topthemonkey: (v)
The Top has been requesting for several days that I write an entry on recent events concerning flogging. I've started this entry many times, both in lj and in my notebook. There were a lot of aspects for me to process. This is an explanation of what a cathartic flogging is, as I imagine the term is new to many people reading this. I didn't really know either, though I had an instinctive idea of what it involved. There have been times, two years ago, when I was flogged and experienced a catharsis because of it.

The Master we're staying with was beating me with various devices and cathartic flogging came up. I agreed to do it. The Master explained to me that it was going to be an intense, spiritual experience and that we (both myself and the Top) had to trust him. I trust perhaps too easily, but I do not feel it is misplaced in him (the Master). He said he wouldn't let me down and he didn't.

I was facing the closet door with my feet flat on the floor and suspension cuffs holding me up. He (the Master we're staying with) had his slave put on music and he began to beat me with a long, heavy leather flogger.
The Top was watching, I know, though I couldn't see him. I knew this was going to be difficult for him, though in a different way than it was going to be difficult for me.
The Master explained that there was no "yellow" here only "red". He was going to keep flogging me until I had reached catharsis. He gave me a mantra to think and/or say. I don't remember exactly but it was that I wanted to go there (there being catharsis), I wanted him to take me there. He said throughout that I was in a safe place and it was safe to let go.

The beating lasted what felt like a long time. I had a lot of difficulty with the whole "letting go" part of it (what a shock). I hold a lot of pain in my body, a lot of trauma. It hurts less to hold it than to let it out. But with the cathartic flogging, I didn't really have a choice, which is part of why I wanted to do it.
The Master said that I fought him throughout it, which I recall. I struggled to maintain my grip on the cuffs (though they would hold me up fine even if I didn't) and to stay standing, even as I sobbed harder and slid farther down.
There are a lot of things that could have arisen during the flogging, but what came out was my father. Again, such a shock. I have a lot of trouble with issues surrounding my father because I feel like to let go would be to let him go.

But with the flogging, I didn't have much choice. The Master was going to keep going until I broke. Which, finally, I did. When I fell to my knees he pressed the panic snaps. The Top was there immediately, helping me to lie (lay?) down on my side. I was still crying. I couldn't sit up to drink but I needed water so the Top soaked a washcloth with my water bottle and let me suck on it. This was repeated until someone thought to wrap ice in the washcloth and have me suck on that. Sucking . . . is a primal, natural, comforting thing for me. That and the water helped a lot.

The Master's slave (and possibly the Master?) took off my cuffs and the slave rubbed my feet a bit and then petted my hair. I cried on and off, feeling weak and helpless and drained. I said that I wanted my Daddy, that he didn't love me anymore, that I couldn't lose him, over and over. The Top said what comforting things he could. It was strange to be having such a vulnerable moment in front of two near-strangers and not be at all self-conscious. Strange, but good.

When I finally stopped crying, we talked about what had happened, how I felt, etc. I didn't feel as "cleansed" and "light" as I expected to but I felt very relaxed. I think this is due to the fact that I have a lot of shit to get out, and that was only part of it. My upper back looks like I have a lot of purple freckles and the skin beneath my neck especially is rather tough.

I'm thankful to all those involved, whether they're reading this or not. I wouldn't want to repeat the experience every day, but I can see doing it at least once a month.
topthemonkey: (Default)
Note: This is a backposted entry, so some of the details may be inaccurate.

My space monkey had a rough day today.

He returned today, after school and after spending the weekend with his Master.  When I inducted him into my care on Friday, I had given him a single "homework" instruction: I wanted her sex clean-shaven.

There were also a few other constant-care things that, between her master and myself, should seem to be common sense to the monkey.  In this case, there is one particular text message I got that annoyed me:

"Always forget it's a 20 block walk from Master's house to train station...Missed train by 3min.  Next at 1.39.  Haven't eaten.  Drank less than half a glass of water."

This had been because the Monkey had overslept.  The monkey is also supposed to ALWAYS carry food with her, just in case (which is always a good idea in general when using public trans).  By the time the train got her to school, the classroom (where she was due to hand in a midterm) was empty.  She knew she had messed up.  I told her, outright, that I was going to defer the right to punish her to her master (who she was due to see while at school).  As it turns out, however, he did nothing, promised nothing, as a result of her actions.

I texted her, and told her I would meet her at a train station at around 530.  Thus began a long day.

We stopped at one home depot, and picked up a bunch of eye-bolts.  I wanted to pick up snap-linkages as well, but that particular home depot was out of them.

We wound up at a second home depot, and finally *got* the damned linkages.  I also made her stand, with her legs spread, on the pavement in front of the store, and measured the gap: 42 inches.  I bought a 1" diameter dowel, and sawed it down to that length in the store.

After that, we stopped at Petco, where we bought a thin-style collar, leash, and a stainless steel bowl, all for kitty-boy play.  The space monkey looked at me with the cutest look. 

"Sir, could we please just *look* at the cages?"

Hi, my name is D, and I am in love with a Space Monkey.

I led her, by the wrist, to the back of the store, where I did some quick math on prices and dimensions, and tried to figure out if she would be able to fit comfortably.  Finally, I opened up one of the display cages, and told her.  "Get in, pet."

She fit in quite easily, smiling contendedly as I closed the door, latching it shut.  He looked so content in the cage, it was almost a shame to open it up and bring him out.

This is definitely going to be a purchase in the near-future.

Following that, we stopped off at one more place: the local drugstore, where I picked up extra cartridges for my Venus razor.

We went home with our spoils, and I set out upon a few tasks:  First, I assembled the spreader bar, driving an eyebolt into either end.  I then proceeded into the panic room, sinking a few eyebolts into the floor.

Then it began.  The monkey was ordered to strip.  Blindfolded.  Ball-gagged (and he looks so cute in it).  His hands were attached, over his head, to the eyebolts at just beyond shoulder-width.  Ankles were locked into a spreader bar.

And then, she was lathered, and her crotch shaved bare.  I did 90 percent of it, and left the other ten percent to her, in the shower, later.

The rest of the day is a little fuzzy, honestly.  We did a lot.

That night, however, she had a punishment coming due.  She knew it, and unlike regular scening and bedroom play, this one was to be severe.  She was stripped naked , and her wrists cuffed to a ceiling bolt (the same bolt from the famous 6/16 incident).  The spreader bad went on her ankles.  I stood in front of her, looked her down in the eyes, and asked if she knew what she had done wrong.  She was well aware.  I asked if she was ready to accept the consequences of her actions, and once again, she answered in the affirmative.

I put on her blindfold and buckled her gag as tightly as it would go.  Then it began: nine strokes with the crop.  She didn't cry, although she flinched noticably.  Once it was over, I held her and told her she was, once again, a good slavegirl.


As I was leading her upstairs, we talked about what harder object she could be hit with...when it occured to me, that I was carrying a 1" diameter by 42" long wooden rod.

I had her brace herself across one of the basement support beams, and gave it one or two cautious whacks, before I dragged her to another support beam where I had full room to swing the thing, stickball-bat style.  I took one shot at him, and his back arched like mad, gasping.

The bruises still haven't faded, as of 7/2, but he's quite proud of them.

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topthemonkey

October 2012

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