Green. Yellow. Red.

I took a day off of work to attend a day of CLAW. 

I had no plan. I was just going. I made no prior arrangements with anyone - at least that panned out. That's ok. I do and don't enjoy the event - all at the same time. 

I am now comfortable in my skin - in and out of leather. I somewhat embrace the leather community thought I don't know it embraces me. But I'm an outsider. I've never really felt apart of it, even though I've been a manager there for six years and attending for three others. This year, I opted not to participate in planning or execution. 

I didn't even buy a day pass, just a vendor pass, so I could see if there was anything I wanted to purchase. Still, I went with the intent of getting fucked. Hopefully more than once. But with my quasi-relationship, I've opened up a number of new experiences to which I've somewhat mentioned in previous posts. Watersports and some impact play amongst them. 

I hung in the lobby of the host hotel. It was earlier in the day - nothing official was yet going on. There was some slight cruising going on with me and another guy until others showed up - then he was gone. But I got a few pings from some apps - one being a guy a few hundred feet away (straight up, it would turn out) who was interested in a little fun. He had later morning plans but had 45 minutes free, if I wanted. 

His Recon profile was more about impact play, but we had not discussed what would go on. And I didn't ask. I headed to the 16th floor. He was handsome, but very understated. Fully clothed - t-shirt and jeans. After I entered, I was told to leave my clothes on a chair. I dropped them all and presented myself. 

I saw his tools laid out on the bed - save four items.  There were two paddles, two floggers and one mallet of some type.  

He asked how experienced I was. I overstated that by a bit. Over the last year, I have experimented this way, but not to the degree that was about to take place. 

He asked if I was comfortable being restrained. I replied it wasn't up to me. He liked this. He said I would be gagged, bound and blindfolded.  These were three of the four things I had not seen. 

The gag was a ball one. Some have slots for air and spit to pass through. This was not that. It was a full gag, limiting my saliva, my breathing, and any vocalization. It was firmly attached. 

The blindfold was leather. I have one, but not like this. Mine, is amateur hour to this. There is no possibility to see light or anything else.  That was number two. 

I was told to kneel on the bed - guided there -  and to place my wrists next to my ankles. I did as I was told.  He secured me that way. Each wrist was secured to each ankle. Exposing me as such. And with little to no movement. It was perfect. 

I was told that there would and could be three things I was able to say:  Green. Yellow. Red. 

Green would mean for him to continue. 

Yellow meant for him to continue but lighten up or I needed a break. 
Red means what it always means: Stop. 

In reality, unless I said Yellow or Red, there was no reason to ever say Green. He assured me he could understand me through the gag. 

He started with a paddle. Wooden, I believe. He was firm, but steady. Not overdelivering. I know I made some noise behind the gag, but nothing unpleasant. It was acknowledgement. It turns out, this would please him. This paddle was for testing. For warm-up. So were the severity of his swats. 

Paddle two, I'm guessing was leather. Firmer. Stingier. Unrelenting. His strikes were firm and he meant business. I mean, I knew from the entire set up, he meant business. And he did not disappoint. I was trying not to as well. I grunted. I groaned. I moaned. I did not say 'yellow' or 'red'.  I didn't want to. 

The first of the floggers was next  After this would all be done, this would be my favorite. Going in, I wasn't sure. I had never been flogged. I was anxious - for the good and for the potential bad. He didn't just target my ass, but got some swats in on my side and back. I won't say part of me was wondering why I was enjoying it this much, but I kind of was. 

He asked if I was doing ok. I nodded my head. I was smart enough to know that I couldn't reply to that question with Green, Yellow or Red.  He was smart enough to know I was smart enough. 

He did reach in to feel my cock.  "Well, I guess you ARE enjoying this!", he said. I knew I wasn't hard and he felt me, so he knew I wasn't either. Apparently I was leaking a lot of pre-cum onto his comforter. He said as much.  I'm not saying he punished me for that, but with the second flogger he just picked up, the hits were harder and more frequent - though perfectly timed in his mind. This guy was a pro. He wasn't hitting me willy-nilly. 

The second flogger stung much more than the first. Or the paddles. I contemplated saying "yellow", but I didn't want to seem weak. I think his harder hits were to get me to say Yellow or Red, to see if he could break me a bit. I didn't take Psych 101 for nothing!

The last time - and I'm just guessing here - was a hard rubber mallet. He hit my ass and back with it. Honestly, compared to the other items, I just kind of felt a 'thud' here and there. It did nothing to or for me. 

But the one item I had not seen beforehand, and clearly not blindfolded turned out to be this. 

While I didn't see it, I instinctively knew what it was.  He ran it over my ass, my back and my sac. I won't say I enjoyed it, but it got a reaction from me. 

"I like that you react. You make noise. You don't lie there like some dead fish".  I'm guessing many who are more experienced might? Listen, I didn't say I got a great grade in Psych 101. 

He let me rest for a minute and then said: "Ok, we're going to go through each of these again, and you're going to count out 20 for each. BUT not every one - just everyone you think is truly a hit". 

Paddle #1 commenced. I didn't count the first 4-5. But then I started counting for each true strike. 

Paddle #2, the same. Though he said I was counting too many he didn't think he were worthy to be called a hit. 

Flogger #1. He again said I was counting too many, and now for each count I did make, he would strike harder. And he did. Of course, the crux of this is, count fast and they are over. Count slower and you get many more contact. So instead of 20, I probably got 40.  I don't think this is the losing proposition. At least for me. 

Flogger #2. I didn't count fast at all, but the contact was harsher. Or maybe my body was feeling it more or different. 

He didn't even bother with the mallet, but he did revisit the rolling razor. I flinched repeatedly at that. I did not enjoy it, but I didn't use any of the words of which he allowed. 

The man was a good "top", and gave me praise for enduring what I did. It was moderated praise - not enough to give me a swelled head, but enough to know that I did him proud. It sets one up for the next encounter - whatever and with whomever that might be. 

He left me like this.......

I know you're wondering where the sex was. 

That was it. 

It was a mind fuck to a degree. I was in a position, literally, where he could have violated me with penetration, but it never happened. I won't lie and say I didn't want it to, but this was his scene. 

Asked much later if he gets erect from that kind of meet-up, he wholeheartedly said, "YES".  And that's his mind fuck. I think at times we all get off mentally, if not physically. I think both he and I did that day. 

As I dressed, I told him I had a confession:  that was only my second time. 

Yes, I've experienced hands and belts before, but not to that degree, not to that detail. He was so methodical about it. 

He said, had he knowing, he wouldn't have gone as far as he did. I assured him nothing happened that I didn't want - and reminded him I never said Yellow or Red.  

He thought for a second or two and said, "no........no you did not.  Good boy."