The morning after...welts courtesy Lady Hilary & The Marine.

A couple of weeks ago my full-time employment-centric lifestyle evaporated, much more quickly that I thought would be the case in my life. That same week I received word that my roomie, who is awesome, was moving out as she and her girlfriend had found a place.

All this as I was returning from a trip back east to DC for a conference and was bracing for the long trip to Chicago and NY.

Additionally I had an impossibly full weekend with the Mr. SF Leather contest, and I was slated to do a demo for a dungeon party and was having the damnedest time finding a demo top I could trust to do the type of play you need to do for a demo, and with whom I had some connection.

I happened to luck out. Big time.

My friends Lady Hilary and The Marine, a wonderful Master / slave combination who not only rock the mic when it comes to presenting and teaching, but who  have such wonderful joyous energy when they play that I knew it would be wonderful. However, we had never played together. Having your first ever scene be in front of a dungeon full of people watching you is a challenge for certain and one they were, thankfully,  willing to take.

I didn’t know what I was going to use for the focus of the demo, but then I realized that I needed more from this scene than did anyone else watching. I play very rarely these days, and the opportunity for a scene, even one that is dual-purposed, isn’t one I wanted to pass up. I had had a rough fucking week, dammit. I needed..I deserved… to have safe space to cry and to vent and I needed that catharsis.

After negotiating basic guidelines and agreeing to check in if something got wonky during the scene, we started the demo with me having my titleholder sash removed, my butt exposed, and the lovely cheerful smiling faces of the Lady and The Marine never flagging in their delight regardless of how loudly I screamed when I was caned or battered with some kind of small baseball bat or when I, held tight against the Marine was punched and whipped by Lady Hilary. Their combined energies, he Marine holding me, a dynamic living breathing growling shouting human Saint Andrew’s cross as she held me still for Lady Hilary’s deliciously terrible attentions…yeah. Ain’t nothing like having your shouts of agony echoed back in growls of delight at feeding on your pain…

Few sensations are as awfully delightful as laughing in the midst of searing pain in a BDSM scene.

That is life, in a fucking nutshell.

You take the beating.

You make it yours, you eat that pain, wallow in it, struggle against it. Swirl in a vortex, get pulled to the cold Stygian bottom of the pain and then…and then?

You… laugh?

Yes.

Yes, you laugh because you fucking survived.

What else is so bloody evocative of how beautiful that juxtaposition can be?

How much more transparently hilarious can it be to find yourself screaming in pain and laughing with surprised giddy goofiness as one top beats the fuck out of you with a heavy, heavy flogger and the other runs in circles in front of you making little horns with her fingers and hollering “Tatanka! Tatanka!! while you cry out between confused tears ad laughter that you have no fucking idea what she’s talking about and she explains that the flogger is in fact buffalo hide and that this is now a Dances with Wolves moment?

Fucking epic.

And by the end as I screamed and sobbed into The Marine’s boots as she held me down…by the time Lady Hilary’s hand was luring me over one..more…orgasmic edge…by the time I lay between them shaking and crying and laughing and bruised…I was back.

Back in my body, back with my Clan, back in my heart.

Lady Hilary and The Marine have my undying gratitude for not only helping the people at the Eclipse Party that night see how amazing a cathartic scene can be, but also for their warmth, skill, integrity and fucking raw-ass hotness.

Oh! And happy HNT!

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