It was the second night of my tour to San Francisco, and after thirteen sessions I was emotionally drained and exhausted. Thirteen sessions is a LOT of BDSM. Some of the sessions were very physical, and I was spotted with bruises even though I hadn’t been subbing (domination and fetish only). I was still fucked up emotionally from Therapist Jung, and I’d just completed a session that involved publicly humiliating a client in the bar of the W Hotel in Union Square.
I was begging Heinrich to dominate me. Usually I don’t feel sexual after a long day’s work at all–so much of my energy goes to my clients, and coping with their eroticism–but now, this moment, I needed something. I felt afraid and out of control. I felt all alone. I felt like my clients were making me crazy. I kept wondering if Therapist Jung was right, and my sexuality made me a sick person. Thinking about my sexuality made me feel sexual. I felt like I was going to act out–get on Craigslist and find a date, or go hunting at the hotel bar.
Heinrich to the rescue. He talked me through it. He did it in the middle of the night, too, and he had to be at work early in the morning.
His English isn’t perfect, but he knows all the right words.
“You are a weak, docile, small female animal! Weak little prey for any man who walks along. I should take you back out to the country. You can serve me and my friends after we have been walking in the fields all day.”
I was kneeling in front of my computer in my black cocktail dress, still decked out from my session at the W Hotel bar. He had me on the floor. Heinrich doesn’t usually let his subs use the furniture.
“You are good for that. Tending to us and meet-ink the needs. You really are an obedient child and a well-trained servant.”
The wave of emotion that came upon me was overwhelming. Maybe it was just catharsis after two hard days of sessioning out of a hotel suite. Maybe it was all the second-guessing of myself I’d been doing for Therapist Jung.
Maybe it was just feeling like I was seen. Seen and recognized and accepted for what I am.
(I really was an obedient, submissive daughter. I did everything that was asked of me, and I was calm, and never resisted. I worked hard, was responsible and dutiful. I don’t understand why my obedience never earned me the love of my parents.)
I started to cry, right there on Skype, on the floor of my hotel suite, in front of my computer screen. Great hitching breaths, tears running down my face.
“I’m sorry!” I apologized.
“Nein! You are a beautiful submissive woman, and what you have, for the offering, is very rare. Your future husband should be keeping you in a closet, and beat you every day. You need leading. Like” he flapped his hand, trying to think of the word, “anchor.”
I was sobbing, yes, just sobbing on the Skype. And, readers, you know I never cry. Honestly, I cry maybe 6 times a year. Ten times at most.
“You need some pain to focus you. I am sorry, that I cannot do it myself. Do you have the wood paddle?”
I sniffled: “Yes.”
“Bring it, please.”
I went to get my nice heavy wooden paddle. I showed it to him on Skype.
“You need to take the pain where you have no wish. Hit on the tits. Five is good.”
Heinrich knows that I hate to be hurt on my breasts. It’s a big deal for me. Usually, I don’t even let men touch me there, even boyfriends, and I definitely don’t let men touch my nipples. The Surgeon could, but he’s about it.
Well, I smacked my breasts five times, with the paddle, for Heinrich. And it hurt, and I have mild bruising.
“Sehr gut! Wonderbar!”
And that was the session. I don’t know how to end this blog post.