Implement Inquisition #1: The Riding Crop

Audio Only: A bit of cropping from "Cropgasm," from the Naughty Abby days. Now my first attempt at turning video into audio. I enjoy the idea of being able to sneak in a little spanking experience without baring all.

I like the threat of pain that doesn't necessarily come to fruition. On my birthday, halfway through my spanking, Mr. W told me to present my breasts for the cane. They were already bare, so from where I had been kneeling on the bed, I got up on my knees and cupped my breasts from below, eyes wide and terrified, trembling visibly. He lifted the cane, then set it back down on the bed beside me. He then grabbed the tawse, choking up on it halfway, and proceeded to lightly slap me, inciting not welts but only my nipples to rise to his administrations.

One of my favorite threats is that of an implement purposely straying from it's usual destination to strike the most sensitive crevices of my flesh. I've been debating how to write about this here without being crass, but it's a blunt subject matter and considering at the top of this post I've included an audio clip of a cropping that later ends in orgasm, I don't know why I'm tip-toeing around the subject. I think it's just that I'm newly back to blogging, and I haven't yet become comfortable again with tossing around the dirtier words. All of that said, I'm going ahead with it.

I have a craving, in certain scenarios, to hear these words murmured close to my ear: "Reach back and spread your cheeks apart. I'm going to whip your asshole until it's as sore as the rest of your red backside. Then I'm going to fuck that swollen ass as hard as I want until I come. Do you understand, young lady?"

The crop is the ideal implement for this whipping of sensitive areas. It lands squarely where one aims it. It can be inserted between the legs to whip up at the pussy, or farther forward to strike the clit. It can bite the inside of one's ass cheeks with surprising teeth. That little bit of leather, directed accurately, causes great distress in very little time.

It can also be incredibly arousing. A series of taps, back and forth from cheek to cheek, or an increasing rhythm on the clit, followed by a series of strokes on the inner thighs then back up to the clit, to the pussy, to the inner cheeks of the ass and back, lead to a madness of sensation. It hurts, it stings, I want it to stop, and yet my body betrays me. I know it's part physical sensation but also, in greater part, submission. The knowledge that the very parts of me I need to be a mammal, to function at the base level, are in jeopardy is terrifyingly satisfying.

I want to have those words whispered, to reach back and spread my ass to full exposure, only to have that crop continue to land on the full rounds of my lower cheeks, even to strike at the tops of my thighs. To tap, so lightly, on my pussy lips, not for pain but to remind me that what we do is for the pleasure at the end. One strike to my clit, to remind me I am his. Back to the bottom, the cheek to cheek rhythm now, and then he whispers, "Are you ready?" "Yes," I breathe more than say, panting, ready for the next stage. He stands back, aiming carefully, then whips me quickly three times, each landing right on my tender asshole. He asks, "Are you sore yet?" He touches, lightly, determining if I am swollen, if I can bare his touch. He presses his fingertip against the struck flesh, tests to see how easily he can slide inside.

"I'm not ready," I whisper. "I need more."

This is the problem with the crop. It strikes at one level, the pain high and sharp, but it doesn't reach the lower depths of what spanking is about for me. The audio clip, from "Cropgasm," a film we made when we were making the Naughty Abby films, is the only time I've come from a cropping, and that may have been as much about extroversion and exposition as it was about the crop itself. The film didn't really work out, at the editing stage I didn't like the shirt I was wearing and we had to eliminate one of the camera views, so the entire thing is my white-pantied bottom in close-up and the crop. The panties were new and I'd never taken just a steady cropping before, so it was exciting and new, experienced at a fever pitch as you can you hear in my cries, which sound, I now realize, inordinately like sex. But in the bedroom, though I still crave that asshole whipping, I'd want it to come at the end of everything, a strapping or a caning, something that really gets to the core of me, before the crop actually whips that mammalian core.