Encountering a Sadist

I had a spanking/caning shoot the other week for which I had to travel two hours down South. It was a fun day with genuine smiles but it happened to be one of those days in which my skin felt pretty sensitive. Some days I’m just not into pain. I know, shocking, right? Well actually, these last few months, I’ve barely felt like I want to be hit at all. The feeling has lingered around for so long now that I have started to wonder whether I have lost it. ‘It’ being my masochistic nature? The desire to submit? The desire to play? The ability to be at a party, walk up to someone and ask them to have a scene.

Following the shoot, I drove back to Scotland, conscious I now had a kinky birthday party to attend. The thought of having to join a large group of people (keeping in mind that large can be anything above 12) filled me with dread. Lately joining parties has been filling me with anxiety. The politics of it all and the lack of a desire to submit have made me feel like a stranger as if I don’t know who I am anymore. It feels really odd because this is the community where I have felt at home and fully like myself for the first time in my life.

Regardless, I felt like I should attend. Birthdays are important and I wanted to be present for my friend. Upon arrival things were okay. I felt a little anxious but it was nice to catch up and chat with some of my friends. I hadn’t seen Dilan in months, for one. Normally in these kinds of settings, she might spank me, but no one was going to touch my already sore bottom tonight. Dilan, equally, wasn’t feeling very top either. “I’m up for spanking you if you’d like,” I heard myself say. So we went down to the basement where I played with her for a little while, ending eventually in some really hot kissing.

Back upstairs another hour or two passed, it was nearing one O’clock and I thought my anxiety might overflow if I were to stay much longer. A person I was interested in talking to, Ophelia, sat down next to me but someone else caught them in a conversation. I should really just go, I thought again. If I stay much longer I’m going to be grumpy and sad and feel like I’m a failure who can’t socialise like all other normal people. A pause fell in the conversation. Maybe if I just ask her a question now… Another sentence started before I could get mine in.

My glance trailed to the other side of the room.  I exchanged an awkward smile with someone who caught my eye. Did I convince them I’m okay or can other people start seeing the cracks too? Next to me, another pause fell. I took a breath. I could just go home now. Ophelia looked up. “But I never realised you were kinky or sadistic.” It felt like my insides collapsed as if they took a ride in a drop tower.

“Really?” they said, opening the floor for me to stumble over my words as we began to engage in conversation. I don’t quite know what it was; perhaps they said something or maybe it was that sparkle in their eyes. Suddenly every inch of my body screamed that it wanted to be hurt by them.

“Do you maybe want to play?”

There was the yes, followed by a moment of uncertainty. How do two people move from a conversation to an active scene? For a sadist and a masochist, impact play seemed like the most logical next step.

They asked me what I liked and I believe I said that any implement would do, something of their choice. God forbid I ever figure out precisely what I want. Though at that moment I just wanted to be hurt by them – someone who’d actively enjoy hurting me and I was curious to see what they would pick. They chose a type of wooden paddle and when I saw it, I have to admit, I felt nervous for a split second. Wooden implements are never my go-to, especially when I’m already sore. Yet, as I noticed their smile, my nerves evaporated. I asked them where they’d want me and they directed me to lie down, fully flat. Once again, not my usual go-to but it felt exciting.

The first hit they landed mostly sent pleasure through me. They asked me if it felt okay and I must have nodded. My skin felt nothing like it had during the caning shoot before. My sensitivity had turned into desire instead.

I thought I could see the same glimmer in their eyes that I was sure they could see in mine. The pain of the wooden paddle made me feel alive. Their smile turned me on and made me determined to show them I could take this, no problem at all. They seemed to observe and listen, then whispered that they liked to see me flinch. Instantly I sunk further into my masochism.

The scene intensified and for a brief moment, I wondered if we were going at it too hard in this public play space. Then another hit with the paddle and I couldn’t care less.

They asked me how I felt about getting hit further down my legs and on the back of my kneecaps.

“Sure, let’s try.”

Man, that feels mean down there! 

Slowly I felt pushed into a space with less laughter and reassuring them that I’m fine – and more and more I just experienced the pain that I was taking for them. It hurt. For sure. But there I was enjoying every part of it for the first time in months.

After we finished the scene we talked for a little while. I didn’t quite know how to navigate my desire, excitement and curiosity towards them without potentially seeming obsessed and a little crazy.

I went home sometime after feeling peaceful and happy to go to sleep. It seems like my masochistic subby side is not gone yet. Quite on the contrary. Perhaps all it takes is the right person at the right time.

Xx Mila.

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