Original Kinkster

With a confident stride, I turn the corner in the direction of my destination. The soft breeze gets better acquainted with the hem of my dress. It feels lovely, this breeze. The heat had been wreaking havoc on Britain for an entire weekend.

You wouldn’t guess where I am going from the way I’m dressed. Head scarf in my hair, pretty crimson-colored dress and sandals. I look like I’m on the way to a fancy do at some fancy place.

To be honest, I am on my way to a fancy do at a fancy place. Just not the kind of do you’d think of. I am on my way to Sunday Service. Kink style.

Sunday Service is an event organized by our local munch. It’s held in the same place, and attracts the same crowd of lovely deviants. Including me, a very lovely deviant, if I do say so myself.

I arrive early, as always, and am greeted by Mistress Emilia and EvilC. Latching myself onto the buffet, the talk turns to the weather and to wearing fetish gear in the sunshine.

The place starts to fill with familiar faces, and I sit and talk and eat. But inside, I’m waiting. I had contacted the good Mistress a few hours earlier with the request of some alone time with her and her tools. I don’t know what she has planned, but the excitement is nearly unbearable.

“Now, have you had something to eat?” asks the Mistress. Seeing as I’ve been surgically attached to all the food for the past hour, I would say yes. She mentions that I might want to take a drink upstairs to the studio with me. Which is wise, because when we enter the studio, it feels like the inside of an oven.

Mistress cuffs my hands, as I try to get used to the heat. As I settle up against the wall, it dawns on me that I will not be able to hold this for a long time. And indeed, I can’t. That buzzing feeling in my ears is back with a vengeance, and I have to sit down.

Fortunately, the Mistress is patient and completely understanding. She lets me rest for a while. I still wonder why I can’t stand up like that for longer than a few minutes. Might be the heat, might be whatever it is that’s rushing through me the moment the flogger grazed my arse.

After the spanking bench clears, Mistress invites me to kneel down on it. I take off my dress, which suddenly feels like a millstone around my body. The breeze from the air conditioning hits my nearly-naked skin and I quite willingly plant myself into position.

Paddle. Flogger. Quite possibly a ruler. A leather-gloved hand. In the next whatever amount of time it is, my arse gets better acquainted with all of them.

And I slip into that space where nothing is what it is and there’s only me, the Mistress and her playthings. I giggle like a school girl with every new sensation. It doesn’t feel painful. It hurts, but in a whole other way than scraping your knee or stubbing your toe hurts. It’s a good way of hurt.

The Mistress says that I’ve been a good girl and I deserve a treat. I shriek in delight, because I know what it means. The pinwheel feels lovely on my back. It feels lovely everywhere, actually. I giggle my tits off and babble something incoherent about whatever it is.

And then she soothes me out of my reverie and lets me come back to Earth. I try my best to regain my senses and talk with the people in the room. The rest of the day passes me by and before I know it, I’m in front of the door to my flat, turning the key.

It’s now the next day, and I feel the aftermath of Mistress’s tools as I sit here, typing. Although it’s painful, it also feels kinda good.

I’m sort of afraid to look at my bum, for fear that it’s a wasteland of bruises and welts….

But hey. In for a penny, in for a pound.

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1 Comment

  1. Hooray for babbling, giggling, happy incoherence – ain’t it a lovely feeling?

    xx Dee

    Reply

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