confessions of a posh girl:  

 a room in an upmarket London hotel:  

A- menacing and sotto vocce- "get down, now, you, right now!" i kneel, naked, my forehead touching the floor- arms outstretched in front of me (Gorean fashion). A binds my wrists and gags my mouth. there's a long silence- i am waiting, my back arched and taut. A will always start with hand- my bottom raised. the first strike comes- then a delay, suddenly, four or five blows swiftly. i moan- my body starting to relax, remembering the thrill- the addiction to it. now the blows become rhythmic and unrelenting, my mind has begun the familiar drift to another place: always, at first light, slow-moving waters mist rising, the blows distant as if to somebody else. then everything changes as A introduces the crop, sharp and stinging- i am not allowed to drift now: i am very much back in the room. A starts to insult me- vile abuse about my perceived inadequacies, how pathetic i am. i think to myself, rhetorically, i might be beautiful on the outside but i must be very guilty on the inside to deserve this- or why would i seem to need it? just as i start to fray emotionally A begins to fit me with these exquisite nipple clamps, designed by a dear friend- a San Francisco artist- they have inset screws that can be incrementally tightened so that the pain is slowly and rapturously heightened. A knows this, of course, because now i am extremely malleable and helpless- the perfect supplicant. this means A will now beat me even more vigorously, breathing heavily and excitedly and trash talking me down- more i begin to think for A's benefit than mine camouflaging some inner turmoil. a sliver of mistrust had entered a corner of my soul. A has this notion that would see me bound and exposed and suspended from the ceiling in a glass cage- ref. the german artist- house of gord. i have resisted this concept so far but as the clamps tighten and feeling ecstatic i imagine what it might be like- i could become a gordian subject/object(?)- and i giggle inside. i've no intention to tell A.

soon my mood darkens as i begin to hurt too much, i want to stop/i don't want to stop. tears start to well- i am hurting, hurting through the abnegation and the tears, through degradation now and yet to come. i can't breathe- i know A is about to penetrate me- one way or another, it's A's preference and pleasure- to finish me off. i want it though,and when it comes it's violent and quick- and in the conventional place too. my being convulses- i gasp- A shudders and comes-then i come, elongated and again and again. i start to sob, overwhelmed. A flops against the wall, exhausted- removes my gag. "you ok-not too much?" i nod, barely able to speak. after a while i stand unsteadily and extend my arms to be untied. i am very sore, but smiling and contrite- happy. the princess subdued- for the moment.

bow         

end of  session