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I'll admit to having been a bit nervous. About the whole thing, really; while it's turned out wonderfully so far, it was a bit of a scary situation. This is intended to be more of a scene report than something fit for relationships or one of the other folders, but suffice to say I was somewhat concerned about making good impressions and appearances, as well as being in a near-blind fright over Saturday evening's activities.

The plan as outlined is really simple - we meet up at the Pork Store Cafe, and I meet everyone over dinner. We socialize, hang out, and then we go to a public play space, the Power Exchange, for commencement of my birthday celebration. I don't really know the details; I just have a vague idea that it's going to involve being spanked a lot (hey, it IS a birthday), and doing something with needles. I'm a bit scared, but jezzie tells me in advance that we're going to start with really small needles, 25's, and I decide I probably have nothing to worry about. Probably.

It's a pretty simple dinner; I get to meet everyone that I hadn't yet met my first day in the big city, even though I show up a little late (hey, at least I wasn't the last person to arrive). I order a salad and eat about half of it, kind of paranoid about suffering on a full stomach. I ask jezzie if I can have a drink, and she tells me it's fine, so I order a white russian -- the waiter seems a bit confused, but is eventually certain he can make it, and I wind up with something that tastes vaguely correct in a martini glass(?). It turns out it's a bit strong, so dinner is mildly hazy because I'm a bit tipsy - I get to make vague threats at b.com's own, lovely heatherbirdie and sardonicsprite, however, and this cheers me up. They banter a lot. It's cute. I cheerfully get to meet everyone between bites of what I later imagine to be my last meal, though sadly some people are so far away that I don't get to have much conversation with them (alas, Deja and jeunesse). We all talk and get to know each other over an hour or two (or, okay, I get to know -them-), and I get teased a few times about wearing a dress that's so short you can see my thong. Everyone is so nice! It's shaping up to be a lovely evening; I even receive presents from pwincess molly! They're a rawhide chew toy, a rubber bone, and a little rubber pull-thing for playing tug-of-war with a dog. I feel like this was a nice, playful touch until I'm asked to make sure I bring them with me to our next destination to hand over to jezzie.

Dinner finally ends, we say some goodbyes to those who won't be coming along to the Power Exchange, and it's time to head over. Some drive; I decide to go with Anton and jezzie (surprise), who so nicely showed me around the city the previous day and evening, and who didn't kick me out to sleep on the street with the crazy people and the other dogs when I managed to lock myself out of the place I was staying on my first night in the city. When we park and get out of the car, I'm in charge of carrying an entire small suitcase full of implements, which starts to make me scared again.

We arrive about the same time the walking people do, which is shortly after the place opens; we have time to briefly look around and choose where we want to commence the full-on celebration of my birthday. Well, that is to say, other people choose. I just kind of follow along. We wind up in a nice place with nobody else yet around -- it even has a couch for others to sit on! They do so, and since not everyone has arrived yet, it's decided that maybe we should just toss me up on the spanking bench and warm me up. The previously, frequently mentioned nice lady, jezzie, hikes up the skirt of my dress and brings out what I think was a flogger. I get hit with it some, through my fishnets - it's not so bad. She asks me if it hurts, and I say it doesn't, so we go on for a ways until the last person shows up. There are a couple potentially mean swings in there, maybe, but I don't really scream or anything so I figure I can handle this. This birthday spanking thing won't be so bad.

The way this works, see, is all my nice friends are going to spank me for my birthday. 23 each, in fact (22 and one to grow on, after all). I receive a couple from Girl_On_Top, and am then informed that I should be counting them, so as not to force such a tedious task upon someone else.. or something. They want her to go first, so she can pave the way and convince delicate and bottomy sardonicsprite to go next, since she would theoretically be the one who would hit me the softest. Girl_On_Top, however, does not really hit soft at all. In fact, she actually hits pretty hard, I think. I yelp at 23, and somehow everyone manages to convince sardonicsprite to hit me. She playfully slaps my ass, once, and declares herself done; she is shortly informed that if she starts a job she has to finish it, and she proceeds to hit me as hard as she can. "One.. two.. three.. four! ..five! ...SIX! ..Seee~veenn...!" and then it all goes downhill for me.

"Wasn't that six?" I hear her ask from behind me.

"S..seven," I reply, and I am immediately confronted with,

"Are you telling me no?" It doesn't really sound like a joke to me, but everyone laughs anyway. I panic a little.

"..six?" I inquire, and she then proceeds to smack me 16 more times. This leaves one more.

"I'm going to get a running start," I hear, and there's several quick, hurried footsteps before my entire body is jerked forward and I yelp. 47 (or, oh, sorry, 46) and I can already feel the sweat dripping from my skin.

This is where it starts to get kind of hazy - there's a jumble of events. pwincess molly says hi to me, and proceeds to hit me a lot. She says some mean things, but they go in and out my empty little head. I apologize to her for making her hand hurt. This is now the part where I start to yelp out every single number; she gets tricky on me and does a bunch really fast, and I lose count. We start over, and I let out a little cry of terror. synestra comes up after her, and also says some mean things that have long-since been knocked out of my skull and memory. She comes up one short in terms of smacks, but I decide it might just be in my best interest not to correct her. Things, by this point, are pretty blurry. It's more like a continuing, agonizing flow of -pain- directed solely upon my ass. Warren decides to help, and I'm pretty sure I scream every time he hits me. Well, scream or wail. I suppose wail fits a bit more accurately, but the sense is the same. I thank him and tell him I'm sorry that I made his hand hurt. He steps back, and this leaves Anton and jezzie - by this time, somehow, my stockings have been yanked down. My ass feels -hot-, and Anton steps up to me.

"Only count the ones that hurt," he politely informs me, and the next thing I know, I'm not being spanked anymore. No, I'm being punched. It's not -gentle- at first, but it's not horrible. I can feel the impact, and just as I start to think about what might qualify as "hurt," I get to find out.

"ONE!!" I scream, and I jerk weakly against the restraints on the bench. By the time I'm up to seven, I realize I have -infinitely- more to go, and it is drawn out painfully and horrifically, like some kind of elaborate car crash where the vehicle rolls a hundred times. I'm dizzy and disoriented; I don't even bother trying to hold my head up, I just let it hang limply down and try desperately to keep track of numbers. I dread, with full-fledged terror, losing count. Somehow I manage to make it to the end of the full 23; my bones and muscles feel bruised and ache, but someone decides to point out that I'm not crying.

"Oh, then it's up to you, jezzie," I hear from somewhere behind me, and then I feel something...cool, against my ass. I have just enough time to overhear someone referring to a rod of some kind, before I'm rocketed into blinding pain that renders me almost unable to count (but oh, I do). I break down into tears shortly after a few more strikes; I focus, for a moment, on the drool that stretches from my mouth to the floor below me, and for a moment I consider, for some reason, that that might be embarassing to me. I get struck again, and again, and sometime the rod disappears - I don't even know what I was hit with. I imagine she decided to use her hands; I wasn't really in much of a state of mind to try and analyze it. Truth be told, I don't even know how I managed to keep count, but I did. If it weren't for the restraints, I likely would've fallen off the bench; even after they were unfastened, when we were done, I stayed on it, motionless, until told to get down.

I eventually slip off the bench, and go with jezzie while the others hang out around the couch; I follow after her to the nearby table she's going to be preparing shortly for me to lay down upon and bleed all over. We talk a little bit and she explains some things, and then suggests we go visit the others. She walks over to the couch; I get to crawl. Later I find my knees are entirely blackened from the filth of the floor, save for the outline of my fishnets. I rest down on my knees on the floor - it comes as a shock to me that putting weight on my ass is entirely excruciating and horrible. Someone shoves the rubber dog bone into my mouth.

"Don't break her teeth out," another voice says from above me, but it comes across more as a fun joke than any kind of actual warning. Not so much because it wouldn't be possible, but more like, perhaps, "who cares?". I crawl from person to person on the couch; I thank them, I hug them. It's nice until I get to synestra and molly. The former squeezes my ass and makes me whine. The latter.. everyone laughs about how I should beware of her. I crawl up to her anyway and lean up to give her a hug. I'm still not clear on how exactly she hurt me, but she did something horrible and mean, and yelped. I thanked Anton (though I don't remember the hug, for some reason) and when I got to jezzie I took her hand because I thought she was helping me up. She kind of pushed me away and made me feel stupid for forgetting, somehow, to thank -her-. My embarassment was pretty short-lived, however, as after that I found myself face to the floor, ass in the air, and a boot on my head, holding me down. I don't know how I know, but I *know* it's Anton's. For a moment, I think it's pretty uncomfortable for me, and then I realize this is probably a bit of the point. molly, being the considerate person she is, decides it'd be fun to beat me with my own dog bone. It hurts a whole fuck of a lot, and I imagine I probably screamed. I keep being told to raise my ass up higher, and I do, over and over again, until I'm bent in what I imagine must be the most uncomfortable position possible for me. The boot is occasionally shifted to my back or other areas, though I don't dare try to lift my head up. Mostly I writhe on the disgustingly filthy floor and cry helplessly while being beaten.

Some time after I'm done crying about my situation on the floor, it's decided that now is a good time to start the -real- scene. By now we've gathered quite a crowd -- my glasses are off, but I can see a considerable mass of human-shaped blurs standing around our area, watching me be tortured, probably to go home and masturbate about it later. I lower my head and make my way over to the table, prepared to place my well-being entirely in jezzie's hands - not that I wouldn't anyway, of course - I'm so concerned with making a good impression on her that it's already become nearly impossible for me to say no to her and mean it. Unfortunately, she knows this, and I already have an inkling she's going to exploit it to the fullest. I put my back to the tarp-covered table, and at her instruction I steady my hands on the edge and hoist myself up onto my ass. I scream at the influx of weight against my bruises (I like to think of this now as a warm-up scream). I lay down on the tarp. She has me scoot and wriggle from side to side a few times - I'm not sure why, though so far my best guess is it's because it hurt me to do so, and she could pretend like it was necessary in order to arrange things. She lets me know that she's going to put rubbing alcohol or disinfectant or something over my chest, to make sure things are sterile. She rubs it pretty much only over my tits. This is when it finally starts to sink in that I should be more scared than I am. She climbs up and straddles me; I worry that I might bleed on her pretty velvet dress, but I don't say anything. I just tremble and watch.

She reaches for a case containing needles, from somewhere out of my sight. She shows me a 25 -- it doesn't seem so bad. She tells me that it's probably barely going to hurt; I'll just feel a little sting, a pinch, and then it'll be in me. She tells me to steady my breaths, to take in some slow ones, let them out.. she explains that she's going to push in when I exhale the second time. I take in a breath.. let it out. She tells me to take another, and I do, a little frightened -- and when I exhale at her direction, there's, sure enough, a tiny little pinch. I flinch, and when I exhale twice more, she pushes it out the other side. There is a small pause where I lift my head and look down, to see the first needle ever pushed through me - it's a tiny little sliver above my left breast. I lay down, and we do another just below it. It seems to hurt a bit more, and, actually, as she moves to my right breast, both of those seem to hurt more than the last. I have matching sets - two and two, an inch or so over each nipple. I'm told it's time to move to 22's. Now, at this point.. I don't really have a good idea of where they went. Things become blurry and clouded; I start to forget to regularly breathe as we near the end of the 22's, and I have to keep being reminded. I'm not certain if it was the 22's or the 18's that were pushed in on my breastbone, but they hurt immensely. I start to hang on the verge of tears, and after I begin wailing about them, I recall a voice from some far, distant place above me.

"Oh, let's just let her scream for this one." I need to continually be told to look at her. My head keeps lolling backwards, and my eyes want to follow suit, to disappear from the scene unfolding on my chest.

"It's just pain," I'm told. I can look up into her pretty face; I watch her lips when she speaks - they seem soft and gentle. "It's only you," she coos, and smiles faintly before shoving another needle into my flesh. It hurts twofold, and I cry. Sometime after the tears dry up, I'm provided with a slight reprieve - jezzie stops with the 1.5" needles, and she brings out some far shorter ones - 5/8". They come, initially, only in 25g. She and Anton stand over me, playfully dropping them on occasion like darts -- giving them a toss into my flesh to see where they land, plucking them out, and throwing them again. They talk over me, and though I can -hear- them, I don't really manage to process any of the words. I feel very much objectified -- they laugh sometimes. I feel less like a person and more like a fun activity they're indulging in. It doesn't matter that I'm in pain, that I'm bleeding, or even really that I'm alive and sentient, it seems. It's how it feels, at any rate.

Anton reaches down and shoves one of the tinier needles directly into my left nipple. He tries to match it on the right, but for some reason my skin resists and manages to fight the needle off, no matter how hard he pushes down on it. At some point, jezzie brings out 16g needles of the 5/8" variety, and two of those cut their way into my breasts, somewhere. I look down and see what appear to me to be dozens of them sticking out of my chest. I whimper and lay my head back down. I'm dimly aware of the sound of skin being impacted, coupled with the cries of another girl from somewhere behind me. For a short while, I focus on her pain and misery instead of my own, but I'm brought back by the sight of a 1.5" 16 gauge needle in my view. I no longer even know if jezzie is on top of me or not - she could be straddling me or standing next to me. Someone is by my other side - I clutch her hand and squeeze it when the 16 gets pushed inside of my body. I don't know what's happening anymore. I have to keep being told to look at her, no matter how many times I do so, realize it's easy to do, and decide I'm determined to not look away. I let out, over and over again, the occasional gasp, having realized I've forgotten to breathe. It all becomes a blur of pain - sometimes I see someone else standing over me, watching me suffer, but I feel distant and disconnected with them. She alternates between 18's and 16's, letting them happily sever past my defenseless flesh and into my body.

"P..please..!" I whine, and for a brief moment I feel like _I_ actually have her attention. "P-please, d.. d-don't.." and I already begin to trail off. I'm reminded of my own insignificance in the state of things, and another needle digs into me. At some point she hits the needles on my breastbone. I burst into immediate tears, and she lets me ride out my sobbing before continuing to pierce me. The blur of pain is punctuated, briefly, given structure. She holds up four fingers. I don't know why. I mimic her.

"Four more, meat," she says. "Then we're done," and my lips part to mouth the number. Somewhere, distantly, I think, "okay, I can handle this." I find myself holding Anton's hand, on my left. I look weakly to jezzie.

"P..please.. please help me breathe, jezzie.." I ask, and she so, so genuinely graciously decides to. I breathe when she tells me to, and I squeeze Anton's hand tightly; when she pushes the first two, 16's, into me, I wail like a banshee on my exhales. I've been pretty still up until this point, despite not even having been strapped down, but I can't manage to hold it. My leg lifts up off the table, as if somehow that will make it hurt less. There's a brief lull, and she tells me the last two will be 14's. I make the mistake of looking over at one, just about as she tells me that I probably shouldn't. They're big. They're really big, and they're terrifying. I tell her I saw them.

"You can take them for me, meat," she tells me, which is considerably politer than necessary, considering I'd be taking them whether I could or not. "Take in a deep breath," she instructs me. I do. I hold it in, frightened. When it comes time to let it out, I feel my entire body -tremor- as I'm penetrated again, on the side of my breast. I scream. The second one is worse, because this time I know what to expect. I dread it, but when it's finally over, I lay there, and start to think about how we finally finished with the needles, the spankings.. I'm in the clear.

It's about when I let out another shaky breath that she slaps my chest on the three pierced against my breastbone. I scream and look at her in terror. "Say, 'do it again please, jezzie'," she says to me. I take a moment to tremble.

"Do it again please, jezzie," I ask, and I start to cringe even before her hand makes impact -- it doesn't help. I scream again, and she repeats her request - I repeat mine. This goes on for a while, and I'm already a begging, crying mess. "H-help.. help! H..h-help, help me, jezzie.." I whine, barely audible, but she hears me. Instead of helping, she simply ignores me and tells me to ask to be hit again. "Do it again please, jezzie," I sob, and she hits me in the same spot, again, though doesn't stop there. No, she hits me again. And again. And again. The impact is swift, rapid, and utterly merciless. I don't think I look away, but I can't make out her face anymore. I catch the sound of her pretty purple gloves as they strike my flesh. It's distinctly wet. I scream, for the first time, at the top of my lungs. I scream so hard, in such pronounced pain, that I lose complete control over my voice. For a moment, it sounds like a boy on the table. I only notice in retrospect, but she tortures the girl right out of me. I'm a sobbing, ruined, blood-spattered mess. She relents. Briefly.

"Say, 'do it again please, jezzie," she tells me, and amidst my tears I somehow manage to make the right noises. She hits me again, though thankfully only once. I can survive once.

"D..do it again please, jezzie," I wail piteously, before she can even ask me this time.

"Oooh, she -can- learn," I hear someone say out of my vision, and she slaps my chest again. I can't bring myself to ask her again, and this time she doesn't ask me to do so again. I simply lay, weak and defeated, against the table, though it's not as if I could do anything else anyway. I sob and sob and sob. She tells me she's going to take the needles out, and I just keep crying anyway. She tells me it's over, and I still can't stop the tears. At some point, they finally just dry up - I likely ran out.

She plucks a few needles from me, and I'm relieved to find it doesn't hurt nearly as badly as having them put in. It's fine for a second, and then I feel an enormous rush of warmth spread out from the side of my left breast along my side. Dimly, I realize that this is my blood. It takes jezzie and Anton both to stop it, and plenty of paper towels. Section after section follow. Sometime, halfway through it, some people stop by to say goodnight and goodbye to me. I don't know if I respond. More needles. More blood. Finally, somehow, at some point, they're gone. I can still -feel- them, oh, sure, but the needles themselves are out. Anton helps me sit up, and I hear people talking about my back. He wipes a paper towel down over it, and I'm struck by how -wet- it feels. Like he didn't really clean anything up - there was simply too much blood to be absorbed. Like a single square of tissue paper, being used to soak up a spilled cup of water. My back is wiped off numerous, numerous times. I'm told to hop off the table at some point, so I do so. I stumble in my boots, and jezzie catches me and keeps me steady. I somehow wind up on the couch, with a blanket underneath me. I'm given some gatorade, which I drink in about four seconds, and suddenly everything snaps into clarity.

"Oh. Hey. Was I dehydrated?" I ask, and Anton and I have a nice, short chat while jezzie cleans up my several pints of biohazard. He asks me if I'd like some candy, and I say that'd be great. I'm given some peanut M&M's, and I munch thoughtfully on them. "Would you like any?" I ask him, and he declines. jezzie arrives back at the couch, and we decide it's close to time to go home. "Would you like an M&M, jezzie?" I ask her, and she also declines. "Well, that hurt a lot," I observe, and I weakly manage to get dressed, with help. I keep bleeding from my left breast.

"Stop leaking," Anton tells me, but I don't do a very good job. jezzie tapes some kind of sterile pads to the wounds, one on each breast, and we fasten my dress the rest of the way on. We're packed, so it's time to go. It turns out that my ass hurts so badly, every step is agony. Sitting makes me want to scream. We get in, and I'm still bleeding. I'm still bleeding before -and- after my cleaning in the shower, and when I go to sleep, sometime around 12:30, I'm still leaking away. Through hard work and perseverance, I manage to not bleed out in my sleep. There are a lot more details, and I'm sure there are even more that I'm -not- thinking of, but that's basically what happened, physically.

Happy birthday, zhaira.
--
<errare> You may see some bruising and marks. This is a normal part of the treatment.

<heatherbird> zhaira, master manipulator of hot girls.

Edited for formatting, links, and grammar.

Edited by - zhaira on 2005-06-10 12:14:12

Thank you for sharing your birthday with us, zhaira. That was an amazing experience even in the reading of it.

Poeme

I don't hit hard. That is why they make me go third or so. I am a weakling. I hit like a girl.
--
~molly~ Yay! I am a pumpkin!
If I were creating a world, I wouldn't mess about with butterflies and daffodils. I would have started with lasers. Eight o'clock. Day one. ~Time Bandits

~Robert A. Heinlein

Happy Birthday, zhaira!!!

errare
--
"My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right / why wait until the middle of a cold, dark night?" - Starland Vocal Band

After all that... she's going to come back for more. And she knows it.
--

What wonderful torment!

Thank you both for sharing with us!
*kizzez
Mylittlefetish