It was nobody’s fault but mine.  I invited it.  Heck, I practically invented it.

Last night I got beat by the wire hanger.  And boy, oh boy, was it good.  It’s at moments like these when I am nearly forced to admit that I am a masochist.

It’s certainly masochistic to give your Sadist more ideas about how to hurt you.  I find it almost impossible to resist the urge to draw his attention to cruel things that kinky people do to one another.  I guess it’s a bizarre mixture of curiosity, transgression, and a malfunctioning instinct for self-protection that prompts me to introduce him to new and different tortures.

(He has his own reason for introducing them to me.)

A few months ago I read an article about a fellow, the Well-Spanked Man, who had recently experienced a figging combined with a wire-hanging thrashing

I emailed the blog piece and the accompanying video to Robbie, who is always interested in figging.  Soon after, Robbie bent a wire hanger into a threatening shape and put it on his bureau.  I exclaimed over it the first time I saw it, and he used it on my hand.  Fucking ow.

Soon after that, I got my first figging.  I would like to be able to write, “My figging,” to indicate that this little experiment will not happen again, but I don’t feel fully confident that Robbie is done with ginger.  Figging?  Hurts like just nothing under the universe.  Of course, the piece of ginger my boyfriend decided to shove up my ass was about three times the length and 1.5 times the girth of the piece that the Well-Spanked-Man’s wife and Mistress carved for him.  See below?  Three times bigger.

wsm1

I suppose I should be grateful that R. was only able to insert it halfway up my bum before my screams deterred him.

In happier news, last night he decided to take the hanger to my ass.  I have no idea what prompted this.  I do know that after two fairly light strokes I was rolling as fast as I could away from him and covering my ass with my hands.  The hanger produced an absolutely nasty, vicious sting, and I hate sting.

After the sour sensation of the sting, though, came a tremendously hot, red fiery sensation that lasted longer than any flogging I’ve received.  It was wonderful.  I broke out in my first real welts, two luscious, round-tipped red lines.  And they stayed around for a couple of hours at least.  (My ass’s resistance to patterns is one of the greatest regrets of my current BDSM experience.)

After discussing (and praising) my welts, he promised to suspend me from the ceiling and beat me with the hanger until I was totally shaking and glowing radioactively, at least on my ass.

I’m hoping this promise was for dramatic effect in the moment.  A sort of wish, inspired, chromatically at least, by Valentine’s Day.

I’m kind of counting on it.  Please send silk hangers.  Thank you.

 

Pee fucking ess: there are links in this post which are not showing, and I’m not fucking around trying to fix them.  I’m going to go attempt to get beaten and laid again.  Happy Valentine’s Day!