BREAKING SARAH I had been topping Sarah about once a month for a year. I would sneak over to her house whenever I could get away. Divorced, she lived in a house with her two kids. (Still does, but in a different house now.) We kept a fairly well stocked playroom in her basement. The playroom was locked off from the rest of the basement so the kids never went in. In the winter of '91, like maybe December, I first noticed her talking about death. She seemed to be on a death kick for a couple months, thinking about it, talking about it. Then one day I heard her say... I remember this very clearly; she was reading a newspaper... "I wonder what it would be like to die, I mean really." That's all I needed to hear. I thought about it for a while. Could I let her experience death without actually killing her? In a week or so I decided what I was going to do. Our next play session didn't come about until much later, March or April. Below is the description, as best I remember it, of that session. We were in her basement, as we usually were. The kids were at her sister's house for the weekend. I parked two blocks from her house behind the Ameristop store (kind of like a 7-11, if you've never seen one.) It provided good cover from passing motorists. I walked the rest of the way. She has this great wooden frame in her basement. Her husband built it from 4x4 posts to hoist out car engines. This thing is _heavy_ and _solid_. We took it apart and reassembled it in the basement after her divorce. I guess he didn't feel like taking it with him. (Getting off track, sorry.) She was completely naked. I turned off all the lights except for the 25-watt dark red bulb that was directly over her head. I had her wrists bound and attached to the top of the frame, about 2 feet apart. Her feet were bound by straps that hook to the bottom sides. She had the mobility to spread her legs wider, but 2-1/2 feet was about as close as the ties would let her bring them together. I inserted the usual black ball gag and gave her her ping-pong ball. Whenever I use a ball gag, the ping-pong ball acts as her safeword. If she drops it, I stop. Then I put Julee Cruise on the CD player and unceremoniously went to work. In front of her, about eight feet in front, is a wide full-length mirror. We both like to watch as she gets her punishment. She was bathed in a soft, dark, red light. I got out the brown leather cat-o-nine that I usually begin with. I started rather softly with a steady rythym until she got into it. Over the next 20 minutes I increased the intensity. At the end of the 20 minutes I was whipping her pretty hard. She had welts all over her butt and the backs of her thighs. Some of the welts were bleeding a little. She was rotating her hips to try to lessen the blows and make them land in places that hurt the least. She was whimpering. It was time to move to the next phase. I put down the cat and picked up Uncle Sam. Uncle Sam is (was) a beautiful rock-maple paddle. Sixteen inches long, not including the handle. The handle was long enough that I could swing it with both hands. It had a satiny-smooth finish on one side and an engraving of a horse in a field on the other side. The smooth side was the business side. I waited a couple minutes while she collected her thoughts and let her contemplate what was to come next. My cock was ready to burst through my jeans (I stay fully dressed through punishment sessions unless I decide I 'want a little'.) None of this was out-of-the-ordinary so far, we had played this scene several times. The first swat was a soft one. Sort of a courtesy swap. Then, no more mister nice guy. The second smack was hard. She jumped forward and howled a little through the ball gag. Tears were starting to stream down her face. At about 30-second intervals I gave her 4 more at that same intensity. Each time she jumped, and each time she howled. And each time the paddle left a beautiful imprint on her red ass. Now here's where the story takes a turn. Her record, before dropping the ball, had been 7 swats. She had never been able to hold on to the ball after number 7. I was going to to add a big flourish to the windup for this one, but there was no point. I looked at her in the mirror. Her eyes were clenched shut as tightly as her fists. She had a good strong grasp on the ball. Her arms and legs were shaking. So I rared back and hit her with every ounce of strength I had in my body. If this had been a baseball game, the ball would have been out of the park. I had never hit her this hard before. When wood met flesh, she bolted forward like I had hit her with a cattle prod. (Mental note - Try to get my hands on a cattle prod). She emitted a scream that was barely muffled by the ball gag. She was crying, quivering, and was still clenching that damned ping-pong ball. I hit her so hard I broke the paddle. She must not have noticed because her eyes were still closed and she was tensed up for the next one. A new record. God, I loved her for that. Even if I had not broken it, I certainly didn't have the heart to hit her again. So I set the split paddle aside. I removed the ball gag, and then wiped away her tears and the snot coming out of her nose with a tissue. I stroked her hair and kissed her on the forehead. She was still whimpering a bit. I left the room. I came back about 10 minutes later and said, "you can drop the ball, I'm not going to hit you any more." Note the careful wording. I gave her the choice, and of course there are punishments other than hitting. She dropped it, expecting to be set free from the frame. Instead, I walked behind her where she couldn't see me clearly in the mirror. I put the ball gag back into her mouth. It's a big one, and she really has to stretch her jaws to get it in. I love that. I then pulled out a plastic bag, the kind you put fresh vegetables in at the grocery, from my pants pocket. I put it over her head and secured it to her neck with surgical tape. It was airtight. She was startled, but she didn't really show any fear. I don't think she was about to give me the satisfaction. Now, a person with a suffocating bag on her head goes through distinct phases. It reminded me of microwave popcorn. At first there was little activity. She slowed her breathing as much as she could. The bag expanded and contracted with a predictable rythym. I sat down in a chair, between her and the mirror, facing her. I crossed my legs and put my hands in my lap. I sat there stone-faced the whole time. Within a couple minutes she started to tug at her restraints, looking for a way out. Her breathing was heavier. The bag expanded and contracted about twice each second. She was looking around the room. In another a minute or two she was really panicked. She was bucking and twisting and thrashing trying to get free. She was trying to yell through her ball gag. She was twisting her head around in the bag as though trying to find a small pocket of oxygen that she had somehow missed before. I said nothing and showed no emotion. Then her activity started to slow. She was still tugging, trying to get free, but with much less energy. She had a pitiful look of horror and fear that I will never forget. Her legs buckled and she was hanging from her wrists. About 10 seconds later, her eyes closed. The instant her upper eyelid met her lower, I jumped up and ripped open the bag. She was unconscious for about 20-30 seconds, breathing very hard. I detached her bonds from the frame and carried her to the couch. When she woke up she was crying uncontrollably. She wasn't really herself again until the next morning. She hasn't mentioned death to me since. Not long after that she got a job offer in Chicago and left. I haven't seen her since, but we do talk on the phone and exchange notes occasionally.