Why do I use the word 'let'?
In an S & M interaction where the sadist (that's me) is female, and the masochist (that's him) is male, there is one ever-present truth I am always aware of. If the man I am beating really wanted to, he could flip everything in a moment and take control. Because most men are stronger than I am. Especially the ones I like to beat.
Even though I work out, I can’t compete strength-wise. I use restraints, too, but they are not serious restraints. I have yet to learn all the pretty and effective ways of immobilizing someone with rope bondage. So while I did tie him up, it was more of a suggestion, a reminder of who was in control, not a you can't get away no matter how hard you try kind of restraint.
So, when I raised my crop to this man's ass, that truth, that fragile balance, was at the forefront of my awareness. Honestly, that dynamic creates such a thrilling, erotic energy for me. The knowledge that this man I am happily inflicting pain on could easily overpower me, yet he allows me to turn him into a grinning, quivering pile of muscle by beating the crap out of him...that is flat out sexy hot. Wet panties kind of sexy hot. It's a gift, every time. The bigger the man and the more masculine and muscular he is, the bigger the thrill for me, and the larger the wet spot in my panties. Seriously.
So...last weekend. The man before me, tied to my massage table, was more than capable of taking control and turning the tables if he so wished. This man works out. A lot. He arrived to play with me presenting an exquisite physique.
Arrived? Yeah, well, let me back up.
A little over a month ago, I received a well-crafted, succinct and articulate letter of introduction on FetLife. Yes, he lived far away, but on paper our kinks and relationship preferences fit together remarkably well. And he was planning on moving back to CA in about a year. In addition, he's smart, capable, interesting, kind, funny and hot. So I allowed myself to entertain the possibility, to explore the potential, despite my no long distance rule. For the right man, a year is not too long to wait.
We talked and got to know each other over the phone. Our connection felt great. We are both intense communicators and the hours flew by, filled with so many different subjects. It felt easy, comfortable and fun. I liked him, a lot. The feeling was mutual. Mutual enough that he decided he needed to fly out here to meet me for Easter weekend, a decision I encouraged. And he did indeed arrive with an exquisite physique. From the first hug, I felt it. I wanted to run my hands all over him and explore. But we sat down in the restaurant and ate breakfast instead.
Flash forward to later that weekend, when he was on my table and under my crop.
Mr. Hot Body was probably capable of breaking my massage table if he really wanted to. It was delicious just to have him there naked, face down so I could stare at his body while I beat him. The curve of the muscles on his arms and back beckoned me the way feathers on a male peacock attract a mate...like a fucking magnet.
And that ass. Good Lord, that ass. A finer Gluteus Maximus I have never encountered. Certainly never beaten. And rarely fucked. That man's ass deserves to be capitalized. I was honored to be allowed the pleasure of beating it…and doing other things to it as well (grin).
That was the first time Mr. Hot Body and I played together. I gave him the grand tour of all my implements. I worked on him for about 45 minutes, until his ass was a glowy shade of red, and warm to the touch. Then I brought out my riding crop. Yes, the one that hurts like a motherfucker. It took his breath away, as it rightly should have. He’d shared with me over the phone that he sometimes fantasized about being tightly bound, then mercilessly beaten and fucked. (Can you see why he’s my kind of guy?)
So what to do then, with Mr. Hot Body’s glowy red Gluteus Maximus, after all that? I pulled out my love bite gloves to test his ability to stay still on command. An entertaining choice. I admonished him, don’t move - the gloves are sharp! I ran them lightly and slowly all over those beautiful ass cheeks. Oh my, what fun that was. His entire upper torso was a mass of flexed muscles as he worked very hard not to move. Successfully, I might add. With just a little hyperventilating. It was beautiful to watch.
I was determined to take him to a yellow, to touch past that hard, masculine exterior. Because I’ve learned that men who look like him often want that. And then there was the fantasies he spoke of. So I began hitting him again with the crop, mercilessly, just like in his fantasies. He started twisting and turning and begging me not to make him say yellow. Begging can be nice, but I kept hitting him. You’ve got nowhere to go I told him. I don’t hear a yellow!
Don’t make me say it! He pleaded with me. Finally a quick okay, yellow! slipped from his lips and I stopped. I admired out loud his ability to take what I gave him.Well done, I told him.
Mr. Hot Body enjoyed the beating quite a bit. As did I. So we happily checked off another box of compatibility. My particular expression of sadism matched his desired experience of masochism. Sweet. He enjoyed the beating, certainly, but he particularly thrilled to my enjoyment of punishing his ass. He described that as a sort of continuous feedback loop. I beat him, I loved it. He saw how much I loved it, and got even more enjoyment out of it himself. Amazing moans and gasps came out of him as each blow fell. The sounds he made thrilled me even more. He got even more excited that I was so turned on by our dance, etc.. The way our erotic energy built on itself was extraordinary.
During all that, at any moment, Mr. Hot Body could have taken control.
But when we were finished, it was very clear that he didn’t want control. He had given it to me. That big, strong man let me have my way with him. That still thrills me.
The gift of submission is sometimes unbearably erotic.