Camp Crucible Part 4: Aphrodite's Embrace

“Catharsis (Κάθαρσις) is a Greek word meaning ‘purification’ or ‘cleansing’ derived from the ancient Greek infinitive καθαίρειν transliterated as kathairein ‘to purify, purge,’ and adjective katharos ‘pure or clean.”

Thanks, Wikipedia.

Sometimes a scene is all about fun. Sometimes, however, things go in a very different direction. That happened when Mistress and I scened on Monday night – the last night of camp. There was a sober feeling in the air and in my heart because it would be over very soon. Some part of me wanted things to go on a few more days while other, probably more rational parts of me knew that it was time to wind things down and get ready to face the rigors of real life again. Things had gone very well for me at camp in my first year. I appeared in my first pony show and took two ribbons, I made a lot of new friends that I know will be a part of my life for a very long time to come, I won a race (the results were made official and announced just recently), and I managed to make camp history in my virgin year (more on that in the next story). It would be difficult to come back to earth after all that but I knew I had to land sooner or later. Still, there was one more night to savor.

I hadn’t planned on doing much of anything. I had played pony all day and had marched in the procession for Buck’s collaring ceremony that evening. Now I was sitting at HQ watching the slide show and wondering if a night can be made to last forever and, if so, how a pony would keep himself entertained for that long. Earlier that day a young woman had stopped by our cabin and asked if it would be possible to play with me. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but she wanted to play with a pony and someone had told her that I would be a good choice. Mistress had done some negotiating with her but nothing had come of it by late night. By this time, I had learned that it’s not a good idea to count on anything at camp. It’s not that people were unreliable, but there were so many things to do and so many play opportunities that you couldn’t be sure about one play date or another unless you had made clear arrangements with someone. Events at camp had a life of their own and would unfold in unpredictable ways. In some respects, that was part of the fun. It could also leave you with time on your hands.

Mistress came in wearing one of her smacking outfits. Clearly she was in the mood to scene with someone. She had a signal whip coiled up in one hand and a crop in the other. The ever-present deerskin gloves were also in evidence. Her idea of the perfect day is to play with ponies from breakfast to dinner and then do smacky things to people all night. If you’re a pony who likes to get smacked, life is good!

Mistress said she was on her way to the upper dungeon. Either she was going to meet someone there or find someone else to scene with. I didn’t miss a beat as I told her that I was in the mood to scene if she was interested. That settled, we hailed a camp taxi and headed up the hill.

Heaven was in full swing when we got there. It seemed as though everyone was working to get a session in on this last night. There was a palpable energy that was almost frantic in its intensity. Everyone had several days to get comfortable and now that comfort was established, they were getting vulnerable. There were suspension scenes, fire scenes, medical scenes, floggings, whippings, bondage and even a couple of sex scenes going on. People were emoting and making a wide range of interesting noises. The atmosphere was ripe for adventure. Mistress quickly discovered that the person she thought she would be playing with was already in the midst of a scene with someone else (remember what I said about the best laid plans at camp?) who was happily flogging her with a two-handed technique she apparently found exhilarating. That meant I would get the attention I desired, so I can’t say it bothered me.

Mistress had me strip naked and place myself against a St. Andrew’s Cross. It wasn’t the one I had used the night before. This was a double cross, so there was another person on the other side facing me. Her energy and my energy would intertwine as this scene unfolded even though she was miles away from me psychologically at that point in time. Mistress had not brought her grip cuffs so I would have to forego the pleasure of being tied up this time. She also did not have her buffalo hide flogger. So it would be the crop and the single tail tonight. Nothing to worry about, really, but more of a challenge than I had originally thought.

A single tail is any whip that ends in a single strand. Single tails range from dog quirts that are only about three feet long to the ever famous bullwhip. Mistress favors a three or four foot signal whip normally used for sled dogs. At least that’s the function for which they are manufactured. Usually. It’s important to note that the whips are intended as noise makers and not something you actually strike a target with.

Unless that target happens to be your submissive.

There are many different sorts of sensations out there. I won’t go into a listing of them all, but to contrast a flogger with a whip won’t take a lot of time or space. Floggers like the buffalo hide piece Mistress uses produce a sound thud when they hit. The impact can be focused tightly on a small area or spread out as the dominant sees fit and the submissive prefers. The result is usually a nice red back and butt and a flight into sub space. Results can range depending on the intensity of the flogging and the tolerance of the sub. Some floggers are smaller or made from different materials that change the sensations, making them sharper or duller. But the overall effect is one of impact.

In contrast, a whip like the one Mistress uses carries a sting in its tail. It falls with a cutting sensation and leaves a welt that can run from light pink to angry red. While the after effects of a flogging tend to dissipate quickly, a session with the single tail can leave me feeling sunburned for at least a couple of days. That sounds savage and uncomfortable, but the sensations and the memories they evoke produce a very different feeling. I am by no means a straight up masochist, but there is something about the combination of pain and the endorphin rush produced during a scene that rocks my world. I can’t explain it.

And this time, with this particular scene, something else would rock my world.

There being no grip cuffs, I stood against the cross and hugged it to my body. It was cool – almost cold – to the touch for a few moments and I shivered a little. The scene on the other side of the cross was already underway and the soft moaning coming from the sub began to lull me into that state of mind that is relaxed and open to all possibilities. I closed my eyes and readied myself. Mistress began warming me up by rubbing and patting my back with her hands. The feel of her soft deerskin gloves against my skin was wildly erotic and my body became instantly alert. The gentle rubbing turned to patting and then slapping to wake the skin up and prepare it for what would be happening next. That was the crop. Actually, it was more like a wombat in that the end was wide if not rigid. This particular crop produced a very stingy slap that brought the blood to the surface in a hurry. It was also my first sensation of pain and heat. My mind perked up and started to take notice as my body became more rigid and tense.

People tend to tense up instinctively when sensations turn painful. The human body releases hormones that produce a “fight of flight” response. The pupils dilate, breathing speeds up and the pulse rate quickens. Muscles used for sprinting and escaping receive more blood and oxygen while digestion and the skin receive less. Sweat begins to surface and the senses become hyper acute. Sexual arousal stops dead in its tracks at a time like this – at least for me – which may explain why BDSM and sex, while often closely related, don’t tend to happen at the same time. I like being on edge without knowing what is coming next. That is the threshold to sub space for me.

Mistress waited until I had calmed down slightly and was again resting against the cross. She smoothed my back down and came in very close, almost to where I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. She threaded the whip around my neck and over my collar, taking control of my head and tipping it back slightly. This simple action sent a definite message that she was in complete control now. I was at her mercy and under her protection. I was all hers. I felt my body go slightly limp under her control and my mind sank a little deeper.

There would be some impact despite the lack of a flogger. The signal whip has two ends, after all, and the handle makes a handy impact device. Blows from the handle fell lightly at first and then increased in their intensity. They came down on my shoulders and buttocks in the sort of winged pattern she tends to favor. Then I felt the kiss of the single tail.

It didn’t sting much at first, but over the course of several minutes, it began to intensify. I noticed my grip on the cross tightening and the moaning of the sub on the other side was met by the sudden, much louder sounds that were coming out of my mouth. I shifted position and writhed about as stinging pain turned to a burning sensation and then to a mild heat just in time for the next stroke to fall and start the process all over again. Mistress would flail in a pattern but she would also change the order in which the strokes fell. Just because a particularly intense hit came to the right shoulder didn’t mean that one of equal intensity would fall to the left right away. It was going to come; the question was when. Somehow, my body language, my breathing and her intuition made those decisions, but sooner or later the strokes would fall. They came one after the other, mingled with occasional cooling periods when Mistress would smooth over my back with her gloved hand, reassuring me of her presence and love while at the same time reminding me that she held all the power right now and had no problem exercising it. As an emphasis, she ran her hand gently up my back to the nape of my neck and grabbed my pony tail, pulling my head back and holding it.

If you’re on the outside looking in on something like this, you are bound to see it as a violent act. Ordinarily we humans get pretty upset if someone grabs our hair and pulls it, especially when the obvious purpose is to control the movement of the head. But in this one sacred moment between Mistress and me, I felt no violence. I felt loved, protected and cherished. That moment has a name.

Power exchange.

Complete surrender on the one hand and a sacred bond on the other. Call it trust, love or whatever you want, I knew that at that one, singular moment, I was the only person in her world and she was the only person in mine. It’s a brief moment and it goes by quickly, but it’s very real.

The whipping resumed and continued until my back felt as though it would burst into flame. I was beyond thinking rationally at this point – the point at which trust in my Mistress was so crucial. My mind was afloat and adrift, reacting only in the most animal ways to the pain sensations that were pleasure sensations all at the same time. A crescendo had been steadily building and although I didn’t fully realize the end was close at hand, Mistress did. She stopped whipping my now tender back and came in one last time to smooth my flesh over and cool it down. Then unexpectedly she withdrew, apparently waiting for something to happen.

And happen it did. A flood of emotions overtook me and I began to weep very softly. As my body began to shudder, Mistress (who had been watching carefully) embraced me from behind and in that moment, Aphrodite stepped in. Pure celestial love, the power of Aphrodite Urania surrounded and cradled me.

Standing there hugging the St. Andrew’s Cross, my body aflame with the heat of the whip and enfolded in Aphrodite’s embrace, I burst into tears. Emotions that had been walled off – probably for years – suddenly broke free and came out in torrents. As my body shook with sobs, Mistress moved in a little closer and held me tighter, occasionally stroking my hair and forehead, quietly and wordlessly reassuring me that what I was doing was not only right but necessary as well. I knew that without having to be told but the reassurance in this very public sort of place was beyond value. As I realized what was happening and chose to allow it, the intensity of my release increased. Tears ran down my face and onto the cross and I began sobbing openly.

Catharsis.

Mistress helped me into a chair where I continued to cry for at least ten more minutes. She brought me cup after cup of water and watched over me until the flow of emotions subsided and I was again able to talk although very little was said at that point. What do you say at a moment like that anyway? Forcing a conversation after traveling so deeply is usually a mistake. The aftercare would happen, but not right now. It could wait for the six and a half hour trip home the next day.

For now, Aphrodite would have Her due. Love and power had been exchanged. It was time for food and drink. Midnight snack anyone?