After J- paused, climbed off my back, and put the paddle down, I said, very sincerely, "I don’t think I was made to be a masochist."
I wasn’t just making an observation. I was trying to find some way to end the punishment without asking that it end, some way to hint that this had turned out to be not a very good idea. I dreaded the thought of one more implement, one more stroke.
To my surprise, J- said, “You’re doing incredibly well for someone who’s never done this before. I know serious masochists who wouldn’t be able to do this."
What? I was doing well?
And that was, thankfully, the moment that she ended the punishment, though I didn’t know it at the moment. Looking back, I don’t know if she decided I had had enough, or if the condition of my ass persuaded her that it was time to stop, or if something else was going on in her mind. Whatever the reason, she said that my backside looked “colorful” and invited me to admire it in the mirror. I did so, and saw that both butt cheeks and the top six inches of both thighs were deep red with obvious early bruising. It felt good to have some tangible reward for my suffering.