It’s like standing in a stadium, all the seats empty and someone whispering over the loudspeaker – I can almost make out the word, but not quite.  I have to really concentrate.  Force myself out of my current thoughts and sensations.

There’s so much that has to happen in the realization that there’s a word out there that I have to grab, pull in, consider.

I feel the heat rising off my back and try to pull myself together.  But my cuffs, both arms and legs, won’t let me move much, bringing me back a bit to reality. The heat, the sting, then the cold air on me.

It’s like all of this happens in slow motion – and I re-experience the latest stings of the crop and twitch a little when I remember it hitting – what seems like so long ago was really only a few seconds or minutes.  The thuds of the individual heads of the cat/flogger.  I can feel the heavy impact and the resounding sting and smack of the different implements.

They’re all playing in my head.  I hear that word again, over the loudspeaker, even though it was said only once, it is bouncing around in my head.  I’m chasing it, trying to catch it, I know it’s important.

The sting on my ass is pulsing, from biting, crisp, sharp stings to the welts that I cannot see, but can feel as my body reacts to the different points and types of impacts.  I feel them, like some sort of blurred smear of pain and endorphins and wanting to do more.  Be more.  Give more.

Finally, I catch the word, enough at least to know what it is.

“Continue?”

It registers finally – you know you’re pushing me, you’re pulling from me, and you’re checking in.

It rings through my ears again and I panic, thinking you’ll stop, or ease up or … anything but keep going.

“Yes, please.  More,” is all I hear from this other voice.

Then I realize… it’s me.