The first time he hit me with the flogger, he did it on the front of my thigh and I totally freaked out. Not only had I not expected the thing to hurt that much, but I now had these random reddish lines on my thigh.

“How am I supposed to walk around like this?” I asked.

He shrugged, “it’s fine. It just looks like you scratched yourself.”

Because of how short I am, I had to stand on top of his desk so he could get the right angle going. Being the stubborn girl I can be, I kept wimping out and then pressing him to keep going. At first I would make him stop after two or three swats and I was proud when I got myself up to fifteen in a row with minimal complaint. He was courteous and stopped whenever I asked.

I enjoyed how it felt, but I felt awkward actually enjoying it when it was supposed to be an academic endeavor.

But, my gosh, for all the times I’ve sort of been cocky about flogging when it’s been suggested, I redact it. I probably couldn’t take it to my pussy or my breasts because holy shit ouch.

However, the whole experience was pretty fun, even if I got some awkward looks on the train later that evening. And I’d definitely do it again, but I definitely know I can’t talk as big a game about it as I used to. Hurray for realism.