Last night was, in a word, amazing. All went as it was supposed to. J was fine. We had a lovely dinner, the four of us. And then Craig and I had one hell of a scene.

Afterward, I told him that I thought it was the hardest scene we've ever had. I think I was mistaken. It wasn't the hardest, nor was it the longest. But it may have been the most intense. And while not the hardest, certainly the most severe. He pushed me in ways I normally won't even entertain the possibility of. And I let him. Sometimes I was scared. Other times I was angry. But I was always willing.

We met Craig and Cindy at a very cool little Chinese restaurant called City Wok -- I hadn't been there in a long time, and had forgotten how wonderful the food is. It's not a fancy place, but it's very popular, has a large menu and everything is cooked to order, perfectly prepared. So we had a fun dinner with lots of banter. I wanted to eat more than I did, but I didn't think it would be a good idea to have a full stomach.

Funny aside before I get to the serious stuff -- at one point after dinner, without going into a whole lot of detail, I put my foot in my mouth, big time. My mistake was innocent, but still, I was embarrassed. And of course, Craig and J took the opportunity to tease me relentlessly about it. I felt myself getting redder and redder in the face, and I wanted to get under the table and hide. So I did the next best thing -- I grabbed the bag with our leftovers in it, and put the bag over my head. And of course, Craig had to snap a picture of that:



Oy. Despite this, I managed to gather myself and then it was onward to the Lair.

We hadn't been there for a couple of months; I was reminded once again of how I really don't like that place. Cindy and J wanted to play in the main room, but there was some really icky scene going on there and they were waiting until it was over, so the four of us hung out in the kitchen. Of course, I was fidgeting and anxious to get to my own scene, so I sat there, trying not to look impatient, squirming under the penetrating looks Craig kept throwing my way. People were coming in and out, getting snacks -- the kitchen door opened, and in walked a naked man. OK, I'm not into naked strangers, especially the types who really should keep their clothes on, if you know what I mean. I couldn't help but notice, this man looked like he had a large, flesh-colored balloon hanging from his crotch. On second glance, I realized this balloon was actually his scrotum, somehow blown up to a big taut balloon, completely swallowing up his member, and just hanging there, looking rather hideous.

I thought I was going to be sick. My eyes darted around the kitchen, frantically trying to avoid the sight, but it wasn't easy. Finally Craig called my name, and motioned me into the room next to the kitchen. I thought we were going to start our scene, but he just sat me down and said, "I thought you might like to get out of there -- you looked like you were going to faint." He then explained to me that it was a saline injection -- basically, the guy had had saltwater injected into his scrotal sac until it blew up. And his body would absorb the fluid in a couple of days. Sorry, folks. I know it's live and let live, don't judge other fetishes, blah blah blah. But I was horrified. At least I wasn't the only one -- others were grumbling after he left that he really should have stayed out of the kitchen, that it wasn't exactly an appetizing sight. Amen. Just another night at the Lair, folks!

But finally, Craig and I began our scene. I knew it was going to be different from the getgo -- his demeanor was different. And our warmup was different... meaning, we didn't have one. OK, he started with his hand. But freaking HARD. No lighter swats to get the blood flowing, but full force from the start. I was shocked at how much it hurt, and I thought, "Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?" He told me I was out of control and I needed severe discipline, and he was going to give it to me. (gulp) I knew I'd asked for this. I wanted it. I felt the need to be pushed, to be taken out of my own crazy head. But I was scared nonetheless.

I don't know how long we scened. It's a blur of implements, most of which hurt like crazy. I did a lot of screaming and hollering, I know that (OK, that's one thing I DO like about the Lair; I can make noise). Craig's tone of voice and demeanor were uncompromising and I didn't dare to brat him, not even in the beginning. I knew I was in deep enough you-know-what as it was without opening my big yap and making it worse.

I cried early on. I think the first time was when he was smacking me with something that felt horrible -- large and hard and loud, and it felt like wood. Extremely painful, and my mind screamed, "What IS that? Oh God, I hate this, it's horrible, I can't take it." But I did take it. And when he was done using it, he held it in front of my face so I could see it. It was a large rectangular wooden paddle, with holes in it. The kind I hate. The kind I won't allow anyone to use. I burst into tears. My first thought was, "How could he do that to me? He knows I hate those things!" Then I realized, "That's exactly why he's using it. Because you asked to be pushed. If he pushed you on your terms, that wouldn't exactly be pushing, would it... he's challenging you. Remember, this isn't some sadistic prick who just wants to hurt you. This is someone you trust. He won't hurt you. He's giving you what you need." And so, I settled back down, and I didn't complain.

Same deal with the heavy, thuddy cane. I took the dozen or so swats from that stoically, even though I was screaming internally, "Stop stop STOP! I HATE that thing! You know I hate that thing!" Sure enough, after he was done with it, he complimented me for the first time, for taking it so well. Ah, I thought, so I was right. Just go with it, Erica. You'll be OK. After that, he interspersed the pain with small rewards and bouts of compassion, but he certainly wasn't done.

More pain -- the carbon fiber cane, the rubber-tipped crop that makes me scream my head off. When he first tapped me with it, I blurted, "Oh no, no, please!" Craig knows me well enough to know that when I'm starting to reach my limit, I do one of two things -- I say the top's name, or I say "please." Not please stop, or please don't, just please. He stopped, knelt down to me and said, "Please means one of two things, Erica -- please continue, or please stop. I need you to tell me which one you mean." Oh, shit. I couldn't bring myself to say please continue, not when I loathed that thing so much. But I also knew that if I said please stop, he would stop -- completely. End the scene. And I couldn't stand for him to do that. I knew I couldn't say, "Please, not too hard," or "Please, not too many." Those weren't options. So I didn't answer... and he continued.

I really wish I understand why I need to go to this place of being pushed so hard sometimes, but it is what it is. And because I need to play this hard sometimes, trust is even more imperative than it is with lighter play. I can hate every minute of what's happening to me, and yet know I'm in the best of caring hands and I will come out the other side. Is that submission? What is it? I don't know... it's a side of me that has only recently emerged and it's so completely opposite of my normal play personality.

And that side was never more evident in this particular scene than toward the end, when Craig asked me, "Erica, I have an important question for you. I want you to tell me -- are you centered?" And without thinking about it, I heard myself say, "I'm centered when you say I am." I have no idea where that came from. It surprised me. Surprised him, too.

We were almost done, but of course, our usual finale with the heavy punishment paddle was still ahead. He told me when it was time, and that this would be the end. "No kicking, and no begging," he warned, "and it will be over when I decide it's over. Do you understand?" Yes, I said. I sucked in some air. This was going to hurt.

Flurry after flurry, building in speed and strength, with brief breaks so I could catch my breath, and then starting again. "We're not done yet," he said. More. I heard sounds coming out of my throat that didn't even sound like me. I bore down, took it, took it some more. And then I heard the thump of the paddle being thrown to the carpet. "You're done," he said. I let go then and wept. He held me close, whispered comforting words, told me what a good girl I was, how proud he was of me, how well I took this. Pressed napkins into my hand, gave me water. Let me shudder and shake and gasp, and slowly come back down. No rush. I was OK. Strict Craig was now once again kind and compassionate Craig. All was right with the world, which had shrunk down to the size of the room.

Aftercare was long and relaxing; we took our time, talking. He wrapped me in the fur blanket and let me lie on the table, while he sat beside me. It was perfect, save for one distraction. For whatever reason, some woman had come into the room and was in the corner, in the dark, lying on the carpet by herself, pleasuring herself and making funny noises. OhhhhhKay. Like I said, just another night at the Lair. Finally, I was able to sit up, pull myself together, put my dress back on, try to smooth down my wildly mussed hair. Craig put all the toys away into his bag, and we left the room. Back to reality. And cookies, of course. I had remembered to stick two of them into my purse. Amazing how good those things taste at 2:00 in the morning after someone's been beating the bejesus out of you.

We rejoined J and Cindy, and stayed in the kitched for a while talking with others, but I was toast and Cindy had been up since 5:30 that morning, so it was time to head out. John scraped me into the car and drove us home, and I could barely get my clothes off and my teeth brushed before I fell into the bed at 3:00 am. Today, I was very sore, but relaxed. My head was quiet, and I was smiling.

Thanks, Craig. For taking the time to know me, to read me, for caring enough to give me what I need with the right measure of sternness and kindness. And thanks to our mates, too, for giving us the space and time to scene so thoroughly. I know I complain about this and that in my life, and sometimes life does suck. But overall, I am quite, dare I say, blessed.