You had challenged me to push you further than we had gone before, you wanted me to be meaner, more brutal. A beatdown you would never forget. You didn’t want a safeword, as is becoming normal for us these days. But this time you wanted toys involved. In the past we’ve mostly played with just my fists and my boots. Occasionally toys come in and we have tried quite a few things, but usually with an emphasis on beatdowns.
I happily accepted the challenge. I was looking forward to really laying into you with a selection of fun implement, some I’ve not tested at full strength yet.
In order to show you you were serious you offered me a reward, if I should make you cry, scream or bleed you would buy me a bottle of whiskey. As if making you cry, scream or bleed would be any challenge at all!
You arrived and we went straight into the play room, no fucking around. I asked you to lock the door behind you. Usually I do this, but I enjoyed clarifying to you that you were locked in here, nothing would change that.
I instructed you to kneel on the floor and informed you that I had improved upon your challenge. In honesty, I couldn’t decide which whiskey I wanted most, I have so many delicious options on my Amazon wishlist. So I broke them down. If I made you scream, cry or bleed within the first 10 minutes you would buy me a £130 bottle of Bruichladdich , within the first 30 minutes a £90 bottle of anCnoc, within the first hour a bottle of something else, the bottle changing and reducing in price at 30 minute increments.
Usually I pace around you, stalk you like my prey imagining my boots and fists in different parts of your body. I build anticipation, make you sweat and squirm under my gaze. This time there was none of that. You wanted a brutal beatdown, I was going to give you a taste of what brutal really felt like.
I grabbed my Sjambok and hit you hard with it, no warm up this time. I wanted to see the red stripes clear across your back. I hit you again and again I could see your shock and suffering. I wanted you to know you are not in control any more.
I told you a secret, I let you know I’ve never really it you before. In all of our beatdown sessions I’ve always held back, always. I have to, most people cannot take what I am capable of. But you asked for it, you challenged me.
A few more full strength blows and I remind you ‘you’ve got two more hours of this you stupid cunt’. I could see you suffering, both hating and loving the punishment.
I continue hitting and kicking you, I knock you over with my boot so I can access other areas.
Within the first 30 minutes I suspected you were crying, but I left you to it and just kept on, impact after impact. No part of your body was safe. Kicks, punches, cane, baton…all of my most brutal toys on your back, your chest, your inner thigh, your thighs all over, your arms. The only places I avoided were your neck and face.
Within the first hour you started to wail a little. I debated whether the noise coming out of you constituted a scream. I hit you harder, repeatedly in the same place just to be sure. You screamed as I knew you would, on a lovely bottle of Old Pulteney. I let you know how much I was looking forward to this symbol of your suffering. A symbol of your gratitude for this brutal beatdown.
When I got bored of kicking and dragging you around the floor I ordered you to stand up, at the back of the room against the cold metal bars. I squared up to you like a fighter and started punching. Punching at your chest, sometimes deliberately hitting your nipples, sometimes deliberately missing. I also punched your stomach until your knees started to buckle. The sweet adoring look always in your face.
I get you back to the ground and satisfy myself with kicking and trampling on you more, more screams. You started trembling, crying and twitching. I laughed at you for that. You had totally lost control of your body.
Then I made you kneel. I got the riding crop and repeatedly hit your nipples, knowing how sensitive they can be. You kept trying to curl yourself up to protect yourself, I didn’t let you. I was going to hit those nipples with my riding crop until you just couldn’t bare it any more, crying and twitching. Pathetic.
Then I finished with you. I let you kiss my boots to thank me for spending the past 2 hours beating you, giving you the beatdown you would never forget. You stayed down there for a long time, recovering your breath.
I told you to go through to the other room to get dressed whilst I tidied up. After a few moments you shouted through that you were quite high. I wasn’t surprised. I walked through to check on you and you were sitting cross legged rubbing your hand in the fluffy black rug, definitely high!
I got you a banana to help ground you again and you sat there legs crossed eating it, so sweet and so grateful. You ordered me the most expensive whiskey of the lot on the spot, a bottle of 21 year old Bruichladdich, an act of pure gratitude.
To see a video clip of me telling this story follow this link to my store – IWantClips