Emotional Pain

Over the weekend I was privileged to play with many wonderful and experienced people in the CP scene. And I had several opportunities to play hard, each scene taking my breath away with the harsh implements, wicked strokes and determined tops.

Some people consider me to be a relatively hard player. I'm not sure how accurate that is, but I know I can take a hard thrashing if needs be and that pain alone doesn't make me cry. So when I found myself on the verge of tears on several occasions over the weekend, up to that one scene where I finally shed them, it wasn't the pain of the (severe) thrashing that made me cry. It was the intense emotions that were created and are testament to the wonderful people I played with.

From the opening scene where I was humiliated to the core: a schoolgirl made to strip naked in front of her Headmaster and his guest before being spanked and caned. Yet the tears came not from their harsh treatment, but the small mercy of not having to put back on the tie that I couldn't quite arrange with my shaking hands.

Or the scene that Eliane describes on her blog. Not only did I earn us 4 extra strokes but my cowardly silence let her go first to face the Housemaster's wrath. Listening to her whimpers was much worse than suffering my own painful strokes and as we hugged afterwards I felt wonderfully connected to her.

But the scene that was my undoing came at the end of a long day of play. Another fellow brat (I was in good company!) and I had misbehaved deplorably while out at dinner and knew well we'd pay for it.

Being marched upstairs and lectured was bad enough, especially as it was no role play; we had been particularly naughty. But the terror of having to line up and hold out our hands for the tawse almost made me run away. Only the courage of my partner in crime taking hers made me try to be equally brave.

Then onto the bed, side by side and bottoms bared we braced ourselves for the wicked tawse. My turn first, taking 6, doing my best to stay still as it seared down on my bottom, tears pricking at my eyes at the helplessness of our situation. But as bad as the first onslaught felt, it was infinitely worse to hear my playmate get hers. Every hard stroke and her corresponding yelp tore me up inside and I buried my head in the mattress, trying to block it all out.

I was almost relieved when my turn for another 6 came around again. Determined to keep her distress to a minimum I didn't make a sound, didn't flinch a muscle. However, as he raised the tawse over her again I finally broke down and sobbed the whole way through her 6. He threatened to give me her remaining strokes if she didn't stay still and listening to her begging to give them to her, not me, made me cry all the more.

I continued to cry all through my final 6 and when she rubbed my leg to comfort me, I almost lost it completely, broken by the intensity of what was happening. As he dealt out her final strokes I swore I'd never get her into trouble again, that I'd protect her from anyone who'd ever try to hurt her. When we were finally permitted to get up we clung to each other for many minutes, before being enveloped in a much needed and comforting hug from our tormentor.

A very intense and liberating scene, ending a wonderfully intense and liberating day.