Have you read my account of a brutal beatdown with toys yet? If not you can find it here. The sub in question has written up the experience from his perspective, and it definitely makes interesting reading! Check it out below.
I have been playing with Sir Claire for about two years. I had tried a number of scenes with Sir Claire. We had done trampling and beatdowns, tie and tease and electro, wax, even some CP, which I absolutely hate. But mostly I have been coming to Sir for beatdowns and trampling. Sir Claire ticks an awful lot of boxes for me, and to feel Sir’s fists and boots striking my body is a really fulfilling experience. I don’t think there’s much need for me to explain my fantasies in detail here, but this amazing Scottish dominatrix has somehow become part of them.
I like being beat up by Sir. I like it a lot. It should go without saying that Sir is very, very good at this. There is a knowledge of anatomy here, knowledge of nerves and bone and muscles that Sir misuses delightfully. Sir knows where to hit you to really really fucking hurt you, and get you flying on endorphins. Sir has beaten me up with just hands, with just boots, and have I loved every second of it.
Now, I am a very bad sub. A greedy sub, a needy sub, particularly online, and I fantasise far too much. Still do. Can’t cure that. Each beatdown, I tried to push myself further, to match my dreaming. Each trampling, I wanted to be a bit harder. When I could, I tried booking beatdowns a few weeks apart, so that Sir could play with my bruises.
I got too greedy. I wanted the ultimate beatdown. I wanted Sir Claire to be cold, mean, brutal. And Sir was happy to give me exactly what I wanted. What I needed. I think there was a compliment in there somewhere. So, after 3 or 4 amazing, increasing tough beatdowns, I threw down a challenge. A no limits, no safe word session. At first, I asked for an hour. Then, after more fantasising, and probably typing with one hand, changed that to two hours. Two hours of Sir doing whatever the fuck he wanted, to (in my fantasy world) break me.
And I wanted Sir to use weapons. OK, by weapons, I mean Sir’s CP ‘toys’. Those things I hate, can’t take. Whips, canes, clubs. Weapons in my imagination only, or so I thought. And again, Sir was happy to give me exactly what I wanted.
Then I added another layer of stupidity. To show Sir this is what I genuinely wanted, I offered a reward. To encourage Sir to really beat me, I said if Sir made me cry, scream or bleed, I would buy Sir Claire a bottle of whiskey of Sir’s choosing. It was meant as a tribute, but Sir took it as a challenge. I had no doubt in my mind that I would be crying and screaming in no time at all, but now Sir would make this the focus of the session.
I had a few weeks of build-up, of fear. I enjoy that, it is one of my kinks. I don’t often cum in-session, but the foreboding (beforehand) and pain (afterwards) is a powerful aphrodisiac. The excitement was indescribable. The fear too. By the time I entered the playroom, I was ready to full to my knees and submit straight away. But that wasn’t what was arranged. I had asked for brutal, and that is what I got.
I was kneeling now, expecting to see and admire Sir’s pacing booted feet. I think I was smiling, starting to relax now that the session had started, filled with anticipation. I always liked this moment of submission. There might be threats, or a probing punch from Sir. That was what I was expecting.
So, one moment I was kneeling, happy and content and smug with myself, and the next ARRRR! PAIN! That’s the only word I can use, in caps, exclamation mark. PAIN! In 2 years of sessions with Sir Claire Black, NOTHING had hurt like this. Not electro, or paddling, or hot wax, or even Sir’s boot connecting to the nerves in my leg. NOTHING!
Sir hit me again! It was the second stroke and already the wimp in me wanted to finish this, to get up and walk out and have a nice cup of tea. But there was no safe word and Sir Claire Black was, in this moment, my Master and I wanted to feel the third stroke.
Sir hit me again and again, strong, stunning blows. It was the sjambok, the heavy, awful, frightening sjambok that I had been fantasising about just a few hours earlier. I was already writhing, the sjambok beating me flat on the floor.
PAIN PAIN PAIN and Sir was laughing. Sir Claire sounded genuinely amused. Usually Sir’s laughter is a balm, as Sir jiggles clover clamps or makes a muscle twitch with electrodes. But not today.Today, Sir’s words were frightening, sexy but oh so threatening. Perfect.
I had fantasised that I could take whatever sir was capable of. Now I knew i wasn’t. in my head, i was promising myself I’ll never do this again, that it will be over soon, that I’ll refuse to cry or scream just to defy Sir. Lies, lies, lies. I would do it again, it wouldn’t be over soon, and I would be crying and screaming within 15 minutes.
Sir was hitting me at full strength, or close to it. I groaned, gasped, exhaled loudly, whimpered.
“You know … you’ve got two more hours of this, you stupid cunt.”
After that, things got weird in my head. The session both lasted forever, and was over in a flash. Sir hit me with toys, then kicked me, not gently, then punched me so hard I staggered. Every once in a while, Sir would say “Look at me, look in my eyes.” Checking my mind, my emotions. my well-being. Pushing me over the edge, but not so far that I couldn’t come back. And then hit me again.
I think at one point, I was actually worried for Sir’s hands. i didn’t want to bruise them with my body. Sir was appropriately assertive in her reply. Not my place.
I hid my tears at first. Later, I showed them off, perhaps expecting mercy. Sir just carried on hitting me. When I screamed, I really screamed, and SIR JUST CARRIED ON HITTING ME. I screamed again. I couldn’t help it. I lost all self restraint, all self control. My limbs twitched, my hands pawed the air.
I was a mess. I felt the wooden baton, then a whip, then more kicks. It was a blur. I was just a weak, wobbling jelly at the end, and then Sir was finished with me and letting me kiss boots. A new fetish might have been born at that moment, never had the taste and smell and feel of Sir’s boots been more … comforting. I was a wreck. Later, but not now, I would be patting myself on the back for not running away, but right now I felt only gratitude and love for the boots, fists and mind of Sir Claire. If commanded, I would have worshipped Sir as a goddess at that moment.
I hobbled out of the play room like an old man and tried to dress. Couldn’t. I sat on the floor, and realised I was high. Higher than ever before. Already i had decided I will do this again. But not just yet. Not just yet …
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