Up walks to stage this buff guy with huge muscles, tanned skin, long hair, washboard abs, and a huge upside down triangle tattoo across his shoulders. He tips the Domme as his friends make fun of him (and awful tragedy which shouldn’t be tolerated) and proceeds to get cuffed to the restraints hanging from the ceiling! Mistress Mara flogs him a few times and then scratches him some and does something else with an ice cube….
….and in my head, I fell into the slippery slope of discompassion. What I SHOULD have thought to myself was “Maybe it’s his first time!” “Maybe he needs her to go light.” “Maybe he injured himself already today!” There are any number of infinite possibilities that could explain why this Domme wasn’t lashing out on those buldging muscles with every last ounce of her strength. All of them are probably legitimate too. But as I stood there watching, the rum in my drink took over my thoughts. My mind darted around all the other times I’ve been flogged. The only logical conclusion my tipsy mind could come to was simply that the guy was a PUSSY. I can do better than that.
Move over, Fabio.
I marched up to that stage and asked Mistress Mara what her rates were. I tipped her appropriately (side note: gay kinksters don’t tip in our community. I THINK I tipped her appropriately, but I’ve never had to do that before. Hope she doesn’t hate me now) and asked her, “Can you flog a gay-boy, Mistress?”
“Hell yes! How hard can you take it?”
I gritted my teeth, half expecting to regret saying it but also determined to show Fabio what a gay boy can take. “I’ve been flogged until I’ve bled before.”
Mistress Mara just SMILED and secured my wrists to the shackles in the ceiling.
Being that it was the end of the night, it was a pretty fast flogging. But that doesn’t mean she went light on me. It was tough to remember to yell “Thank you MISTRESS” as opposed to my usual “Thank you SIR” or “Thank you MASTER”. It hurt, but like I said, I was determined to demonstrate what this gay boy is made of.
At a certain point I felt Mistress Mara slap a couple strips of duct tape against my back. “Just a little blood! No worries!” she said.
I didn’t break. I didn’t care. That wasn’t the point. Before I even knew it it was over. I said thank you to Mistress, and walked out of the bar, euphoric, and proud.
November 15th, 2012 -- by Bacchus