"Warm-ups? We don't need no stinking warm-ups..."

It's Monday morning, early.  The house is quiet, just me, the two cats, and a nice hot cup of coffee.  Quiet time for me to reflect on the first of our three weekends alone...

The beating came Saturday afternoon.  To begin, He unlocked the suitcase that houses our toys, then selected which instruments of pain He wanted to use. 

He picked just about every single one.  I think only the poor Wartenburg Wheel got left behind.

Next He bent me over the end of the bed and went about His business.  No ropes to hold me in place, just me, expected to hold position, His hand at the ready to push me back down if I didn't.

Now, keep in mind that several days prior to this, we had a discussion.  This discussion centered around how long it had been since my last beating, how important a "warm-up" would be, etc.  Those are the things I said to Him.  Clearly, this is what He heard:  blah blah blah "warm-up" blah blah blah, etc.

Because there was no "warm-up."  This should not have surprised me---there is almost never a "warm-up."  There is just "His" speed, and my ass has to work to catch up to it.

So, He worked over my backside pretty good.  He used His hand, the suede flogger, the leather flogger, Mr. Cane, Mr. Blister, His belt, and the long-handled plastic shoe horn that bites.  He also raked His nails down my back, and He whipped my pussy with the tips of the flogger.

When He finished, my ass was bright red.  Glowing.  And sore.  Sadly, there was no bruising, no marks save for the two outlines of the tip of the cane where He wrapped it around the side of my hip. If you ask He will tell you He only wrapped the tip once.  If you ask me, I will show you the TWO marks and rest my case.

Tip-wrapping aside, it was a good beating.  It was followed by good sex.  And my ass is still sore.

Can't wait until next weekend to do it again.