One might think that the title of this post references the months-long time between my previous entry and this one. If you think that, you might be right. Or wrong.
A few days ago I had a virginal experience. I popped a cherry.
In other words, I had the opportunity and experience of playing with an entry in the arsenal of kink that I have never before been able to properly appreciate: a cat ‘o nine tails.
Now then, hold off on the flinching and hear me out. We’ve all read horror stories of these whips, used by naval officers on recalcitrant sailors and by prison administrators on runaway or troublesome inmates. When I even hear the phrase ‘cat o’ nine tails‘, I immediately remember scenes described in excruciatingly painful detail at Port Arthur in Tasmania or in books like Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Tom Sawyer. I recall the true stories of American history, where we flogged women for adultery and practicing witchcraft, though they were truly raped or unfortunately born with red hair and freckles in rural Massachusetts. I see the scenes of slaves flogged in North and South, which I watched as a too-young, impressionable girl, or the excruciatingly violent depictions in Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ. Indeed, any Google image search for the word “flogging” or “cat o’ nine tails” will provide thousands of examples of how power corrupts even those with the best of intentions.
I did not envision a sex toy. Or a CP (not quite spanking) toy. At least, I did not envision one I would walk away from craving more.
Thankfully, however, a certain gentleman followed me into a room on Sunday to show (Chris and) me a leather indulgence I would not have sought out as a sensual toy on my own. Let this serve as a very public thank you to Mr. Allen (@hellomrallen).
Called The Wildcat, it is a 16-plait leather cat o’ nine tails, handmade to order by leather craftsman Victor Tella. As it was late and we had done little to no preparation prior to this particular fifteen-minute interval, we took no photos but this catalog shot from Victor Tella’s website is share-able on social media.
Now, I’m absolutely sure that this luxurious leather could be wielded in a way to make it dramatically painful, but it was not. I did not bare my bottom for it, but only my back. When he was finished wielding it, I stayed in the chair, wishing I could figure out how to ask for more. And then more after that. If I could have untied my tongue, I might have even been quite shameless about it.
It’s too damn bad that the Salem witches were not treated to this delight in the name of punishment. I’d be thrilled to role play that with this whip.
Before we even left the room, Chris had rightly concluded that this lovely piece of art has been added to my mental wish list of things we really ought to have, instead of wooden things I’d rather never see again. (Dearest, wouldn’t pattern A in purple and green be lovely?) I’d even watch him practice, or offer my bare skin up for practice.
Does that mean I’m a leather slut, or a flogger slut, or both?