It has been quite some time since I experienced some of the things I needed in the past. The sweet kiss of the whip as its thongs caress before they bite. The sting of the lash like the bite of a viper as it tears away the flesh. These are things only a pain slut can understand, the cathartic release of tension as the flesh of my body is struck.
As I tremble in the bonds as lash after lash lands, the crisscross of welts along my back and legs. That sheen of sweat coating my body, cooling the fire on my skin as the whip snakes out to strike, hitting home again.
It has been years since I last felt these things. Since I last got in touch with those deep, dark recesses of my mind. The liberation of the whip the only way to access the shadowy corners where the monsters and demons echo the past.
I have experienced true freedom in the impact of the leather. The beauty of being left a bloody pulp by the whip, the leather dripping with the sweat it wicks off the body, a face streaked by the stains of tears, blubbering as I am sent flying.
In some ways, I long for that again, to feel the violent poetry of the leather lash. We were in perfect sync, the whip and I, it took and I gave, it struck and I bled, and we both cried. The harmony of screams mixed with the crack of leather, the ripping of skin and the swish of the falls ringing through the air.
It is all a sweet symphony as I sink deeper into space. The cacophony of sound overwhelming as I sink. The blissful release of space, the higher level of feeling, of emotions. It is pure joy.
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