A flogging, an odd reaction, and a date made.

I was at Burning Man this year.

Despite it's reputation for whirlwind relationships, easy and promiscuous ravers, and hot dirty Burner sex, I did not fuck anyone there.

I did do something outside my usual envelope: I got flogged by a pro-domme.

I hooked up with a cluster of my friends, at a wine bar on the Esplanade by the name of "Spikes". There I was subjected to what was, I am not making this up, the worst wine I have ever had in my entire life. It was all harsh bitter dry sourness. While swallowing this swill at my friends' urging, I joined them in flirting with a rather dirty and very sexy burner woman, chattering with many of the other burrners around, and watching the people taking turns
poledancing and flogging on the stage over the bar.

I eventually found myself on that stage, shirtless, head down and on my knees, while a very nice prodomme flogged my shoulders and back.

My internal reaction was somewhat idiosyncratic, in that the pain and mild humiliation did not make me hot. Instead I found myself getting enraged, wanting to seize the flogger from her, and start beating people with it. That made me hot.

I think I scared her a couple of times, because twice she cut it short, and asked me if I needed to stop. Most people taking a flogging like this either moan and wiggle, or go off in an trance.
Usually not growl through clenched teeth. Each time she stopped and checked in, I told her to keep going.

When it was over, my back was covered with nice hot welts, and I had learned something new about myself.

Later, when I told a friend about it, a wonderfully twisted and
perverse friend, her immediate reaction was an eager "When you come
visit, can I flog you?"

"You heard what I said? If you do that, I'll try to take it away from
you, and beat you to your knees with it?"

"I heard you. (giggle)"

Ok then. This will be fun...