I have introduced myself to you these past pages, but I wondered if perhaps you ought to hear from my beloved. I have asked him to write of a recent experience so that you may gain a more rounded view of who we are. The following is unedited by me and recorded here in its entirety. Enjoy.

"Sir has asked me to share my feelings about a beating she gave me on Friday.

Sir does not beat me often. This, by itself, creates immense conflict within me. I know Sir enjoys beating me, and I desire to please her above all else. So, inevitably, I want to be beaten. Not, you understand, because I crave the pain of the physical act. What matters to me is solely that, in being beaten, I know that I am in some small way pleasing her. Unfortunately, I am not very good with pain. More accurately, I should say that I am not very good with that type of pain.

Sir frequently tortures my nipples, she is I have to say very skilled in this department. Skilled enough to cause some lasting, shall we say 'damage', when she has a mind to. Sir knows my body and my limits very well, holding me at the very edge, guiding me, helping me accept her gift. So much so that the moment she stops, I frequently feel compelled to take her hands and place them on my chest, an unspoken plea that she continue.

Beatings, though, are very different for me. This has nothing to do with the humiliation that I know some submissives feel when being beaten. It is, for me, simply the pain.

As you might expect, Sir has multiple tools she can call on when she wishes to deliver a beating: canes, belts, a riding crop, floggers of various weights and textures, and paddles. There is one paddle in particular, rather small, almost comical in appearance, easily mistaken for a toy that might have been bought as a gag gift for a hen night. However, its appearance belies its effectiveness. It lacks mass, and is broad enough to spread the impact, so should not be too painful, but there is something about the texture of its rubberized face that is quite devastating in its ability to deliver pain. I fear it.

And so, at the end of the day, just as I was dressing for bed, Sir told me to bend over the side of the bed and remain still. Sir didn’t offer any explanation as to why, just gave the instruction and expected obedience. I was hoping, perhaps, that I was going to be plugged before bed. I had already been plugged for several hours earlier in the day, and the possibility of spending the night this way excited me, even as I acknowledged that this was unlikely.

Instead, I felt and heard the first of maybe a dozen loud, but honestly not particularly painful, blows to my arse and upper thighs. Sir was using a wooden-handled looped strap. The two layers of the strap came together at the moment of impact to create an impressive crack, but without either the mass or velocity needed to cause any significant pain. Unfortunately for me, this was just the warm-up.

Sir changed to the other paddle.

My arse exploded with pain, then again, and again, and again. My knees buckled, and as I fell, I turned to shield myself from the source of the pain and lay there in a heap on the floor. The pain ebbed. Looking up, I could see Sir standing over me, waiting patiently. I slowly got back to my feet and resumed the position - hands on the bed, waiting.

Rather than continuing, Sir drew my attention to the rug that I was standing on. In my desperate attempt to escape, I had shifted it out of its place on the floor and caused one end to be folded over. I fumbled with the rug until it had been reinstated in its usual position and then returned to mine - bent over the bed.

The blows returned, no harder but certainly no gentler than before. Only this time, I collapsed after just three. Again, Sir stood over me, and again I knew I had to stand and resume my position. Beyond telling me to straighten the rug, she did not say anything until the last time, when I lay on the floor cowering and begging her to stop.

Sir waited a moment before looking down at me and ordered me to return to my position. Except 'ordered' is not quite the right word, There was no thought of disobedience in my mind. Sir did not order me, instead with a few simple words she communicated her faith in me, her acute understanding that I would return to my position, because that was what we both wanted. All I ever want is to please Sir and bask in her love. And so, I got to my feet and returned to my position, accepting the beating that followed. I knew that I was doing it not out of fear but out of love, and I knew that Sir was beating me not out of anger or malice but to help my growth and in so doing demonstrate her love to me."

These are the unaltered and unabridged words of my beloved. I hesitated in posting them, I fearful that such a singular view may present a skewed vision of who we are. It behoves me to say that the above scenario happened several years into our relationship: we have evolved to this point. There is so, so much more to say but suffice for now, to make plain that pain is not the pivotal point of our relationship.