Hello!

For those who were out of the know, yesterday I attended a local BDSM convention and had the time of my life! While the main events I was looking forward to regrettably had to be cut, the highlight of my time there was a brief impact session I had with a professional dominant, whom I’ll refer to as Sa (he/him).

Watching Sa work while his cute, first assistant asked me questions already got my attention, but I was ready to sign up just seeing the row of implements he had prepared. There were two more people in line ahead of me, not including the participant already cuffed to the frame, so I had a lot of time to anticipate what would happen to me.

By the time it was my turn I was far more ready than apprehensive, especially when his cute, second assistant I’d been talking with about my past experiences took my hand to help me onstage. When Sa greeted me, he first asked my name and pronouns, which is always a comfort when working with someone new, before verifying my history and limits (to which I didn’t say I had any except I enjoy “thud” over “sting”) and making sure I knew my vocal and gestural “red” out. To my excitement after securely cuffing my arms up into the heavy steel frame, Sa asked if I wanted to be blindfolded (an article that had been dangling from the frame but no other participant had worn), and I eagerly said yes.

The next few minutes were a whirlwind ride of being spun around with minimal prompting to disorient me further (much to my elation) between testing various implements on me. The first was a pair of vampire gloves, which regrettably couldn’t be used very thoroughly because of how much skin I had exposed. The sensation was rather pleasant though and hardly hurt where I was scratched, as the gloves were much less sharp than the pair I made myself. The next “torture” method was cuffing the body probe attachment for a violet wand to me and teasing me with a conductive tassel. This was easily the least painful part of the play, and the wand could have been set at a higher setting, but the rest of the session was only more intense and ended up pushing my limits.

The next item Sa used on me was a tazapper (a scaled-down version of a cattle prod for those unfamiliar) which produced a very sharp sting everywhere I was touched. The tazapper had no issue passing through the thin fabric of my pantyhose and the stings to the top of my feet were especially gruesome and made me flinch with almost every strike. I’m pretty sure next was a pair of heavier floggers, which was a welcome change to the sharp stings I’d been feeling before, and the swift figure-eight swings were honestly more relaxing than they were painful. The next implement Sa brought out was quite a bit less relaxing, though; an unassuming flogger I’d watched him use on those before me, it looked like six faux-fur tails tied together. However, in the tips of the tails were sinister sacks of heavy material that added a strong impact to the powerful swings that took the breath from me. Affectionately named “Thumper”, I understood after the first real strike why those who tasted it had other, more cursory names for it.

Next, I believe, was one of the more cruel implements I had experienced so far, and was easily the second most cruel Sa used on me. When asked “if I remembered what this was”, in my blindfolded state I mistook it for the final implement he used (quite possibly sealing my later fate) but Sa corrected it was a wooden paddle, which I had mentioned was a bane of my last masochistic experience. Sa was not easy with the paddle and worked parts of my body that I wasn’t accustomed to being struck like my breasts and all around my thighs, but the sting was bearable I thought; I will say my right ass cheek was feeling especially sore already after this, though thankfully Sa did caress the struck parts of me to soothe the ache.

However, I don’t think anything I’d experienced so far (inside or outside BDSM) would have prepared me for what Sa brought out next. Almost as if fulfilling the promise of my previous failed guess, Sa brought out his crocodile tail whip, or “Gator Tail” as he called it, and teased me with it at first. From the easy strikes of the whip all over my backside, I knew almost immediately I would be in for a ride once it became serious, but with little prompting a baneful strike stung the most worked part of my right cheek and licked the thigh around it. My knees buckled and I dropped into the restraints of the overhanging frame as my breath was taken. In my previous session with De (she/her), who asked me where my pain was from 0-10 throughout our session (10 being “red” and I finally said “yellow” when I experienced around a 9), I would have called this a 9 at minimum, but as I calmed down with some soothing caresses and kind words, I wanted to see what I could take.

After just a little more teasing, another strike came to nearly the exact same place. I dropped again and could hardly breathe as the intense pain coursed through me. My arms and hands were tingly and I struggled to breathe even with comforts; if I’m being perfectly honest, that might have hit an 11 in my previous book, but I was ready to see what I could take even though I was BEGGING that the next strike wouldn’t be so precise. To my relief, there was a minor warning of Sa calling out (maybe?) “Hey bear!” the instant before the Gator Tail struck several inches above the most worked part of my right cheek. Still steady in my restraints as I was comforted, massaged, and had oil worked into the exposed parts of me, my blindfold was finally removed to a wide crowd that had gathered all cheering and applauding my performance.

Comforted and gleeful even through the stinging pain as I walked off the stage (and retrieved my glasses), the sharp stings of the first two tail strikes on my right cheek still remind me every time I sit and shift a day later. I can still only anticipate my next experience and figuring out how far I can safely stretch my limits next time. So, without further ado, please ask me anything!

With love, Alexandria