Second Training: The Dungeon. July 2017.
I have been slightly unwell. I ask my Queen if I can rest; she agrees. I don my sleeping dress, and doze. After an hour or so she comes into the room. I turn in the bed and see her before she speaks. She wears shiny skin tight pants, tight high heeled boots and a purple singlet. The expression on her face is formidable. She is the most intense I have ever seen her. She carries her black whip. “Get up” comes the command. I obey. “Turn around.” “Yes my Queen.” Then her whip fall on my back, the first time in many months, and the weight and sting of the lashes penetrate my dress as if it isn’t there. I gasp with each stroke. After eight she finishes. “Get dressed. We are going to the dungeon now.” She had told me of this earlier, as I had disclosed several transgressions over the months, and she had made promises of punishment.
We take a taxi to the dungeon. As usual I feel out of place and apprehensive. I know I am going to receive a whipping, a substantial one. We greet a Domme whom we know from previous visits. I know what is expected of me and drop to my knees and kiss her boots. We carry on and sit down, and order drinks. It is quite busy. Three men sit at the bar talking loudly in a different language. A woman is tied with her back to me; she is being paddled by another Domme. I sip my drink and we chat. I am on edge.
After a while my Queen stands and tells me to get naked. In a second it is done. She attaches my leash to my collar, orders me to my knees, and demands that I kiss her boots, using my tongue. I obey. After a while she asks our Domme friend to lead me around the dungeon. We set off, and parade until we stop at a group of Dommes sitting at the bar having a drink. I am ordered to kiss their shoes and boots, one by one. I obey. The Domme then leads me back to where my Queen waits. She takes off the leash and orders me to the diagonal cross. She and the Domme attach me, hands and feet spread wide. My Queen comes before me. “How many lashes do you owe me?” “Eighty, my Queen.” “Tell me why.” I recite the several occasions where I have displeased her, as she listens and nods. Then, “You will receive one hundred.” She describes a recent failure to put her first in everything. I acknowledge my mistake. She moves behind me, and I hear her tell the Domme to video the whipping. The first lash falls. It is painful as always. Then she says “Count. If you make a mistake it will start over again.” “Yes my Queen.” I gasp as the second lash falls and I start the count. Several strokes fall across my back and shoulders, then she directs the whip to my sides. I groan and writhe in a futile attempt to ease the pain of the lashes. It is extreme. I keep counting. We get to fifty and my back and sides are on fire. At eighty she stops and speaks with the Domme. I am in a world of pain and I don’t hear what they are saying. After a short minute the lashes and counting continue, and I know that it is near the end. It is overwhelming. But it finishes. Presently I am released from the cross, and I am told to get dressed. My Queen pays the bill, and we leave. A taxi quickly takes us to our hotel. Soon she is talking to me about my failure to serve her at this early point of my second training. It is true. I am relating to her more as a friend than my Mistress. I have forgotten to offer her coffee in the morning, and ask if she wants breakfast. I have failed to put her first. I feel sad and diminished. I vow to myself that I will do better from now on.