I'd still get the normal pang of sadness when I thought of them. I miss them every day. But, in a healthy way. The way you're supposed to miss someone you loved very much. I was no longer a zombie just stumbling blindly through my days, not caring about anything, not reacting to anything.
As for the beating itself....it sucked. I'm not into pain. My back took almost 2 months to heal, and while I am grateful that option was there for me when I needed it desperately, I hope to Goddess I NEVER feel the need to put myself through that again.
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