After breakfast with a familiar face, I caught the tail end of
Pressure Points with Tomo and learned I can bring a man twice my size down to his knees in seconds.
Lolita's Water Bondage class was insanely hot. Terrifying, but hot. Felice Shays wrapped in black pallet wrap and soaking wet is a very good thing indeed.
Keep on Shooting! Five Steps to Better Erotic Photographs for Amateurs with
Nayland Blake: I really appreciated this class. It's such a good idea! How do you take great photos in a hotel, under florescent lights with nothing but a little point-and-shoot? I got some good tips.
Also, have I mentioned that I'm an idiot?
Earlier on Friday,
Boymeat came up to me and asked if I wanted to be Sharinn Spector's demo bottom for her caning class. "Sure!" I said.
Well, more like "Sure?"
But I might as well go for it. How often to opportunities like this come up? And besides, between the punching scene and this, I would definitely be leaving with some bruises and I always want bruises. She told me briefly what she had in mind with the class and I thought, "This might require some Pilates beforehand."
Oh, yeah. Remember that punching scene. The top of my left thigh was still red, puffy and tender from the night before. A perfect target!
She introduced me by saying, "We've never played before. All I know is that she loves canes, she's a masochist and can get loud." I warned her it was a possibility, but the big yells never materialized miraculously enough.
Wait a minute. A masochist? I'm not a masochist. I never thought of myself as a masochist. Yeah, I like a little pain now and then, but a masochist? No way.
I listened to her talk about the different type of canes she uses and why and their care. I was starting to get a little anxious, that word rumbling around in my head. She thinks I'm a masochist, lord help me.
Finally it was show and tell time and I stripped down to my underwear (heavy flow day, right on time). She gave me a nice little warm-up on my ass, lying on my stomach, then gradually got harder and harder, switching out different canes causing different levels of sting. I have no idea how long that class was. She'd hit my ass over and over until I let out a gasp. She'd pause to talk about a particular stroke and I'd raise my ass up a little waiting for the next one.
I stood with my arms held out, palms up as she laid her favorite canes across my arms. "Don't drop them," she said firmly. I focused on breathing and keeping the canes level as she brought it down on my now active muscles. My back was to the audience and someone asked for me to be turned around. I turned slowly so not to drop the canes, showing off the huge raised and bright red lump on my left bicep that seemed to be growing bigger and redder in front of my eyes. I finally dropped my elbows down (but not the canes). Photos to come.
I stood on the stage, my heels dangling off the edge. I held on to cru, who looked into my eyes and said softly, "This is going to hurt. Bad." I lifted up on my toes, and lowered my heels down over and over again as she hit the backs of my calves. cru urged me on, saying, "That's it. You're doing good. You can take it."
I squatted, leaning against the wall, as she canned the tops of my thighs, including the punched up one. "It will end when you hit the floor." There was no way I was going to wuss out on this one. I was going to stay up there until she had to push me down. I think 2 minutes was supposed to be the goal. I think I made it to 1 minute when I finally sunk down to the floor to the sound of applause.
Back on the table, the regular whacks to my ass felt nice, almost like a present for good behavior. I was bent over the edge and could hear someone in the audience say, "She's bleeding."
"Shit, my tampon is leaking," I thought. Ha! Yeah, right.
There was a fine sheen of sweat all over me. I rested my head in my arms, biting into my wrist and sucking on to my thumb, tasting my sweat. I heard someone say, "She's doing something really hot with her mouth." Sharinn switched to a whisk like cane, whipping my ass like they were scrambled eggs. Then... it broke. Little peices of bamboo were scattered on the floor and the table. I saved a piece as a souvenier.
The next day (and the day after, and the day after that) I would have that lovely "got hit by a truck" feeling*. The best thing about the aches and the bruises is that it makes the scene last as long as it takes to heal. It's a lovely reminder every time I need to shift my weight when I'm lying in bed, when I walk through a turnstile, when I'm taking a shower running a loofah over my purple skin. I won't be wearing short sleeved shirts for a very long time.
But, I still don't consider myself a masochist.
