I’m already the proud owner of a riding crop. I love the look of a crop; the image of authority it brings, the power, and the stings that sears itself into your skin with each gasping blow. But as I stood in the bondage section of a local sex shop, holding the Spartacus Red Leather Heart Bat, it awoke a new disciplinary urge in me. My boyfriend was bouncing around between floggers and ball gags and nipple clamps (oh my), while I just stood in place, staring at this beautiful symbol of sexuality and control, gripping its rigid form in my hand.
The metallic red heart turned me off at first – it was a bit too adorable for me. But I couldn’t deny how much I loved the inflexible form, the metal accents, and the sizeable, smackable pelt – heart be damned. I cracked it off my thigh a few times before turning it on my boyfriend in search of approval (after all, we’ve discussed that I’m much better at dishing it out than taking it). As he dragged me away to continue our regularly scheduled shopping, I stared longingly as a juvenile voice under my breath uttered “I… I want it.” You just don’t fight that kind of yearning.
Eventually I had it in my collection. And more than anything, I love the little red heart, although I do worry about the metallic red finish wearing off. Why does all bondage gear have to be staple black anyway? Strap me into a neon blue harness and go to town with a green flogger and fuzzy purple nipple clamps. This isn’t a snuff film, it’s a Wednesday afternoon!
Beyond the colour, I loved the heart for two other reasons. The first is that its inflexible and broad shape makes for a nice WHAP of a hit, but with less of the fiery sting of my flimsier crop; you can take more hits and feel more pleasure with this particular shape and size. Second reason is because with each hard hit, you leave a little heart-shaped splotch on your partners butt!*
The main thing I enjoy here is the control, and how much of it I have with this bat, as opposed to a cheap crop (bats and crops are meant to be virtually the same, but for the sake of differentiation between my two, I’ll call them separate). When I go to hit my partner, the bat doesn’t go off course and accidentally nut him – it goes exactly where I intend. I know exactly where he’s going to hurt and that gives me such a power thrill as opposed to “oh dear, was that your sack?”
The one thing that I would add to this precious prop of pain? A handle – not to hold, but to hang. This thing has been floating around between various spots in my bedroom and to this date is still homeless, simply because I can’t hang it with the rest of my collection. As much as I love the minimalism of no handle, I’m probably going to have to tie something onto it so it doesn’t fall behind a dresser or get eaten by a cat.
*I tried very much to replicate this on my own bottom for the sake of a photo, but the angling made it difficult and wrong and MOTHER FUCKER IT HURT
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