The Pleasure's All Mine: Memoir of a Professional Submissive by Joan Kelly Page B

you to say ‘mercy’ if at any point we get into territory that you can’t handle. Okay?”
        I nodded my head, thinking how much I liked the tone of his voice. It sounded like Phil genuinely had no interest in hurting me in a way that didn’t turn me on — as if he would experience it as a mistake on his end, rather than a failure to be masochistic enough on mine. It was different from what I had felt with T. Thinking back, it seemed to me that T’s idea of a safe word had been more along the lines of something I could say if I really wanted to interrupt his good time. With Phil, I got the immediate feeling that I, myself, was his good time.
        When he began dropping the strands of a leather flogger softly onto my hips, I worried momentarily that he was going to be almost too careful with me, that things would never heat up to a noticeable level. At least with T, I’d get an adrenaline rush, if nothing else. Within a few minutes, however, Phil had progressed to a level of intensity that rivaled what I’d experienced with T so many months before.
        It was hard for me to believe we were really playing that heavily at first, for how little it took out of me. If anything, I felt like Phil was transferring something to me, between the methodical swing of his arm and the pieces of leather that now seemed like a physical extension of his body. Stopping in between sets of twenty strokes, delivered evenly across my upper thighs and ass, he would ask me if I was doing okay, if I was ready to go harder. When he approached me to hear my response, I could feel the warmth of his body emanating from the denim of his jeans as he held himself barely an inch away from me, massaging me in all the places where the flogger had landed. Pushing back into the hands that cupped me, I always answered yes and that I was fine, and waited for it to feel like something that was hurting.
        
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        “How did you learn to do these things, if you don’t have that much experience?” I found myself asking.
        Phil was making soft cuffs for my ankles and wrists from several pieces of white rope. He was preparing to attach me to the suspension bar that could be lowered to the floor or lifted toward the ceiling, depending on which way you turned the crank on the wall.
        “Oh, I don’t know.” He laughed sheepishly. “I read a lot of the bondage stuff in books, and I had a few sessions with a pro sub a couple of years ago.”
        It was only our second session together, but already I felt jealous about the idea of his playing with other people. He had asked me if I could come in to see him this second night in a row, even though I hadn’t been on the schedule. I had eagerly admitted to having nothing better to do.
        “You have, or haven’t, been suspended before?”
        “Haven’t been,” I said, “but I’ve been curious about it for a while, sir.”
        He let go of the rope and put his hands on my face, looking at me seriously. I raised my eyebrows back at him, not sure if I was supposed to say something else or just lie there. He smiled and kissed me gently on the forehead.
        “I don’t think I’ve ever played with anyone as genuinely sweet as you,” he said, picking up the ends of the harness again.
        “Oh go on,” I joked, waving at him with my half-tied hand. I was embarrassed to think it might show on my face how glad I was to hear it.
        He grinned at me again and gave a little shake of his head. “Now let’s see if I can get you off the floor without injuring either of us in the process.”
        As Phil turned the crank on the wall and began lifting me off the floor, I started to swing a little back and forth. I closed my eyes and saw the hilltop park across the street from my childhood home, or rather, the view of Los Angeles below its cliff. The kids in the neighborhood used to go there, even as teenagers, to ride