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I always feel a little nervous just before a whipping. Unlike other forms of impact play, the intensity of it is something I remember well. It’s harder to lean into this kind of pain, but perhaps it’s the ever so slight fear that draws me in. In fact, perhaps that’s exactly why I crave it.
By now, Miss Suzanna Maxwell and I have played and filmed together several times. Each time, it feels like we’re peeling back another layer, getting to know each other even better. And for me, it’s as if she’s slowly uncovering a craving buried deep inside; a desire so intense that I could previously only dream of.
Back in October, she asked if I’d try bastinado with her. I hesitated, the memory flooding back of the last time a cane struck the soles of my feet. I hadn’t been able to handle it then as I froze and felt utterly ashamed. I didn’t want to create another situation like that, but she reassured me that we could go slow; maybe she could help me get over my fear.
As I lied down to take the bastinado, I felt tears creep up in the corner of my eyes halfway through. They were silent at first but she noticed. She steadily continued as I nodded to say I could take more. Her cane hit my feet. She paused and stayed with me while my tears kept flowing. She hit me again, paused once more and kept holding that space for me.
I felt okay and the caning wasn’t too much, but I felt so embarrassed for crying and I didn’t want her to see it. She said I’d done so well, and then, as if she could read my mind, ignored my tears and asked if I wanted to take a shower.
I took the escape she offered, running the hot water in the shower upstairs. Almost at once, my tears flowed faster than the water. Deep down, I feared that if anyone ever saw me cry, they’d abandon me because I’m too sensitive… too much work… requiring too much attention and emotion to hold.
After composing myself, we returned to her place, where she let me curl up in a blanket as we both sank into the couch.
Quietly, I whispered, “I’m afraid to cry because it makes me feel weak… like I’m failing.” A shudder ran through my body as my words shriveled inside me. I went still.
Her hand moved over slowly. She might have even asked me first. I remember her warmth enveloping me as she held me close and said: “It’s okay to cry. For some, it’s a release. A surrender. And if you’re not ready… that’s okay too.”
Her words made me cry quietly once more; my stiff tension releasing as I finally breathed freely.
A month passed before we filmed again. It was our final scene of the day, one I’d suggested, asking her to make me part of her cherry blossom forest by painting my skin pink with her whip. Now, wrists cuffed to the bedpost, I anxiously awaited the first strike.
Her first lash didn’t sting; it burned. A white-hot line seared into my back, splitting open something deeper, beyond mere endurance or camera performance. She wasn’t holding back.
The whip cut right through my skin and straight into me: the girl who hides her tears, the person who believes she must be “good” and handle her suffering alone.
I began crying uncontrollably, my body shaking. But this time, I felt no shame, nor heard any inner scolding voice. Instead, I said to myself: “It’s okay. You’re safe. You can let go.”
For a brief moment, I stepped outside my body, watching the scene unfold. In that space, I found something new: A lightness I hadn’t felt before.
I returned to myself, closing my eyes as another lash struck my back. I cried out loudly, twisting instinctively to shield myself, but in my mind I knew I craved this.
She didn’t slow down. Just kept going. Calm. Steady. Powerful.
I felt the pain soar through my body as tears streaked my face and I screamed as I tried to remember to breathe.
I attempted to keep still and promised myself to take three lashes without flinching but I failed every time.
I was entirely and utterly present and could feel everything. For the first time I was really here. Completely. Painfully. Beautifully.
I glanced over my shoulder through the haze of my tears to make sure she was okay, and gave her a smile.
She nodded. She knew. Then she raised the whip again.
She struck. I cried. I surrendered.
In that moment, I didn’t just endure the pain – I embraced it. Not as a test. Not as performance. But as my own truth, crying freely without shame or fear.
My mind began to float as I stopped fighting myself and when I looked over my shoulder when she finished once more I could tell she too had gone there too.
Xx Mila
This film will be available on my clip store on Saturday 14th of February