Flagellation (and Beltane elucidation)

This is a post I wanted to do back when the F first came up. However, I had very little time or energy and no practical experience in using flagellation for religious purposes. (Fun, on the other hand…well. That’s another story.)

This post deals with Sacred BDSM and Godslavery; if this squicks you or you think I’m a horrible person for doing it, or a loony, or anything like that – skip the post and move on. If you must read it, please keep civility in mind when posting – remember that this stuff is really difficult for me to be public about, and I’m taking a great risk here. I’m not a punching bag for people’s unresolved issues about BDSM.

In April I bought my new flogger and meant to dedicate it to religious use. I did so not on Beltane, as planned, but the night before – Walpurgisnacht.

I mentioned in that entry that I’d just received a very clear answer as to whether or not my relationship with Morrigan was sexual. Since She’d made it clear that I was Her Godslave, I’d been pondering that particular aspect. She was never clear with me – until about two weeks ago.

(I’m going to post again about the details of how She made this clear, as well as some other stuff. For now I want to focus on the flagellation aspect.)

So instead of a formal ritual the next day, after posting and signing off the internet I got up and jumped right into it. I stood naked in front of my altar to Her, grabbed the flogger, and said some words that I honestly don’t remember. All I know is that I ended up dedicating the flogger specifically to use with m’Lady instead of to general religious use, which I think was Her plan all along. (Red and black leather? Roses? Yeah, that thing is Hers, and I’m silly for not seeing that earlier. But I’m mortal, and She’s used to my density.)

Then came the use that makes each tool a tool; the final part of a ritual, essential to awaken the spirit of something. A sword is just pretty metal until it’s used; a flogger is just altar decoration until it slaps skin.

And here is where I attempt to describe what flagellation is like to someone who has never experienced it. With a whip like the one I have, there is more thud than sting, which reduces the fear of pain. You can take my word on this; I have a very low tolerance to pain, for a masochist.

I took the flogger by the handle and held it around my bellybutton. I then started a circular swinging motion, sending the flagella up and over my shoulders and onto my back. When I did a more side to side motion, they hit the sides of my back, so by alternating I could get a nice all-over.

I want you to pick up a soft paperback book. Not a thick one; a more floppy one. It shouldn’t be too narrow. Hit yourself on the arm with it. As gentle or as forceful as you wish. That thud+sting? Is comparable to what a flogging feels like.

Remember, this is no longer the 1800s, this is not a ship, and floggings are not given as punishment for mutiny. Or eating the last crumpet, or whatever. This sort of flogging is meant to be enjoyable, and it is for those of us who relish the right kinds of pain.

Thud-sting, thud-sting, thud-sting. I continued until my wrist hurt, and then I switched hands. Thud-sting, thud-sting, thud-sting. I aimed for release, and I did eventually find it. The buzzing sting, a vibration, took over my skin and my body, and my head became clear and fuzzy at the same time.

Finally I stopped, my wrist unable to take any more. My head fell forward, waiting for my Lady’s displeasure.

It did not come. She smiled in cold, sated pleasure, and I knew I’d done well.

She is as cruel and loving as the earth itself.

The next day my back was sore in a good way, accompanying the sleepy satisfaction that comes after good sex. I worked hard all day, cleaning the house and cooking for Her and myself.

I felt clear, scrubbed clean of sorrow and stress. As if each hit of the flogger shook some pain off me, revealing the purity of my soul beneath.