Girl on the Net

Help me clear up a dilemma, those of you who are into BDSM: is it better to be flogged in jeans or a skirt? Or just naked? If you’re dispensing a flogging, do you prefer to start off with someone fully-clothed, then gradually strip them, building layers of new pain on top of the warm throb of older strokes? Or go straight in for leather-on-skin? Let’s explore this topic together, via the medium of me getting horny for flogging…

Getting flogged: jeans or skirt?

The best thing about getting flogged through denim is the sound that the flogger makes when it falls hard onto my arse.

Thwack.

Hard, thudding smacks through thick fabric that dulls the pain, so I can work my way up to taking a serious beating. When I’m good and warmed up – arse glowng red under my jeans – I can slip them down to my thighs, exposing my knickers to the next set of blows.

Thwack.

Heavy and hard. Harsh leather on thin, soft cotton.

After that I want him to yank my knickers towards my knees, bundled together with the jeans he stripped down before. Still on, of course, because the point is not nakedness but exposure. If I’m fully naked, I can’t feel the fabric bite into the back of my thighs just above the knee, reminding me that just two minutes ago I was fully dressed.

Now I’m exposed. Humiliated. Beaten.

I’ll bite down onto something soft and easily-available: a duvet, a sofa cushion, the flesh on the back of my hand between forefinger and thumb, and squirm under the next set of strokes on naked, quivering skin.

The best thing about getting flogged is this sequence: jeans, knickers, skin. Red, redder, reddest. Pain in increments. Exposure in stages. The different thwacks the flogger makes when it falls – first on denim, then cotton, then finally, climactically – my bum.

My partner disagrees.

He thinks that flogging me through denim is overrated. He prefers to thrash me when I’m wearing a skirt. Tight fabric, no knickers, and a glimpse of the lowest curves of my bum as he’s angling himself for each stroke.

He prefers me to kneel on the bed, bent over until my face is crushed into the mattress, hands and arms stretched out in front of me, skirt hitched to juuuust the right place, and legs spread wide so he can drink in the sight of my cunt.

How do I get flogged?

Unfortunately, he doesn’t tend to whip me that often. We are not usually a floggers-and-dominance kind of couple, because we get overexcited about the in-and-out part of our fucking, and we often race headlong towards it, without revelling in some of the other things we can do along the way. So I miss being flogged. My submissive needs might usually be sated by a quick bout of him fucking me like I’m in trouble, but my cunt still quivers for a more direct form of punishment. There’s a quiet hum in the background of the awesome fucks we have that prompts me to wonder if the whole thing might be more intense if we’d started off with a decent thrashing.

I miss the sound of the flogger as it whistles through the air, and the hefty thwack as it lands on my arse. I miss being ordered to bend over and pull down my knickers – the sheer dominance of it. The hint of exhibitionism. The slightly bratty undertone. The shame. The way the word ‘whipping’ sounds coming out of the mouth of someone who’s intent on punishing me.

So how do I initiate a thrashing? We are not the kind of couple in which I can just brat about and wiggle my arse and expect him to dispense one. Nor is he the person who’d respond well to me outright asking: he feels the pressure keenly, and being under pressure doesn’t exactly put him in a dominant mood. So I have to plant a seed…

When I went to the ETO show a few weeks ago, I met Rouge Garments who offered me this beautiful leather flogger.

I don’t write about sex toys unless companies sponsor my site because I am very lazy and I struggle to find new stuff to say, but that nagging hum in the back of my mind had much louder lately – it had been a long time since I’d been flogged. And they were offering me a delightful long, leather, on-brand purple-and-black flogger so… yeah fuck it, I leapt at the chance. And when I got home, it was the first thing out of my goodie bag. The thing I talked most fondly of. The thing I displayed, enticingly, on the chest of drawers in our bedroom.

You’re right, I am a master of subtlety.

Anyway. Back to my dilemma: flogged through jeans, thus getting to enjoy the delicious sensation of leather on denim, or donning a skirt so he can hitch it to just the right place and allow himself glimpses of my increasingly-soaking-wet cunt while he beats me?

Well, given my eagerness to get flogged, and the devious machinations I was willing to orchestrate in order to get him in the mood… in this case of course it’s the latter.

Decisions, decisions

I wore a skirt when we went out that evening, so when we returned home he was in exactly the right mood: he ordered me over the arm of the sofa so he could whack my arse with the palm of his hand, before stripping off my knickers and commanding me to go upstairs – me first, so he can look up my skirt when he follows.

Sometimes the hottest things are the most blindingly obvious.

On the bed (which, incidentally, is the best bed to fuck in), I’m positioned on the edge, in the centre – at the perfect distance for him to stand at arm’s length and put his full force into each stroke of the flogging. At the perfect height for him to slide his cock into my cunt when his arm gets tired from beating me.

He takes his time, and he aims the strokes perfectly: hard enough that I twitch at each lash, gentle enough that I never come close to being able to ask for a pause. He knows me, knows what I like. Knows that if he went in hard I’d revel in it for five minutes then be begging him too quickly to move on to the final stage: “Fuck me. Fuck me. Please please fuck me.”

So to stave off my inevitable begging, he does fuck me: hard, quick, functional and brief. Dipping his cock in like he just wants to get it wet. Thrusting viciously while grunting with satisfaction. Smacking himself into me only three, four, five times before withdrawing. Not even touching me with his hands.

When he pulls out, I make a strangled noise of sadness, which he cuts off sharply with another lash of the flogger.

“Spread wider,” he tells me, and as I do every muscle in my arse and thighs tenses up in fear. The wetness of my cunt, so recently soothed by the sensation of his warm cock stretching me out, is now bare and exposed and vulnerable. And he still holds the whip.

See, you can’t really do this in jeans, can you? This cunt-exposed adrenaline-fuelled knee-trembling thrashing? When my jeans are yanked down they hold my thighs together tightly, protecting my vulnerable cunt from the whistle of the air on my skin and the lashing of the tails from the flogger. Getting flogged through jeans feels good, but it’s comfortable – safe. I can settle into this beating like it’s massage.

With a skirt, though, every stroke of the flogger makes me grit my teeth and tremble. Forces me to put my trust in him. To rely on his steady hand to land them on the flesh of my arse. Each stroke, as it whips through the air behind me, has the potential to make or break me, and the tension of not knowing – not being able to fully trust that he’ll hit his mark – builds until I’m almost as desperate for it to stop as I am for it to continue.

And then? Just as I’m at my most vulnerable – humiliated, hurting and happy – he steps forward, stands behind me, and shoves his cock in my cunt. Letting me squeeze all the tension out of my body and onto him. Sighing with satisfaction as he fills me up, and whimpering as he soothes the pain that he created in the first place.

He continues in this vein: alternating harsh stings of the flogger with soothing turns on his cock. Commands to spread myself with orders to hold still and ‘ssh.’

Whipping me till I’m wet and then fucking me till I whimper. Turn by turn. Over and over.

Until I’m forced to accept that when it comes to jeans versus skirts… maybe he’s right after all.

Here’s the bit where I tell you to go buy the flogger if you’d like one! I don’t tend to review stuff because if I didn’t have fun with something I just wouldn’t bother writing about it, but if you’re interested in some review-type content I can tell you that it feels fucking fantastic, and according to my partner has an excellent weight for swinging. “Very satisfying heft when it fell on your arse – like dropping a bag of marbles.” I KNOW – he is great at similes. Grab one of these leather floggers from Rouge Garments for £55 or just click the link and go have a look round their site, so they are left thinking that I am brilliant and influential when it comes to sexy stuff. Cheers, gang! 

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