After an event like the Slave Hunt, it’s difficult to know where to begin describing my experience. At the spring Hunt, I focused on being hunted and then punished for trying to “run away.” The physical sensations of being chased and then beaten were overwhelming at times. It felt like riding a roller coaster, and at the end of the day, I literally collapsed into bed. I was emotionally and physically wrung out.
The fall Slave Hunt was a deeper experience. The series of events was similar; I ran through the woods, hid and was captured by a Dom with a paintball gun. Once back at basecamp, I stripped and was dragged by the hair to the whipping post by a petite badass named Angel. I was then cuffed to the post by sir and beaten by some wonderful people. These things had happened before, but the feeling of it was incredibly rich. Like I was seeing everything through technicolor orgasm.
What was the difference? Connection.
There was a group of people waiting for me at the whipping post, their hands wrapped around all sorts of implements of torture. There were canes, paddles and a heavy duty sweat scraper, even kitchen utensils. Just because a spatula says “Be Mine” on it in fancy script doesn’t mean it won’t hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. And sometimes the thinnest canes are the worst. Four words: Wandarella’s Baton of Agony.
As they stepped closer, I had a glimpse of what it must have felt like to be an ogre surrounded by townspeople with pitchforks. The difference was that I knew these people. They were my friends, people I had met in the community and some I even considered family. In that moment, I felt buoyed by our connections. They wanted to hit me, and I wanted them to. And in the midst of pain, I found joy. The sting of impact transformed to love, and the energy bubbling around us felt like golden soaring happiness.
Don’t get me wrong. The shit hurt like the devil, and I pride myself on being quiet and taking my beating like a good girl. I can assure you, this time I was the opposite of quiet when Timber sunk her teeth into me. And I screamed when she marked me, up one side of my back and down the other. Over and over again. The pain was searing, almost a tearing sensation because her teeth gripped my flesh in a way toys won’t. There were moments when I couldn’t see the end of it, and no matter how I twisted my body on the post, there was someone waiting to make contact with my flesh.
I was on the cusp of dreamy subspace when Angel made her way over to us. In fact, sir was just about to bring me to orgasm when she pinched me using the strong tips of her fingernails. One minute I was about to plunge into ecstasy, and the next I was back at the surface shrieking with pain. Neither of them stopped, of course. Like fire ant bites, her pinches ran up and down my stomach, across my nipples, and over my pussy. Sir was caning me, I think, and then suddenly each one of them had a nipple in their mouth. I was so scared. Holy fucking shit, was I scared. I caught my breath, panic spilling through me as Angel pulled. Before I could react, sir’s fingers were rubbing my clit.
“I can smell you,” he said.
“I can smell you too,” Angel said. “You smell aroused.”
I was too embarrassed to reply, because it was absolutely true. Sir’s other hand came from behind to tease my pussy, and then Angel’s voice was in my ear.
“Is his hand in your pussy?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling an orgasm begin to build.
“Are you going to come?” she demanded.
“Yes. Yes! YES! I’m coming!” I shouted.
At least, it sounded like a shout to me. The roar of the orgasm and the pain of Angel’s pinches and teeth combined in a glorious cacophony in my head as the physical pleasure rippled through my body. My world had dwindled to the two sadists on either side of me, and the sensations rocketing through my body. I felt boneless and weightless and divine. I didn’t feel like I was done, but sir said I was. After a few licks from a friend’s new boot paddle, of course.
Sir wrapped me in a blanket and made me sit down after it was over. He brought me snacks to eat and water to drink as I stared at nothing, totally blissed out on endorphins. I couldn’t help but think about how far we had traveled together since our last Hunt, and that was probably the biggest difference for me. Our connection has had five months to strengthen and mature. It has been tested, and we’ve both grown in our experience and dedication to our dynamic. We have made friends in the community together, and we’re learning what D/s means for us. Together we are part of this amazing web of people and connections and energy that makes up our community. And at the Slave Hunt, I had the opportunity to feel ALL of it.
I didn’t get a chance to look in the mirror until we were home. When I did, I saw that my thighs were purple with scratches and bruises as was my ass. Each of Timber’s bite marks was ringed with deep red which I knew from previous experience would turn blue by morning. I had “BEAUTIFUL” written across my abdomen in blue marker that I can still see today. And maybe that’s the greatest takeaway of this experience. I see these marks and remember the people that gave them to me out of love and camaraderie, and I feel beautiful. I feel accepted. I had a moment surrounded by community where I could be exactly the thing that I am. The part of me that I used to be afraid to show, was set free to be seen by everyone. And that shadow animal was deemed beautiful too. Everything was just… beautiful.