Core Fantasy: Whipping

To an ethnologist a fetish is an object people have invested with extraordinary, usually magical or spiritual powers. More popularly it has two invidious meanings. 1) Something nonsexual that evokes erotic desire. Foolish as if fingers and, yes, thigh high boots aren't legitimately objects of sexual focus. 2) Something a person is obsessed with. In the latter sense a passion for old comic books is a fetish.

Alexandra herself when she acts as owner does become a fetish of exceptional potency. And I do have plenty of fetishes of the latter sort.

Like many masochists there are fantasies I've lived through again and again for many years. Some folks develop a very precise, fixed image and repeat it with little or no detail. Others - I'm in this class - tend to push the scenario to extremes and work out elaborate variations.

Over the next several days I thought I'd catalog my obsessions. Not that they are novel. Sexual fixations isn't an area where there's apt to be much innovation.

I was eight when my father gave me the whipping that either forged or catalyzed my masochism. I've dreamed of whippings ever since. I've pictured myself in almost every position from tightly bound on the floor to being suspended upside down. And in seeking greater stimulation my fancy progressed from belts and switches to foolish things like a flogger made from a garden hose to dangerous objects like a car antenna.

Eventually I came to focus on a long elaborate, almost ritualized whipping. I came see myself worked over from ankles to shoulders by various whips, canes, straps. With rare sanity for S&M fantasies I did assume the hard things would hit my soft spots and the slappy things the firmer areas like my upper back. The intensity would slowly rise until the last instrument chosen would moderately and for a long time - but with periods of rest - hit me from top to bottom over and over again.

Of course that wasn't sufficiently ambitious.

So I came to saw myself blindfolded, sometimes with my hearing blocked so my senses could only focus on my skin.

Another variation was to imagine myself facing a mirror and clock so I could watch myself writhe and the time slowly move forward.

There've been plenty of elaborations over the years but these two versions crystallized into my favorites.