Pandora writes about a recent date night that included a whole lot of strokes with a big leather strap:
I have this recurring fantasy of being strapped hard, you see, rhythmically and indefinitely; one stroke every 3 or 4 seconds, no end in sight.
And that’s just what he did.
It was amazing. It was so intense. I groaned a little at first, and then I think I just went quiet and fell through the bed, through the floor, through the universe. The strokes slammed into my bottom and rocked the bed. After each one it felt like my bottom swelled up a bit more. I had this image in my head that my bottom was absorbing the power of the stroke, feeding on it and becoming bigger and bigger as it grew more sore and tender.
I remember Tom’s warm, big hand rested on the small of my back, holding me safe. I remember glimpsing him drawing his arm back out of the corner of my eye, sensing the whoosh and power as he brought the strap down. The rhythm was like a slow drumbeat, predictable and sure. It allowed me to learn the pain, relax into it, become one with it. I’m not sure I was even experiencing it as pain, just a deep beautiful pounding sensation, like drumming or dancing or fucking.
I don’t know how long it lasted. Maybe four or five minutes in total, but it felt like an hour. Eighty strokes, a hundred, probably. I don’t remember him stopping, but I do remember kneeling up afterwards, slowly, in a daze. Cheeks flushed and hot, hair in my face and head swimming, sinking gently back into my body, returning to reality.