Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Service: * *
Food: * 1/2
Ambience: * * 1/2
Babe Count: * * *
Rewind to last week, 7pm. Sitting here at Cool Runnings, waiting to mingle with the perverts. And wondering why they’re just not arriving.
Fast forward to tonight. More than thirty perverts all sitting in a semi-circle, clustered around an unlikely couple. A very very very short guy with a British accent, dressed up as a headmaster. A six foot tall woman in eight inch heels, standing facing the wall, her head almost touching the ceiling, her hands held demurely behind her schoolgirl skirt.
The headmaster telling her off for transgressions at school. And telling her to bend over and touch her toes. Flipping her skirt up revealing her g-string, and some very appealing buns. Warming his hand up. And spanking her.
“Are you sorry?”
“Yes,” she says, coquettishly.
“I don’t think so,” he says, regretfully.
Picks up a slipper. Gives her a good ten whacks on each cheek. Shakes his head. Pulls out a wide leather belt. Gives her ten hard smacks with it.
“Go stand in the corner, bad girl,” he says.
She faces the wall again. He turns, selects a cane. A thin, short one. Calls her. She bends over again. He flips her skirt back, and her bum beams at us again. He gives her a good ten slices with the cane, swishing it viciously. She flinches.
“How does THAT feel?” he asks.
“I like it,” she says. A pause. “Sir,” she adds.
“Not good enough. Back to the corner.”
She goes. He picks up another cane. This one longer. The thickness of a finger. With a big curly bit on the end, like Little Bo Peep’s crook. He summons her, she bends, he flips the skirt.
He says, “I’m giving you 15 of the best. Count them aloud.”
Thwack. “One,” she says. Thwish. “Two.” Thwang. “Three.” By fourteen, she’s reeling, wobbling forward, her high heels not helping her keep her balance as the endorphins swim through her. “Fifteen,” she says, and stays down, waiting for more.
“Corner,” he commands, and she goes. He gets his last cane. A fat thing. Long. Hard. Fatter than a wooden spoon. “Bend,” he says, and she goes down. “Twenty,” he says. “Count them.”
And lays into her, carefully. Hurting himself more than he’s hurting her, as it turns out.
Because, after a short break, they reverse roles. She becomes his mom. And he’s the naughty schoolboy. And she’s merciless. And he’s loving it. Same smacking order… hand, slipper, belt, small cane, medium cane, heavy cane. But LOTS more strokes for him. After all, he’s a naughty boy, isn’t he??
This is the corporal punishment role-play moot, where people get to ask questions about how they can make their fantasy scenes better. Aryan Kaganof is with me. He’s visiting the moot cos he’s made a few short films and documentaries with a BDSM focus. He’s offered to do a screening for the moot people, and he’s here to meet Burninglash, the maestro who orchestrates these things.
Burninglash steps up and thanks the two cane-mavens. Applause. Then he says, “I’ve got a special announcement. We’ve created a website to help build the BDSM community in South Africa. It’s called ‘Collar Me Dot Co Dot Zed Ay’. And I’d like to urge you to sign in, and become part of it.” He goes on to explain how http://www.collarme.co.za works, and about the various levels. Then he invites questions, which go on for a short while.
After the questions, Aryan says goodnight, having chatted briefly with Burninglash. They’ll chat another time.
I’m never really gotten into caning. Probably cos I don’t actually HAVE a cane. But Karen’s here, and the canes are still on the counter. I ask the short guy if it would be okay to smack Karen with his canes. “Go ahead,” he says. “But just make sure you don’t let it whip around her leg. That’s really not good technique.”
Karen bends over, and I do a light swipe, to see if my technique’s right. “Perfect,” he says. With one hand, I grab Karen by the hair, and pull her into a nice, tight-butt-skin position. She gasps with pleasure.
And I swing lightly, learning how to place the rod. I’m using the thin one. I give her five light blows, and she’s wriggling with a mixture of pain and happiness. The sixth one I go a bit harder, and she springs up, and grabs her butt. “Owowowowoow!” she says.
I pull her head down again, and say, “Bend! NOW!” She immediately acquiesces, and I pick up the medium cane. And give her a swift six, swinging quite hard.
The short guy comes and chats to us. He’s into corporal punishment, not D/s, which is what Karen and I play with. D/s is “Domination & Submission”. Karen likes to submit. I like to dominate. The stuff this dude does is from another paradigm.
“Basically,” he says, “I need the role-play in order to accept the beating. I wouldn’t be able to just bend over and be caned. There has to be some sort of motivation to it, and the role-play is what puts me into a space to receive or give it.”
Karen says, “It’s not the pain or the role play that I go for. It’s the submission. When Roy was caning me now, it hurt like hell. But what I liked was that he was forcing me to endure it.”
Two worlds that don’t intersect.
The end of the night, and all the perverts spill out into the real world, wondering where to get good canes. I’ll probably just stick to using my bare hand.
