Speaking of lingering pain, I’d be lying if I said this whole philosophy of dishing out punishment strategically came together perfectly from day one as a Mistress. The first time I ever hit a man—well, other than my ex-husband—was during my second session, and let’s just say it didn’t go very well.
In fact, saying “it couldn’t have gone any worse” would be a more accurate description of that fateful afternoon.
The problem that day wasn’t the slave we were seeing, nor the Mistress who accompanied me, or even the dark, dank condo we had traveled to for the session.
Nope. The real culprit of that afternoon was the bullwhip that had arrived earlier that week—a very expensive Indiana Jones replica we’d ordered from an online BDSM shop.