The first time I heard a whip crack in my presence was a lightning strike. Electricity danced up and down my spine, bit my nipples, and seized my pussy in a vice grip. Luckily I’d more than mastered the art of masking my sexuality by my late thirties and managed to keep from cumming on my good friend’s lawn chair as her husband continued to practices his throws.
With every crack that rang through the air, everything in me responded with a “
Fuck yes...THAT.”
Me being me, it only took a minute or two before I asked for a try. My friend snickered and warned me not to kill myself while her husband raised an eyebrow in typical amused hetero-male doubt. I’d seen that look more often than you can image throughout my life. He handed my the coiled serpent.
I asked a few quick questions about stance, rotation, and placement of wrist snaps. As soon as I began to swing that six foot bullship's beautiful weight above my head, I felt in perfect synch. Fuck yes...THIS. The dance between me and that vicious braided tail felt as natural to me as breathing.
First time I snapped my wrist...I wasn't rewarded. I was too eager. Too excited. The look on the husband's face was kind, patient, and only slightly smug.
On my second try, I swung longer and let myself feel the rhythm as it cut through the hot summer air. I closed my eyes and...CRACK! That beautiful sound rang out hard and true. Pure sexual pleasure washed over me. I nearly came, and my full throated joy-induced laugh filled the accompanying silence that immediately followed my success. Fuck yes...THIS.
Needless to say, my friends' impression of me was forever altered.
~sigh~ It wasn't long before I had my own practice paracord bullwhip to throw. So much damn pleasure and joy was had with my toes in the Ohio grass and only the big blue sky above me as I swung and cracked and threw and felt her stingy lashes on my errors.
All this happened shortly after I found the lifestyle about eight years ago. I was only just beginning to experiment with my leather flogger and S&m, and while I understood there was a relationship between all of these things, I didn't comprehend the possibilities.
NOTE: I am by NO MEANS an expert. I am still barely knowledgeable about the craft and hardly versed in techniques. Yet from the first moment, I recognized the sheer natural connectedness I feel with the tool.
Since moving to NYC nearly four years ago, I've had little chance to indulge, but over the last year, I've been reminded of my hobby again and again. I've seen signal whips in shops and a few used in the scene.
I've yet to receive. Though I am curious.
As a giver though...I'm still trying to make it all make sense to me.
At a few social-type kinky events I've had the opportunity to even throw at targets. However the short light little signal whips so popular and prevalent in the lifestyle leave me deeply wanting on a visceral level. Not that I want to whip anyone's ass with the full force of a bullwhip. No...this is personal. The weight, the power, the force, the challenge, the dance of a heftier bullwhip is what gets my pussy juicy. A three foot skinny signal just feels like a limp dick in my hand by comparison. Maybe I should have started small and worked my way up, but that's rarely been my style in life. lol
Ahhhhh...but I'll keep trying to find a connection for myself with the bullwhip's more practical cousins. I have by no means given up. Maybe someday I'll be able to get a little fussy about that short braided leather in my palm. Maybe it just needs to be accompanied by some masochist's sweet tears. Hehe ;-)
~DominaKat
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