A 4-course BDSM session

As agreed, and after some time to let things "settle", I try my hand at writing, in an attempt to transcribe what remains in me from our last session.

A few hours before crossing your threshold, I was still like a little boy, happy at the prospect of returning to his enchanted parenthesis, his play session orchestrated by Madame. With some certainty that I'd have a great time; and the usual touch of apprehension when one is about to experience this kind of game.

But once we cross the threshold of the Justice Room door, these few certainties are about to be shattered.

The amuse-bouche.

After an illusion of softness, I'm greeted with a cold reception as soon as I arrive. I knock on the door, which swings open and my gaze meets that of the beauty of the ice, Lady Syen, magnificent in her long transparent gown, with an enigmatic smile on her lips. This sweet, enchanting vision lasts only a flash: a powerful hand suddenly grabs my face, my mouth, my nose, from behind and by surprise, behind my back, preventing me from seeing, from breathing, and suddenly pulling me out of the illusion of sweetness I'd thought I'd glimpsed in the gaze of the Lady Syen ice fairy. I'm suffocating, almost panic-stricken. Then I feel your warm breath, the leather of your outfit against me, then your blue-green eyes on mine. In those eyes, I understand that I'm going to die.

The first 3 minutes of the 120-minute session have already shattered my pre-session certainties.

The entrance.

A farandole of humiliations, around a puzzle to solve. I've always sucked at solving puzzles; as a kid, I hated them. You must have sensed that. Still dressed, standing in the entrance hall, barely recovered from my "welcoming committee", I receive the order to solve the damned puzzle: two metal hearts to be fitted together. I'm timed; the longer I spend trying to solve the unsolvable, the harsher my punishment, I'm told. With a smile, Lady Syen utters the word "whip", a word that immediately sends a shiver down my spine, specifying that I'll be given a number of strokes multiplied by the number of minutes I've spent solving this damned puzzle, the whole multiplied by 5, or maybe 30, she tells me amusedly, a sadistic smile on the corner of her lip. I'm starting to get hot and sweaty, still fully clothed and mocked.

Noticing my gaucherie, to "help" me, the puzzle is coated with your saliva, to lubricate the whole thing. To motivate me, you slap me, approach my face, your fingers penetrate and violate my mouth, your mouth violates my mouth, your saliva violates my saliva; our saliva flows over both hearts, glistening, still un-embedded. You ask me if I'm thirsty. I answer yes. You make me drink a glass of white wine straight from your mouth. I feel intoxicated by the sensation; possessed, caught up in a whirlpool of heat, power and humiliation. The extraordinary sensations you impose on me are still sending shivers down my spine as I write these lines.

I'm beginning to understand that you've decided to make me your thing tonight, a little rag doll to abuse.

You give me a clear warning of what's about to happen: "You shouldn't have asked us on Halloween night! Remember the safewords? Tell me about them! I hope you won't use them!

I was well and truly warned. And you're sending me to the shower.

The main course.

Out of the shower, naked, on your knees, necklace around your neck, you stand behind me, Lady Syen in front. I can't help looking at her, gazing at her in her dress that barely conceals her body. Lady Syen represents for me a kind of ideal type, cultivated since adolescence, of feminine beauty: blonde, tall, slender, enigmatic, with piercing blue eyes that are cold in appearance... Sublimated that evening by her outfit, the Beauté des Glaces hints at inaccessible pleasures. As Rimbaud said, "In front of the snow, a tall Being of Beauty".

Having probably sensed my trouble with Lady Syen, you order me, on all fours, back arched, face on the ground, but looking at her, her legs, her knees... to "mother" and worship her.

With my whole lower body made vulnerable by this position, I feel your fingers roam my back, my buttocks...then come down on them. Kissing LadySyen's feet, I continue to feel hot and sweaty, my face dripping with all my worries, apprehensions and shameful, unacknowledged pleasures.

And then...all kidding over.

You order me to get up. You grab me firmly and lead me to the St. Andrew's Cross. Lady Syen on one side, you on the other, you tie my arms and legs to La Croix with leather straps. Your movements are precise, firm and determined. You tighten the straps. Impossible to move. Lady Syen places a blindfold over my eyes. All I hear are your voices and your heels on the floor. I feel my heartbeat quicken. And then suddenly, the dry, dull sound of your whip, the snake, bursts into the room. My body tingles without even having been touched yet, my mind is breaking through the sound barrier to reach the inaccessible part of the world where the fields of all possibilities seem to open up to me.

The second lash slams into my side, this time for real. I immediately feel that unmistakable burn invade me at the speed of light. And then the blows fall, I hear the hissing in the air, interspersed with your sadistic laughter, the laughter that thrills me as much as your favorite instrument of torture. Through the sound of your laughter, I think I can feel the volcano within you. Between two blows, you come closer to me, I feel your leather skirt against the skin of my buttocks, the warmth of your body against mine, you grab my face, you remove the blindfold, your green-blue eyes plunge into mine. I'll never forget that look. I can read your inner strength in it, a mixture of animal pleasure, sadism and affection for the little thing that I am.

You're beautiful; I secretly desire you right now.

You left me with the blindfold off. The micro-pause is over, you step back, I sigh, I know the dance is about to resume...Through the mirror that sticks to my face, I watch with fear and fascination as you pull away and brandish your whip, threatening me, snapping it, making me jump and dance with it. The more I watch, the more blows I get. It's terribly sensual and rough at the same time. In that moment, I hate you as much as I love you. If I had to remember just one scene from the whole session, it would be this one.

After an indefinite time, I'm nothing more than a disjointed, scarred puppet, coated in sweat, fear and desire, still attached to the Cross. You untie me, then wrap me in your arms. I snuggle up to you, feel your body, your breath, your soul. I can't help but hold back a few tears as they fall against your cheek and slide down the hollow of your shoulders. That moment when everything falls away, when softness and comfort are king, that's the moment when time stops. That moment is life.

Dessert.

You leave the room, and leave me in Lady Syen's care. Still smiling enigmatically from the corner of her lips, the Ice Beauty clearly has no intention of putting her refined sadism back in the closet just yet. She circles me like a panther around its prey, laughs, pinches my nipples (my weak spot), laughs at my dick; then, suddenly, knees me in the balls. Taken by surprise and pain, I collapse. I'll remember his sculptural knee for a long time to come...

After a few more torments, and to finish me off once and for all, you finally take me to the medical part of the Justice Room, a first for me. I'm lying naked, in the gynecological position, under the intimidating gaze of my two doctors. In this humiliating position, my male attributes are observed and examined with sarcasm and mocking smiles. Uncomfortable with the use of forceps and other blunt tools, I must confess to feeling for the first time a kind of shameful pleasure at finding myself in this posture.

The session ends. I step back into the shower, my skin raw, my soul scarred. The hot water trickles over the bloody marks on my body, it burns, but this burn is divine, sexual. I'll feel this sexual energy tenfold later, at home, in my hot bath, when the hot water runs down my scars, mixed with my tears.

That evening, you were the incredible combination of a living, active diversity whose acts condense and meet in a material that undergoes them, resists them, excites them, transforms them, deceives, irritates, and ultimately fulfills them.