March 27th

"I need you to beat me."

That's the guidance Ealain gave me Saturday night. I offered her more sensual options, which she declined. She knew what she needed, and asked for it.

It's been a rough while. She's been shouldering a tremendous load with the documentary she has been producing and directing about the Queen Bees, and yesterday she finished principal photography, film in the can.

"I need you to beat me."

She needed to let go, to not be the one in charge, and needed to blow off energy that was hanging on her. She needed to be beat.

It was a fairly quiet evening at the Spot, with many people attending Norwescon, I believe. The first rack had some boisterous folks on the other side, so we moved to an X-frame up against a wall - by itself, but still on the main dungeon floor. She stripped naked, as did I. I'd arrived by bus - %*&(^#$*= car in the shop - so had travelled light. I only had a few whips and a couple of sensation implements in a backpack. I put on the black leather gloves.

We learned early in our play that she needs and deserves warm-up. She goes to extreme places and needs to be eased into them, needs to feel safe, and needs a gradual start. I started initially by placing wards about our little space. The music being played was marvelous, a collection of blues playing all evening, but the voices and energies from our boisterous friends was piercing, and I needed to protect her from that. Next I just began to touch her. All of her - under the breasts and down the legs and up the arms and everywhere. Gentle touch at first, although leather gloved. She became used to being touched again. It was a lighthearted play, in many ways. She wasn't collared for the evening. We laughed, we checked in with each other, and we were mutually involved in the sensation I was giving her.

Over some time I gradually increased the severity, the firmness, the impact. I was slapping with the flat of my hand, slapping with a cupped hand, slapping with the finger-in-palm side of a closed fist, and moved on to punching. Syncopated - then irregular - then slightly predictable again. The impact was on the top of the breasts, on the sides of the breasts, under the breasts... but then I shifted to the rear of her body for most of the time. On the muscled shoulder blade area of the upper back, away from the spine. The sides of the upper arms. In the meat of the buttocks - most of it, actually, was there and in the middle of the posterior thigh. Jabs, upper cuts, roundhouse rights and lefts. On the inner sides of the thighs, with her legs spread. Periodically, I'd shift pace and technique, as when I suddenly reached under her arms from the rear, grasped my hands on the underside of her breasts, and leaned back to lift her off her feet, suspended on my belly and by her breasts for a moment. At times I'd suddenly caress - or grasp - her neck, in the way that always makes her eyes roll back in her head in ecstacy.

Often I've used the leather gloves as warm-up. Tonight it was the majority of what I did. I used my lightweight warm-up whip for a bit, but she found it too stingy. I knew she wanted thuddy tonight. I shifted to the deerskin flogger that Robert Pierce had made all those many years ago - still my favorite. It can't really hurt, but it feels like being smothered in mother's arms, and it has a nice little piece of mink fur on the handle for sudden texture contrasts. That worked for a while.

I went back to my hands, in the gloves. I punched more, and harder, and more repetitively. We found out recently that she really likes to have her buttocks kicked by my knees, and I did a lot of that. I looked like a band major, high stepping without a furry hat, I was kicking so fast, so hard, so over-and-over. And more hands, more paddling, more punching, more grasping harshly.

She was starting to cry out more, eyes closed and obviously riding a climbing spiral of energy. I picked up the heaviest whip I have, the buffalo hide that Ruth Marks made for me, back when she was still working in leather. A few swings, a cry came out. A harder swing, then a hearty swing across the buttocks. She let out a primal roar - long, throat searing, and final. I dropped the whip and smothered her body before she collapsed. Shortly I had her in my arms on the ground, covered in a sheet and sipping water. Once she was able to get about I moved her to the aftercare room for more cuddling and settle-down, and before too long a friend dropped us off at her place.

We fell quickly to sleep last night, moments after walking in the door and disturbing the cats, and slept well. We've developed a favorite Sunday morning schedule. It's lazy, it's sensual, and it's very dear. One anchor is on KEXP. Sunday mornings they have Preaching the Blues from 9am til 12 noon, a great show. Another anchor is breakfast - morning was a large pile of bacon ends-and-pieces, oven fried potatoes, and eggs scrambled with sauted mushrooms. And a couple of hours of lazy conversation, taking turns recounting stories of how we got here, learning each other's life, and and then back to the bed for an hour of sex. Sex. Great sex, as a matter of fact.

And her thanking me for beating her.

Life is quite good.

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