Becoming Alyssia – Mind over Body #SOSS #NSFW

To get more business as an escort, I continued to struggle with my obsessive desire for control. Sure, it kept me safe, but it also meant I couldn’t really live up to what my advertisement promised. Alyssia, my escort name, was supposed to be every man and woman’s dream, allowing them to live out their dominant fantasies, and leaving them wanting to come back for more.

In my personal relationships, I was always looking to be the sub, even when my partner wasn’t totally into a D/s relationship. That may explain why I was never quite successful. I had this somewhat naive notion that someone who was willing to shell out thousands of Euros to be with an openly submissive slavegirl, would eventually lead me to an experienced dominant partner.

I wasn’t looking for a relationship, just for an opportunity to letting go, trusting, even if just for a few hours, or a night, a dom without having to pretend. I had gotten great feedback on the dates I had, often much better than I had remembered it. The recurrent theme, however, was a lack of willingness to give up control. ‘Wiggling out’ was the phrase that hit home.

It’s true, whenever a situation came up where I would need to trust my client, my self-protection instincts kicked in and I found a way to ‘wiggle out’. No locks, no situation where I could not free myself, no toys that could inflict any serious harm. My advertisement had changed, but my mind was still the old, reluctant, self-protecting submissive escort. It all felt a bit fake.

It was good enough, though, to develop a couple of repeat clients who I actually liked. They were considerate, kind, planned ahead, and treated me like a D/s partner, rather than a commodity they paid for. It took me a few weeks, but eventually, I decided to try and go one step further with one of my regular clients.

He was into spanking, flogging, and obsessed with my behind. Several times, he had wanted to buy some new equipment for me, but I always refused. Then we made a date to meet during one of the German Fetish Balls.

He first checked in at the hotel, but then we immediately went to the fair, a vast exhibit from everyone who is involved in producing and selling BDSM and fetish gear. He was determined to buy a more serious impact toy, one that could leave some marks, one that could seriously hurt.

If you’ve never been to a store catering to the BDSM community, it is hard to imagine the variety of torture instruments. Ranging from the benign to the seriously sadistic. I’m no masochist, or so at least I thought, but if I wanted to keep him coming back as a client, I had to step up my game and meet him closer to where he wanted to go.

Eventually, we settled on a riding crop. It looked almost harmless, but could pack quite a sting. The whip effect, together with the leather flap at the end was a classic in BDSM play for a reason. There were a lot of other toys that he had wanted to buy for me, but I resisted. Every time my mind envisaged what could happen, it was an instant ‘NO’ going off in my head.

We also had tickets to go to one of the evening parties. He had picked out my outfit, which was not by accident a spanking skirt. Nicely displaying my behind, and making it accessible for a good flogging session. Everything about the outfit told me that it was not a good idea to go to a party in a spanking skirt. I wasn’t worried about the rules, there was not going to be any non-consensual touching going on. It just seemed to send the message that he could slap me, whichever way he wanted. What if he decided to use one of the play areas, lock my hands to a spanking block, and then borrow another, more severe toy? Could I really get myself out of this situation without embarrassing him?

I suggested trying out the new toy in our room before we go. All dressed up, I held the riding crop in my hand, daring him to use it on me. He didn’t hesitate. With a satisfied smile, he took the crop and I leaned over the couch. The spanking skirt provided some protection. Only my behind is exposed, not the most sensitive areas, such as the inside of my thighs, or my pussy.

He started slowly, taking his time. It stings a bit, but not too bad. I also knew this was just a light slapping, not anywhere near what the crop can do when it’s used as a whip. My bottom got warm, but nothing I couldn’t take. He checked in with me, I gave him a nod that I’m OK. He asks if I can take more, I again gave a cautious nod.

He starts at the same level as before, but then comes the first serious blow. I hear the swishing of the air before feeling the impact on my behind. It was like someone light a fire on my skin. I don’t know whether the shock of the sudden impact or the actual pain was more surprising. What seemed harmless a few seconds ago was now a serious impact toy. I got scared.

Another check in with me. He explained a few things to me that I did not know before. The crop is not a cane. The weight is light, and even harder strokes don’t brake the skin. The immediate impact is on the top layer of the skin, which also has the most nerve endings. That’s where the stinging impact comes from, but except for some light bruising, it won’t do more.

The blow I just experience, which almost took my breath away, was about a two on his scale. With my hands free, there was a temptation to protect my ass from the blow. In particular knowing that the next one was going to be worse than the one before. Receiving accidentally a blow with the crop on a hand could result in serious injuries. Hitting bones is never a good idea!

I agreed to having my hands tied behind my back, pulled up to toward the back of my collar. A simple rope did the trick. I could easily escape, but not fast enough to accidentally have my hand be the target of one of his strikes.

He asks if I’m ready to go from two to five. I nod.

SHIT! The next serious blow made the earlier one feel like child’s play. I was sure that my skin suffered damage, if not even draw some blood. At least that’s how it felt. I didn’t know what to do. He seemed to know what he was doing, the serious blows were just sporadic between more gentle glances that allowed me to recover.

FUCK! I completely forgot what we were at, but this one seriously knocked the wind out of me. Everything about it said this scene needed to stop. My body told me it couldn’t take any more, the pain, unlike the previous one, lasted much longer, it felt deeper, more damaging than the one before. I began to cry. Not because I wanted, the pain, holding back my screams, was just too much. And I don’t cry easily.

It was on the tip of my tongue to stop the scene when he asked if I could take one more level. He promised to warm up to it again, slowly. But in my mind, that just prolonged the agony. Not knowing when the next blow would hit, how much pain I’d be in, what marks it would leave on me? And at the same time, if I ever wanted to be a serious player, I knew that I had to break through the wall that I built up to protect myself.

This was not a situation where I was in any danger. I could stop it at any moment and was already way beyond the point where my body had said ‘no’. And still, my mind was willing to go further. My mind had control over the situation, no matter how much my body was in pain and screaming for me to end the session. It was the first time with a client that my mind was stronger than my body.

Typically, my mind pushed back long before my body ever complained. It had always felt like cheating. Putting on an act as if I was being dominated, begging for my ‘master’ to let up and show mercy, just to avoid getting close to my limit. This time, my mind was stronger than my body.

‘HOLY CHRIST, FUCK! Never before had I experience such sharp pain. Like being sliced open with a sharp knife, the crop landed on my rear with such ferocious speed, the sensation was beyond what my body could process. I burst out in uncontrolled tears, tried to get up, but couldn’t. My body didn’t want to follow my mind. He helped me up, took me in his arms, and let me cry for a while. When I had myself composed, he led me to a full-length mirror.

Sure, my bottom hurt like hell, it was red, some small signs of skin damage, but nothing like I had imagined. No cuts, no blood, nothing that seemed to suggest deep bruises. He did know what he was doing. He also said this was enough for one day. He was proud of me.

Going to the party, I left the spanking skirt on. I wore it with pride. I had earned it.

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