Birch

We had a wonderful Easter vacation at my in-laws cabin by the Baltic Sea in the north of Sweden. Cold, sunny days, beatiful full moon, all kinds of birds, a lot of outdoor work, and most importantly - evening, nights and mornings baby free, in our very own little miniature-cabin by the water's edge. It's really small, there's really only room for our narrow sofa bed, and a bureau with an electric kettle on, but it's ours, and we can have some privacy.

At the Easter Sunday* we made good use of this privacy, and my Owner used the birch on me. It was officially taken in as Easter decorations, and I even put some feathers in it, but these were later removed, and I tied it properly, and more for my sake than for hers, took away any twigs that were too pointy and all over the place. Eventually we had a very nice looking, traditional birch.

The carefully constructed instrument of traditional torture


The thing is, I discovered my masochistic nature around five years old, and as a young adult I also discovered internet. Which led to a lot of pornographic web surfing, at that time mostly centered on spanking. Birch featured heavily in these novels (mostly) and pictures (some). Even though that was some ten years ago, I still have very vivid images in my head about how it should be; look like, feel, and so on.

My Mistress discovered she was a sadist by hooking up with me and realising how very satisfactory it was to finally being able to slap me in the face when I mouthed off to her, after something like six years of close friendship. Her pornographic history differs from mine.

So while I was happily busy perfecting the intstrument of torture, I think she mostly smiled at my happiness, and went and did other things.

And then she had me on the bed, bare assed, and started to hit me, and I yelped and couldn't lie still, and it was very very painful. In the end, because she likes it when it's possible for me to relax in to it, she had to use it so gently at my skin that it was hardly even hitting me. When I was warmed up, she could use real strokes wothout me levitating to the ceiling, but afterwards she claimed to be bored by then, and losing interest.

*sigh*

Either she'll choose to use something else for warm up, or she'll simply tie me down and have at it anyway. Or, the saddest part, it was a bust and I'll have to take all my carefully perfected dreams about traditional Swedish corporal punishment and fold them away again in a drawer. It was, however, fun while it lasted.

Afterwards, we removed the string and throw the twigs out through the window, in the bushes. Good thing with living in the wilderness for a while!

(*Swedes have strange tradition (I should know, I am one). Almost every holiday is celebrated properly the day before the actual day... We celebrate Christmas Eve, while Christmas Day is a slacker day without much happening except eating left overs. The same with Easter - the big family get-together was Easter Eve, the day before Easter Sunday. For some reason, we apparantely celebrate that Christ is safely in the ground and will arise shortly...)