Cassandra Park

When Wes, the coordinator of the TES spanking special interest group, asked me to do a talk in front of the group on Feb. 1, he also left it up to me to pick the topic. After some hemming and hawing, I came up with “pain processing, pain acceptance.” (Here’s the link to the FetLife event page: https://fetlife.com/events/87499/v2.)

It’s a topic that’s close to my own heart. Believe me, as much as I love a hard scene, as much as I like being taken down a notch, I struggle greatly with the process. It is never easy. I am afraid. I may be shaking, breaking out in a sweat, yelling, sobbing, sometimes screaming. I can’t imagine what I was thinking. I just want it to end. I am often relieved when it ends.

But then I come back for more.

There is something about pain that I need. It relieves stress and anxiety, it brings about a positive outlook, it gets me high … It sometimes makes me come. Putting myself into a situation where I “have no choice” is a joyful abdication of the responsibilities of life, the countless ways throughout my normal day where I have to be grownup and do my job and make 1,000 different decisions.

Submitting to the pain of a good spanking eventually brings me to that blissful place where I feel strong and alive.

But first I have to get through the ordeal. And it’s not easy, but I have developed a few techniques along my journey. I’m going to talk about that tomorrow (Weds, Feb. 1) at the meeting, I’ll share what some others have said about pain, and I’ll take feedback from the audience.

I hope to see many kindred spirits, the others out there — bottoms, subs, masochists, pain sluts or however you choose to label yourself. How do YOU process pain? And why do YOU do it?

I posted some pics on FetLife from the session I did on Sunday with my former Dom, Richard (Spike_NY on FetLife). And I wanted to share them here, as well. It is now Tuesday morning and I’m still processing the scene, and still buzzing a little bit from it.

Spike and I played very briefly at a party last weekend, but we hadn’t played privately since December, since we decided to call our D/s relationship quits. I know I haven’t talked that much about that, either, because I wasn’t ready to say much in public. Truth is, things are going well. We are still talking a lot, but no one’s pressuring anyone else. I think we are really morphing into a good friendship. My feelings of jealousy about his other play partner/sub are dissipating as well. I don’t have to share in public now, and it makes it so much easier. It wasn’t even sharing play that had bothered me, it was a feeling that my submission wasn’t special. Truth is, his other girl likes some kinds of play that I don’t enjoy, and vice versa.

I like pain, I like being pushed into taking pain. The clothespins on my inner thighs and labia hurt, but after the initial pinch they melded into a mild throbbing. It’s hard to tell from this pic, but he’d put me into a straight jacket and had put a leather hood over my head, which buckled securely on. He blindfolded me and then shoved a leather gag into my mouth.

I think my scream were pretty audible, even through the gag, when he began to whip my inner thighs and pussy. He was using this thing called a dragon’s tongue, which feels very much like a single tail (I had thought it was a single tail, until he told me later). The pain is very harsh, very much like the single tail whip. Maybe technically it’s wrong to call a dragon’s tail a “whip,” but I was, in effect, being whipped, on a very, very sensitive part of my anatomy.

I was already sore. Prior to this segment of our play date, he’d used a hairbrush and a bathbrush on my ass. Yes, yes, I’m “into” domestic discipline, I’m “into” spanking. As anyone who’s into spanking knows, the hairbrush alone can be one of the nastiest toys around. I personally find it harder to take than a caning. My brush was hard, polished wood, with a slightly convex surface, so that the point of impact is very very small and concentrated. When he switched to the bath brush the impact increased. That implement is thicker and has a longer handle to allow much harder strokes. Spike used it on me while I was making his bed (he likes me to do a few chores when I visit) and it felt brutal.

He laughed and says, “Don’t be a baby!” This is a phrase he’s used a lot in our play, so I actually made him a t-shirt with that saying on it — and he was wearing it on Sunday, to my amusement. My amusement had left the building, however, during the bath brushing. I know he doesn’t really think that I’m a baby. I can actually take quite a bit. I just don’t often take it quietly. I can’t say there’s ever been an occasion that I’ve taken a bath brushing quietly. I will yelp and twitch and eventually cry or scream if pushed hard and long enough. His was a tease, he pushed me just enough to have me jumping and crying out, but then let me focus on finishing up the bed.

The straightjacket, the clothespins, the dragon tail were what he’d planned as the main course. … um, oh, yeah, there was this little bit of knife play first.
This was a sharp knife. He poked me with it a few times, inspiring some vocalizing on my part. I was already bound in position on the bed but had some mobility. I froze when I felt his fingers inside me, guiding it into my pussy. He told me later he only pushed it as far as his fingers could reach. Then he says, “Don’t move.” I was breathing softly. Moving was the last thing I wanted to do. He took a few pictures. (I appreciate that; it’s nice to have memories of intense scenes). I remember at the time thinking in my head, “I wish he would use the knife after he takes it out. I wish he would carve his initials, or maybe “Sir,” onto my stomach or thigh. I think a lot of things when I’m that floating subby place.

I’ll continue this shortly with more details about the whipping and what followed…

A sub wrote to me recently about playing, so I wrote back with a little fantasy scenario about what his punishment might be like. I thought I’d share it, just for the heck of it:

I think I would have to call you into the “den,” where you would stand in front of me while I lectured you. I would be sitting on a straight-backed chair. Next, I would tell you that I was about to pull down your pants and spank you on your bare bottom. I’d tell you to put your hands on your head while I unbuckled your belt and drew it completely out of its belt loops. “You’re going to feel that in a few minutes, young man,” I’d say. I would undo your pants, lower them, and then yank your shorts right down too, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

“All right. Get over my lap, now,” I’d say. “You’re getting spanked, and I’m not stopping until I’m satisfied you’ve learned your lesson!”

If you protested or were in any way disobedient, I would make you stand up and face the corner while I went and grabbed the thick wooden bath brush from the bathroom. A taste of that would convince you pretty quickly not to act up again. And then we’d resume your walloping across my knee. Every smack would sting. It would be nothing like you imagined; it would not be pleasant at all. I might have to grab you around the waist to hold you in place, but I would keep going … 200 spanks … 300 … maybe even 400.

Your poor bottom would be beet red and glowing and you would be very relieved when I finally stopped. But we would not be done. I would make you stand in the corner again, tell you again to think about your actions and why you are getting punished. Then I would just make you stand there and wait. I might read a book or check emails during this time, but you would not be allowed to rub or otherwise move.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you would hear me moving around behind you. I would grab your ear and pull you back into the middle of the room, back to the chair.

“Bend over the back of the chair. Now!” I would snap. I would still sound angry. Maybe I would be a little angry. You would soon be getting the belt, your own leather belt. You would watch as I doubled it over and moved into position behind you.

“I don’t know how many I’m going to give you,” I would say. “Like I said earlier, the punishment will continue until I am satisfied you’ve learned.”

You might protest at that point that you have learned, but I would just say, “Be quiet. I’ll be the judge of that.”

And the belt would fly down for the first time against your bare bottom, and I’d watch as you jumped at the pain and realized just how serious I was.

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How’s that sound?