Mother Flogger

12 Sep

It’s not so much a Cat-O-Nine-Tails as four pieces of rope tied together, but it does the trick.

Pieces of soft nylon left over after I trimmed down the rope to fit her perfectly in a nice, tightly knotted harness. I left the ends frayed just a little bit so they sting more. I’ve gotten pretty good control with it too, I can lay the entire length across my wife’s skin in a way that -almost- leaves a bruise, I can snap the ends like a whip so they just barely hit and sting like hell, or I can brush the ends along her skin and leave a stinging red mark.

And she loves it.

Sometimes I feel like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. I put on the nice gentlemanly face for the outside world, but inside is a dark, barely repressed monster that delights in pain. Well, pleasurable pain. The kind of pain that brings my partners just shy of orgasm. Fingernails, teeth, pinching and biting, spanking and now flogging, all these have teased at the back of my mind, tantalizing fantasies I never dared express.

I held back on flogging for a very long time. Spanking was ok, ’cause that can be just playful(hell, we have spanking competitions at our parties, and I should point out I have won every single one), but flogging borders on sadism. Nice guys don’t do that. I might look kinda scary, with long hair and beard, tattoos and torn jeans, but deep down I am a Nice Guy.

My father, whom I admire greatly, taught me to always respect women. The problem was he is Old School, and respecting women is all about Actions. You hold the door for them, you pull out their chair, you always pay for dinner. And you never, ever, hit a woman. He never spoke of the Idea of respecting women, that was something I had to learn on my own. By interacting with them and learning they are people too, not just some goddess to be idealized on a pedestal(and who incidentally also cooks you dinner-like I said, Old School). And Mothers are to be respected more than just regular ‘ol women.

My wife is a Mother, and therefore, according to my father, is due actions of respect.

But what about respecting the individual? What if what she needs is a good, painful, flogging? What if what she wants is for me to inflict pain? My desire to please her is in direct conflict with what I was taught regarding respect. Never mind what dark desires I hold.

Kasini likes to be pulled about by her hair. I did so the other night, but I was far too gentle about it. It was not nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be. I want to drag her by her hair, off balance and scrabbling to keep up. Like a caveman. Images of her banging her elbow on a cabinet or bruising her knee on a door frame held me back. Real pain like that, I simply cannot bring myself to inflict. I’m not that dark inside. The pain I like to give is just another side of pleasure, if it didn’t feel good I would have no interest in it.

I keep testing the waters with my lovers. I ease into new behavior, a little spank here, a little tug there. And as they respond positively, and when they don’t complain that I have gone too far, or have hurt them, I can push a little bit further the next time. A hard smack across the ass that leaves a mark, a grab and pull that leaves her off balance and just a little bit scared.

Last night I had Bayani strung up from my pergola, naked and gagged, stretched almost uncomfortably too far, as I was laying into her back with the flog. I was walking around her, enjoying the sight of her naked, welt-covered skin, and I had the urge to whip the flail across her titties. I did so gently, then again with increased force. Because I was only testing the tittie flogging waters, I then moved on to the established flogging territory of her back and ass and thighs. Once I removed the gag I learned she did not like the tittie flogging at all. So now I know not to do that. If had I just let go and whipped the flail across her tight little nipple I would have gone too far.

As my wife and I have been pushing limits, moving into new and terrifying territory, I have had to learn to trust that she will tell me when I have gone to far. Trust, that is the key to respecting my partners. I have to trust that Kasini will safeword out if I go too far, pull too violently, push too hard at her limits. I have to trust that she will both be able to keep up as I drag her though the house by her hair AND that she will tell me if she is in danger of hurting herself beyond the delicious pain of rough sex. I have to respect that she will know how to handle Mr Hyde.

This is a better respect than blind deference and courtesy. I am interacting with the person, not the label. Bayani and Fanny and Kasini are more than Women or Mothers or any of the thousand other labels you could apply. They have each earned my respect for who they are and what they do. I show my respect for them MY way, not my father’s stuck-in-the-50’s way.

It hasn’t been the 50’s for a very long time, and if the mother of my children wants to be whipped and flogged and hurt, then there is nothing wrong with my doing that. I don’t think the 50’s ever really existed, not like they did on TV. That was just an ideal, a prayer for normalcy, and perhaps for white hetero christian supremacy. A shared delusion of conformity. Yet those ideas persist, infecting us, making us feel guilty for enjoying our sexuality in healthy ways. Morality is not nearly so black and white as people liked to pretend in those days. And pleasure and pain are not nearly so different, not nearly so far apart as you would expect.

I can give in to the urge to inflict pain and still respect my partners. I can show respect to them by letting myself relax my control, by trusting that they will stop me if I go too far, and by trusting them with my deeply hidden desires. Well, they are not really that dark. I have no urge to hit the face or leave any sort of lasting mark, and I am far more interested in giving pleasure than I am in dealing out pain. I just like to blur the boundaries between the two. I like to feel primal, animalistic, unrestrained.

When the tips of my flail dance across her skin, her nerves wake up, become hyper sensitive, ready to receive more input. The sensations that course through her body making her arch her back are not entirely painful, though they are intense. The entire act is sensual and intimate, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain. Just like how we blur the lines of morality. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde are, after all, the same person.


4 Responses to “Mother Flogger”

  1. Myself September 12, 2011 at 4:56 pm #


  2. bayanni September 12, 2011 at 6:07 pm #

    Yep. SO hot…

  3. Kasini September 12, 2011 at 6:30 pm #

    sometimes i think it should feel weird how we can go from talking, debating, joking around as full equals one minute, and then the next minute you’ve got your fist in my hair pulling my head back, making my knees buckle… and then blink and we’re back to debating the finer points of sun dried tomatoes vs dehydratored tomatoes. Except in those moments when we’re D/sing we’re still equal. We’re still both full contributors, fully shaping the moment into something we both want. That moment we’re exchanging power, the next moment we’re exchanging recipes. I’m actually more worried you won’t respect me in the morning if I give you lame canning advice…

    • Myrddwn September 12, 2011 at 7:10 pm #

      I had to read that twice, the first time I read ‘lame caning advice…’, which would have still been perfectly appropriate.
      I think we CAN go from hair pulling to recipes so easily BECAUSE we are equals. I understand that just because you allow me to dominate you does not make you subservient or beneath me or worthy of contempt. And honestly, the exchange of energy we share during those moments is just one of many facets of our relationship.

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