A bit more

Here is the next bit of the story I started yesterday. I have some other requests, which I will be getting to soon. So unless there is interest, I won't be working on more right away.

If you do like it, please say something.

Testimony (2)

“You hold out for one hundred lashes,” he was saying, “And I'll answer your questions. If it gets to be too much, just spit out the bit.” He smiled. “Clear?”

I nodded. One hundred lashes. That's easy.

The girl behind me swung her flogger through the air, making a nice whistle as it went.

I almost laughed at the first hit. She knew how to use it, but I've been playing with professionals for a long time. The girl was pretty, I'll give her that. The leather corset, the fishnet stockings, the knee high calfskin boots; she was stunning. But she was not a professional.

The first ten or so hits were pretty simple. She was getting her footing. Testing the waters. Trying to make me whimper, or yelp. Or cry. She wanted me to spit out the bit.

After a few more, she stepped into my field of vision and grabbed my collar. “I'm going to make you cry,” she promised, the pretty smile around black lipstick not quite reaching her eyes. “You're going to cry before I hit sixty.” She twisted her hand, choking me just a little bit.

I did my best to smile at her without spitting out the bit. Then I winked.

That did not make her happy.

Her next set had a bit more fire to it. She lashed hard against my skin, pulling back just at the last second to make the leather snap and sting. The whip kissed my skin, leaving behind little reminders to shoot through my body as she lined up the next hit.

By the time she hit thirty, I couldn't smile any more. It was painful, and getting more intense by the second. She moved the whip up and down my back, hitting from both sides, smacking like she was trying to lacerate my skin. I bit down on the plastic dog bone in my mouth and whimpered a little bit. That made her giggle.

I opened my eyes and looked at the man sitting across from me. He was watching, waiting, and judging.

I don't honestly think it mattered whether or not I hit one hundred. That's not what he was looking for. 

He was looking for the switch to flip.

When I first started experimenting with kink and with masochism, I was sure that somewhere in my brain, the wires were crossed. That there was something wrong with the way it interpreted the messages my body sent it.

I wasn't entirely wrong.

Pain is just a sensation. We use pain as a warning system. It stops us from damaging our bodies; that's why we pull away from a hot stove. A bit of pain stops the damage from getting bad.

But when we can't move away from pain, the brain has another safety measure. Endorphins. Wonderful endorphins. Better than any drug. In fact, all drugs do is tell the brain to release endorphins. Well, pain can do the same thing.

It's like an overload. Or like a flipped switch. Any sensation becomes all sensation. And all sensation becomes pleasure.

That's the truth of it. And by the time she hit sixty, by the time she had promised I'd be crying, my switch had flipped. Like most masochists, I wasn't feeling pain anymore. I was feeling pleasure. Each hit sent another jolt through my body. I was still gasping with each lash, but I wasn't whimpering. I wasn't crying.

It's a balancing act. If the brain starts thinking that you're letting the body get actually damaged, it'll kick back in to stop you. But as long as it thinks you're just feeling a sensation, as long as it's convinced that you can't pull away from it, it will keep those endorphins flowing.

When she finally stopped hitting me, I dangled over the ground, my shoulders aching from supporting my body weight, my back on fire as the endorphins faded and the pain returned. It felt like I was bleeding, but I knew that was an illusion. My skin was sensitive, more so in some places than in others. As the sweat dripped down my back, as the air caressed my skin, it felt like I was bleeding. But I knew I wasn't. I knew, because I knew that the people at Cypher were careful. I knew that they weren't torturing me; they were just seeing if I really wanted to play.

She smiled at me when she was done. It was a different smile than before. Gone was the mocking. She was smiling at me with respect, with honest joy. She had enjoyed the whipping, more so when she realized that I had enjoyed it.

They helped me down, and she rubbed my shoulders to help get the blood flowing again. He went to get water, to make sure that I didn't cramp up too badly. I slid my shirt back on carefully, wincing as the movement pulled at very sensitive skin.

I took the water gratefully. He smiled and sat down across from me. “I'm Dan,” he said.

“My name is Ian,” I took a long drink of water. “I wanted to ask you about Lena Regland.”

“She's not safe,” he said. “She's reckless, dangerous, and if you're smart, you'll stay the hell away from her.”

It was a more intense reaction than I expected. So I asked Dan to explain.

“Lena used to be a regular here,” he said. “And she used to be part of a couple of the local groups. Went to munches, that sort of thing. Normal girl. Then, a couple months ago, she started getting reckless. Refusing to use her safe word. Wanting more and more edge play. Meeting people without any kind of backup or support.”

So she was meeting people without knowing who they were, without having anyone know where she was going, and without having anyone waiting for a phone call to be sure she was safe. It's important that you know that. Simple, easy techniques that everyone knows, ways to avoid danger when meeting new people. And Ms. Regland wasn't doing any of it.

“What happened?”

Dan just shrugged. “Something,” he said. “I don't know what. When she stopped following the rules, we asked her to stop coming.”

“And when was that?”

“Months ago.”

I checked later, when I was able to get exact dates. Lena stopped coming to Cypher more or less around the same time she started seeing Mistress Lola.

Lola doesn't just accept every client who comes to her. Like any good professional, she requires references. And she did check up on Ms. Regland. Unfortunately, when she did so, Ms. Regland still had friends in the community. Still had people willing to vouch for her. None of them knew what was going on.

But I was going to find out.