My On-Screen Spanking Party

I recognized how extraordinary a spanking party is at the ranch.  House rules dictate that it is always the woman who is dominant during her parties, not the submissive.  There are many practical reasons for this: we are here to make the House money and can't really be going to line-ups all black and blue.  Worse, if a working girl is tied up and loses control of her client, she can be seriously injured or killed, bringing a lot of heat on the ranch.  So, being a submissive in a party is something us girls ordinarilly never get to do.  Therefore, I could not pass up the opportunity to participate.

The party was brought to my attention by Rose and Joe.  Rose was the very first ranch girl to sit with me on my first night at the ranch and give me pointers on working, House policies and just made me feel so welcome.  Rose is a Dominatrix, among other specialties, and had submitted herself to spanking to gain understanding of the submissive's point of view.  She had taken three bare handed blows to her ass and she showed me a video of her after the session and you can make out distinct handprints on her heart-shaped bottom.  She had other bungalow parties to hostess that week so she could not be spanked again.  I, on the otherhand, didn't have any appointments and figured I would heal very quickly so a little spanking wasn't going to interfere with my game.

Everything was prearranged the night before; all I had to do was be cute.  And boy, I did not hold back.  Sunday morning I slinked into my hottest outfit, a white hooded romper complete with furry leg warmers that made me look like a sexxxy snow bunny and showed off all my curves.  To complete the ensemble, a rhinestone collar choker with leash ring.  Damn, I'm good lol...

When The Dom saw me for the first time, his eyes lit up like birthday cake sparklers.  The Dom was a Rod Stewart impersonator from Las Vegas who frequented BDSM parties.  He was incredibly handsome, like Stewart back in 1984.  The chemistry between us was undeniable and instantaneous.  You could almost hear the electric current buzzing around us.

"If we do this," The Dom explained, "you must be 100% committed.  It's just like taking a turn on a motorcycle -- either you're fully committed or you wipe out.  It's just that simple.  There is no safe word..."

"We need a safe word," Rose interrupted.  "Chyna must have complete control."

We decided our safe word would be "Chocolate."  I had zero intention of ever using the safe word.  I was fully committed to the process.

We retreated to our private bungalow.  I was all smiles as I anticipated what I was getting myself into.

"You're really turned on by this," The Dom remarked, aroused himself.

We were in the Western Room and thank goodness Rose had the foresight to remove the bullwhips and lasso which had hung on the wall as art.  They were the real deal and I can only imagine the carnage that would have resulted had The Dom gotten his hands on those props.  But he was not without tools.  Rose suggested a wooden bath brush, the kind you'd use to scrub the recesses of your back, as a worthy paddle.

After a brief discussion about what we can expect, Rose left the bungalow to book the party with the House.  That left me and The Dom to get aquainted with one another... oh, and seven members of the documentary crew plus two cameras so I was ready to start the party.

The Dom stripped off my skintight outfit and grabbed my nipples with his hands, twisting them 360 degrees.  "Are you ready for this?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied, getting into character.

He bent me naked over his left knee and hit my right buttcheek hard with an open palm.  Smack.  Then he hit the left one -- smack.  I didn't utter a peep.  So he intensified his motions.  Whack!  That one I let out a groan.  Whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack-whack!  His blows came fast and heavy, covering a small area of my lower ass and I could feel the heat radiating from every pore of my skin.

"How 'bout the paddle now," he advised, rather than suggested, and before I could take another breath in, slap!  Slap-slap-slap... well, you get the idea... I was face down on the bed, still bent over The Dom's lap and I received about 20 hits from the bath brush when I heard the bungalow door open and shut.  The spanking continued and I turned my head to the side and saw Rose.  She had such sadness in her eyes.  She leaned down to me, very close and intimate, almost nose-to-nose and I could see her lips were moving but I couldn't hear what she was saying because the sound of the wooden bath brush connecting with the taut skin of my muscular ass resembled a lightning clap.  I began to feel disoriented.  Hello, adrenalin!  Ahhh, wzup endorphins... thanks for joining the party!  My moans took on a jazz quality as I took blow after blow after blow.

The Dom stood up and rolled me over onto my back with my Jell-O legs over the edge of the bed.  He lifted my legs by my ankles and pushed so my feet were over my head.  He paddled the lower curves of my buttocks and the backs of my upper thighs repeatedly.  I felt direct hits on my anus. Ooooh, dopamine and opioids surged up my spinal cord. Ecstacy. I must have received over a hundred licks of that wooden bath brush in the first twenty minutes.

The Dom dropped my legs and sat on the edge of the bed.  "Get on your knees," he said, pointing to the floor.

I stood up wobbly like a just-birthed fawn and Rose reached out her hand to steady me.  I dropped on all fours in front of The Dom.

"No, on your knees in front of me," he instructed.

"Yes, Sir," I said as I picked my hands off the floor and faced him between his legs.

"Take off my shoes."

Rose began to remove his right sneaker while I struggled with the laces of his left shoe.  My hands trembled as if I had Palsy.  I was hot -- so hot from every pore -- dewy skinned and wet in all the right places.

The Dom unbuckled his belt.  I breathed heavy and exhaled a sigh of relief when he said, "Take off my pants." His belt stayed between the belt loops of his denims and he removed his underwear.  He was so hard.

I put my hands on his lap to steady myself and he slapped me across my tits.

"Did I say you could touch me?"

"No, Sir," I conceded as he slapped me across my breasts repeatedly.  Rose later told me he had slapped me across my face but I do not remember that.

The Dom stretched his legs out on the bed and propped himself up on his elbows.  "Suck my cock."

I'll skip the sex part -- hehehe gotta save something for cable lol... [actually they didn't show any of the sex LOL] -- except to say that the spankings continued with Rose attending to me with ice cubes on my back, neck and ass.  The ice melted quickly and I was stimulated by the way the cold water streaked down my arms and hips.  I felt ice cubes by my anus and it was divine.  After awhile, my spankings ceased and Rose became the center of affection.

We went from spanking to love-making and as Rose surrendered to her orgasm, I finally released the energy invested in me by crying.  The Dom was insistant on it.  "I'm going to beat you until you cry," he assured.

After The Dom came on Rose's spectacular breasts, the party was over.

He beamed at me with a pureness I rarely see in men.  "You were amazing," he said, dropping the dom routine and helping me to my feet.

I felt phenomenal.  I ran to the bathroom to take a peek at my ass and was shocked by all the different colors represented on my batty.  And the symmetry of his art was stunning.  My buttcheeks looked like an inkblot print and Gnarls Barkley's Crazy replaced Stewart's If You Think I'm Sexy playing in my head.

I had welts the size of tube socks and black- and raspberries all over the backs of my upper thighs and the fleshy part of my derriere.  After The Dom left the bungalow, I sat my sore ass on a towelful of icecubes that seems to melt and glacier on contact with my radiating batty.  An ice cube entered my anus and felt delightful.

I needed a cigarette.  Shit, I needed a joint but no weed on the ranch. I lit up and Rose, a non-smoker, said, "I need to smoke, too." She turned green after a few puffs of my Newports and sat down by the sink holding her pretty head in her hands.

As my body chemistry returned to normal, I crashed, exhausted, like a cokehead coming down from a high.  It was difficult to participate in the after-party interview... I was simply wasted.  I needed to process my experience and the documentary crew wanted to discuss my husband for some reason.  Dunno.

I retreated to the sanctuary of my room where a miracle was waiting for me.  The room was filled with this amazing nurturing energy -- a familiar but long-missed energy... that of my unborn daughter. Her essence was further validated by the song that was serendipitously playing on my laptop -- David Baerwald's Born For Love.  It was a song I knew well, the soundtrack to Kalifornia being my favorite soundtrack of all time.  I sang along to David's haunting creation while I clutched Dumbo, my 29-year-old stuffed elephant who's been with me on every trip across 3 continents since I was 7 years old, and wept unabashedly in a fetal position as I felt the kiss and tender love of an essence I knew to once have been inside my body.  Now, it enveloped me with acceptance and salvation.

The miracle of that afternoon was further validated when Joe returned to my room after a few hours when I had calmed down.  He asked me about the song that I sang along to because it was such a perfect moment.  Background music adds a lot of red tape to the production, copyrights and releases and whatnot, so if they were to include the footage of me returning to my room, they would need to get in touch with the artists.  I showed Joe the CD and pointed to Track 9.  His face turned white as light.

"I know David," Joe said, with a strange smile one might see on a happily married man who just found out his wife was expecting.  "He collaborated with me on Sexual Healing." Cha!!! So all that juicy footage of me, Dumbo and my daughter's essence will make the show, saved from the cutting room floor.

I am so grateful to The Dom for his intense commitment to his art.  He provided me with sufficient friction to enable a leap in the octaves and I began to understand why I engage in these pain games.

My body -- no, my neurology was attempting to simulate labor and childbirth.

I had had an abortion in 2000 and ever since, I have tried to enact a form of labor to birth experience.

The suspension was a total Lamaze experience.  Deep, steady breaths. No drugs.  The intense labor of getting my toes off the stool.  And when I dug deeper than I had ever been able to do before, that is when  I birthed my true spirit.  I was rewarded by the glorious feeling of seeing my beauty outside of my body.  Holding my inner child with the span of my outstretched arms as I swung two feet of the ground.

The spanking party, on the other hand, felt more like Alice Walker's Celie's birthing of Olivia.  There was no emotional reward, only the promise of Real Work.

Self-refinement forces us to evolve our perspective.  Self-refinement enables us to be objective.  The question that is before me now is do I continue with my pain games and accumulate more friction? Or are pain games for me obsolete, having reached this miraculous self-discovery?  The question becomes my new quest.