1I Masochist - Chapter One - Performance Art

By The Technician

BDSM, Public Bondage, Electro-sex, Public Orgasm

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A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical help from W.  Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and W's help in recording the six young women's stories of how and why they are masochists.

The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read the previous chapters.  These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on any one person.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

Chapter one of eight describes the "I, Masochist" performance and events leading up to it.

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WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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It wasn't the best party I have ever attended, but it wasn't the worst.  The problem was that it was one of those parties that you have to attend rather than one that you want to attend.  I know, you don't have to do anything in this life except die.  Everything we do is a choice we make.  I know I didn't really have to come to this party or any other party.  I know that ultimately, I chose to come to this party.  But the only thing that got me through the door that night was to keep telling myself that I HAD to come to this party.

I didn't want to be there.  The truth was that I had reluctantly agreed to come to this particular party because Shelly had batted her baby blue eyes at me and said, "Please, W.  Please, please, please come to my party Saturday night."  Then she gave me her Hello Kitty smile and added, "There is someone who really wants to meet you."

That alone - "somebody who really wants to meet you" - should have been sufficient reason for me to decline the invitation.  But I didn't.  Instead I said, "What time and what kind of party?"

She answered, "Starts at eight and it is a standard cocktail party with a bunch of mostly vanilla people from the university." 

I was still not sure whether my being there was repaying a favor Shelly once did for me or storing up a favor for some future needs, but in any case, I arrived at her place around 8:30 to a room full of typical college-type professors, students and administrators.  Well, typical if you factor in the fact that Shelly is an artist and most of her friends are artists.  Shelly is somewhat famous - or perhaps I should say infamous - for her various "performance art" exhibits.  A couple of them have even been featured on network "news magazines," and one made national headlines when it was very noisily picketed by a group calling itself "Citizens Against Pornographic Art."  Shelly sent them a very nice letter thanking them for doubling the attendance at her performances that summer.

Her performance art is how I met her.  She was setting up a show with a BDSM theme and sought me out as a consultant.  It was entitled "I, Masochist," and was supposed to consist of a series of glass booths with naked coeds bound in different ways with various kinds of electrodes stuck onto and into their bodies.  The planning drawings indicated that the girls would be wearing full coverage bondage hoods with ball gags and micro-mini G strings that were little more than thin straps that held dildo electrodes in place front and back..  It wasn't clear if the ear, eye, and mouth flaps of the bondage hoods would be open or closed.

The drawings showed large buttons on the outside of each booth that would supposedly control the electrical impulses.  When you pressed the big red button, Christmas style lights wound around the girl and the booth were supposed to flash and the girl would thrash and scream convincingly.  There were two other large buttons with up and down arrows on them.  If you pushed the up button, the lights would flash brighter.  If you pushed the down button, the lights were dimmer.  There was also supposed to be a keypad with the numbers one through ten.  Whatever number you pushed, that is how many times the lights would flash when you pressed the button.

Someone had referred Shelly to me.  She wouldn't say who it was other than the fact that they were intimately familiar with, and highly satisfied with, my work.  She contacted me and asked if I would be willing to look over the designs for the displays and make sure that they were realistic.

The drawings were very complete and very realistic.  The bondage was bearable and non- destructive for a normal human body while still projecting an almost fantasy level of erotica.  And most of her equipment - including the tongue and ureter electrodes that were shown on a couple of the models - could be or had already been purchased over the internet and were actually capable of doing exactly what she was showing it doing.  I was impressed.

I did, however, have one question and a couple of suggestions for her.  "Are you going for bondage or torture?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

"All of your models are totally bound and gagged," I explained.  "That means no safewords.  If this were real, they would be totally at the mercy of the person with the button.  That is - or can be - torture rather than a BDSM scene unless the sub and dom have a real understanding of each other."

I suggested that, for the sake of realism, the models have some readily apparent safeword device, perhaps a brightly colored ball that could be dropped to indicate a limit threshold.  If she was truly going for realism, she might even have them drop the ball once in a while during the performance and see if the people at the controls honored the signal.

She said she would implement my idea, and then asked what else I would suggest.

"Shelly," I said, trying to sound scholarly since I was talking to a full professor.  "Your concept is good..., it is very good..., and it is erotic as hell.  But you are reaching out to only one of the senses."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's all visual," I answered.  "And I don't mean just here in the drawings.  The models are sealed away behind glass.  All the other senses are cut off from what is happening.  In the real thing, there is the smell of woman and the smell of leather and the smell of fear or arousal or both.   There is the sound of the subs breathing - the little intakes and catches of breath as they attempt to go into the pain and turn it into pleasure.  Even the creak of the chains and the sound of the leather rubbing against the restraints is a part of a real scene.  You have cut your audience off from all of that.  They might as well be watching a video screen.  What you have right now is a 3D projection of a silent bondage video.  At best, it is a living statue - a damned erotic living statue, but it is still only a statue and still only visual."

"What do you suggest I do?" she asked.

"I would put some holes in those plexiglass cages or use something open that looks like the bars of a cell or reinforced chicken wire.  And to up the ante, I would add sound to the shock.  Make it buzz or something when they deliver the shock.  Don't let your audience stand there passively.  Involve their bodies.  Make them do more than just punch one button with one finger to cause a pulse or change the intensity.  Use a big dial or handle like on a large water valve to turn the power up and down.  And make it hard enough to turn that they have to use their whole hand or both hands to turn it.  Have something hum or buzz softer and louder, or lower pitched and higher pitched as they make those adjustments.  Then use a switch to initiate the pulses that would require that they have to use more hand and body motion than just a tap of the finger.  Maybe you could have it turn like a key starting a car or pull back like a lever.  Maybe even the lever could come back until an unknown release point allowed the switch to snap forward.  That way, as they are pulling it back, even they wouldn't be sure when the pulses would start.  All of that would pull them and their body and their mind into your display as they hear and sense and feel what they are doing or are going to do to the woman under their control."

I looked up from the drawings to see how my suggestions were being received.  Shelly's mouth was open and her breath was slightly ragged.  There was a light sheen of perpetration on her face.  Her eyes seemed slightly out of focus.

"I was going to ask if you could visualize what I meant," I said.  "But it appears obvious that you can see it in your mind and you like it."

She answered in a very deep throaty voice, "I can see it, and yes, I like it!  I like it a lot!"  She shook her head to disengage herself from the vision of her revised work and asked, "How much do I owe you?"

I told her that all I had given her was advices, and advice was cheap.  I wouldn't charge for the consultation since I hadn't worked up any drawings or gotten bids or done any of the typical pre- production stuff I would normally do for a client.  My only charge would be a pass to the exhibit some time during its run.

She thanked me, and I thought that would be the end of it.  A few weeks later, however, she called again.  "W," she said, "I really need your expertise on this - the kind of expertise and equipment I have to pay for.  The exhibit was a smash hit this weekend, and the studio wants it to run every weekend all summer."

"That sounds like great news," I answered.  "So what's the problem?"

"The problem is with my models," she answered.  "I got their names from a professor who is doing sex studies at the university.  All six of them are actually art students here, and all six of them are truly masochists.  I figured with that combination they would both understand what I was trying to do from an art perspective and be more realistic from a pain perspective."

"I'm surprised he gave you names from his study," I commented.

"Doctor Collins didn't." she replied, "I asked him if he could give me a couple of names from his study and he said that his confidentiality wouldn't allow that, but he would give some of his test subjects my name and they could choose whether or not to contact me.  He gave my name to eight girls whom he knew to be masochists and art students.  Six of them wanted to be models in my show."

"I still don't see the problem." I replied.

"They are all art students," she said with some exasperation. "Because they are art students, they say that they want a 'true performance.'  They keep quoting that damned Professor McCarthy who claims in all his writings and lectures that the only way performance art can be true performance and true art is if it is all true - that is real."

"It is real bondage," I interjected.  "And the equipment is real.  It would work if you hooked it up."

"That's just the point," she answered.  "They are also all masochists.  Because they are masochists, they want to feel some pain or it isn't real to them.  They say that the setup is fake and I am just teasing the audience with an illusion of reality and teasing them with a promise of pain.  They are threatening to quit and tell everyone that the whole thing is a fake unless I make the system real.  In other words, the bondage has to be real.  The shocks have to be real.  It all has to be real."

"Like I said,"  I replied.  "No problem.  Your equipment is all real.  Just hook them up and let people play if that's what they want."

"One problem," Shelly replied.  "... a big problem.  Last weekend when the controls only affected the lights, about half the time the people ignored the ball drop safe signal.  I even watched one man turn all the dials up to maximum after the model had dropped the ball.  Then he pushed ten on the number pad.  If one of the girls reaches a limit, it won't be honored.  That would be torture.  Someone could even get hurt.  I can't have that.  I need your help."

I chuckled softly and immediately named a price.  I even offered to do the installation.  "Don't you have to think about it?" she asked, somewhat startled.

"Not at all," I replied.  "I sell a self-bondage safety switch that interrupts all power.  It should be easy to rig in the displays.  You wouldn't even need the wireless version.  In fact, the wires might add to the effect.  It's about the size of a tennis ball and can be any color you want it to be.  If it leaves your hand, everything shuts down.  You already have the models holding something, so no one will even notice that anything has changed."

I didn't realize how wrong that last statement would prove to be.  EVERYONE noticed that something had changed.  Simulated bondage with simulated pain is very different from true bondage and true pain, especially when the person receiving that pain is a true masochist. 

I installed the items the next evening and Saturday night, the second night that the system was live, I attended the performance.  I asked Shelly how it had gone the night before and she said that the displays looked the same, the girls looked the same, they even acted more or less the same, but that the crowds were reacting very, very differently.   It had her perplexed.  She couldn't figure what was different.  "I've looked over everything and can't put my finger on it," she said.

"Quit looking and start listening and inhaling."  I told her.  "I can hear passion from every cage.  I could smell arousal as soon as I came in the door.  And that smell isn't just coming from the women in the cages.  Half of the females in here are reacting to a pheromone and fantasy overload and creaming their panties.  If a guy brought a date to this and doesn't get lucky tonight, he really doesn't know how to play the marvelous cards you have given him."

Her eyes widened slightly as she took in what I had said.  Then she nodded her head slowly, and asked, "Can you stay until after the show ends tonight?    I have something else I want you to check out in the cages."

I tried to look like it was some sort of sacrifice on my part to stay for the whole evening, but the reality was that the displays were having quite an effect on me also.  I don't know if it was art, but it was one hell of a performance.  One of the girls was covered in a full body tattoo that intertwined vines, flames and serpents.   The only visible skin not covered with the design was on her hands.  It provided quite a contrast since none of the other girls showed any ink at all.  I was sure they had no ink because I spent the evening examining their skin very closely as I watched them buck and writhe while the lights danced around them.

The tattooed lady and one other had the ureter and tongue electrodes.  You could see the thin electrode protruding slightly from their pee hole like a catheter and there were wires going through the safety breathing hole in the center of their ball gags.  I'm not sure exactly what type of electrode was in the mouth.  It may have be one of the wide tongue clamp types or perhaps there were just metal strips on the ball gag.  All of the models had anal and vaginal electrodes as well as other surface electrodes on various parts of their bodies.  One model, a somewhat older woman in her mid to late twenties even had light up nipple weights dangling from each breast that obviously applied shocks directly to the nipples each time they flashed.

I have to admit that the erotic effect of six nubile young women in full pain bondage was very powerful.  The fact that all six were basically anonymous somehow heightened the experience.  Four of the models were wearing full coverage bondage hoods.   One of the hoods was sealed.  The other three had the eye,  and ear openings unsealed and red ball gags visible in the mouth opening..  All four were standing with their hands extended and restrained above their heads by chains that attached to the top corners of the cage.  Their feet were spread wide and held in place by leather restraints that were attached to the outer walls of the cage.

The two remaining models may or may not have been wearing hoods, but it was impossible to say because their heads were not visible.  One was standing upright with her head and hands held in place in holes like you would find in a set of stocks, except these holes went through a low ceiling in the cage.  The area above the ceiling was dark plexiglass so it was not possible to see her head.  Since a set of wires went through the ceiling next to her right hand, I assume she was holding a safety switch, but her hands were also concealed behind the dark plexiglass.  The inside surface of the ceiling was covered in a dark velvet or felt so that her body seemed to end at the blackness.  She was just a naked, headless body writhing in a cage.  The other model was in a similar restraint, but instead of her head and hands being concealed in the top of the cage, she was bent over at the waist in a much lower cage, and her head and hands were held in place through one side of the cage.  This was the model with the dangling light-up nipple weights.  Again, the area on the other side of the restraint wall was masked in dark plexiglass, and the interior side was covered in black velvet.  Her cunt, which was very visible, was wet and gaping.

I stopped for quite a while to watch one very blue-eyed girl sway and writhe with the pulses as the lights flashed around her.  Her very trim and muscled body was bathed in a sheen of perspiration as she jerked and swayed and strained against her restraints.  Despite the fact that she had the full electrode treatment, including wired titty clamps and an electrified pee hole, I could tell from the muffled grunts coming around the bright red ball gag that she was saying "More, more, more, more," each time the shocks hit.  When the shocks stopped she would buck and grind the air uselessly trying for friction to take her over the top.

I went over to her cage and waited for a very sweaty frat boy to finish playing with the controls.  I turned the dial up to maximum and pressed 22 on the keypad.  Since I programed it, I knew that the 2 button was an override and wasn't limited.  99 was the largest number allowed by the system and I had thought about having the 9 as a bypass key, but 99 seemed to be a bit much if things were set on maximum.  I pulled back the shock lever and when it went "twang" and released, she began bucking and trashing.

When the pulses went past ten, her eyes changed, and I could see that she was trying to smile around her gag.  She rolled back her head and closed her eyes as she swayed with the shocks which were biting her ass and cunt and nipples as well as her pee hole, mouth, ass cheeks, and the upper muscles on her thighs.  Somewhere around 19 or 20 she threw her head fully back, let out a long, extended groan and hung slack in her restraints.  Juices were literally flowing down the insides of both of her legs.

At first I was a bit concerned that I had overdone it, but then I noticed that the only muscles that had not gone slack after her orgasm were the muscles of her right hand.  She was still tightly clutching the drop safety firmly in her fist.  I gave her a single pulse at low energy and she opened her eyes and looked at me.  I smiled at her, and her lips formed - as best they could around the gag - "Thank you."

As I turned away from the cage, I could see a young woman leaning back against the wall in the relative darkness away from the displays.  Her feet were braced against the floor and she had her hand down the front of her slacks.  She was breathing rather loudly in that deep, recovering- from-an-orgasm sort of way.  Her face flushed dark red as she caught my eye, and she quickly pulled her hand from her waistband and stepped rather unsteadily away.

The show closed at 1:00 am.  I helped Shelly and her assistant release the girls from the "stages" on which they had performed.  Shelly introduced me to each of them and explained that I was the one who had rigged the equipment and designed the safety interrupt.  The girl with the bright blue eyes said, "What I really needed was a control to run the shocks higher.  The only time I was able to get off was when you overrode the system somehow."

I said, "I could reset the programming to allow audience members to take it up to 25 rather than 10."

Three of the girls said, "Please do it!"  The other three said, "No!  I couldn't stand that."

I compromised and said "Shelly knows who is in which cage.  I will change three of them.  But I am resetting the override on those to the number 5 rather than the number 2, so if you see me outside your cage, you might be in for 55 rather than 25."

"I'll risk it," answered the blue-eyed blond.

"Couldn't you make it the 3?" said one of the other two.

"Maybe I will just activate the remote on it so I can punch in any number I want from my phone.  That way Shelly doesn't have to worry about somebody accidently overriding things."

All six girls smiled at me and said, "Thank you."

After they had left, I told Shelly that it would only take me a few moments to make the programming changes to the pads.  She answered, "Then I want you to do something for me."

"Anything within reason," I said, and began programming the pads.  By the time I had finished with the sixth pad, I could no longer hear Shelly doing whatever it was that she was finishing up at the other end of the studio.  After the last pad, I walked toward the back of the gallery and stopped.   An additional cage had been moved into the very back of the studio...,  and there was someone in it.

I walked over to the cage and there was a note taped to the keypad.  It read, "W, I have to experience what this is like.  I can't be in here during the performances because I have to be available to meet the people.  I want you to take me to my limits and beyond.  And then I want you to fuck me while I am still in bondage.  That is the performance I had truly imagined when I first conceived this idea, but there is no way that kind of art could ever be publicly displayed - at least not in this town."

I took my time to appreciate the way that Shelly had bound herself - or more likely had allowed someone to bind her in the booth.  Her legs were encased in thigh-high boots that were laced up the sides and appeared to be solidly attached to the floor of the cage.  Her arms, encased in tight- fitting leather gloves that reached almost to her shoulders,  were stretched high above her head and held widely apart on a spreader bar that was mounted firmly on a diagonal across the top of the cage.  The black on her arms and legs highlighted the paleness of the skin of her abdomen. She didn't have ureter or mouth electrodes, but there were wired ass and pussy dildos held in place with the thin black leather straps of the supposed G string.  In addition, black square contact electrodes were clearly visible on either side of each nipple as well as a pair on each ass cheek.  There was no way that she got herself into this, and there was no way that she could get herself out of it unless someone released her.

She was wearing a full coverage bondage hood.  The flaps over the eyes and mouth were closed.  From the bulge, it appeared that there was also a ball gag under the closed mouth opening.  The ear flaps were not closed, but there was a bright red ear plug in each ear that seemed to be held in place with soft wax.

There was nothing in her hands, so I looked for the safety drop.  She had insisted I supply a spare, and I now realized that it must have been for this stage.  It was on the floor of the cage, securely wrapped in tape, obviously intentionally disabled.  She was serious when she said that she wanted me to take her to her limits and beyond.

I spent the next hour and a half playing her body like a fine musical instrument.  Since I had a remote that did more than just change the number of pulses - which was not limited on the remote, I varied the frequency and added ramp variation to both the amplitude and frequency of the shocks.  I also adjusted the relative timing so that the pulse hit her pussy a fraction of a second - or even a full second - before or after it hit her breasts.  I also tried the cascade effect that hit her ass cheeks, ass,  pussy and then breasts in rapid sequence.  And all the while, I kept her just short of orgasm.  If it looked like she was going to cum, I backed off the intensity to minimum for a couple of rounds.  She was pouring sweat and grunting and thrashing so violently that the cage was swaying slightly as she moved.  Then she started yelling into her gag.  It was impossible to tell for sure what she was saying, but it sounded an awfully lot like "Please!  Please!  Please!  Please!  Let me cum!  Let me cum!"

Finally, I had pity on her - well not so much finally having pity on her as finally giving in to my own needs.  I set the shock level to the lowest setting and the number on the remote to 999 and stepped into the cage with her.  I removed the strap that held the front dildo in place and pulled it from her sopping cunt.  Then pulling her toward me and crouching down slightly, I impaled her with my rock-hard member.

I could feel the slight tingling of the shocks as I stood there.  Shelly immediately began pumping her hips and rocking against me.  I ended up just reaching out with my hands and steading myself against the sides of the cage as she rode me violently standing up.  She had asked me to fuck her while she was still in bondage, but the truth is that she was fucking me.  I stood there and let her ride me as I went with her to a very strong orgasm.

When we finally finished, I stepped out of the cage and shut off the pulses.  I let Shelly hang there, totally limp, for another five minutes or so before I re-entered the cage and began releasing her from the bondage.  The last thing I did was to remove the hood and gag.

"The hell with meeting the public," she said emphatically after her mouth was clear.  "Next week I am going to be in the seventh cage."

Her show ran for the rest of the summer, and yes, there were seven cages every Friday and Saturday night.  They even added a Sunday matinee toward the end of the summer.  Somehow the idea of  BDSM performance art as a Sunday matinee seemed odd to me, but the gallery was filled to overflowing every Sunday afternoon.

In the fall, school resumed at the university and Shelly returned to teaching classes.  The models must have told some of their fellow students about the cages, because I did have a flurry of orders for the safety switch.  Either a significant number of the coeds were into self-bondage or they had boyfriends that they didn't totally trust with full control of electronic stimulation.

Then Shelly dropped by and invited me to her party, and I agreed.  As I looked around the room full of people, I had a pretty good idea exactly who it was that Shelly wanted me to meet.  There was one older gentleman who looked totally out of place.

It wasn't just that he was dressed differently from anyone else there.  He had that forced casual kind of look that happens when a really up-tight suit dresses down to mingle with the masses.  And it wasn't just that he had an overly well-groomed goatee that was so obviously dyed black.  Primarily it was that he wasn't a part of the party.  He was observing the party.  He looked and acted exactly like a therapist waiting for a group session to finish its greeting time and get down to business.

After fortifying myself with a half-glass of dark ale, I walked over to him and said, "You must be Dr. Collins.  I assume you are the person that Shelly said wants to meet me."

He looked startled, but answered, "Yes..., yes, that's why I'm here..., to meet you.  You must be... ... 'W.'"  He said my name like it was distasteful to him.

"You don't like the fact that I go by my initial, do you?" I asked him.

He answered, "No.  I'm sorry.  It just seems artificial and contrived."

"It's a long story," I answered.  "I got stuck with it way back in grade school and there are some things that are with you forever."

He smiled back.  Evidently we had gotten over whatever his hangup was with the alphabet.

"So, what do you need from me?"  I asked.

"I understand that you write stories," he said.  "I've read some of them... most of them - at least as many as I could find with an internet search."  He paused as if thinking of how to phrase his next comments.  "And I understand that you have met Shelly's models and they are impressed with you."

"I don't know if I impressed them, but yes, I have met them."

"I would like you to interview them and write their stories," he said.  "Would you be willing to do that?"

"Why?"  I replied.  "They are a part of your research program.  You already know their stories."

"But they lie to me," he answered with a touch of frustration and a slight whine in his voice.  "I know they do.  They withhold things and change things to what they think I want to hear.  Or they just play with me out of spite.  They think that I am judging them or something and so they aren't open with me."

"That's because you are judging them," I answered.  "You are probably studying them because you think that they are sick or degenerate, and they can sense that."

"I can't change who I am," he responded rather defensively.  "But I do care about them, and I think that we need to know more about what makes a masochist a masochist.  If you can get them to open up and tell you their stories, I can use what they tell you in the stories to better understand them."

"Why do you want to do this?" I asked.  He shifted his head back and forth for a moment before opening his mouth to answer me.  I could tell I was going to get a rehearsed, canned answer, so I cut him off with, "Tell me the truth or I walk out of here and you never see me again."

He bristled, but answered rapidly, "Because I no longer think they are sick or degenerate."

"Wife or girlfriend?" I asked.

"Me," he answered, coloring a little and looking down at the floor.  "With my wife - it only happened once.  We were both more than a little tipsy and started making out in the living room like a couple of teenagers.  After a short while, we were both naked.  As we were starting to get into some deep kissing, she could taste cigarettes on my mouth.  I had promised her I would quit smoking and had told her that I had.  She suddenly said, 'If you are going to behave like a child, I am going to treat you like a child!' Then she pulled me across her lap and started spanking me with her slipper."

"It hurt like hell at first, but then suddenly it didn't hurt.  It felt good.  In fact, it was some of the most intense pleasure I had ever felt.  My wife and I tried some spanking play a couple of times after that, but it just hurt.  Neither of us really want to try it again, but after that I realized that it isn't that a masochist likes, or needs, to feel pain - at least not all of them.  Something happens and for some reason a masochist's body interprets pain as pleasure.  I want to learn how and why that happens."

He looked up at me as if he was expecting me to say something.  I remained quiet and he whined, "But they won't tell me the truth!  How can I get any insight into what might be going on in their bodies or minds if they won't tell me the truth?"

He stared at me with pleading eyes and asked, "Would you do this for me..., and for them?  Will you talk to these six girls and write their stories?  The stories would probably be worthy of posting or publishing, and I would have data that I otherwise couldn't get."

I took a deep breath and answered, "OK.  Let me think about it.  But you can't set up ANY of this.  It all has to be set up through Shelly.  And the girls need to know that I will be publishing the information so that the whole world - including you - would have access to it.  If I do this, I will change their names and other pertinent information, and I don't tell you who is who unless they all agree to it after I have completed my stories."

He smiled at me and answered, "Agreed.  Now, if you don't mind, I think I will leave.  I really am not comfortable in situations like this."

As he got up and walked toward the door, I wondered to myself why it was that the therapists and shrinks always seemed to have more hangups and problems than any of their patients.    I let that thought fade away as Shelly walked up to me.  "Having fun?" she asked.

"Not yet," I answered.  "But the party is still young."

"And there is time for more fun after the party is over," she stated with a smile.  "I sort of wonder what it would be like to have normal sex with you?'

"All sex is normal," I replied.  "Some of it just takes a little more work to pull off."

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  END CHAPTER ONE OF EIGHT

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1I Masochist - Chapter Two - Abigail

By The Technician

BDSM, Public Nudity, Public Spanking, Public Bondage, Public Sex, Semi-non- consensual

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A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical help from W.  Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and W's help in recording the six young women's stories of how and why they are masochists.

The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read the previous chapters.  These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on any one person.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

Chapter two of eight is W's interview with "Abigail.".

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WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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I still wasn't sure how I suddenly became a researcher for a sex therapist studying masochism, but two weeks later, I was back at Shelly's apartment for the first of six interviews.  Despite the fact that Dr Collins was a total asshole, I had agreed to meet with Shelly's models and write up their stories, or at least write up the answers to their interviews.  I think a lot of that decision had to do with the fact that after a night of fantastic sex following the party, Shelly batted her eyes at me again and asked, "So, will you do it?  Will you help that old pervert figure out why we girls are like we are?"

That question, combined with the fact that Dr. Collins had begged me to "do this for them," overcame my reservations and I agreed.  I told Shelly to talk to the girls and arrange times that I  could sit down with them and talk.  In the meantime, I was going to get something in writing from the good doctor about what he wanted me to ask.

It took two weeks to get everything in order and for Shelly to set up meeting times.  It was going to take at least eight weeks to complete the interviews.  Shelly even made one blank appointment at the end so I had the time already on my calendar in case one of the girls had a last minute conflict with her scheduled time.  The girls decided that we should meet at Shelly's apartment since they all knew where that was.  I think they also felt more comfortable and safe there.  I liked the idea because Shelly indicated that after the interview I could just stay over for the weekend.

The first model was Abigail, and no, that is not her real name.  They were going to be A, B, C, D, E and F but I decided to use a name to make it more personal as I wrote out their stories.  Maybe that is what Dr. Collins didn't like about me going by "W."  Calling someone "A" seems so impersonal.  At least "W" has a couple of syllables when you say it out loud.  It sounds more like a name than just saying "A" or "C."

When she arrived at Shelly's place, Abigail was wearing a light blue pair of sweat pants and a white t-shirt style knitted top.  It was obvious that she didn't have a bra on under the top since her nipples were making themselves known through the soft fabric.  They didn't seem to be stiff and erect, they were evidently just that large in their natural state.

Abby was a very attractive girl, about five-three with very pale skin and very light brown, almost blond, hair.  Her eyes were emerald green, and with her high cheek bones and somewhat triangularly shaped face, she probably could make a decent living as a model.  She didn't have the height or the thinness for the runway, but could work steadily for catalogues and television ads.

But we weren't here to discuss her future career choices.  We were here to discuss her sexual orientation or lifestyle or preferences or whatever the current politically correct term is for her sex life.  After I thanked her for coming and indicated that she could sit or stand depending on what was most comfortable for her, I explained that I had a few questions that Dr. Collins wanted answered.  I said I also had a few questions of my own but we would primarily just be talking and if we didn't get to everything on the list, that was fine.  I assured her that it was OK to ramble a little if she wanted to.  I would put it all in proper order later.

She decided that she wanted to sit at the kitchen table with me and asked for a cup of coffee.  She wrapped both of her hands around the mug like it was her Linus blanket and looked at me with wide open eyes.

"Abby," I began, "tell me the absolutely best sexual experience you have ever had."

"Wow!" she answered.  "Dr. Collins never asked anything like that.  That must be one of your questions."

It wasn't.

She gnawed on her lower lip for a few moments, and then said, "I'd like to think that the absolute best is yet to come, but what comes to mind is a canoe trip that my boyfriend, Dwayne, and I took about three years ago.  It was supposed to be a really crappy weekend with a cold front and storms and all of that, but we had both arranged for the time off and so we said, 'The heck with it.  If we have to stay in the tent for four days, we will find something to do.'"  She gave me a grin.

"We got to the campground late on Saturday with plans to stay until Tuesday morning.  It was cold and wet and miserable and there were only a few other tents in the whole campground.  Sunday morning wasn't much better and everyone else but us packed up and went home.  But then late Sunday morning the sun came out and it started warming up.  By two in the afternoon, it was gorgeous.  We went over to the canoe place and asked about going out on the river.  The man who ran it said it was too late in the day, that we wouldn't be able to get to the pickup point before sunset."

"'Is there any way we can do this?' I asked."

"His answer was, 'Not unless you want to spend the night camped on a sandbar somewhere.'"

"Dwayne perked up at that.  He asked a few more questions and then we walked back to camp and he got a small tent and an old sleeping bag out of his car.  A stop at the camp store for some beer and water and an hour later we were paddling downstream.  It was beautiful and we were totally alone on the river.  I was wearing a bikini with a t-shirt over it.  Dwayne had on swim trunks and a t-shirt.  The sun had come out and it was starting to get hot, so I took off my t-shirt.   Dwayne said, 'You don't have to stop there.  No one here to see you but me.'"

"I took off the top.  I don't know why I did that, but I did.  I was so embarrassed.  I was blushing so bad it looked like I had a sunburn.  I looked around to see if anyone could see me, and Dwayne was right.  There was no one around.  We were perfectly alone on the river."

"Suddenly I wanted to be naked.  I lifted myself slightly off the seat and slid my bottoms down to my knees and then sat back down and pulled them over my feet.  Dwayne cried out, 'What are you doing?'    I think he was afraid I was going to capsize the canoe.  We were coming up on a bridge, and Dwayne said, 'You might want to cover up a little.  There might be people up on the bridge.'"

"I turned even redder and hunched over so that my breasts were covered and you couldn't see between my legs. But then as we got closer, I started feeling warm all over.  It wasn't a blush warm.  It was something totally different.  I lay back as far as I could with my arms over the sides of the canoe and lifted my legs and put them outside the canoe at the bow.  I opened my legs even wider as we approached the bridge so that I was laying there almost spread eagle in the front of the canoe as we went under."

"There was no one on the bridge or on the highway, and I would have been terribly embarrassed if anyone had actually seen me, but as soon as we got past the bridge, I yelled for Dwayne to put the canoe onto a large sandbar that split the river just beneath the bridge.  I ran up onto the sand and lay down on my back.  'Do me, Dwayne, I yelled at him.  Fuck me now.  Right here in front of God and everybody.'"

"He pulled the canoe up onto the sand and walked over to me.  He looked around to see if we were really alone, and then didn't waste any time, but dropped his trunks and slammed into me.  I started coming as soon as his prick touched my cunt and kept coming and coming for as long as he was pumping into me.  After we were finished, he set up the tent and gathered some firewood from the shore.  We camped there overnight and made love twice more before morning.  While we were going at it in the middle of the night, a car drove past on the bridge.  I knew that they couldn't see us down below them in the dark, but they probably heard me because the fact that they were there drove me over the edge harder than ever before."

"Just after dawn, we were snuggled together in the sleeping bag and Dwayne began stroking me all over and nuzzling against the back of my neck.  I turned over and he lay on top of me and slowly entered me.  He was pressed tightly against me from shoulders to waist and was sliding very slowly in and out while he stroked my face with his hands.  I can't say that I went especially high, but we seemed to be making love forever, and we reached that magic point at exactly the same time.  As we came together it was like we became one body for a few seconds."

"So, in one night, I had the most intense, the longest, and the closest sexual experiences of my life.  Taken together, that was the absolutely best sexual experience in my life... so far."

I laughed slightly and Abby started to frown like she was upset.  "I'm not laughing at you," I said.  "I am celebrating your optimism that even after what you just described, your true best sexual experience is still to come."

She grinned at me and asked, "What is the next question?"

"What do you think it should be?" I asked in response.

"Now you are sounding like Dr. Collins," she said, "but if I were asking the questions, I would ask what my worst sexual experience was."

"OK," I replied.  "That wasn't next on my list, but why don't we go with that.  What was the absolutely worst sexual experience you have ever had."

"I was raped," she said, her face suddenly turning dark and serious.  "No, it wasn't truly rape," she added.  "I was set up, tricked, seduced, played for a sucker, or whatever you want to call it.  I said yes, so it wasn't rape of my body.  It was, however, still rape of my mind and of my person."

She looked over at me and waited for me to make a comment.  I remained quiet, so she continued, "I was 18 and a senior in High School and I had the deepest crush on one of the football players.  The problem was that I was a little bit heavier then.  I wasn't really fat, but I was a little plump, and that meant that I wasn't a part of the in crowd.   And the football jocks only paid attention to the in-crowd, cheerleader types."

"Anyway, somehow Carl found out about my crush and he and his buddies cooked up a plan to humiliate me.  He sat next to me at lunch for the whole week and asked how I was doing in class and what music I liked and all of those getting-to-know-you-better questions.  Then he asked if I wanted to go out with him Saturday night.  I knew that meant he was expecting me to sleep with him, but I said yes."

"The date started out pretty normal.  He took me to a nice place to eat and then to a movie.  After the movie, he asked me if I had ever seen Forbidden Glen in the moonlight.  I had never heard of Forbidden Glen, so I said, 'No.'"

"'Well,' he said.  'We will fix that tonight.  I am sure you will never forget it.'"

"I should have suspected something when he gave me a really odd smile after he said that, but I thought he was just thinking about having sex.  We drove a little ways out into the country.  I really didn't know where we were because he kept turning and going a short distance and turning again.  Finally we turned down this one-lane gravel road and went back into the woods for quite a ways."

"'It's only a short walk from here,' he said, and took me by the hand.  It was really dark and I couldn't quite see what was around me.  Carl was using his flashlight to illuminate the path, and every time I was just about acclimated to the darkness, he would turn around and shine it on me - in my face, and ask if I was still doing OK.  Finally we came to a clearing.  All I could see was the small circle of light from his flashlight, but since no one kept shining a flashlight in his eyes, Carl evidently could see better."

"He took me out into the center of the clearing and pulled me close to him.  His tongue pushed deeply into my mouth...,  and I let him.  He started unbuttoning my blouse..., and I let him.  He unsnapped my jeans and pushed them to the ground..., and I let him.   I was writhing against him.  I wanted him so badly.  He lowered me to the ground and then slid my panties down my legs.  I arched my back and lifted myself off the ground so he could pull them over my hips.  He was kissing my breasts and sucking on my nipples and rubbing his hand between my legs."

"'Carl,' I begged.  'Fuck me.  Please fuck me.  I want to feel you inside of me.  He unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock.  He wasn't as large as I thought he would be, but he was still big.  His jeans felt rough against the skin of my inner thighs as he pushed himself into me.  I could feel the metal of his zipper against my pussy lips.  This wasn't how I had imagined it, but I was too far gone to care.  I thrust back up against him."

"I've always been more than a little noisy when I am reaching my peak, and I was starting to grunt and moan and yell.  I started yelling, 'Yes! Yes! Yesssssssssss!'"

"On the third yes, the world around us exploded into fiery white light.  I looked around and I could see that Carl and I were in the center of a ring of automobiles with their headlights pointed in at us.  The entire football team and all of the cheerleaders and everyone who was part of their in group were sitting or standing on the cars yelling and cheering.  They started chanting, 'Slut! Slut! Slut! Slut!  Goooooooo slut!'"

She sat there silently looking at me, expecting me to say something.  "What did you do?" I finally asked.

"I came," she answered.  "I had a screaming, yelling, kicking, squirting orgasm while everyone with a camera or cell phone took pictures.  Then I dragged myself out from under Carl and ran naked into the woods while everyone hooted and laughed at me.  I was so ashamed.  I couldn't face any of them.  I tried to run back to Carl's car, but there must have been a dozen trails in the woods and I didn't know which one we had come down to get to the clearing.  Finally I just curled up in a ball and cried."

"After a while I got back up and walked down the trail that I knew led to the clearing.  All the cars were gone.  My clothes, or what was left of them, were in a pile in the middle of the clearing.  They had cut the sleeves off my blouse and shortened  it so that it barely covered my breasts.  My jeans were cut off so short that there was almost nothing left of the crotch.  The pieces they had cut off of the blouse and jeans had all been torn or cut into tiny pieces.  My underwear was not with the pile of clothing.  I was going to have to walk home half naked.  It probably would have looked better if I had just stayed naked."

She again went silent and I again asked, "What happened then?"

Abby blushed rather deeply and looked down at the floor.  "I never told Dr Collins any of this, and even if I had, I wouldn't have told him this part.  What I did next was to lay down on top of what was left of my clothes and rub myself into three more orgasms.  Sometimes even today when I masturbate, I imagine myself back in the middle of that clearing under the glare of all those headlights."

"But I thought you said this was your worst sexual experience?" I asked.  I think confusion might have even shown on my face.

"It was," she answered.  "I hated it.  I hated the humiliation.  But at the same time, I came and came and came and came because of it.  I still do."

She lowered her head again and looked at the floor.  "I still hate it.  I am still ashamed of it.  I still wish it had never happened.  And yet, I still come and come and come even thinking about it.  If you weren't here, I would probably have to get out my vibrator and jill myself off ."

I cleared my throat, and hopefully my mind before my body started acting on impulses that would be a little out of place.  "I notice," I said, "that neither your best or your worse experience involved pain., and yet you call yourself - or Dr. Collins calls you - a masochist.  Tell me about a time - perhaps the first time - when you got sexual satisfaction from pain."

"Masochism isn't just pain," she answered.  "It is also humiliation.  Pain alone doesn't do it for me.  If its sexual, and if its public - if people are watching, then pain turns me on.  But if its in private, most of the time pain is just pain."

"OK then, tell me about a time, perhaps the first time, that the combination of pain and humiliation gave you sexual satisfaction."

"There have been a couple of public spankings that took me over the top," she mused.  "But probably the first time I got pleasure out of it was once when I was eight or nine years old.  It wasn't sexual, or if it was I didn't realize it.  But I felt really good inside." "What happened?" I asked.

"We had this big family reunion in a huge state park.  I don't know how many people were there, but there were at least a dozen cousins that were about my same age.  We were all supposed to be there at noon.  Mom insisted that I bring along a dress to wear for a big family picture that was going to be taken as soon as everyone arrived."

"When we got there, I had on a pair of shorts and a top that were a neon shade of pinkish red.  They were tight, but really soft, and I liked to wear them with nothing under them.  I figured that I would just put the dress on over them, so it didn't make any difference that I left my panties at home."

She looked up at me and blushed.  "They didn't show anything," she said.  "They were fairly thick and I was only eight, so there wasn't much to show.  I wasn't wearing them to be sexy.  It was just that they were really, really comfortable, almost like wearing pajamas, and they felt so good next to my skin."

I remained silent.

She continued.  "After we had been at the park for about and hour, Mom told me to get my dress out of the car and go into the restroom and change for the picture.  I did, but when I looked at myself in the mirror, my neon pink shorts and top were clearly visible through the white dress.  There was nothing else I could do,  I took them off.  My skin didn't show through like the neon pink did.  Besides, it was a long dress so nobody was going to see anything.  I figured I would put everything back on after the picture was taken and nobody would know."

She blushed slightly and looked down.  "Things didn't work out like I expected.  Somebody hadn't gotten there yet, so the picture was delayed.  Mom told me to sit quietly and wait and 'Don't eat anything!'"

Abbie had almost yelled out her mom's words.  I smiled and asked, "What did you eat?"

"A cherry tart," she replied with a little girl smile of embarrassment.  "And I managed to drip red cherry filling down the front of my white dress.  Mom was furious.  She dragged me over to the corner of the picnic shelter where there was a water faucet and said, 'Give me the dress.'"

"'What!?  Here!?' I sputtered."

"'They're ready for the picture,' she answered.  'And you'd better hope that all of that red washes off the front of the dress.'"

"She grabbed me and pulled the dress up over my head.  I guess she assumed that an eight year old standing there in her underwear wouldn't cause much of a stir, but I wasn't standing there in my underwear.  I was standing there naked!  She was so intent on scrubbing the cherry stuff off the dress that she didn't even notice at first, but the cousins did.  They all stopped what they were doing and stood around us in a big circle."

"I was trying to hide myself but there was nothing to get behind.  I had to just stand there trying to hide myself with my hands.  I hadn't started to develop yet, so that meant holding both hands over my slit.  After Mom finished rinsing the cherry filling off the front of the dress, she turned around to put it back on me.  'Abigail Marie!' she screamed.  'Why are you naked!?  Where is your underwear!?'"

"'I didn't wear any,' I answered.  Then I tried to explain about the neon pink shorts, but Mom wasn't listening.  She sat down on a picnic table bench and pulled me over her lap.

"'Thought you would show your ass to your cousins, did you?' she yelled.  'Well, you are going to show them a very red ass.'  And then she started spanking me.  I had embarrassed her in front of her family and it really got to her.  I don't think Mom ever lost control as much as she did that day.  I was crying and screaming and the cousins were laughing and then Mom said to me, 'Quit squirming and jumping.  You are showing your cousins everything you've got.'"

"Suddenly it didn't hurt anymore.  I thought I would die of shame, but I could barely feel Mom's hand and I felt a strange, wonderful warmth deep inside me.  I don't know how long Mom kept swinging, but eventually she stood me up and put my dress back over my head.  She wiped off my face and straightened my hair and we went over to where everyone was gathered for the family picture.  Mom always commented that she could never understand how I could have such and angelic smile on my face in that picture when a few moments before I was getting my butt painted red - that's what she used to call spanking us.  She never threatened to spank us. She always would say that she was going to paint our butts red."

"She really painted my butt that day.  My ass was really red and it was really sore.  Those soft neon shorts didn't feel so soft for the rest of the day.  After we ate and us kids were playing in the park, several of the cousins asked me if my butt was red and if it had started to turn purple.   I pulled my shorts down and showed them.  They laughed and I turned red all over again from shame, but that warm feeling came back for just a second.  One of the boy cousins told some of the others, and I ended up showing groups of my cousins my ass another four or five times during the day.  Each time, the shame came back, but not as much, and the warm feeling came back, but not as much."

"The park closed an hour after sunset, so shortly after it got dark, everything was over.  On the drive home, Mom turned around from the front seat and told me sternly, 'I hope you learned your lesson today, young lady!  I have never been so embarrassed in my life.'"

"I learned something that day, but I don't think it was what Mom thought.  I learned that I got pleasure from getting spanked naked in public.  I wasn't sure if it was the spanking or being naked or the shame of it all, but I did know that whatever happened, I liked it."

"You were one of the models who said that you couldn't take higher levels or longer bursts of pain."  I said, changing the subject.  "And yet I know you were significantly turned on by the experience and apparently had at least one orgasm during the course of the night that I was there."

"How do you know that for sure?  Maybe I was faking it."  She responded.

"You can fake the sounds and motions of an orgasm, but you can't fake the smell.  And you can't fake moisture running down the insides of your thighs.  You may or may not have had an orgasm, but you were at a very high level of sexual arousal."

She grinned at me.  "Gee, you're no fun.  Dr. Collins would have argued for hours about whether or not I could fake an orgasm."

"So," I continued, "why did you agree to be a model and how or why did it sexually excite you to be displayed in pain bondage like that?"

"I'm nor sure," she replied.

"OK," I said.  "Let me help you.  Think of the performance.  What was it that made it pleasurable.  Was it the Bondage?... The pain?... The public nudity?... The perceived shame?...  The comments from the audience?...  Which of those things gave you pleasure, or gave you the most pleasure."

"The comments from the audience," she answered quickly.  "And yes, I did orgasm the night you were there.  It was when two older women came by my stage.  I had volunteered for the headless cage so I could see everyone as they gathered around me.  From the outside those plexiglass panels at the top were totally black, but from the inside, it was like wearing sunglasses and I could swivel my head to look around at everything in front of me."

"Since I was near the back, I could see the whole gallery without anybody being able to tell.  I watched these two old bats walk around the exhibit shaking their heads and looking like they had just swallowed a basket of lemons.  When they got to my cage, they stood in front of me and looked at my body with obvious disgust on their faces.   The older of the two shook her head, tsked a couple of times and said to her friend, 'She must be a real slut to let herself be displayed like that.  And to get pleasure from pain is perverted.  If I was her mother I would thrash her ass right here and walk her home naked so the whole town could see what a perverted slut she was.'"

"Her friend harumphed and said something, but I couldn't catch it.  I was seeing myself naked, being forced through the streets by these two old bags.  In my mind, one was standing on each side of me and they both had switches and were swinging them as hard as they could.  I loved the look of absolute horror on their eyes as I suddenly yelled out in orgasm and started dripping cunt juice all over the stage."

She looked down slightly like she was thinking and then said, "The bondage and the pain got me going, but the shame - and throwing that shame right back in their faces - really took me over the top."

"One final question, Abby," I said.  "When did you first realize that you were different?"

"I never thought I was," she answered.  "I still don't think I am.  It's no different than the fact that I don't like salty food.  People don't ask me why I am different when I don't put salt on everything.  Some people like salt.  Some people don't.  Some people like kinky sex.  Some people don't.  None of us are different.  We just aren't all the same."

I laughed again and Abby frowned at me.  "I'm sorry," I said.  "I was just thinking of Dr. Collins whining that you girls were lying to him.  Sometimes you probably were.  And sometimes you might have intentionally left out things.  I think a lot of it was that you told him the absolute truth, but he wasn't ready to believe you."

She laughed with me.  "You got that right.  For somebody who is supposedly studying sex, he is one, uptight old prude."

She scrunched up her face into something between a smile and a questioning look.  "Do you think you have everything you need?"

"I didn't need any of it," I answered, "but Dr Collins wants it and Shelly talked me into doing this.  So, yes, I have everything I need."

I thanked her again and got her to sign a card that said I could connect her true name to her story for Dr. Collins.  As she left Shelly came into the room.  She was wearing a diaphanous night gown that didn't hide anything that was beneath it.

"I thought you might need to relieve some sexual tension after listening to her stories," she said as she sat down on my lap and untied the bow that held the gown on her left shoulder.  "I was listening at the door and I know that I definitely need to relieve some tension."

"You shouldn't be listening," I scolded her.  "I ought to turn you over my knee and spank you."

She untied the other bow and the gown fell to her waist.  As she snuggled in against me, she purred, "Promises, promises, promises."

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  END CHAPTER TWO OF EIGHT

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1I Masochist - Chapter Three - Brenda

By The Technician

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A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical help from W.  Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and W^^s help in recording the six young women^^s stories of how and why they are masochists.

The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read the previous chapters.  I am posting this entire series in the BDSM category. Although a couple of the chapters might not exactly fit the theme, all are concerned with the realities of masochism.

These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on any one person.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

Chapter three of eight is W^^s interview with “Brenda.”

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Brenda wanted to sit in Shelly^^s living room for our talk.  She was wearing a very small tube top that barely contained her ample breasts and a very small, very tight pair of denim shorts that would have had Daisy Duke blushing with embarrassment.  I had no doubt which girl she was, or at least I was absolutely sure which model she had been in the performance.  Up close, in natural light, her tattoos were even more striking.  Some of the leaves were in the shape of flames and some of the flames were in the shape of leaves and the serpent or serpents that slithered throughout the burning foliage were a realistic pattern of black, green, yellow and orangish red.  When combined with the movement of muscle behind it, the entire tattoo seemed to be alive.

“Let^^s get one thing straight,” she said as she sat down.  “I am not a masochist.  I am a pain slut.”

“What^^s the difference?” I asked, somewhat startled, and immediately regretting that she had so easily put me on the defensive.

“Masochists have to go the meetings,” she answered.

I wasn^^t sure if her tone of voice was anger, bitterness or defiance, and I had no idea what she meant by her answer.  Evidently my puzzlement showed on my face because she added in a somewhat softer tone, “It^^s an old joke about the difference between a drunk and an alcoholic.  The alcoholic has to go to the meetings.”

“So you think that Masochist is a label that judges you because Masochists have to go to the meetings - meaning therapy?”

“Damned straight,” she spit out.  “You and Dr. Collins sit up on your high horse and look down on me and say that I am sick...,  or crazy..., or whatever it is that you are thinking.”

“I^^m thinking that you are beautiful,” I replied.  “And that you have some rather extensive and impressive ink that stops at your wrists and neckline.  Is there a reason the coverage isn^^t 100%?”

“Who says it isn^^t?”  she answered defiantly.

“Ah..., black light tattoos.” I said.  “I hadn^^t thought of that.  With a black light ink overlay and additions on your face and hands, you would probably be very, very impressive at a club under black light, especially if there were strobes.  I apologize for assuming without first ascertaining  the true facts.”

“You really mean that, don^^t you?” she responded in a much quieter and subdued tone.

“Yes, I do,” I answered.  “I pride myself on acting on facts, not suppositions.  And I don^^t look down on you.  I think you would know that if you had read my stories.  Or if we had met under different circumstances.”

“Sorry,” she said, now speaking in a normal tone of voice.  “I guess I was doing some assuming too.  But Dr. Collins really gets to me.  He thinks I am some low-life piece of white trash.  I only participated in the study to try to keep him honest.”

“Honest?”

“I^^m a pain slut and proud of it.  It^^s what I am.  I^^m not sick or demented or dangerous to society.  I just feel pain differently than most people...,  and in most cases, it turns me on.”

“When did you first realize that you felt pain differently than most people,” I asked, deciding to take advantage of the opening to actually pursue some of the interview questions.

“You asked that different than Dr. Collins did.” she said.  “He asked when I first started feeling pain in an abnormal fashion.”

“I^^m not Dr. Collins,” I answered.  I think I managed not to add, “What an asshole!” out loud.

“I^^ve always felt pain differently,” she continued.  “Some pain is really pain, but for almost everything else it is not what most people feel as pain.  I guess I realized that when I was about five or six and I found out that almost all of the other children were ticklish.  I have never been ticklish.  My older brother used to try to tickle me once in a while and I would cry.  For me, tickling isn^^t pleasant.  And it doesn^^t make me laugh.  It hurts to be lightly touched and tickling is very painful to me.  It was after one of those times when he tried to tickle me and I cried and told him to stop hurting me that he said, ^^You are weird, little sister.  You smile when dad spanks you and you cry when I tickle you.  There is something screwed up in your pain wiring.^^”

“I had never thought of it like that before, but he was right.  When dad or mom would spank us, I would feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  It never really hurt no matter how hard they whaled on me.  But if somebody touched me softly, it hurt.  I didn^^t realize that wasn^^t normal until he said that to me.”

“Later, as I grew up, the warm and fuzzy changed.  It became sexual.  My first orgasm was over my father^^s knee.  I don^^t remember for sure how old I was, but I was young enough that he didn^^t realize what it was, and I guess neither did I.  ^^I finally put some heat in your ass,^^ he said when I screamed and thrashed about.  ^^That^^s the first time that I managed to really get your attention,^^ he added and he pulled me back up onto my feet.”

“I think my mom realized what had happened though, because is wasn^^t too long afterwards that she told him that she thought I was too big for him to spank anymore.  ^^Besides,^^ she said, ^^I think grounding her is much more of a punishment to her that getting her butt warmed up.^^”

“After that, I just got grounded when I misbehaved - except once.  My senior year in high school, I came home really late from a date.  I didn^^t expect anyone to be up, but dad had been hosting a poker party and he and five of his buddies were in the family room as I tried to sneak in the back door a little before two in the morning.  They had been drinking quite a bit and so had I.  Dad was more than half drunk..., and so was I.  ^^Late and drunk,^^ he said as I came through the door.  “I ought to take you over my knee and really warm up your ass.^^”

“I leaned over to put my face right up in dad^^s face to yell back at him, and one of his buddies said, ^^You left out naked.^^”

“As I had leaned over my short skirt rode up and the man next to dad could see that I was missing my panties.  My father yelled, ^^What?^^  Then grabbed me and pulled me on down over his lap.  My skirt flipped up as I fell, so I was effectively naked across his lap.”

“^^No daughter of mine is going to parade around town like a slut,^^ he yelled and started spanking.  He started hitting harder when I just laughed as he swatted me.   When I started panting and moaning, he lost it completely and really laid into me.  My ass was on fire and turning the proper shade of red to match.  After a few minutes, I had a tremendous orgasm as I lay over his lap.  One of his buddies said, ^^Holy shit!^^ as I arched my back and yelled out as I peaked.”

“Dad suddenly stopped spanking and dumped me onto the floor as he jumped to his feet.  ^^Go to your room,^^ he sputtered.  ^^And don^^t you ever tell your mother anything about this.  You are just like her sister Evelyn and if she thinks you turned out like that, she won^^t be able to handle it.^^  Then he turned to his buddies and said, ^^This never happened!  You hear me!  This never happened..., because if it did, we could all be in a lot of trouble with our wives or even with the police.  She^^s 18, but she^^s drunk and didn^^t really volunteer to show you her ass while I spanked her.^^  I got up off the floor and went to my room.  Dad never mentioned it again, and neither did I.”

“A few weeks later, I asked mom about her sister Evelyn.  She went white and stared at me with wide open eyes.  ^^Why do you want to know?^^ she asked.”

“I told her that I had looked at the back of one of the old family pictures in the living room and on the back of the frame in grandma^^s handwriting, it said, ^^My daughters, Sandra and Evelyn with their cousins.^^  I had, but it had been months before.  Then I said, ^^I never knew I had an aunt Evelyn.  What became of her?”

“^^She^^s dead,^^ mom said in a really strange, almost whisper.  ^^She couldn^^t handle the shame of what she was, and she killed herself.^^”

“^^What was she?^^ I asked.  Mom looked at me for a long time and then finally said, ^^She was a pain slut.  She got sexual pleasure from pain.  The kids at school suspected her secret and teased her at lot.  Once the girls in gym class trapped her naked in the locker room.  One of them pulled her over her lap and started spanking.  When her arm got tired another girl took over.  After a while they were sure of what she was because they could clearly see that it was exciting her.  She just lay across their laps and let them pound on her and turn her on.  They passed her from girl to girl and kept going until she was so far gone, she couldn^^t control herself.  She slid off onto floor with her hands under her rubbing herself.  They left her there for the coaches to find.  The whole school knew about it after that and everyone put her through hell.  She couldn^^t change what she was, and...^^ Her voice trailed off and she started crying softly.  Then she put her hands on my shoulders and looked me right in the eyes and said, ^^Don^^t let that happen to you.^^”

                               

“^^I can^^t change what I am either,” I said.

“^^I know,^^ she answered.  Her shoulders slumped and she began to tear up again.  ^^I^^ve known for a long time.  I^^ve known - or at least been afraid of this - since you were a little child.^^  Then she said something that totally changed my life, ^^You didn^^t choose to be what you are..., but you can choose whether or not you are going to be ashamed of it.  Don^^t let them shame you into the grave like they did my sister.^^”

“I^^m a pain slut and I^^m proud of it!” Abby said emphatically.  “It is what I am.  I am also an excellent artist and a damn good dancer.  I hope to be a mother some day.  I don^^t know if I would want my daughter - or son - to be like me, but if they are, then I will help them embrace what they are rather than fill them with shame and watch them destroy themselves like so many who are like us do.  I would teach them to be in your face about it like I am.”

“Is that why you have invested so much money in your tattoos?” I asked, “... to be in the world^^s  face about it?”

“The tats haven^^t cost me a dime,” she answered with a laugh.  “Well, OK, the very first one was $250, cash in advance, but after that, they were free.”

“How did you arrange that?”

“I designed this,” she said making a sweeping gesture with her hand indicating her full-body tattoo.  “... while I was still in high school.  I knew exactly what I wanted on every part of my body from the very beginning, even down to the fact that one of my pussy lips is a leaf and the other is a flame and there is a black light snake that curls around my neck and crawls up onto my face.  I even had every step in creating this mapped out, starting with the flames around my left nipple.”

“Right after graduation, I got a job to earn money for college, and decided that part of my earnings were going to be used to start my body tat.  That first little piece of ink on my left tit was going to cost $250, payable in advance, so I knew that my grand design was going to take a long time and a lot of money to get finished.  I warned Bobby - he^^s my ink artist - that I might be moving around a lot if it got painful.”

“He replied, ^^That^^s OK, I have a lot of people who can^^t stand the pain.^^”

“I told him, ^^That^^s not the problem,^^ and started to laugh a little.  When he asked, ^^Then what is the problem?^^ I told him he wouldn^^t believe it unless he saw it.  He answered, ^^Just warn me if you are going to start moving around a lot.^^”

“I laughed again and told him that he would be able to tell, in fact everyone in the shop would be able to tell.  He had two partners and there were seven or eight people in the place at the time.  When Bobby had everything ready, he asked me if I wanted the curtain pulled.  He had a curtain like they have around hospital beds that could be pulled around his work area.  I said, ^^They are going to hear me, they might as well see me.^^”

“He looked a little confused, but said, ^^OK.  Take off your blouse and bra and we will get started.^^”

“He was only working on me for a little while when he started to understand.  I^^ve been told that tats can get a little painful depending on your pain tolerance and where it is on your body.  I wouldn^^t know.  For me they are powerfully pleasurable.  I was getting off on the pain.  Bobby was about half-finished when I had my first orgasm.  ^^Whoa!,^^ he yelled out.  ^^I^^m not going to able to continue if you jerk around like that.  You have to keep still or the design will be ruined.^^”

“^^I can^^t keep still,^^ I answered.  ^^The pain turns me on too much.^^”

“^^Then I will have to tie your chest down if you want to continue.^^ he said almost yelling at me.  He was really upset that his work wouldn^^t be perfect if I couldn^^t keep still.  He is that kind of artist.”

“I told him, ^^You^^re going to have to tie my whole body down, then, because being tied down naked on your table while you buzz me with those needles is going to put me into near continuous orgasm.^^”

“^^I didn^^t say anything about naked,^^ he quickly answered.  ^^And you sitting in the chair works fine.”

“^^Why make the trip half way up the mountain if you are trying to see the sky,^^ I said as I stood up, flipped off my sandals and slid my shorts down to my ankles.  I wasn^^t wearing any underwear so I was standing there naked while he got some leather straps out of a drawer and I crawled up onto his big leather table.”

“I lay down on the table and he put one wide leather strap just below my tits and then two more across my legs.  ^^Can^^t have you thrashing your arms around,^^ he muttered as he pulled my hands above my head and strapped my arms to the table just above my head at the elbows.  He added one final strap right across my shoulders - in that position, actually armpits.  He couldn^^t pull that last one real tight because it also went across my throat.  I could still bounce around a little, but my movements were pretty well restrained - which was a good thing because I had five or six more orgasms while he finished the flames on my breast and nipple.”

“By the time we were done, everyone else in the shop had stopped whatever it was that they were doing and were gathered around Bobby^^s work area.  ^^My God!^^ said one of the men.  ^^I would have paid money for a ticket to see that.^^  I could see that there was a stain on the front of his pants.  He had creamed himself watching me.”

“As Bobby was cleaning me up and putting a bandage over the new tat, he said, ^^I think we could work something out to finance the rest of your grand design.  If you are willing to come in after hours and have an audience while I work, I think I can arrange it so the ink will be free.  Who knows, maybe you will even get a little extra for your time.^^”

“He sold tickets for $30 a pop.  Whenever he had at least a dozen tickets sold, we did the next section of the tat.  It didn^^t cost me a dime, and I came away from each session with fifty dollars cash in my pocket.  When it was time to do the vines and flames on my pussy lips, he upped the ticket price to $50 and gave me $200.  He said he was planning on giving me $100, but it was obvious that I was actually in pain while he was working on my pussy lips.  That did really hurt, but it was a small part of that section, and I got off at least twice as he worked his way back toward my asshole.”

She smiled at me and went quiet.  I took advantage of the silence to say, “I really am going to have to ask at least one of Dr. Collins questions before we run out of time.”  She said, “OK,” and I asked, “Would you please tell me about your absolutely best ever sexual experience?”

“Last summer,” she answered immediately.  “Dwayne and I went down to Mexico for a vacation and the resort had a nude beach.”  She made a sweeping motion with her hand and said, “These are beautiful, but they don^^t protect you from sunburn.  We were out on the beach all day, and by the time we got back to the room, I was in pain - real pain.  It wasn^^t bad enough for my skin to blister and damaged the art, but I was burned enough that it hurt to be touched.  And I don^^t mean the uncomfortable hurt that a light touch always is, it HURT.”

“I took off what little clothes I had on and lay down on the bed.  Dwayne offered to rub some lotion on me to see if that would help.  He sat down on the bed next to me and reached out and stroked my breast real lightly - almost like he wasn^^t even touching it.  Suddenly it was like a switch flipped.  Where he was touching me didn^^t hurt.  In fact it felt wonderful.”

“I moaned, ^^Oh, God!^^ and he jerked his hand away and asked, ^^Did I hurt you?^^”

“^^No,^^ I answered.  ^^It felt wonderful.  Keep doing it.^^”

“He set down the lotion and began stroking my breasts and stomach with both of his hands.  It was driving me out of my mind.  I had never felt anything exactly like that.  The bed was getting wet between my legs as I squirmed under his touch.”

“^^Turn over,^^ he said, and I rolled onto my tummy.  He began running his hands very, very lightly up and down my back and then all the way down to my ankles and back up on the insides of my legs to the crack of my ass.  As he kept stroking me, I felt like I was drifting in pleasure.  Finally I couldn^^t take any more and panted out, ^^Fuck me, Dwayne.  Fuck me now!^^”

“Dwayne said, ^^You^^d better be on top.  I don^^t want to risk hurting you with my weight pushing your back into the bed.^^”

“He slid into the bed and I straddled him and impaled myself on him.  As I rode him, he reached up and continued to stroke my breasts.  We came together.  I had a tremendous orgasm and afterward collapsed down on top of him.  He reached over me and continued stroking my back.  I couldn^^t believe how good it felt.  He just kept stroking me and stroking me and stroking me.  I was purring like a kitten in front of a fire.  I fell asleep like that and he left me there on top of him for a long time.”

“In the morning, I woke up still partially laying on top of him.  He reached over and ran his hand lightly down my back..., and it hurt.  Everything was back to the way it normally is.  I don^^t know what happened, but evidently the pain of the sunburn somehow caused my pain and pleasure wiring to work like it is supposed to for a little while.  It has never happened like that before or since, even when I have gotten slightly sunburned.”

She sighed deeply and said, “You can tell Dr. Pervert that if he ever comes up with a pill or a shot or some treatment that would allow me to feel pleasure like that again, I might be willing to try it.  I am what I am and I am not ashamed of it, but if that is the type of pleasure that a ^^normal^^ woman can experience on a regular basis, I am definitely missing something in my life.”

She looked at me like she was expecting me to say something.  I was carefully weighing my words trying to find something meaningful and helpful to say while being sure that I didn^^t sound judgmental in any way.  Before I could figure out what to say, she continued, “But then again, none of those women feel what I feel when I am getting a tattoo or hanging naked in a cage getting my ass and tits shocked off.  If they could experience that once in their lives, maybe they would envy me.”

She had said everything that needed to be said, so all I said was “Thank you for agreeing to the interview, Brenda.”  Then I asked her if she was willing to sign the forms to release information to Dr. Collins.

After she left, I went into the bedroom.  Shelly was lying on the bed.  It was obvious that she had been crying.  “Just hold me,” she said.  “Hold me and stroke me and let me fall asleep in your arms.  I never realized that there were people who could never enjoy the soft touch of someone they love.”

I climbed into bed and pulled her into my arms and lay there with her against my chest.  Her sex was pressed tightly against my hip and one of her legs was between mine.  She was clinging to me, but it was not a sexual cling, it was a need for closeness.  I stroked her back and sides as her breathing slowly relaxed.  Eventually she fell asleep.  I was really hoping for more than that, but it was obviously what she needed, and I was pretty sure that she would more than make it up to me in the morning.

She did.

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  END CHAPTER THREE OF EIGHT

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1I Masochist - Chapter Four - Carol

By The Technician

BDSM, Public Bondage, MILF, Machine

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A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical help from W.  Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and W's help in recording the six young women's stories of how and why they are masochists.

The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read the previous chapters.  I am posting this entire series in the BDSM category. Although a couple of the chapters might not exactly fit the theme, all are concerned with the realities of masochism.

These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on any one person.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

Chapter four of eight is W's interview with "Carol."

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WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Carol was almost an hour late for our appointment.  I thought that she wasn't going to show up at all and had just about given up on her when she rushed up to the apartment.  "I'm sorry, Shelly," she said as she came hurrying in the door.  "But my son had a basketball game tonight that went into overtime.  I've seen every one of his games since he started playing on the varsity team as a freshman, and I'm not going to break that string in his final year."

As soon as what she said sank in to my brain, I knew that I had grossly underestimated Carol's age.  I knew when I first saw her that she wasn't a teenager, but I had figured her age way low.  Her body definitely put her in the MILF category.  She had dark brown, almost black hair and eyes to match.  Her breasts were somewhat small, but well formed with light pink nipples.  Her hips were curvy, but firm, and she had the stomach tone of an athlete.  If I was remembering right, she had a thick patch of very dark hair between her legs and very prominent labia which protruded from her cunt when she was bent over - which she was during the 'I, Masochist' performance.  When I had seen her in her performance cage, and later as I helped Shelly release her from her bondage, I had assumed she was in her mid twenties.  But if she had a son who was a senior in high school, that put her closer to forty than twenty, or at least well north of thirty. 

"Are you a student at the university?" I asked.

"I'm working on an advanced degree," she replied.  "I teach art at my son's high school."

"Does the school know that you were one of Shelly's models?"

"My principal knows.  He said that as long as my face never shows up in anything, he would let it slide.  I use my maiden name at the university, so it helps me maintain some degree of anonymity.  Besides, it's a private school and my husband is a major benefactor.  That means I can get away with a lot as long as its legal and I don't get too public."

She looked over at me and then immediately answered an unasked question "Yes, my husband is rich.  Very, very rich.  It gives me a certain freedom in life I wouldn't have if I were waiting tables at a diner to make a living like my mother did."

"You dress more like a teacher than a model or a college coed." I observed.  "You seem very prim and straight.  How does being a masochist fit into that?"

"I have an addictive personality," she explained in a very matter of fact way.  "As a teenager I was addicted to alcohol and other drugs and ended up in rehab more than a couple of times.   That's how I met Gene... screwed up lifestyles of the rich and famous.  I wasn't rich or famous, just screwed up but our paths crossed in rehab and we kept in touch."

"What turned my life around was when one of the counselors gave a talk one day and said that some people are just going to be addicted.  That's the way it is, and if you were one of those people, the thing to do was to choose something to be addicted to that wouldn't destroy your life.   I blew off what he had to say when I first heard it, but later it really helped turn me around.  I think he had work or music or art in mind.  Gene eventually chose work, but I decided that the weakness I would allow myself was pain."

"So you chose to be a masochist?" I asked.

"I chose not to be a dry masochist," she said with a laugh.  Evidently I looked confused, because she explained.  An alcoholic whose life is still controlled by alcohol and has all of the characteristics of an alcoholic, but doesn't drink is called a dry alcoholic.  There are a lot of dry masochists in the world who actually do - or at least can - get sexual pleasure from pain but don't do intentional pain.  Unfortunately, they often end up pairing up with someone who is rough with them during sex or treats them like dirt and humiliates them or mistreats them in some other way.  Then the pain is out of their control.  I chose to be in control of my pain."

"Have you always gotten sexual pleasure from pain?"

"It isn't so much that I get sexual pleasure from pain as that pain increases my pleasure during sex or in sexual situations.  I was a normal child.  It wasn't until I was sexually active that I realized that pain added to sex."

"So how did you come to realize that?"

"Back in my drug and alcohol days I occasionally ran with a pretty rough crowd.  One time I really needed to score some relief and was out of money, so I traded sex for drugs.  The guy wasn't bad looking, but he was dressed like a stereotypical leather biker with all the metal and buckles and all that.  I think he was actually gay because he insisted on anal and that I keep my blouse on.  I don't think he wanted to see my tits so he could imagine he was fucking a young boy.  In any case, he pushed into me rather roughly from behind and started pumping my ass.  It wasn't all that bad because he did lube me up pretty good and warmed up and stretched my ass with his fingers.  I was actually getting into it a little bit.  I wasn't going to climax or anything, but it was bearable.  Then he started going all the way in and hitting my ass with the front of his coat as he bottomed out.  The edges of his coat were covered with all these little pointed studs that looked like little pyramids - especially along the bottom edge, and they were digging into me with every stroke."

"Suddenly I was on fire.  I was ramming myself back into him with every stroke and yelling and screaming for him to fuck me harder.  We were downtown in an alley and a group of druggies and street people gathered around and started cheering me on.  Finally I came like a I had never cum before and clenched down on that dealer's prick with my asshole.  That got him off and he shot into me, but was screaming that I was going to break it off.  When I finally calmed down, he pulled out of me and said, 'Damn, girl.  You must have already scored something because you are fucking freaked up on something.'"

"I realized that he was right.  I had found a drug that was way better than anything he could sell me.  I've been clean as far as alcohol or drugs since that night.  What nine rounds of rehab hadn't done, a wild anal fuck in a back alley got accomplished.  My son thinks I am a prude because I won't drink anything alcoholic and I don't do drugs of any kind."  She laughed and continued, "Someday I may have to have a long talk with him about the realities of my life."

"Does he suspect anything?" I asked.

"Well, he does wonder why we keep one door in the basement locked at all the times.  That is our play room.  As far as I know, he has never been in there, so I don't have to explain the stocks or spanking bench or Saint Andrew's Cross to him.  The way the basement is laid out, though, it appears to be just a locked closet.  I think the original intent of the person who first built the house was that it was to be equipped as a safe room, or at least a hidden room.  You go through a narrow closet-like area into a room about the size of a small bedroom that is concealed between two other rooms and a bathroom.  It vents to the outside through the bathroom vent piping and has an escape hatch that you can open into an upstairs closet, but is totally sealed off from the rest of the house.  I think it is also sound insulated.  I took my son's big radio down there once just to see how far sound carried outside the room.  With it turned all the way up, I couldn't hear it at all upstairs, and in the basement it was just a soft noise in the background.  I probably wouldn't have even heard that if I had closed the thicker inner door.  There is a back to the closet opening that swings into place so the room is truly hidden.  With that closed, it appears to be just a closet when you open the door.  That's how we normally leave it when we aren't in there.  I don't think my son has ever been in that closet, but I am absolutely certain he hasn't been in the play room.  There are motion sensor cameras that record everything in there and put it on a hidden disk on our home network." "How often do you use your play room?" I asked.

"Me, or me and my husband?" she asked back.

"Both," I answered.  "And what do you do in a typical session down there?"

"I would like to say that there is no typical session, but that isn't true.  If the kids are out of the house - like over at a friends, hubby and I will both sort of hint that it has been a while since we played.  Then we neck and get each others about half turned on and go downstairs.  If Gene is in charge and calling the shots, I usually end up tied facing the cross.  That's his favorite.  He really likes to see my back and ass turn red.  He is an expert with a cane or a flog and can hit exactly where he wants, exactly how hard he wants.  I scream and yell and put up a fuss, but I have never said, 'Caboose.'"

She gave me an embarrassed smile.  "That's our safeword.  It means that my little red caboose needs a break.   A couple weeks ago, he worked me over with a crop, and when I was so worked up I was trying the hump the wood to which I was tied, he took me in the ass.  I don't like anal unless I get there through pain.  If you try to love me up and get in the back door, it ain't gonna happen.  But if you turn my ass all red and purple so that each time you thrust into me it is like you are pounding my ass with a paddle, I will go wild."

"Gene loves anal.  I prefer regular sex.  Neither of us is really into oral.  I like doggie style in the stocks after my ass has been properly warmed up.  When I'm in the stocks, Gene can reach around and maul my breasts while he takes me and there is nothing I can do about it.  That really takes me high.  But if I am warmed up properly, I will go high regardless of which position we choose for fucking or which hole Gene ends up using."

My curiosity was peaked, so I asked, "What do you do in your play room solo?"

Carol smiled at me.  "I have a spanking machine and a fucking machine.  They were Christmas presents from Gene.  Obviously, I didn't open that present with the family around the tree.  The spanking machine has a whip, a tawse and a paddle.  You set the timer for the length you want and sort of lay down on it like you are getting onto a racing motorcycle.  Your legs are bent, but slightly back and your upper body is more or less lying across a narrow leather seat.  You can also stand at a restraint post, but if I'm on the motorcycle seat, I've got something to hump against."

"The straps on your arms, legs and back tighten when it starts up.  The maximum setting is four hours for the bondage and 200 strokes with the spank mechanism.  There is a safety button next to each hand that will stop everything and another button that can send out a pre-arranged email, text, or voice message in case something goes wrong.  There is also a tens unit built into the machine that can be programmed to buzz you with or without the cane, whip, or paddle."

"The fucking machine is built by the same company and as long as the spanking arm is out of the way, can be used with the restraint portion of the spanking machine.  It also can be set to automatic.  A couple of times, Gene has strapped me into the restraints blindfolded and then I don't know whether I am going to be fucked or spanked until the machine starts up."

"My favorite for solo play is to combine the fucking machine with electro-pain to my nipples and clit.  But you have to be careful.  I overdid that once and couldn't think straight for almost a day until the endorphin overload worked its way out of my body.  If no one is around the house, and I don't want a high, but just a long leisurely trip through painland, I might go downstairs, put a vibrator in my pussy and strap myself to the restraint for the full four hours with the paddle on a very slow cycle - a good solid WHAP about every five to eight minutes.  I've done that a couple of times when Gene was gone on business trips.  I timed it so that it would just be finishing the cycle as he got home.  I was absolutely warmed up for him and we fucked like rabbits all night."

I decided it was time to get in at least one or two of Dr. Collins questions, so I asked, "Would you please describe your absolutely very best sexual experience ever?"

"That's hard to say," she answered.  "I can think of several really good times, but probably the best was in Texas with my husband.  It was totally an accident, and it wouldn't be safe to try to duplicate it, but we were out at a small lake on one of his ranches and I decided to go skinny dipping.  There wasn't anyone around for miles except him and me.  He sat in the jeep on the shore and watched while I swam around for a while skinny dipping in the lake.  I came up out of the water dripping wet and horny.  I lay down on the beach and raised my knees into a fucking position.  Then I humped the air and called out to him, 'I need you between my legs.'"

"He laughed and shucked off his clothes, came over to me, and got down to business.  I was already wet and ready, so he just plunged into me and started pumping away.  I was starting to go high when suddenly I felt a really hot needle plunge into my ass.  And then another plunged into my side.  Evidently I had lain down near a fire ant nest and some of them had found me.  I don't think I could have handled a whole nest of them attacking me, but the couple that were biting me were driving me up higher than I had ever gone.  I was yelling 'Ants!  Ants!  Ants!" as I thrust myself up against my husband.  Luckily, I climaxed before one of them crawled up far enough to bite him.  When that happened, he screamed and jumped up off of me and started swatting the ants off of me with his hands."

"He pulled me up to my feet and brushed a couple of more ants off my back.  'You were shouting ants, but I had no idea what you were yelling about until one of those bastards bit me on the ass.  I'm sorry I didn't realize what was happening.'"

"'I'm sorry you stopped,' I answered.  'There were just enough of them to take me all the way up into painland.'"

"'A few more bites and they could have taken you up into heaven.  Fire ant bites can kill you.' he said.  'You really don't want to mess around with them.'"

"He explained that if we had been really close to the nest, they would have swarmed us and we could have ended up with hundreds, if not thousands, of bites and that would have been enough venom to do some serious damage.  I would never attempt to duplicate what happened, but it was marvelous sex while it lasted."

"What about your absolutely worst sexual experience?" I asked.

"That would be back in my drug and alcohol days," she answered, "But I would have difficulty choosing just one experience.  In all likelihood, my absolute worst happened when I couldn't even remember it.  I do remember waking up naked in an alley behind a club one morning.  I was stiff and sore with bruises and welts all over me.  I was covered in cum and I smelled like piss.  The hospital was about eight blocks from where I was.  I walked up there just like I was.  It got their attention in ER when I came through the doors looking like that."

"They were all, 'Have you been raped?  Are you willing to talk to the police?' and all of that social work nonsense.  I told them, 'I have no idea what happened to me, but I was probably a willing participant, or at least a willing user of whatever drugs were being passed around.'  Then I told them that what I really needed was treatment for my injuries and in-house rehab.   It didn't take, but it was during that round of rehab that I met Gene - and the counselor who told me the truth about myself - that I was always going to be addicted to something.  Now my only addiction is pain, and that is sort of self-limiting and becoming more so as I get older."

"So why did you agree to be a model for Shelly?," I asked.

Carol turned a light shade of pink.  "I had this fantasy about my students watching me in pain bondage,' she said looking very guilty and sheepish.  Then she said firmly, 'I would never do anything with any of my students.  I don't do anything with anyone but Gene these days, but the thought of my students watching me on a trip to the heights of painland was becoming an obsession.  I figured the only way I was ever going to get it out of my head was to actually do it in some way where my students didn't know it was me."  She laughed, "But there was no way that was going to happen."

"Then Dr. Collins asked if any of us were interested in modeling for Shelly.  I had heard a couple of the seniors in my class talking about one of Shelly's earlier shows.  They were describing the three models in that show in explicit detail, down to comparing the relative sizes of their pussy lips.  That was the kind of intense watching that I had been fantasizing about, and I knew they would also be coming to this show.   I couldn't let the opportunity to fulfill my fantasy slip through my hands.  All I had to do was make sure that I couldn't be recognized and that I would remain totally anonymous."

"Since I like being bent over in the stocks, Shelly suggested I be the 'wall head,' as she called it.  She had already been toying with the idea of just a body - no head at all on display in a couple of the cages.  If those plexiglass panels on the end had been clear, you would have seen my head and my hands sticking through the wall like I was in an old fashioned set of stocks except that everything was covered in black felt to prevent light reflection.  The holes were padded so I wouldn't hurt myself if I pulled against the openings, and it really wasn't at all uncomfortable.  Plus, it totally hid both my head and my hands.  I am always guessing who people are at Halloween parties because they totally conceal their faces and leave their hands hanging out totally exposed. My head and my hands would be totally hidden."

"I knew, however, that on that stage, what you hide at one end, you show at the other.  Being bent over like that completely revealed my pussy to everyone who walked by.  That was terribly embarrassing.  I've been naked in public before, but not like that.  I mean, in reality, you really can't see all that much on a woman who is standing up, but when she is bent over and her cunt lips are hanging out there, you can see everything she has."

"At one of the shows, I was already pretty turned on by the stimulation from the electro units, and I could feel my pussy juices running down my legs.  I could also feel that my cunt was actually gaping slightly so if someone looked straight at me, they would probably see all the way up to my cervix.  I was thinking how embarrassing this was when I heard two young men talking to each other.  They were behind me, so I couldn't see who they were, but one of them said, 'Wow, she looks like a younger version of Mrs. Dawson.  I could really get it on with her.'  The other replied, 'I wouldn't mind getting Mrs. Dawson in that position.'"

"I went into an immediate orgasm.  Not only were two of my students watching me and lusting after my body, they thought the naked me was a younger version of me.  I was really glad that I wasn't just in a leather hood.  Since they recognized the shape of my body, they might have absolutely realized it was me if they had seen my hands or the shape of my head or the color of my hair.  Collar and cuffs don't exactly match, but they are both natural."

"I'm pretty sure I know which two students these boys were.  I only hope that I can keep a straight face when I see them in class this year.  And speaking of class, I have to get home and get papers graded for tomorrow."

I thanked her and asked if she was willing to sign the release forms so that I could connect names to stories for Dr. Collins.  She said, "I thought that was a given when we talked to you," and I answered, "but what if you said something you didn't want Dr. Collins to know?"

She just laughed and signed the card.

After she left, Shelly came into the room and said, "Did I ever tell you that I had a terrible crush on my high school math teacher?  Mr. Evans was only like 24 or 25, but for a girl who is a high school junior, that is a mature man.  If he had asked me, I would have let him fuck me right there on his desk in front of the whole class.  But he wasn't interested in me, at least he never did or said anything to indicate that he was."

She smiled and then gave a low, sultry laugh.  "Why don't you come into the bedroom and see if we can solve a few equations together."

That was one of the only times I could ever remember looking forward to doing some late night homework.

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END CHAPTER FOUR OF EIGHT

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1I Masochist - Chapter Five - Diane and David

By The Technician

BDSM, Electro, Anal, Spanking, D/s, F/m, F/f

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A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical help from W.  Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and W's help in recording the six young women's stories of how and why they are masochists.

The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read the previous chapters.  I am posting this entire series in the BDSM category. Although a couple of the chapters might not exactly fit the theme, all are concerned with the realities of masochism.

These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on any one person.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

Chapter five of eight is W's interview with "Diane and David."

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WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Diane's first words as she came through the door to Shelly's apartment were, "I hope you don't mind that I brought David.  He's my twin brother.  Dr. Collins only wanted to talk to women, but David is as much a pain slut as I am - maybe more so.  I thought maybe his perspective would be helpful."

"Even if I did mind," I answered, "he is already here.   Are you one of those pain sluts that tops from the bottom?"

She smiled and raised her eyebrows at me.  "Just because I like pain doesn't mean I don't like to be in control.  Yes, if you want to put it that way, I top from the bottom.  A lot of pain sluts are actually totally in control of what is happening.  They say how hard to hit and how far away to hold the candle and when to switch from swatting to fucking.  I'm just more honest about it and take control from the start."   "What about David?" I asked.  "Is he in control too, or is he your sub?"

"He's not exactly a sub," she answered, "but he gives me pain when I want it, and I give him pain when I want to.  He is sub to the pain, I am just the source.  He would probably lay across your lap right now and let you give him a bare-assed spanking if you ordered him to.  He likes to think he is forced, that way he doesn't have to admit that he loves the pain.  I don't have a problem admitting anything.  I love to be in control and I love the pain." "So, when did you first figure this out?"  I directed the question to both of them, but I was pretty certain that Diane would be the one to answer.

David looked over at her and then lowered his eyes and stared at the floor.  Diane began, "I think it was when we were six or seven years old.  Twins are pretty close and we were almost always together.  I don't remember what we did, but I was the one who got blamed for it and I was the one who got spanked.  We both got sent to our room after the spanking, though."

"We were still young enough that we shared a bedroom.   When we got there, I cornered Davy and told him that he should have gotten the same spanking that I did.  Believe me, that spanking was not enjoyable at all.  I got twenty-seven swats.  Dad didn't count them, but I kept track."

"I had a little wooden paddle that was supposed to have a little ball on a long rubber band on it, but the rubber band had broken a long time ago and the paddle had ended up at the bottom of the toy box.  I sat on the bed and yanked down Davy's pajamas and pulled him over onto my lap.  'You are going to get 27 swats, just like I did,' I told him in the most stern voice I could come up with."

"He just lay there.  He has always been sort of passive, especially when it comes to me.  I started smacking him and after a few swats his butt started to turn pink and then red, but he wasn't crying.  He wasn't even whimpering.  He was smiling.  That really made me mad and I started hitting as hard as I could, but he just kept smiling at me.  I went way past 27 and he still didn't cry.  Finally I asked him, 'Why aren't you crying?  Why are you smiling at me?'"

"'Because it doesn't hurt when you do it,' he answered.  'It feels good in a weird sort of way.'"

"I screamed 'Boys!' and dumped him off onto the floor.  But the next night when we went up to bed and mom and dad were still downstairs, I asked him, 'Last night when I spanked you, did it really not hurt?'"

"'He answered, 'Sis, it really didn't hurt.  I don't know why, but it felt sort of good.  My butt was warm and stung all night, but it was a good warm and a good sting.'"

"I was standing in front of him while he sat there looking at me with those big doe eyes he gets when he is scared.   'What are you going to do, Sis?' he asked me.  I think he was afraid I was going to do something else to him.  Instead I said, 'This!' and pulled down my pajamas and lay over his lap as I handed him the wooden paddle.  'Spank me!' I ordered him."

"He sputtered and stammered and said, 'Are you sure?'"

"'Yes,' I answered.  'I want to see if it works the other way.'  I figured that if it hurt, I would just get back up off his lap.  But it didn't hurt.  Well..., yes, it hurt, but it hurt in a good way.  I kept telling him, 'Keep going... harder... harder... harder.'"

"Finally he whined, 'My arm is tired.'  Then he said, 'I think I hear mom and dad coming upstairs.'"

"I slipped off his lap and scurried over to my bed and got under the covers.  By the time mom and dad came into the room, the light was off and we were both pretending to be asleep.  Luckily, mom didn't look under the covers because my pajamas were still down around my ankles.  My ass was hot and stinging all night, but like Davy said, it was a good heat and a good sting.  That was the first time, but not the last that Davy and I traded spankings."

"How often did you 'trade spankings'?"

David started to answer, but Diane cut him off with "As often as we could, at first.  Then it tapered off to once a week or so."

"And when did it become sexual?"

David's eyes got very big.  Diane laughed, "With Davy it never has been... not really.  It is always just pleasurable in that strange sort of way.  Davy sometimes likes sex mixed with pain, or pain mixed with sex, but he enjoys pain in the right circumstances whether it is truly sexual or not."

"Davy," I said.  Diane and I locked eye contact as I repeated, "Davy," and then asked, "tell me about your absolutely best sexual experience ever."

David's mouth opened and closed several times as his eyes darted back and forth between me and his twin sister.  Finally he began, "I don't have a lot of experience.  I guess my best was recently when a friend of Dee's was over at the house for the weekend.  Mom and dad were away at some business meeting and were going to be gone for a whole week."

"Terri - that was her name... Terri is in some of Dee's classes at the university.  I had never met her before.  I don't go to school anymore.  I'm a teller at the bank in town.  I like the job and can maybe advance.  I've got an associate degree and will probably end up being a loan officer or something like that with the bank someday.  But for now, I still live at home and Dee stays at home once in a while when she isn't at school.  I think mom didn't want me to be alone for the whole week, so she suggested that Dee come home at least for the weekend."

"Terri came with her because she didn't believe that I would do anything my sister told me to do and wanted to see it for herself - or at least that is what she said.  Dee could see through her, though.  Dee can see through anybody... at least she always sees through me when I try to lie to her.  Dee could tell that Terri is very much like me, but Terri didn't want others to know it yet.  Maybe she didn't know it yet herself."

"They got there Friday night right after supper.   Mom and dad had only been gone for a half hour or so.  I was just finishing up the dishes when they got there.  'So this is your little brother?' Terri said as they came through the back door into the kitchen where I was standing.  She looked at me and said 'I've heard a lot about you from your sister.  I came with her this weekend to see if it all was true.'"

"'Oh, it's all true,' said Dee.  'And we are going to have a really fun weekend together.'  Then her voice got really deep and strong - not loud like yelling, but strong like you could hear it all over the house, and she said, 'Strip!'"

"I started fumbling with my clothes and Terri was looking at me at smiling - almost laughing.  Then Dee added, 'Both of you!'"

"'What?!' sputtered Terri.  'You can't mean that, can you?  You said you would show me why your weak little brother did everything that you commanded.'"

"'No, I didn't,' sneered Dee.  'I never said he was week.  I just said he does everything I command him to do.  He does it because I am strong, not because he is weak.  He just isn't as strong as I am.  Neither are you, and you know it.  You came here for the weekend not to see what I would command Davy to do, but hoping that I would command you to do things that you are dying to do, but don't have the guts to do on your own.  You are getting your wish.  I am commanding you.  I order you to get naked..., Now!'"

"Terri suddenly dropped her head and started pushing down her slacks.  'Yes, Mistress,' she whispered.'"

"'Say it loud enough for me to hear,' yelled Dee.  'And it is 'Yes, Mistress Diane.'"

"'Yes, Mistress Diane,' Terri responded as she pulled her blouse over her head.  She wasn't wearing a bra or panties, so once she took off the blouse, she was completely naked.  She had extremely small breasts and with her shaven cunt looked like a little girl."

"'Do you keep that shaved, or have you never grown any hair down there?' asked Dee."

"Terri blushed.  She turned a deep red all over.  'I don't have much body hair, Mistress Diane,' she answered.  'I use one of those cordless hair puller things to keep everything plucked smooth.'"

"'Davy,' Dee said.  'Check to see just how smooth she is.'   I started to reach down to feel Terri's pussy when Dee added, '...with your tongue.'"

"I fell to my knees and nuzzled against her and began moving my tongue over her pussy and mound.  It was perfectly smooth and felt wonderful and smelled like sis when she is really turned on.  She must have liked how my tongue felt because she gasped and leaned back against the kitchen table.  Then she started moaning.  Dee ordered her to spread her legs and she moved her feet farther apart so that I could get deeper into her with my tongue.  She reached down and put her hands on my head and started to grab my hair when Dee ordered, 'Put your hands on your own head, and keep them there!  And don't you dare cum!'" "After she said that, Dee leaned down and whispered in my ear.  'If you don't make her cum, you won't have any fun tonight.  If she doesn't cum, then she gets to use Mister Sparky on your balls while I cane your ass.  But if she comes, you get to fuck her and maybe go around the world with her.'"

"Mr. Sparky is a cattle prod that Sis modified to have higher voltage.  I don't like electrical pain.  It is just pain to me, so whenever Sis wants to punish me, she uses Mr. Sparky or hooks me up to her tens unit and turns it on high.  I really didn't want to get punished, so I started lapping Terri's cunt really fast.  Besides the thought of doing her cunt and mouth and ass really had me turned on.  I soon figured out that if I swirled my tongue around her clit and then lapped it lightly, she would squirm and pant really hard, so I kept doing that."

"Terri started grunting and moaning.  Dee was yelling at her 'Don't you dare cum!' and she was wailing back, 'Please, please, please, I can't help it!  I need to cum!  I have to cum!'  Finally Dee said to her, 'You can only cum as my slave.  If you cum, you are agreeing to be my slave.  You will still be punished for cumming, but I will allow you to cum if you are my slave.  Are you willing to submit to me as my slave forever so that you can cum?  Will you accept any punishment that I decide so that you can cum all over Davy's face?'"

"I thought Terri would stop everything right there, but instead, she cried out, 'Yesssssssss! Mistress Diane.  I am your slave foreverrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaauugh!'  As she said forever, she began bucking and trashing against me, almost like she was trying to fuck herself on my tongue."

"Terri stood there shaking and quivering and holding herself up with the table while I continued to lap at her pussy.  Sis hadn't said I could stop, so I just kept going.  'That's enough, Davy,' she finally said.  I stopped and stood up next to Terri.  I had a tremendous erection and was a little embarrassed that it was sticking out so obscenely."

"'I think we need to take care of that,' Sis said with a laugh.  'I have something I have been dying to try ever since we went to the circus last summer.  Davy, do you remember that trapeze act where the man and woman twirled together around the trapeze bar?  Ever since then, I have had this idea that I wanted to try with you and some girl.  Terri is the right size.  She needs a little punishment; you need a little pleasure; and I want to spank some ass tonight, so lets go downstairs to the play room.'"

"The play room is the unfinished back half of the basement area.  It is supposed to be for storage, but Diane has it set up with mats and mirrors for practicing dance - or at least that is what mom and dad think.  Sis actually does practice dance a lot down there, but she has a lot of things locked away in a couple of trunks down there that have nothing to do with dance.  Mr. Sparky is in one of those trunks."

"When we got downstairs, Dee told Terri and I to stand against the wall and close our eyes.  She said she wanted to get everything ready for us.  I heard her open the trunks and get out some of her toys.  Then she was doing something out in the middle of the room that I couldn't quite figure out.  A few moments later, she came and got me and told me to go lie down on the straps.  She had taken off all of her clothes and was standing there naked."

"Sis has a bunch of seat belts that she got from the junk yard.  She cut the metal brackets off them where they mount to the car and sewed the ends together so they are just long straps with a heavy buckle to hold them together.  Sometimes she uses them to strap me to a table or one of the posts in the basement.  She had a bunch of these laid out in the middle of the room and indicated that I was to lie face up across them.  Then she went back and got Terri."

"My erection had started to soften by then and she told Terri 'Fluff him up.'  When Terri didn't seem to understand what Sis wanted, she added, 'Use your mouth to get him hard again.'"

"Terri said, 'Oh,' and knelt down next to me and started sucking on my dick.  I got hard almost immediately and started to squirm and moan.  'We might as well make this the first stop on the tour,' laughed Sis and told Terri to keep going.  'Make him cum and swallow it all,' she ordered."

"'Terri just said 'Mmmph' and kept sucking and moving her mouth up and down on my prick.  It really didn't take me very long to spurt into her mouth.  I thought she would pull off me or something, but she kept her mouth tight on me and sucked everything down.  Right after I finished, Dee said, 'Now straddle him and lower yourself down on him before he gets soft.'"

"I don't think I would have gotten soft, but Terri straddled my chest and started to lower herself down on me.  'No!' shouted Sis.  'The other way.  Face the other way.'"

"Terri turned herself around and again lowered herself down onto my stiff prick.  It was heavenly.  She just sat there grinding slowly on me and looking at Dee.  'What now, Mistress Diane?' she asked."

"'This,' answered Sis and she reached down and pulled on Terri's feet so that she pulled her legs out from under her.  Terri had been kneeling over me, but she fell forward on her face and now she was flat against my legs with her legs alongside my chest.  The pressure pulling my prick down was a little uncomfortable, but it still felt good to be inside of her.  Then Sis pushed my head up slightly and grabbed Terri's ankles and pulled them slightly under my back.  She must have had some rope in her hands, because I felt her tying Terri's ankles and pulling them tighter behind my back.  Then she flipped one of the sets of straps up over my chest and arms, clicked it closed and tightened it.  There were four more sets of straps, one at my waist, one at Terri's waist, and two more on my legs.  When all of the straps were in place, Terri and I were held very tightly together with her head more or less between my legs.  I was still firmly inside of her, but I couldn't move against her and she couldn't do much more than grind slightly against me."

"'This is where we all have some fun together,' said Sis.  'I am going to paddle Terri's ass.  She is going to count the strokes.  Each swat is going to drive her against you and eventually she is going to have a nice little orgasm.  This is both her punishment and her reward.  While I am doing that, little brother, I want you to watch her ass turn bright red.  There probably isn't going to be enough movement to get you off, but don't worry, your time will arrive.  After she cums good and hard, I am going to roll you two over and then do the same to you.  You are going to count the strokes just like she did, and each stroke will drive you into her.  After you both cum, I will release you and then you are going to help me have a nice little cum, too.'"

"'Are you ready, slave?' she asked.  Terri didn't answer, so she swatted her really hard with the leather paddle that she had in her hands.  'I said, are you ready slave?'"

"Terri answered immediately, 'Yes, Mistress Diane.'"

"Dee started swatting Terri's ass.  She was really hitting hard.  I could feel the force of each stroke.  Terri yelped each time, but always gave the count, and even though Diane had not ordered it, thanked her for each one.  'One.  Thank you Mistress Diane.  Two.  Thank you Mistress Diane.'"

"I think the count was somewhere just above one hundred, when Terri changed her chant.  She started saying, 'One hundred five.  May I please cum, Mistress Diane?'"

"After about another twenty swats, Sis said, 'Yes, slave, you may cum.'  As she said it she swung the paddle with both hands and put her whole body weight into it.  The smack sounded almost like as bomb going off and Terri shrieked out in pain, but almost immediately she began thrashing and yelling as she exploded into orgasm.  As Sis had predicted, there hadn't been enough movement to take me over the top, but watching Terri's ass turn red and then feeling her thrash in orgasm while tightly bound to me was almost enough."

"'Davy's turn,' said Sis and she pushed us sideways to roll us over.  It hurt a little as we turned and was a little uncomfortable as we struggled to change position, but then I was on top and Terri was on bottom and I was still inside her.  'Remember to count them,' Dee said and then I felt the smack of the first swat."

"Taking my cue from Terri, I counted, 'One.  Thank you Mistress Diane.'"

"'Good boy,' answered Sis as she continued to pound on my ass.  I had only counted to thirty-three when I suddenly spurted inside of Terri.  I have never yelled out during an orgasm before, but I think the neighbors might have heard me that night.  Sis gave me four or five more spanks with the paddle before stopping.  I looked up at her and she was all sweaty from the effort of paddling Terri and me.  He skin was shining in the light and she looked like a true goddess."

"'Now its my turn for some fun,' she said as she began releasing the straps.  'You stay on your knees,' she said to Terri.  'And you take this paddle,' she said to me.  Sis then grabbed hold of a pull up bar that hangs from the rafters of the main floor.  'You are going to give me the best eating out any slave has ever given her Mistress,' she said to Terri.  'And you are going to give me some pain to take me over the top,' she said to me.  Then she looked me right in the eyes and said, 'And you will stop the instant I start to cum or Mr. Sparky comes out of the trunk.  Do you understand that?'  I nodded my head yes."

"She pushed her cunt into Terri's face and as Terri started licking and slurping,  I started spanking Sis with the leather paddle.  I knew it had to be hard enough to hurt, but not so hard that it went beyond pleasure pain into pain pain.  Sis didn't count or anything.  In fact, she didn't make any noise at all until she started getting close to the top.  Then she started making short little grunting sounds and pressing her cunt harder and harder into Terri's face with each grunt.  Suddenly she screamed and I stopped the paddle in mid- swing.  She hung from the pull up bar and shuddered and shook and moaned for almost a full minute.  Then she took a deep breath and said, 'You both did very well.  That was very enjoyable.'"

"'One more little thing before we all go up and relax in the hot tub.' she said.  Turning to Terri, she said sternly, 'So that you know your true place as a slave and because I promised Davy he could go around the world with you, you are going to serve both of us at the same time.  I am going to lie down on the floor and you are going to take me over the top once again with your marvelous tongue.  While you are doing that, Davy is going to take your ass cherry.  Your ass is virgin isn't it?'"

"Terri nodded meekly and Sis continued, 'Then lets do this.'  She lay down on the mat and motioned for Terri to get between her legs.  'There's lube in the brown trunk,' she said as Terri started licking her.  I found the lube in the trunk and squirted a large glob between Terri's ass cheeks.  I started rubbing it in and working my fingers up inside of her.  I knew from experience that if you didn't loosen up first, anal could be very painful.  Sis was starting to moan softly and Terri was groaning and bucking back against my fingers.  I put some of the lube on my penis and lined up behind her.  I pushed in slightly and let her adjust to me before pushing the rest of the way in.  I had only been pumping for a few minutes when suddenly Sis started yelling and Terri stated bucking back against me real hard and all three of us orgasmed at the same time.  Terri fell forward on top of Sis and I fell on top of her still firmly lodged in her ass."

"We just lay there breathing hard for a few minutes until Sis said, 'I think that is a promising start for the weekend, but we all need to shower and then soak in the hot tub for a little while before going to bed.'  That night and the rest of that weekend was my absolutely best sexual experience ever."

I waited for him to get quiet, and then I said, "I'm going to stay with David, since he seems to be the true masochist between you two and ask about the absolutely worst sexual experience you have ever had."

David's eyes got wide and he looked back and forth between Diane and me as if he were afraid to say something.  Finally Diane said, "It's OK Davy, you can tell him."

David looked at the floor as whispered, "You tell him, Sis.  You know what it is."

Diane shook her head and mouthed the word, "Wimp."  Then she began, "I got this really neat new dildo for my harness about a year ago.  I have this harness that is a combination strap-on and insert.  There is a plug on the back side of the harness that goes up inside of me.  It has a couple of vibration settings, but I usually leave it switched off because the pressure and movement as I use the harness is all I need."

"What was different about my new dildo was that it had ESTIM capability built into it.  There were all these little metal bumps on the dildo.  There weren't that big and they were smooth, so the bumps themselves weren't the problem.  The shocks were."

David whimpered slightly as Diane spoke. "He really hates shocks," she said, "But I had to try it out on someone.  He knew what it was and he really didn't want to, but he can't help himself.  If I tell him to do it, he has to do it.  We got all naked down in the play room and I told him to grease himself up and get himself ready.  I even had him use one of those warm glow lubricants that would make him feel all warm and tingly back there.  He put a big glop on his hands and worked it into his butthole.  Then he started pushing his fingers in.  He started with just one, but soon had two and then three and then all four crammed up his ass."

"'Are you ready for this?' I asked him."

"He cringed and said, 'No, but you're going to do it to me anyway, so I guess I'm as ready as I will ever be.'"

"I had him lie down on a giant pillow that is supposed to be a kind of chair.  His ass was at just the right level as  I slowly pushed into him.  I was real gentle and let him get used to the dildo before I pushed it all the way in.  Then I started fucking him.  He actually likes that."

"He was starting to moan and push back against me, but I had the remote to the dildo in my hand.  Once I was sure he was fully open and a little turned on, I started raising the voltage.  There were several different settings to the pulse.  The one I had selected turned the pulse on each time there was pressure against the bottom of the dildo.  That meant each time I thrust into him he would get shocked.  I kept pushing the up arrow on the remote until I could feel his ass cheeks quivering against my front.  He started screaming, 'No, please Sis.  No more.  No more.'"

"Usually I respect his limits - to a point, but for some reason I knew that I had to take that baby to maximum so that I could cum.  I pushed the up arrow on the remote and held it down.  Each time I pushed into him, his whole body shook and quivered and he screamed at the top of his lungs.  Finally, just before I peaked, he passed out.  I don't know if that was my best orgasm ever, but it had to be in the top ten."

David was crying even now as Diane re-told the story.  "Afterwards, I was really sorry and promised him that it would never happen again.  I even let him butt fuck me the next day as a way of making up for it.  I've used that dildo on a couple of other guys and a few girls, but I've never taken it all the way to maximum on any of them.  Most of them were into electro pain anyway and totally got off on it.  I had one of the girls use it on me while Davy watched.  I told her to put it in my ass and take it up to maximum, but she wouldn't.  She said she was too afraid that I would do the same to her.  She stopped at about 80% of maximum.  It did hurt like a son of a bitch, but I still came.  I guess electro- pain isn't really pain for me like it is for Davy."

It was getting late, so I concluded the interview and asked them both to sign cards allowing me to release information to Dr. Collins.  I don't know if he was going to be upset that I interviewed both a male and female.  I personally wondered why he had chosen not to include any males in his study.  Maybe he thought that only females could be a masochist or more likely was afraid of his own latent masochism.

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END CHAPTER FIVE OF EIGHT

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1I Masochist - Chapter Six - Ellen

By The Technician

BDSM, Pain, M/f, MMMMM/f, Oral, Anal, Spanking, EXTREME

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A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical

help from W.  Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and

W's help in recording the six young women's stories of how and why they are masochists.

The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read

the previous chapters.  I am posting this entire series in the BDSM category. Although a couple

of the chapters might not exactly fit the theme, all are concerned with the realities of masochism.

These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who

are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on

any one person.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

Chapter six of eight is W's interview with "Ellen."

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WARNING SPECIFIC TO CHAPTER SIX OF EIGHT

This particular chapter deals with child abuse and the adult fall out from such abuse.  Although it

is essential to my look at masochism, it is not absolutely essential to the story.  If you would be

upset by the depiction of cruelty to minors (not sexual) then I would advise skipping this chapter.

However, if you want to read an erotic story of recovery and redemption that walks through the

paths of hell, please read on.

Again, this story is a composite formed from the stories told by several different people whom I

have met, and is not intended to represent or reflect any given person.  Any resemblance to any

person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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I had some other weekend business I had to take care of, so it was two weeks before I could

arrange to meet with Ellen.  I really didn't know how to read her.  I remembered her from the

performance.  She had hung almost quietly in her cage and swung slowly with the pulses.  It was

almost like she was enduring it rather than getting pleasure from it.  I had even asked Shelly if

she was sure that the girl in the third cage really wanted to be there.

Whether it was pain or pleasure for her, it was still erotic as hell for anyone watching, including

me - especially after her naked body became totally covered with a thin sheen of sweat.  In the

soft light which illuminated her cage, it was apparent that Ellen didn't have any tattoos or

brands, but she did have scars.  Once she started to perspire, very light lines criss-crossed her

back and buttocks.  Some were even visible on her front.  That kind of scar comes from flogging

- a severe beating with something wide and flat like a man's belt.  I knew that Ellen's story

was going to be interesting and probably very tragic. 

When she arrived, she was conservatively dressed and very quiet.  She was wearing a skirt that

hung almost to her knees and was wearing rather thick, dark stocking.  If it wasn't for the fact

that her arms were bare when she removed her jacket, I would have wondered about whether or

not she was hiding bruises from current abuse.

After a few innocuous comments she took a deep breath and asked, "So, where do we begin?"

"I'm not sure," I answered.  "I have a list of questions from Dr. Collins and a couple of my own

that are supposed to guide our conversation, but I think I am going off the list for the first one.

"Ellen," I asked, "do you get any pleasure at all out of pain?  It almost looks like you are

suffering real pain and getting nothing in return.  I can't imagine why you would allow that.  Do

you feel pleasure?  Do you think that you are supposed to suffer?  Or is it something else?"

Her face became even more expressionless.  "Pain isn't pleasure," she replied softly and slowly.

Then pausing as if to carefully select her words, she continued, "Pain is the battering ram that

enables me to feel pleasure."

"You've totally lost me there," I replied.  "Could you please explain a little more clearly what

you mean?"

"I've talked to the other girls," she said with a wry smile.  "They all seem to have been born

this way.  I wasn't born this way, I was brutally changed into what I am."

"How?"  I asked when she remained silent.

"I was abused as a child... and as a young adult.  It wasn't sexual abuse - not really.  Dad

wasn't kinky, he was just a very damn mean drunk... and he was never sober.  I was the oldest,

so I put up with it the longest.  I have two younger sisters.  I tried to protect them.  I would

distract dad so they could get in the closet if we were trapped upstairs or hide in the basement if

we could get to it.  There was a crawl space under the porch that had a small opening from the

basement that was covered with a louvered door that acted as a vent to keep it dry under there.

Dad couldn't get back in there because the opening was too small.  It was full of spiders and

bugs and once in a while rats and mice, but it was better than letting dad catch you when he was

drunk.  I lost it as a hiding place when I was about twelve and got too big to fit through the vent.

After that, it got really bad for me."

She looked at the floor in silence.  I couldn't think of anything that should be said, so I waited

for her to continue.  "It was a small town down south, and daddy's family had a lot of money

and power, even if he had pissed away everything that he personally had.  His brothers and

cousins covered for him.  Half the town was related to him.  The sheriff was his uncle and most

of the deputies were cousins.  Worst they would ever do was to take him downtown to sleep it

off.  Nothing ever got written up, so the state never heard of it."

"When I was eight or ten, even before things got really bad, I had learned to turn everything off

to get through it.  Once I turned everything off, he could beat on me all night, and I wouldn't

feel a thing.  But the price for that was that I couldn't feel anything - ever.  After a while, I

couldn't really turn it back on.  There was no pain, but there was no pleasure.  Everything was

just a dull sensation on the other side of a wall.  I was able to endure and I saved my sisters from

most of it, but when Joanie got too big to fit through the trapdoor to the porch, Momma knew she

had to do something.  Dad chased Joanie down into the basement and caught her when she

couldn't get under the porch.  He whaled on her with his belt for ten of fifteen minutes.  I was

upstairs in my bedroom, but I could hear her screaming."

"Daddy must have got tired or thirsty or something because he came back up to the kitchen

yelling for Momma to get him a beer.  When he opened the basement door, she was standing

there with his shotgun.  She pulled both triggers at the same time and put two deer slugs though

his chest.  They went all the way through him and came out through the steps going upstairs and

kept going and smashed the glass on the front door.  I came running downstairs and into the

kitchen.  Momma's only comment was, 'I think Uncle Saul is going to have to write that one

up.'"

Ellen looked like she wanted to laugh or cry or both, but she pulled herself together and said,

"They put Momma in the state hospital for the criminally insane and sent my sisters into foster

care.  I was 18, almost 19, so I was put in temporary care and then set up with my own apartment

so I could finish high school.  But the damage was done.  I can't enjoy sex - or anything else -

unless something breaks down my wall.  Once it is down, I can feel things - pain, pleasure, sex,

whatever, but so far, the only thing that can knock down that wall is pain."

She got quiet and I said, "I'm supposed to ask you when you first knew you were different and

what your worst and best sexual experience were, but I don't think those questions apply."  She

continued to sit there quietly and stare at me so I asked.  "How about you talk about how and

when you first figured out that knocking down the wall had something to do with sex and how

you know that only pain will do it."

"I think I can answer all three questions," she said rather flatly.  "I'm not exactly sure how old I

was when I built the wall... like I said, maybe eight or ten.  It happened about the same time

where it got to the point that all I was really interested in was protecting my baby sisters.  When

dad would come home drunk and go into one of his rages, I would hustle them down into the

basement and put them up into the crawl space.  Then I would wait for dad.  Like I said, it was

never sexual with him - at least not in anything like a normal way, but he liked me to be naked

when he beat me.  I think it was just so he could hear the belt smack against my skin and could

watch the welts form.  Before I got old enough, he used to beat Mamma naked, but then he

turned his attention to me.  I guess I was protecting Momma, too, by letting him beat on me."

"At first, he would tear my clothes off.  But that would ruin them, and I didn't have that many

clothes.  So after a while, once I got the girls hidden, I would just take off my clothes and wait

for him.  I would stand there in the middle of the basement naked and go off as far as I could

behind my wall."

She looked up at me, and her face was totally blank.  I think she was talking to me from

somewhere behind that wall as she spoke.

"It was my junior year of high school, about a week after my 18th birthday.  I had been held back

a year in school because the teachers said I was emotionally unready for junior high.  I think they

were just making sure that I didn't get a chance to talk to the new counselor at the middle

school.  She only lasted a year and got replaced by someone 'from the community.'  Then it

was safe for me to be there."

"Anyway, it was early spring, but already really warm.  I had been outside spading the garden

with my younger sisters, and we were all hot and sweaty.  When it got dark, the girls and I went

inside.  We thought dad would be at work until the end of second shift, but the plant closed early

for some reason and he had stopped at the bar for a couple of hours before coming home.  He

was sitting in the kitchen drinking a beer and cussing at Momma when we came in the back

door."

"I yelled for the girls to run and we bolted for the basement door.  I stood at the top of the steps

and held onto the doorhandle to give them time to get under the porch.  When I let go, Daddy

pulled the door open and grabbed me.  He dragged me back up into the kitchen and then into the

living room.  Momma was cowering in her chair crying like she often did when Daddy was in

one of his moods.  Daddy dragged me over to in front of her and yelled at me, 'I think its time

that your mother saw you get a proper punishment.' and he started tearing off my clothes."

"Momma kept saying 'Please don't.  I'll give you the best blow job you ever had if you let

her alone.  I'll let you fuck me in the ass.  I'll even let your poker buddies do whatever they

want to me Friday night.  Just leave little Ellen alone.'"

"Daddy yelled at her, 'She ain't no little Ellen any more.'  He flipped me over and forced my

legs open so that my cunt was facing Momma.  'See that hair,' he yelled, 'she is a grown

woman.  Maybe I ought to make her suck me off or maybe I'll fuck her in the ass.'  That was

the only time that daddy ever said anything sexual about me, and I think he was only saying it to

hurt momma."

"Momma started crying and wailing,'No, no.' and she got up and started taking off her

clothes.  She went into the kitchen and came back with a stick of butter.  She knelt over the

couch and set the butter up against her asshole.  'Husband, look at me,' she said.  'I am

preparing myself for you.'  And then she shoved that whole stick of butter up her ass."

"Daddy was beating me with his belt and I was curled up in a ball in the middle of the floor.  I

think my back was bleeding, but I wasn't sure.  It was one of the worst beatings Daddy had

given me in a long time.  'Beat me or fuck me,' Momma cried, 'But leave her alone.'"

"Daddy stopped beating on me and went over behind Momma.  He dropped his pants.  That was

the first time I had ever seen my Daddy naked.  He had a really small penis, or at least it was

much smaller than anything I had ever seen on the internet.  I know that a lot of those male

models are extra big, but Daddy wasn't much bigger than my thumb.  Maybe his meanness was

just him making up for having a such a small dick.  He pushed into Momma in one stroke and

started humping.  She just knelt there."

"He didn't take too long to finish, and when he pulled out, he slapped her on the ass real hard

and yelled, 'Get upstairs woman.  You still owe me a blow job.'"

"Momma jumped off the couch and ran upstairs.  Daddy walked over to the stairs and then

looked back at me and said, 'Your day's coming, little Ellen.  One of these days it will be you

kneeling on the couch getting your ass pumped.'  Then he went upstairs."

She paused at looked at me with her totally expressionless face.  "Do you know what I did then?"

she asked.

I was thinking how often I had been asked that question during these interviews, but that was for

my inner thoughts or a later conversation with Shelly.  "No idea," I replied.

"I lay there on top of that pile of my torn up clothing and Momma's dress and underwear and I

masturbated myself to climax.  It was the first time I ever had an orgasm.  It was the first time I

had ever felt anything sexual.  Daddy had beaten me to the point where I couldn't block out the

pain, and I realized that if I couldn't block out the pain, I couldn't block out pleasure either.  I

knew it was then or never.  And I knew that the only way I could ever feel that kind of pleasure

again was to first endure the pain.  When I finished I opened my eyes and my oldest little sister

was standing there.  She was crying and saying, 'I don't fit anymore.  I can't get into the

hidey place.  It was a couple weeks later when Momma loaded the shotgun."

"So was that your worst sexual experience?" I asked.

Ellen laughed.  "No, that came later after Daddy was dead.  I finished high school and then ran

away.  I guess you can't really say I ran away since I was 19 and there wasn't anyone to run

away from.  Maybe I was running away from memories or the town or myself.  I don't know.  I

heard that there were a lot of jobs paying good money out in North Dakota so I headed out there."

"There were a lot of jobs, but not very many of them were for women, unless you count strippers

and hookers.  I can't dance for shit, and even in a low-class strip joint you have to be able to

move a little bit around the pole without tripping over your own feet.  And I didn't think I was

ready to go pro, so I ended up working as a waitress in a truck stop."

"They called it a truck stop, but it was actually a fueling depot for the company trucks that also

sold gas to rigs coming in off the road.  There were three or four big barracks-like buildings to

house construction workers that all connected to the diner area.   Construction went 24/7 so we

were open 24/7.  From one o'clock on there was almost no traffic from the highway, but there

were always fifty or so workers wanting an evening meal or beer.  We didn't sell anything

harder than beer and wine."

"One night something happened at the construction site and they sent the night shift home.  I

don't know what it was, but we had two or three times the normal load and the other waitress

on my shift had called in sick.  I was running my ass off trying to keep up with the orders.  I

didn't realize it, but I was sweating really hard, and my thin, off-white outfit was starting to turn

transparent.  Because of the summer time heat, I wasn't wearing a bra and had on a very small

pair of panties, so without realizing it, I was starting to put on a pretty good show.  I did notice

that none of the men seemed to be leaving after they finished their meal."

"Finally after I got everyone served and was going from table to table making sure that everyone

had paid their checks, I asked one of the tables, 'Why are you guys hanging around here?

Don't you need your sleep tonight?'"

"A smart aleck at one table said, rather loudly, 'We are all hanging around watching you run

around naked and wondering what it takes to tire you out.'"

"Everyone in the place laughed.  I still didn't realize that I was effectively standing there naked

when I answered back, 'Honey, you could never tire me out.'  It sounded like the whole place

said, 'Ooooh,' and so I looked up at all of them and said, 'That goes for all of you.  The

whole bunch of you couldn't tire me out.'"

"I don't know if I meant it in a sexual manner or not, but it suddenly got very quiet in there.

One of the men said, 'I'd be willing to pay $100 to see if I could, little Ellen.  I bet I'm man

enough to tire your out.'  He called everybody 'little something,' so that didn't mean

anything, but being called 'little Ellen' brought back all sorts of memories.  All of a sudden I

wanted to see if enough sex would break down my wall.  I grabbed the big tip jar off the counter,

walked over to the pool table and stripped.  It wasn't until then that I realized just how

transparent my outfit had become."

"As I took off my clothes, I set the tip jar on a stool next to the table and said, '$100 a try.  Any

hole.  No more than three at one time.  If you are the one to tire me out, you get five times your

money back.'"

"Jimmy, the manager said, 'Ellen, are you sure your want to do this?'"

"I lay back on the pool table and said, 'What does it look like?'"

"I don't know how many men I took on that night.  I lost count after twenty-seven blow jobs,

but I never really kept track of how many fucked me or took me in the ass.  I know that several

times I had somebody in each hole.  They put me on the floor for that.  It was starting to get light

when big Sam stopped to refuel before heading back east.  He drove a transport and brought big

parts for the drilling rigs in from the east coast.  I saw him come in the door and everybody got

real quiet.  He went back outside and then came right back in carrying a big blanket.  Everybody

called him 'Big Sam' or 'Good Sam.'  Big Sam because he was huge.  Good Sam because

he was always helping people.  Once in a while someone would call him Preacher Sam, but never

to his face."

"He walked up to the pool table and everybody scattered.  He picked up the tip jar and scooped

up the money that was scattered around it on the floor.  'Put it in a sack,' he said to Jimmy.

There was something about his voice that made you know that you would be in real trouble if

you didn't do exactly what he said."

"Jimmy put the money in a paper bag, and brought it back and gave it to him.  Then Sam

wrapped the blanket around me and picked me up over his shoulder and walked out to his truck.

He set me on the bed in the sleeper in the back of his cab and said, 'You lay there.  Sam will

take care of this.' and we drove off."

"He stopped at another truck stop about fifty miles away and picked me up again and carried me

in a side door.  'Sally!' he yelled as he came through the door.  A middle-aged black woman

came scurrying up to him.   'Clean her up and dress her,' said Sam."

"Sally took me into the shower area and pushed me under a shower, blanket and all.  'You

smell like the floor of a whore house,' she said.  'Sam must have gotten to you just in time.

You can trust him, honey.  Good Sam likes to help people like us.  He will do good for you.  He

did for me.'"

"By the time I was dry and dressed, Sam had ordered breakfast to go for both of us.  As he

walked me back to the truck, he said, 'You've got family or somebody somewhere.  Just tell

me where, and I will take you there.  It may take a little time to get a load going that direction,

but I will get you where you need to be."

She smiled at me.  It was the first expression on her face since she had started speaking.

"My aunt lives here in town.  I told him about her and about Momma and Daddy and my little

sisters.  He teared up while we was driving down the road.  I asked him, 'Why do you do

this?'"

"He answered, 'You aren't coming home in a box.'"

"I didn't understand, but then he continued, 'My baby girl ran away when she was in high

school.  We never knew for sure what had happened, but something happened at school that she

couldn't handle and she left.  Police found her by the side of the road two weeks later.  She had

been dead for over a week.  They wouldn't let us see the body.  Probably not enough left of it to

recognize anyway... just a big cardboard box inside a casket.  That's all I got to see.'"

"His voice sounded like he was trying not to cry as he continued, 'They never caught him.

Young girl hitch hiking alone, it could have been anyone.  Nothing I can do about that, but I can

see that there is one less baby girl to come home in a box.  You are not going home in a box.

You put your life back together, hear.  You can do it.  Do it for my baby girl.'"

"That was my worst sexual experience, but one of the best things that ever happened in my life.

Aunt Sophia is mom's sister.  She said that she always wanted to help, but was too afraid of my

daddy and his family.  She didn't try to get me or the girls afterwards because she had been

warned to stay out of it by his uncle, the sherif."

"I stayed with her for a while until I got settled at the university.  There was thirty thousand

dollars in that paper bag.  At a hundred dollars a pop, that means 300 men.  Maybe it was that

many, but I think Good Sam put some of his own money in that bag before he gave it back to me.

He's never tried to get in touch with me, but I've kept myself together for him and his baby

girl."

It was getting late, so I started to go into my "If you are willing to sign this card," routine, but she

cut me off.

"'I have to tell you about my best sexual experience,' she blurted out.  'It's important.'"

What could I say except, "OK."

"It was the Friday night that the performance first went real.  My boyfriend came to see the show.

I met him in an abuse support group.  His childhood wasn't much better than mine, but he is

much farther along the path to wholeness.  He understands.  He tried to talk me out of doing the

show, but he understands.  Anyway, after the show, he walked me out to his car.  We were

parked in the lot behind the studio.  We were going to go straight home, so I was wearing just a

robe.  I was all sweaty and tired from the performance, but I could feel the cool breeze blowing

up under my robe.  I shivered slightly, and he asked what was wrong.  I said, 'The breeze

coming up under my robe is cool, that's all.'"

"Suddenly I realized what I had said.  I was FEELING the breeze.  His car was parked in the

corner of the lot alongside the building.  It was dark and there was no one else there.  Suddenly, I

leaned on the hood of his car and said, 'Fuck me.  Now!  Please!  While I can feel it.  Make

love to me!'"

"Like I said, he understands.  He took me from behind, but he was gentle and loving, and it was

wonderful.  I tried real hard not to make any noise, but I saw several lights go on in the second

floor apartments after I climaxed.  We jumped in the car and he drove me home.  That was my

best sexual experience."

"He bought a tens unit and we have done some electro play since then.  He turns it up very

slowly until I just start to feel it.  Then he strokes me and rubs my back and kisses me.  He says

he is training my body and weaning me away from the pain.  It takes less and less intensity until I

can feel him stroking me.  Sometimes when we just kiss, I can almost feel it and it feels so

good."

"Tell Dr. Collins," she said, "that some of us really are sick, but we can get better.  I've never

gotten pleasure out of pain.  Pain was just the price I had to pay in order to feel anything.  That is

sick.  I am glad I am getting better."

"I'll tell him," I assured her.

After she left, Shelly came into the room.  I told her.  "I just want to go to sleep tonight."  She

raised an eyebrow at me, and I answered her unasked question, "Sometimes you have to put

some distance between yourself and the demons of this world before you can go on with your

life."

She nodded her agreement and we went into the bedroom.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

  END CHAPTER SIX OF EIGHT

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1I Masochist - Chapter Seven - Francine

By The Technician

BDSM, Public Nudity, Spanking, Golden Showers, FFFF/f

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A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical help from W.  Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and W's help in recording the six young women's stories of how and why they are masochists.

The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read the previous chapters.  I am posting this entire series in the BDSM category. Although a couple of the chapters might not exactly fit the theme, all are concerned with the realities of masochism.

These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on any one person.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

Chapter seven of eight is W's interview with "Francine."

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WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

* * * * * * * * * * * *

For some reason, I was really looking forward to my interview with Francine.  Part of it was because it would be my last interview, but mostly it was because I knew she had to be 'bright eyes,' the very blue-eyed girl whom I had helped push into orgasm that first night I watched Shelly's performance art presentation of "I, Masochist."  She had been practically begging for more pain so that she could cum.  I gave it to her and she gave quiet a performance with her screaming, thrashing orgasm.   I knew that her story would be exceptionally interesting.

She arrived exactly on time and was as spectacularly sexy fully dressed as she had been hanging naked in performance art bondage.  She was wearing sandals that were almost not there.  The thin sole was exactly shaped to her foot and the strap that came up between her toes and wound around her ankle matched her skin color and tone.  The effect was that she appeared to be barefoot.

Her short dress was a very soft, satin-like material that molded itself tightly to her body so that every detail was visible despite being fully covered in the shiny material.  It was absolute that she was not wearing a bra since the texture of her nipples was clear and distinct through the fabric.  It was also highly probably that she was full commando under the skirt since the soft, thin fabric would have shown even the smallest panty line or thong strap.  The total effect of the dress and sandals was that she was effectively naked while still being fully clothed.  If she had passed me on the street, I would have probably stopped to watch her pass by or at least swivelled my head to keep her in view.   She oozed sexuality as she walked into the room.  It was even in her voice as she sat down at the kitchen table and said in a rather deep, throaty voice, "I should have been next to last.  That way I would have still been an 'E' rather than an 'F.'"

I said, "Excuse me?," and she explained, "Dr. Collin's code word for me began with an 'E.'  He has me filed under 'Epitome.'  On our very first meeting in his office, he wrote down that he was giving me that code name because I was 'the epitome of a pure masochist.'"

"He showed you his notes?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

"No," she laughed, "but I read very well upside down, and I can tell from the movements of a pen or pencil what a person is writing.  I have a visual memory so I take what I see and flip it in my mind so that I am above it as though I were writing.  Then I can read every word."

"So, you know exactly what Dr. Collins wrote in his file about you?"

"And what you have written on that paper you have on the table in front of you," she answered with a smile.  "I also know that Dr. Collins thinks I am sick and twisted, but for some reason really wants to know why I am the way I am."

"Why are you the way your are?"

"There is no why." she answered.  "I just am.  I am what I am, the epitome of a pure masochist.  The tattooed lady and I have a lot in common except I don't shy away from the term masochist.  The word describes me perfectly.  Why shouldn't I use it?  I get sexual pleasure from pain.  If I got sexual pleasure from men, I would readily admit that I were a heterosexual.  If I got sexual pleasure from women, I would readily admit that I were a lesbian.  I do prefer the taste of a woman to a man, by the way, and get more pleasure from a mouth and tongue ON my genitals that a man's penis IN my genitals, but what I truly get sexual pleasure from is pain.  I am a masochist.  That's what I am."

"So, when did you first realize that you were a masochist?" I asked.

"Are you asking when I first realized I like pain or when I first realized that I got sexual pleasure from pain?"

"Both, I guess." I replied.  "Are you sure you aren't a philosophy major rather than an art major?"

She laughed and said, "Artists starve.  Philosophers work in fast food joints.  I have both covered.  My minor is Philosophy... but to answer your question, I have always gotten pleasure from pain up to a point.  You hurt me bad enough I feel it as pain.  If I break an arm - I did once - that is pain.  Pain is just the body's opinion of how badly you have been hurt.  My mind evidently overrides my body's opinion and says 'That sensation isn't threatening to life, so enjoy it.'  And I do."

"Mom and dad never spanked me as a child.  I asked them about it once and they said that spanking me was totally useless even when I was an infant.   The couple of times that they swatted me for doing something dangerous, I just smiled at them or even laughed, so they never used spanking as a form of punishment."

"So when did you first discover that liking pain made you different?" I asked.

"It was at summer camp when I was in fourth grade," she answered.  "It was your typical camp sort of thing with campfires and weird crafts and living in little cabins for a week or two so your parents could get a break from the kids.  Most of the camp was up on this big hill, but there was a lake at the bottom of the hill for swimming and canoes and stuff like that.  Our cabin was right on the edge of the hill overlooking the lake, but we had to walk all the way over to the edge of the camp and then back down a slanted path to get to the lake.  I asked why we couldn't just walk right down the hillside to the water."

"'Why don't you try that,' suggested our cabin counselor.  The other girls in the cabin sort of giggled, but they often had inside jokes that I, as a first timer at camp, didn't get.  When it was time to go swimming, we all stripped down and got into our swimsuits.  I was wearing a standard little girl's one piece that left my legs and arms and head bare, but basically covered up everything else."

"As we left the cabin, one of the girls said, 'Why don't you take the shortcut and we will meet you down there?'"

"Everyone giggled, but I said, 'OK,' so they went off down the path and I walked around the back of the cabin to the hillside.  There were all these tall, dark green plants with fairly large leaves all the way down the hillside.  I decided to leave my sandals at the cabin because I would have better traction with my bare feet on the steep slope and started down the hillside.  The leaves felt funny against my skin.  They sort of tickled, I guess, but I wasn't sure because I have never been ticklish.  Then they started feeling really good.  It is difficult to describe pleasure pain to someone else who feels pain as pain rather than pleasure, but it was a wonderful warmth that went all the way inside me to the very middle.  When I got down to the bottom, I walked on out into the lake and started splashing around.  The cold water felt good with the warmth on my skin."

"It was almost ten minutes later when the rest of the cabin arrived.  'How did you get down here?' they asked, and I pointed to the still visible path I had made through the green plants on the hillside.  'What did you do?' asked the counselor.  'Wrap a sheet around yourself?'"

"I told them I walked in my swimsuit barefoot and their eyes got big and they started looking at each other funny.  'Didn't it hurt?' one of them asked."

"'Why should it hurt?' I asked, and the counselor answered, 'That whole hillside is planted in stinging nettles.  They grow wild around here anyway, but the camp puts them on the hillside to keep the campers away because walking straight down the hill can creating erosion lines.  No one can walk through those nettles.  You had to have come down here some other way.'"

"'I walked barefoot down the hillside wearing my swimsuit,' I insisted."

"'Liar!' snapped one of the older girls.  'The nettles would be too painful.  You had to come down here some other way.  And you must have run really fast to get here before us.'"

"'No,' I answered. 'And to prove it I will walk back up the hillside when we go back to the cabin and you can watch me do it.'"

"That put a stop to the argument for a while and we swam and played in the water for an hour or so.  Then it was time to go back to the cabin.  'Are you walking through the nettles?' asked one of the younger girls.'"

"'Of course,' I answered. 'They feel good on my skin... kind of a warm tickle feeling.'"

"One of the older girls said, 'Your suit must somehow give you protection from the leaves and you figured out how to push the rest of the plant out of the way with your feet or something.'"

"I was standing right next to the hillside ready to start back up.  I turned and faced her and said, 'If you think my swimsuit is something special, then I will just take it off.'  I did."

"The look on the counselor's face was priceless as I took off my swimsuit and threw it to the girl who had said it protected me.  'Take that up to the cabin for me, would you?' I said cheerily and started up the hill.  The counselor called after me and tried to follow me up the hill, but she only took a step or two into the plants and had to turn back."

"When I got to the top of the hill, I went in the cabin and grabbed my towel, wrapped it around myself and started over to the shower house.  I was half-way there when the counselor and the rest of the cabin came running up to me.  'You can't tell anyone about this,' panted the counselor.  'I would get in real trouble for letting you walk around naked.'"

"The girl holding my suit stared at me and said, 'How did you walk through the nettles?  Doesn't pain bother you?'"

"All I could answer was, 'It felt good.'"

"Several of the girls said together, 'You are very weird,'" and that is when I suddenly realized that I was different.  I was weird.  I liked what everyone else called pain."

When it was apparent that she was finished, I asked, "When did it become sexual?"

"It might have been all along, but I was too young to know what was going on." she answered.  Then she tilted her head slightly as if thinking, "No, she said.  Sexual is different.  It didn't really become sexual until my senior year of high school.  I knew what sexual was by then.  I had gotten into some heavy petting with a couple of boyfriends, but I was still technically a virgin."

"Technically?" I asked.

"Tampons," she answered with a laugh.  "And an occasional vibrator.  But no penises, so although my hymen was long gone, I was still technically a virgin."

Our school still allowed dodge ball in gym class in those days and the coaches made sure that we were serious about it when we played.  The rules were that the winning team got to go shower early.  The losing team had to do ten laps around the gym - and it was a big gym.  They had an odd way of scoring.  It wasn't just who had the last man - or woman - standing.  The coaches stood around with little clickers in their hands and counted every time someone got hit.  That meant you could have the last player standing, but still lose if the other team had gotten more hits on your team.  Last person was worth 20 points, so usually it didn't really matter, but one day I decided to see what it would feel like to get hit close up with a volley ball.  I walked up to the center line and just stood there with my hands stretched out and let them hit me.  There were over a hundred girls in my gym class so there were at least fifty on each side.  Everyone on their side threw at me.  I must have been hit forty or fifty times and was basking in the pain when the coach ran onto the court and pulled me to the sidelines."

"'Are you crazy?' she yelled at me."

"'Nope,' I replied, ' just weird.'"

"We had two players still standing at the end of the game, which normally would have guaranteed a win, but we still lost because of how many times I had been hit.  Half the class went to the showers and our team started running laps around the gym.  A couple of girls pushed me and one tripped me, so I was at the very back of the pack.  I don't run that fast anyway and had no desire to get back in the middle of all those girls who were mad at me, so I just hung back and ran at my own pace.  I stayed just fast enough that no one would catch up to me, and by the time I had finished my ten laps, the rest of the girls were already in the shower."

"Our school had one of those old-fashioned locker rooms with the big shower area that had shower heads mounted on poles throughout the middle of it.  There was a large room that you walked through to get to the actual shower area.  It had benches around the walls and hooks for towels  The coaches offices were all the way at the other end of the locker room, and the opening to the towel room didn't line up with the openings to the shower area, so they couldn't see or hear anything from the showers themselves.  When I finally got out of my gym clothes and walked into the shower area the rest of the team was standing there glaring at me.  They had all the showers turned on to cover any noise and so that the coaches thought we were cleaning up.  There was a lot of steam and moisture hanging in the air."

"'Your weirdness cost us the game,' one of the girls said."

"'If you want pain, we are going to give you some pain.' said another, pushing me into the middle of the room."

"'You owe us!' said a third."

"Then a senior girl, the captain of the volley ball team, stepped forward and said, 'This is what you are going to do to make it up to us.  You are going to run...' she stopped to smile a wicked smile at me and then corrected herself, '... no crawl a gauntlet through the showers.  We are going to form a path and you are going to crawl between our legs so we can beat your ass.  And you will keep crawling until we tell you to stop.'"

"I looked around and the girls were starting to line up in a crooked path that wound through the showers.  They were standing there with their legs spread wide forming a tunnel through which I was going to be forced to crawl.  Some of them were holding wet towels.  'Now!' ordered the captain and I dropped to my hands and knees and started crawling.  The floor had these little bumps on it so that you had traction when it was wet.  They dug into my knees and hands as I crawled, but I didn't notice that once they started spanking me.  I don't know how the coaches couldn't hear the smacks as their hands - or the wet towels - pounded into my butt.  I think they could hear, but were letting the students handle things with the weird girl who kept causing problems in class."

"I made a full circuit through the tunnel of legs and was about half-way through the second time when the smell of cunt started getting to me.  Some, if not all, of these girls were getting off on paddling my wet, naked ass.  I lifted my head and started watching the pussies spread above me as I crawled through.  With the showers running, everyone was dripping wet, so it was impossible to tell who was or was not turned on, but a couple of the girl's cunts were starting to gape and their mounds looked swollen.  All of a sudden a switch flipped and the pain became not just warm and comfortable, but sexual... almost totally sexual.  It was overwhelming."

"I started stumbling slightly as I crawled.  It was getting harder and harder to move.  As I slowed down, the girls started whipping me harder and harder until I finally collapsed onto the floor of the shower.  I thrust my hands under me and started rubbing myself with my fingers."

"'That's way beyond weird,' I heard someone say."

"Another said, 'That's perverted.'"

"Still another voice, I think the volleyball captain, said, 'If she is such a pervert, maybe we should give her a personal pervert's shower.'"

"Suddenly the temperature of the water pouring on me changed.  She was standing above me pissing on me!  I could tell from the smell, that she was very turned on.  I just lay there.  I don't know how many more of the girls peed on me, but I had two more orgasms and lay there rubbing myself until everyone left.  Finally, I cleaned myself up and went back out into the locker room to dress.  They had opened my locker and taken my underwear.  At least they left me the rest of my clothes.  There was a note that said, 'Sluts don't need to hide anything.  SEE YOU in class.'"

"I guess they thought I would cry and go home or something.  I just put on my blouse and skirt and went to class.  I liked the way it felt with everything bare beneath my skirt.  As a matter of fact, I rarely wore any underwear from that day on."

"So was that your first, best or worst?"  I asked.

"A little of all three," she answered.  "It wasn't my first orgasm or the first time I received pleasure from pain, but it was the first time I ever orgasmed from pain.  And it was one of the best orgasms I've ever had.  But because of it, I was labeled a weird pain slut for the rest of my high school days.  High school girls don't use the word 'masochist,' they prefer 'weird pain slut.'"

She smiled at me, "Everyone publicly avoided me, but the volley ball captain and I hooked up several times after that.  We had to keep it secret because she was part of the in crowd, but she really got herself off that day in the shower.  One day she came up to me in the hallway and whispered in my ear, 'It was a shame that I couldn't have had you all to myself in the shower.  I would have made you eat my pussy while I whipped your ass with that wet towel.  Then we both could have had an orgasm.  If you drop by my place Saturday, I can make it happen.  My parents are going to be out of town.'"

"I did, and she did.  We got under the shower in her bathtub and I sucked and nibbled her pussy while she beat my ass with a wet towel.  After we both orgasmed, she spread her legs and pissed in my face.  Both of us went over the top again.  That doesn't happen with a man's piss, I've tried.  And it doesn't happen with a woman's piss unless the woman is really turned on.  I guess it is the odor that takes me over the top, and like I said, I prefer the taste - and smell - of a woman."

"We tried the shower thing several more times and a couple times she used a belt or a paddle in her bedroom or the livingroom.  It was fun for a while, but then I think she got tired of me.  She eventually married a rich sissy-boy after high school, but still keeps a few girl play pals on the side.  Everyone wonders how such a wimp was able to land such a babe even with his family money, but I know.  He loves to eat pussy; he likes it when she takes him over her lap and turns his ass red; and there is this huge shower in the bathroom at their new house."

She looked up at me brightly and asked, "Any other questions?"

"A lot," I replied, "but we are out of time."  I explained the release cards to her and she signed them.

After she left, Shelly came into the room.  She was naked and flushed and breathing somewhat heavily.  "We have GOT to try that!" she said, panting for breath.

"Try what?" I asked, totally bewildered.

"Every apartment on this floor was supposed to be especially handicapped equipped.   The owner got a grant or something when he was building it.  Turns out there isn't as much demand for wheelchair accessible bathrooms as they thought, so half of them are rented out to normal people like me."

"I think that depends on how you define normal," I said with a laugh.

"In any case, " she answered, "I have a huge walk-in shower with access grab handles all over it.  We are going to go in there and shower together, and then we are going to get under the water and I am going to give you the best oral sex you have ever had while you swat my ass with a wet towel.  Then you are going to piss all over me."

"Two out of three isn't bad," I replied.  When Shelly looked confused, I explained.  "A really turned on woman can still pee all over you, but a man's plumbing is a little different.  Depending on how stiff he is, it may be impossible to even dribble, let alone piss all over someone."

"We'll figure something out," she said, dragging me back to her bedroom.  There were two bathrooms, one off her bedroom and one with a door in the hallway.  I had always used the one in the hallway because I kept my stuff in there for when I stayed over.  I hadn't really paid much attention to "her" bathroom."

"The shower was huge.  It was a good ten feet square with tile floors and walls and a drain more or less in the middle.  There were two shower heads with two sets of handles.  One shower head was at the normal height, the other was on a sliding pole and could be moved almost down to the floor.  Maybe that was so you could shower while sitting on a chair or the floor or whatever.   In any case, Shelly turned them both on and we got in together.  She was practically vibrating as I soaped up her luscious breasts and ran my hands up and down her back.  I tried to slip my hand between her legs, but she grabbed my wrist and said, "No.  I'm way to excited already.  I don't want to peak too soon."

After we were both clean and rinsed off, she stepped out and grabbed a big, white towel that she had set out on the counter in the bathroom.  She held it under the shower for a few minutes until it was soaking.   She spun it together in her hands and said, "I promise I won't bite you if you promise you will hit me really hard after I get going."   Then she smiled and handed me the towel and got down on her knees.

I wasn't real sure about swatting her ass while she had her mouth on my prick, but I figured that if I started out more or less gentle I could see if she was going to clamp down when I hit her.  The first swat wasn't much more than noise.  It made a loud pop, but I knew it didn't cause much pain.  She sucked slightly on my penis as the towel hit and said "More."  The she added, "Harder."

I started putting a little heft behind the swings.  She didn't clamp down or bite, but she did suck in like she was drawing a breath each time the towel stuck.  She kept saying "More," and "Harder." and I started swinging faster and harder.

There is no such thing as bad sex, but this was not my thing.  I enjoyed the way she was responding to the pain and watching her back and ass slowly get covered by wide, red stripes was very satisfying, but trying to keep my balance while swinging a wet towel on a tile floor somehow took away from the moment.  If I had been able to lean back against the wall while somebody else took care of the towel action it might have been different, but even as I approached climax, I kept thinking of that old saying, "Nothing is impossible.... except making love standing up in a hammock." 

But like I said, there is no such thing as bad sex and Shelly was really getting into it.  She was writhing and squirming and letting out little yelps with each strike of the towel.  Finally I spurted into her mouth and that triggered her into orgasm.  She fell flat on the floor face down and started almost chanting, "More.  More.  Harder.  Harder," as I continued to slap her with the towel.  Soon, she was headed toward another orgasm and I was already almost soft.  "What the hell," I said to myself, and let loose with a stream of piss.  As soon as it hit her, she went over the top. 

The blow job hadn't been all that great, but my voyeur side got everything it needed in that final orgasm.  She was squirming and writhing on the wet tile floor yelling, "Oh God!   Oh God!   Oh God!   Oh God!"

She turned face up and shoved her hands into her pussy and rubbed and pumped and suddenly arched up in such a severe bow that only her head and feet were still on the ground.  She vibrated up there for almost a minute and then she let out a loud, long groan.   As she screamed out, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" she slowly deflated back onto the floor of the shower and lay there panting.

"After several minutes she finally stood up and said "Thank you."  She kissed me lightly on the lips and said, "I know that I got a lot more out of that than you did, but I will make it up to you next week after your last interview."

"Francine WAS my last interview," I said. 

"No," she replied, "SHELLY will be your last interview.  Dr. Collins wouldn't let a teacher in the study, but he still wants to hear my story.  Maybe next week my story will trigger one of your fantasies, and I can help you make that come to life."

By the time I had left the next morning, she had already made it up to me and I was anxiously anticipating our interview the next weekend.

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END CHAPTER SEVEN OF EIGHT

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1I Masochist - Chapter Eight - Shelly

By The Technician

BDSM, Public Nudity, Public Bondage, Public Spanking, Public Electro, Gangbang, F/f, M/f

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 

A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical help from W.  Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and W's help in recording the six young women's stories of how and why they are masochists.

The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read the previous chapters.  I am posting this entire series in the BDSM category. Although a couple of the chapters might not exactly fit the theme, all are concerned with the realities of masochism.

These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on any one person.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

Chapter eight of eight is W's interview with Shelly.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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I arrived at Shelly's apartment early Friday night hoping to get the interview out of the way so that we could spend the night doing more interesting things, but she insisted that we stick to the 8:00 pm interview appointment time.  I took her out for an early diner and throughout the meal she kept making coy references to things she would explain later.  She would say things like, "I've never really talked to anyone else about this before."  Or, "I hope you enjoy hearing about Vicki as much as I am going to enjoy telling you."

I have enough problems figuring out what women want for sure in foreplay leading up to sex.  Trying to figure out what Shelly was up to in foreplay leading up to an interview about sex - well, actually about her masochism - was just too dangerous a mine field for me to be tap dancing across.  So, I remained more or less quiet throughout the meal and let her do most of the talking.  We ordered desert and she lingered over her coffee until a little after 7:30 and then announced, "I think its time that we head back to the apartment for the interview."

We sat in the living room.  I was in a soft chair; Shelly sat on the couch facing me.  "So," she said, "What order do you want to go through the questions?  I've heard all of them before, you know."

"And you have heard the answers your six models had," I replied.  "What do you want to tell me first."

She blushed slightly.  It was the first time I had ever seen her blush.  She smiled and said, "I think we can skip the question about my best ever sexual experience.  You were there for it.  I know our shower scene didn't do that much for you, but I went to the top of Mount Everest and just kept going.  I don't know that I ever want to try it again, but Francine's story and my fantasies merged that night and I just had to try it.  I don't think it would be the same approaching it in a cold and methodical fashion."

"So you prefer serendipitous sex.  Planning puts a damper on things.  Does that mean that pain can't be planned either?"

Shelly looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, "I never thought of it that way before, but yes.  If I plan sex - or pain - it isn't as enjoyable.  In fact, if I plan pain, it ends up being just pain."

I chuckled, "It sounds like you don't want to be in control.  Your performance art was all about not being in control.  Is that why you had to be one of the models in the cages, so you would not have control over the pain?  And before you answer, I know that you disabled your safeword device, or you think you did.  I removed the short in the cable when I checked the system before the third weekend."

She replied softly, "I thought you would, but not knowing whether or not I could stop the pain made it much more pleasurable."

"So," I continued, "When did you first discover that you wanted your sex and/or your pain out of your control."

"I never wanted to be raped or mugged or anything like that," she suddenly blurted out.  "What I mean is that I have to trust the person who takes control.  I mean, as a little girl if I got spanked or scraped my knee or got a paper cut, it hurt.  It really hurt.  But as I got older, if the situation were sexual or leading up to sexual, and I trusted the man - or woman - not being in control made the sex great and pain made it even better."

I prodded her by asking, "Give me an example."

"I had some regular sexual activity in high school.  It sounds corny, but I actually did lose my virginity in the back seat of a car out on a country lane.  But it wasn't until the summer after high school that I discovered not being in control... and pain.  There were seven or eight of us girls out for a weekend in the park.  Actually we snuck into a back gate at the state park so that we could sit around drinking all weekend in one of the remote campsites.  No one ever went back there because the bridge that connected it to the rest of the park had gotten washed out and it hadn't been replaced yet.  There was a narrow, over-grown road going to it from the highway but it had a big chain across it and a sign that said 'Fire Crew Access Only.'  It looked like it was impossible to get past, but the post on one side could be easily lifted out of the ground.  Donna had a four wheel drive jeep, so we just pulled out the post and drove down the fire road to the remote camp."

"We knew we were going to be alone all weekend and had agreed to rough it.  Donna had this big tent and several sleeping bags.  We were just supposed to bring  booze and munchie type foods, nothing else.  Oh, yeah, and toilet paper.  There were some fairly modern pit toilets back there but they didn't really service them anymore, so there was no toilet paper.  We had agreed that no one was bringing extra clothes or make up or any of that stuff.  It was supposed to be a down and dirty drinking weekend."

"We set up the tent and built a campfire, then we sat around in camp chairs drinking and talking about boys and sex.  After a while, when we were somewhere between drunk and really drunk, we started playing truth or dare.  I don't know if there are official rules, but we played that if you chose truth, but then didn't want to answer the question, you had to take whatever dare the person could think of.  On the first round, Donna. asked me if I was a virgin.  I said I wasn't.  The next round Sue asked if I had ever gone down on a woman.  I said 'Never.'  She immediately asked, 'Would you like to?' but I said, 'One question per round,' and I took my turn with Marci.  I don't remember what I asked her or what she answered.  So far no one had taken a dare or refused to answer a question."

"Next round, Julie asked me, 'Would you like to go down on a woman?'  I answered, 'Dare.'  I probably should have said, 'Maybe,' but instead I switched to dare.  Julie immediately said, 'I dare you to take off all your clothes and throw them into the fire.'"

"All of the other girls gasped.  I wouldn't really have minded taking off all my clothes, but throwing them into the fire meant I would be naked for the rest of the weekend.  If she had dared me to do this before we had gone through so many bottles of wine, I might have refused, but all I said was, 'Not the shoes,' and I took off my shorts and blouse and threw them into the fire."

"Julie said, 'All means all.  Lose the P & B.'  So, I took off my bra and panties and threw them into the fire with my other clothes.  Then I finished off my glass of wine and poured me another full glass before sitting back down."

"I turned to Donna and said, 'Truth or Dare?'  To my surprise, she said, 'Dare.'  I immediately dared her to take off all her clothes and put them in the car for the rest of the weekend.  I didn't say throw them in the fire because I figured somebody had to have some clothes available to drive us back to town, and it was Donna's jeep.  She just laughed and said, 'I thought you would say something like that.'  Then she stripped off and walked over to her jeep and threw the clothes inside."

"The rest of the way around the circle each girl chose, 'Dare,' and the dare was always to put their clothes in the jeep for the rest of the weekend.  By the time it came back around to Vicki, we were all sitting there naked in the fire light.  It was a warm evening, but everyone's nipples were at 'high beam.'"

"I said 'Truth,' and Vicki asked me 'Are you into pain?'"

"Again, I should have said, 'Maybe,' but instead I said, 'Dare.'  Vicki said, 'I dare you to do the pencil test while I threaten to spank your ass until you are bright red and then make you eat out every one of us while I record it on my cellphone.  If you fail the pencil test, we will do exactly what I threaten to do to you.'"

"What is a pencil test?" I asked.

Shelly gave me a big smile, "I can tell you were never in a Sorority," she answered.  "A pencil test is just that.  If you want to tell if a girl is getting turned on, you have her slide a pencil up her twat.  If it stays there, she is dry.  But if it slides out on its own, she is gushing juices and is really turned on.  I should have refused the dare because I was already a little bit slippery down there, but for some reason I said, 'Double down.'  By our rules that meant that if I passed the dare, the person giving it had to do twice as much.  But if you failed, then you got twice as much yourself."

"Vicki said, 'That's kind of hard to double.   Let's say the loser is the slave to the group for the rest of the weekend.'  She gave me a really strange smile and said, 'I think you will wear out your tongue before Sunday afternoon.'"

"I stood up and said, 'Whose got a pencil?'"

"Donna went running over to her Jeep and came back with a brand new, yellow, #2 pencil.  It had never even been sharpened.  'I've got a whole box of these left over from school tests,' she said."

"I stood up with my legs apart and slid the pencil, eraser first, up into my cunt.  It stayed, but I could tell that it slid in way to easily.  Vicki came over and stood in front of me.  All of us had our pubic hair neatly trimmed into bikini triangles, but Vicki was totally shaven.  Her skin glistened in the fire light.  'Shelly,' she began, 'as soon as that pencil drops out of your wet snatch, you are going to go over to that picnic table and kneel on the bench.  Then you are going to lay across the top of the table so that your ass is properly presented to each of us so that we can swat that ass as hard as we want.  We will go get our belts or use some of the ropes for the tent or even get some smooth branches from the trees and we will beat your ass purple.  And then after we have satisfied ourselves with that, you will crawl back over to the fire and you will go from chair to chair and eat pussy until all of us are satisfied, and I don't mean just once.  You will keep going until...'"

"At that point she was drowned out by the cheering of the other girls as the pencil dropped out of my pussy and fell to the ground.  'My God,' yelled Julie, 'she actually does like it.'"

"'You know what to do,' said Vicki."

"As I went over to the picnic table, I heard Donna say, 'I've got an old ping pong paddle in the back of the Jeep.'  I wondered what she didn't have in that damned Jeep."

"As I knelt on the bench and lay over the table, I heard Julie say, 'I'm not busting my hand.  There's a willow tree over there just begging me to make a bundle of switches out of those low handing branches.'  Then I heard Vicki say, 'My hand will do fine,' and my ass exploded with pain as she slammed her palm into me."

"Except there was something different about the pain...  The swat was a combination of sting and fire.  The sting said 'Pain!' but the fire said 'Pleasure!'  As she kept swatting, pretty soon the fire got hotter and the sting was barely there.  Even when Julie laid into me with those willow switches, I just felt pleasure.  Pretty soon I was grunting and panting and groaning.  This time it was Sarah who said, 'She really DOES like it.  She fucking loves it.'  When I heard that, I let go and screamed out in orgasm."

"Evidently my orgasm signaled an end to the spanking, because as soon as I was done thrashing around, Vicki ordered me to crawl back to her chair and start licking.  I couldn't believe how mortified and ashamed I was.  These girls were my friends and I had just had a screaming orgasm caused by them spanking me, and now I was willingly going over to play cunt slave and lick them to orgasm.  I could feel my juices running down my thighs as I crawled through the grass over to Vicki's chair."

"Vicki said, 'Julie, why don't you keep her ass warm with that switch of your while she takes care of me.'  She then moved forward on her chair so that she could spread her legs wide open and pulled my face directly into her cunt.  She nearly smothered me, but I kept nibbling on her clit, and when Julie smacked me with those branches I exhaled right into her cunt.  I've never had anyone blow my cunt up like a balloon, so I don't know what it felt like, but it must have felt good because Vicki really liked it.  I tried it with Donna when I got over to her next, but she slapped me on top of the head and yelled, 'What are you doing.  Lick and nibble.  Lick and nibble.'"

"I went around the circle twice.  The third time, only Vicki wanted me to service her.  By then it was getting really late - or should I say early, and we all staggered into the tent and fell asleep in a big pile with a couple of the sleeping bags open and thrown over all of us.  In the morning, I had to drag some wood over for the fire and open up more food for everyone, but there wasn't really much a slave had to do for them.  Saturday night, however, after we had finished off the rest of the booze, Vicki had me lay on my back next to the fire and she rode my face for almost an hour while the other girls played a weird game where they threw acorns at my cunt.  Every once in a while they would score a direct hit on my clit and they would all cheer.  I would yelp, but I couldn't do much about it with Vicki on my face."

"Sunday morning when we drove back into town, I stayed sort of hunched down in the back seat until they got to my parent's house, then I tore ass into the house before anyone could see me.  My dad was gone somewhere with his buddies, but mom was sitting at the kitchen table when I ran in the back door.  She looked up at me and arched her eyebrows as if she were going to ask a question.  'We were playing truth or dare,' I said quickly."

"'Don't know what that is,' she replied, 'but you lost, didn't you?"  Then she said, 'You stink!  Get yourself  cleaned up before your dad comes home and smells you.' I scampered upstairs and showered and dressed.  Mom never mentioned it again."

"What about your friends?  What effect did that weekend have on them?" I asked.

"Not much," she replied.  "They teased me about it once in a while.  When we were bored and looking for something to do, one of them might say, 'Why don't we get Shelly drunk.  That is always fun,' but it really didn't change things between us all that much.  Vicki ended up going to the same university I did and was even accepted in the same sorority, but we never did the lesbo-lick thing again - except once - though she did offer to spank me a couple of times when I was complaining about being horny.  I didn't take her up on it... probably too planned and calculated when we were both sober. "

"I'm not sure," I began, "whether to ask about your worst sexual experience or a time, perhaps the first time when you planned to combine sex and pain - other than your performance art exhibit."

"That would probably be the same time," she answered.

"While I was still a student in college rather than an instructor, one of my sorority sisters dared me to go to a BDSM club in downtown Chicago and volunteer for a scene on stage.  I don't remember why we girls from the sorority were in Chicago, but five of us were.  We had Saturday evening free and were flying out on Sunday.  The club was called 'Leather something' but it wasn't the infamous  'Leather Rose.'"

"I guess there's a reason why they say, 'Beware of imitations,' because this was a dive in a really nasty part of town.  There were two Chicago police cars parked outside when the cab let us off.  One of the policemen said, 'When you girls come out, you get a cab right here where we can see you.  The club doesn't provide protection once you get past the corner street lights.'"

"You gotta love the Chicago way.  A little extra money buys you extra police protection from what they should be cleaning up anyway, but that's the way Chicago has always worked."

"There were five of us, and normally we might have felt safe walking together, but after the cop's warning, we hurried into the club.  The four of my sorority sisters who were in town with me had come along to see that I would actually do it.  The club had a 'Friday Night Newbie Contest' going where 'club virgins' came up on stage and the one who lasted the longest got a chance to win ten thousand dollars.  You had to sign a card that said you had never been to any BDSM club before and weren't in a sub relationship with any master.  I don't know where they got the money for the prizes, but one of the girls with me asked if I really wanted to 'audition for slavery.'"

"I asked her what she meant, and she explained that she was from Joliet and knew the Chicago area.  'This contest is just a way for local Masters and Doms to audition new meat for slaves.  Any girl who comes here alone and willingly gets up there on stage for this contest is just asking to be enslaved by someone.'"

"I think she was trying to shock me., but I don't shock very easily. So I answered, 'I am not alone, and if I leave here a slave, I will eventually get free and track all of you down and kill you in hideous sexual ways that would make Freddy Krueger blush.'"

"They all laughed, but two of them suddenly looked real scared and said, 'We won't leave you! Promise!'  My stare has that effect on some people.  Vicki, who had gone to Chicago with us, just smiled and added, '... unless you really want to leave with some vicious dyke pervert who will beat your ass all night and make you rug munch until morning.'"

"They all laughed again, but Vicki just smiled at me.  I don't know if she was teasing me or warning me that I could lose control of myself if I went up there on stage.  'I trust you to protect me, Vicki...,' I answered. '... from perverts AND from myself.'  The other girls were asking each other what I meant by that as I left to go sign up for the contest."

"There were nine of us who came up on stage, six women and three men.  The requirements to enter were pretty simple.  You had to come up on stage and read a little card while looking out at the crowd.  Evidently they were filming the whole thing.  You didn't have to give your true name, so I said, 'My name is Patty and I am 22 years old.  I am up here on stage of my own free will.  No one is forcing me to do anything.  I give my permission for this to be video recorded and I freely allow for the distribution of any and all videos and images providing that my face is obscured in all frames.  To show that I am truly willing and that I am doing this of my own free will I will now strip naked and go over and stand in line for the contest.'"

"Complete nudity is illegal in any club serving liquor in Illinois and in any club, regardless of liquor license, within the city limits of Chicago. But evidently the fee for the additional police protection included a little extra to insure that they never came inside the club, or at least never reported what happened in the club.  Like I said, I love the Chicago way."

"I stripped, threw my clothes to Vicki, and went over and stood on a big number 4 that was painted on the stage.  A man came out with a large marker and wrote a number 4 on my left arm and on my right buttock."

"After all nine of us had gone through the legal routine, the MC said, 'We have an odd number, so the dice will determine who gets a bye on the first round.'  A huge dice cage came down out of the ceiling and turned over so that the dice tumbled from one side of the hour-glass shaped cage to the other.  It came up an eleven.  'Box cars,' said the MC.  'Lets try again.'  The cage turned over and it came up a seven.  'Number seven gets to sit out this round.' announced the MC.  I was thinking that it was a little unfair to whoever was in the number one position, but then I realized that if you were first in line for this kind of contest, you probably didn't want to sit out the first round anyway."

"'Contestants to the center of the stage,' announced the MC.  He then turned to the audience and said, 'This is a simple elimination round to get the numbers down to a manageable size.  They gave each of us a big wooden paddle that looked like the sorority paddle that was hanging in the living room back at school.  'The rules are simple.' he said.  'The lowest number in the pair starts first, and then each time after that you reverse order.  Take your best swing each time.  The first one in a pair to say the safeword is out of the contest.  Do you all understand that?'"

We all nodded that we understood.  Then the MC turned to face the audience and said loudly, 'The safeword for tonight is Holy Cow!'"

"Everyone laughed.  Several of the contestants looked really confused.  I knew enough baseball history to know that 'Holy Cow!' was a catch phrase of Harry Carry's back when he broadcast games for the Chicago Cubs.  I even knew how he said it, drawing out the word Hoooooly, but that was unnecessary knowledge because I wasn't planning on saying it at all that night."

"Number five was a man and he had first swing at me.  I don't know if he was a secret sadist or just badly needed the money, but he really laid into me.  I yelped when the paddle struck.  I hadn't noticed that there were small holes drilled in the paddles.  It hurt a LOT more than the one back at the sorority house.  'Ready to give up sister?' he asked.  I answered by swinging my paddle into his ass as hard as I could.  He just grunted as his ass cheeks smashed flat under the paddle.  Then he stood there looking at me."

"'The MC called out, 'Second swat,' and I again put everything I had into my swing.  Number five grimaced a little, but still just looked at me.  He had more to put into it than I did and when he swung the paddle the second time, it sounded like a rifle shot as it hit.  I yelped a little louder and came up onto my tiptoes, but I didn't break."

"Then number five said real softly to me, 'If I made the rules, I would make the loser give oral or anal sex to the winner.  That would make it more interesting.'"

"He made a big mistake when he said that.  From that point on I was envisioning myself kneeling on stage sucking his cock.  I wasn't going to be doing that though, because now he had made sure that I wouldn't lose.  His whispered comment had caused the pleasure-pain switch to flip.  When he gave me the third swat, I didn't yelp, I sighed.  Now my only problem was going to be not having an orgasm before he broke."

"It was close.  He broke on the twenty-third swat.  We were the last pair to finish.  He made the mistake of trying to turn slightly away from the swat and I landed the paddle solidly on just one ass cheek slightly from the side.  I could feel the jar of the paddle bottoming out against bone and he gave a screaming yelp and then yelled out 'Holy Cow!  Holy Cow!  Holy Cow!'  I walked back over and stood on my number."

"Two very attractive young ladies came out on stage carrying large poster boards with 'Round 2' printed on them in very big letters.  They looked like the Round Girls used in professional boxing except that they weren't wearing bikinis.  They weren't wearing anything except baseball hats and body paint.  The blonde's body was painted with a baseball uniform that had the Chicago White Sox emblem on it, the other was painted up to be a Chicago Cub.  Her body was totally dark blue except her left breast, which was painted white.  The red C for cubs circled behind her areola.  Someone in the crowd shouted 'Go Cubbies' as she made her turn at the front of the stage."

"'Our next round,' explained the MC, 'will be electrical endurance.  The contestants will be given a series of electrical shocks, each set will be of higher intensity until someone shouts..' he held his microphone out toward the crowd and they yelled out together, 'Holy Cow!'"

"While he was talking, several stage hands pushed things onto the stage that looked a lot like those scales that they used to use to weigh you in doctors offices.  There was a platform to stand on with a white post coming up from it.  But instead of a balance thing that gave your weight, it was topped with what looked like bicycle handlebars with metal handgrips.  After the five units were in place, one of the Round Girls pushed a cart onto the stage that had two large pans on it.  On a lower shelf on the cart there were a couple of even larger plastic bins like they use in restaurants to collect dirty dishes.  She set the bins on the floor and put the pans in them.  Then she returned one of the bins to the top shelf of the cart."

"The MC explained that the pans contained saltwater that we were supposed to dip our hands and feet in to guarantee good contact with the electrodes.  'We don't want somebody eliminated just because they have sweaty palms when everyone else's hands are dry,' he said to the audience."

"As I stood in line, I noticed that number four, who was right in front of me, didn't put her hands in the pan of water, but set them alongside the pan in the bin.  She did the same with her feet.  The Round Girl was standing right there and could see it, but she didn't say anything.  In fact, she smiled rather broadly as she watched number four break the rules and cheat.  I thought about saying something, but I was afraid that maybe the fix was in and number four was supposed to win.  This was, after all, Chicago."

"After we were all standing in place and holding on to the handle bars, the MC explained the rules.  'There will be a series of 8 shocks in each set, after which there will be a 5 second break.  If you shout the safeword or take your hands off the grips during the break, you are out.  Because we are working with electricity, there is one other rule.  If you piss yourself, you are out and you will be punished by being put in the stocks and given twenty lashes with a tawse.  If you shit yourself, in addition to the tawse, you will ride the wooden horse while in the stocks for the rest of the evening.  Does everyone agree to these rules?'"

"The White Sox Round Girl walked down the row holding a microphone and each of us said, 'I agree.'  Then the first shocks hit.  There were 8 very rapid pulses that shock my body and tightened up the muscles in my arms and legs.  I immediately understood the reason for the five second break.  There was no way I could have let go of the grips even if I wanted to while the shocks were happening, and there was absolutely no way I could have said anything, let alone shout out a safeword while my body was twanging like that."

"Five seconds later the second set of shocks hit.  They were definitely stronger.  Number 9, who was just to my right, was bouncing hard enough that her rather large tits were flopping up and down like she was running a marathon.  During the next set of shocks, I looked to my left and number 4 was holding tightly to the grips, but not jerking around all that much.  It was obvious that she wasn't getting anywhere near the jolt the rest of us were.  Her muscles were barely twitching."

"After six sets of shocks, things were starting to get pretty intense, and the MC announced, 'Time to re-wet the electrodes.'  Both Round Girls hurried on stage carrying what looked like medium sized flower watering cans.  One quickly walked down the line in front of us and the other walked behind us, both were pouring salt water rapidly over our hands and feet. As soon as they reached the end, the next set of shocks hit and number 4 screamed out loudly.  Since she hadn't really been getting the previous shocks, her body hadn't adjusted to the sensation and she was totally unprepared for the pain.  She was also totally unprepared for the sudden muscle contractions and both her bladder and her bowels let go at the same time.  As soon as the current stopped, she burst into tears and covered her face in shame for having both pissed and shit herself in public."

"'Clean her up and bring her over to the stocks,' instructed the MC and the two Round Girls came on stage with wet towels, wiped her off and led her over to the edge of the stage where an old fashioned set of wood stocks was standing.  The stocks were fairly short, so when they pushed her down and locked her in place, she was bent over at the waist at almost a 90 degree angle.  The MC came over and stood in front of her and said, 'If you don't count each stroke, the girls will start over.  And count them loud enough that the audience can hear you.'"

"He nodded his head and the two Round Girls started swinging.  Each had a leather tawse and they alternated strikes, one swinging from the left and one swinging from the right.  Number 4 screamed with each strike and her body bounced and thrashed, but she managed to count all twenty strokes.  Then the stage hands rolled out something that looked like a sawhorse that a carpenter might use except it was peaked on the top rather than flat.  The shoved it between Number 4's legs and turned a handle on the end of it, raising it up until she was standing on tiptoe.  She was moaning and crying and trying to lift herself off the painful peak that was pushing into her cunt, so the MC said, 'I think we need to quiet her down.'  The Cubbie Round Girl put a ball gag in number four's mouth and strapped it in place.  The MC then turned to the crowd and said, 'Cheaters never win...., but isn't it fun watching them try?'  The crowd answered with a cheering roar."

"That's when I realized that they knew that at least one of us would try not putting our hands and feet in the salt water.  And they knew exactly what would happen to that person once their hands were properly wetted after the sixth round of shocks.  No wonder the Round Girl was smiling when she saw Number 4 cheating."

"'We are now down to the final four contestants,' the MC announced.  'We need to narrow that down to the final two, so we are going to see how they stand up against our major league swingers.'"

"The Chicago White Sox and Chicago Cubs Round Girls came bouncing back out onto the stage.  They were accompanied by two additional Round Girls, one body painted as a Saint Louis Cardinal, and the other as a Minnesota Twin.  The two birds in the design on the Cardinal girl seemed to be each perched on the top of a tit, while the bat they were sitting on connected the girls breasts together.  The Round Girls were each carrying a leather tawse."

"Four stage hands pushed four more of the short stocks out onto the stage on rolling platforms.  'I think you know what comes next, don't you?' he asked."

"It was pretty obvious so the four of us went over, stood on the platforms, and put our heads and hands in the stocks.  Three of the four finalists were females, the fourth was a male... well at least he had what appeared to be male genitals.  They were very small and he also had a set of tits that were somewhere between an A and B cup.  They weren't implants, so I assume that he was taking heavy doses of female hormones.  He was in front of me as we walked over to the stocks, and from the back, you would have sworn it was a woman.  I didn't get a chance to see if he had an Adam's apple or not."

"Once we were in the stocks, the MC explained the rules.  The Round Girls would administer five swats, then they would rotate to the next stock.  That way, you couldn't complain that one of them struck harder than another.  'You are now just two steps away from the grand prize,' intoned the announcer, making it sound like it was some great TV game show.  'But greater reward demands greater risk,' he intoned solemnly.  'You can drop out now and leave.  Just say the safe word.  Or, you can stay and risk the punishment if you fail at this step.  If you fail at this step, the swats from the tawse will stop, but you will remain in the stocks for the rest of the evening.  And who knows what some of our regulars might have in mind for you with your various openings so enticingly available.  Now that you know the rules and the risks, are you willing to continue?'"

"Again one of the Round Girls walked down the line with a microphone and each contestant said, 'I am willing.'"

"'Batters to your stations,' barked the MC and the four Round Girls took up positions alongside each of us so that they had a clear arc to our ass.  The MC kept a cadence by somewhat softly counting, 'One, two, three, four, five, Switch!  One, two, three, four, five, Switch!  One, two, three, four, five, Switch!'"

"I'm not sure how many swats I had received, but the Cardinal girl had pounded on me twice and was just to my left when the sissy boy yelled out 'Holy Cow!  Holy Cow!  Holy Cow!'"

"They paused a moment while they rolled his platform over to the side and then the MC began his cadence count once again.  The Cardinal girl had three more at bats with me before number one screamed out the safe word."

"I thought they would let us out of the stocks, but instead, they rolled us over toward the side of the stage.  'Greater reward demands greater risk,' repeated the MC.  'Again, you can drop out now with no risk of punishment, or your can go into the final round and possibly come out our winner.'"

"As he was talking, four stage hands wheeled out two very strange looking machines onto the stage.  They had a small motor and a rather large flywheel with a sliding piston that stuck off the end like a spear.  It almost looked like a drive wheel on an old steam locomotive.  I could see that the shaft was hollow and it was threaded.  There were a bunch of tubes and wires that came from a control cabinet upon which the machine sat and attached to the shaft and motor.  I wasn't sure what it was until they started screwing a flesh colored dildo on the end of it.  It was a fucking machine."

"Once I realized what it was, I was surprised that the dildo was so small and so smooth.  At first I was afraid that it was going in my ass, but when they rolled it around behind me and started making adjustments, they centered the shaft on my pussy.  It moved in and out very slowly a couple of times as they raised and lowered it and then stopped when it was properly positioned."

"'Here are the rules for this final round,' said the MC.  'You both are going to ride the iron horse until one of you calls out the safeword.  That will bring it down to one contestant.  After that, if the final contestant can last until midnight, the ten thousand dollar prize money is hers.  Do you both understand those rules?'"

"The Minnesota Twin held a microphone in each of our faces and we said that we understood.  Then the MC continued.  'The first person to call out the safe word will be our featured entertainment for tonight.  Twenty men have each paid $500 for the privilege of being in a live sex show right here on our stage.  The loser will be the twenty-first person in that show, which could last until midnight.'  That explained where the prize money came from."

"The MC slapped his hands together and walked out in front to look directly at us.  'So,' he said, 'at midnight, one of you goes home very well fucked and the other goes home maybe ten thousand dollars richer.  Do you agree to these rules and forfeits?'"

"We both agreed, and the fucking machines started moving slowly within us.  One of the stage hands came up and attached two electrodes to our abdomen just above our pubic bone and two below our left breast and two more on our ass.  I was about to say that we hadn't agreed to electro as part of this when he patted me on the ass and said, 'Just monitoring for health and safety.'  That should have been reassuring, but he accompanied it with a very disquieting laugh."

"The sensations from the machine were not unpleasant.  There was a hole in the tip of the dildo and it oozed some sort of lubricant.  It also could twist slightly and vibrate at various intensities.  Pretty soon I was starting to climb toward a really good orgasm.  So was number eight, because I could hear her moaning and starting to grunt.  Suddenly I heard her say, 'Noooo.  No.  No.  No.'"

"I couldn't turn my head to see what was happening to her, but a few moments later I realized what had happened.  I, myself,  was just at the edge of orgasm when the shaft quit vibrating and suddenly added a whole bunch more lubricant.  It was now sliding smoothly in and out of me without creating any friction or sensation other than a slight feel of movement.  I joined number eight is groaning, 'No, no, no, no, no.'"

"An almost orgasm isn't really pain, but it is the exact opposite of pleasure.  It creates an emptiness that should be filled with pleasure but is instead filled with nothing at all.  I tried humping against the shaft that was now sliding smoothing in and out of my cunt, but nothing I was able to do could take me over the cliff.  The additional lubricant must have had some sort of topical anesthetic.  I was effectively numb down there."

"I started crying and sobbing.  I had been ready for any kind of pain, but I totally had not expected this.  Then the shaft spurted more lubricant of some sort and suddenly I could feel heat building in my groin.  Not sexual heat, real heat.  It wasn't quite burning, but it was close.  Then another squirt and the burning sensation went away and regular feeling came back.  So did the vibrations.  Just a few moments before that, one or two strokes and that little bit of vibration would have taken me over the top.  Now I was so far back down in the valley that it would take a lot more than one or two strokes to even get me back up on top the hill."

"Machines, however, don't tire out, and they kept pumping and stroking.  I eventually got back on top the hill and was again right at the edge of climax when once again the shaft stopped vibrating and spurted within me.  If it had waited just another stroke or two, the spurt itself would have taken me over the top, but somehow it knew exactly when to stop."

" This time I didn't groan, 'No,' I screamed it.  'No, I was so close!' I screamed.  'You sadistic sons of bitches!' I yelled out at the audience.  That got a loud cheer in response."

"Then I felt the anesthetic kick in and everything went numb.  I was sobbing and crying uncontrollably, but I didn't yell out the safeword.  A few moments later the rubber penis squirted again.  The burning was more intense this time, but I knew that beyond that burning was feeling and maybe I could outsmart the machine and get off before it cycled down again."

"I couldn't.  Somehow it always knew.  Four or five cycles later, I knew that if I couldn't orgasm this time, I would have to say 'Holy Cow.'"

"So your worst sexual experience ever was being fucked in a sex show by twenty men?" I asked, interrupting her.

"No," she answered with a deep sign.  "Number eight was going through the cycles slightly faster than me and while I was still hoping to get to the peak, she hit her limit and yelled out 'Holy Cow! Holy Cow!  Somebody..., anybody..., everybody..., fuck me!  Please fuck me!'"

"They rolled her out into the center of the stage still strapped down in the stocks and twenty college boys came running out on stage.  She was in a state of sexual frenzy, and was screaming, 'Mouth, ass, cunt, anywhere, just FUCK ME!'"

"They started with her still in the stocks and were ramming into her from the front and back.   I couldn't tell if they were in her cunt or ass, but she was wailing and trying to go into orgasm.  I think when she yelled out her safeword, the machine squirted more of the anesthetic into her so she wasn't able to peak and kept yelling for them to go harder.  They took her out of the stocks and pulled her onto the floor where there were some thin mats laid out.  She was on her hands and knees with one boy underneath her humping her cunt and another behind her pounding her ass and a third fucking her mouth.  And she still kept yelling for more.  Finally after all twenty of them had fucked her at least once she suddenly pulled away from them and rolled over onto her back in the middle of the stage and started shoving her hands into her cunt.  I don't mean she was fingering herself, I mean she was fisting herself.  Her hand was going in up past the wrist.  She kept that up for four or five minutes, bouncing and wailing and moaning, and then suddenly she went totally stiff and screamed out a long wailing 'Aiiiiiieeeeee' and went totally limp."

"She lay there not moving with her eyes half-open.  A woman in a paramedic outfit came running out onto the stage and used a stethoscope to check her heart and then pulled her eyelids all the way open and shone a flashlight into her eyes.  She walked over and had a short conversation with the MC who then announced to the crowd.  'She is going to be all right folks.  But once again you have watched an almost winner get her brains fucked out right here on our stage.'"

"Two more paramedic types came on stage and helped number eight walk very unsteadily into the darkness.  The MC continued, 'She will be back out in a little while after they get her re- hydrated and cleaned up.'"

I interrupted again and asked, "So your worst sexual experience ever was that you didn't get your brains fucked out in a sex show by twenty men?"

"No! That wasn't it." she said emphatically.  "But I had to watch that and while I was watching that, I still wasn't able to get myself off.  That damn machine would take me to the absolute very edge and then pull me back again and again and again and AGAIN!.  The MC came over to me and whispered, 'You know, the boys still have a lot left in them.  All you have to do is to say the safeword and you can be in the center of the stage having the orgasm of your life.  You know you don't have the strength to go on like this until midnight.'"

"I already knew that was what would happen, and I was about to yell 'Holy Cow,' until he said that to me.  I would have been willing to let twenty college boys fuck me senseless in public while being recorded just to get the orgasm that damn machine had been denying me all night.  I was that desperate.  I would have done it, but he pissed me off."

"If it weren't for what that man said and the way he said it, I would have let anyone, or anything screw me on that stage, but he wasn't going to win.  I was.  I was going to endure another hour and a half of teasing torture just to prevent him from getting his way.  And it was torture.  I don't know who invented that God-damned machine or how it could tell I was at the edge, but it was pure torture."

"Actually," I said, "the electrodes under the left breast measure heart rate and the pair just above your pubic mound sense muscle tension by the conductivity of the skin at certain frequencies and the pair of electrodes on the ass are a control so the computer can factor in the effect of perspiration on the skin."

"What!" she sputtered, "You are the sadistic devil that designed that hellish machine!?"

"It's what I do," I said, trying to sound a little apologetic.

"And you are damned good at it, too," she snarled. "But I beat your machine from hell.  Twelve o'clock came around and the whole crowd started counting down the seconds.  At midnight they gave a huge cheer as the machine finally came to a stop.  Two of the Round Girls came over to help me up out of the stocks and the paramedic lady checked me over.  Then the MC announced to the crowd, 'For the first time in the history of the club, we actually have a winner.  No one has ever beaten the machine before.  Patty here has won the title of Champion Newbie Pain Slut of Chicago and perhaps the world.'"

"One of the Round Girls came running up to him and handed him something.  It was a stack of one hundred dollar bills.  'You can count it if you like,' he said.  'I trust you,' I answered.  'I don't,' said Vicki who had come up on stage with the other girls and was standing beside me.  She rapidly riffled through the bills and said, 'It's a hundred short.'"

"The MC had been watching her count and said, 'I think one of the Round Girls will be spending some time in the stocks after we close tonight,' and pulled two fifties out of his pocket.  Then the five of us girls headed for the entrance to the club."

"As we came out of the club, the two policemen stepped up to us and said, 'You have to put some clothes on miss before you come out into the street.'"

"Vicki made two hundreds suddenly appear in her hand and said, 'Just get us a cabbie we can trust and who can get us dropped off at the inside security area at the hotel.  Tell him twice the meter plus a hundred and to make it fast.'"

"I don't know what arrangements the cops had with the cabbies, but a yellow van appeared almost instantly.  As we were getting into the cab, the driver said, 'I can arrange an escort and secret passage to your room through the back service areas... four hundred, one for me, and three for the maids who will sneak you in.'  Vicki said, 'Deal,' and we pulled away from the curb."

"When we got to the hotel, the security door opened and the cabbie drove up to a special door.  There were three maids standing there with a covered luggage cart.  The cabbie snapped his fingers and said, 'The ride is two-fifty.  Give me the four and I will pay the maids.  What is your room number?'"

"Vicki told him and gave him the cash.  The maids pushed the luggage cart right up against the side of the cab and lifted the curtain-like cover that was over it.  Inside, where you would normally hang suits or set suitcases, there was a chair mounted securely to the floor of the cart.  They obviously had done this before to get people in or out of the hotel unseen.  It even had a seat belt - probably in case the person being transported was unconscious... or dead.  This was Chicago, after all.   'Slide in and make sure you don't stick your head or anything else around the side of the cart.  It is blocking the cameras.'"

"I got into the cart and sat in the chair and the maid pulled the curtain tightly closed over it again.  It felt really weird riding up to our floor and then through the hallways behind the curtains, but Vicki was still carrying my clothes and I was sitting there naked, so it wasn't like I could get out and walk.  When we got to the room, the maids pushed the cart inside and told me it was safe.  Vicki gave them each twenty dollars extra as a tip from her own money and thanked them for helping.  After they left, she started laughing and said, 'Don't you love Chicago?  I bet if I had asked him, the cabbie could have arranged for whatever age, race, gender or species we wanted to have some fun with tonight.'"

"One of the other girls said, 'I may have to go back out and find something.  Watching that show... watching you... got me so hot and bothered that I am going to have to do something - or somebody.'"

"'You are going to have to do something!?' I almost screamed.  'That damn machine took me to the edge a thousand times and threw me back each time.  You girls talked me into this!  You owe me!   I am going to split my winnings with you like I said I would - that makes it two thousand apiece, less expenses, but in return you four are going to fuck me and fist me and spank me and suck me and let me eat your pussies until I have gotten back every God damned orgasm that machine took away from me!!!!!'"

"The three girls were looking at me with their eyes wide and their mouths gaping, but Vicki just reached down and pulled the covers off the big, king-sized bed and said, 'What are we waiting for girls?  We all need it; it makes the perfect end to this crazy, twisted evening; and besides, Shelly and I have been down this path before.  Trust me, you'll like it.'"

"They did, and I did," Shelly said with a smile, "And now I would like to go back into the bedroom and you are going to be all pleasant and loving and gentle and I am going to get all wet and horny and if you pull me back from the edge like your stupid machine did, I will.... I will.... I don't know what I will do."

"I do," I replied.  "You will beg me to fuck you..., but you've already done that."

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END OF STORY

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