The black woman – I’ll call her Carol, because I’m not going to keep calling her “the black woman” – had contacted me because she’d liked something I’d written. It wasn’t about race. I’d written a piece about being young and exploring bdsm desires and trying to find other perverts before you know what bdsm is, and how embarrassing you can be to yourself and others while you’re doing that. She’d thought it was funny, and she’d wanted to meet me.

So we found ourselves in a room together. We met a few times before she let me do impact play. She’d experienced real domestic violence, and she didn’t want to empower guys to hit her. So when we were together she obeyed orders, and got tied up. I told her stories while she masturbated and sucked my cock. Which didn’t improve the inventive quality of the stories, I’m afraid.

But she knew I was a spanker and a caner, a man who likes his impact play. After a few sessions she let herself get over my knee. I made sure she had a good time, because I wanted more. So we started slowly, with a lot of cunt stroking as well as smacking her bottom. But I gave her cunt a sharp smack when she said something cheeky. The noise she made told me that I’d done the right thing, so she got her cunt spanked nearly as often and as hard as her ass.

So I became the only man she’d let do this. The noise she made when I spanked her cunt, – a sweet, falling moan – that first time and every time since, meant that she got her cunt smacked often. At least as much as her ass. After I while I introduced her to my belt as well as my hand, and then to a riding crop. 

So we built up with time. Then, one evening, I had tied her naked and face down across a table, and I was whipping her bottom and thighs quite hard with a crop.

That was the moment when our actions, together, got close enough to evoke historical precedents, of the whipping of black slave women in American slavery. It put a shadow on what we were doing. I was a white man, I’d tied up a black woman, and I was whipping her.