Easter is a time for resurrection, or at least that is what Catholicism tells us. But if we listen to the echoes of that which came before, we know that this Springtime Event is more ancient than that, as it is Pagan. The origin is less important than the meaning behind the ritual: rebirth. Coming out of something that is dead, or deserves to die, into something more alive. The appeal is broad-based - who can pretend not to relate?

On the Eve of Easter, 2005, those of us who proudly call ourselves Heathens, Catholics, Jews, etc. were enjoying a night out at Paddles, Manhattan's remaining S/M club, when the owner of the club got on the loudspeaker to announce that Bo and Lady D were going to perform a sort of Easter Pageant for us, and the scene was about to begin. I went upstairs to the mezzanine and reserved a few seats on the balcony for myself and my friends. I am greedy, and the thought of me missing any of this because someone was in my way did not appeal to me. Being a sort of Lapsed Jew (a Half-Jew at that), I was excited to have some sort of introduction to this Catholic thing.

A very large beam of wood moved throughout the club, not of its own accord, but with Lady D underneath it. Bo and Jordan brought in some supplies and were setting them up on the stage where Lady D deposited what she had recently been bearing. This was an exciting start, the Second Station of the Cross.

The lights dimmed and "Jesus Christ Superstar" replaced the usual music coming from the speakers. Lady D knelt on the stage, her back to the audience, her head bowed, waiting for her Daddy.

Bo made his entrance. He went to Lady D and began slapping, rubbing, and punching her back to warm her up.

Would this be the gender-reversal of the Fourth Station? Lady D meets her Daddy?

Bo pulled Lady D up from her knees, smacked her some more on the back, and then took out a Flip-Cat (aka, Flexible-Cat/Whiskers/Tomcat) which is very similiar to a single tail but with a cat-like 8 tails at the end. As the soundtrack to Jesus Christ superstar counted down each of the 39 lashes that Christ received from "Pilate" to appease the masses, Bo gave Lady D a similiar stroke of his own.

Lady D released a scream that seemed to come from someplace primal - feral, even - more than the usual sounds of someone being single-tailed. I do not believe Lady D's emoting was solely the result of the physical pain she was feeling. I believe Lady D was connected to a greater suffering during this experience. In addition to the intensity of her scream, evidence of this channeling could be found in the audience: normally in this type of scene in this type of club, spectators watch, comment to themselves, and seem to enjoy the display of sadism with a certain glee. Here, nobody spoke, and the facial expressions of the onlookers revealed a solemnity I'd never seen before and have not seen since. This was not your usual "hot scene," this was something more powerful.

Lady D's dress was pulled down, exposing her breasts. Tenth Station of the Cross - Jesus' clothes are taken away.

Jordan and Bo had placed the "cross" on the suspension bondage pulley and they tied her hands to it and raised her up so she was almost standing straight. (Eleventh Station) Lady D looked profoundly sad, as if she were feeling the weight of the responsibility of every Catholic to understand what their Savior had felt on that day of Crucifixion.

Bo introduced a series of very short needles with stoppers on one end, they looked like map tacks, and began sticking Lady D's chest and hands. He drew blood from her with these needles, and he wiped it down her chest onto her torso. More needles were brought forth, and Bo dotted Lady D's chest with them, leaving them stuck into her skin. He pulled them out, threw them onto the floor beneath her, and put his hand up her dress. He manually fucked her, and when she came, when she had her Little Death (Twelfth Station), Bo and Jordan untied Lady D's hands from the Cross, she cried "Daddy" and he held her in his arms while she collapsed into them, crying.

I was crying, too, and I don't normally have that response when someone's getting tied down, beaten, poked with needles, and fucked. But this was more than that.

Princess Wendy writes for the TES Weekly and other scene publications. She lives in NYC , knows a hell of a lot more then you do about cheese and is a good friend of "our family".