The term flagellation encompasses a variety of sexual practices. It has come to be most closely associated with the term whipping. As an erotic stimulus whipping is most widely used by sadomasochistic persons who cannot achieve any sort of sexual gratification without the aid of pain either by inflicting or receiving. ". . . I wanted to whip him then, wanted to lash his skin with a length of leather, a beating he would not soon forget. But the only thing within reach was his belt. I pulled it through the loops of his pants and brandished it in my hand. It flashed down striking him across the lower back and he fell face forward on the bed. I had never been so excited.. . "
The motives behind this form of sexuality are bizarre when compared with the standard sexual motives. Those who crave pain can be classified, generally speaking, with the group of humans who think so very little of themselves and their achievements that they feel the need to be punished for their inadequacies.
Case after case in this volume of tape recorded interviews show overwhelmingly the need to be punished and to punish.. . to strike out and to be humiliated. There are no degradations too horrible, too demeaning for the person who can only achieve satisfaction through suffering.
By reading these stories and thereby discovering the events that lead to the strange method of obtaining sexual gratification, we become more knowledgeable about a subject that was once kept behind closed doors. By opening these areas of learning we not only invite knowledge in but we stand a good chance of letting some of these troubled people free of their own misery . . . simply by being aware of their problems and formulating intelligent opinions about them.
CASE NUMBER ONE
Several years ago, at a time when I first began to notice the growing influx of patients seeking psychotherapeutic help for sadomasochistic problems and tendencies, I was approached by a middle-aged gentleman by the name of Sydney H.
Mr. H. was a thirty-four-year-old white male, married and childless. He told me that he wanted to undergo analysis because he felt he was losing control of himself.
"What makes you say that, Mr. H.? " I asked him, settling back in my chair and waiting for his disclosures.
"I'm a sadist, Doctor. Plain and simple. I whip my wife pretty regularly. But the problem goes even deeper than that. She likes it, she really does, and of late, it's the only way the two of us can get sexually aroused."
Mr. H. appeared to be a man of about average intelligence. He told me that his income put him right in the center of the middle class and that he and his wife enjoyed a relatively high standard of living. They had no children at the present time.
The following is a transcript of patient's first clinical meeting with me. I have excluded my own comments in a desire to make Mr. H.'s narrative appear totally spontaneous and unimpeded. The reader should place emphasis on patient's words, rather than my own evaluation in terms of my position as a psychiatrist.
Lena, that's my wife, and I have been married a little more than ten years. She's a wonderful woman, but I think she's never forgiven me for not wanting children. The truth of the matter is, I'm sterile.
Not impotent, mind you. I get erections and all that and perform admirably, but my sperm is not alive, viable or whatever they call it. She's wanted to adopt a child, but I never felt a desire to raise another person's kid and pretend it was my very own flesh and blood.
Ever since I was a kid, I've had a wicked temper. Lena knew that when she married me, but she never seemed to mind. In fact, now that I think about it, she almost enjoyed getting me worked up and out of control. Who knows, maybe she's the one who's responsible for this whole sick thing.
About three months ago I started to realize that things were not as they should have been. I was working late at the office and getting pretty overwrought and grouchy. One night I came home later than usual and found my wife sitting in a bathrobe in the den, watching television.
"Where's my supper?" I asked her, moving across the room and standing in front of the screen because she apparently wasn't listening to me.
"Make it yourself," she replied, looking me straight in the eye. "I'm not your fucking slave, Syd. If you can't get home at a decent hour, don't expect me to slave for you over a hot stove."
That really did it. I just blew my top.
"Who the fuck do you think you are, you fucking cunt!" I screamed at her, my face turning red, my emotions getting the best-or the worst, as it were-of me.
"Screw yourself," Lena said in a snide, biting way, looking right through me.
All she had on was a terry cloth robe and I grabbed the neck of it and wrenched her up from her seat, slapping her hard across the face and throwing her down on the floor.
"You're a freak," she said, looking up at me and holding her hand to her reddened smarting cheek. Her lips were quivering. But I wanted to kill her, I was so filled with rage. "You're an asshole, besides. Go fuck off, Syd. I don't have to take this kind of shit from anyone."
The robe had parted when I pulled her down to the floor and could see her breasts protruding, the nipples still hidden. She was breathing hard and seeing her there on the floor like some wounded animal, I began to get sexually aroused.
I felt blood rushing into my cock, making it grow long and hard. My rage had not abated. On the contrary, I was growing angrier as I listened to her berating me as if I was a fool she could take advantage of.
I kicked her then, right on the side near her kidneys. My foot shot out almost involuntarily, almost against my will and she fell over on her side, clutching herself, moaning that I was trying to kill her.
"Not kill, baby," I said. "That would be too good for a cunt like you. No, honey. I'm gonna make you beg for me. Grovel at my feet. Then you'll know how to speak to a husband. Then you won't sit here like some old fart with a filthy house and no dinner for the guy who works like a fucking horse to pay the rent."
At that point, something came over me. The robe had slid up and she was naked underneath it. I could see her fat ass sticking out, bare and inviting. I unbuckled my belt, my breathing coming in short, hard gasps.
"What are you doing?" she asked with considerable fright in her voice, cowering on the floor and not even bothering to cover her nakedness.
"I'm gonna whip you, Lena. I'm going to make you bleed, make you taste the leather," I told her, the belt off now as I brandished it in my hand. I felt my cock pulsing, my hard-on fierce and constrained inside my pants. It seemed that the angrier I got, the harder my pecker became.
"Oh, please don't, Syd," she begged. "I'm sorry, please!"
I was deaf to her entreaties. The whip flashed down, striking her bare ass with a resounding thud. She screamed and clutched her bottom and a trickle of fresh bright red blood seeped through her fingers. The belt had made a welt across one cheek of her ass and I was very excited now, totally out of control, completely out of my mind.
Again I flashed my hand and brought the wide brown leather belt down over her exposed cheek. She sidled away on the floor, screaming loud, holding herself, the tears streaming down her eyes.
"This is too good for you, Lena," I said, moving across the room as she tried to find a place of safety, a corner in which she could hide and avoid my blows. "You love it anyway. You love pain. I've always felt it. You get off on misery, baby. You'll beg for me," I shouted at her.
My hand crept down and pressed itself, almost as if it belonged to someone else, against the up-thrusted bulge in my pants. I felt my cock and I rubbed it hard, wanting to come, wanting to shoot all over her, in her face, in her hair, on her tits and cunt.
I held her down with one foot and the belt was lowered with a smarting flicker. I could see then that I had torn some of the cloth of the robe and her nipples were now exposed. I reached down and pulled what was left of it right off of her, throwing it like a rag across the room.
She was totally naked, wide-eyed, her hair in her face and her hands clutching her bleeding bottom. Her nipples were flaccid, flat and inverted at the bottom of her wide, swaying breasts. I bent again and wrenched her legs open so that Lena fell over on her back, her dark-haired cunt staring me straight in the eye.
Oh, I knew what I wanted then, what I really wanted to do. I wanted to sting the lips of her twat, bite down on her hard little clitoris, make her moan and beg for more, make her cry for my cock. That was what it all seemed to boil down to. I was burning hot, filled with anger and lust and I ripped off my coat and tie, my shirt as well and stood over her with my legs spread apart, my hard-on clearly visible behind the fabric of my trousers.
Lena said nothing. She looked at me sullenly, holding the stare, her hands coated with blood. The welt across her ass was raw and ugly looking, and it pleased me to see how much pain I had caused the little bitch.
"You want it, all of it, don't you?" I asked her, gritting my teeth.
She wouldn't answer. Her very unwillingness to talk, to communicate with me, made me fly into a rage. I swung the belt down hard with all my might, the leather edge biting into the skin of her pussy, making the lips jump apart as the pain covered her body, her skin turning bright red as she screamed out with a choking gasp in her voice.
But something was happening to her. She still wasn't talking, but she was down on her back, her legs spread-eagled, biting down on her lower lip and arching her pubic mound ever so slightly. She reached down between her legs and pulled the bruised and flayed lips of her pussy apart, exposing her dark red prominent clitoris. It amazed me to see that this stiff little knob of tissue was firm and hard and she began to rub her fingers across it.
I watched her, took aim and struck her body once again, this time hitting across her breasts so that each depressed and flaccid nipple took the full impact of my well-aimed blow.
She jerked on the floor like a puppet, a blistering welt, a streak of bright carmine against the white of her flesh, striping her breasts. But her nipples began to quiver even as I watched them. They pushed up, growing hard as her clitoris, firm and erect and taut and swelling.
I couldn't handle much more of this. I was burning. I wanted to fuck her, eat her out, do everything I could think of, giving her first the pain and then the pleasure. But the pain, the pain was all.
"Undo my pants," I told her, standing over her and waiting for her to respond.
"Why?" Lena asked.
Just that Just one simple word, her eyes never leaving mine. Her hands still played with her cunt, pulling the lips apart, rubbing over her up-thrust clitoris. She was loving it, getting turned on to the pain. I had always suspected that she was something of a masochist. Now it seemed very true, very real in my mind.
"I said to take off my pants," I repeated myself. "Or would you prefer to have me whip you again? Would you like that, you fucking lazy cunt!" I roared, the belt still in my hand and my fingers trembling with desire, desire to hurt, to wound, to maim her and make her crawl at my feet.
I couldn't help myself and I lifted my hand, threw the belt behind me and flung it down on her belly, right across her navel. It took the wind out of her and she moaned, clutching her stomach, rolling into a ball of flesh on the floor.
I kicked her again and again with the toe of my shoe, still ordering her to take off my pants. Finally, she pulled herself together and reached up, unzipping my trousers and lowering them over my hips. Shit, but it felt so good to have l;er hands on me. My trousers fell to the floor and I kicked them off, taking off my shoes and socks as well.
I was naked except for my under shorts. My hard, thick cock tented the front of them and I put my hands on my hips, the belt dangling to the floor.
"Well," I began, looking at her and savoring the power I seemed to possess in my body, in my hands, in my loins.
She hovered near me, getting up slowly to her knees. Gently, her hands shaking and her face stained with her tears, she lowered the shorts off my hips, down my thighs, onto the floor. My cock jumped out, a pillar of hard, angry flesh, all muscle and sinew, pulsing and dark red.
"Take it," I ordered her. "Suck it good and hard, Lena. Or else I have other games to play with you," I threatened.
"No more," she muttered hoarsely. "Whatever you say, Syd." She moved her mouth in position and opened her lips wide, her tongue poking out to lick the swelling blood-engorged head of my massive rod. I groaned with pleasure as her lips came around the head of my cock and sucked it right inside her mouth.
Reaching down, I pushed her face forward, making her gag as I impaled her on my thick jerking member. She kept on swallowing, her tongue running up and down the length of my cock.
"Lick my nuts," I told her and she did this as well, almost too willing for my tastes. Her mouth played with my balls, fingering the root of my tool and reaching between the cheeks of my ass to press up against my bottom hole.
I pulled away from her then, an idea redolent of degradation fresh in my mind. I sat down on the couch and leaned back, spreading my legs apart and lifting myself up slightly so that my asshole was fully exposed to her sight.
"Eat me. Rim my ass. Use your fucking tongue, cunt," I bellowed.
She moved into position, took a deep breath and opened her mouth. I pulled her over, slapping her face, warning her to get going or face the belt again. She was shaking in my hands, but her face moved into position and she held the cheeks of my hairy ass apart with both her hands, her tongue sticking out and beginning to lick and swab across my tight puckered hole.
I just loved it, every single swipe of her tongue, every fucking lick. She began to go faster then, pushing against my hole, finally sticking in the tip and then the complete length of her tongue as she drew her lips back and her front teeth scraped across my bottom.
Lena had never done this to me before, ever. But I knew then that she would do it a lot more in the future. But meanwhile, I moved my bare foot into place and wiggled my big toe against her bloodied snatch. I pushed the nail of my toe up into her furrow, rubbing it inside her canal. It felt moist there and I knew by that sure-fire sign that she was sexually aroused. She was dripping now that I took a good look, the blood and the juice of her excitement matting her pubic bush.
I listened to her slurping around my ass as my toe worked its way inside her twat. I loved the feeling, the utter animalism of it all. I spit into my hand and began to jerk myself off, lubricating my shaft with my spittle, watching her head bobbing up and down between my legs and watching too the motions of my toe as the one next to it pressed on in, two toes now exploring the inside of her hairy pussy.
Lena began to jerk her pelvis in and out, trying to get my entire foot into her snatch. I placed my hands on her hips and motioned her to pull her tongue out of my ass and get up on the couch.
I lay her down on her back and leaned over her, licking the remains of the drying blood off her breasts and pussy. "Oh, Syd. The pain . . . the pleasure . . . too much," she moaned, just as sick as I was. But I didn't give a fuck. I had a new idea forming in my head, just the perfect way to satisfy her growing masochistic tendencies.
Her body was glistening as I covered every inch of her naked flesh with my tongue, spitting in her wounds, chewing at the raw edges of skin as she rocked to and fro, her eyes slammed shut, totally removed from reality. When she was ready, when I could tell that she was losing her inhibitions, totally at the mercy of her pain and her growing erotic excitement, I clenched my hand into a fist and drove it down against her burning and wounded cunt.
"Oh, no, that's too big, too much," she spurted out, grimacing with pain as I stretched the lips of her vagina apart and pushed down with my knuckles, fisting right into her, feeling the raw and still slightly bleeding lips of her snatch stretching wide to accommodate my entire fisted hand.
Then the knuckles slipped inside and my fist exerted a harsh tearing pressure on her cunt, banging down upon the walls as if a massive cock was throttling her and tearing her skin. She jerked and groaned, and I shoved harder, smiling as I saw tears falling from the corners of her eyes.
"You'll.. . kill me," she said in a whisper, biting down again on her lower Up so that a droplet of blood appeared on the surface of her skin.
I bent and licked it off and began to frig myself wildly, my fist still pressing and pushing in as her juices began to flow down, bathing my clenched fist and lubricating the distended walls of her bleeding snatch.
I hated her and I loved her and the pain I was inflicting made me mad with desire. I rubbed my cock fiercely now, up and down along the shaft, as I fisted into her. I had never seen her cunt so dilated, so wide open before.
Moving above her, my hand still in place, I told Lena to lift her legs and put them over my shoulders. She did that and her asshole loomed before my sight, hairy and brown, just waiting for my cock.
It was pretty difficult maneuvering everything into place because I wanted to keep my fist inside of her, but I first had to pull it out and then, bracing myself, I rammed my cock up against her bottom hole.
"No, Syd, no, please. I'm ripping up inside. The pain, it's too big," she told me, scratching me with her fingernails.
I pulled her hands away and beat her across the face with my fist. "You love it, Lena. Right up your ass. I'm gonna bust you wide open you cocksucking bitch. I'm gonna make you moan for more. More! Because after this I'm gonna stick a broom up there, all the way up," I told her, insane and incoherent.
My hips bore down and I pressed my hairy belly against her wounded skin, rubbing into the bleeding raw-edged welt the belt had inflicted across her plump white belly. I looked down between my legs and felt her asshole giving, opening against its will as she grit her teeth and my entire thick hot cock shaft slid right up inside her bottom. I pounded it in, pulling my prick out roughly and shoving it right back, hoping that I was inflicting pain, hoping that her body was burning with her misery and her degradation.
I was getting back at her, getting back at years of whining, getting back at the world for now allowing me to have a son.
Okay, maybe that's it.
I don't know. I don't like to think about it.
But all I remember is pushing inside her, never having been in her ass before, feeling the hot, tight walls of her bottom encasing my slippery tool. When I was all the way inside I rested for a moment, reaching down and fisting her cunt again. It was more difficult this time because as soon as I got my knuckles past her cunt lips, I felt my cock on the other side of the thin membrane separating her pussy from her rectum.
But I frictioned as quickly as possible, finally managing to move both my cock and my fist in and out at the same time. She kept arching her hips and thrusting her belly up, the edges of her nipples open and raw, almost as if the whipping I had given her had ripped off the top of her nipples, sawing or slicing them in half.
I was getting ready to come and with my free hand, my fingers flat open, I began to slap her back and forth across her face and tits, humping wildly at the same time.
Her face swung from side to side, limp, half-unconscious. "Loving it, Lena? Loving the pain? The pain and the abuse, baby? How does it feel? Does it make you hot, honey? Bitch, are you gonna come for me, bitch cocksucker!" I screamed then, feeling my nuts tightening, feeling my gism rising up along the thickly muscled pole now buried between her bleeding ass cheeks.
Up and up it traveled, shooting out and bathing her ass with my cream, hot and thick.
It seemed that it spurted for so long. My fist pressed down and in, frictioning against the wet slimy walls of her cunt
And then Lena began to come as well. I could tell. All the old signs were there. First her face got very red and her body seemed to heat up. Then little shivers and tremors swept across her, making her twist and writhe from side to side and up and down.
"Now, Syd. Oh, shit it's too much. It hurts so much. So much pain, but I'm.. . fuck now . . . coming . . . blood," she whispered, her body on fire, her nerves raw and tingling.
A fresh thick discharge of juice flowed over my clenched fingers, over my knuckles buried high up in her box, flowing down and trickling around my wrist and down her legs to mix with the oozing come that was coming out of her ass as I pulled my cock out.
I looked down and saw that it was covered with a mixture of blood, come and shit. I felt nauseated seeing her crap covering my limp tool and I got up slowly, crouching above her as she calmed down and opened her eyes.
"It's shit, honey. See," I told her, not daring to touch my cock, hating her for shitting on me, for covering my prick with dirt and her secret filth. I was a madman then.
I bent down and pushed my limp dangling rod right up to her lips. She turned her face away, but I pursued her mouth, my hands forcing her lips open as she struggled to break away.
"You're gonna suck it off, Lena Suck it clean. Eat the shit that you gave me. All of it," I told her, her mouth open and my cock an inch away. And then I pushed it right in and she began to gag and choke and still I wanted her to eat the shit off. It was hers and she had done it to get even with me. But I wasn't going to let her get away with it, not that or anything else for that matter.
Her lips quivered and her eyes screwed shut again. But her tongue began to work. For a second, that is. Suddenly, she reached and grabbed hold of her stomach, vomiting right over my cock, puking her guts out as I got off the couch and stared down at her, a tangled mass of filth.
Blood and vomit. Shit on her lips. Come and the raw torn edges of skin. I had had enough. I couldn't bear to look at her anymore as she heaved again and again, soiling herself, her head slipping over the side of the couch.
I walked into the bathroom and got under the shower, the burning hot water suddenly calming me down as I washed away the evening's sickness, washed myself clean of my sadistic seizure. For that is exactly how I saw it then. As a fit of some kind, a form of unexplained behavior.
However, things didn't work out as easily as that.
Two days later, having not mentioned what had happened in all that time, I arrived home, quite angry about some business dealings that hadn't worked out during that same afternoon. I wanted to fuck Lena in the worst way, but as soon as I came into the house, she ran up to her room and locked the door.
"Let me inside, you shithead," I told her, pounding my fists on the door.
"Go away. You're sick. You're an animal and you bring me down to the same level. I can't take it any longer, Syd," she told me, still keeping the door locked.
Luckily for me, and unfortunately for Lena, she had forgotten that I had a spare key and in another minute I had used it to open the door. She ran like a hunted animal to a corner of the room as I advanced upon her, rage in my blood now, wanting to hurt her, wanting to see her beg and grovel at my feet again.
But instead of my belt, I ripped down the cord to the Venetian blind. The whole shade fell to the floor and the cord was in my hand. I twisted it several times around my fist and I began to lash out with this whip, coming closer, the strong length of slick three-ply cord whistling through the air, moving near and nearer to her flesh.
Then it came in contact with her, lashing across the back of her neck and shoulders as she moaned in pain and fell down to the floor, trying to cover her breasts, her legs pressed together. She was wearing a house dress and it was pretty thin and the Venetian blind cord worked well on her as I brought it down again and again, whipping her skin, ugly red blotches of burning skin raised on her hands and across her face. After beating her more than a dozen times, the strokes falling one after another, I pulled her up in arms and she crumpled against me.
"I need it, Syd. I don't know why, but I need it I'm burning for you. I'd do anything, anything," she told me, trying to kiss me as I shoved her away.
I didn't want her fawning. It was the last thing I desired to hear. I only wanted to see her begging for mercy, not begging to be beaten. There was no thrill or excitement in knowing that she craved the lash, the whipping stinging pain. I turned away, but she caught me by the leg and I toppled to the floor.
I shoved back with my foot, connected with her chin and she went out cold. I stood over her unconscious body, quickly stripping off my clothes, throwing them on the bed, my dong already inching up towards my navel, hard and pulsing.
I wanted her ass and her cunt and her mouth, wanted to use and abuse and lacerate her body until she couldn't bear it any longer. I had no control, no sense of decency or morality or humanity. I was an animal in a mad rage and I kept slapping her face until she came to.
This time, I fisted her ass and fucked her cunt at the same time. The pain was too much for her. Her bottom-hole was stretched to its very limits and the tissue was bloody with my pounding fisting thrusts.
But she came, her whole body wracked with the incredible power of her orgasm. And it's been the same almost every day since. I don't know how to stop myself and she asks for it, always doing something that's bound to inflame me, just so I can get into a state of sadistic rage and beat her and fuck the shit out of her.
I don't know how to handle it anymore. I'm going crazy, I really am.
Conclusion: Syndey H.'s sadistic psychosexual behavior pattern was, in the course of intensive therapy, discovered to have been greatly motivated by his feelings of failure. Failure as a man, that is. He unconsciously felt that his masculinity was damaged because he was sterile and he took out his sublimated aggressions on his wife, Lena.
Lena, on the other hand, accepted her husband's brutal beatings because her own latent masochistic tendencies were brought to the light. She became my patient as well, although at this date she is still undergoing therapy and we have yet to arrive at any definite psychological answers for her particular sexual anomaly.
But for Mr. H., therapy has shown him the reasons behind his aberrant behavior pattern and he has been able to gain greater control of his emotions and drives, now that he understands the origin of his sadistic urges. He is a fortunate man.
CASE NUMBER TWO
Often, sadomasochistic manifestations exhibit themselves within the framework of family life. That incest and sadism often go hand in hand was first brought to my attention when I was visited by a young woman by the name of Mindy P.
Miss P. was twenty years old at the time of our first consultation. She was an unmarried white female, who lived at home with her parents and her younger brother, a youth by the name of Ken, who was seventeen years old.
"I just have this terrible hate-love thing for my brother," Miss P. explained as soon as my nurse showed her into my inner office. "It's really strange, but I can't cope with my sadistic tendencies. Just the other day I beat him up so bad, I thought he'd have to go to the hospital. And on top of everything else, doctor, we've been having sex together," she revealed, her words rushing out, one after another as if she was making a confession.
"And you've come to me to undergo analysis, is that it?" I asked.
"Exactly. I work as a nurse's aide in a hospital and one of the patients we just admitted told me that she used to see you quite regularly, and that she really was helped by being under your care," Miss P. went on to explain.
The patient was an extremely attractive young woman, with small hips and a small bust as well. She had long auburn hair and wore little if any make-up other than a thin coating of lipstick. She was dressed quite conservatively as opposed to many sadists who don elaborate costumes of snug-fitting leather. I could not grasp the difference between her outward appearance and her inner state of sadistic malaise.
The following is the typescript of my first interview with Miss P. After explaining my clinical procedure, she picked up the microphone to my tape recorder and began to speak into it with great precision. Almost as if she was totally relieved to have someone or something to bare her secrets to. Her narrative, unedited by me, are the very words that follow.
Actually, there's really nothing new about what my brother, Ken and I have been doing all these years. It first started when we were just kids. He must have been about twelve or thirteen. I was three years older than him and he was forever getting on my nerves, interfering and annoying me. One day I wanted to kill him for bothering me when I was entertaining some of my girlfriends.
Well, what happened was, my friends left and I went into his room and slapped him across the face. "That'll teach you for sticking your nose into other people's business," I told him, really angry because he had kept peeking into my room and embarrassing me in front of my school friends.
But the strangest thing is that as soon as I hit him, I felt the urge to do it again. Rather than cooling my already nasty temper, it only served to inflame me even more. Ken just looked up at me with these hurt puppy-dog eyes of his and I decided to spank the living daylights out of him, as the expression goes.
I grabbed my brother by the scruff of the neck and sat down at the edge of the bed, pulling him over my lap. I weighed more than he did at that age. He's always been a thin kind of kid, wiry, but small-boned and if anything, a little bit fragile and a little bit underweight for his size and age.
Anyway, I pulled him over my lap and he squirmed around, trying to break loose. But I began to slap his backside as he rubbed up against my thighs. I was wearing a skirt and all his moving and tossing about made the material bunch up, exposing the tops of my thighs and then my panties underneath.
"This'll show you that I really mean business, you little sniveling shit-head," I yelled at him, my hand striking down on his ass again and again.
He began to whimper and tears rolled down his cheeks. His face was very red, but what really blew my mind was that as I was busy spanking him for being such a fucking asshole, he was getting excited.
Not emotionally excited, mind you. But sexually. Physically turned on. Aroused.
The first thing that happened was that I felt something long and hard rubbing up against my bared thighs. I thought it was his arm, but when I looked down at him, both his hands were hanging free, stretched out limp in front of him. He had an erection and the more I hit him, the harder it got. I just couldn't believe it. The pain I was giving my brother was turning him on physically. I hadn't seen him naked in years and up until that first time, I had always thought of him as a kid, a runty-looking little bastard, a real snot-nose brat.
But the cock I felt against my lap didn't belong to a little boy. I pulled him off my lap and he stood in front of me, wiping his eyes, his lips trembling. There was this incredible bulge sticking out in front of his pants, the outline of his rigid pants throbbing for all it was worth.
"What do you have there?" I asked. "What are you hiding in your pants, Ken?" I demanded to know, shaking him by the shoulders. "Stop playing games with me. I'll beat the shit out of you unless you tell me what you've done."
"Nothing," he mumbled, trying to break loose. His face was beet-red and he was shaking so badly I was afraid my mother would find out that I hit him.
But I was too excited by the prominent rounded mound, the protrusion in his pants which he did nothing-making no move-to conceal. "What is it? Take down your pants this instant, you fucking little toad. What have you put down there? I demand to see!"
Meekly, his eyes cast down, he began to slowly unbutton his pants, loosening his belt and pushing his trousers down to his ankles. His shirt, which had been tucked inside, was tented now and there was something underneath it, something that jerked and quivered from side to side. I was just dying to see, even to get my hands on it.
So, accordingly, having no shame or any compunctions about what I was doing, I reached out and touched him there. He shuddered and broke into a cold sweat. "Lift your shirt up. I want to see what you're hiding," I told him, my voice cold and imperious, already assuming the role of master while relegating him to the position of slave.
Ken unbuttoned his shirt and opened it up for me and I could see his huge cock sticking up inside his tight little undershorts. I let out an involuntary gasp of surprise, it was so big. I had never imagined that a boy of his age could have such an enormous cock. With one tug, my mind going into a frenzy, I pulled off his shorts and grabbed him around the waist, throwing him back down on top of my lap.
As I began to beat him again, my open palm stinging his naked ass as he shook against me, I thought of the thick firm cock I had just caught a glimpse of. I was terribly aroused, really moved to wild sexual fantasies just by the sight. I had never seen one so large and at that age. I had only been to bed with just one boy and his pecker wasn't even half as mammoth as my younger brother's.
I just kept flogging Ken, slapping his backside, my fingers burning as his ass turned bright red and the skin grew warm, irritated and sore. But he rubbed up and down, pushing my skirt further up along my hips, the shaft of his cock rubbing up against my panties. I could feel the head of his stiff rammer grinding down on my pussy, stretching the fabric of my panties and trying ta get between my already distended cuntlips.
I was on fire, burning with sexual excitement. I wanted that cock inside of me, wanted it in the worst way. That the man-for how could I think of Tod as a boy when he had such a large cock?-before me was my brother really didn't enter the picture. He was just a submissive willing male and my natural desires, my sadistic temperament to dominate another and to inflict paint, came right out into the open.
Punching him the way I was, plus the fact that he loved every minute of pain I inflicted, not putting up a very strenuous fight, made my belly ache with lust and mad uncontrollable desire. I leaned back on the bed, still holding Ken around his waist so that now he was able to fully straddle me as I beat savagely across his pale white ass, the round firm globes of his bottom shaking violently from side to side, burning from the unceasing crescendo of blows which I administered.
But as I kept hitting him, he began to grind down on my cunt, rubbing up and down, dry humping the same way I had done with my boyfriend. His cock was rigid, straight as an arrow and thick as a policeman's truncheon. Oh, but I could taste it right up inside of me, taste it and feel the thick spear of muscle probing the very depths of my moist and saturated pussy!
Ken kept pumping against me as I let go of his waist and pulled my panties down to my knees, hoisting both of us further up on the bed so that my legs didn't hang over the edge. "Eat me," I told him, giving him the back of my hand and slapping him smartly across his cheek.
He bowed his head and moved into a crouch. Bending down, Ken opened his mouth as I spread my legs wide, watching his tongue sticking out and licking the sides of my already wet and dripping snatch. Oh, but it felt so good, so hot and moist. I wanted him to do that forever, wanted him to stay between my legs for hours at a stretch, for days on end.
His tongue went everywhere.
He found my clitoris within easy reach. I gasped with pleasure as I felt his mouth working over my stiff little knob of flesh, enveloping my most sensitive spot between his lips, chewing delicately on my tiny penis with gusto and obvious lip-smacking enjoyment.
Looking down between his legs, I could see his thick manly cock sticking straight up, reaching past his navel. His balls were small, but beautifully formed and he had very little body hair other than a little light-brown bush around his cock and a thin matting of hair a little way down the inside of his thighs.
"Suck harder," I commanded, pressing his head down so that his nose was buried up into my pussy. I arched my pubic mound up as I felt him rubbing the tip of his nose around my wet canal. My hands reached out and clutched his hair. I gave him a hard brutal tug. "How does that feel, baby?" I asked with a malicious sneer.
Ken said nothing.
"Good?" I went on, my body shivering and trembling with lust. "Answer me, you slimy little fart. You fucking little prick!" I gave him another hard tug on his hair, pulling out some of it, roots and all.
Whimpers of pain and pleasure escaped his lips as his mouth still roamed around my cunt, licking the lips of my inflamed snatch. He tried to mumble a reply, but my hard hands pushing his face down into my cunt made it impossible for him to speak. But I had heard enough. His anguished squeals of masochistic frenzy shocked me to the very core, filling my insides and bathing my loins with a fresh wave of jaded pleasure and raw brutal excitement.
My fingers dug into his skull. I opened my legs further, stiffening them, stretching them, 'raising them high so that the soles of my feet were parallel with the floor. Then I clamped my feet around his body, my legs working around him, forming a scissor-like grip. It must have knocked the breath out of him, because all of a sudden his head popped up from between my thighs and he gasped for air like a fish out of water. His mouth made unintelligible sounds, trying to form words.
"Speak up, you little rat," I told him, cuffing I wanted to whip him then, wanted to lash his skin with a length of leather, a beating he would not soon forget. But the only thing within reach was his belt. I pulled it through the loops of his pants and brandished it in my hand. It flashed down, striking him across the lower back and he fell face forward, down on the bed.
I saw that the belt had caused a welt on his white skin. The thick red line across his flesh excited me and I raised the weapon over my head and flung it down on him, lashing his body with all my might and all the strength in my arm. The second stroke cut even deeper into his skin and trickles of blood, little red droplets forming along the line of this fresh abrasion, appeared on the surface of his torn skin. He said nothing, but as I gave him the third lashing stroke, I couldn't help but notice what he was doing in the meantime.
Ken had begun to rub his naked body, moving himself up and down on the bed. He was humping the blankets and when I struck him again, his whole body jerked and quivered and he began to moan, "Oh, what's happening . . . inside of me . . . hurts so much . . . coming, coming," he mumbled in a barely audible whisper, frictioning himself against the rough wool blanket and then letting out a long drawn-out sigh. He stopped moving and I pushed him over on his side, curious to see what my beating had done to him.
Imagine my surprise when I saw a thick white pool of gooey cream, his come forming a small puddle already seeping through the wool blanket. "You fucking pig!" I screamed at him, pushing his face down in his own spending. "Lick it off. See what you've done. Mother'll kill you if she finds out. Lick it off, Ken. Now," I told him.
He opened his mouth and began to sponge off the little pool of come, swallowing his own juice very slowly, grimacing all the while. But he did it. Licked up every drop until there was but a stiff faint off-white stain on top of the blanket.
But I wasn't finished with him yet. I got back on the bed, opening my legs again and grabbing him by the cock. I pulled his prick angrily, trying to get it hard once again, incensed that he had come on the bed and not inside of me, where it belonged. As soon as I twisted his nuts, his cock began to grow. It was as if the very sensation of pain drove him into erotic agitation. When I pulled his balls mercilessly, blood began to fill up his cock. I watched his limp tool growing hard, lengthening, jerking upright, turning colors-pink to red.
When he was fully hard, I pulled him down on top of me, opening my legs to receive my brother's inflamed pecker. He pushed it right inside my pussy, making no sounds, just moving it into place and bearing down with all of his weight until the head and shaft of his thick long rod was deep inside of me.
I was thrilling to the very root, clamping my cunt muscles around Ken's massive dong. I jerked my hips up to meet his thrusts, pounding up at his belly as he hammered down on me. With my free hand I began to rake the skin of his back, digging into his flesh, gouging out chunks of skin as he cried aloud, moaning, grunting, making every conceivable noise.
I pushed him up higher so that his entire cock was inside of me. As he rubbed it in and out, I began to go crazy with excitement. My groin felt his shoves, his probing piercing darting moves and I moved with him, trying to attain an orgasm. That part wasn't too hard. For as soon as I began to strike his bare and bleeding bottom, he worked even harder. His humps were fast and sure and his ass bobbed up and down in time to his jabs.
The moment was at hand.
Shivers ran through my body. A fire was glowing and heating my pussy and then it hit me, exploded, spattered against my insides with the force of a volcanic eruption.
"Pig!" I screamed. "Fucking shit . . . coming . . . now . . . harder you prick . . . prick . . . cock," I moaned, my climax slamming me down on the bed, Ken working like a maniac above me. As my orgasm consumed me, covered me with its warm embrace, my brother began to shoot as well. I felt his cream spewing forth inside of me, spraying against the walls of my already dripping pussy.
"Yes, yes. Hurt me, more. Now!" he said with short gasps, finally quieting down as the last droplets of his come shot into me. He lay on top of me, coated with sweat, his back a bleeding wounded sore, ugly to look at.
I took him into the bathroom a few minutes later and cleaned up his wounds, warning him if he told mom or dad, I'd find out and make sure to kill him. He believed me. At least I think he did, because he never told my parents.
That was the start of our little adventure in life together. I know I must sound fucking cruel and heartless, but Ken enjoyed the pain as much as I enjoyed giving it to him. If he wasn't a masochist to begin with, I would never be here now, because I would never have gotten away with the shit that I did.
In the last three years, our relationship has undergone a subtle but quite important change. Ken has become my slave. I am his master. I dominate him, abuse him, punish him for whatever reasons I like and he grovels at my feet like a submissive dog, asking for more, only able to reach an orgasm if he is being beaten, tortured, anything like that.
I remember what happened just the other day, when I told you that I thought he'd have to go to the hospital. My parents were away for the weekend, visiting my mother's brother who lives out of the state. Ken and I were alone and when I got back from work, I went right up to my room to shower and change. Meanwhile, he was working over the stove, preparing the elaborate dinner I had instructed . . . no, ordered, him to cook.
After drowning out the thoughts of the day, relishing the memories of suffering I had seen at the hospital, the bleeding wounds and festering sores of so many of the patients, I went to my closet and took down a large bulky package from the top shelf. This was my costume, the special clothes I had made to satisfy Ken's slave-like habits.
I kept the box hidden at the top of my closet, knowing that if my mother found the stuff hanging in plain sight, she'd have a shit-fit, not understanding what I was up to.
The costume itself was simple enough. I got into it quickly, tying everything into place. I was wearing a black leather outfit that looked much like a one-piece bathing suit. Except the front of the suit had two holes where my nipples protruded. Also, I had on black net stockings and black leather boots. The boots had wicked spike heels and were high-laced. The dress too was cinched in tightly at the waist and the general effect was sinister and macabre.
I came downstairs, my heels tapping out an evil beat as I walked to the kitchen. Ken was working hard, trying to get everything ready for my dinner. He had on an apron and was busy stirring a large pot when I entered, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
Immediately, I tapped my foot on the floor. He looked at me, smiled and then bent down on all fours, waiting for me to administer the first blow. "What are you, you fucking piece of shit?" I said, walking over to him.
"I'm your servant, to be used and abused as you see fit," he replied, mouthing the words of our ritual.
My foot shot out and landed in the small of his back, right below one of his kidneys. He groaned and fell to the floor and I dug the edge of my heel into his spine, hearing his tendons cracking under my weight "You're nothing!" I roared, flushed with growing excitement "You'll always be nothing. A slave, a piece of garbage. I'll do whatever I want to you and you don't even have the balls to stop me, not even to complain. You're not a man, you're a toad, you're a fucking little faggot!"
He got shakily to his feet, rubbing his eyes fiercely with the back of his hands. I sat down at the dinner table as he brought over the first course. It was a vegetable soup he had no doubt slaved over all afternoon. And even though it tasted delicious, I couldn't allow him to know how much his culinary skill pleased me.
"It's awful," I said, spitting out a mouthful of soup right in his face. "It tastes like piss, Ken. Shit! You don't know how to do anything right do you? I have to teach you every fucking thing."
I ate the rest of the meal in silence, going back up to my room as he followed submissively behind me. He got down on the bed and took off his clothes. In the three years since we had begun to do these things together, his body had gotten firmer and if anything, his cock got even larger. It hung limp between his thighs, his balls swinging free, swaying from side to side.
I attached his arms and legs to a leather brace I had purchased just for these kind of occasions. He got into it without saying a word, and I secretly knew that he must have waited all day for just this moment. He was on his back on the bed, his body spread-eagled, positioned to each of the four posters of my bed. From my closet I took out a long leather riding crop.
The lash was already worn and the back of his legs and his belly were crisscrossed with the scars of three years of punishment. He never complained, his willingness to suffer almost maddening, turning my sadistic temperament into a raging inferno of hate.
"Why didn't you wait to be told what to do?" I asked him.
"I don't understand."
"You got undressed before I told you to. That deserves punishment. That warrants five lashes, at the very least, you little freak!" A cruel smile played around the corners of my lips as I readied the whip in my hand, my legs spread far apart. My nipples were beginning to turn hard and erect at the thought of the punishment I was about to inflict on my brother.
I balanced the riding crop in the palm of my hand, turned away and then lifted it over my head, bringing it down with a loud resounding smack on his tight firm belly. He howled in pain, trying to double up. But he was held in place by the leather bonds, the straps that dug into his flesh, keeping his body immobile.
But that one stroke had already begun to work its magic.
You see, as soon as I hit my brother, his cock began to get hard. He needed the pain to get off and now I watched his tremendously thick spear lengthening and jerking up, his erection making his eyes glaze over with erotic excitement. I took the handle of the whip and began to strike him across his thighs and down on his nipples. I pounded down on his skin, aiming for old scars that I had given him years and months before.
"Oh, please, master. Please. I'm your slave. Don't hurt me," he begged.
But he was lying, and a poor liar at that. He needed this, needed it even more than me. I could feel my juices beginning to run, my cunt moist with desire. Moving over to my dresser drawer, I rummaged underneath a pile of sweaters and found what I was looking for. He stared at the object in my hand, his eyes popping out of his head with fear.
I was brandishing an immense thick dildo made out of jet-black hard rubber. It was at least ten inches long and about three inches in width. I moved over to the bed and gave him another blow with the handle of the riding crop.
"See this?" I told him with a snarl. "This is what you like, Ken. Right up your ass. It rips you in two, remember. Remember the last time? When you nearly fainted you were loving it so much. Well, tonight we're going to do it again, little one."
Without using cold cream or a lubricant of any kind I pulled his legs apart and made him rest them over my shoulders. He could barely move, but I had adjusted the constraining leather ties so that his pink hairless asshole was in plain sight. I pushed the head of the cock-like dildo right up against his tight little bottom-hole.
"It's too big, Mindy."
"What did you call me?" I ranted.
"Master, master," he said quickly, turning his eyes away from my livid face. "But it's too big. You'll ruin me. You'll tear me in two. Please, anything but that. I can't take it."
"You want it though. You love it," I replied, pushing the dildo up into his asshole as his bottom finally opened up against the cruel pressure I was exerting with my hand. I watched the massive instrument of pain move up inside his rectum. I pushed it all the way in, until there was just enough for me to get my hands on to pull it out when I thought he was ready.
His cock danced against his chest as he began to moan and thrash about on the bed. He loved to have his ass fucked and it was quite obvious from the condition of his erect and bobbing tool. This was my moment, the moment I had been eagerly awaiting. I left the dildo in his ass and stripped off my costume, keeping on my stockings and boots. Then I got on top of him and lowered my pussy down over his staff.
He couldn't move, couldn't touch himself or me for that matter. Gently, agonizingly, I positioned my hairy cuntlips above the head of his stiff rod, taking his cock in my hands, digging in my razor-sharp fingernails for a brief stinging second, and then shoving it right up inside of me.
"Oh, yes. Yes, master," he sobbed, gritting his teeth with the pleasure, tears streaming from his eyes from the pain of his violated and torturously stretched asshole.
His cock was deep inside of me and I rode him up and down as if I was a jockey and he was simply a horse, an animal beneath my loins. The head of his rigid spear banged against the back of my cunt and I reached down and began to pull the dildo in and out of his ass, stimulating his prostrate as I jockeyed on top of him. He was sweating profusely, incoherent, so aroused that he had lost all control of his senses. I loved to see him that way, so worked up that he couldn't even speak.
It made the experience and the act of sex that much more stimulating, that much more arousing. I moved from side to side, feeling the shaft of his penis up against my cunt walls. And I worked the dildo with one hand, frictioning it in and out while my other hand was busy teasing and toying with my erect little clitoris which now jutted out above his hidden pole, rubbing up against his smooth cock skin.
I was in a frenzy, wildly turned on and unable to control myself. As I told you, I hated him, but I loved him as well and his very impotence, his very inability to do anything but stay where he was at my mercy and my beck and call, filled me with a weird twisted kind of emotion, one that was neither hate nor love, but actually the two combined into something I was unable to fully comprehend.
But at the moment I have been describing, I wasn't thinking along such heavy philosophic lines. I was enjoying getting fucked, enjoying riding his cock like some great thick pole between my legs, playing the man's role as well as the female's by using the dildo on him as if it was my very own cock. Ken loved it, despite the fears, despite the excruciating pain I gave him and we came together, a simultaneous orgasm like a thunderclap, igniting our groins with a deluge of come.
My juice gushed around his stiff ramrod and he shot into me, spraying straight up into my cunt, saturating the walls of my pussy with his thick creamy come. He shuddered and twisted in his brace, unable to move very much, just a few inches from side to side.
His eyes were slammed shut and I viciously pulled the dildo out of him with a mighty tug just as my orgasm ended. It was coated with blood and a little shit and I got scared that I might have seriously hurt him. You see, I was more afraid for my own skin than his. I knew that if he had to be taken to the hospital, he would be forced to explain the scars the whippings had made. And then I would be exposed and it would be me who would have to receive punishment, not my brother.
I went into the bathroom, dried my dripping snatch and brought out some alcohol, iodine and cotton. I swabbed his tender burning asshole as he screamed when the alcohol and iodine touched his raw flesh. I enjoyed that, too. I wanted to stop the blood and clean his wounds, but if it hurt him at the same time, that was fine with me.
"How do you feel?" I asked him, sitting down on the bed, his body still convulsed with pain.
"I'm burning up inside. The pain, it's too much for me." He blacked out and I quickly untied him, hiding all of the torture equipment and waiting for him to come around. It was several minutes before he gained consciousness and he looked at me long and hard, his eyes unflinching, his stare steady and controlled.
"Well?" I asked impatiently.
"I'll be all right. I'll just have to rest for a day or so. You understand, don't you?" he said meekly, his voice filled with shame.
I turned away, tears clouding my eyes. It was I who was filled with shame, with degradation. That I had been brought to such a point made me contemplate suicide. I had never stopped to realize how sick I was, but listening to Ken begging me to understand, to leave him alone for just a day or two, made me cry out with my humiliation.
And that's why I've come to you. I want to stop this madness, this insanity. Being a sadist is making me a monster. I want to be a person again, a person with feelings, a person who can love. Normally.
Conclusion: Mindy P.'s shocking revelations were the starting point for over a year of intensive psychotherapy. In that period of time, while I treated her brother as well, I discovered the inner motivations that had driven this young woman to such cruel and sadistic acts of degradation and torture. Mindy unconsciously wanted to be a boy, wanted to be the son her father always accused Ken of not being. She saw herself as a savior in her family, a person who could re-unite the ties of blood and the ties of love.
But when her father put her down for being a woman, she took out her suppressed frustration and concurrent anger on her younger brother, the submissive and willing masochistic, Ken.
Although Miss P. is still prone to occasional outbursts of sadistic behavior, she is, at this date, in much better control of her emotions. She is now coming to grips with her psychological problems and is working hard to cure herself of her "sick" desires and sadistic temperament and disposition.
CASE NUMBER THREE
Trudy D., a thirty-one year old white female, unmarried, and living alone in a small studio apartment, came to see me one afternoon. She had a black eye and there were cuts on her hands as well as a long shallow scar along her neck, running from the underside of her ear down to her collar bone.
"I need your help," she told me, her hands gesticulating wildly as she sat down across from me.
"That's what I'm here for," I replied, studying Miss D. carefully. She was a woman who appeared to be fairly attractive, but terribly beaten, even more so mentally than physically. Tired purplish bags crept down disconsolately beneath each eye and her fingernails were ragged-edged, bitten down to the cuticle. Her appearance struck me as strangely untidy, as if she had not noticed what she had put on for the day.
"I'm the last of the authentic sickies, doctor," Miss D. went on, opening her purse and taking out a rather empty and forlorn looking package of crumpled cigarettes. She lit one nervously and it wavered up and down between her fingers.
"What's troubling you then?" I asked, looking at her intently.
"I like to get raped," she replied, turning her eyes down, her face mottled with the flush of her embarrassment.
"All the time?"
Miss D. hesitated for a fraction of a second and then looked back at me, nodding her head in affirmation. "Not even by one man at a time, mind you. But by four or five and once by six, together. And what's even worse is that I like it. The more they hit me and torture me, the more I enjoy myself. I don't know what to do."
"Well, the first thing is to tell me exactly what this is all about, starting right from the beginning," I instructed her, showing Miss D. how to work the microphone to my tape recorder.
The following is the transcript of my tape for our first session together. As in the other cases herein presented, I have excluded my own comments with the intention of making patient's narrative appear more like a free-form story, rather than a clinical interview or psychiatric session.
I live alone now. Have been ever since I got out of college and took a job here in the city. I've never been married, as you've probably guessed, although there was once a time when I thought I was in love. In love with a sadist, that is. You see, I know I must be pretty sick or unbalanced or something like that, because I enjoy pain. I get sexually aroused when someone physically abuses or assaults me. And the more pain, the greater is the intensity of my eventual orgasm. I guess you'd refer to that as masochism, but for years, I only thought of it as a way of life.
I must have been seventeen, maybe a little younger, the first time I had sex with a man. It was very strange, because I was totally innocent and naive about those things until it finally happened. And since that first experience, the day I lost my virginity, that day was colored so much by the pain, I probably have come to associate them together, maybe even as one and the same.
I lived in a small town in the Midwest. My mother was a widow and she worked hard at the local bank. I tried to be a good daughter and helped her out in the house as much as I could. I had a younger brother, but he died in a car accident when I was twelve or thereabouts and so at the time this first started, I was an only child.
I was a cheerleader in school then, a high school twirler. I used to go with the football team whenever they played out-of-town games and, of course, I cheered for them for home games, as well. As it happened, I had begun to date one of the guys on the team, a real bull by the name of Skip Johnson.
Skip was a senior in high school at the time. I was a junior, but I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. He was a big burly-looking guy with terrific muscles, a real super-jock. The other girls in school would drool over him. But he wanted me, or so I thought.
One evening, after almost two months of steady dating, he picked me up at my house as usual. I got into his convertible and we started to take a drive out into the country. It was a warm spring night, early May if I remember correctly. Sitting there in the front seat with Skip, I was incredibly happy. His very presence filled me with excitement and though I didn't know about screwing yet, I still enjoyed feeling his hands roaming over my breasts. The date before this one I'm describing, I had let him touch my pussy for the first time.
It had turned him on wildly and I had trouble keeping him from raping me. Anyway, we drove along for about an hour or so, listening to music from the car radio, talking about this and that.
"Hey, I have a terrific idea," he said all of a sudden.
I detected something strangely devious in the tone of his voice, but I couldn't exactly tell what he was up to.
"Why don't we go on to my dad's fishing cabin? It's only about five miles further down the road, right near Spring Lake."
I had, by this point, decided to give myself to Skip, thinking that I loved him and that he loved me as well. It seemed like an ideal way to lose my cherry, there in the privacy of a cabin deep in the woods. When I agreed, he smiled and put his foot down on the gas and in a little while we were at the cabin.
Inside, he started a fire and I sat back on a couch and watched the logs kindling, the flames shooting up the chimney. I was perfectly content and happy and when Skip sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulder, I just snuggled up to him and closed my eyes. Immediately, I felt his hand on my thigh, squeezing my leg as his mouth reached for my lips.
I gave him a kiss and held him passionately, his tongue working inside my mouth and licking me with the most exciting tonguing strokes. I was weak with excitement, knowing that this was the moment I had heard so much about. If I was frightened or a little apprehensive, I did nothing to show it.
"I want you, Trudy," he whispered in my ear, his hands already moving to my blouse and unbuttoning it quickly. His fingers thrust inside and I felt his hands cupping one of my breasts. The pressure of his fingertips made my nipple turn hard and firm beneath his sensual touch.
I said nothing, letting him make all the moves.
Sensing my willingness to go along with him, Skip began to rip off my clothes. He seemed to be getting violent and in the glow of the fire his face likened itself to the mask of a devil, some fiendishly grinning wild man. His eyes were shining and tiny pinpricks of light played across his face. I was frightened, seeing him in an entirely new light. Something was wrong and I tried to break away from his embrace.
"Not so fast, little one," he said with a wicked laugh. "We're not going anywhere. Yet We still have things to attend to."
"What things?" I asked.
Skip just looked at me and licked his lips. With one wrenching tug he pulled off my skirt, leaving me there on the couch in my underclothes. I tried to cover myself, but he pulled my hands roughly away, bending down in front of me and pressing his mouth against my breast. I felt his hot air against my skin, his breath seeping through my brassiere and making my nipples swell with longing. I wanted to get away from him, but his very physical presence, the aura of his raw brutal masculinity which he radiated so fiercely around him, kept me almost involuntarily pinned to my seat.
With a well-aimed pull, my panties were suddenly down around my ankles. I screamed out as he pulled them off me and tossed them into the fire. "Why did you do that?" I begged.
"You won't need anything to cover your cunt with from now on in," he said boldly, pushing his face down between my legs. I tried to keep him away, but as soon as his tongue touched the lips of my vagina, I lost all sense of control. I was totally in his power now, unable to prevent what was going to happen.
His hot red tongue pressed down on my pussy, licking the pouting lips of my cunt. He rubbed his raspy tongue over the surface of my mound, tickling my pubic hair, his fingers coming into view as he pulled the labia open, exposing my already distended clitoris. His teeth edged down on it, sucking my little knob of erect flesh into his mouth.
No one had ever done this to me before and I was feeling hot rushes of pleasure coursing through my body. I began to tease my nipples as I watched his head bobbing between my legs, his mouth titillating and exciting me to fever pitch. Skip was still dressed, but now he stood up and I could see the unruly condition of his trousers. There was a great big bulge in front of his fly and I guessed what was causing it. Quickly, he striped off his clothes as I gasped with wonder at the sight of his naked body.
He was really a striking looking person, unbelievably muscled and exceedingly well-endowed. Well-hung as we say these days. His cock was already hard and a blue vein along his shaft pulsed noticeably. His balls hung low, swinging freely and his cock was so beautiful that I bent my head down and wanted to take it in my mouth, suck on it as if it was a piece of candy.
But he didn't let me. Instead, he raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face. I was jolted back against the couch, my skin burning from his searing unexpected blow. 'Wait until you're asked," he said snidely, playing with his nuts, wagging his long pole in my face. "You'll do what I say, when I say it."
I had never heard such raw brutality in his voice before and I was really amazed, scared as well. He was a huge man, no longer a boy and he stood over me, his hands raised above his head, two meaty fists which threatened to come down on top of my naked and totally defenseless body.
"You're gonna get the fuck of your life, little lady," he told me. "You'll never forget it." He threw himself down on me, pressing his hairy chest against my tits, his hard rigid cock poking through the lips of my cunt and banging against my hymen. The membrane began to stretch to the breaking point and I screamed out with pain. The walls of my cunt were not used to such a thick object pressing inside of them and they were distended and incredibly sore.
His hand shot out and slapped me again, right across the bridge of my nose, my neck twisting savagely in the process. He grabbed me by the shoulders and bore down into my hymen. The membrane suddenly tore apart, exploding blood, a searing ripping pain running through my body.
Oh no, no, oh no, oh no," I kept crying as he tunneled down into my pussy, pushing and tearing my sensitive tissue. I looked down between my legs and saw a pool of bright red blood. I was faint and in a state of extreme shock, but instead of being gentle and understanding, Skip couldn't have cared less.
"Man, you're tight, baby. Tight and good and hot," he murmured. Leaning over and nuzzling me with his mouth, his teeth sank into the soft flesh of my neck and as he bit me I shouted again. But the pain of his teeth biting me was nothing to compare with the agony in my cunt. Skip slammed his cock down into me, boring through the membrane and unused tissue. His cock was huge and swollen and he plowed into me like a bull in heat, not caring about my feelings, totally oblivious to my agony and suffering.
But then, as he straddled me and kept on humping, pumping madly away, my pain began to change, began to undergo a subtle transformation. Although the blood still dripped freely down my thighs, coating my skin with an ugly red cast, I was sensing a growing tingling sensation deep inside of me, centering at my womb. I was beginning to burn and I knew then that this was the onset of my orgasm. It was my first one and I didn't know how to handle it, so I allowed my sensations to gather in force and intensity, sweeping me along on a veritable jet stream of lewd excitement and physical arousal.
"Squeeze your muscles, you fucking cunt!" Skip yelled at me, his heavy sac banging against my upraised bottom. His hand shot out again and he slammed me down, my chest taking the full impact of his cruel and merciless blow. I didn't know why he was beating me, but all I felt was the pain and the pleasure mingling, flowing together towards my climax.
"Oh, it's happening. Hold me, Skip. Make it good. Please," I cried, begging like a child, wrapping my legs around his straining heaving back.
He reared up and I saw his cock all slimy and covered with blood and gore. The emptiness between my legs made me ache, but he plunged down again, filling my pussy with his bloodied, but vigorously thrusting tool. In and out he moved above me as my nerves tingled, my senses burned. I began to shake and tremble with the intensity of my climax.
Then it happened, hitting me like a blow to the head.
I was itching and burning and rocking from side to side as wave after wave of incredible pleasure shot through my system, flowing down to my belly, past there and further still, the orgasmic signals centering at my cunt, at the very core of my womb.
I arched my hips up to get every single inch of his thick shaft inside of me and he grunted and then screamed out, "Shit, hold me, bitch! I'm shooting.. . now, oh fuck, fuck," he yelled.
Something warm and gushing shot into me, bathing my injured bleeding cunt walls with a discharge that cooled the pain and washed over me like a balm, soothing my wounded and battered flesh. He was coming, faster and faster, his cock jerking inside of me like something gone out of control. His buttocks rocked up and down and he sweated profusely, still hammering into my loins until the very last drop of his gism had entered me.
Then he pulled himself out of. my cunt and crouched over me, his knees bent and his cock rapidly losing its massive erection. "Clean me off, you little piece of shit. I don't want your blood and shit all over me," he said.
I was crying, knowing that he didn't love me, that he had used me for his own sick purposes. But I did what I was told, finding solace in being submissive and obedient. I opened my mouth and began to lick his heavy pendulous shaft clean of all traces of his cream and my virginal blood. The mixture was slimy and salty, but I swallowed it all down, sucking hard until his cock shone pink and clean, not a trace of our experience visible on his glistening spear. ;
But at that moment, as he got off me and stood up with his legs wide spread and his hands on his hips, a master surveying his slave with a snarl of rage, the cabin door suddenly opened. I screamed with terror as four other members of the football team bounded inside the little log-paneled room.
"She's all yours, fellows," Skip told them with a scornful laugh, pointing to me as I sat huddled on the couch, my hands over my breasts, my knees drawn up to hide my blood-smeared cunt.
I was frozen in my place, my legs coated with dried blood, my hair matted and in my eyes. The teammates moved into the center of the room, four heavy-set muscular footballers, all staring at me with obvious desire written on their faces.
"How'd it go, Skip?" one of them asked.
"Easy as pie. She just begged for it. I always said Trudy wouldn't put up a fight. She loved every minute of it. And now that she's no longer virgin pure, I don't think she'll give you much trouble, either."
Skip settled himself down in a chair by the fire, his limp cock hanging between his grizzly thighs. He made no move to cover his nakedness. Rather, he seemed to enjoy sitting around bare-ass, knowing that his friends could see his naked body and admire his big cock and huge set of balls.
I was immediately pinned down by two of the young men. I was in a complete daze, a fog of disbelief. I had no idea what they were going to do to me. But as soon as they began to take off their clothes, their excitement evident in the speed with which they hastily disrobed, I tried to break away from my new captives. But it was no use.
"Not so fast, honey," one of the boys said, grabbing my arm and pinching me, his grip like the bit of a mad enraged animal. I yelled out with growing terror, but he slapped me across the mouth. A trickle of blood from my split lip seeped down the corner of my mouth, splattering onto my naked breasts.
"Hold her steady," the tallest one of the group told the two guys who had pinned me down between them. "I want to make this one last."
He faced me, his rigid tool thinner than Skip's but many inches longer. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he thrust his tongue into my mouth and pressed his hips down against me, the head of his erect phallus going right inside between the lips of my snatch. The burning sensation began again and I thought I was going to black out. The pain got worse as well as all of his penis moved inside of my cunt. I was too sore, too sensitive and bruised to bear this second bout of fucking.
My body needed time to rest and heal, but the guy on top of me couldn't have cared less. All he wanted was to fuck me and Skip had set it all up. Now I was a pawn, a body to be taken with impunity, used for their sadistic pleasure.
That they were sadists, or close to being ones, was pretty clear to me. The guy who had now impaled his lance right up against the back of my cunt, ripping more tissue than Skip's cock had not even touched, not being able to penetrate nearly as far inside, kept beating me across the face and breasts with the back of his hand. His fingers found my nipples and he squeezed them brutally, almost pulling them off. I was shot through with pain and agony, but there was no denying that his steady rhythmic fucking was turning me on.
I didn't know what was really happening. Half-unconscious, too exhausted to move or utter a word of protest or offer any resistance, the guy banged away at me, a nameless male body taking his pleasure at my expense and agony. His cock moved steadily in and out as I looked up and watched the other boys smiling, their clothes strewn around the floor.
They were all excited and their cocks stood up at attention, waving from side to side as their eyes turned glassy watching their friend fucking me. And as for Skip, shit but he was damn pleased with himself. He had a ringside seat and his cock rose up past his navel. He rubbed it with one hand as he stared at me, winking maniacally.
"Isn't it fun, Trudy?" I heard him ask. "Four for the price of one. You couldn't make a better deal anywhere. You'll be a woman of the world before the night is over."
I thought I'd be dead before the night was over, not a woman. But I kept quiet. I had no voice to speak with and this second round of fucking was churning up my insides. I was melting down into a pool of liquid putty, emotionless but reaching a startling peak of physical arousal and insane uncontrollable excitement. I was becoming a machine, a masochistic sex machine capable of enjoying cold-blooded intercourse, not even knowing why I was doing this, not understanding the reasons that made my cunt thrust up with boundless energy, rubbing my tits against the boy's smooth hard muscled chest.
He came much sooner than Skip had, stroking three or four more times before he ranted and his backside quivered. His cream was thick and it sprayed up inside me, covering my cunt walls with its fresh juicy discharge. I wasn't ready to come yet, but he didn't care one way or the other.
He pumped a few more times, squeezing the rest of his foaming gism into me before pulling out his tool and getting shakily to his feet. His cock had blood on it, but much less than had been on Skip's.
And then another guy moved over to me. He dragged me off the couch and threw me down on the floor, pressing his arms and legs against my nerves so that a new wave of pain shot through my body. With both his hands he grabbed my tits and pulled them hard, my flesh caught in his fingers as he tore at my breasts. He was snarling and his cock was rubbing up and down against my gooey slime-filled mound.
He was in me in an instant, shouting out loud as he tore into my pubic mound, his cock penetrating and quickly buried between my weak and open legs. I was senseless and when another boy moved over to us, I didn't know what to expect
"I'll do her ass at the same time," he said to the guy who was busy working his cock in and out of my come-dripping pussy. "Just move onto your side." The fellow inside of me did just that, twisting me over so that my ass was exposed. The thought of this new boy's penis inside my bottom filled me with loathing and incredulous fear. I clamped my ass muscles together as I saw him getting down on his side. His cock was stubby but far too thick for me to even bear to think of it.
Spitting into his open palm, he pried apart my clenched buttocks with his eager hands, his moistened finger pressing down and pushing up against my asshole. I screamed out to be left alone. "Do anything, anything but that," I begged him. "I can't take anymore. You'll kill me," I went on.
But no one heard, no one listened except to use my words as a source of growing amusement. The guy with the thick stubby cock pushed the head of his tool down to my hole and holding me tightly by the shoulders bore into me. My ass was defenseless against his fierce assault I felt the head of his thick venomous cock entering inside, pulling my asshole viciously apart as he burst open my hole and flooded my rectum with his hot and engorged rod.
"Oh, no! I'm dying!" I screamed out.
No one made a move to stop him.
No made a move to help me.
Instead, they all laughed and slapped themselves on their thighs as the boy kept pushing and shoving in his overheated spear deep into my ass. My bottom burned and pain shot through my body. I was being inhumanly plugged, stopped up, my tortured nerves and tissue rupturing and bleeding and my ass on fire.
I felt his chest against my naked back as all of his cock entered and he rested for one brief moment against me. And all this time, my cunt-still bleeding-was being pounded by the other boy. I was pinned between them and the kid in my ass began to work on me, pumping his rod in and out with a fierce vitality.
I thought that the membrane between the two cocks was going to rip in two and I would be ruined forever. All this pain was searing my head and as the two youths kept on fucking me, I was drowned in wave after Shockwave of pain. My clitoris rubbed up against the boy's pubic bush while my asshole felt the movements of the other kid's massive prick. It felt as if I was being lifted up in the air, speared at both ends, my two openings pulled open forever, permanently damaged.
And then I came. My orgasm hit me unexpectedly, coming it seemed from nowhere, but suddenly hurtling into my consciousness as I tightened my wounded cunt muscles around the boy's pecker, my legs flailing the air, my climax and my pain once again one and the same.
I lay there as they kept on going, their own orgasms following as they felt my own sexual excitement. My climax turned them on immensely and the boy in my ass groaned and swore as he shoved his rod in and out, coming in a great showering burst of thick hot come which filled my bowels with his endless spend.
The other youth moved in time to his friend's piercing strokes, grabbing him around the shoulder as his cock gave a heart shaking tremor and exploded in me as well. I was floating in come, my body riddled with their creamy emissions I lay back, my tangled hair obscuring my sight, my legs coated with blood, sweat and spittle.
The other kid who hadn't gotten into me did it as well, but by this time I was more dead than alive.
It's been the same ever since.
Once, about a year ago, I was pulled into the bushes in Central Park. Three kids in black leather motorcycle outfits worked me over. One of them fucked my cunt while I had to blow the other boy. The third one fucked his friend in the ass and when they left me, I was torn and bleeding. They had knocked out my front teeth and left me for dead.
But that didn't cure me. Not at all.
I wanted to be punished, although I don't know for what. But I needed the pain to get excited and so I began to date this truck driver who lived in an unrenovated tenement building across the street from my house.
He was the most perfect partner I had ever found, a tall, thick-set middle-aged guy who liked nothing better than to beat me up and slap me around before, during and after he got his rocks off. One of the most brutal and embarrassing things he ever did to me took place about a month ago.
This guy's name is Hal and he used to come see me every Friday night. I made him dinner and we did it together. But on this particular Friday, he showed up all in leather, great silver-like chains over his shoulders and steel-toed boots to match his black leather pants and studded black leather jacket. Really freaky looking, seeing him walking around my rather feminine apartment.
He showed a fantastic bulge in his pants and I have to admit that one of the reasons I kept seeing Hal was that besides being a sadist, he had a huge cock which I loved to play with. The fact that he was also a pig and smelted all the time was a turn-on as well. His very filthy masculinity made him a creature of pain and torture, rather than a human being whom I could engage in conversation with.
"Where's the fucking dinner?" he asked by way of saying hello.
I was at the stove and he came over and lifted up one of the pots. "I hate stew, you shit-head," he told me, throwing the pot to the floor and covering the linoleum with a mess of food. Seeing all the dinner there on the floor, a lumpy mess of pieces of meat and vegetables, I sat down at the kitchen table and began to cry.
"You want it so much, then eat it," Hal said, pulling me out of the chair and throwing me down on the floor. I was sitting in a hot puddle of stew and I wanted to laugh, I thought it was so ridiculous.
"Eat it," he said again.
He pushed my head down into the mess and my face was covered with the thick beef gravy. I actually had to start eating, even though I felt like vomiting. He just stood there with his feet apart, laughing like an imbecile.
Then, when he was satisfied with what he had ordered me to do, he pulled me back up and just ripped my housedress right off me. I flinched as he dug his fingers into a pressure point near my neck.
"I have something for you, Trudy," he said, pulling me over to the bed. He threw me down on top of the studio couch and undid a button on his jacket, opening a pocket and taking out what looked like a thin silver band or ring of some kind. I had no idea what it was.
"It's to put through your nipple, honey," he said, taking off his coat and laying it over a nearby chair. He sat down next to me and opened his palm, holding the ring before my eyes. I was shaking with fear, having no idea how he would put this on me.
"You're full of shit," I said with impetuosity. It was the wrong thing to say, because it made him livid and filled him with rage. I was sitting there in a bra and panties and he just grabbed hold of my breasts and squeezed them like clay in his hand. He took hold of the ring and opened it, revealing two sharp pointed curving ends which he moved into place over one of my nipples, right down in the dark skin, the aureole surrounding the nipple itself.
"Leave me alone!" I yelled, trying to squirm away. "You're sick, insane." I beat his chest with my fists but he only laughed and shoved the ring down on my breast. He began to close it, pushing the pointed edges into my skin.
I couldn't take the pain as I saw blood trickling down my chest, my nipple filled with a flaming searing hurt. He kept closing the ring around it, making holes in my breast, trying to join the two ends together.
I lay back, faint, unable to move, my whole body shaking as he just laughed and finally pinched the ring together, letting it hang from my nipple. He moved back and surveyed his handiwork as I stared at my breast, watching the blood dripping steadily down, my nipple blue and discolored and this obscene ring hanging from it, looking ugly and grotesque.
"Now I can pull you anywhere I want," he replied. He took off his leather jacket and he wasn't wearing anything under it. And sure enough, through one of his own nipples hung a similar although smaller silver ring, half-hidden in the curling mass of his tangled black chest hair.
It was an S&M symbol, like keys worn outside your belt and I shuddered to think that I had been reduced to this, brought down to the level of an animal, made to behave like some fucking teenybopper riding on the back of her boy friend's motorcycle. It was insane and too sick to imagine.
But he liked seeing me there with the nipple bruised and the ring hanging down, half-covered with blood. He moved his mouth over my other breast, pressed against it and bit down on that nipple. I tried to jerk away, but his teeth held me in place. If I moved another inch he would have ripped my teat right off.
Then he took my bra off and pushed me down on the couch, standing over me and smiling as he undid his garrison belt, all covered with studs, the same as on his jacket.
"You ready, Trudy?" he asked as I lay there in front of him, just in my panties, blood on my chest and his fucking ring hideously projecting through one of my nipples. "I'm ready if you are," he went on.
I saw him lift his hairy muscled arm and the belt was still in the palm of his hand. Then he brought it down over my belly and the leather edge curled around me, flicking pain to my sides as I gasped for breath. He brought it down again, stud side directly on my skin so that the small metal knobs dug into the soft flesh of my chest and then my thighs.
All the pain was sending me flying and he asked me if I was getting off on the beating. I nodded dumbly, knowing that I couldn't lie, that my pussy was itching as if ants were running through it. Already, my cunt juice was beginning to drip, staining and wetting the front of my panties. My thighs opened and closed involuntarily as my flesh was torn and reddened and flailed by his thick leather garrison belt.
Then he opened his pants and pulled them down and his cock burst out, red and angry-looking, sticking straight out into the air, his heavy hairy sac hanging beneath it. He waddled over to me with the pants around his ankles and presented his swollen tumescent rod to my lips. I opened my mouth and took in the head of his thick massive dong, my tongue working along the length of the shaft as he fucked my mouth and shortened the length of the belt with his free hands. Then he began to smack my cunt, striking short hard blows on top of my wet and saturated panties. I was burning with excitement, pain and pleasure sending me senseless and I gulped on his tool like it was the very staff of life, hungry and thirsty for his thick creamy spend.
The darting tongue of pain that was the belt flicked angrily down on top of my cunt and the material began to become shredded so that I felt the leather biting my cunt lips, nibbling and inflaming my clitoris and I felt myself moving toward an orgasm as he hit me, not even bothering to touch my pussy with his fingers or his mouth. And still I sucked him off until he pressed my head down viciously and splattered his load against the back of my throat. I swallowed as much of his thick cream as I could, although some dripped from the corners of my lips and ran down my chin.
Hal kept kitting my cunt with the short end of his belt and when I felt one of the studs bite between my cunt lips, my climax came over me and I screamed out that I was coming.
And that's how it's been all my life, pleasure and pain. I don't know why I'm built the way I am, but what I've told you has been the truth. Now I want help. I want to understand what makes me do the sick masochistic things I do, why I cant be satisfied with one normal healthy man, why I need three or four sadists to turn me on.
CONCLUSION
The key to Miss D's neuroses was her own statement that, "I probably have come to associate them together, " the pain and the physical pleasure. After several months of therapy, during which time patient continued to revel in sadomasochistic sexual experiences, I was finally able to break through the walls of her defenses and expose the root of her problem.
Miss D. admitted that she felt that she had been responsible for her brother's death when the child was a youngster. She told me that she had been taking care of the boy and that she had left him to go and play with her girlfriends. He went looking for her, afraid to be alone in the house and was struck down by a car, dying instantly.
All these years, Miss D. had been punishing herself for a death she felt she had committed. Her guilt feelings transformed themselves into masochistic rituals of self-abuse and the concurrent need to be tortured and reviled.
By bringing this traumatic childhood episode to light, I was able to show patient where her masochistic tendencies had come from. She is still under my care and, I may add, has not engaged in any such sexual encounters as those previously described in the more than six months since therapy showed her how to begin to cope with her problems.
CASE NUMBER FOUR
Robert G., a nineteen-year-old unmarried white male, was referred to me for treatment by his uncle, a gentleman who had been an old family friend of mine. It seems that Robert was involved in some rather scandalous incidents in the small suburban town where he lived and though his parents managed to suppress the stories, the family felt that the boy needed psychiatric help.
Rob, as he insisted on being called, arrived fifteen minutes late for his appointment. He appeared disinterested and vaguely bored but from what his uncle had told me, Rob was a boy of above-average intelligence.
"I'm here to help you," I began, setting up my recording equipment.
Rob glared back at me. He was dressed in skin-tight leather trousers and a fringed buckskin jacket. His hair was long and hung down on either side of his face. Inhaling a cigarette, he stared at me for some time before he spoke, "This is a down. A real down number on my head."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I don't need any shrink to tell me what's right or wrong with my own fucking head. I know and that's all that counts, man."
"But what is wrong with your head?" I asked, repeating his very own words, hoping that he would not feel that there was a generation gap between us.
"I get my jollies beatin' up on chicks. It's simple enough. And if I'm rough when I'm balling them, all the more pleasure."
"Your parents seem to think that sooner or later you're going to do something that you'll ultimately regret. At least, tell me what's been happening so that I can get some idea of where you stand," I requested, handing over the microphone and settling back in my chair.
He insisted on smoking a marijuana cigarette. After making sure that my door was closed, I let him do as he had asked, hoping that the tell-tale odor of the fumes would not be detected by my secretary in the outer office.
The following is the transcript of Rob's first session with me. What amazed me most was his cold-blooded and clinical attitude toward his sexual conduct. He actually appeared to enjoy telling me the grossest details of his sex life. I matured physically very early. Around twelve or so. My folks didn't tell you that I used to have an older brother. They've disowned him since, and he's living somewhere out on the Coast. None of us have heard from the fucker for five years or so, but my sex life started with him.
You see, he was the one who introduced me to sadism. Only at the time I was twelve, I had to play the role of masochist whenever he beat the shit out of me. I remember one experience quite distinctly. I had just discovered that I could come and must've been jerking off three or four times a day. About two weeks after that first orgasm, he came into my room one afternoon and found me beating my meat.
He just stood there, closing the door behind him, his eyes hard and narrow. My brother was four years older than me, sixteen at the time. He was a big husky kid with a deep voice and these unbelievably big hands.
Without saying a word to me, he came over to the bed as I tried to button up my pants, my face burning with embarrassment. His hand shot out and he slapped me viciously across the face.
"It'll make you go blind," he said with a sadistic laugh, leaning over me and giving me the back of his hand once again across my face. "Nothing like a little bit of punishment to keep the blood going."
"Leave me alone, I'll tell mother," I told him, trying to defend myself.
But my brother, who even then couldn't have given two shits about my parents, just pinned me down to the bed and spit out a gob of mucus into my face. I nearly choked from his slime and he kept on spitting on me, one hand covering my mouth so that I felt like I was gagging.
"And that's just an introduction, Rob," He hissed, getting up on the bed and sitting on top of me, his weight pressing down on my thighs. He pulled my ears angrily, staring at me, laughing at my discomfort.
I had no idea why he was torturing me. I hadn't done anything to annoy him. In fact, I made it a habit to keep out of his way, knowing how vicious his temper was. Once, I had seen him burning a cat and I suspected that he wasn't all together upstairs.
Anyway, to make a long story short, he held me down on the bed with one hand while he unbuttoned his pants with the other. He pulled out his cock, a great red thick pole of flesh and he rubbed it a few times until it got hard. It was much bigger and thicker than mine and I was scared out of my head. I knew that it was really sick for him to show me his penis, waving it in front of my face like a homo or something.
"You know what, Rob?" he said. "You see this here beautiful big pecker in front of you? I want you to give it a nice good suck, brother. Good and hard."
"No!" I told him.
My response was an excuse for another series of vicious blows. My head was spinning as he slapped me back and forth, my neck twisting from side to side. He pressed down on my legs with all his weight and it felt as if he was crushing my bones. Then, he moved forward and pushed the head of his swollen rigid pole right up to my closed lips.
I kept them clenched together, but he pressed his thumb into my eye and I thought I would go blind with pain, so I opened my mouth and he shoved the entire length of his affair into me, making me gag and choke as his cock hit the back of my throat. I didn't move a muscle, didn't move my tongue or my lips.
"I said suck! "he yelled with fury. "Suck it, kid. Now," he insisted.
When I still refused, he pulled it out of my mouth and grabbed me from the front of my pants. His hands clamped around my limp cock and he squeezed it, almost as if he was trying to rip my penis right off. Then he opened my pants and stuck his meaty hand inside, finding my balls and wrenching them like an animal. I cried out with the pain and tried to break out of his grasp, but he held me down with his weight and kept pulling on my cock.
"Now, will you suck my rod or not, little one?" he asked.
I nodded my head in affirmation and began to sob as he let go of my tortured cock and balls. Then, my brother moved up on top of me and I opened my mouth. He thrust his pole inside, between my lips and I began to tongue and lick his staff, feeling the need to vomit, to throw up my guts as a means of puking out my misery.
He shoved my head down and drew his cock in and out of my mouth very quickly, his breathing rapid now, his hands shaking as he began to moan and shiver with his impending orgasm. I worked harder, trying to bring him off as soon as possible, dying to get his filthy cock out of my mouth.
"Now, kiddo . . . suck it, baby. Harder. . . harder," he yelled and then he shoved my head all the way down and held it there so I could barely breathe as suddenly my throat was filled with his thick slimy come, his hot juices shooting out into my mouth. I couldn't swallow any of it. I thought it was like snot, the filthiest sickest thing in the world. So I let his cream flow out of the comers of my mouth and down my chin and neck as he kept on pumping, shooting out an incredible amount of come.
When he had had his full, he pulled his rod out and forced me to lick it clean. Then he put it in his pants and got off the bed, his fist coming down on my chest so that I thought he had cracked a rib. I gasped for air, my breath gone and when I finally recovered he just looked at me and walked to the door.
"Say anything to the folks and you're dead," he said in a cold and serious tone of voice.
I believed him and I nodded dumbly. When he left, I cried for a good long time, not knowing what to do. And that's how it was for the next two years. I became his sexual slave and he raped me anally almost every day. I had to put with up with the most vile acts of torture and sex imaginable. And never did I tell my parents. My brother had once shown me a gun he kept in his closet and I wanted to use it on him, but his room was always locked and he was the only one in the family who had the key.
And then one day he disappeared, never to return. I was like a slave who had been given his freedom and at first, I just couldn't believe that he wasn't coming back to torture and abuse me some more.
But when he didn't, I began to go through the strangest changes. I missed him in the sense that sadism had become part of my life. For two years, twenty-four fucking agonizing months, I had been tortured and brutalized and made to do whatever he demanded. Now that he was gone, I felt the need to behave that way to someone else. I never can explain why, but it was as if I stepped into his shoes, searching for a person to be my sexual slave and masochistic partner.
I didn't want boys, that I knew. The worst part of the things I did with my brother were the homosexual acts. I couldn't bear to look at another man and my ass burned whenever I saw a big muscular kid pass by. I immediately associated him with my brother, and the thought was too painful to endure.
No, I wanted a girl, a young plump ripe willing chick who I could use for my own devices. I wanted to teach her the lore of the whip the way my brother had taught me. I felt the need to crisscross her back with flashing stinging strokes, leaving bloodied welts, just as my brother had inflicted upon my own violated flesh.
And it didn't take too long to find someone who, if not totally suitable, at least was too stupid to object until I really got started on her. Her name was Gay, Gay Matthews, and she was one little juicy piece of fourteen-year-old ass. Big boobs, a tight little cunt, the whole works. She was in the same class with me at school and one day I invited her to come home to my house. I promised to help her study for a science test, and so she called her mother right then and there and got permission.
It was ideal. At the time, my mother was helping my dad in his store and the house was empty. I took Gay up to my room and shut the door.
"You want to play a game?" I asked, smiling at her and wondering what she would look like without her clothes. My friend Joseph had told me that he had already fucked her and rumor had it that Gay put out and maybe was even a nymphomaniac, but I didn't know for sure because Joe was a first-class bull-shitter.
"What kind of game?"
"Doctor and patient," I said with a laugh. But would you believe, she didn't bat an eyelash, just asked me if it was a game to study science. I told her it was and made my first move, sitting down next to her on the bed and ordering her to unbutton her blouse.
"I don't think I like this game already," she said timidly.
"You'll love it," I insisted, pulling her blouse right off her and burying my face down between her ripe swelling boobs. She was a real patsy and she just loved to have a guy play with her tits. She stretched out on the bed and I kept nuzzling and licking her breasts, trying to work off her brassiere. Gay didn't say a word, just held me against her.
And then, then the rage mounted inside me. I wanted to see her suffer a little, just a little I thought. I wanted to see her writhing in pain, the same pain that my brother had given me for those past two years. The ropes he had used to bind my hands and feet were still in my closet and I jumped off the bed like a man obsessed, ran over and found them.
In an instant, I had her hands and feet tied and I strapped her down to the bed as well. She looked at me and just couldn't believe what was happening. "This isn't no doctor game, Rob," she said.
"It's called rape," I told her. "You're my victim and I'm going to torture you and then I'll rape you. She started to laugh at me, thinking I was insane. Maybe I was, but I just couldn't bear to hear the sound of her laughing at me. It triggered an explosion in my brain and I whipped off my belt and flung it down over her plump white belly.
She screamed out as the leather tore into her soft supple flesh, crying for me to release her. She promised to do anything if I'd only stop hitting her. But something inside me kept moving my hand up and down as the belt flashed and quivered, stinging and biting into her skin as her body was wracked with searing stinging pain.
I loved to see the thick red lines forming on her perfectly white skin. Wherever the belt struck her, the skin turned bright red and once, on her upper thigh, I used the buckle end so that I cut into her and bright shiny droplets of blood appeared on the surface of her skin.
My breath was coming short and hard and I could feel my cock inching up along my belly, hard as a rock, ready to crash right inside her little sweet cunt lips. With one hand, I tore her panties down to her ankles, exposing a tight swelling pubic mound, covered with dark brown curly hair. The lips of her cunt were dark red and thick, perfectly formed and my heart jumped as I stared at them.
I couldn't resist. I had to have those cunt lips between my teeth. Dropping the belt to the floor, ignoring her cries and heart-wrenching sobs, I glued my lips to her little cunny, savoring the smell of her childish charms, licking and sniffing and running my tongue over and through her cunt hair. I pulled the lips of her snatch apart with my eager shaking fingers and exposed a bright red clitoris, limp, but one that promised to grow into a tender and erect little knob.
Taking it between my lips, I sucked down on it and her sobs of pain began to turn to cries of ecstasy. My face was buried between her legs and I kept sucking on her clitoris, nibbling it gently until it swelled in my mouth and turned hard and firm. She was growing more excited by the minute and I took one of her cunt lips in my mouth and lost my head, biting down brutally so that she yelled for help.
"Shut your face, you little fucking cocksucker," I told her, "You open your mouth again and I'll murder you."
She was incredibly frightened, her eyes glazed over in disbelief. Quickly, not wasting another second, I threw off my clothes and straddled her, mounting her as if she was an animal, a slave to be used for my own sexual comfort and delight. I placed the head of my engorged rod right up against the folds of her luscious cunt and with one quick powerful stroke, I was ensheathed up to my very root. I pulled out quickly and shoved in once again, building up a rhythm as I held her by the shoulders to keep my grip.
"Oh, it's so big, so hot," she panted like the little two-bit whore she really was.
"You love it, Gay, don't you? You love my big thick cock right inside of you, don't you? Say it!" I ordered.
"Yes, yes, Rob," she whimpered, her eyes closed and her face flushed with her growing sexual excitement
I gave her my all, the warm blood on her thighs rubbing up against my legs like salt on a wound, her pain increasing as I bore in and out of her, drilling into her very depths, my hairy balls smacking against her upraised bottom.
I felt like a tiger, out of control, and I mauled her breasts with my hands, playing with her nipples and making them hard before I pinched them with my fingernails, squeezed them and made her cry out in agonized pain. I loved it. All of it, and it helped me achieve my orgasm, which was fast approaching.
I was inside her, feeling her warm tight canal surrounding my pumping tool and I shoved harder then, moving quickly in and out, trying to come and still give her pain at the same time, almost as if I wanted to deny her the pleasure of her own orgasm just as my brother had denied me my own climax whenever he had fucked me up the ass.
It hit me then that that would be the ideal way to do it to Gay. Chances were she'd come if I stayed inside her cunt, so I pulled my pecker right out and shoved her ass cheeks apart, lifting her higher and putting her legs up on my shoulders so that her perfect pink puckered asshole was clearly visible. It didn't have a single hair and it looked so deliciously vulnerable that I couldn't resist.
My cock was slimy with her own cunt juices and so I didn't lubricate it any further. With one mighty shove, I pushed the head of my thick affair up to her asshole and then inside. I shoved my hips down, covering her mouth with my hand to suppress her screams as all of my thick long shaft drilled down into her bottom, encasing me totally, my balls hanging free outside, swaying and banging against her uplifted ass.
It was even better than her cunt and I understood why my own brother had been so attracted to asses. The chamber was unbelievably hot and dry and I began to piston my member in and out as I pulled my hand away from Gay's mouth and looked down at her with my eyes glowing and an evil grin playing across my face.
"Gay," I said. "Do you like it, honey? Is it good, little flower of my heart?"
She looked up at me, a mixture of shock and physical pleasure on her face. But she was not able to talk and so I continued the operation, moving in and out of her hot little ass, yearning for the familiar sensation to start rising up inside me. Soon enough, my balls tightened and my come shot up the length of my cock shaft.
It spurted into her ass as I screamed and held onto her. "Fuck, cunt.. . , now, coming, shit, fast, faster. Hold on, you little bitch cocksucker!" I yelled as my semen rushed away from me, out of the head of my swollen rigid pole, deep into her bowels.
Her legs clamped around my back and she held on her pelvis jutting up against mine, grinding and pushing into my belly, trying to get all of me inside of her. I stuck my hand down to her cunt and pinched her clitoris between my fingers as she gave little whimpers and animal-like yelps of pleasure and pain.
My fingers were soaking wet from her cunt juices. Gay, despite the considerable pain and suffering she had endured, had nevertheless managed to achieve her orgasm, even if she had kept it a secret from me. It pleased me to no end to know that my whipping had turned her on and that our bout of ass-fucking had not been as horrible for her as I had imagined.
"How are you feeling?" I asked her as I eased my limp and reeking tool out of her ass. It plopped out with a loud squishing sound and I looked down between my legs, staring at my detumescent cock all covered with shit, blood and the remains of my come.
"You're an animal," she replied hotly, hissing between her teeth.
"Perhaps, but you love my games, anyway. You came, you little piece of shit," I retorted, moving my hand down on top of her cheek, slapping her smartly so that her face shook like a bowl of jelly, the imprint of my palm and five flat fingers marking her face with a red, indelible burn.
Finally, I untied her and threw her the clothes that were on the floor. She dressed hurriedly, but before she left, I warned her to keep her adventures to herself. "If you tell anyone, Gay, I'll have eight of my friends rape the shit out of you. You'll never recover from that, honey. So just play it cool and mums the word."
She looked away and left the house, slamming the door behind her.
Gay was my slave for about a year. Then her family moved to another state and so I had to go looking for someone else to take the brunt of my sexual desires and needs, warped though they may have been to inflict pain and suffering on another. I was in high school, about two years ago, when I met Fran. She was short and dark-haired, big boobs and a hot little body. Just perfect. And what made it even more desirable was that Fran loved the pain. She was an authentic masochist. She's the one that my parents found out about, just a little bit, mind you. But enough to get them scared and have them send me here today.
Fran was a big one for getting her ass whipped.
She loved to have her bottom worked on until blood came to the surface of her skin. We had a whole little ritual worked out and after we began seeing each other, I would put on a complete black leather outfit and dress her in a tight leather costume that exposed the cheeks of her ass, her hairy little snatch and her nipples.
Her favorite pose was when she was tied to a chair, her ass exposed. At the time this all started with her, I purchased a long leather whip as well as a cat-of-nine-tails. I used them alternately and she would wiggle her ass and beg for more.
I used to start things off by giving her a few little swishes on her bottom. "How does it feel, Fran?" I asked.
"You're a spiteful shit-head," she replied. That was my cue to continue. Swish, the whip went down on her, harder and harder. Her ass cheeks began to turn rose-colored, pink and inviting. I could see a thin layer of curly black hair her furrow and I kept aiming for the crack between her cheeks, trying to work the end of the whip down on her pink tight bottom-hole.
My hand picked up the rhythm of the blows and I whacked her with all my energy, all my force, the weals of the lash almost drawing blood. "Getting hot, Fran?" I asked with sadistic glee, as she turned around her head and stared at me, sullen and transfixed, unable to speak.
Then I began to slash away in deadly earnest, serious and silent, so that soon little drops of bright red blood began to ooze from the cuts I had made on her bottom, the bruised welts raised up in a startling red crisscrossing pattern. Seeing her blood coming to the surface of her skin and the skin itself torn and ruptured, I got fired up even more.
By this time, Fran would usually begin to sob hysterically. But no matter how much she cried for mercy, no matter how often she would tell me that I was a miserable fucker, a heartless animal, I kept on administering the punishment.
You see, her hips would begin to move up and down as soon as the blood came. It was the starting point for her sexual excitement and she was no longer in control of herself. I knew that the more I abused her, the more aroused she would get until the final insane moment would arrive and I would take her. But first, I kept on flogging her with the whip, the leather edge dulled with her blood as it cut into her plump round bod kept up a rigorous stroking tempo all the time and made a most beautiful display of my handicraft on her raw buttocks, the blood and welts forming a delightful pattern that turned the pain into something that was almost artistic, so filled with torture and suffering that my cock got hard in my tight leather pants, making a prominent bulge which, when she turned around to look at me with her great calf eyes, excited her sexual energies even more.
She began to shriek with agony, begging me to stop. "It's enough, master," she said in a high-pitched hysterical voice. "I can't take any more. I'll do anything for you, just so long as you stop whipping me."
"You can scream all you want, my dear, but I'm not yet finished with you," I replied, as she writhed and twisted in the most tortured and agonizing way before my delighted eyes.
I began to change my tempo, giving her several quick slashing undercuts between her thighs, the whip licking the underside of her legs, inching up to her exposed and dripping pussy. She was sobbing and moaning before me, her bottom jumping up and down as she was held in place, the leather ties holding her against the chair so that she was unable to move.
I enjoyed watching her humiliation and degradation and my well-aimed deliberate slashing strokes on the exposed surface of her ass fired me up and I began to pant, seeking sexual release. Dropping the whip, I moved over to her and stuck my fingers right between her raw and bleeding ass cheeks. The skin, besides being bloodied with the cuts I had given her, was wonderfully hot, as if all the blood in her body was centered now in her ass.
I fingered the round globes roughly, pinching her bruised skin, ripping little shreds of skin from the edges of her welts as she kept on crying, sobbing for mercy.
"Soon, Fran. I'll give you what you like, honey, right between your sweet little legs," I promised. Mind you, I never hated Fran. I loved her in my own way, knowing that punishing and abusing her was the only means for me to get off, to get turned on, to get sexually and physically aroused and stimulated for fucking.
Unbuttoning my trousers, I drew them down to my ankles as my thick long cock popped right out. I didn't even force her to suck me off, as my brother had been so fond of doing. Rather, I just moved behind her as she presented her defenseless ass to my stiff rammer.
"Ready?" I asked, letting her know that the grand finale of the day's pleasures was fast approaching.
She dropped her head down, resting it on one of her outstretched and bound arms. I rubbed the head of my swollen tool over her ass, coating it lightly with a slick slimy layer of blood. When it was red and lubricated, I pulled apart the cheeks of her ass and exposed her pink hole, covered with little ringlets of jet-black hair, waiting for me to get right inside.
And then I just shoved my cock all the way inside her ass, holding her around the waist, my other hand coming around to finger-tuck her pussy as I wiggled my cock in and out, side to side, my balls smacking against her and the sensation driving me insane with passion.
"Oh, it's too much. You have the biggest cock in the world! I can't take it; I'm on fire!" she cried, pushing her wounded and battered ass up, meeting each one of my quick merciless plunging strokes.
We worked together, horse and rider as I felt my gism readying itself for the final release. Swiftly, my finger darted in and out of her box, squeezing her thick little clitoris, already hot and firm, erect and quite excited.
Fran was an ideal sexual partner, an ideal sadomasochistic mate. She loved every minute of her punishment and when I came in her ass, her whole body was convulsed with the joy of her experience. Her own climax followed almost immediately, almost simultaneously, so that she shivered and moaned, trembled as well, as my fingers probed the folds of her luscious hot cunt, waiting to feel her juices flowing down and dripping through my fingers.
Well, there you have it.
My parents caught me doing this one day and my mother nearly had a heart attack. They think I'm insane and they won't even listen to me. Now, they want me to go see a shrink like you and get cured. As if it can be done one-two-three like a miracle.
Personally, I really don't give a shit. I enjoy what I do and so does Fran. And when she gets tired of it, there'll always be another willing little sickie chick around, just hot for my big rod and hungry for the delights of pain and suffering.
CONCLUSION:
Robert G.'s vivid recollections shocked me for their very guiltless manner in which he described his sexual and sadistic excesses. His sadistic temperament seemed well-defined and I wondered if I would ever be able to make him change his ways, hoping to show him the true nature of his diseased behavior patterns.
Fortunately, Rob kept on seeing me for the next several months after that initial and shocking session. It was ascertained that the basis of his sadistic urges went much deeper than a mere transference with the behavior patterns set by his older brother.
Rob's need to inflict pain on others was a form of mental masochism. Whenever he hurt or abused another person, he hurt himself as well. Although not physically released, his masochistic tendencies were purely mental and he would suffer even more than his victim, feeling tremendous-albeit repressed-guilt pangs.
Rob is still under my care and he is making slow but steady progress. I have tried to help him come to grips with his own self-image, showing him that he is not the monster he feels he really is. And I have great faith in his eventual cure, knowing that at long last he is trying to find his own inner self.
CASE NUMBER FIVE
Liz T. a twenty-five-year-old white unmarried female, currently employed as a personal secretary to a wealthy stockbroker, came to see me after an unsuccessful attempt at taking her own life.
Miss T. was considerably distraught and spoke in quick, clipped sentences, talking at a most rapid rate. "I'm a monster! Sick! Diseased! I don't deserve to live anymore. I want to die. Help me, doctor. Somebody has to do something for me."
"What's the problem, Miss T.? " I asked, noting the flush of excitement which had risen in her cheeks, the waving fluttering hands that displayed her nervousness and extreme state of anxiety. There were fresh white bandages around both of her wrists and I had no doubt that my patient had tried to kill herself by slashing her wrists.
"I'm a sadist," she said in a great burst of energy. "My boss makes me whip him and I enjoy doing it to him. I love to see him writhe and beg for mercy and I whip him harder than ever. There's no stopping me once I get started," she explained, chain-smoking and stubbing out half-finished cigarettes into my large glass ashtray.
"Have you always felt these . . . how shall I say? Sadistic urges?" I asked, already taking notes on a legal sized pad of lined yellow paper, prelude to more intensive work with the patient.
"No, not really. I've never had the sweetest disposition, but I can't honestly say I've ever tortured anyone. Once, however, when I was a kid, I drowned a cat, held him under water and choked him until he died, but that was the exception, really."
Considerably intrigued, I explained my interviewing procedure and readied my tape recording for this, the first transcript of our initial session together.
Miss T., a highly attractive young woman who looked more like a high-paid fashion model than a secretary and touch-typist, was not at all hesitant to bare her innermost secrets, revealing in the narrative which follows, a rare gift for verbal expression and a keen and penetrating mind.
It all started less than six months ago, when I took a job with Klein and Seiner, a stock brokerage down on Wall Street. I had been hired as the personal secretary to Mr. Seiner, but after a few days we were on a first-name basis. I was Liz and he was Mark, very familiar.
Mark Seiner is this really groovy-looking guy, about thirty-six or thereabouts, quite tall and unbelievably handsome. He looks like a motion picture version of what a successful businessman should look like, and I was really turned on to him from the very first day.
Aside from being his personal secretary, I became his traveling companion as well. Mr. Seiner, Mark that is, is divorced and, well.. . you know how men are. I didn't object, really I didn't. Not at first, that is.
You see, I liked Mark as a person as much as I enjoyed going to bed with him. He was wonderfully kind and gentle with me, which was rather novel considering most of the men I've slept with have all been pigs, animals of one kind or another who only wanted to get between my legs, have their fun and roll right off.
Mark wanted to give me more than that and he became, in an amazingly short period of time, a terrifically experienced and gentle lover. I'll have to admit that early in our relationship, I missed the old rough tumble I'd gotten used to, but Mark made up for that with technique.
He's an oral freak and he knows how to use his tongue for the most remarkable sex games. For the first month or so it was perfect, but then one week we went to Florida for a convention and one night, up in our hotel suite, things changed incredibly.
"Do you love me?" he asked as we lay in bed together, having just finished a round of fucking.
"I think so," I replied, surprised to hear him sound so serious.
"Good, because if you love me, then you'll want to please me and I have some favors to ask, honey," he went on, still in this great low-keyed and earnest tone of voice.
I thought he might mean wanting to take my bottom, something which he had never tried. But it wasn't that at all.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked, wide-eyed, expecting the worst.
He fumbled for words, finally admitting, "I like to get punished, Liz. It's a little quirk of mine, has been ever since my dad used to beat me with a strap when I was a boy. It really turns me on incredibly and I think our love-making will really improve if you can help me out."
Shit, I'd heard of freaks before, but this was too much. I remembered, once a few years before how I had met this guy and we had started sleeping together. Well, one night he asked me to piss right in his face. That was the last time I saw him. So you can imagine my shock and surprise when Mark told me that he liked to get whipped. I was quite reluctant to do it, but he went to his suitcase and brought out a short leather whip. It had a thick handle and a lash about two feet long.
"It's very simple," he explained, brandishing the whip in his hand and staring at me intently with narrowed eyes. "All you have to do is flog me, flog my bottom, that is, until I tell you to stop. I like it, Liz. So why don't you try it? Just this once. If you don't enjoy doing it to me, I'll just forget about it."
But implied in his tone of voice was that he'd just forget about me, as well. The set-up was too good to lose and I had visions of standing on line for employment insurance and hunting around for another job that wouldn't give me half the benefits-in bed and out-that working for Mark Seiner was giving me.
So, he knelt down at the edge of the bed, tucking his head in his hands, presenting his broad naked ass to my startled gaze. We were both stark naked, having just finished fucking and his hairy ass quivered as he positioned himself for the first series of blows.
I took the whip in my hand and closing my eyes, struck him right across the ass. He didn't cry out, but the lash had left a long stinging red welt across his cheeks. I took aim again and brought my hand down, the leather thong smacking loudly as it struck his flesh. I kept on doing this, showering his bottom with a constant barrage of blows as his skin began to redden and his ass started to move up and down, quivering and trembling, his face hidden in his hands.
"Oh, it's so good. It hurts so much, feels so good," he mumbled, his bottom thrusting up in anticipation of each feverish blow. I began to enjoy my work, finding it a great release of tension and a means of getting rid of my hostility. The hostility had never been directed at Mark, mind you.
It was this sort of floating non-directed kind of feeling inside of me, a negative attitude to the world itself. Now, hitting my boss across his ass, savoring the feel of the whip crashing down on his defenseless and bruised skin, I felt uplifted, my mood lightened, and it began to get pleasurable.
I renewed my attack with gusto, slashing again and again and aiming the end of the whip between his ass cheeks as if to kiss with a sting his still hidden asshole. He never said a word, just kept humping his bottom up and down. I wondered if he was really getting off on it all and I said in a cold and imperious voice, "Turn over, you little faggot. Let me see what you're hiding."
I don't know where that voice came from, really I don't.
It just welled up inside me and flew right out from between my lips, almost as if it belonged to someone else, another person. At the time, I still didn't know that Mark loved hearing me say this to him, loved being ordered, and listening to and heeding my commands.
He turned over and his cock was fully erect.
"It's good for you, you little asshole." I went on, lifting my foot and kicking him on the side, forcing him to turn over again on his belly as I resumed flogging his raw and reddened bottom. I wanted to draw blood. I wanted to hear him cry out for mercy. I was feeling a growing heat between my legs and looking down, I saw that my clitoris-without once being touched or stimulated manually or orally-had grown and swelled with blood, sticking out from between the folds of my cunt. A few droplets of his come dripped down my legs, the same come that less than an hour before he had filled me with in a much more conventional and natural manner.
I kept up my work, the blows falling with great precision and dexterity, each one leaving a long crimson gash on his skin as, at last, droplets of blood began to form along the tracks I had left in his flesh, tracks that were soon raw and bleeding welts.
"Enough!" he cried out. "I'm going to come . . . now . . . stop it, for shit's sake," he begged.
I never heard him.
I was too involved in my work and I beat a sharp tattoo of pain onto his raw bleeding bottom, blow after blow administered with a deathless cold blooded expertise. I was fast enjoying my new role as torturess and almost involuntarily, the fingers on my free hand, the hand that was not holding the whip, crept down over my rounded belly and massaged the plump mound of my cunt.
I kept on hitting Mark as I began to finger myself. It was too delightful to describe. I had never felt such ecstasy before, such pure sheer delight. In and out went my finger in time to the whip. I plunged my finger in as the whip hit his bottom, pulling it out as I lifted my hand, readying for another shattering bloodying stroke.
"Stop it, leave off!" he cried out, trying to get up from the bed.
My foot shot out and kicked him down again. I wasn't about to let him leave my clutches. He had wanted the pain and now, I was having too much of a good time to let him off so easily. But despite his masochistic tastes, he was too fired up and physically aroused to let me keep on hitting him. Rather than coming on the sheets, he darted to one side as the whip lashed out, striking the bedding.
He tackled me around my feet and threw me down on the floor, jumping right on top of me, his massive prong hunting for the opening between my cunt lips. I kept beating him around the chest and shoulders as tears streamed down his cheeks, but he was too excited to stop what he was about to do.
Quickly, plunging in to the very root, I was impaled on his thick burning shaft. My legs clamped around him and the heel of my foot grazed across the ruined marks on his ass. I tried to scrape his buck with my fingernails as he pumped his rod in and out of my honey-pot, plunging, darting, weaving from side to side so that every inch of my inflamed pussy felt the force of his cock, thrilling me to the very quick, "Now, baby," he panted, rising and falling against me, his hairy belly banging into mine, our pubic hair meshing together as he got ready to shoot his load deep inside my pulsating snatch.
"I want it," I told him, recovering some of my more normal senses, attributes, for the first time. The desire to hurt him left me as soon as I felt my cunt juices flowing, felt the power of my orgasm taking hold. I went stiff in his arms and screamed out that I was coming.
He renewed his attacks on my cunt so that we came together. I felt his thick hot cream jetting out of the head of his engorged rammer just as my own climax began, so that we rolled together as one on the floor, arms and legs entwined, mindless, a single organism and a single blinding mind-blowing orgasm.
That was how it all began.
In the weeks that followed, things got even hairier, as they say. Mark was so turned on to punishment that he wanted me to beat him two and even three times a day. Sometimes I agreed to; other times I refused, torturing him just by my unwillingness to excite him physically, to make his flesh tingle with pleasure and pain, to give him the punishment and abuse he so desperately craved, so desperately needed.
He hungered after suffering as other men hunger after a piece of ass. I needed to need him as much as he needed me. Warming his ass began to warm my own blood in turn and as he got more excited, I got excited as well. It became a kind of symbiotic relationship. I fed off his need for abuse and he fed off my willingness to inflict pain.
One afternoon he took me back to his apartment here in the city. He undressed quickly and got into position, his buttocks sticking out as he rested his head and hands on an easy chair. But I was one up on him and finding a stout piece of rope, I had his hands bound into place around the chair in just a minute so that even if he wanted to escape, wanted to put an end to my whipping, he would be powerless to do so.
"Now, we'll see if you can really take it," I told him, finding his collection of leather whips and selecting an especially evil-looking one with tiny barbs of metal stuck in at the end, the tips exposed just enough to catch on the skin and rip open his flesh.
"This is going too far, Liz. You're a sadist!" he yelled at me, trying to break loose.
But the knots were tied too tightly and he was powerless to escape. "Of course I'm a sadist, Mark. And you love it. You need me even more than I need you. You need me to make you suffer, to bring you down to an animal level, to remind you how exciting it was for you whenever your father used to beat you."
You see, I suspected that Mark's taste for the bizarre, his desire to be punished, stemmed from his childhood experiences. He had told me at great length about his boyhood years and how he had suffered from his cruel and merciless father. The man relished making a fool out of his son, enjoying even more giving him a good hard beating with a leather strap. Once, Mark said that his father had spanked him so hard that he could not sit down for several days and had to eat standing up in the kitchen, his mother unable to prevent her husband from punishing her son.
I knew that getting whipped gave him an almost immediate erection and on several occasions he had come with just two or three blows. But now, I was determined to tantalize him, to make him ache all over but to keep him from coming. I wanted to use his body as I had never used it, or any other body for that matter, before.
I wanted to play it as one plays a musical instrument, tuning him up for the final moment of supreme pain. The whip I had chosen lay in my hand and I balanced it in my palm, getting the feel of the thick dark leather handle. I stripped down to just my panties so that my breasts hung free and unrestrained. Then, I raised the lash with its mean barbed edges and brought it down over his already scarred bottom.
"You'll kill me!" he yelled out. "What in the name of all that's holy have you put on it? Something's eating into my flesh," he cried out.
"It's just one of the ones from your collection. I chose it quite carefully. It's from South America and it has little barbs at the end. Don't you like it, you puking piece of crap, you little toad?" I barked out, my hand flashing down and the leather singing its own mournful swishing note of misery.
He screamed and a bright red trickle of blood appeared on his bottom. Mark began to shriek with every blow, begging me to stop, saying that he couldn't take so much pain. But I knew better. I knew he was getting tremendously excited. Nevertheless, I agreed to change whips, knowing that the barbs would make him faint.
I wanted him to be conscious all through this rite of punishment and so I used the same whip I had first employed that day in Florida. It handled well and I knew how to use it. But he still struggled against each stinging blow. The very sight of his suffering seemed to fill me with delight and it gave strength and added power to my arm.
Instead of getting tired, I was getting excited and filled with hot unabashed lust. My loins tingled at the sight of his swaying battered bottom and I wanted to get the whip right inside him, stinging his insides as well as the skin on his ass.
The sight of his blood was delicious to look at and I gradually increased the force of my blows, feeling a thrilling heat burning in my groin, a luscious excitement centering by my crotch. I was beside myself with rage, especially now that I had no fears that Mark could stop me. He plunged around on the chair, but it was too heavy for him to knock over. His moans were filled with agony and his sobs of pain filled me with a joyous longing for release, physical as well as emotional fulfillment.
I stopped to catch my breath, admiring my handiwork. From the small of his back, all across his ass and halfway down the undersides and backs of his thighs lay a mass of scars and red weals, an indelible pattern of brutality, witness to all the blows I had administered since that first time in the hotel suite in Florida.
It pleased me greatly to see him suffering and by stopping for a few minutes, I decreased the chances that he would come by rubbing his thick stiff cock against the cushion of the chair which he now lay across. Then, I started in again, really fired up by the sight of his raw bleeding bottom. The old scars of the lash thrilled me to the quick and so I lifted my hand and flashed the whip over my head, cutting into his bottom and leaving a trail of blood.
"You're a maniac. A sick freak!" he yelled out, his head turning towards me with his hair in his eyes. His expression was one of horror and madness and he knew how authentic our little games of pain had become.
That, in itself, was fine with me. For you see, it was no longer a game. I wanted his cock, but I wanted it only after I had appeased my own insatiable sadistic appetites. I longed to make him cry out for mercy, longed to see his round bleeding ass flinching under the force of each fresh stroke, each cutting stinging ripping mark of the lash.
And so I kept on flogging him as the welts rose red and disgusting to look at and Mark bellowed and roared with pain, wincing at each fresh assault on his tender and bruised bottom. The blood stood out in long dark streaks and in bright fresh droplets, old blood and new blood, blood that made my flesh tingle with pleasure, my loins ache for release.
Not yet, I thought to myself. Soon, but not yet.
Mark clenched his ass cheeks together as I kept on aiming for the dark hairy furrow where his brown asshole waited for my burning touch. At each touch of the lash, his bottom moved in and out, almost as if his asshole was opening and closing. I couldn't see it and decided to wait a little longer before pulling his cheeks apart and exposing his brown eye to my steely gaze.
Each mark of the whip left a furrow that soon enough filled with blood, blood that turned muddy-brown as it dried, his entire body suffused with a ruddy color that showed me how much he truly enjoyed the power I raised in my hand and raised on the surface of his exposed and smarting skin.
Just under the hollow of his back I aimed, so that the whip caught him there, was drawn back and flung again, this time lashing like the tail of a snake around his flanks and hirsute thighs, new areas to be taught the lesson of the lash.
Mark shrank back, quivering with pain, as I tried to find new parts of his flesh to tantalize with the stroke of pain and madness. Then, feeling that the moment was right and knowing that I myself could no longer wait for physical relief or release, I dropped the whip on the carpet and moved over to the mass of raw and reddened flesh that was his bottom.
Roughly, I pulled apart the cheeks of his ass, exposing his brown asshole, covered with thick dark hair. It was scar-less, untouched by the lash, for he had kept clenching his buttocks together so that the tip of the whip, the tip that stung like a brand of fire, could not touch his most sensitive parts.
I was ready to change that.
Opening up his ass as he struggled against my assault, I stuck in my finger and with my long fingernail, raked the skin across his asshole. That must have done it for him for all of a sudden he collapsed on the chair, unable to move, unable to say a word. I pulled his hairy ass cheeks further apart and pushed in my ringer, the sharp nail splitting the skin around his anus as it bore inside his bottom.
His silence unnerved me, but I was too engrossed in my work to stop. My finger was quickly sheathed and inside his ass. I raked my nail along the walls of his rectum, bringing him back to consciousness as the most excruciating pain ripped through his body, making him finally beg for mercy, anything, so long as I stopped torturing him.
"Do you want me to stop?" I asked.
"Please, Liz. Enough is enough. I can't take any more. I'm burning all over and now inside. It's too much. I'll never be of any use to you if you kill me, if you hurt me so badly that I won't recover. Enough. Please, I beg of you!" he implored in a rising voice of agony and despair.
I released the bonds that kept his hands immobile around the chair. Although they were still tied together, I lowered him to the floor and he sank down with a small whimpering scream as his bloodied ass felt the carpet scratching against it and making it hurt even more.
But, to no surprise, his cock was hard, a pillar of flesh rising up along his belly, the head of his organ huge and swelling, filled with blood, longing to be put into its proper place. I had that place and so I straddled him and directed the head of his tool up against my quivering well-saturated cunt lips. I had removed my panties just minutes before and now, I was getting exactly what I had hoped for, exactly what I had planned.
Feeling his hot shaft slipping easily into place, I stared at my boss and said, "Is it good, now, my little shit? Do you like to have your cock put to good use? Isn't it better than misbehaving and dirtying the chair with your come? Isn't it?"
He nodded dumbly, arching his hips up slightly so that I looked down between my legs and saw all of his shaft disappearing out of sight, slipping up inside my cunt, his hairy bush merging with my own lighter pubic fleece.
Riding him this way, I jiggled my bottom up and down, banging against his thighs as his pole slipped in and out of my feverish and highly excited snatch. I had waited so long for this moment and now I wanted it to last.
Mark has a wonderfully large thick cock and when he's in the mood, he really knows how to use it. It felt so nice and warm, rubbing up against my cunt walls, my clitoris exposed as I pulled the lips of my cunt apart and began to finger my clit with my hands, riding him like a horse, in and out, up and down on top of his bruised and prostrate body.
He must have been exhausted, but he still had enough energy for a good absorbing fuck. The pain that shot through his body mingled with the growing physical excitement so that, pretty soon I imagined, he must have been half-mad with desire. He needed the pain, as I have explained, but he needed to come almost as fiercely.
There was a wonderful desperate quality to the way we had sex. I played the man's role, ordering him to open his legs, to spread them wide, to move his cock into place. He was like a little boy being told what to do by an angry school mistress, blushing before my stony glare, behaving himself and working at his task, his lessons.
The lesson for the day was fucking and he worked hard at it, lifting his hips up again and again so that the friction inside my pussy made my head swim with lust and growing desire. Soon, I was losing control and I hung onto his shoulders, his face distorted in a mask of pain and erotic delight as he began to pant, hammering at a much faster rate as his orgasm approached.
I wanted to milk him, milk every drop of his come right out of his cock. So I squeezed my cunt muscles together, clamping and unclamping them much the same way he had clenched and unclenched the cheeks of his bleeding ass.
The vision of my hand flashing down, torturing him with pain, filled me with lust and I felt my juices boiling over, broiling inside of me, getting ready to explode their deluge of hot stinging pleasure as my orgasm gained force and momentum, overpowering me and making me scream out loud with lewd excitement.
"Now!" I cried out "Hold me. It's happening. Now.. . "
He couldn't move his hands since they were tied in place, but his belly banged against mine as he jutted his rod in and out as I straddled him, facing him and plunging my dripping crotch down to meet the motions of his feverish stiff rammer.
And then it happened, better than any orgasm I had ever experienced before. I was nearly thrown off balance as the feelings of divine pleasure swept through me like a gale, a hurricane of incandescent delight making me tremble and shiver as it worked its sexual magic and power on my loins.
My cunt lips opened and closed like a mouth gasping for breath and then, as Mark screamed and his load shot up inside my pussy like a geyser exploding hot bubbling water, I shivered and felt it all happening, making me senseless with delight as my climax knocked the breath out of me and I fell down on his chest, my breasts rubbing against his hairy torso, my taut erect nipples grinding down on top of his body.
I clung to him for several minutes, as the feelings of my climax came and then finally began to ebb slowly away. I had no energy left in my body. The work of whipping my boss and then this incredible nerve-jarring orgasm, had taken their toll. I couldn't move and I think I must have fallen asleep on top of him, because when I came to, he was dead to the world, snoring loudly and the sun had slipped behind a cloud as twilight descended on the city.
I got up, still shaky and somewhat weak from the exhausting experience with Mark. After taking a shower, I came back into the living room and he was still conked out. I untied his hands and rubbed his wrists to get back the circulation. His fingers were white and numb and it frightened me a little to see them, lying lifeless by his sides.
Then I turned him over as he began to mutter in his sleep. I cleaned up his wounds and the iodine and alcohol burned him so that he awoke coughing, tears streaming down his eyes.
"You all right?" I asked, applying gauze to the pattern of welts on his bloodied ass.
He nodded his head, letting me finish my work. "I'll survive. Shit, but that was the most incredible orgasm of my life, Liz," he went on a few minutes later.
I smiled at him, my role of mistress of pain temporarily put in abeyance. I knew inside of me that I had felt the same way, that the explosions of supreme pleasure which had ripped through my system would never be duplicated again. Not that it made me sad to know that I had reached the very heights of ecstasy. But it was a little frightening realizing that it had been caused by my sadistic role. For Mark, I was still play-acting.
But inside of myself, I knew that it hadn't been a game.
It had been real, as real as life itself, as real as the blood which now seeped through the gauze, red and trickling still, still making him smart with pain as he got up to go into the bathroom and shower.
In the office, the next day, I sat on his lap, playing the role of docile secretary as he dictated to me and put his hands under my skirt. I was hoping to react a little more sanely, but unfortunately, that was not to be the case.
"Who do you think you are?" I demanded, getting off his lap as soon as his fingers made contact with my cunt. 'He had pried under my panties, tickling the lips of my snatch.
"Mark," he said, grinning.
"Mark, shit! You're nothing but a little faggot who needs to be disciplined," I replied, stepping back and searching for something, some weapon to use on his body and make him cry out with pain.
There was nothing but a clothes hanger on the hat stand in the corner of his office. I took his overcoat down and threw it on the floor, brandishing the wooden coat hanger in my hand and advancing steadily upon him.
"I wouldn't get too loud," I warned. "People might think something's happening and you wouldn't want them to think you're a freak now, would you?" I laughed viciously, my lips drawn back like a cat about to spit.
And then I swung the hanger down on his arm, connecting with his open palm. It smacked loud and hard and he drew back his hand with sudden fright, looking at me with eyes that were imploring, eyes that begged me to stop.
"You like it, Mark. You get off on pain. You've told me so yourself. So what's the sudden hassle, baby?" I asked, taking aim again and smacking him across the hand so that the wood jolted his bones and I thought I heard something cracking in his fingers or his wrist.
At that moment, I lost all control.
I wanted to kill him, wanted to destroy him for making me this monster. My sadism frightened me, but I needed to give him pain and then, at that instant, I blamed everything on my boss. I blamed him for teaching me the ways of torture and I blamed him for destroying what was good in me, for hardening my heart and making me a cold-blooded insane killer.
And that's why I've come to see you. I have no control over my sadistic urges. I react instinctively, yearning to inflict pain and suffering, knowing that at this point in my life, it's the only way I can get physically aroused. And as for my boss, he doesn't even know.
He needs me so badly that he comes begging to get whipped. It's too much already. I want to get away, but first I have to be able to know why I do what I do and I have to convince myself that if I stop being a sadist, I'll still be able to enjoy sex.
CONCLUSION
Miss T.'s revelations left me deeply disturbed. Hers was the classic story of a person with latent sadistic tendencies finding a ready and willing person who urged her to express them. If her boss had not asked her to administer pain, if he had not been a masochist who needed to suffer in order to achieve climax, in all probability Miss T.'s latent and suppressed sadistic urges would never have been brought to light, brought to the surface of her personality.
The first thing I suggested was that she leave the firm of Klein & Seiner to seek employment elsewhere. By removing the cause of her problem, I was now able to work with the patient to achieve some kind of solution.
At her new job, Miss T. was not asked to be a sadist and she gradually stopped thinking that she needed to make a man suffer in order to achieve an orgasm. Suppressing her sadistic side was not the answer to her problem, however.
Miss T. is still in therapy and though she has refrained from sadistic acts, she has still not been able to have an orgasm with the men she has since gone to bed with. But she is willing to work harder at her analysis and I have the strongest hope that in the near future I will be able to unlock the secret door that leads inside her mind, discovering the true nature of her neurosis and thus, start to cure her once and for all.
With Miss T.'s own help and willingness we will be able to work more directly with the problem and clear up the symptoms of her sickness. In cases such as these Miss T. must be able to be patient in her fight. She must understand that her greatest medicine is herself and time.
CASE NUMBER SIX
Mitch J., a thirty-eight-year-old white unmarried male, came to see me after his sister threatened to have him committed to a state institution for the criminally insane.
Mr. J. was a man of about average height, quite soft-spoken and inclined to be exceedingly docile in his manner. He was dressed conservatively and appeared quite nervous at meeting me.
He explained that he had come seeking psychiatric help because his sister told him that she would have him put away unless he did something to curb-and stop entirely-his tendencies.
"What are your tendencies?" I asked Mr. J., stressing the last word as I watched him fidgeting in his seat across from me.
"I like, how shall I say I take delight in receiving punishment. In all probability, I would never have come to see you had my sister not caught me."
"Caught you doing what?" I asked, trying to draw Mr. J. out ol his apparent shell of fear and mental shock and anguish.
"I was being whipped by her children, my niece and nephew," he said hurriedly, turning away and starting to whimper with grief.
Mr. J. was obviously a masochist, but I was curious to know if his desires for pain and suffering were coupled with an incestuous sexual relationship with the two youngsters. I asked him this and it brought on a fresh torrent of tears so that he became nearly hysterical.
"Yes! Yes!" he cried out, raising his voice and throwing his hands in the air. "That too. Oh, I'm so ashamed of myself. Maybe I should go to the funny farm. Maybe I'm too sick to be helped. Oh, Doctor. Do something for me," he pleaded in an agonizing voice. "I can't go on like this. I need help. I'm going crazy inside."
I managed to calm the patient down before continuing our introductory session. After explaining my interviewing procedure, I set up my tape recorder and explained how to use the microphone. Mr. J. seemed unwilling to speak into the instrument, but I finally convinced him that his disclosures would be kept strictly confidential and would, in no way, be revealed to anyone, his sister in particular.
Although rather doubtful and hesitant, he began his narrative. The following then, is the typescript of Mr. J.'s first session with me. If anything, it is marked by an agonizing need for self-abuse and personal castigation. Mr. J. repeatedly deprecated his own self-image and his masochistic drives became ever more horrifying as he went on.
I've never married and for the last ten years, I've been a boarder in my sister's home. She's a widow for as many years as I've stayed there and the original reason I gave up my own apartment was that she felt less afraid having a man around the house.
Also, she wanted a man to be a father image to her children. She has a boy and a girl, my nephew and niece. They're fraternal twins, both the same age, and I'm quite fond of them. But things have changed in our relationship, especially in the last year.
They're both fifteen-and-a-half now, already in high school. Joey is tall for his age, with dark hair and keen penetrating good looks. His sister Lily is really quite beautiful, with the same raven-black hair and high cheek bones like her brother. Really striking looking youngsters, if you can get the picture in your mind.
I must admit that I'm the cause of all of this, although the kids themselves enjoyed every single moment we spent together. If my sister hadn't caught us at our games, we'd still be enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, however sinful they may have been. But now that she's put a quick end to that and I'm no longer living in her home, I guess I can go into detail about what happened.
About ten months ago or so, I found myself getting increasingly turned on by Lily. She had a habit of walking around the house in just a slip, wearing nothing underneath. I noticed how her breasts had filled out and swelled and there was a dark triangle sometimes visible between her legs when she walked.
I had gone without a woman for quite some time, not being able to find anyone with whom I could form some sort of lasting relationship. I hated to go to prostitutes and had resorted to masturbation as a means of alleviating my sexual needs. But the more I looked at Lily, the more I hungered after her.
One evening, my sister went to a club meeting and I was alone in the house with the kids. Joey was upstairs studying and Lily and I were watching television. She was wearing a bathrobe and her hair was still damp as she had just come out of the shower.
"Come sit on my lap, sweetheart, and give your old uncle a kiss," I told her with a laugh, half expecting her to stick her nose up in the air and look down at me as if I was a fool.
But she didn't. She came right over and sat down on my lap, putting her hands around my shoulders and snuggling up close to me. "Do you really love me, Uncle Mitch?" she asked in a little girl's voice, hugging me close to her so that I smelted the clean freshness of her skin against my cheek.
She wiggled her bottom down on my lap and pretty soon, despite my better intentions, I became quite excited. I had a hard-on and I was certain that she would be able to feel it against her bottom. But Lily said nothing, just held onto me as we watched television.
Presently, she moved over on the sofa and her hand fell on my erection which was struggling to get out of my pants. I was burning with embarrassment, but Lily just kept her fingers there, her eyes glued to the set.
Her hand began to move up and down, as if she was trying to ascertain how big my penis was. Her touch inflamed me and I thought I would come in just a second.
"It's a pretty big one," she said at last, looking at me dreamily with half-closed eyes.
I could no longer resist and so I pressed my mouth against her lips as her tongue shot right out and went on inside, exploring my lips and teeth and curling over my own tongue in the process. We kissed like this for some time, tonguing in the most delicious manner, while Lily kept playing with my rod, endeavoring to open my zipper and stick her eager little hand inside. She pulled out my cock and gasped.
"Why, it's almost as big as Joey's!"
I was quite shocked, needless to say. "Why, have you been playing dirty games with your brother?" I asked her, sternly.
"Didn't you know, Mitch? Of course we are.
Have been ever since hair started to grow down there. It's great fun, but you must promise to keep it a secret. If Mom finds out, she's sure to kill both of us!"
Naturally, I was amazed that such incestuous sexual activities had been going on right under my nose. I felt like a naive old fool, thinking that I could cop a few feels from my niece, not even knowing that she wanted to get her hands on my cock.
But I was fired up by her lewdness and let her handle my penis until it filled with blood, ready to burst it was so hard. She undid her robe and climbed on top of me and I had a chance to see her sweet dark-haired pussy with its salmon-colored gash just before she sat down on top of my pecker, bouncing up and down and riding my staff.
It was unbelievable.
I lay back with my eyes shut, savoring the delicious warmth of her vaginal sheath, relishing the hot cunt folds that slid around my engorged member. The friction was building up and I knew I was going to come in just a very short while.
"Slow down," I urged, trying to hold back.
But Lily was fired up and she kept on going, her ass banging down again and again as she swallowed my rod, then lifted herself and let it show between the forest of hair between our legs, thick and coated with her moist cunt juices. I wanted her, every part of her and my hands reached out and played with her breasts, cupping them in each hand.
Her nipples were swollen with excitement, hard and taut, standing out from the aureole of dark pink skin which surrounded them. I stroked them with my fingers, watched the lips of her pussy opening and closing and dropped a hand down to her groin, pulling the cunt folds apart and displaying the most amazing little clitoris I had ever seen.
It was as long as my thumb and quite thick, distended with blood, firm and erect as a baby's penis. I squeezed it gently and the most exciting tremors passed through her body. Beads of sweat collected on her forehead as her excitement mounted. It thrilled me to know that she was so turned on and having such a good time fucking me.
I arched my hips up to meet her hairy pubis, laying to get every last inch of my hot slick shaft inside her honey pot. She wanted it, too. She moaned and tossed back her long gleaming hair, bending behind so that the ends of her hair tickled my legs as she kept on riding me and I continued pumping upwards, meeting each of her downward plunges, the two of us caught in a rhythm that was nearing its final climax.
I played with the crisp shining hairs of her mound and hungered to get my lips around her fabulous clitoris, just to feel it swelling under my tonguing touch. But there was no time for that now as my orgasm approached.
"Now, sweetheart," I said in a barely audible whisper, grasping her around the shoulders. "Oh now, now. I'm going to come. Help me. . . now," and I exploded my thick hot love juice right up into her pulsating snatch.
My cream jetted out and she held onto me, pumping fiercely, her bottom rising up and down with rapid even strokes until she too, began to shiver, holding me even tighter.
"Oh, it's so good, Mitch. So big. So hot. I'm going to . . . now, oh shit, fuck me. Fuck me!" she begged in a high-pitched voice, crashing down on my cock, her thighs dripping with a gush of cunt juice as her orgasm took hold of her and made her wince with the throes of extreme passion and uncontrollable lust.
But just as we finished, lying together exhausted and covered with sweat, I heard footsteps in the hall and Joey strode into the room, standing over us with his hands on his hips.
"A fine sight!" he yelled, looking down at us, his sister panting and trying to recover her breath, not at all frightened that her brother had caught her fucking me.
"He's terrific!" she exclaimed, giving me a quick hot embrace.
I was too embarrassed to move and tried to avoid my nephew's piercing glare, his unbroken stare of hostility. I didn't want him to think that I had stolen his lover-his sister-away from him.
"So uncle Mitch proves his colors," he snorted. "A dirty old man, trying to get into my sister's panties. You're disgusting," he railed, coming closer now. He unbuckled his belt and I winced. I thought he was going to lower his pants and force me to do something I knew would make me gag with disgust, but instead of making me.. . suck his cock, he pulled off the belt and told Lily to put on her robe and move aside.
"Don't hurt him, Joey," she pleaded. "It's all my fault. I did it. I seduced him. Mitch's innocent. Please!"
"Get out of the way," he warned and he lifted the belt up as I tried to turn away. But a crashing resounding blow hit me across the side of my chest, sending me falling to the floor in a tumbled heap of arms and legs. My skin burned and looking down, I saw a bright-red welt forming where the leather belt had stung my flesh.
"That's for starters, you old cocksucker!" he yelled, his foot moving out and kicking me over on my stomach. My bottom was exposed and that was what he really wanted. I was stretched out flat on the floor and my nephew took aim and brought the belt sailing down, smacking me hard and knocking the breath out of me.
My skin felt raw, ripped, and a tortuous pain rippled through my body. He brought the rough edge of the belt down across my buttocks, stinging me fiercely. I couldn't escape him and the blows rained down on my raw and bleeding bottom.
But then, the weirdest sensations swept through my body, making my head ring with the shock. As my nephew kept on hitting me, whipping me and turning my ass red and blistery, I began to get sexually aroused. Little by little I felt my cock and balls tingling with growing excitement. My rod began to grow long and hard and with each fresh volley of blows, my penis grew longer and longer until it stood straight up against my belly.
"I bet you love it," Joey said, reading my mind. He laid in the blows, the stinging bites and cuts of the leather belt, whipping me until I could take no more and my ass felt as if it was on fire.
"You're hurting him, stop it!" Lily cried out, running over to her brother and trying to get the belt out of his hand.
"Fuck off, Sis. The old fart is eating it up. Can't you see how excited he's getting. Show us," he went on, turning to me, his foot moving out and trying to get me to turn over on my back.
I was embarrassed that he had guessed my true state of arousal but it was impossible to stop him from forcing me over on my back. I covered my rigid staff with my hands, blushing and taming my face away from his delighted sadistic gaze.
"You see!" Joey yelled out triumphantly. "He's got a huge hard-on. I knew it, Sis. The old codger loves to get his ass whipped."
They stared down at me as I lay there, breathing heavily, stroking my penis to alleviate the terrible burning and itching that seemed to rise from my groin. My passions had reached a new height and the pain of Joey's brutal beating had only inflamed my ardor even more. I wanted to soothe my wounded flesh, wanted to bathe my rod deep inside my niece's hot moist pussy.
"Go to it," Joey directed his sister.
Lily was not loathe to fuck me again and she got down alongside of me, spreading her legs wide, her pubic mound swelling up invitingly. I straddled her and sank my shaft down as she parted the folds of her delicious hot cunt and led me inside. It was unbelievably warm and she tightened her young vibrant muscles around my staff, sucking me inside her snatch, as I plunged deeper and deeper, feeling no pain.
I began to work up a steady rhythmic pumping and then, I felt the supreme indignation. No sooner had I begun to fuck my niece, when my nephew took off his clothes and got down directly behind me. I was too busy to notice him disrobing, but when I felt a peculiarly hard object trying to get into my bottom, I yelled out in a mixture of pain and surprise.
"Hold steady, Mitch," Joey said from behind me. "I'm just going to give myself a little quickie."
His idea of a little quickie was certainly quite different from mine. Lily looked over my shoulder, winked at her brother and held me down on top of her, clamping her legs around my back and arching her hips to hold me in place. Her cunt felt so wonderful, so dripping and warm, that I didn't want to leave.
"What a nice brown hairy asshole you have, Uncle," I heard Joey say. He spit into his hand and I felt his fingers exploring the furrow between my bottom cheeks. He pressed down against my hole and though I clenched my muscles together, trying to prevent him from entering and thus raping my virgin ass, he was far stronger. His youth was in command and he poked his finger down viciously, cutting the skin around my perineal region.
As I cried out with the sudden prickling pain, I relaxed my muscles and he took this opportunity to sneak his finger right on it. I felt my bottom opening and his hand moving in, feeling around inside and grazing against my prostate gland.
This fired me up even more and I decided that it was more delightful than painful and let him go on doing his thing. His thing-as kids these days like to say-consisted of inserting his cock into my asshole.
I turned my head quickly around and imagine my surprise and horror when I beheld a monster rising up from a thicket of dark-curling pubic hair. His cock was longer than mine and far thicker and made my tool look quite inferior. No wonder, I thought, Lily enjoyed getting screwed by her brother. His penis was amazing and he used it with great skill. I gasped with surprise at the sight of the deep-red swelling head of his rod, but that part soon enough was moved into place and I felt it pressing down against my asshole.
Gritting my teeth and trying to relax, thinking only of the warmth around my own penis which was still moving in and out of Lily's snatch, I nevertheless could not help but feel Joey assaulting my bottom. The head of his massive affair bore down into my ass, pushing open the folds of my bottom hole and creeping inexorably inside.
I screamed out as I felt it enter, piercing me like an arrow, sliding down into place and quickly followed by the rest of his enormous pillar of flesh and muscle.
Breathing deeply, still trying to relax, I felt my nephew's hairy belly and firm muscular loins bearing down on me, rubbing up against my wounded and bleeding ass, opening up the cuts once again so that a fresh trickle of blood poured out, matting the hairs on his groin.
He couldn't have cared less. Throwing his meaty paws over my shoulders, he hung on for leverage and thrust one-two-three, encasing himself completely, his pendulous balls swinging against my uplifted ass, battering my bottom as he began to pump, keeping the same rhythm he felt me using on his sister. We moved together, the three of us caught up in our fucking. That I was being buggered and that the pain was considerable, faded and mingled with the pleasurable sensations I was feeling as I screwed my lusty niece.
Lily knew exactly how to move her body, quite experienced in matters sexual. She was a willing and able partner and she worked her cunt muscles around my shaft, clutching my cock so that it throbbed with excitement. I felt my nuts tingling as my nephew went to town on my ass, heaving in and out without concern for my comfort.
It was not comfortable, that you can be sure of.
"Do you love it?" he asked me, biting down on my neck as I shivered with fear, thinking that I had fallen into the clutches of a veritable madman.
"You're killing me!" I replied, for it seemed as if he was bursting into my belly, impaling me and wounding me forever with his massive throbbing rammer.
"Just take it easy, Mitch. You have a sweet hot bottom and I'm having a good time. You have my sister, so I think it's a fair exchange, all facts considered," Joey went on, breathing hard and working incredibly fast, in and out, in and out, again and again until it seemed that I was being torn in two. My ass was stretched to the breaking point and I was sure the tissue inside was ripped and bleeding. It seemed as if time had stopped and there was no end in sight
Conscious of what Joey was doing and also aware of the cunt that moved around my buried cock, I tried to forget the former and attacked the latter with a fresh burst of energy, pummeling Lily's pussy again and again, trying to come as quickly as possible.
But she was hotter than I was and she cried out, "Oh now, Uncle. Do it, cream in me. Shoot your load. Now . . . I'm . . . oh shit.. . coming," she wailed, tears of agonizing joy flowing down her cheeks and her skin red with the flush of sexual excitement. Her legs twitched and her whole body was covered with a series of tremors that increased in power and intensity until, at last, she could no longer contain herself.
I felt her juices flowing around the shaft and head of my pecker and feeling this new wet warmth around the sensitive skin of my rod, I kept up my work, humping quickly, totally oblivious to what Joey was doing behind me.
And then, I exploded, shot my wad as great gobbets of thick cream spattered into her womb, my cock jerking like a fire hose, completely out of control. It was too much for me. The first orgasm had been fantastic, but this one was no match. It seemed to carry me beyond reality, as fantasy and actuality merged into one and I was caught up in a feeling of burning warmth and tingling electric shock. As my cock quieted down and began to grow limp, Joey gripped me more fiercely and told me to hold on, he was nearing the home stretch.
"Yes, Mitch. Inside of you . . . hot.. . coming.. . fuck!" he screamed at the top of his voice, whooping with sexual energy as I felt something warm bathing my ass, covering the wounded and blistered skin inside my hole. His cock trembled and jerked inside of me and he held on for what seemed forever.
At last, he quieted down and Lily, who had been the first to come, was now the first to speak, "Isn't he too much, Joey? Aren't we going to have fantastic times together?"
Her brother pulled his cock out of me and I looked behind to see his thick but limp tool covered with come, blood and small flecks of dark-brown reek, shit that was still inside of me. I thought it looked ugly and grotesque, but he didn't seem to care, getting back to his feet and smiling cryptically.
"We're not finished, Mitch. You and I have a lot of things to work out together."
The next morning was Saturday, and as soon as my sister left to go shopping, my room was invaded by Joey and Lily. They were still in the clothes they had worn to breakfast. Joey had on pajamas and a bathrobe and his sister had on a nightgown that left nothing to the imagination.
Her pert little nipples poked through the thin diaphanous cloth and I was still in bed, deciding to sleep late and recover somewhat from the adventures-or misadventures, however you would prefer to view them-of the night before.
Before I could stop them, Lily and her brother had tied my arms and legs to the bedposts and I was helpless before their delighted and maniacal eyes. "Take off his clothes," my nephew told his sister.
Lily quickly unbuttoned my pajamas and pulled them off me, leaving me without a stitch of clothing to cover my nakedness. My cock shrunk with fear, curling limply over my thigh as I watched them with fear in my eyes and a tremor of pain growing inside of my body. I didn't know what they were going to do, but I knew I couldn't stand to be tortured. At least, that's what I thought at the time, because I was yet to associate the pain with the eventual pleasure, the two of them still separate entities, not one and the same as I began to see later on.
I looked at them with horror, utterly speechless, as Joey reached inside the folds of his robe and came out with a thick length of fine leather cord. He wrapped it around his wrist so that he had a good twenty-five inches or so to work with and this trailed on the floor as he gloated at my obvious inability to help myself, my inability to move.
"Today it's time to teach you another lesson, Uncle," he said, licking his lips. Lily stood by mutely, sitting down at the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving the vicinity of my groin as if she was trying to penetrate the mysteries of myiimp and shriveled cock.
My legs were spread further apart and I was hoisted up so that the blood rushed to my head as my bottom left the bed. I was dangling like a fly caught in a spider web, totally incapable of stopping my nephew as he raised the length of leather over his head, took aim, and brought it down with a loud swish against my naked and exposed buttocks. I cried out as I felt the blow imprinting itself with a burning sting against my flesh, but he only laughed, raising his hand again, striking me quickly three or four times in succession.
"His buns are starting to get red, Lily," her brother said. "Next time he won't take such liberties with your affections."
That I was being punished for something I had not forced upon the girl angered me even more and as I started to voice my objections and declare my innocence, Joey brought down the whip with all his might. It whacked against me and he cried out that he had drawn blood. Lily took a look and clapped her hands together, quite delighted.
They were acting like fiends and the cuts they now rained down on my poor exposed bottom were cruel and merciless. "Leave me alone!" I shouted. "No more. It's too much."
But he didn't listen.
The pain was growing as each skillful and spiteful stroke hit me on the ass. He seemed to be possessed of incredible malice and it quite delighted him to have me in his power. Tears of humiliation were coursing down my cheeks as I wiggled my buttocks, trying to avoid his well-aimed blows.
"Look, Lily. What did I tell you? His cock is getting hard, just as I said it would. He really likes it. He really loves to have his ass whipped," Joey told her, drawing her attention between my legs where, despite my efforts to the contrary, my penis was now standing up straight as an arrow.
As each blow descended and my buttocks turned redder and the skin more raw and bruised, the blood flowing more freely, my sexual excitement increased in direct proportion. I had never realized this until now, but there was no denying the fact that however much the whipping hurt, I still enjoyed it, still got physically aroused.
Lily decided to move in and have some fun of her own.
She straddled me, her back facing me, her head bent over between my legs so that as the whip darted over my raw battered ass, her mouth moved down over my rigid cock. Her lips opened and I felt her sucking on my pecker, taking it all in her mouth, blowing me with the most sensual tonguing strokes imaginable.
Now, the pleasure and the pain were truly one and I lifted my head and tried to lick her ass which was right in front of me. Lily turned around, smiled like a little minx, and lowered herself onto my head so that I could barely breathe as her ass and cunt moved over my face.
Nevertheless, I opened my mouth and began to lick her box, savoring the musk of her femininity, licking the bright red lips of her cunt and chewing delightedly on her thick erect clitoris. That gave me the most pleasure of all. I held it between my teeth as she began to twist and writhe above me, shoving my mouth away and pushing her pink hairless asshole in front of my lips. I tongued there, hesitantly at first and then, finding that her bottom tasted just as sweet as her pussy, I licked fiercely, oblivious to the barrage of slashing strokes which Joey administered to my naked bleeding buttocks.
I tongued her ass until her pink puckered hole opened like the most delicate flower, exposing the dark cavern where pleasure still lay in wait. My tongue entered inside, licking the hot dry walls of her rectum as, all this time, my niece's mouth still worked diligently over my erect and stiff-standing affair.
Oh, the pleasure, the pleasure and the ecstasy of the pain!
I was faint with happiness, with erotic excitement, with burning flaming lust. I had never felt like this before and it made the novel experiences of the night before seem like just an innocent overture, a meek prelude to what was now happening. How I loved the whip burning and tantalizing my bottom, how I loved the way it flicked deliciously nearer and nearer the hairy furrow where my asshole waited for its stinging touch.
And Lily's mouth, Lily's mouth sucking and lubricating my throbbing member until I felt it would burst inside her throat, choke her with the thick gobs of come that were sure to start flowing in just another second. Joey, having taken his full and his arm weak from administering my punishment, took off his clothes and got up on the bed. He told his sister to move over and she kept her mouth around my cock as she let her brother straddle me, crouched over my chest, his thick rammer pointing directly between my lips.
Suddenly, I knew what I had to do and greedily I opened my mouth and accepted his massive penis. Each stroke of my tongue was repeated by Lily's tongue on my own cock and the faster I sucked Joey off, the faster my niece worked on me.
In just a very short while, I felt my nuts tightening and the familiar sensation of orgasm shooting up the length of my rod. I stifled a scream and sucked harder on Joey's magnificent thick member as he panted and groaned and I jerked my body up and down.
Lily kept swallowing my seed as fast as it came and as for Joey, he pumped into me so that I almost gagged on the length of cock in my mouth. Then he pushed my head down, cutting off my air supply, and flooded the inside of my throat with his copious emission, his rich creamy spending filling me as I tried to swallow his cream as fast as possible.
I gurgled and kept on swallowing, still coming as well. It was blissful and filled with joy and I was limp and exhausted, my nephew's cream dripping out of the corners of my mouth, when he pulled his cock out and got off the bed.
And that's how it went on for several months. Except that our little games were interrupted one afternoon when my sister showed up unexpectedly and caught Joey whipping my bottom and Lily sucking my cock.
She fainted dead away on the floor and when she came to, she threatened to call the police and have me arrested for molesting two minors. But Joey and Lily managed to calm her down. Despite their urgings, I was forced to leave the house and now, unless you can help me and convince her that I'm sane, she's going to tell the authorities everything and I'll be put away for the rest of my life . . . the rest of my natural or unnatural, whatever you want to call it, life.
CONCLUSION
Obviously an unwitting victim, Mr. J.'s problem was not so much his incestuous involvement, as if was his growing delusion that he needed to get sexually aroused.
This false idea had been implanted by his nephew, who relished the opportunity of finding a suitable victim, especially when the object of his sadistic yearnings was a figure who was parental in age and thus a substitute for his mother whom he actually wanted to abuse and punish.
Mr. J. was quick to grasp my theory and he tried having sexual relations without the concurrent whipping. The first attempt ended in failure. Although the patient was able to achieve an erection, he was not able to reach climax. But the second experimental episode ended successfully and the patient returned to my office buoyed up and filled with hope.
Joey is now attending military school and without his presence, Lily has settled down to being a normal high school student. And as for Mitch J., he is now happily married and the proud father of a two-year-old little boy. His sister has since forgiven him and his analysis resulted in a complete-and hopefully permanent-cure.
CASE NUMBER SEVEN
Paula K., a thirty-six-year-old white female, recently widowed and the mother of a sixteen-year-old son, Jed, came to me as a result of suffering from severe menopausal cramps as well as frequent migraine headaches. Mrs. K.'s personal physician suspected that these symptoms were psychosomatic and not organic in origin.
Mrs. K. was an attractive and slightly overweight middle-aged woman. She looked her age, but did not seem anxious to appear younger than her years, nor was she disturbed about being thirty-six.
"When did you start getting these symptoms?" I asked her, after introducing myself and showing her to a chair. I sat back across from her and watched her carefully. As in many of my cases, the first interview invariably gives clues to the patient's true emotional state. And with Mrs. K., this was no exception. She appeared overly distraught and quite nervous. Her lips twitched visibly and there were lines of anxiety etched across her forehead and in the corners of her mouth.
"Soon after my husband died," she replied timidly.
"And when was that, Mrs. K.? "
"Three months ago. He died in an auto accident.. . " at which point Mrs. K. began to sob uncontrollably. It took several minutes for her to gain control of her emotions. She wiped her nose with a hanky and sat back again, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry, Doctor. It's just that-that, my son Jed thinks I killed his father. You see, we were in the car together when it happened and I was having a fight with my husband.
"He lost control of the wheel and slammed into a telephone pole. Jed and I suffered only minor bruises, but my husband was killed instantly. Jed worshipped his father and when he died, he began to hate me. That's when the headaches started."
"Anything else?" I asked, already suspecting that there was more to her story than she had cared to reveal.
"Something else?" she repeated, looking up at me with wide, frightened eyes. "How did you know?"
"That's my job, Mrs. K., " I said with a smile, explaining my interviewing procedure and handing her the microphone to my tape recorder. The following then, is the typescript of my first session with Mrs. Paula K. Indeed, it is a most fitting climax to this work on the case histories of sadomasochists.
Soon after my husband's death, Jed began to turn on me.
At first, he was just sullen and moody and would laugh at me whenever I asked him to do anything, like go down to the store for me, or take out the garbage, or clean up his room. He would look at me strangely, screwing up his eyes, and then begin to give this high-pitched crazy man's laugh.
I didn't know what to do with him.
When I tried to reason with my son, he just ignored me, more often than not walking out of the room in the middle of a conversation. And then, one afternoon about a month after the accident, Jed turned on me.
We were having an argument in the kitchen. I was getting incredibly annoyed at him for not listening to me, for disobeying me and laughing at me whenever I asked him to do something. I couldn't take his lack of respect and I lost my temper and swung my hand out, slapping him across the face.
"That's how you killed father!" he yelled out, grabbing me by the shoulders and throttling me from side to side. My head bounced back and forth and he wouldn't stop. He held me against him, squeezing my arms, banging me against the wall. "You're a murderer! A killer!" he screamed out, totally out of control, in a complete rage.
"Stop it! You're hurting me," I told him.
"Murderer! Killer!" he kept on yelling, his face white, as he battered me against the wall. Then, he stopped as suddenly as he had begun. He ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him, leaving me shaking in the kitchen, crying hysterically.
It didn't end there.
I was just getting ready to turn off the light and go to sleep when he came into my room, his hands behind his back, as if he was hiding something. "I have a present for you, Mother," he said in a whisper. I don't know why I was frightened, but in the soft glow of my reading light, his face shone with a strange twisted gleam, an evil grin across his mouth.
"Isn't it time you were in bed? And don't you think you can show a little respect for my privacy by knocking before you came barging right in? You should know better, Jed," I reprimanded him, still angry about what had happened that same afternoon down in the kitchen.
"Tough shit," he said in the same maniacal whisper. Then, he showed me what he had in his hands. It was a stout length of rope and I remembered that my husband had kept the cording in the garage. That's where Jed must have found it.
"What have you got there?" I asked nervously as he advanced towards the bed.
"Rope. Rope to tie you up. Rope," he said, suddenly lunging towards me and grabbing me by the wrists. He knotted the cord around my hands and feet as I struggled to get loose, lashing the extra-long length around the bed so that I was helplessly bound. I started to scream, but he ripped the pillowcase off and tore it in half, making a gag which he tied tightly around my mouth, drowning out my cries for help.
"You're a killer, an evil murderer. Killers should be punished. That's what justice is all about," he told me.
His voice was the voice of someone who had gone insane and though I was filled with pity for my son, I was still incredibly frightened for my life. Jed didn't waste a minute. He tore off my nightgown, exposing me, my nipples shrinking down in fear as he gloated over my naked helpless form.
He licked his lips and took off his robe. He was naked underneath and I saw his body, the first time I had seen him naked in many years. He had changed completely. No longer the boy I had held in my arms, loved and protected, he was now a man, with a firm muscled chest and a hard hairy belly.
But of course, the most remarkable thing I noticed was his penis. It hung limply between his thighs, a long tube of finely veined flesh, giving promise of growing much larger. His balls were heavy and pendulous and I couldn't suppress a small tremor of forbidden excitement as I stared at Jed's naked body.
"I'm going to whip you, Mother," he told me with a smile, a sneer of malice and spite. "I'm going to make you suffer just like you made Dad suffer, just as you eventually drove him to his death." And saying this, he stepped out of my room for a second, returning with something else in his hands.
It was a riding crop!
Jed used to take riding lessons and my husband had bought him the crop maybe four or five years before. It had a relatively thick handle and was made of leather. I couldn't believe my eyes as he swatted it gently against his palm. He came over to the bed and gave my nearest tit a mean pinch, bruising my skin and making me flinch away with pain.
"That's just for starters," he went on, pushing me over on my belly so that my large round buttocks were exposed to his every glance. I shivered uncontrollably with fright and then I felt the riding crop lashing across my bottom. I jerked my hips up, flinching and burning with sudden pain. I looked quickly over my shoulder, unable to speak, and saw Jed raise the riding crop with a flourish into the air so that it made a loud swishing sound as tears came to my eyes.
He lowered it swiftly, connecting with my skin as I grit my teeth firmly and felt the lash stinging across my flesh. My bottom tingled all over as he brought the crop down again and again. Blood seemed to rush through my body at an incredible speed as I felt my ass being pounded mercilessly.
"You killed him!" he yelled out, not at all tired or finished with his task.
I prayed that he would stop, but my beseeching went unnoticed. He beat me again, the lash drawing blood as I felt hot rivulets of my life fluid seeping down into the furrow of my ass, dripping along the backs of my thighs. I kept my head averted, trying to ignore the pain as it came over me in great swelling waves of agony.
He must have been drawing blood at every stroke and he laid the blows into me without as much as a pause. But as he hit me and the agony of my pain and suffering spread through my body, I felt a strange yet familiar sensation come over me. I was beginning to get sexually excited. The heat of my wounded posteriors spread upwards towards my groin and my vagina began to tingle with physical excitement. I could no longer control myself and I turned over on the bed, exposing my quivering white belly and the dense thicket of my pubic bush.
And imagine my surprise when I stared at my son and saw that his face was drenched in sweat and that his cock, limp when I had first seen it, was now fully hard and erect, bobbing out in front of him as he readied me for another series of flesh-cutting wounds.
It was huge. Unbelievable and much bigger than my late husband's. The head of his affair was dark-red, crimson almost, and shone in the light. His shaft was thick and the blue veins pulsated along the sides. He took no notice of my wide aroused stare, but I saw also that the end of the riding crop was stained with blood.
My blood, the blood from my wounded and lacerated buttocks. I edged away in fear as I saw it descend, whistling its maniac shrill call through the air and connecting with the skin along my upper thighs. A tortuous pain shot through me, a pain that mingled with an ecstasy of erotic stimulation.
I had never associated pain with pleasure before, but now, as he just missed my breasts, and I thought I was going to faint. But that was exactly what Jed hoped to avoid. You see, he wanted me to be fully conscious for every blow he administered. He wanted me to suffer all the pain, every single moment of excruciating horror.
I wanted to cry out for him to forgive me, to beg for mercy, but my lips were sealed and gagged. My belly was already streaked with thin red lines, indelible welts of agony that hurt even more as I strained to release myself from the ties around my wrists and ankles. I writhed about on the bed as he found new parts of me to torture and cover with the stinging kiss of pain and agony.
"Isn't it good, Mother?" Jed said with a shrill demonic cackle. "Aren't you now atoning for your sins? Aren't you excited by the cuts I am making?"
I was.
Unbelievable though it may sound, I felt my crotch burning with longing, my pussy saturated with the tickles of blood as well as a fresh discharge of juice coming down the walls of my vagina, matting my pubic hair with this fiery emission. I looked at him with unabashed longing in my eyes, staring fixedly on his pulsating rod, my eyes never leaving his cock as it jerked up and down in time to the frenzied motions of his body.
I was increasingly aware of my agitated state. I was getting so worked up that I couldn't control myself and my hips and pelvis began to jerk upwards spasmodically, almost in time to the tempo of his blows.
I felt a gushing sensation thrilling me and overcoming me as the blood began to flow quite freely all down my legs, trickling onto the sheets. My thighs were crisscrossed with the pattern of his abuse and the weals and welts he had raised on my flesh were ugly and frightening to look at.
"Had enough?" he asked with a smile, stopping for a moment to catch his breath, not even paying heed to the swollen and engorged state of his cock.
I nodded my head affirmatively, vigorously jerking it up and down to let him know that I couldn't take the pain any more. But he really didn't care and he burst into a mind-splitting jarring laugh, holding his stomach with one hand as his hysteria overcame him.
He was insane. Crazy.
I couldn't plunge about because my ankles were still tied cruelly together, but I tried to edge away from him as he lifted his hand high and the riding crop moved through the air.
Then, he lowered his hand and stopped for a moment, viewing his handiwork. He went into the bathroom and came out with a bottle of iodine. I just couldn't believe he was such a sadist as to torture me even more, but he hadn't finished his punishment and strove to make me blind with agony and torment.
"Just to clean your wounds, Mother dear," he said, brandishing the bottle of iodine before my startled eyes. He opened it up and began to pour the liquid right on top of my cuts and wounds. As the medicine came in contact with my flesh, my skin turned to fire and I tossed around in agony, unable to rub away the acid-like scalding feeling that now enveloped me, making me swoon with misery and pain.
He covered every inch of my tortured flesh with the iodine so that the blood, red and thick, mingled with the bright rusty brown of the liquid. All over, my skin was red and blistered and it felt as if I had been in a fire, only to emerge scarred and covered with hideous grotesque burns, disfiguring as well as disgusting.
"Have to keep them germ-free," he said with a strange malicious smile, capping the bottle once again and putting it down on my night table. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the evil crisscross welts and cuts which covered my belly, my thighs and along my sides, near my untouched breasts. It was strange that he had never let the end of the riding crop rake across my tits, as if he wanted to preserve them, save them as some sort of reminder. But of what, I knew not and didn't care to guess.
Jed bent down over me and opened his mouth, his tongue sticking out as he began to lick my nipples, running his tongue over one and then the other in quick succession. Despite my condition, I was overcome with excitement and I lay back, my chest rising and falling rapidly as he tongued my nipples, making them grow long and hard beneath his delicate mouthing caresses.
"You like that, don't you, Mother?" he asked, looking up at me, still smiling.
I said nothing and he released the gag around my mouth. Instead of yelling for help, I breathed deeply and opened my lips slightly as he moved down upon them, his tongue pushing inside my mouth as he tongued me deliriously and I hung onto him, my hands still tied, my tits pressed now against his firm muscled chest.
We embraced for several minutes and the pain began to disappear as my loins convulsed with longing for him. I knew how sick it was, how disgustingly incestuous, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted his big thick member inside of me, wanted to feel his body against mine, wanted to feel him throbbing and pounding away at my flaming pussy.
"I didn't kill him," I whispered as he moved his mouth away. "Please forgive me, Jed. I love you. I loved him. I didn't murder him."
"I don't believe you," my son replied. "But you must," I begged him. "It was an accident"
"As this is," he replied, moving off of me and undoing the ties around my ankles. I thought he was going to release me, but that was not to be the case.
Instead, he straddled me with his thick muscular legs and pulled apart the lips of my swollen pouting cunt, exposing the bright red clitoris which had been hidden within. He tickled it with his fingers and a great rush of excitement and sexual fervor swept through me. His touch was acidic, harsh, filled with the memory of pain but now bringing me the most exquisite pleasure imaginable.
Getting astride me, he positioned the head of his thick tool down between my crimson gash. He pushed in the head so that it disappeared inside my vagina and I immediately strained to clamp my cunt muscles around his pole. He didn't move and it was, in a sense, a kind of sexual torture. He held himself rigid, his hands flat on the bed and he looked down between his legs, pushing in very slightly and then jerking his cock out once again. My lips closed around the vacuum he had created and I burned to have his cock inside of me, all of it and not just the swollen glans.
"You love it, Mother. Tell me how much you want me to do it to you," he said.
"Oh yes, Jed. Please. I can't take much more. Give it to me. Please! I'll do anything, anything, so long as you fuck me. Now!" I told him, my mouth dry and my hips jerking up, trying to catch his cock and guide it back down into place.
"Not so fast," he said with a sneer. "We're going to do this nice and slow and he moved on top of me and pressed his ass down on my crotch. His cock lay in the deep valley between my breasts and with both hands, he pushed my tits together and began to stroke in and out, giving me the most extraordinary friction imaginable.
And as he was busy fucking my tits, he moved so that the engorged and round head of his member came closer and closer to my parted lips. Finally, I opened my mouth and the head of his massive rod slipped between my lips. I felt it on my tongue and I licked it as it moved right out again. He was teasing me and making my blood boil and he plowed along the furrow between my swinging breasts, pushing them together to make this artificial canal as tight and warm as possible.
"And how does that feel?" he asked with the same sneering insane grin.
"Oh please, Jed, do it. Give it to me," I begged, unable to take anymore. This torture seemed ever! worse than the actual physical violence he had inflicted upon me with the riding crop.
He lifted himself up and again probed the lips of my cunt, pushing back the hot fleshy flaps of skin and positioned his spear, sliding it down into place, all of it this time as my legs clamped around his back, trying to hold him down, trying to keep his cock inside of my hot and flaming pussy.
I had never felt so horny, so aroused, in all my life. His cock was now fully housed inside my dripping twat and he began to pump in and out with a steady and agonizingly slow rate, as if he was moving in slow motion or quarter time.
"Oh, it's so good, so big. I'm so filled with you," I told him.
He said nothing, just kept up his rhythmic pumping. I looked down between our legs and watched, totally absorbed and utterly fascinated. His thick flesh-colored staff slipped in and out like a drill, his motions firm and steady, the head of his cock banging against my uterus, it was so engorged and so very thick and long.
I had never been fucked so exquisitely before and the pain of my abused body melted away. I hardly felt the sheets rubbing up against my ass, opening up the cuts once again so that the blood seeped into the sheets and mattress. I swung my buttocks higher so as to get all of my son inside, not wanting him to stop.
And then he shuddered and his hands clenched my shoulders, his fingernails digging into my flesh. I blanched as I felt his unbelievable pressure against my hips. Jed screamed out, plowed down into me and then my cunt was flooded with his endless creamy spend. He kept pumping, his body jerking spasmodically, as each fresh load shot into me, dousing my burning pussy with his copious discharge.
I had still not come and would have, had he not pulled his cock out immediately after coming. It was still swollen and hard and a thick pearl of come glistened on the head of his stiff-stander. His breathing came in short gulps, his chest heaving as he rocked back and forth.
Somehow I felt he wasn't in touch with reality.
"Are you all right?" I asked, not telling him how I felt, not explaining to him how much I needed more, how desperately my body called out for relief. I wanted to come in the worst way imaginable and he was torturing me even more by refusing to satisfy my physical needs and longings.
Jed nodded his head, finally calming down.
He left my room quickly and I fell down on the bed, unable to move, unable to clean myself off, falling into a deep and nightmarish sleep in which I was repeatedly attacked by hordes of young men, all with massive peckers, all with faces resembling my son's, I awoke drenched in sweat, my head ringing with a fierce and throbbing migraine headache. Jed had left for school and I got shakily out of bed, standing in the shower for nearly an hour as the hot water coursed over me, easing the pain and cleaning off the dreadful wounds that covered my pale skin.
That night he began where he had left off.
My bedroom was invaded once again and I cursed myself for not having remembered to bolt and lock the door. He threw himself down on me, biting this time, nibbling gently and then with a growing animal lust, his teeth ripping into my unprotected skin.
"You're a freak. Leave me alone. I'm going to call the police!" I threatened, knowing in my heart that I could never tell on him, never stop him from doing what he felt he must. Even if his mad sadistic urges were the product of a diseased and embittered mind, he was still my son and I valued his life more than I did my very own.
He didn't reply. Instead, his teeth closed again and again around my flesh, working down towards my unprotected pussy. He pushed my nightgown off and buried his head between my thighs, his tongue darting out and licking my cunt, playing with the folds of my twat and nibbling my stiff fleshy clitoris.
I pushed his head down so he could get all of me and he lifted my legs over his shoulders, burying in and licking down past my cunt to my asshole. I just couldn't believe it when his mouth covering my bottom hole, licking with long, slow and sensuous swipes the area around my anus.
His rimming was sending me into a frenzy of mad delight and passion. I could not stop myself from jerking my pubis up and down, humping the air as his mouth worked its tonguing magic on my bottom. His own cock was hidden, pressed down on the bedding.
"Now Jed, fuck me for shit's sake," I called out.
He didn't reply.
Instead, with my legs lifted up, he drew himself into a crouch so that I saw his upright and enormous pole of flesh pushing down against my unprotected and defenseless bottom.
"No!" I screamed out, knowing that my hole would never be able to take his cock inside of it. The pain would be too much. He would rip me up inside. I tried to break away, but he held me in a firm, rigid grip, his hips moving into place, the head of his cock now disappearing between my ass cheeks, moving into my nut, moist anal furrow.
I shouted out when I felt the sudden piercing pain exploding in my ass. It was as if he was cutting my skin open with tiny barbs or razor blades. He held me down on the bed, silent as ever, pushing and shoving, trying to get his cock into me, trying to house it completely inside my virgin ass.
"Stop!" I begged. "The pain, it's too much. I'm going to faint!" I went on, trying to tighten my muscles against the onslaught of his rigid poker.
But it was to no avail.
My asshole was stretched to the breaking, aching point and a fire had started in my bottom. His pushing against me, his loins battering my ass, had opened up many of the half-healed welts and cuts he had given me the night before.
As a result, the pain was multiplied inordinately and I couldn't stand the torture he was putting me through. His cock was now all the way inside and he paused for a moment, drawing it out again so that I saw his thighs covered with my blood, the blood that now dripped and trickled, bright red, hot and scalding, from my bottom.
"Stop, please," I cried out. "It's too big. Take my cunt My mouth. Anything but my ass."
"What are you complaining about?" he asked, his eyes averted, not looking at me. "Isn't this better than dying the way you made Father die? Isn't this torture better, much better, than instant death?"
And then he went back to his task, plunging in and out of my sore and torn bottom with a lust that knew no bounds. His excitement was far greater than it had been the night before. I supposed that he relished this opportunity to degrade me, to abuse me physically as well as emotionally. He knew that I was nearly overcome with the agonizing pain and this must have inspired his sexual energies even more.
Then his anal assault quickened and he found my clitoris and teased it with his fingertips, easing some of the pain as my groin humped upwards, finding nothing to relieve the mad burning itch filling my cunt.
I wanted his cock, wanted it so desperately that I would have killed for it at that moment. But Jed didn't care. He was a sadist bent at destroying me, bent at abusing and maiming me for his own fiendish pleasures, his own hideous delights.
"Yes, Mother," he began to say. "Yes, now, inside of you. I can feel it. Hot, so hot, burning me up. Coming! Hold me, Mommy. Hold me!" he pleaded, his voice breaking, his tone the tone of the little boy I had known and loved.
I hugged him close to me, tears filling my eyes and obscuring my sight as suddenly the angry fissures burning inside my ass were inundated with a warm, soothing balm. He was coming inside of me, his balls whacking ferociously against my uplifted bottom as his cock shot out load after load of juice, filling my ass completely so that some of his cream dribbled out and seeped between my legs.
"Yes, baby, it's okay. Mother understands," I consoled him as his body was racked with the fierce pleasure of his penetrating orgasm.
He didn't move until his cock was thoroughly limp.
Then he pulled it slowly out and fell down on top of me. I let him fall asleep, his head buried in my breasts, the burning of my own unfulfilled desires finally fading away, ebbing and disappearing as I drifted off into a deep and penetrating sleep.
And that's why I've come to see you.
The pattern that Jed set those first two nights has been more or less repeated almost every day since. His torture is not nearly as brutal, but he has not yet forgiven me and he still feels that I was responsible for the accident which killed his father. I need help.
I'm going insane and I don't know what to do with myself or Jed, for that matter. He's sick, but so am I.
CONCLUSION
Mrs. K.'s problem was one of incestuous longing coupled with sadomasochistic episodes.
It struck me as highly likely that her son was far more disturbed than my patient. I asked to see the boy and diagnosed him as a schizophrenic.
Jed is now being treated in a private sanitarium. As for Mrs. K., she continued seeing me on a regular professional basis for nearly a year. It took as many months as that for her to come to grips with her own psyche. You see, Mrs. K. had long suppressed physical yearnings for her son. Now that she had experienced sexual contact with the boy, she felt hopelessly fixated.
It was ascertained that she had never been physically fulfilled when her husband was alive and that she secretly craved the very torture and pain that Jed subjected her to. Why she felt these masochistic leanings is another story altogether, but let it suffice for me to say that Mrs. K.'s childhood was filled with the most bizarre and incredible episodes of sadomasochistic behavior I have yet to encounter among any of my patients.
She is now remarried, her incestuous sadomasochistic desires having found a substitute in a man many years her junior. From what she told me during one of our last sessions, her new husband is fond of rough games in bed and she doesn't mind getting slapped around a little, as long as she knows she's going to reach her climax.
Sadism and masochism are both sicknesses. They should be looked upon with the same degree of understanding that we use when approaching the problems of alcoholism or drug addiction. Sadomasochists are not monsters, nor are they perverts. They are basically people like you and me. Ordinary people, people who have become trapped in their own damaged and diseased minds.
The cases I have presented were carefully chosen from among hundreds of patients whom I have treated over the last ten years. They illustrate the basic fixations of the sadomasochist and, in particular, present a picture that is at once total and complete.
In all these case histories, I have chosen subjects who found themselves fixated on whips and other similar leather objects of punishment. It is neither far-fetched nor inordinately stretching the point to remind the reader that such objects can immediately be recognized as phallic symbols.
Indeed, the use of a whip is a means of increasing one's virility. The long leather lash becomes an extension of the male's penis, or when used by a woman, satisfies her unstated tendencies and desires to be a man. Coupled with the need to inflict pain on another, the sadist who displays a desire to use a whip on another person shows us his own deeply felt sexual inadequacies.
As one of my patients stated, "I just couldn't believe that a guy like . . . tough, sadistic, more of a man than any man could be, would want to bugger me . . . . "
But such is the case.
For most sadistic males, we find extreme delusions of power coupled with suppressed and latent homosexual longings. These longings need never be expressed, so long as an extension of the penis is available in the form of a whip or a gun or even a knife. And if there is a willing victim, a masochistic partner who relishes the opportunity to be punished, then the relationship may know no bounds or limits of what we consider to be healthy and normal.
But if we are ever to come to understand these people, those in our population whom we would sooner refer to as "degenerates, perverts, or sexual maniacs" we must first be able to comprehend with an open mind the needs of others.
CASE NUMBER EIGHT
Clara S. was referred to me after being treated at the Community Emergency Room for multiple abrasions resulting from severe beatings inflicted on her by her mother.
She had been brought unconscious to the Emergency Room by a neighbor who had found her in her home. He stated that her screams had awakened him and that he quickly dressed and went next door to see what was wrong. He found her in an unconscious heap on the upstairs hall floor. She had apparently tried to drag herself away from the cruel beatings her mother was inflicting on her.
After being hospitalized for several days she regained consciousness and was questioned by the hospital psychiatric staff. She was unresponsive and refused to talk in any way. I was notified immediately for consultation.
She was then released to my care after our initial interview at the hospital. I had attempted to break through her defense at this point, but was unsuccessful. Another appointment was arranged for the following day at my town office.
Clara S. arrived at the office dressed in a smart brown slack suit. She apologized stating that she preferred dresses, but that she was badly scarred and that she preferred not to show it to the world. I agreed with her and began to question her gently. After some time with understanding and caution I drew her out of her defense. The following is a tape of our two interviews:
I never knew what my father looked like because he died when we were all little, Tom and Bob, and Sally, and me. My name is Clara, and I've been the youngest in the family since I can remember.
We're all pretty close to the same age, I mean Tom's the oldest and he's just five years older than me, so you can see that for yourself if you think about it a little.
I've heard all the stories that people tell about kids who grow up with no father, and I'll have to admit that we were brats, and still are, but Mama never raised us easy like some others in her situation might have done.
I mean she raised with iron discipline, which I could better call leather discipline, cause that was what she used, a whole bunch of the meanest leather whips and belts that I'd ever seen, and she had some good rope, too.
In a normal week at my house we got beaten more than most kids do in a year, but we never minded her when we felt like doing what we wanted. We were just too tough for her to break, though she loved us and tried to do what was best for us, which she thought meant we had to obey her in even the slightest -thing. I mean like coming home at night before three o'clock in the morning on schooldays.
Actually we had to be in before that, but Mama liked to exaggerate, and I picked up the habit in a few things. Maybe if I talk about a week we had together, the five of us, then you can see what I mean. It was always like this though, always wild and wooly. Things never slowed down until I left home, and by then I had learned that Mama had been right in most everything, except of course the things I had been right in all along.
The beginning of the week was the weekend, and Bob and Tom were over visiting our uncle who lived in the next town some few miles away. He was always good to us, spoiling us more than Mama beat us, so we loved to go there and eat till our stomachs stuck out from our bodies like we were pregnant with a baby elephant.
Well Sally and I had been out seeing some friends of ours, girl friends this time, and we were having such a good time that we couldn't bring ourselves to come home at the time Mama had said we'd better if we didn't want a whipping.
Now, we didn't want a whipping, but we didn't want to leave on time early, so we took a vote and it was two to zero to go home late and get whipped. After we left the party, for it was a party, we crept as quiet as we could down the hall of the house and into our room.
We should have known better. Mama was there in the room sleeping on the bed, but not for long after we were inside that door. She woke up with a start and yelled at us to take off our clothes.
Well, Sally stripped so fast I thought she had to be a machine or something, and Mama lit into her with that whip at lightning speed. Crack after crack of the heavy leather tip sounded in my ears. I was taking all the time I could to get naked, knowing that I was safe till then unless she caught me dragging ass.
But poor Sally got it then, the whip snapping into her tender nakef flesh everywhere. I bet she didn't have a whole spot on her except in the parts that could show in public. Mama never hit us where it could show when we were dressed in normal clothes because she didn't want a lot of snoopy people inquiring into her business.
I was naked after as long as I could hold out without getting caught. Mama swiped the whip across my ass a few times as a starter. I jumped into the air the first time that it popped against my skin.
Mama returned to Sally. She whipped her ass so hard that I could see her flesh being pushed in about an inch by the hard tip. Sally screamed in terror when the hard material slashed into her skin.
Time after time Mama blasted into her with the whiplash in her hand. The trembling of her flesh made me shiver for I knew that my punishment would not be long in coming after she was through with my sister.
Sally ran around the room, not daring to go out of the door, while Mama strapped her thoroughly with the whip. Her face contorted in pain just after I heard the leather whistle through the air, then saw it crash into her skin with the force of a machine gun bullet.
Mama knew how to use the whip, never missing her target even though Sally was dodging about the room as fast and as quick as she could. Mama hit her ass any time she aimed there, and when she sought out the dainty fur pie in her vee I saw my sister crumple to the ground in pain.
Then Mama hit her full stride, blasting the whip cruelly into Sally's cunt, smashing the burning tip past her pubic hairs with fantastic windswept force. Sally writhed in horrible pain, and I thought she might pass out the way she had done before, but she held on, refusing to cry for mercy.
Mama crashed the tip into Sally's cunt time and time again, causing the tips of the cunt hairs to fly from her vee onto the floor as they broke off. I was glad that it wasn't my cunt that was getting it, though that was stupid, because I knew damn well that I was next as sure as rain.
Mama thrashed Sally half senseless with the numerous blows that she landed on her tender naked flesh. It was so terrible to see a young luscious body like Sally's being struck by the hard cruelty of that whip. Every time she flexed her body I could see her firm tits jerking and throbbing in the air.
When I thought Sally was done in Mama thought the same thing, too, because she was on me in a flash, smashing the whip into me with all the fury in her soul. I cried out in terrible pain, for I regarded myself as being weaker than Sally and I felt that I should show my pain easier.
The whip streamed through the air, its cursed whistle sounding in my ear while she arched it above her head.
Then the terrifying snap crinkled across the room and the bite of the leather into my skin made me curl in horror from the beating I was getting at my mother's hands.
The whip coursed down on my naked suffering flesh giving me throbbing pain without a moment's respite to catch my breath or soothe my mangled skin. Her force was tremendous after all the years of practice she had had with us kids.
My ears rang from the agony that my flesh suffered when her strong arm crashed the thong into my body with the full force of her anger. The blows set up waves of pain in me, waves that flowed across my skin and caused me to cry out in terror again and again.
Mama flipped her wrist down in an endless succession of raining blows that streamed into me without a letup. The noise from my howling was almost as bad as the harsh crackling from the tanned leather that was woven together to make the lash.
The whip crashed evilly into my cunt, stinging me like I had never been able to remember happening before, cauterizing the inside of my cunt with the heat from its contact. I wept openly, terrified at the thought of being beaten another second by Mama's whips.
Nothing softened her heart, though. She was determined that we were going to obey her in the least thing, and the smallest deviation from her orders was the worst crime that any of us could commit.
The lash tasted my flesh again. I stumbled to the door, not daring any more than Sally to walk out of it to be free. Had I done that I would have suffered a beating that the mere thought of sent chills creeping along the surface of my flesh.
Her horrible striping plastered my skin with welts. Her massive blows were so strong that I wondered she did not fracture my ribs with the force she supplied to them so readily and so well.
The tangy nips of the leather flattened my skin against my bones, crunching into my nerves and tearing me apart inside with the shivering jolts of pain that shot through me like hot lightning. I thought that my cunt was on fire and I pleaded for relief from the terrors that I sustained.
Mama got angrier when she heard me call out, for she considered my inability to take punishment when she knew I deserved it, and I knew, too, a sign of my weakness and hardness of heart. Determined that I would learn if it was the last thing she did, to me, whether because I died or she died did not seem to occur to her, she flashed the leather across the room even harder.
Oh, I can't say how terribly the whip bit into my tender flesh and caused me to burn inside with a raging fire. I can still hear the snapping if I think back on all the past years when I lived happily at home. The rain of blows on my naked flesh never terminated until Mama was ready to stop.
The end of my torment was nearer than I suspected, but not because of anything that I did, like passing out cold on the floor from pain. Sally was watching me get beaten to within an inch of my life, and she heard the terrible cries that I emitted into the air. I was the youngest and her favorite, and she always took my side in anything, unless, of course, I was doing something directly against her.
"You stop beating my sister," she screamed at Mama when she knew the pain was killing me.
"How dare you talk back to me?" Mama said, "You must be out of your head."
"You fucking bitch," screamed Sally. "You've whipped my sister's cunt for the last time. Cool this shit or I'll take you apart from pussy to potty hole."
I was horrified at what Sally said, not at the words I mean, but at the fact that she had dared say anything that strong to Mama who could have mashed her under one thumb. Mama didn't like it at all what she had to hear from her own daughter.
"You have ten seconds to apologize," Mama said.
I looked at Sally with my eyes and nodded that she should say she was sorry, but she was the stubbornest girl who had ever been born, and instead of saying nice things she screamed out some more, "Well fix your shitty ass someday," she yelled at the top of her lungs, sticking out her neck to get better volume. "Well tie your cunt with a barbed wire diaper."
Well, after that, things were downhill for her, as you can imagine from what you already know. Mama slammed that whip right into Sally's tits, cutting fiercely into the right nipple so hard that Sally started to bleed.
Then she started to shake, for we knew that Mama was madder than she'd ever been as in all those years she never once had drawn so much as a drop of blood from any of the four of us. Mama looked at the blood and saw that she had indeed gone past her limits.
"I can't whip her as mad as I am now," she said to me, "But, you, Clara, you can do it. Come here, both of you."
There was nothing to do but follow her to her bedroom and watch while she tied Sally to one of the posts of her old four poster bed, the kind that have four tall posts and sometimes a canopy on top. This one once had a canopy, but we tore it off one day when we were younger, and there was no money to fix it. My cunt still hurts from the beating we got that day.
Mama tied Sally with her hands behind her back and handed me the whip. She told me to whip her good, adding that it I didn't do the job well enough she would let Sally whip me when I was done.
Well, I liked Sally, but I couldn't take any more of that, so I lit in to her for all I was worth, and then some. I cracked that whip into her naked flesh as hard as I could blasting it against her nakedness as if I was a torturer from the middle ages.
I pictured how I would look wearing a black mask, tormenting hundreds of persons who were sent to me by the kind for confessions. The ones I would torture the worst would be those who had offended me in any way in the past.
But I was back in reality after a second, streaking the whip into the flesh of my dear sister with all the force I could muster, cracking the lashing tip hard against her nude skin. I raised welts on top of the welts that Mama had raised earlier.
Sally writhed against the bedpost, caught in the tremendous web of pain that her nerves were bound in throughout her body. Never will I know how she endured the whipping that I gave her, standing there naked beating her while she was strapped helplessly to the post.
My cunt tingled every time I heard her cry out in torment. Even now I don't know what thrills me to see a person, tied and helpless, being beaten by another. I just know that the feeling of power and strength I get is a tremendous one, and I want to double the torments to increase the volume of the screams.
Well, that's how it was with me that day. In a furious rage I smashed the whip again and again into the helpless naked flesh of my screaming sister. Mama looked on with great approval each time I cracked the hard leather against her tender delicate frame.
She shook from head to toe when I smacked the burning horror into her skin, wracking her bones with a torment that I would have died if I had to suffer it myself. Her face contorted with the immense agony that the rain of blows from my hands sent into her.
The whip flew through the air with no hindrance stopping only when her beautiful teen-age flesh put itself in the way. The gleam in my eye was undisguisable, and I felt terrible knowing that she sensed I was enjoying her torture in some way even though we were the closest of siblings.
Her cries of pain filled the room, overcoming for me the cracking of the whip. All I could hear were the shrill shrieks from her tortured lips, and those shrieks fanned my floodlust to new heights, so that I stroked her as hard as I could for a long time.
Again and again I blasted the leather tip into her skin, hitting her stomach, then her tits, then her pussy, with the terrifying thong of which I was the lady and mistress. She jerked in her bonds, struggling heroically to be freed from her eating, but her ill timed attempt to escape did her no good. The lashes continued, as did the screams.
The fierce beating that I gave her that night was one she remembered for the rest of her days. Ten years later she recalled it to me as one of the most terrifying experiences of her life, not because I was stronger than Mama, but because I was the one she loved so dearly and I was punishing her as cruelly as I could.
I did it, though, especially because I loved her. Had I not gone against her with all my strength Mama might have taken the whip from my hand and lashed Sally herself, and the consequences are still horrible to think about.
The crack of the whip echoed continually in my eardrums, thrilling me with the new felt power that I received from knowing that I could torture my sister at will. I mangled her tender naked flesh with the leather tip of the blasting thong. Red welts sprang up all over her flesh, welts on top of other welts from the fierce beating.
Sally howled in pain as I stroked the leather across her skin. Her body jerked from side to side. The twisting and turning she did proved to be a source of my great delight, for I felt so much more powerful knowing that she could struggle for hours and still not be able to be free.
Her agonies grew with each passing minute, the sting of the biting whip increasing her torment to a level higher than anything I thought she would have been able to bear. Her face was red from the heat and the friction in her veins caused by the ceaseless restless beating of her heart in reaction to the torments I was inflicting on her.
Standing behind me Mama watched the affliction of Sally with the tranquil calm that was her wont in such situations. She bore no grudges against those whom she had to punish for disobeying her. The main purpose of her terrifying anger and her severe punishment was to satisfy all her aggression on the spot, leaving none behind, secretly hidden, to brew and burn inside of her and make her bitchy.
I lashed out at Sally, blasting the tearing tormenting whip into her young body, until finally she collapsed from the many pains that I had given her. With that occurrence, Mama stayed my hand from beating her anymore.
The two of us took her body down from the bedpost and anointed it with soothing oil to help her heal better. In a couple of days she would be her old self once again, and we could play together in the house the way we liked to do.
INTERVIEW TWO
Tom and Bob, my brothers were home the next day, telling me and Sally about the good time they had at our uncle's house, making us jealous that we had not been able to get there, too. They told us we would have our chance-which was true-but if the grass is always greener for some people, I'm one of them, and I never have as much fun doing anything as other people say they have, except maybe fucking. That's something I really enjoy more than anyone else I know.
Bob and Tom made the mistake of saying too many nice things about their visit. Their comparisons with our house made Mama feel she was not appreciated the way she should have been, and I could see in her face they had hurt her feelings.
To say they were good boys is to tell the truth. But they also were too often unaware of the great problems Mama had in raising us all I by herself, and their insensitivity at times drove poor Mama against the wall.
Sally and I managed to quiet them down some before they had said enough to destroy Mama's faith in herself as a good provider. Their thoughtlessness was unbelievable to me, for if Mama had disciplined us the way we were disciplined at our uncle's, I think that not one of us would have been a real human being.
That night the two of them managed to save some face by saying how good the food was at dinner and how they had missed Mama's delicious cooking while they were away. But, true to their ignorance in some things, they refused to take out the garbage, using as an excuse the fact that they were too full from eating to move.
Mama gave them a couple of chances to change their minds, but they were as adamant as two boys have ever been about not doing their work. Finally she said no more but went to where she kept her whips and pulled one out.
The boys saw her coming, and they knew they would have to suffer for their indolence. Mama never let a mark against her go unpunished. She had trained us so well that we stood and took our beatings the way we knew we should. Tom and Bob undressed, as slowly as they could, I might add, and prepared themselves for the punishment.
Mama started on Tom because he was the oldest of the two which made him naturally the leader in all they did-good or bad. She lashed at him while he looked straight at her as if he was expecting a kiss rather than a beating. She told him to get his ass into the bedroom where she could better deal with him.
Bob and Tom went to their own room, and Mama sent Sally and I to watch. She remained in the kitchen for a few minutes before she came into the room. We wondered what she was doing but not one of us had the courage to ask about her private affairs. We knew that she would tell us what she had done when she was damn well ready.
She attacked Tom again when she was in the room, whipping the leather against his flesh without stopping for a single breath. The loud crack of the whip filled the bedroom, and we watched with gleeful eyes as our oldest brother writhed in horrible pain from the whipping Mama was giving him.
Sally held my hand tight, squeezing me each time the leather tip bit into the flesh of our brother. The way his body made violent jerks when she mauled the whip into his flesh thrilled us both. Our eyes were wide open so that we could see every twitch of his nerves.
Her hand bore the leather onto him with increasing speed until she was lashing at him with no mercy, stroking the thong into his bare naked flesh with incredible power that burned me in spirit because I could see the pain he bore from it.
Mama followed her tradition of beating him everywhere that she could leave marks without them being noticed when he was normally dressed. She lashed at the top of his legs first, burning large weals into his hairy skin. The tip of the thong curled around his thighs when she jerked back to make it pop.
Sometimes the whip would curl all the way around itself, entrapping him for a second in a flimsy knot, and she would pull him bodily off the floor with a strong tug of her arm. The floor scraped his ass when she did that. He whined like a skinned puppy dog, and the others of us in the room laughed to ourselves.
We did not dare laugh out loud, for Mama did not permit anyone but herself to do that when someone was being beaten by her. She knew that we would not have respect for her punishments if we were allowed to laugh when she gave them to others.
Tom howled in pain every time her whip lashed into his young naked skin. She moved from the top of his legs up to his chest, saving the best part for last. She stripped his skin and his ribs with her lashes. His nipples were suffering from the collisions they endured with the merciless thong.
The snapping sounds of the whip flashed through the air against our eardrums. I watched her maul my brother again and again with the hard-tipped leather, striking his chest with blow after blow from her strong-practiced arms.
She took special care to beat him on the nipples whenever she had a good shot at them. He rolled on the floor to prevent her getting him in the same place all the time. She covered his back with lashes, too, because he left that space open to her more than anywhere else.
Mama whipped him with endless downthrusts of her whip hand. Tom yowled continually after she had beaten his chest and his back for just a few minutes. Always he was the weakest of the lot for bearing the pain that was so often inflicted on us by our loving mother.
She massacred him in the bedroom. His flesh was red all over except at the extremities and on his crotch. I wondered when Mama was going to get down to the real business of beating him on the cock and the balls. That was when the fun would begin.
She took a minute's rest from the hard work she was doing. I heard her mumble to herself that she wondered if all her efforts were worth it. Her children were still as undisciplined as any wild animal could have hoped to be. She did not realize how much we respected and loved her for the love she showed us by keeping us in line the best she could.
Her whip cracked in the air, and I heard Tom cry out in the sheerest pain that he had experienced since his torment began, for she was now in his crotch, snapping the leather into his cock with her full power. His cock whipped back and forth from the force of her blows. It flayed itself against the insides of his legs.
Her hand came down with heavy strokes to his balls also, streaming the leather against them with an endless number of raucous blows. The pain that showed in his face was extreme. Each time she curled the tip into his fragile V, his teeth clenched, his back arched in pain, he threw his head back with his eyes closed, and from deep in his throat a scream of terror filled the room.
In time the sounds were almost a symphony of pain. The snap of the whip followed the easy swishing sound, and that was followed by the agonizing call from his body. Their rhythm set me to weaving and bobbing in my seat, and I felt my lovely sister on one side of me and my younger brother on the other side.
Mama punished Tom in the crotch for minutes on end, striking the leather into his flesh as if he were a wild animal she was trying to train. His legs kicked out when she snapped the whip against his balls. His mouth let forth screams that we thought would bring the neighbors running, though we knew they had never bothered us before. Our house was set back from the street and surrounded on each side by a high hedge.
Mama mashed the whip into his cock, reddening his skin so that I'm sure he was unable to fuck for two or three days. That would be the greatest pain of all for him, for he had a girl friend that he regularly fucked at her house while her parents were at work, and he lived for the time that they were together.
Mama lashed him senseless with her whipping. After she had blasted his cock so many times-I'm afraid to even guess the amount-she saw him fall unconscious to the floor. She made Bob anoint him with some oil to soothe his wounds. After this was done, he revived quickly.
We thought Mama was going to lash at him again, but she had apparently worked out her anger against him. Now there was only Bob who had to bear some sufferings.
She ordered the pack of us back to the kitchen where we could see why she had wanted the boys to take out the garbage in the first place. The horrible smell of it was all in the air.
I saw a pot covered on the stove with a low flame under it. I guessed what it might be, and I was right for a change. Right then I was damn glad that Bob was Bob and not me. Mama had made some garbage stew for him to eat.
I remember how terrible it smelled when she served it to him in the soup bowl-like a week's supply of trash and junk that was stored in a plastic bag. She had boiled it long enough to kill all the germs, but the smell would not go away no matter what she did.
I almost got sick just looking at it. Bob was in terror at the thought of having to eat it. His pleas for mercy fell off the deaf ears of Mama who was determined to make the punishment fit the crime in a small way. She was going to get rid of the garbage one way or another.
Bob sat at the table with his face twisted in horror. I thought for a minute he was going to vomit into the ill-smelling brew that was in front of him, but Mama dared him to vomit-which meant he'd better not. She handed him a spoon and the salt shaker. He waited as long as he felt safe before putting the spoon to his mouth and taking the first sip down his throat.
He choked and spattered the mess on his naked skin. I could see that it was steaming against his flesh, burning him horribly where it landed. Mama laughed to see him squirm in the chair while the spattered soup fell on him.
Finally she ordered him to take down a good mouthful right away. The speed at which he gulped it down was indescribable, but her psychological power over him got quick action.
His face contorted horribly when he tasted the noxious mess that Mama forced him to eat-his eyes rolling in his sockets and his neck cringing up to be better able to bear the pain. Mama forced him to eat a whole bowl of the shit she had served him.
The mere smell from the pot was making the rest of us sick to our stomachs. I will never know how Bob managed to eat that brew without vomiting in it every time he was forced to take a bite. Mama had a great power over us, one that drew no line at anything as long as it was necessary to get us to do her will.
She handed the whip to Tom and told him to beat Bob while he was having his second serving. Her orders were that Tom should strike Bob every time he spilled the slightest amount of soup from the spoon. Bob ate in slow horror, moving the spoon from the plate to his mouth as carefully as he could.
But the minute he touched the spoon to his mouth, he gagged on the putrid flavor, and a batch spilled onto his skin. Tom lashed at him with no reservation, striking him on the back with the whip as hard as he could until Mama told him to stop and give Bob another try.
Bob ate as slowly as possible, managing for the first few spoonfuls to spill nothing at all. But he soon dropped a tiny bit into the bowl, and Tom resumed his vicious attack on his brother's body. Bob whined in pain when he felt the strips from the leather covering his naked back.
Mama let Tom beat him longer the second he spilled the soup. She wanted Bob to learn to be very careful about her orders. She did not want him thinking that he could get away with being sloppy some of the time when she had directly ordered him to be neat as a pin.
Bob breathed deep after the second beating was over. He knew that the next one would last a lot longer, so he took special care not to spill even an atom of the soup while he swallowed it down. The horrible expressions on his face from the fetid flavor turned my stomach. Sally buried her head in my lap a couple of times because she was unable to bear seeing her brother suffer so terribly.
Bob ate until there were only a few spoonfuls left in the bowl. He figured he had it made, so he got a little careless and let some of the crap fall to his legs. Tom was at him in a second, beating him fiercely on the back and the shoulders, raising new weals on top of the old ones.
Bob started to move out of the chair to avoid the blows, but Mama yelled at him and he turned to sit how he had been while his back was roasted by Tom's whipping. Mama made him finish the soup. The expression while he ate the garbage was a terrible one. I think his stomach must have felt more sour than ten pints of sour cream. His face was twisted and cringed, his mouth screwed up in all directions, and he had to breathe deeply to get any air at all.
When he had finished the garbage brew, Mama let him come out of the chair. Then she took the whip from Tom and she went at him herself, smashing into him with a raging fury that left her satisfied only after she had beat him a long time.
Bob struggled to be free from her torments, but he knew that he dared not run or he would suffer from even worse the minute she got her hands on him later. The whip tore into his flesh, smashing its tip far into the surface of his skin. The howls of pain that rose from him were not as load as those from Tom, but they were scary anyway.
Mama raged her fury against her youngest son with a steady regularity, beating him in a one-two-three rhythm that covered all of him with pain. His cock and his balls were completely red before she stopped beating him in the crotch. His back was covered with welts almost as long as my forearm. Across his legs was a webbing of horrible strokes that made a blueprint pattern for his pain on top of his skin.
Mama finished beating him before he collapsed from the agony. She did not always beat us senseless when she was angry at us. Sometimes she let us go after we hurt in every spot that she dared to hit us. We oiled and rubbed Bob after the beating, soothing the harried nerves of his flesh with the oils that Mama kept for that purpose.
Bob and Tom went to their room that night and slept as easily as they could on their starched sheets. The truth is that they did not sleep very well because of the pain that wracked their flesh during the dark hours. But the next morning the deeper effects of the oil could be felt, and they were practically as good as new except for being sore in the places where they were hardest hit.
We went our way to school as if nothing had happened the night before. Many times I have heard a schoolmate telling about how her mother or her father beat her cruelly, but none has ever told of anything that comes close to what Mama did for us.
That was the beginning of the week. We were all glad that we had not had to surfer worse on the weekend, for we were more annoying to Mama when we were home, and often we bore the brunt of her displeasure with much more force than we had done the past three days.
At school I had to work to keep my ass still because my sores itched from the healings, and I would have been scratching all day if I had let my desires have all the fulfillment they wanted.
That Monday we came home from school completely cured from all the welts that she had raised on us a couple of days before. We naturally forgot all the pain we had suffered and went into our incredibly bad habits again. I wonder why we are strong-willed the way we are. Sometimes I think we all inherited that from Mama, who was one of the stubbornest women I have ever met.
CONCLUSION
In Sally's mothers case it seems rather clear cut that the woman was not fit to have children entrusted to her care. She didn't have the ability to be able to deal with regular problems that some children have in growing into normal adults. She felt that the only way to keep them in hand was to beat them into submission. Even at that the beatings were way out of line with the actual offense.
Sally got to the point where she believed that she had these beatings coming to her as part of growing up. She also got to the point where she believed that she deserved them for the crimes that she committed within her household. Anything that displeased her mother was punishable by a severe beating. It seems obvious to me that Sally's mother is in need of a great deal of help of her own. It will take a while to rearrange a persons thoughts like Sally's once they get to the point where they they are at but with time and understanding of the problem, all things can be done.
GENERAL CONCLUSION
In many cases there is a deep ingrained need to punish oneself for some deeply hidden secret. Most times the reason for the need to be punished comes from when the patient was a child and acted up in order to receive attention. If the only way the child ever knew to receive attention was by being bad, and therefore being punished it stands to reason that he would carry this over into his adult life. In cases where the man wants to be beaten by his wife, girlfriend, or some hustling female he picks up in the street, it may very well be that he is feeling the need for his mother's attention. Or still feeling the lack of it from his childhood days.
In the case of the female it could have to do with the same problem only instead of having a problem with her mother it might well have been with her father. In some cases it might very well have been a problem from both parents. It is a feeling of being cared for, being protected by their partner. Part of the cost for this concern or care is being their partners whipping post. Being always there when their mate needs to let out their own hostility on their willing partner.
Of course let us understand from the beginning that there is no single cause for sadomasochistic relationships. They fill the needs of both partners, whatever these reasons be. They need to relate to each other with in this established framework. This seems to be the only answer for them, until they get help.
