---

.....11153 home .....11155

The Crown Report - S&M And The American Father ....(70k)    by Unknown

Introduction

There is nothing new or unique about sadomasochistic sexuality. Indeed, since earliest recorded history, there are numerous documented and celebrated cases of pain being employed in sexual activities. Often, in early history, such behavior was manifested in religious ceremonies.

It was in the Fifteenth Century, that we first found incidences most often in literature of pain being employed erotically in the sex act. Sadomasochism is still very much a part of the sexual appetite of modern men and women.

The father, frequently, plays a key role in the development of the need for pain in sex. In this manner, the sins of the father are frequented not only on the son, but on the daughter as well.

In contemporary society, for numerous reasons, sadomasochism has become much more in vogue. Based on interviews with numerous respondents, this anthology represents the strength of the father's role in the development of S&M sexual behavior in America.

We are living in an era in which the adult male most particularly the father finds himself shouldered with enormous responsibilities. These responsibilities often become too great. He needs a release. Sadly enough, it is the poor, innocent child, who so often becomes the scapegoat of these frustrated fathers.

It's quite difficult to point the finger of blame at the American father. He is, like his unfortunate children, very much a product of the uncertain age we live in.

Lucy R.

Interviewed: January 12, 1976

Is some form of pain either physical or mental necessary for you to feel satisfied during the sexual act?

I'm very glad that you've asked me to participate in this research study, doctor. I've never really talked to a psychiatrist about all of these things. Lord knows that I should have. After all, I am twenty-eight-years-old. And I know that I have strange desires. And I know that it's all somehow related to my early family life. Especially my father. Yes, it is necessary for there to be pain for me to truly feel sexually fulfilled. And a lot of men I have known were not able to handle it. In fact, it's mighty rare for me to find a man who can deal with my specific sexual needs. My needs for pain.

I suppose I should start from the beginning, and tell you how it started this need for pain. My father was an unhappy man. I always remember him as being unhappy. I don't think I can remember him even smiling very much. That was a long time ago it almost seems as though all of this happened to someone else. But it is me. I know that.

I was just about eleven years old when my father first started taking his anger out on me. As an only child, I had to take the full force of his rage. He was just starting out as a lawyer then. He was having a hard time building a practice, I think. From what I understand, he had to borrow a lot of money from my mother's family. They had the money. My father came from a poor background.

He always wanted to be rich. It seemed strange to me that he would always be wearing new clothes, and driving a new car. I remember my parents arguing about his excesses with money. He always told her that it was necessary for him to act as though he had a lot of money, in order to meet wealthy clients.

My father is a very intelligent man, and he knows how to say things in a way that makes it all seem so very believable. I guess that's why he is today such a successful attorney. But as a husband, and as a father, he was a failure. And that's how I basically remember him.

My parents would fight a lot. I remember that my mother was always crying when he was home. And when he was away, she drank a lot. I sort of raised myself. I was afraid of him. My father always seemed like an evil monster. I always hid when he came home from the office.

But he would find me. I was like the cat that gets kicked by the unhappy master. He would ask me questions about school, and my friends. And my answers were never good enough. I was especially terrified when he wanted to help me with my homework. I never was able to answer him in quite the way he wanted. And I would always end up crying and running to my room.

He was like an evil tyrant. And it's funny, now that I am older, that he seems like such a little man such a sad little man. I tried never to talk back to him. But when I did when I shouted something at him out of anger. He would beat me. He wouldn't just hit me, or scold me. He would beat me. Many a time I went to school with bruises on my arms. I would wear sweaters, or long sleeved blouses to try to cover it up. I was so ashamed. But I was young, and resilient.

My mother got the worst of it.

She would be so drunk sometimes, trying to numb out to the reality of the bad marriage. And he was so furious with her, because he wanted to bring potential clients to the house to meet her. But he couldn't. Her eyes were either too red from crying, or from drinking gin.

I tried, but not always successfully, to finish my homework before he got home from the office. That way I could make myself dinner, as my mother was hardly ever in a condition to cook, and go to bed.

But even if I fell asleep, I could hear them arguing. It always seemed to be about my mother's drinking problem, or financial worries. One night in particular, I remember quite vividly.

I was around twelve at the time. I was rather pretty at that stage. Unlike most of the girls I grew up with, I never went through the horrible awkward stage. Being a blonde gentile princess can be an advantage at times, let me tell you.

So, I was trying to pretend that I was sleeping. And I heard their voices in the living room. They were fighting. He wanted my mother to borrow a lot of money from her parents, so he could join the country club. He kept saying it was an investment to meet wealthy clients. But she said that they could barely afford to put food on the table, and that it was frivolous.

Then he started calling her a witch, and a slut, and all sorts of terrible things.

She told him that he was a failure.

And then he went absolutely crazy. It was the worst ever. I could hear the sound of him striking her. She screamed, and they started throwing objects at each other. Later, I found that they had broken almost all the vases, and porcelain art objects in the living room.

I always knew what to expect from their fights. There was usually a lot of name calling, and a few things thrown around. And then he would hit her, she would cry, and then run to her room and lock the door.

My father would bang on the door, begging for her to open it. He always promised that he wouldn't hit her any more if she would let him in. But she wasn't a stupid woman. The few times that I remember her letting him in the bedroom, he always hit her again, and made her cry.

So my father had to get used to sleeping on the sofa.

But the night when things really changed was when he broke down the door of the bedroom. I thought he was really going to kill her.

She had locked herself in, and he was begging to get in. She kept telling him to leave her alone. But that night, he wouldn't take no for an answer.

He went to the garage, and got the axe. And he beat the door down with the axe. I remember distinctly, the sound of the wood flying as the steel blade bit into the door. With each strike of the axe, it seemed as though my room shook. I could feel cold terror in the pit of my belly. I was terrified.

And then I guess he broke the door down. I remembered my mother screaming for weeks after that night. I couldn't get it out of my head. I think she was afraid that he was going to kill her with the axe.

But he didn't kill her. She screamed so terribly loud as he beat her. I did think she was going to be killed, so I snuck out of my room, and went down to the kitchen. I took a knife. I really don't know if could or would have used it on him, but I took it with me just in case. If it was a choice of him or my mother, or even me, I wanted it to be him that died.

In a way, I can practically remember the feeling of standing in the doorway of the bedroom, and seeing him, sitting on the bed beside her, slapping her across the face.

It seems like it all happened just yesterday.

My mother was wearing a pink silk nightie. I can see it all so vividly. He was in his shirt and pants, sitting beside her, slapping her. And she was trying to cover over her face. But he kept pulling her hands aside, and smacking her.

I was afraid to act. I just stood there and watched. I'll try to remember exactly what they were saying:

"You little bitch," he screamed at her, "it's you who have made me into the failure I am. With your family's connections, I could be a very wealthy and influential lawyer. But they hate me. No, I was never good enough for their daughter. My father was a coal miner. Is that so bad? So what if I had to put myself through college on the G.I. Bill? It's not my fault that I don't come from landed gentry stock."

"That's not why they dislike you," she cried. "They dislike you because they always were able to see through you. They weren't blinded by love like I was. My father said you were a social climbing ass, and he was right!"

"How dare you talk to me like that," my father shouted, and then beat her some more. "So, you think I'm a rogue? Well, I'll show you just what a blackguard I am."

And then he started tearing at her clothes. He was like a wild animal. I think the only times he ever made love to my mother was when he was angry. He had to hit her to get excited. It was my first impression of sex, and so I suppose I always thought it was normal.

Oh, my poor mother. The price she paid to be married to that man. I don't know how she put up with it as long as she did. She was his punching bag. That's all she was to him.

I was spellbound as I watched him so red in the face, and furious ripping at her negligee, and beating his fists against her. He was outraged. He was berserk.

I must admit to you, doctor, that I did feel some sexual excitement as I watched from the shadows in the hall. He had stripped my mother naked. I've never seen much of my parents nude they are both rather old fashioned about nudity in front of me, I guess. My mother was a very lovely woman at the time. That was before the gin had taken its full effect on her.

She was so blonde and classy looking. I've heard older people compare her to Veronica Lake and Carole Lombard. Those were former motion picture stars. Well, I felt a little aroused seeing her naked. It wasn't just her nudity, mind you. It was the way she was so vulnerable to father. She was so afraid of him, and yet she liked it, in some weird way.

I mean, after all, she did know the man. She knew how to stick needles into his ego, and really piss him off. And she would egg him on. She was almost sadistic the way she did it. And I guess she was also masochistic for doing it. After all, for the pleasure she derived from wounding him, she had to pay the price with pain.

And she continued on. I guess she got pretty numb from the gin. Maybe it didn't hurt as much as it looked like it did. But he would just beat her something awful. And she would egg him on.

"You coward," she would yell. "Only a mouse of a man strikes a woman. And you get sexual joy from it, don't you? You are worse than a coward you are a slimy little pervert. And that's why you'll never make any money as a lawyer. No one would ever trust you."

"You lie, woman," he would slap her. "Just because you are so beautiful, you think you can get away with anything and everything."

"You once loved me for my beauty," she would say.

"That was a mistake," he said. "You have nothing else to give me but your body. Look at the wife you are a God damned drunk. And what kind of mother are you to your daughter? When was the last time you made her dinner?"

"And you are such a wonderful father to her? And a husband to me?"

"You never would let me be," he said. "You have undermined every attempt of mine to be a successful lawyer, or husband, or father."

"You never had it in you in the first place," she said.

And then he really went nuts. He beat her as though she were a man. I mean his fists were closed tightly, and he hammered away at her face and her chest.

She curled up in a ball, like a little baby, and screamed. Then he took off his clothes. He had a huge erection. It was the first time, and the last time, I ever saw my father with an erection. I remember thinking how large it was. It frightened me. It really scared the hell out of me.

He actually had gotten sexually aroused from hurting my mother. That was rather heavy for me to deal with. But I couldn't pull myself away. I was getting sexually excited from watching him beat her.

He seemed so excited when she cried out in pain. And I think she must have derived pleasure from it. She kept yelling things at him while he hit her. And then he unrolled her, and stretched her out. She was always crying, but she didn't try to push him away when he kissed her.

He sat astride her, pressing his thighs against her breasts, and he started kissing her. He had her wrists pinned to the bed. He wouldn't let her up. It was as though he were raping her. And she fought him all the way. It was as if they were making hate, not love.

And even though she was screaming, I could tell by her breathing, and the way she moved her hips around on the bed, that she was getting off on it. That's what was so strange for me to understand as a child. I was only twelve, but I distinctly remember feeling my panties grow moistened with excitement.

While he had my mother pinned by her wrists to the bed, he continued to kiss her, moving his mouth to her breasts. I watched her nipples grow swollen while he sucked them.

And then he kissed her belly, moving his mouth slowly down towards her pubic mound.

By that time, he let go of her wrists. She wasn't fighting him anymore. She would still be calling him names, but she wasn't trying to move him off her.

She was liking what he was doing to her. He began sucking on her pussy, while she was calling him cock sucker, and failure, and rotten apple, and coal miner's son. Things like that. And he grabbed her harshly under the ass and sucked wildly at her pussy.

Only when she was about to have an orgasm, did she stop screaming with anger, and start screaming with pleasure. It sure is a crazy, mixed-up world.

And after he made her come, he would mount her. He treated her like a whore. He was fucking her as if he hated her. I guess he was pumping his huge cock too deeply in to her pussy ramming up against her cervix. Because with each downward stroke, she screamed in agony.

I was terrified. I didn't know what was going on. I held the knife in my hand, but I was too afraid to run into the room. In my imagination, I saw myself moving up behind my father while he plunged his cock in and out of my mother's pussy, and shoving the knife into his back.

But that wasn't all that he did to her. He wasn't satisfied just to come in her pussy. No, not my father. He pulled his cock out of her, and rolled her over on her belly. He then spread her ass cheeks apart, and pressed his cock up against her ass-hole.

I had never heard of such things. I had no idea that men and women make love that way. It didn't seem normal because of the way he shoved his cock so powerfully into her ass-hole.

She screamed as though she was going to die.

He was holding her down to the bed with his hands, again. She tried to break away from his grip, but he wouldn't let her. He kept forcing his erection in and out of mother's ass-hole, and she was screaming so.

I was just a little girl, and figured that it was evil what he was doing. I had no idea that pleasure was involved.

It was at that point, that I ran into the room and stood over them, with the knife held high over my head.

"Don't hurt mother," I screamed.

"Oh, Lucy," my father said. And he seemed so meek about it all.

"Honey, it's not like you think," my mother said. "Put the knife down. Father and I love each other. We had better have a little talk with you."

I was crying. I didn't know what to think. I was embarrassed, feeling as though I had walked into their private lives. I didn't want to intrude like that.

"Honey," my mother said. "It's not like it seems. This is just the way we are. We relate to each other in a very special way. You shouldn't worry. When you are older, you will understand."

"You really have a lot of nerve barging in on us like this," my father said.

"Oh, give her a break," my mother said. "The way we relate seems like we're going to kill each other."

"I don't understand," I said.

"Honey," my mother said. "We are what is called sadomasochists. We relate to each other in an abnormal way."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," my father said, trying to cover up his genitals.

"I think you had better go back to your room," my mother said. "Everything is okay. This is just the way we are. Try to understand."

And so I did. And after that, they started being more private.

* * *

That's very interesting. But how has this sexual history affected your present sexual relationships?

Oh, it has affected me very directly. I suppose that I have become a sadomasochist because of the influence of my mother and father.

At first, when I was just getting into sex, I had a hard time relating to men.

I didn't understand all the softness and the sensitivity of the young boys. All I knew was how to relate to sexuality in a violent, and painful manner. Needless to say, I had a lot of difficulty finding young men who could satisfy that need.

My mother had to be placed in a sanitarium because of her drinking problem, and my father had become quite wealthy and successful, finally.

As a result, he was hardly ever in town. I had my own apartment, and my father gave me a very substantial allowance. I guess it was mostly because of guilt.

I went to bars to meet older men. But for the most part, they seemed worse than the young men. While the young men wanted to put me up on a pedestal, and make love to me as though I were some sort of an angel, the older men treated me like their daughter. They wanted to spoil me with presents, and by taking me to imagine places and so on.

All I wanted was pain.

It was quite by accident that I got into full-on S&M.

I was in a book store, looking for the complete works of the Marquis de Sade, when I happened to see this magazine called the S&M Express. I picked it up, of course, and was leafing through it. It seemed to be a rather interesting publication.

What I discovered, was that inside, there were photos of men and women who were into the darker aspects of the sexual arts. They advertised for sex slaves. Some of the men, and some of the women actually seemed quite attractive.

I decided to try it. So, I sent a photo of myself, along with a letter of introduction to a man, and to a woman. They wrote back immediately furnishing me their telephone numbers. I guess the photo I sent them was of interest. I used a self-portrait I had taken with a timed release, and I was posing nude.

I have a very nice figure, and my blonde pubes always turns people on right away.

I went to see the man first. He was very handsome. His name was Jim. He was really into the black leather trip complete with ropes, and whips, and hand-cuffs.

I must admit, I enjoyed it thoroughly. I let him tie my hands together, and bind me to the head board, and then he tied my ankles to the foot board. I was on my stomach.

He had me stripped naked, and he beat me with a riding crop. At first it hurt. And I cried something awful. He had to gag me, because he was afraid of what the neighbors would say.

Fuck the neighbors, I always say. But he was a businessman, and led a dual life. He didn't want anyone to know about his secret perversion. It's so amazing to me how wide spread perversion is.

Anyway, I started to like what he was doing to me. I mean, after I got past the pain, I realized that it was terribly exciting to have someone flip out so extensively over me. And he was really nuts over me.

He beat me on the ass and the back and on my thighs. It was a terrible, stinging pain. But my pussy became very moistened as a result. I knew that I would have the first orgasm of my life that night.

And I did.

After he had finished beating me, he used the handle of the riding crop on my ass. I mean he pushed it into my anus.

It was the first time a man ever did that to me. I had tried to get men to do it, but it was always surprisingly difficult to do so. Men can sometimes be more prudish than women.

Of course, when I masturbated, I had always used my finger in my ass. I picked up that fetish, I suppose, from that night I witnessed my father sodomizing my mother.

It felt good, after I got used to it.

But taking a cock up the ass was a different matter altogether.

He tried to do it without using lubricant. But it was just impossible. I couldn't get it to go in.

I really tried. I even liked the pain. But I was too dry I guess or too frightened. Jim kept hitting me, telling me to relax. I just couldn't relax enough to take his ten inch sausage up the ass.

So, he put vaseline on his cock, and shoved some up my ass, and then it went it rather easily.

It just slid right on inside. And after the initial discomfort, I found that I liked it very much. I had a very nice orgasm while he fucked me in the ass. And when he shot his hot spunk up my ass, I thought I would go crazy from the pleasure of it.

What a treat that was.

Now, I always insist, when I am with a man, that he fucks me in the ass. I'm just not interested in taking a cock up the slash. It doesn't do a thing for me.

But I also went to see the woman Gretchen. She is really a strange one, though we have become quite good friends. And between the two of them Gretchen and Jim all of my sexual needs are taken care of.

She lives in a very nice apartment in the village. She has a bedroom that is completely decorated in an S&M motif. It's so interesting.

There is black leather furniture everywhere, and she has a wall covered with various whips, and bondage tools.

She's a very lovely redhead, and to see her walking on the street, you would never imagine just how perverted she is in private.

We have a regular routine when I go to see her.

She won't talk to me until after I have taken off all my clothes.

Then she takes me into the sex room, and ties me to a flat bench.

Whereas Jim always has me lying ass up, Gretchen has me pussy up.

It's kind of exciting. I like the variety.

She ties my hands beneath the bench, and my legs are forced apart, and she ties me by the ankles to the walls.

Then she beats me. We've sort of settled on this velvet cat of nine tails. It doesn't really hurt much. In fact, it just hurts enough to get me excited.

My clitoris is always swollen by the time she is through whipping me. And then, while I am moaning pretending that she has really hurt me badly. It gets us both very hot.

And we eat each other out.

I suppose it isn't the most tender of oral sex feasts. Gretchen's rather rough on me. Mostly it's the teeth. She-likes to bite while she sucks me. And that really disturbs me. At first, that is. But after awhile I really do get into it.

I come better with her than I do with Jim. I don't know what it is. I don't really think I'm a lesbian. But there is just something so very erotic about her. I really like her. She gets me off so well.

I can tell when she beats me that she's really into it. No faking with her. Jim plays sort of a game. I think S&M sex is just a kinky thing he's into. But for Gretchen it's real as it is for me.

We've never really spoken much about our pasts. But what she has told me convinces me that she had a rather rotten childhood as well. Her father sounds like a regular storm trooper, and her mother seems to be a frightened little mouse.

So, I stopped seeing Jim after awhile. It just didn't seem real. Together, we were like a couple of children dressing up in our parents' clothes and playing at being adults.

But we weren't adults. We weren't really into the S&M trip. For me, it was like playing a game. I didn't want it that way. I wanted it to be real. Gretchen has helped me make it real.

She is so understanding. She helps go back into the past and replay the scenes with my mother and father. And that really helps. We even re-did the scene when I was standing at the door of my parents' bedroom with the knife in my hand.

It all seemed to come back to me. It was more than real. And I started lubricating in my panties just watching her lying on the bed, playing the role of the tormented house wife.

And then I played my father's role. I began to understand him better. I could see and feel the pleasure he must have derived from mistreating my mother. It was very stimulating.

I pinned Gretchen's arms to the bed, and sucked at her titties, and moved my mouth to her crotch, and sucked her cunt. And I bit her, and slapped her around.

And then I came.

But it was special. It was a spontaneous orgasm. I wasn't frigging myself, and Gretchen wasn't touching me. It just happened. All the excitement, I guess. And it had continued like that. I have these absolutely amazing orgasms when I am with Gretchen. It's wonderful.

So, I guess it's true. I think I can only orgasm when I am involved in an S&M situation.

I guess I'm perverted, but I can't help it.

Julie D.

Interviewed: October 23, 1978

Was it a sadomasochistic experience in your childhood, which triggered your current need for violence in sex? And if so, how does this violence manifest itself?

I don't know what all those big words mean, doctor. I'm an artist, not an intellectual. But, and correct me if I'm wrong, I think what you are getting at, is whether I am into S&M, and if so, how come. And what exactly is it that I do and so on. Is that so?

Very good. See, we can communicate if we try. Well, I guess it really all started when I was about twenty-one years old. And that was only three years ago.

My parents were always very loving. I can remember so many wonderful outings, and picnics, and family adventures. But my father started drinking when I was about ten. He was a different man when he drank. I think his business was falling apart or something like that. I never really got the complete story.

I didn't see much of him during the next few years. He was drinking himself to death. I could see that. Even as a young girl I understood about death. I could see him dying. And I was so sad.

And when I was thirteen. He was dead. For a long time I thought he had died from the drinking. You see, my best girlfriend's father is a doctor. He was the attending physician. And between he and my mother, I was convinced that my father had just dropped dead.

When I was twenty, however, I was told the truth. The awful truth. My father had committed suicide. It took me almost until the present time to learn to deal with that. It's a strange thing when your own father kills himself. It isn't like seeing it on television or in a movie. It's all very real. He put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

It was about that time that my brother became gay. I didn't think much about it. My mother was away most of the time, so my brother and I had plenty of freedom. He is a few years older than I am, so he had a lot of older, wild friends.

I never actually saw him making love with any men, but I saw them being rough together. He liked to fight with his boyfriends. I guess it was his way of acting out his anger. Always in a fight. And they would wear leather clothes and get into the whole S&M act. Only, at the time, I didn't know what it was they were up to.

But I was excited. I had the need to feel pain. And even more so, I had the need the driving need to inflict pain. My life had been so sad, and there had been so very much loneliness, that I wanted to hurt others. I had to get all the pain out of my system.

I can see this all quite clearly now. But for the longest time, it didn't make sense at all to me. I would be in my bed at night, and in my brother's adjoining room, I could hear him carrying on with his male lovers. There would always be screaming, and fighting. I think they hated themselves for being gay. And that, on top of all the anger my brother felt towards the world, made him a really violent young man.

It was rather exciting, really. I would be in bed, listening to all of this, and I would get horny. I could feel the hot lubricating juices trickle from my pussy. And my clitoris would get real hard, and I would start rubbing it.

That was the first time I started masturbating. It was very exciting for me to feel pleasure. For so long there had been only pain in my life. My pussy was my secret desire. No matter what terrible things were happening around me, I could always go into the bathroom, or get under the covers of my bed, and rub my little clitoris.

And there would be wonderful pleasure. Nothing could hurt me then. I was happy.

And if my brother happened to be in the next room, with his friends, and if they were hurting each other, I would be even more excited. It really did something for me to hear shouts, and cries, and pleas for mercy while I rubbed myself. It made me feel strong, and powerful. I had fantasies of hurting boys.

Now, I am a very pretty girl blonde, blue eyes the whole bit. I guess I am lucky, because all the boys go goo-goo over me. It gives me a lot of choices.

But the guy I really flipped over was this friend of my brother. He was a straight guy. I would never think of messing around with one of his gay friends. I'm sure they wouldn't have me anyway.

But the friend of my brother, this guy Mark, was different. I think that Dennis, my brother, was into Mark. like he wanted to have an affair with him. I suppose Mark picked up on it, because he kept a distance from my brother. And I could tell by the way he looked at me that he was interested. I think that really pissed my brother off. But what can you do. Dennis never really said anything to me about it. But I could tell when Mark continued coming around, after the school project was completed obviously to see me that Dennis was jealous.

Mark was nice to him, but he was nicer to me.

As much as I liked the guy, he was really cute and nice, I had this instinct to hurt him.

I was around twenty-two at the time, and my friendship with my girlfriend Roz had taken on a new character. I thought I was in love with her.

We had an affair. I didn't tell Mark about it. I played a game with him. I liked to pretend that I was really innocent and all that. But I wasn't. Not at all. I wanted him but first I wanted to torment him.

The funny thing about my lesbian relationship with Roz was that I didn't feel a need to hurt her. I wanted to be good to her. We shared an apartment together, and really got close. We liked to do everything together. I mostly liked to hold her in my arms when we slept. I liked to kiss her passionately on the mouth, pressing my tongue into her mouth, and rub her breasts. There was something so good, and safe, about being with another woman.

I suppose, psychologically speaking, that I was afraid of men. I mean, my father disappointed me terribly. And my brother was so weird, and hateful towards women. He was especially angry with me, because Mark had become stuck on me, and was forever coming around the house to see me not him.

And Dennis wouldn't tell Mark where I lived. He was so selfish I thought.

But I ran into Mark in the city one day, and asked him to come home with me. I had told Roz all about him, and she sort of thought it was sweet how much he loved me. She wasn't at all jealous:

And Roz didn't seem at all shocked, when I brought Mark home to the apartment. Now, Roz and I were definitely not into a black leather S&M trip, but we enjoyed wearing leather, and playing the role. We were still young, and I suppose Dennis was a hero for us. He was an older brother to Roz as well, as she didn't have any brothers or sisters.

Mark was a bit surprised when I brought him home. I was wearing a suede jacket, and jeans, and riding boots. I thought I looked rather cute. And I could tell that Mark thought the same thing. Roz was really decked out. She didn't know, of course, that I was bringing someone home, and she had planned this little surprise for me.

She had gone out and purchased this entire brown leather costume. It was really something. You should have seen her. She had brown leather pants, boots, and jacket. And she didn't wear anything under the jacket. So that her large tits were exposed.

It was sort of sexy.

She was very nice to Mark. And I could tell by the way she looked at the bulge in his jeans, that she was fond of men as well as women. We had never really discussed our sexual preferences. I mean, it always seemed important that she was into me, and I was into her. We didn't talk much about others.

But then it was clear to me that Roz could go both ways. And so, I decided that I would go both ways as well. Mark was going to be our first victim. And I could tell that he liked the idea fine.

It seems like just yesterday when it all happened.

"Do you girls live together?" he asked, staring at us in that strange, sexual way.

"Yes," I said. "Roz and I grew up together. We are practically sisters."

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" he said.

"No, go ahead and shoot," Roz said.

"Are you girls lesbians?" he asked, rather frankly.

"Well, that certainly is a point-blank question," I said to Mark. "Would you mind if we were indeed lesbians?"

"Only insomuch as I would like to have an affair with you," he said to me, smiling bashfully.

That's one of the things that I liked best about Mark. He was so sensitive. He seemed almost like a little boy at times. I felt an instinct to protect him. To look out for him.

"Let me tell you something," I said to him. "I think you are really cute, Mark. And I like you a lot. And you are the first man I have ever felt sexually attracted to. And I really do feel attracted to you. But I am in love with Roz. If she were a man, I think I would marry her."

"So, there isn't a chance for us?" he asked.

"We can be friends," I said.

"Don't throw Julie's friendship away, Mark," Roz said. "She's a very special girl."

"I know that," he said. "But I don't think that friendship alone is enough. I need you," he was practically falling at my feet. "I think of you only from morning to night. You are the rising sun of my day, and the moon of my nights. You are all, and everything."

"Oh, you cute little boy," I couldn't help but pat him on the head. "What about Roz?"

"Oh, she's cute too," he said. "I could learn to love Roz as well. Anyone who loves you, is special to me."

"You are really crazy about that blonde, aren't you?" Roz asked Mark.

"I sure am," he said.

"Does that mean you don't like my friend, Roz?" I asked.

"No, that doesn't mean that at all," he said. "I like both of you very much. Oh, this is all so confusing. What sort of times are these that we are living in?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, your brother and his S&M friends are so bizarre," he said. "And now I find that you and Roz no offence are lesbians. Where are the normal people?"

"What is normal?" Roz asked.

"I wish I knew," he said. "I feel as though I don't know anything anymore. I only know that I think I love you, Julie."

"Oh, Mark," I said, quite dramatically, "don't you see that it just never would work out?"

"But why?"

"Because I am a lesbian I want to hurt you, Mark. You'd better run from me. I don't understand love. All I know is that the more you like me, the more I want to hurt you."

"You'd better take a hint from her," Roz said. "If you were smart, you would run from Julie as fast as your legs could carry you."

"I can't," he lowered his head. "I will be your sex slave to both of you if it's required. Whatever it takes to be close to you, Julie, that's how far I'll go. If you want to play like your brother does, and tie-me up, and hit me, and all that, then go right ahead."

"Are you sure you want this, Mark?"

"I have no choice," he said. "I must have you at all costs."

"Very well," I smiled. "I had him where I wanted him. I should explain at this point, that I really was sexually attracted to Mark. I wanted him in the worst way. But it had to be on my terms. I had to have him where I could handle him. And that was tied up. I simply couldn't deal with Mark as an equal. For me, he had to be placed in captivity so he couldn't hurt me. Couldn't disappoint me. It's all the father thing.

Roz and I had Mark undress.

I knew he was a handsome, well-built fellow but I certainly didn't realize just how handsome he was.

I could feel my pussy secreting hot lubricating juices while I looked at him. He was so sexy. When he took his shorts off, I saw that he was very well hung, as well.

"No wonder my brother was so very much attracted to you," I said. "You are very handsome and masculine. And you have a beautiful cock, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I don't mind at all," he said. "I like your compliments."

"Well, don't expect too many of them," I said. "I can't afford to pay too much in that respect. It makes me feel vulnerable."

"Well, at least you understand yourself," he said. "What should I do now?"

"Go over there on the bed," I said, while removing my suede jacket. Roz had practically finished undressing. She wanted to get in on this as well.

Mark was on his back on the bed, and he had a huge erection. I was so excited to see him like that my victim. My pussy was throbbing with excitement. It was wonderful.

I took some rope from the closet, and tied his wrists together, over his head, and bound his ankles together.

Roz and I were completely nude now. We embraced, and kissed passionately. Her firm nipples felt so good against mine. I pushed my groin to hers, and I could feel fire erupt between us. It was so sensual.

I glanced at Mark, and I could see that he was very excited. There is something very exciting for a man, I think, to watch two women get into each other sexually. I really don't understand that fantasy.

But there is a lot I don't understand about men. And even less about life in general.

Nevertheless, I think that both Roz and I enjoyed caressing in front of the bound man. He became the symbol of all the wrongs that men ever did to us.

The poor guy didn't really understand why we were tormenting him so. He really did love me, I know that now, but I'm a lesbian. I can't assume responsibility for how men feel about me. I just can't. There's nothing I can do about it.

So Roz and I got on the bed, and we lay beside Mark. He was perspiring, and quite excited by what was happening. I could tell by his heavy breathing while Roz and I were locked in each other's arms. We kissed, and fondled each other's breasts, and pressed our pussies together. And there was a lot of heat, and sexual excitement. And poor Mark just lay there and watched. He tried to turn several times, to join in the festivities. But we wouldn't let him. We kept turning him over on his back. I was atop Roz, and I was rubbing my pussy against hers, while sucking at her tit.

Mark looked over and watched, with pain. He obviously wished that it was him that was beneath me. That it was his cock that was shoved up my pussy.

But I couldn't let that happen, doctor. Don't you see, that would take the fun out of everything. I simply wanted to force him to watch. I wanted him to be miserable.

I crouched between Roz's thighs, and began sucking her pussy. She liked what I was doing to her. I could tell that Mark was very jealous. Each time that Roz sighed with pleasure, and pressed her pussy firmly against my mouth, getting closer and closer to orgasm, Mark would struggle against the ropes. He was trying to break free. He wanted to touch me, to get close to me.

It turned me on to be desired like that. It made sex with Roz all that much more exciting.

When Roz came, moaning, and writhing about in ecstasy below me, I think Mark almost cried with exasperation.

But that's not my problem. It's his problem.

I told him up front what I was. And still he persisted. So, all the pain and confusion he brought down on himself was entirely his fault. I don't accept any of the blame for it.

It was much worse for him when I was on my back, and it was Roz between my thighs sucking on my pussy.

He started to cry. And instead of feeling sorry for him, I found that it turned me on. I actually became excited from watching him cry, and moan, and writhe about, pulling at his bindings.

I knew he was dying to have me, but he couldn't. And that gave me so much pleasure. I was like the goal that he could never have. I was the prize the aloof angel that he could never quite touch.

And it gave me so very much pleasure to have him in that position.

When I started to come, he began screaming with agony.

Both Roz and I ignored him.

He was lying right there beside us, and we pretended that he wasn't even there.

All his protests, and screams, and tears, were just a joke to us.

Well, it wasn't really a joke. I mean, I think I felt sorry for him in a way. But he asked for it. He made me do it.

After I had come, Roz and I went into the other room to discuss what we should do about him. We were really plotting.

"Should we untie him and send him home?" Roz asked me.

"No, I think we should have some more fun with him," I said. "It's a gas. I can't help but enjoy it. Oh, Roz, do you think I am sick?"

"No, I don't think you are sick," she said. "But I think you are taking this thing to far. You have to think about what you are really doing to this man. You are torturing him, Julie. You are doing a very evil thing to him. You have to think about what's going to happen to him in the future. I mean, how will he be able to relate to other women?"

"I can't think about that," I said. "I have to live for the moment's pleasure. It's just the way it is. If you are my friend, and lover if you really care about me you'll help me with this. You'll see just how important it is to me to have my way with the young man. I tell you, I haven't had so much pleasure ever before. It's all so wonderful. Don't you get excited making love to me, knowing that he wants us, but can't have us?"

"But that's perverse," she replied. "I love you, Julie, and I've gone along with all of this S&M stuff to please you, but I don't want to harm the boy. He seems like such a nice, sensitive young man."

"Don't be a fool," I said. "Do you want to put our relationship in danger? Don't you understand that I have to act like this? I've just discovered how wonderful it is to have dirty sex. I mean I like it raunchy. Can't you understand?"

"If it means losing you," she said, "then I will go along with the game plan. But I think it's unfair."

I was losing my grip about that time, doctor. I had never ordered Roz about like that before. I had never put ultimatums before her. But this was different. I was somehow caught in the grip of a powerful, and perverse need to hurt Mark. I wanted to crack him to hurt him. The way my father had hurt me by killing himself.

So, Roz agreed that she would make love with him. I would never let him actually touch me. I knew how much he wanted that. And that's why I couldn't. It was so much fun just to tease him.

He was quite excited when Roz and I came back into the room.

He was pulling at his ropes, trying to break away. But, of course, he couldn't. We pushed him to the center of the bed, and Roz lay beside him. I sat on the bed on the other side, just to watch.

He looked at me with pleading eyes. He didn't have to tell me that he loved me, and that he wanted me. I could see that plain as day.

I just smiled. I didn't say anything. And while Roz was running her fingers through his hair, I toyed with my body.

Now, Roz is a very lovely woman. I should point that out. She is as beautiful as I am, in a brunette sort of way. And the fact that he wasn't paying any attention to her, while she was trying to turn him on, was most curious.

He just kept looking at me, with tears in his eyes. I felt a little sad for him. But I couldn't help myself. The pleasure was so intense. I was pinching my nipples, and practically going crazy with lust, while Roz was French kissing him. And his eyes were on me the entire time.

The poor critter.

I sure hope you aren't getting shocked by what I'm telling you. I just want to be open and honest.

Well, as I was saying, Roz was really getting into Mark. She always was able to get into men somewhat. And poor Mark wasn't at all paying attention to her. He was looking at me with the saddest, most wanting eyes you would ever want to see.

He groaned with pleasure, of course, when Roz put her mouth over his cock and began sucking on his dick. But I think half the pleasure he derived from her mouth was because he was looking at me, pretending that I was the one who was sucking him off.

I suppose it's partly my fault. I had spread my legs, so that he could see directly into my pussy. And I was toying with my clit while Roz sucked his dick.

I was licking my lips, and making lewd expressions at him. The poor guy was a little shocked and hurt, I would say.

And when he shot off in Roz's mouth, which she-likes a lot, instead of crying out with pleasure, the poor guy seemed to cry with hurt pride. I really did feel sorry for him, but I was so excited. I started coming right then and there.

It was the best orgasm I think I've ever had. Every nerve fibre in my body was shaking. It was a total catharsis.

And only when he saw me writhing about in the throes of sexual catharsis, did he begin to derive pleasure from his orgasm in my lover's mouth.

That's really strange to me.

He was, I think, pretending that Roz was I. And that really turned me on. I felt so desirable, just like a real princess.

After Roz had milked him dry, she was really excited.

When that woman tastes come, she just goes bananas.

"Can I untie his feet?" she asked me.

"Why?"

"I want to fuck this boy," she said. "I want to feel his legs wrapped around me."

"Very well," I said, "but keep him away from me."

"Why are you so mean to me?" he asked.

"Don't take it personally, Mark," I said. "I do like you very much. It's not a question of that. It's just that I'm not like other girls. You should have known that before you flipped out over me."

"Oh, Julie," he said, "please let me touch you. I just would be so happy if I could kiss you, put my cock in your pussy, love you, and make you feel good. Can't you understand that?"

"I can understand it," I said. "But I can't go along with it. Mark, this is your choice to be here. You surely knew what you were up against with me. Now, don't fight it. Accept it. You can leave now, if you want. And never come back. Or you can become our sex toy. But you have to understand that you will never make love to me. I will never let you touch me, or have me in any sexual manner. Can you deal with that?"

"If it's the only way I can be close to you," he said, "then I will have to accept it."

"Oh, good," Roz glowed. "Now, I'm going to give you a proper fucking. Come on, and get hard again. I can't wait all day."

Roz stroked Mark's cock until he was erect again, and then she squatted over him, and introduced his cock into her snatch.

She sighed with pleasure as the fat dick pressed into the mouth of her snatch.

I was masturbating again really feeling turned on. It really did a great sexual number on my head to watch him squirming around beneath my woman lover.

I lay on my side facing him. His eyes were glued to mine as I frigged my pussy. I couldn't help but enjoy the warmth of the occasion. I was squeezing, and probing and pushing against my sex, feeling so very wonderful, and he was crying again.

I really didn't realize the extent of the pain I had caused him. I really didn't want to hurt him, you see. I was pressing and pulling and frigging myself, and going absolutely crazy with perverse desire.

And Roz was having a wonderful time also. We all came at the same time again. It was a three-way simultaneous orgasm. And I thought that was kind of neat.

We were all rather exhausted from it all. Roz and I got dressed, and then we untied Mark. He left. He didn't say anything more. I guess he was really angry and hurt.

Two days later, I heard from my brother that he was dead. He had drowned himself in the sea.

But Roz and I continued our relationship as if nothing had happened. We never talked about Mark.

But now and then we still come across a man who is really into one of us. And we play the same game with him. If he-likes me, then we play it the way we did with Mark. But if he-likes Roz, then I am the one who makes love with him while Roz sits to the side and torments him.

We've sort of found a natural outlet for our frustrations, and anger against men.

I hope it doesn't seem too bizarre to you. I suppose with all the interviews you're conducting, you hear lots of strange stories.

Lisa D.

Interviewed: May 13, 1977

As an admitted sadomasochist, would you please explain how you came to realize your need for painful sexual experience, and how you act out your sexual fantasies?

Well, from speaking to other girls I know who are into S&M, I've discovered a common trait. You've probably noticed it in your interviews as well.

It seems that all of us have huge angers against our fathers. It does make sense, when you think about it. It is always under-estimated just how significant the relationship is between father and daughter. After all, the father is the first man who makes an impression in a girl's life.

And because he had more contact with the child than anyone else, it only makes sense that there would be a very strong connection. For example, my father is an alcoholic. I don't see much of him anymore.

I grew up on a military base. My father was career military. He was a colonel. And he was a very unhappy man. He was a public information officer, so he had to act a certain way with the press, and with the high ranking officers on base.

But it wasn't really himself. He was such an unhappy man. Oh, so very unhappy. Even as a little girl I could tell that. My sister, Christina, and I tried to give him a wide berth.

He would always be at the officer's club drinking. And mother was often away, staying with her mother in Kansas. I wish she would have taken us along. When father was drunk, he was a mean man. And he was a perverted man as well.

Christina and I were afraid of him. We always pretended that we were asleep when we heard him pull the car into the garage. My sister and I always shared a room together. We were teenagers at the time when the sexual things started happening.

Mother was staying away for months at a time. And when father came home, drunk, and looking for trouble, Christina and I were the only ones around to pick on. And he sure did pick on us.

It seems just like yesterday:

"Okay girls," he would say, turning on the light in our room.

"It's not so late," he said. "Get up. I want to inspect the room."

Usually he was satisfied just to see if the room was dusted and our clothes were put away neatly. But this time, he was going through different number. He was sexually aroused.

Both Christina and I were virgins. Sex was an entirely new dimension for us. We talked about it, of course. We knew what an erection was, and what was supposed to be done with it.

It was winter, I remember, and we were wearing flannel nighties which mother had bought for us.

"Well, the room looks rather unfit," he drawled. He was really drunk. We could tell by the bulge in his pants that he was also rather sexually aroused.

"Get out of bed," he said, "and stand at attention."

Neither Christina, nor I knew exactly what was coming. But we both knew that it was going to be heavy.

"Take off those night gowns," he said. "I want to see if you girls have bathed properly."

"Aren't we getting a little old for this, father?" Christina asked.

She was about seventeen at the time, and I was fifteen.

"Don't you question my authority," my father fumed. "I am a colonel in the Army, and what I say goes."

So, my sister and I removed our nighties, and he stared at us with this really perverse look in his eyes.

I suppose it was because of what happened that night, that Christina became a lesbian, and I got into the S&M scene.

Father sort of spoiled any chance for us of having normal relationships with men. I mean, as a symbol of what a man is, he set a bad example.

"So, you girls are developing into regular little women," he said.

It was true. We were rather well developed. Christina, who has dark hair, had grown quite a pubic bush. She has very small breasts, which gave her a masculine look.

On the other hand, I already had a nice set of jugs, and my blonde hair was long, and hung nearly to my waist. I could tell by the way my father was staring at my pussy obviously admiring my blonde pubes that Christina and I were going to be molested.

It was just the reality of the situation. His cock was obviously erect in his uniform pants, and his face was flushed. I was frightened. Christina, being the older of the two of us, and sort of a mother figure for me, took me by the hand, and squeezed my hand.

I felt safe. I knew that no matter what father did to us, we would still have each other.

"I think that we haven't had a chance to really get to know each other properly," he said. "Now, I hope you don't think I am sick or mean or anything like that, but the two of you are now women."

I knew what was coming at that point. I could feel it.

"It's time that you learned about being women," he said. "The world is full of men who are going to want to fuck you girls. And you are going to have to be very careful. I want to just let you know what to expect."

He was so drunk and weird. He started to undress. We were both young virgins, and terribly frightened.

Christina and I held each other tightly. I could feel her little firm nipples pressing into me. And it excited me terribly. I think it was probably out of fear that I felt that way.

My father was still a very handsome man. The heavy drinking hadn't seemed to affect his body or his face. I remember looking at his penis. It was so large. I thought about how it was because of that cock that I was brought into the world.

His penis seemed to have special magic for me. I sensed that Christina was terrified by it. But I wanted it. Yes, doctor, I wanted his cock to be inside of me. My own father.

Don't get me wrong. I disliked the man then, and I despise him still today. But at that time, I wanted him. I was still a virgin, and I can still remember the strange feeling of hot juices trickling into my pussy.

When he was completely naked, and erect, he seemed a little embarrassed. But his embarrassment certainly wasn't stronger than his sexual desire.

"Now, you girls get back into bed," he said. "I will deal with each one of you individually."

And he did.

He came up to me first. I thought he would. I just had that strange feeling a premonition, if you like.

He was perspiring rather heavily, and sitting on the edge of my bed, running his fingers through my hair. "I know, Lisa," he said, "that life has been difficult for us. All the changes of duty stations. Nothing seems permanent. But I will always love you. You are my little girl. And I think it is a father's duty to explain these things these sexual things."

"I understand, father," I said. And I think I really meant it, in a way. I was frightened, but I desperately wanted him. I wanted to feel love and closeness from him.

He pulled back the bed covers, and exposed my naked body. His hands felt warm and nice as they moved over my breasts. He squeezed them, and then kissed me on the mouth. He smelled of whisky.

And then he got into bed beside me. And he was kissing me passionately. His tongue was moving in and out of my mouth, and I could feel tremendous heat surging in my pussy.

It was the awakening of sexuality in me.

We were facing each other, and his hot stick was shoved between my legs. I could feel it pulsating up against my pussy, and as I discharged, I felt a great desire for him.

I suppose he felt guilty, because he started getting rough with me as though he were taking out his guilt feelings on me. I think in your profession, doctor, that's called transference.

Well, he was for sure transferring his problems to me.

He forcibly rolled me over on my back, and moved in between my thighs. He pressed the head of his cock against my young opening, and pushed his erection up against the hymen.

"It hurts, father," I cried. It really did hurt. I didn't know how I would be able to deal with it.

"It always hurts the first time," he said.

But I could tell by the way he said it that he really didn't care that he was hurting me.

He was sweating, and reeking of booze, and then he shoved his cock into my pussy, tearing through my hymen, and I cried with pain. But he didn't even stop.

I think he was enjoying it. He was enjoying forcing himself on me, and hurting me. He is a very sick man. I can see that now.

My father was grinning from ear to ear as he forced his mammoth organ deeply into my pussy. I was bleeding. I could feel the hot blood trickle from my wounded vagina, but that didn't stop him.

He kept fucking me, grabbing at my tits, as though I were some whore definitely not his daughter.

Christina was in bed crying. She was crying for me, and she was also crying for herself. She knew that she would be next.

My father started slapping me. I had done nothing wrong except be frightened and still, he kept hitting me. I was crying while he pounded his cock in and out of my pussy. He was panting, and obviously was too turned on.

"Stop your sniveling you little bitch," he screamed at me. "I'm just showing you how it will be when you are out in the real world. This is what you can expect from men. I'm doing you a big favor. I just wish you would realize that."

But I kept crying.

"So, you spoiled little bitch. I can see how your mother has really ruined you. Well, it sickens me."

And then he pulled his huge cock out of my little pussy, and he rolled me over. I knew something really bad was going to happen. I just didn't know what.

But when he shoved his finger up my ass, I knew it was going to be bad.

He kept shoving it in and out of me. And I was crying. I was crying because it hurt. He was hurting me.

I tried not to cry too loudly. I knew it only made it worse. But he wouldn't ease up. He kept being meaner and meaner.

And then he pressed the tip of his fat penis against my anus, and I screamed in pain.

That was much too much. I had never heard about things like that before. About men forcing their cocks into little girl's behinds. I didn't want to deal with it at all.

It was not at all pleasurable. Although I have since learned to enjoy sodomy because of the pain of it, at that time there was no pleasure in it. It was just plain pain.

I cried into my pillow. I screamed and tried to pull away from him. But it wasn't any help. He was hurting me terribly.

His cock was too big for that little hole.

But somehow, he got all the way inside of me. I felt like I was going to pass out.

I wish I could have.

But I didn't.

He came inside my ass. And for a week afterwards, I cried every time I had to take a dump. It was really killing me.

Finally, the nightmare was over, and he pulled his cock out of my ass. I felt better. But not much. My young body was filled with pain. I wanted to love my father. I suppose I would still like to love him. But I can't. I hate him. I would like to see him punished. Of course, the good Lord took care of that for me. But not soon enough for me or badly enough.

I think the reason I like to give men trouble; break their hearts; and give them general grief, is because of my father and what he did to me that night.

For Christina, it's entirely different. She wants nothing to do with men. She's strictly into women. And that is also because of him.

After he had pulled his cock out of my ass, he used my nightie to dry his cock off and then he went over to Christina's bed.

"Leave me alone," she cried, as he pulled the covers off her. "What's wrong with you? You can't do things like this to your daughters."

"The hell I can't," he said. "I'll do just as I please."

"Father, have some honor, at least," she said.

"I'll tell you what honor is," he said. "The first thing you have to learn about honor, is to honor your father. How do you like that?"

"Your logic is all off, Dad," she said. "You are a sick man. You are perverse. You are a child molester, and you will be punished for this."

"Oh, yea?" he slapped her across the face. "And are you going to punish me?"

"I won't," she said. "It will be your karma. You'll see. You can't get away with this."

"Well, we'll just see about that," he shouted. And then he pressed his fingers into my sister's virgin opening. She really screamed with pain. He forced his fingers right through her cherry. There was blood, and tears, oh, it's awful to even remember it.

And then he forced her to suck his cock.

"You aren't even a girl," he screamed. "You don't have tits. You keep your hair cut short. If you ask me, you're just a little boy. And you'd better suck on my cock. And I want you to swallow up every little drop of my jizz."

I looked over and watched as he grabbed her by the hair and forced her mouth down over his cock. She had tears in her eyes. Tears of shame and fear.

He was so rough with her the way he forced her mouth up and down on his shaft. And when he squirted jism into her mouth, he held her head tightly against his cock. He wouldn't let her up.

She was gagging on his juice. I could hear her trying to break away from him.

And he kept shooting into her mouth.

Well, the way things work in life, you know, everyone gets what's coming to them. There just doesn't seem to be any escape from karmic law. And that's what happened to him.

My mother left him, taking us with her back to Kansas. It was like rebirth to get away from him.

Not long after that, he was transferred to Vietnam. We all figured he would be safe, because he had a non-combat job. But there was a rocket attack or something, and he took a serious wound in the leg.

He was in the hospital in Hawaii for a long time recovering. I don't think the wound was so bad. It was mostly his head that was fucked up. A doctor wrote a letter to my mother saying, in effect, that father had lost his will to live. The doctor wondered if, under the circumstances, she would go to him, and try to put some meaning back in his life.

But it didn't work that way. She wanted to go, but Christina and I wouldn't let her. We told her what father had done to us. The revelation united the three of us in a strong bond.

And we forgot all about father. But about a year ago he found where we were living, somehow, and came to visit us. We could hardly recognize him.

He was no longer in the Army. He had some form of pension, but it must not have been much, because he drove an old, battered car. His hair had turned white, and he had a bad limp.

He was a ruined man.

We all felt a little sorry for him, but his nature hadn't changed at all. He was still a bitter, jealous, frustrated man. And after we talked to him a few minutes, we managed to get him out of the house by threatening to call the police.

Well, the old bastard left, and we've never seen him again, thank God.

* * *

That is all very informative. But would you please explain how this relationship with your father has influenced your present sexual life style?

Yes, of course. I really haven't touched on that very extensively. Well, you see, I think I really hate men now. Not just a little. I really loath them. I don't trust any of them.

But I am not a lesbian. Women don't turn me on. Christina has become a lesbian. And her life style seems much easier to deal with than my own. I enjoy sex with men, but only when I have the upper hand. I have to crush their spirit make them crawl.

That's not so difficult for me, as I am a rather lovely young woman. It's really true about blondes having more fun. I definitely have more fun than most the girls I know.

Of course, my brand of fun is a little different than most people's. I'm into black leather. I'm into S&M. I like nothing more than walking down the street, seeing how many cute men I can attract.

I like to break their wills. I like to crush their spirit.

I get them to beg for my body. And I let them have me. But only on my terms.

Usually I insist that they strip off their clothes. And then I have them get on their hands and knees and beg for me like a dog.

I get a thrill from that. I know it must sound bizarre to you. But it turns me on so very much to have the upper hand. I like to feel that I have them under my thumb.

I like to feel as though I can make them roll over and play dead, or whatever else I want. Being beautiful lets me act out a lot of different fantasies.

I enjoy that very much.

In some of my kinkier moments, I get them to dress up in military clothes. I understand perfectly well why I do that. I still want to have the upper hand with my father.

It doesn't matter that he is a broken down old gimp, that all his dreams of success and importance have come to nothing. That he is a failure, a crumb, and an embittered old man.

I still feel that I must have the last word. So I go to military surplus stores and buy old uniforms.

And then I make them beg. Oh, I get shivers of pleasure from doing that.

My pussy drips with hot desire, and I can't wait to get them undressed again. And then I do to them just what my father did to me. Well, not exactly, of course.

They are men and I am a woman. I have them get under the covers of the bed, and make them perform sexual acts on me.

I guess I'm what you call a dominatrix.

The object is most certainly not the pleasure of the men. Oh, they get off all right. But not before I make them jump through my hoops.

And that is precisely how I get off on sex. There is no pleasure in normal sex for me. I could just frig myself if all I wanted was an orgasm.

I want much more than that. I want to see the men crawl. I want to degrade them. My father died recently. He died all alone in a dirty tenement. No one cared. He was punished for his sins for his attitude. For his way of life. But that wasn't enough for me. I wanted more.

Now I have a special boy. His name is Rufus. He's a blonde-headed little Irish boy. And he is so full of hope. He really believes in love. In a lot of ways he reminds me of how my father probably was when he was a boy.

He comes by my place several times a week and I dress him up as a little soldier.

I put him through drills, just like they do to the young men when they are in basic training.

I make him run in place, and do sit-ups, and push-ups, and I have him clean the house. And then I inspect it. I wear white gloves, and really give him a run for his money.

The young boy really loves me. That much is quite evident to me. And that is what precisely gives me pleasure.

I think he would do anything and everything I ask of him.

He even takes the dildo.

That's my supreme joy. It's almost as good as getting even with my dead father.

I'll never forget that painful sodomy for as long as I live. Each time I strap the leather dong on, and have little Rufus lying on his belly on my bed, I feel so filled with power and perverse desire.

It's as though he is my father, and I am taking my revenge. And what sweet revenge it is. I like nothing better than to roll him over on his belly, and spread his young ass cheeks apart, and then force my fingers up his ass.

He always screams, and begs for mercy just like I did when I was a little girl, and my father did those terrible things to me. But there is no mercy. There is only the reality of the pleasure I feel when he cries out with pain, I am punishing my father through him. And it feels just wonderful.

Rufus doesn't put on an act when we are going through this number. Not at all. I really am hurting him.

The funny thing is that he seems just as much into taking pain as I am into giving it.

We make a perfect couple.

I've been even thinking about breaking off my relationship with all the other men, and focusing especially on him.

In a way, I might even love him. Yes, I think I do in a way. But it isn't the kind of love that I always fantasized I would have with a man. It isn't tender at all.

It's rough, and perverse.

And he-likes it that way. Who knows, we might even live together, or get married one day.

I hope you don't get the impression that I am a total monster with him. I'm really not. I like to think that we have formed a very suitable relationship.

I don't know a great deal about Rufus' background. From what he has told me, however, we seem to have opposite experiences. Whereas my father was rough and brutal with me, his mother was very quiet and frightened of him.

Rufus told me once that all he ever wanted from his mother was love. But he never got any. At least not the kind he wanted. It's a funny thing about young people. They seem to want punishment as a statement of love. I've read that, but I'm not really convinced I believe it. Not fully, anyways.

I certainly didn't like the brand of treatment I had from my father. And I know that Christina didn't like it at all either.

But Rufus, well, I guess he was just always a boy in search of a spanking. And he never did seem to get a proper spanking. Not from anyone but me.

I certainly give him enough pain to make up for all those lost years of attention, however. I can tell you that. I give that boy a run for his money.

I saw him just yesterday. The funny thing is that I feel a strong attachment to him. The strongest I think I've ever felt for a man. I might even love him. I don't know. I'm not even sure what it means to love someone.

Yesterday, after I had put him through his drills, and had him clean the house. I inspected. And it was clean. It was really clean and sparkling, and I was proud of him.

In a way, I almost felt like his mother.

There was a definite stirring of tenderness for the young boy. My heart went out to him.

I had him remove his uniform, and get into bed. But this time, I didn't strap on my dildo, and I didn't tie him up. I didn't do anything. I just lay there beside him. And we didn't know what to do.

It's sort of funny, but for the first time in my life, I felt a desire to be tender. He seemed so helpless, and so dependent on me for affection and understanding.

And I kissed him, and put my tongue in his mouth, and we faced each other, lovingly.

I was pumping my pussy against his erect penis. And I wanted that penis in my pussy.

It was as if all the walls of Jericho came tumbling down. I was afraid. It was as though I were going through some profound change. It frightened me to be letting go of my old perversions.

I tried right away to get them back. I didn't want him to see that I was enjoying myself. I didn't want him to see that I cared.

I slapped him around a little bit. And he whimpered. And instead of giving me pleasure, it hurt me to be hurting him.

I started to cry. I was frightened. I never imagined that all of this would change. That there would be a desire for normalcy in my life.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Can you imagine that, doctor? After all the pain and grief I had inflicted on him because of my hang-ups, he wanted to know why I was crying.

It was so hard for me to not confess my love. I haven't been able to bring myself to that, yet.

I hope one day I can.

But I did let him fuck me without the dildo, or the hand-cuffs, or any of that shit. I let him fuck me. And he enjoyed it. And I enjoyed it.

Maybe I didn't have to say anything with words. Maybe he was sensitive enough to pick up on my feelings. Well, I guess the future will have to decide that.

Paul M.

Interviewed: April 17, 1978

As a man, will you please tell us what women represent to you, specifically in terms of your admitted need for S&M sexual experiences? We are interested in your sexual history, as well as the specific events which have led to your present sexual attitudes.

As a man, I want to thank you for the opportunity to take part in this collection of interviews. The secretary told me that only a few men were to be interviewed, in conjunction with this report on sadomasochism in America.

I guess it all started with me at a young age. From what I understand from my own research mostly talking to friends who have the same sexual interests it always starts at a young age.

In my case, it's all my father's fault. Talk about sadists. My father is the biggest sadist of all. I guess most doctors are. He's a surgeon that's supposed to be the worst.

I think the old man has gone through life seeing all women as nurses, and all men as orderlies. It's like he was God, and at the snap of his fingers, he wanted the entire world to snap to attention.

What a miserable childhood I had because of that man. But I wasn't the only one to suffer. He practically destroyed my mother's life, and my little sister is virtually a basket case.

He lives in Los Angeles. And that's why I live in New York. As a struggling artist, it's rather hard for me to make it, financially. Yet, somehow, I struggle along.

The world doesn't quite seem fair to me for a lot of reasons. I live practically in poverty, as does my sister. And he has a huge mansion overlooking the ocean, in Pacific Palisades. He has two new Cadillac's, a condominium in Hawaii, and apartment buildings throughout Northern California, and Arizona.

I hope I don't sound jealous. I mean I am jealous. But he worked for all the things he has. But you'd think that a man who was a millionaire several times over would at least give a little help.

My sister is quite a mental case. She was a junkie for many years, and spent a lot of time in mental hospitals, and rehabilitation houses. She can't work. She can't deal with society at all. He gives her a couple of hundred bucks a month. And she lives like a pauper.

As a surgeon, he has no understanding of mental disorders. He has no respect for the field of psychiatry.

Well, I just couldn't deal with it at all. That's why I'm in New York. It still doesn't feel far enough away from the old bastard. There are times when I have to restrain myself from getting on a plane and going to Los Angeles to blow his brains out.

It's not because of the money. Not really. It's much more out an anger for the way I grew up. I didn't have a chance. I didn't have an opportunity to develop a good self-image. I had no self-respect. I could never do anything quite good enough for him.

I understand that the pressures of being a surgeon must be frightening. It's dealing with life and death every day. But that bastard forgot completely about the lives he was dealing with at home.

He would come home from the office and beat the shit out of my horny sister, and myself. Sure, sometimes we gave him cause. Perhaps I broke a neighbor's window with a baseball. That is for sure an accident. But he never saw it that way.

I would always have to take a beating.

And if he wasn't beating me for breaking a window, or receiving a less than excellent mark at school, he would be beating my mother because the mashed potatoes were lumpy. And if my little sister ran around the neighborhood without any clothes on, because she needed to feel free, he would beat her.

In retrospect, it almost seems funny. But it was anything but funny at the time. We lived in terror of that man. My mother became a fat pig, and broke out in acne. She was a very beautiful woman. But she lost it all because of him.

My little sister had all sorts of twitches, and she wet her bed, and stuttered. She never had a chance. He made sure of that. I of course, he would never admit that today.

And as for me, I had many problems. I am, as you can see, a very handsome young man. I stand about two heads taller than my old man, and he is a very ugly little man. I don't hold that against him. But he certainly, holds all my attributes against me. I feel that I am his enemy. And he is the one who started it.

So, it was the usual problems which plagued me. I had no self-confidence. I thought I was stupid, and so I did poorly in school, and I was afraid of girls.

All of this, I believe, was because of him. I had no way to vent my rage, not while I was a kid, anyway.

But my dreams as a young child which I still recall vividly were filled with strange, sadomasochistic images.

I dreamed of pissing on girls, and beating them. So many nights I awoke smashing my fist into my pillow. I was so angry, and I had no way to take it out.

Oh, I had fantasies about what I wanted to do. A young boy can dream lots of things. But I never really did anything not to humans, anyway.

We lived in the foothills of Los Angeles at the time. I remember always wanting him to die. My father that is. Each evening when he would come home, I was disappointed that he hadn't been smashed up in a car crash.

Both my sister and I spent as much time in our bedrooms as possible as far away from him as we could get. But he would find us. And he always had some flimsy excuse for yelling at us, or smacking us around.

My mother was terrified of him. She told him all the minor infractions we had committed that day, because she knew that if she didn't, he would smack her around worse. It was simply a matter of survival.

On the weekends, I would go up into the foothills on my own looking for snakes, and lizards and mice. They became my victims. I passed the anger I felt onto them. I feel badly today for what I did.

But I couldn't help myself. They were the symbols for me. All the snakes and lizards and mice were miniature fathers.

I wasn't always satisfied merely killing them with stones. Sometimes I would do cruel, pre meditated things to them. And I would prepare myself well for my experiments.

Sometimes I would take a jar of turpentine, with some matches, and a knife along on my outings.

I would capture lizards mostly. They were my favorites. I would pour turpentine on them and light them. Sometimes, I would build little pyramids out of mud, and entomb the living creatures inside.

Once, I remember, taking a lizard and cutting its legs off, placing it on top of a large boulder, and watching while it wriggled its stumps around. Eventually, the sun would sizzle it.

When I was in a really nasty mood, I would take the lizards back to my garage, and really do a number with them. Now and then my father left syringes about the house-disposable ones with hypodermic needles on them. These were perfect for my needs. I would inject all sorts of strange things into the lizards: gasoline, lighter fluid, whisky, whatever I could find.

Once, I cut a lizard in half, and used a needle and thread to sew him back together, facing the wrong way.

Of course, the lizard didn't live.

* * *

This is all very interesting, Paul. But would you please tell us how this later manifested itself in a sadomasochistic sexual manner.

Yes, well, I was just getting to that, you see. I thought it was important to tell you about my early life. I thought it sort of explained how things worked out for me in my later years.

Well, I had a lot of trouble relating to girls in high school. I was shy and unsure of myself. But in college is where I learned that I could get practically anything I wanted from girls.

There seem to be girls for everything. I knew that I had to find a way to vent my anger. I had to find girls who would let me abuse them. That's what I wanted. I wanted to smack some girls around. I wanted to force them to do things that they didn't like.

At first, I started with the homely girls. The girls who could never get a date anyway. I was very handsome and athletically built, so I could get away with practically bloody murder.

But that was a drag. I really didn't enjoy forcing those girls to do things they were afraid of. A lot of them would have literally eaten my shit if I wanted them to. I wanted a bit of a struggle.

Then I found the one I had been looking for. She worked as a waitress in this restaurant near my apartment. She seemed like such a nice, wholesome girl. I was rather attracted to her actually.

Her name was Cindy. She was a natural blonde, and so thin and sexy. But she wasn't sexy in the way that most people naturally think as sexy. She was sexy to me because I wanted to corrupt her. I saw the possibilities.

She was from the Midwest, and had come to Los Angeles to try to get into films.

But she was such a shy and backward girl. It started out as sort of a masturbation fantasy. I would lay in bed. at night wacking off, thinking about all the things I wanted to do to her.

She was different than the other girls. I knew that I would have go slow with her. It would have to start out like love, and then, very slowly, I would corrupt her. I had to make her dependent on me.

I continued to eat at the restaurant practically every day. We started out with just a few smiles, and inane talk. I noticed that she had this Midwestern accent.

It seemed as good as any point or departure for a friendship. I told her that I thought she was very nice, and asked her if she wanted to be my friend.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, would you like to go to a film or something?" I replied.

"Why?"

"Don't get me wrong, Cindy," I said. "I don't want anything from you. Just friendship. I can tell you aren't from around here."

"How could you tell that?" she asked.

"Well, you have a rather thick Midwestern accent," I smiled.

"Well, it's true," she said. "I'm from Joplin."

"See," I said. "I have a good ear for accents. And you're probably in Los Angeles to try to make it in films, right?"

"You're a smart boy," she smiled.

"Yea, well, I go to college," I smiled back at her. "Seriously, Cindy. I think you're real cute. I like your style."

"I think you're nice, too, Paul," she said.

We went to a film that night. And I dropped her off at her rooming house afterwards. I didn't try to kiss her goodbye or anything. I didn't even press my luck to get invited upstairs.

But I kept going to the restaurant everyday, and I continued taking her to films. And during the summer, I took her to the beach on the weekends.

When I saw her in a bikini, I knew she was the one for me. But I still didn't push my luck. I wasn't pushing anything.

God, it was devastating for me to see her in that black bikini. I could see the golden pubic hairs sticking out of her crotch, and she had small breasts, and everything about her just excited the hell out of me. What a nice ass, too.

I wanted to be patient.

I was twenty-two at the time. And she was eighteen. We went through the holding hands stage, and the kissing on the cheek stage, and then we started petting.

We would drive out to the beach in the evenings after she got off work. We would park the car, looking out over the water, and we would neck. She really liked me a lot, so it wasn't such a challenge to get her to warm up to me.

She let me put my hand under her blouse and feel her tits. I liked the way they felt. They were small, and creamy smooth. And her nipples got nice and firm when I tweaked them.

I always figured that if I could get my hand down a girl's pants, and toy with her pussy, she was as good as made. Once those hot juices began to flow, they are all mine.

But she wouldn't let me put my hand down her pants at first.

I had to content myself with just squeezing the outside of her pussy.

She would get pretty horny from that all right. But she had a will of iron.

Then we started going up to her place in the evenings when it got too cold to go down to the beach.

I started with a new line. I thought it was rather original.

"Cindy," I said, "I want to tell you something that might seem very strange to you."

"What's that, Paul?"

"I'm a virgin, and I am terrified of women," I said.

"No, not really?"

"Yes, why do you think it's been such slow going with us, sexually?"

"I never really thought about it," she said. "I figured you were just the shy, sensitive type."

"Well, that isn't so," I said. "I am simply afraid of you."

"Now, that is absolutely silly," she said. "And here, all along, I was afraid of you."

"Of me?"

"Yes, I thought you were sort of sexually precocious."

"That's a laugh," I said. "Are you a virgin?"

"No, I'm not," she said. "I hope that doesn't hurt your feelings, but I want to be honest with you."

"I'm glad you're being honest with me," I said. "Will you teach me about sex. I trust you, Cindy. I think you could really help me."

"I'll try," she said. "Gee, I've never done anything like this before. And all the time, I thought I would have to fight you off. You seemed like that type."

"Isn't that a strange coincidence?" I said. "And I thought that you wouldn't be able to understand my unique sexual problems."

"There's nothing unique about being a virgin," she said. "We all have to start somewhere."

"Yes," I said. I decided not to go too far into the S&M part, not until we naturally got to that stage. I would have to take it very slow.

We got undressed. That was the first stage. What a lovely body. There is something about a natural blonde which really throws me. They really turn me on. And she was such a gorgeous lady. I felt a little guilty about duping her.

But what is a fellow to do?

We started out very slowly. Cindy gave me a hand-job, but not quite to the point of ejaculation. She let me suck her nipples, and fondle her pussy.

And then she lay on her back and guided my cock in her pretty, moistened crack.

It felt wonderful. It must have been my hundredth fuck, but I gave an academy award performance as a virgin.

She was good and tight, and I think it must have been a fairly rare situation for her.

We continued like that daily for a week. Then we started getting into the oral trip.

She was a rather religious, farmer's daughter type, so I had to do some artistic talking.

I told her that all the kids at school were into oral sex. And that I felt like something of a geek for not having gotten into it.

I begged her to suck my cock, and when she did, it felt like I was in seventh heaven.

She even swallowed my come. But I had to trick her into it. I pretended that I didn't know I was going to come. I was just jamming my cock in and out of her mouth, and suddenly, I began shooting.

She was a bit outraged, but I acted as though I was as surprised as was her.

"Gee I'm sorry," I said, as I pulled my stick out of her mouth. "I didn't know it was loaded."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" she was still coughing and gagging.

"No, I really didn't know I was about to come," I explained. "It surprised me."

"And is that why you forced my head down over your cock while you shot off?"

"So, don't believe me," I pouted. "If you want to think that I'm some sort of evil man, that's okay . But I love you, Cindy, I just want to be like the other fellows."

"And you mean to tell me all your friends shoot off in their girlfriends' mouths?"

"This is Los Angeles, honey," I explained. "This isn't Joplin, Missouri."

I waited a month or so before I talked to her about sodomy.

"You mean you want me to take your cock up my ass-hole?" she said, incredulously.

"Honey, I wouldn't ask you to do it if I didn't feel it would help me with the burden of my sexual problems."

"I don't see how my suffering is going to help you in the least," she said.

"It's just that a lot of the fellows are talking about it," I said. "And I feel foolish for not having experienced it. I'm told that the girls really like it once they get used to it."

"Give me a break, Paul," the cute little blonde said. "How can you expect me to believe that shit?"

"But it's true," I persisted. "I'm told that the female orgasm, with a cock in the rear, is a very special treat. It's a powerful orgasm."

"You're a fool to believe stories like that," she said. "I had a boyfriend who tried it on me once. Didn't even use any lubricant. I thought I would die."

"Oh, come on," I said. "I'm not a sadist or anything like that," I insisted. I hated lying to her. But I had to act out all my fantasies with this girl. I just had to.

"I promise to be gentle," I said. "I'll use vaseline, and if it really does start to hurt, I will stop doing it."

"Promise?"

"Yes," I lied.

It was so exciting that it was delicious. I went to the bathroom and got a jar of vaseline that Cindy used for her chapped lips. Those light complected girls always seem to have trouble with their lips.

Watching the beautiful blonde lying on her belly, with her beautiful ass cheeks staring up at me, drove me into a frenzy of lust. I can't remember my cock having been so hard, or so willing.

I covered the head and shaft of my cock with the vaseline, and then pressed a gob up against her ass-hole.

"Please be gentle," she whined. I knew she didn't really want to do this. That she was doing it just for me. It had taken me several months to get her this far along. I couldn't stop now.

I pressed the head of my cock up against the tight opening, and she moaned with discomfort. I slipped very slowly inside.

"No, I can't do this," she cried. "I definitely can't do this."

"Oh, please try harder," I pleaded. "It's so important to me. Just relax. It won't be so bad."

I pressed harder and harder. I very slowly entered the canal of her ass-hole.

She was whimpering with pain. And she was trying to pull away from my cock.

But I wouldn't let her. I wouldn't let her go. I had to be inside her ass-hole.

She was screaming with pain. But I wouldn't let her go. I had gone too far, and there was no turning back now.

I suppose I was like a Jekyll and Hyde character. The game was up. She was seeing me for what I was.

I was so pissed off. Not really at Cindy. I was just angry against life. I had to have a release. I had to feel my jism shooting into her ass-hole. I just had to.

I was pumping hard in and out of her.

"You're an animal, Paul," she screamed. "An absolute animal. Please leave me go."

"I can't," I murmured, enjoying the feeling of being buried to the hilt in her ass. "I just can't."

"You are a sadist," she wailed.

"I can't help it," I said. "I love being in you like this. Won't you please try to calm down. Just relax. It can be very nice."

"What are you talking about?" she said. "It feels like hell."

She kept trying to pull away from me. But I kept myself buried deeply inside of her. I wouldn't let her up. She was terribly uncomfortable. But what could I do. I was fulfilling my needs.

Very slowly, she began to relax. What it took was my rolling her on her side, and playing with her clitoris. That made her happy.

Her clit became firm, and while I stroked her, she started to get quite turned on.

Very slowly the pain went away.

She was moaning with pleasure.

I must admit that the sounds of her pleasure didn't excite me nearly as much as the sounds of her anguish. But I had to settle for what was happening. It was a hard fought battle, and the victory tasted delightful.

When at last I came in her ass-hole, she reached a climax as well. It was a wonderful sensation.

"You know, Paul," she said, "I'm starting to wonder about you."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"What I mean is I am beginning to wonder if you haven't been playing a little game with me."

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you," she said.

"What sort of game?"

"I wonder if you really were a virgin," she said.

"Everyone is a virgin once," I replied.

"Don't give that shit," she went on. "You are a pervert, aren't you?"

"Oh, give me a break," I said. "Do I seem like a pervert to you?"

"Yes, that's why I just said what I said."

She was no fool. That much was apparent. The jig was up. I couldn't play any more games with her. So, I had to come clean.

But I did it with my usual dramatic zeal. The trick with women, it seems to me especially where kinky sex is involved is to play helpless and needy. Throw yourself at their mercy. Women are truly understanding when you come down to it.

"Yes, it's true," I admitted. "I have some sexual problems. I'm not sure if they really are problems. But something is strange with me. I think it is because of my family the way I was brought up."

"But that doesn't give you any right to go around hurting people," she said. "You just don't have that right."

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"That's sure what it felt like to me."

"But you had an orgasm, didn't you?"

"Yes, I had an orgasm," she replied. "But it was only by accident."

"How can you say that?" I asked.

"Come off it," she went on, exhibiting remarkable insight. "I'm not as big a fool as you take me for. I just wanted to see how far you would go with this game you are playing."

"Game?"

"Come off it, dammit," she said. "I never really believed you were a virgin. And I didn't think you really thought that I had been duped. I thought it was just a game we were playing. But now it's obvious to me that you were taking advantage of me. You were setting me up to hurt me."

"Yes, I admit it," I came clean. I realized that I had to tell her the truth. She saw through me completely.

"Why, Paul. Why?"

"Because I am only sexually satisfied when I cause pain."

"Didn't you ever think that I might actually enjoy pain?"

"No. Do you?"

"Yes, as a matter-of-fact I am a masochist."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never were straight with me, so I figured there was no reason to be straight with you."

"Oh, you stupid fool," she said. "I love you, Paul. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Of course it does," I said. "I love you, too. I just never thought that it could work so simply. I mean, that honesty could lead to happiness. And to think that I have found a beautiful masochist who loves me, a devout sadist. It's what I call a happy ending."

Fifi L

Interviewed: February 22, 1978

Do you have an orgasm when you are whipped?

Yes, as a matter-of-fact I do. I know it sounds strange. And I hardly tell anyone about these strange sexual needs of mine. It's amazing how small minded people can be. Or is it more their fear of the subject? As far as I'm concerned, there isn't a person on earth who doesn't have some strange fantasy or sexual need. Most, however, never admit it never act on it.

I suppose I would have been like that, too. But destiny unfolded for me in a special manner, in a unique way. It's not only being beautiful. That did certainly have a major effect on the way my sexual life has turned out. Obviously, when you are as beautiful and vivacious as I am, you have the pick of the roost.

And I had some pretty good roosters in my day.

Getting back into the realm of sadomasochism, I would like to point out that I do blame it all on my father. I know that sounds like a cliche. But it really isn't. My father is a builder. He makes a lot of money building homes, and offices, and even skyscrapers. But he sure botched the job of building a family. I'm the only child, so you can imagine what a problem it was for me. I got all the praise. And I also got all the punishment.

And there was punishment. My mother is this blonde goddess type, I don't know where I got my dark, curly hair from. My father's hair is straight. Oh, well, maybe it skipped a generation. Maybe I'm a bastard, that certainly wouldn't surprise me. But I've always been afraid to ask about that. I think I was too afraid to know the truth.

It certainly would explain a lot of things, however. Especially why my father always treated me so poorly. I guess that is the answer. It's funny that it should only come to me now, in the midst of this interview.

Yes, I can understand it all so much better now. It's coming into focus. You see, as I already mentioned, my mother is a very attractive woman. My father is no pig, either. But I'm sure that my mother had plenty of affairs when she was younger, and first married.

I am probably the result of one of those affairs. My father is the type who would prefer not to know those kinds of things. So, I'm sure he never asked my mother about it. But when he would look at me and wonder where the curly dark hair, and swarthy complexion came from I'm sure he subconsciously hated me, and all that I could possibly represent.

He was never satisfied with anything I did. My grades in school were never good enough. My room was never clean enough to suit him. I never washed properly, in his estimation in short, I fell far short of any expectations he might have had for me.

When friends of his, or mothers, would comment on how lovely I am, and talented, he would always scoff, and say something like, "you should only know her."

My father, of course, always had to punish me for each and every infraction of his personal system of law. And he had some mighty peculiar ideas about how I should behave.

He had this cane which he used to spank me with. It was an old English cane. He had bought it in an antique store. It had been used for caning naughty public school children in the Nineteenth Century.

Caning can be a brutal form of punishment. He started using the cane on me when I was around ten. My mother was always busy fixing her make-up, or arguing with the maid, or the cook, so she had little time for me. I don't think she really cared about father and me. Though, I think it must have been obvious that there were sexual overtones to what was going on. She would have to be a fool to not see it.

It was as plain as the red marks on my young ass.

Perhaps she didn't want to deal with the memory of the affair that had spawned me. I was like a souvenir from a bummer of a vacation a scar from an accident. I was an obstacle to their happiness. At least they sent me to school, and bought me clothes. It could have been worse, I suppose.

Not a day went by that my father didn't have an excuse for beating my young ass. When he came home in the afternoon, after touring his building sites, he would have a little talk with my mother.

What really sickened me as I overheard these conversations, was the manner in which he treated her like a real queen. He hung on her every word as if she were an angel, speaking the words of God.

What a lovely pedestal he constructed for her to perch upon. Well, she really enjoyed the role. Mother always had thought of herself as some sort of royalty. I think she had an impression from some charlatan mystic that she was the reincarnation of some French queen, or something. That's how I got the name of Fifi. It was a rather cruel name to give a girl living in New York City. All the poodles on the street seem to be named Fifi.

And as their masters address them, I am forever turning around to see if someone is calling after me. It makes me feel like a dog.

When my father talks to my mother in the afternoon, he always asks how I have been. The tone of his voice is always insistent. As if he really means, "what did she do wrong today?"

And he expects a negative reply from Mother. She knows that she must always have something nasty to say about me, or he won't talk to her for the rest of the day.

After my mother tells him how awful I have been and how many minor infractions of the rules I have made, then it's off to my room for him.

That's how it always was. They are still together, and I imagine, even with me long ago moved out, that they still talk about me like that. And my father itches to cane me. But I'll never see him again, nor mother. I blame them both for my current confusion about pleasure and pain.

When my father came to my room with the cane in his hand, I knew what was going to come. It was just an old routine by then. In the beginning, I had tried protecting myself by putting comic books, or magazines under my panties. But he caught on to that and punished me worse. I tried wearing several pair of underwear, but he just made me take them off. There was no escaping it.

And he was always so red in the face. Always so excited. At first I didn't realize what was really happening. Not the sexual aspects. That didn't become apparent to me until I was about fourteen. I was becoming a little woman about that time. I was growing dark pubic hair, and my tits were already rather well developed.

He would have a bulge in his trousers. I had heard enough talk among the girls at school by that point to know what the bulge signified.

My own father was sexually interested in me. That's a heavy burden for a young girl to carry around with her. Believe me. I felt dirty. Nothing had really happened in a sexual way, yet.

But I felt strange. I felt sick.

It was around this time that he started to do weird things to me. He would rub the bulge in his trousers while he caned me. And he started making me undress.

I don't know if you can imagine how uncomfortable how frightening it is for an adolescent girl, like I was at the time, to have to get undressed in front of her sexually aroused father.

The way he stared at me just made me go weak in the knees. I tried to cover up, and turn away from his searching eyes. He had such a strange expression. So sexual, in a hot, and demented way.

His words stung me with fright.

"My, you really are developing into a little woman now, aren't you?"

"Yes, Father," I said.

"Don't turn away from me like that," he sighed. But I was too young at the time to know what that sigh meant.

"I'm your father, don't be afraid. Let me see your body. You have a nice body. You shouldn't be ashamed of it. Don't hide."

I knew that if I didn't expose my nakedness to him, that the punishment would be worse. So I simply stood before him, and accepted the perversion in his glance.

He held the cane in one hand, and stepped towards me. His face was right by mine. I could smell the Martinis on his breath. He always had one or two before coming to punish me.

"Now, I'm just going to touch you," he said. "As your father, I think I have that right. That little privilege."

I knew I couldn't argue. So I simply stood there, and let him touch me. Oh, it was awful. I was looking at the cane he held in his left hand the cane he had so often used to hurt me. And his right hand touched my young breasts, and moved slowly down my stomach to the mound of pubic hair.

He squeezed my pussy in a strange way. And the bulge in his pants seemed to become larger. It was a very awkward position for me. He ran his fingers into the opening of my vagina. It hurt more from fear than actual pain but it did hurt.

"Don't do that," I said. "It's nasty."

"I'm your father," he said. "You are mine. I have a right to do to you as I wish. You are flesh of my flesh."

"To touch your beautiful body is the same as touching me. That's why it hurts me just as much when I have to punish you. Oh, I do hope you will learn the error of your ways, Fifi. I don't like to have to come in here day after day and beat you on the ass. I don't like to have to hurt you."

I knew he was lying. But there was nothing I could do about it. He was really pressing his fingers into my opening. And I tried to back away from him. But he just wouldn't let me go. He was intent on touching me.

And then a curious thing began to happen. I was getting excited. It was the first time for me, and so it was all a little frightening. When he would push his fingers into my opening, I could feel droplets of warm lubricant in the opening of my vagina.

I could feel my clitoris begin to grow firm. I was getting very excited. But I didn't want to let my sexual excitement show. I was afraid that he might do something rash.

As it turned out, it didn't matter what my reaction was. He was so horny for me that it didn't matter what I said or did. He only was aware of his own sexual situation. I was just meat for him, just a symbol of an old affair that he was still angry about the product of my mother's illicit passion.

"Oh, you are going to grow up to be a very sexy lady, just like your mother, aren't you?"

"I hope so," I replied.

"And you will be a little bitch, too, won't you?"

"I hope not, Father," I said.

"I can tell that you are going to be a little bitch," he went on, red in the face, and with his erection pulsating in his trousers. "I think I should punish you for this. For what you will be."

"How can you punish me a little girl for what I might become in the future. When I am a woman?"

"Don't question my authority," he said, pulling his moistened fingers from my sex slit. "Now, get up on the bed, and lay on your belly. I'm going to beat the nastiness out of you. Maybe I can put some sense of proportion into your head."

I knew better than to argue with him when he was like that. I simply got up on the bed, and lay flat on my belly. I knew he was going to go nuts with that cane.

I was still rather sexually, stimulated. But terror of the cane had replaced most of my thoughts of any pleasure.

I glanced up at him. And I saw that he had pulled his erect cock out of his trousers, and he was taking aim at me with it. He was stroking himself. He was masturbating.

It was disgusting to me what was happening. My own father. Drunk and jerking off, was about to beat me.

My body was tingling with a strange sensation. I was totally unaware of what was happening. I just knew that something was happening to me in a sexual way. It really didn't have anything to do with a sexual fantasy about my father. I really didn't want to have sex with him. But his fingers had opened a new door for me. He had touched my clitoris, and I had my first taste of sexual excitement. I would never be the same again.

He started caning me. It hurt all right. There's no way that a wooden cane across the naked ass isn't going to hurt no matter how stimulated you are.

Over and over again, he brought the cane down to my ass cheeks. It stung terribly. But somehow, the pain became translated into pleasure. I found myself enjoying what was happening. It felt good to me.

My young ass began to grow numb. I was no longer aware of the stinging pain of the wooden cane cutting into my ass flesh. I was more concerned at that point with the sensation of pleasure in my pussy.

My clitoris was throbbing. I could feel hot juices trickling from my crack. My nipples were swollen, and my breasts were filled with passion.

I suddenly was aware of myself pumping the bed. My hips were pressing down hard against the material of the bed. I could feel my firm little clitoris pressing against the thick corduroy material. I was going to have an orgasm, but I didn't know it at the time.

Somehow, I had translated pain into pleasure. It was a perverse alchemy, but it was happening. I didn't even pay attention to the sensation of the cane smacking my young ass. I was oblivious to the hissing sound of cane coming at me through the air.

I was about to come. All I thought about was the pleasure in my loins. And it was a complete pleasure. It seemed as though I were alone in the room. My father didn't even exist.

The cane no longer existed. I was alone in the world with the wonderful sensations of orgasm in my pussy.

And when the orgasm took hold of me the first orgasm of my life it shook my entire body. I remember groaning, and writhing about in the spasms of sexual fulfillment. I felt wonderful. From the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, I felt a dizzy, and delicious shower of delightful sensations.

I wasn't even aware of the cane being dropped to the floor.

I didn't notice my father undressing, and crouching beside me on the bed. And when I felt his hands on my reddened ass globes, I didn't connect them with my father.

I was just floating, it seemed, into the world of adult sex.

My father spread my young legs apart, and put his hand against my pussy. He rubbed me, and I could feel myself growing hotter, and wetter. It was a warm, good feeling.

He pressed his fingers into my opening, and then pressed up against my clit.

It triggered another round of orgasms.

I wasn't aware of his stiff prick pressing into the opening of my sex, until I felt the sharp pain in my hymen.

I suddenly remembered that virgin girls have a thin layer of flesh that protects the sexual entrance. When it is broken, they are women.

It felt like a knife cutting into me as his cock pressed through the cherry. I could feel the warm blood trickle from the sexual wound. But it was a good feeling to have cock in me. It wasn't at all bad.

I guess sex for the first time is like eating escargot. Until you taste it, you can't imagine what all the fuss is about. It seems just disgusting. But after you eat well prepared snails, you wonder why you ever waiting so long to try them.

His cock was burning hot as it pumped in and out of my tight, young hole. I was still on my belly, and I could feel my nipples throbbing with pleasure. His cock was ramming in and out of my little hole.

It's so obvious, in retrospect, just what a sadistic bastard he was. He wasn't at all concerned about any discomfort I might have had having my virginity stolen from me like that.

He chose just about the most awkward position imaginable for a sexual fledgling like myself. The rear entry puts much too much pressure on the tender lips of the vagina.

Oh, but he didn't care. Not my father.

And he wasn't through committing his treachery, either. He pulled his cock out of me before he came. I knew enough about sex, from talking with my girlfriends, to know that the man is finished fucking when a lot of white juice, called semen, comes out of his thing.

But none had come out. I thought that perhaps he didn't want to take a chance about making me pregnant.

But that wasn't it.

He wanted to hurt me some more.

He was going to sodomize me.

I looked around at him again, and realized just how perverse he was. He was all hot and bothered, and red in the face, and he was still stroking his cock. He looked angry, and mean.

I had no idea what he was up to. I just knew that he wanted more sex. I hadn't the slightest idea of what else could be done.

But when I felt the searing pain of my father's cock pressing up against my little anus, I knew that something very painful lay in store for me. I couldn't imagine how he was going to fit his huge erection into that little hole, without tearing me to pieces.

"Father," I cried, "you're going to kill me. That won't fit in there; please don't do this to me."

"Nonsense," he said. "If you are going to be a woman, you are going to have to become accustomed to all aspects of sex. And sodomy is your next lesson."

I gripped the bed covers and tried to pull away. I felt as though I were being impaled. It was much too big. I couldn't take it in. But he wasn't giving up.

I felt his hand reach under my pussy, and he began to squeeze my sex. He wanted to make me come. It did help me to relax, having his fingers stimulating me like that.

Suddenly, I wasn't aware of pain. A cloud of pleasure was enveloping me. His cock slid slowly into my ass-hole. And it was certainly painful, and uncomfortable, but the pleasure in my pussy was stronger than the pain in my ass. And there seemed to be a blending. I began to pump my ass up against his cock. I loved the feeling of it reaching deeply into me. Hot jolts of pleasure shot through me. I was teetering on the cliff of orgasm.

I suppose my father wasn't aware of how much I was enjoying what was happening. I think if he did, he wouldn't have touched my pussy the way he did. I think he did it more for his own amusement, than for any sensory pleasure for me.

But I came again. And this time it felt very different. It wasn't so much a vaginal orgasm, as it was a rectal orgasm. I could feel the waves of pleasure engulf me. I was in seventh heaven. He had deflowered me, and in so doing, had stretched my anus to painful proportions.

But for that moment in time, it seemed worth it. I was enjoying it. And when he shot his semen into my ass, I could feel it. I could feel his cock pumping slowly in and out of my ass. And it felt so damn wonderful.

But after he ejaculated, he was a different man. He didn't care about my pleasure. He didn't care anything about me. He just pulled his cock out of my ass-hole, dressed, and left me there on the bed.

He did that to me numerous times before I turned eighteen, and moved out of the house. I've never looked back since then.

* * *

Does this mean that you no longer participate in S & M sexuality?

But by all means. I thought that was the whole purpose of this interview. I mean, I thought it was assumed that I am a masochist. Well, excuse me for being so presumptuous. Yes, I am a masochist, and I blame it all on my father. It's a strange feeling to know that I will never be able to have a normal sexual relationship with a man because of my father.

There are these bars I go to meet men. They're referred to as S&M bars. I find the kind of men there that I need sadists. It's wonderful to me that the world is structured in such a way that I can get whatever I want. So can everyone.

No matter how weird you are, or how peculiar your sexual needs might be, there is always someone around who can get into your trip. These specialty bars serve quite an important function. I would be lost without them.

There are some really wonderful men in those bars. I mean, good looking guys. I think a lot of people have the wrong impression about people who are into S&M. We aren't creepy, pimply, strange people. We're okay. In fact, in a lot of ways, I think we are more normal that the so-called normal people.

At least we admit that we need pain. At least we act it out. Everyone else goes around causing pain, and setting themselves up to receive pain, without enjoying it. They are so frustrated, and filled with guilt, that they can't even get into what they are closet perverts.

Yes, I will submit that the world is just one big closet full of perverts.

At least I'm honest.

I have several really nice boyfriends now whom I have met at these S&M bars. And I like the relationship I have with them very much. There's no bullshit, or illusions. It's so obvious what we are after.

I can only enjoy sex when it is painful when I am being dominated, and hurt.

And they can only get off on it, when they are causing pain.

I suppose I understand some of the lay psychology of it, but who really cares?

I have three different boyfriends. Each of them is into a different trip.

Bruce-likes to cane me. I like that, because it takes me back to the good old days, when my father first turned me on to pain.

Jim is into whips and chains. He gets off on tying me up, and chaining me. Then he has this assortment of whips over at his apartment. He gets off on cracking the whip against my ass, and thighs, and breasts.

I enjoy it too. I mean, he doesn't cut me to ribbons. It's just his way of showing that he cares. Jim never draws blood. It's more of a friendly beating, than anything vicious.

He just-likes to bring the whip or riding crop crashing down on my ass, or on my back. And then he rolls me over, and starts on my tits. By the time Jim has finished whipping me, he is ready for sex. And it's wonderful the way we make love. The joy of it is in not being able to move. I mean, to be having your pussy sucked, when you are constrained, is just so exciting.

It's like wanting to move about, flail and get excited, but not being able to have that pleasure.

And when he shoves his huge cock up my snatch, I just go crazy. My favorite position is to be tied down to a bed. When he shoves his erect tool in my slit, and works it in and out, I could just scream with happiness. The smell of leather, and the clanking of chains somehow excites me so very much.

However, Burt is my favorite. He is into sodomy with dildos. I can't quite understand the pleasure he derives from shoving leather dildos up my ass.

I certainly enjoy the sensation. To me it's the same as a real, live cock. But it's only rare when he sticks his cock up my ass. I suppose when he uses the dildo, he just gets excited, and masturbates after I leave his apartment.

He gets excited the way Father used to get excited. I like it to see a man get that crazy over me. It just drives me crazy with lust. All the sweat, and the deep breathing, and the curses. Oh, and the smell of leather.

I like it so very much.

I've tried S&M sex with women from time to time. It's much more gentle than with a man.

It's nice to be soft, even in conjunction with pain. It's funny, but women seem to have the same reason for being into S&M. It's always the father. And most of us in S&M don't like where we are at.

I think that I'm an exception the way I enjoy it. Most of the girls I have been into S&M affairs with really feel guilty about it. I have the feeling with them that they like to be mean to other women because they can transfer their self hate to their sexual partner.

I don't mind that so much. There's this one girl, Gretchen, whom I am rather fond of. She-likes to put nipple clips on me, which really hurts, and suck on my pussy.

It is a very strange erotic situation, because I'm never sure which to focus on more the pain in my nipples, or the pleasure in my pussy.

There is one girl, Suzie, who-likes to put a clamp on my clitoris, and tongue fuck my ass-hole.

That's all she-likes to do. She won't let me touch her. So, as you can see, I have a .wide variety of S&M friends, who fulfill various needs for me.

Therese K.

Interviewed: December 27, 1977

Do you derive sexual enjoyment from mentally torturing your suitors?

Well, that's a rather point-blank way of putting it. But I think I understand what you're getting at. And I suppose I have to admit that it's true.

I guess it's all my father's fault. You did want me to say that, didn't you? I mean, I'm being interviewed for a study on the father's role in an emerging S&M sexual custom. Or something like that.

I suppose I should start off by explaining a bit about myself, and my background. I come from a Catholic family. There are five girls, and two boys. As far as I know, I am the only female in the family, other than my mother, with whom my father had sexual relations.

At least I hope so. I shudder to think that my younger sisters have had to go through what I went through. My father was always a strict disciplinarian. We would always be having these little chats about how I should act with men. At least my father called them little chats. They scared the hell out of me. They were more like grillings. About once a week he started in on me.

"Well, my little Therese," he would say. He always seemed to be on the drunk side. My father if very fond of beer. And then he would start on the questions.

"It seems to me that you are sixteen now," he said. He always said that, every week. You'd think that he would remember my age. Well, I guess he was shy. And that just seemed as good a way as any to approach the lewd conversation. I thought it was boring. But he was my father, and so I had to at least feign interest.

"I suppose you are going out with boys now?" he asked, as usual.

"There are a few boys I see, yes," I said.

"Do they try to do things to you?"

"Like what. Father?"

"Well, I was once young myself, you know? I know about how young men can be. I know what horny little bastards they can be. Tell me, are you still a virgin, Therese?"

"Yes, Father," I said. It was true, at least at that point in time.

"Don't trust men," he said. "There is only one thing they want from women."

"But you are a man, Father?" I noted. "How can you say that?"

"I am that way as well," he said. "I tell you, what men really want is to be tormented by women. They want to be humiliated, and subjected to mental, and sometimes even physical pain."

"I find that hard to believe," I said.

"But it's true," he insisted. "Mark my words, Therese," he would say. "As you go through life, remember, that if you give it away, it will never be appreciated. It's not enough that you a lovely blue-eyed blonde. There are millions of lovely blue-eyed blondes around. What you have to do is find a man you like the man you like and string him along. Don't give him everything. That will make him think that you are very special."

"He will love you more for that," he would say. "Believe me."

When my father had these little, chats with me, he always had an erection, and he was forever stroking himself. He really turned himself on, that man. I of course pretended that I didn't know what was going on. But I did.

And the funny thing about it, is that I felt a sexual attraction towards my father. And I'm sure the feeling was mutual. When he would leave me, after these little chats, I would go to my bathroom, and toy with myself, and he would go to his bathroom, and do the same. At least I figured that he did. I know that I did.

I would sit on the toilet, seat and frig myself. It was a very nice sensation. I would picture my father standing naked before me, and I would squeeze my little clit, and it felt wonderful when I had a climax this way. It was absolutely delicious.

My father was much too religious a man to actually initiate a sexual relationship with me. I wish he would have, but it wasn't up to me to work that out.

I left home when I was eighteen. I wasn't a virgin. But I still hadn't really enjoyed sex. I had never had an opportunity to really work out my sexual needs. The boys in the small town where I grew up just weren't the type to play the sort of game that my father had turned me on to.

But New York City was a different game altogether. I think New York is the kind of place that naturally attracts people who are into pain. I mean, why else would anyone want to have to struggle so much, just to survive day to day?

With taxis screaming through the intersections seemingly taking aim at pedestrians, and rents that are outrageously over-priced, and restaurants that are too expensive, and human beings totally lacking in sensitivity, only someone who was really into pain would choose to live there.

And so I certainly found plenty of victims. I got a job as a legal secretary. I'm really glad I took that typing class in high school. I was making really good money enough to rent a nice apartment, and buy some really fashionable clothes.

I especially liked the summers in New York, when I didn't have to wear a coat. I always planned to go out in the evenings around six. I wore very tight-fitting cotton dresses, with no bra or underwear.

That way, I was always sure to attract the men like ants to candy on the sidewalk. Usually, I only had to walk around the block a few times before I sensed perverse eyes on my lovely young ass.

I don't think I am exaggerating at all when I describe myself as beautiful. Lovely blue-eyed blondes may indeed be a dime a dozen, but I know I am special. I have a stunning figure, with small, ripened breasts, and narrow hips, and a very lovely sculptured ass.

When I wiggle my ass on the street, I have been known to cause more than a few car accidents. Men just can't pay attention to what's going on when I am on the prowl. I know that they enjoy watching my lovely tits bounce up and down, and the cotton material of my dress dip into the lovely crack in my ass.

I've developed a second sense for the kind of man I like to pull my S&M numbers on. I like young ones guys who are a little unsure of who they are, and what they represent. I like them because they'll take the most shit off me before getting fed up.

like I say, I have eyes in the back of my head for those guys. They are the ones who will never actually walk up to you and talk. They would never think of asking you if you want to fuck, or suck, or even have drink.

They just follow me around, wishing and hoping that they could have me. I never let it happen like that, however. Never.

When I sense I have one of these sensitive type geeks following me, I stop to rest on the stoop of a brownstone. I make sure that my dress is hiked up. I spread my legs so that only a blind man could miss my muff. It's a free beaver shot for the passing motorists, and pedestrians, but I don't care. In a way it's exciting, thinking about them going home and masturbating while they think of me. Or fucking their wives, pretending that it's me they're fucking.

It's all worth it while the geek blushes and walks past, pretending that he doesn't know that I'm there.

But I take care of that little problem. I have a special technique.

"Have a match, good looking?" I ask.

If they don't, I ask them if they would mind talking with me for a few minutes. I tell them that I'm confused about a personal problem, and that I need some advice.

Those kind always love coming to the rescue of a confused damsel. Especially if she is blonde and gorgeous, like me.

They just sort of blush, and drool, and dream about what would happen if I was one of the nymphos they read about in dirty books, and magazines.

I'm thinking right now of this boy named Karl. He was a lot of fun. I still see him from time to time. Karl is a very nice looking young man. And he's very intelligent too. But he is so sensitive and shy. It's almost too difficult for him to look at me in the eye when we talk.

I think that if I would say boo to him, he would have a heart attack and die. And he's only in his early twenties.

I like that kind of guy. I can always get my way with them.

I met Karl the way I just described. He didn't have a match, so I pulled the personal problem routine on him.

"What's the matter, lady?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just so lonely," I said.

"I find it hard to believe that a beautiful woman like you could possibly be lonely. I mean, you are so absolutely beautiful. I would think that you could have your pick of any man."

"But, that's just the problem," she said. "All those guys want to do is fuck me. I don't know if a handsome young man like you can understand how difficult it is for me. I want just like to have a friend a man I could talk to."

"I understand," Karl said. But I could tell the way he was looking up between my thighs at my naked bush, that he didn't really understand. I knew I had a live one.

"If you would like," he said. "I will be your friend."

"You mean that you don't just want to fuck me?"

"I would be lying if I said that I didn't find you sexually attractive," he said. "But I can understand how you feel."

"Oh, I'm so glad to meet a man like you," I said. "You are a rare fellow."

And then I had him where I wanted him.

I pulled the come up to my place, and let me fix you a little snack. Then we can talk routine on Karl.

He followed me home like a little lost puppy. I could feel his eyes on my ass. I knew I had him.

Karl wasn't a drinker. He was a smoker. So I rolled him a joint, and told him I was going to take a shower.

I purposely left the bathroom door open and sang while I showered. I wanted him to think about my naked body in the shower. I wanted him to fantasize about making love with me.

And after I finished showering, I would walk out of the bathroom, drying myself off with a towel. I didn't try at all to hide my naked body.

I'll just never forget how Karl's eyes popped out as he looked at me. I gather that never in his most wild sexual fantasies, did he think that he would ever be alone in an apartment with a beautiful, sexy blonde like me. I mean, I look as good as any of those girls in the girlie magazines.

And he just sat there on the sofa, stoned from the marijuana, and watched me.

I would make idle chatter while I dried. I was always very careful to raise a leg on a stool while I dried my legs. That way the young man could see the pink canyon of sex flesh between my labial lips.

Oh, he liked that. I could tell by the way he blushed. Karl was quite a little actor. He would pretend that he wasn't at all phased by staring at my lovely little breasts, and the pink crack in my snatch.

He would simply continue chatting with me. His legs would, of course, be crossed, so that I couldn't see his throbbing erection. But I knew it was there. He couldn't fool me.

"Karl, I am so glad that I have met you," I said. "You can't imagine what it means to a girl like me to find a nice male friend. I have just about given up on men."

"Does that mean you are into women?" the way he asked that, convinced me that he was interested in me sexually. And he would love it if I was into women.

I wasn't, and I'm still not, but I told him I was. His eyes bugged out with excitement. And I could see his face begin to grow covered with perverse perspiration. Oh, that boy wanted me. I could read his mind, as he thought about how divine it would be to have an affair with me, and to watch me making love with another woman.

"I guess the reason that I turned to women," I said, "was essentially because of a lack of understanding on the part of men about my basic needs. You see, men just aren't sensitive. They don't seem to understand that a woman needs softness."

"I like to think of myself as sensitive," he swallowed hard when he said that.

"Oh, I can tell, Karl," I said, "you really are a sensitive young man. That's how I can tell that we could be really great friends."

"Couldn't we be more?" he had more nerve than I at first thought.

"Who knows what the future might offer us," I said. "Everything is possible. But I think you understand that I basically need your friendship right now."

"Yes, of course," he said. "I didn't mean now. I was just thinking that someday..."

"Who knows?" I smiled. "You will be a sweetie and try to understand how important it is for me to feel relaxed with a man. You know, no sexual tension. "Yes, I do understand," he was really panting now. I knew I had him where I wanted him.

I can't tell you how delicious it is to torment a sensitive young man like Karl. Knowing that he wants me desperately, and playing with him like a cat with a mouse just fills me with wanton desire.

Of course, I take my own sweet time about letting the victim know that it is only a game we are playing.

That's the best part. I like to make them really suffer for wanting me.

With Karl, it was especially fun, as he thought he would never get into my cunt. He would, of course. I wanted him just as much as he wanted me. But it would have to be entirely on my terms.

"Karl," I said, "I would like to try something with you. Perhaps you can help me to make the long comeback from lesbian love, to normal, heterosexual love. Do you think you could deal with that?"

"Oh, I would be so pleased to help you," he said, and he got up from the sofa. But he was holding his jacket in front of his crotch. It was obvious he didn't want me to realize how much he wanted me.

"What can I do to help you?" he was practically jumping on me.

"It would help me a lot," I said, "if you would take off your clothes, and just let me look at you. I could masturbate to your image. You see, I have to go very slowly. You do understand, I hope?"

"Of course," he said, thinking I'm sure that he would have an opportunity to fuck me. "I would like very much to help you. I like you, Therese."

"Yes, I can tell you do," I smiled. "You are very sweet, Karl. Now, please take of your clothes and let me look at your body. It's so difficult for me to deal with this. I wish I didn't have so many sexual problems. I do hope you can help me."

"I do, too."

I liked watching him remove his clothes. It never fails to amaze me how many of these shy, sensitive types, are really very handsome, and well built.

Karl, for instance, is a perfect example. He is very handsome, and well built. like an athlete.

He turned away from me when he removed his underwear. He had a nice ass, but it was the other end I wanted to look at.

"Oh, Karl," I said, "how will you be able to help me to get over my fear of men, if you won't let me see your penis?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's all rather embarrassing for me, you know?"

"Oh, don't be embarrassed," I said. "I want you to feel comfortable with me. Now, turn around and let me see what you're hiding."

He did so, and I was amazed by the size of his tool. It was a really nice cock. Big and strong, and I couldn't wait to feel it inside me.

But I didn't even act as though that's what I wanted. I was really playing it cool.

"What should I do?" he said.

"Oh, just sit there on the couch," I said.

The shy young man, of course, did as I said. He sat on the couch, with his stiff erection poking straight up. I lay on the floor, and stared up at him. I was positioned so that as I spread my legs apart, he couldn't help but look up my pink fuck canyon.

I started with my breasts. I gently caressed them, while I stared at his erect cock. He was so red in the face with sexual hunger for me, that I thought he would start foaming at the mouth any moment.

"It feels nice to touch my breasts while I am looking at you," I said. "You aren't uncomfortable helping me like this, are you?"

"No, not at all," he lied expertly. The poor young man was practically gagging on the thick, horny saliva that had gathered in his throat. I love putting men in these terribly uncomfortable positions.

"Oh, my nipples are getting so firm," I said. "Do you see, Karl, how they get swollen? This is a good sign that I am getting sexually stimulated from touching myself, while I watch you."

"I'm glad you feel that way about me," he said, obviously in strife.

The poor guy. I'm afraid I was really giving him an especially rough time. But he took it so well. It was fun.

Now I'm going to touch my hot little pussy while I look at that nice cock of yours, Karl. You don't mind that I am getting excited, do you?"

"No," he replied. "I think it's an honor to help a woman as lovely as you."

I knew that he was thinking I would let him fuck me.

He was wrong. That little treat would come later much later, if at all.

I used both hands to stroke my pussy. My fingers ran nimbly through my pubic fur. I was giving myself a wonderful pussy massage. And the hot juices flowed from my pussy like a veritable fountain of pleasure.

I pressed a finger, and then two, and then three, deep into my cunt. I could see that he was having a hard time sitting still. He so much wanted to come to me. To come in me.

"I hope it's not difficult for you to be sitting up there on the couch all alone," I said.

"Would it be possible for me to come closer?" he asked. "Just sort of kneel at your side?"

"I'm afraid not, Karl," I said. "You see, I'm still too much afraid of men to let you get too close to me."

"I promise not to touch you," he was really horny. "I just want to smell you, and be close to you. To feel your heat."

"No, I'm afraid that isn't possible," I said, as I pressed two fingers against my clitoris, and began stroking myself. I could feel heat surge in my loins.

Oh, I wanted that boy desperately, but I just couldn't let him know it. Not yet.

"Oh, Karl," I moaned. "I think I'm going to come. Oh, and to think that you are responsible for these feelings. You've been so kind to me."

And then I really put on a great show while I orgasmed. I was really screaming, and writhing about. It was a total sexual catharsis. And the poor boy could keep himself from leaping upon me. I could feel that. I sensed it intuitively.

I continued to frig myself, coming many times. And while I did this, I pressed my finger up my ass. I knew that he wished it was his handsome erect cock that was being forced up my lovely ass. But it wasn't. And he was sweating with discomfort, and sighing with sexual need.

"Can I please masturbate?" he asked.

"No, I'm afraid that that would be a threat to me at this stage, Karl," I said. "Please try to understand."

"But it's so difficult to be horny like this," he protested. "You are so beautiful, and I think I love you. I mean, it felt so especially good to help you with your sexual problem. Oh, would you please let me fuck you?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "Please try to understand that it will take some time, working together, to overcome this problem."

"Please try to help me with my problem," he begged. "I so much want you."

"Like I said, Karl," I said, "it's going to take us some time to work through this."

"How long do you think it will take days, weeks, months, years?"

"I hope it won't be too long," I said, as I stood and wrapped the towel around me. Now, you'll have to be going, Karl. I have to be alone."

"Don't drop me like this," he cried. "Please have some consideration."

"I will, in due time," I said. "For the present, please try to be a little more understanding of my situation."

"Can I at least have your phone number?" he asked, while he was dressing. "I promise not to call too often."

"No, I think it will be better if I take your number. I'll call you. You don't call me."

He seemed quite depressed when he left. It was just how I liked it to be. The boy was obviously hooked on me.

I waited three days before I called him. Of course I could have called him earlier. Indeed, I wanted to. I wanted to feel that boy's cock in my cunt, and up my ass-hole, as much as he wanted to be inside me. But what young men like Karl fail to recognize, that the greatest joy of the sexual trip is the uncertainty of how the loved one thinks about them. That's the delicious part.

He was so excited when I called him. He wanted to come over right away. But I made him wait until the following afternoon.

He was at my door promptly at two in the afternoon, as we had arranged.

He even brought me flowers. I thought that was cute.

I even let him kiss me on the cheek, before we stripped our clothes. He was sent to the couch, as usual, and I lay on the floor, and masturbated while I stared at his erect cock.

But I gave him a treat this time.

Before I reached my climax, I let him come down off the couch and touch my tit. He was so excited to touch my tit. My nipple was hard, and he worked it sensuously between his fingers while he crouched over me.

I frigged myself, and I was in seventh heaven.

"Please, can I touch the tip of my cock to your nipple?" he asked me.

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "It's just too early. But I do feel I'm getting better, Karl. Do you feel it?"

"I wouldn't know," he pouted, turning away from me.

"Don't be a baby," I said. "You said you wanted to help me with my problem. And now you are ignoring it completely. Why have you forsaken me, Karl?"

"I have needs, too, you know?" he said.

"I know you do," I said, soothingly. "I'm not a bitch, you know. I really want to help you. But first, you must help me. When I am a complete woman again, and not afraid of men, I will be able to give so much to you."

"I don't think I can take it," he was so sad.

"Of course you can take it," I said. "Please be patient."

I let him kiss me on the lips before sending him home.

A week later, I had him up again. This time I let him lay beside me while I frigged myself. But I still didn't let him touch me.

Another week passed before I let him suck on my nipples.

I gave him a blow-job two days after that. And I let him touch my pussy after another week.

He was as good as a trained dog by that time. I had him just the way I wanted him. He was completely into me, without reservation. He was head over heels in love with me.

What men fail to recognize, is that it's just as hard for me to deal with the waiting as it is for them. But, unlike me, I derive some sexual pleasure from it. They do not.

Karl was so excited when I finally let him suck on my cunt. He went crazy. It was really worth it for me. Because it was the best cunt sucking I've ever been on the receiving end of.

It was all the stored up sexual tension that came flooding upon me. He was hooked on my pussy by that time.

Two days after that, I finally let him fuck me. What a happy boy he was.

Of course, I took the dominant position for the much sought after coitus.

And he didn't mind. He was so pleased to feel his prick slide into my hole.

I really did try to give him a good fuck. I squeezed my pussy down tightly on his nice cock. And when he came inside of me, I rolled over and wrapping my legs around him, I milked him dry.

He was mighty pleased.

I told him, however, just to keep him chasing after me, that I wouldn't let him fuck me in the ass for awhile.

And I purposely set-up our next meeting for several weeks into the future. He was a mixed up young man by the time I saw him next.

His eyes were twitching and his palms were continuously wet with nervous perspiration.

When he finally was allowed to enter my ass-hole with his handsome cock, I decided that Karl was the man for me. And that's how I met my present husband. Karl and I were married not long after that. I never told him about the game. To this day, he thinks he really helped me solve my sexual problems.

Victor N.

Interviewed: July 14, 1978

As an admitted sexual slave master, would you please explain how your sexual history, and manifestations of sadomasochistic behavior developed into your current sexual viewpoint?

There's always this talk about how the father caused everything. The poor father has been taking the rap for his children's maladjustment problems all down the line. And, what with Freud pointing the psychoanalytic finger at all things even remotely sexual, even if only symbolically, then it just stood to figure that the father would have to take the rap for sexual problems as well.

And in my case, as much as I would like to take the old man off the hook of responsibility, I can't. I truly feel that it was all my father's fault. You see, he's a sadist. That doesn't mean he goes around in leather clothes, brandishing a whip. It simply means he gets his sexual thrills by inflicting pain be it physical, or mental.

He's a businessman. And a very successful one at that. He got that way, by frightening everyone around him into breaking their necks to help him build a successful empire.

As the only child of this driven man, you can imagine how much pressure I fell under. At the tender age of fourteen, the old man insisted that I become his protegee. After school, I would have to go down to his office in the city, where I would be instructed on the machinations of running a financial empire.

I don't know if he really believed I would grow up to be like him. I knew I could never be. I suppose I took more after my mother. She died when I was very young. But I'm told she was quite intelligent, in a subjective manner, and very sensitive.

It was from my mother, I suppose, that I acquired a thirst for knowledge. Not the kind of knowledge my father could respect knowledge of stocks, and bonds, and treasury notes but rather, an understanding of the soft, the poetic, and the beautiful in life.

He always resented that proclivity in me. He made it perfectly clear that I was not the kind of son he had imagined himself having. But that didn't free me from his constant attempts at altering my natural state.

And this employed all sorts of abuse physical as well as mental.

He kept me as close to his side as possible. I guess he was always a lonely man, and I never knew him to, have any friends. They were all business associates, or enemies.

When I approached puberty, he gave me a talk that I will never forget. It went something like this: "Victor, as you now become a man, there is something which I want you to bear in mind, concerning women. Females are like a business. They thrive, only when there is a healthy cash flow. In other words, women sell their love to the highest bidder. Which is to say that all women are whores. They can't help it. They don't know how to take care of themselves. It's up to the man to protect them. And in doing so, he, in essence buys them. They are his property. Just like my stocks and bonds. And this is how it should be. Never take grief from a woman. Simply purchase another one."

I, of course, didn't want to believe the things my father told me. I dreamed of great and immortal loves. I thought of poetry, and gifts, affection, and promises of undying love. I didn't want to accept or believe what my father was saying. Still, the seed had been planted. And I suppose I will never forgive him for placing that thought in my body. It has made it so that I cannot deal with women in a way that I would find healthy, and satisfying.

When I was sixteen, my father said it was time for me to become a man. He also said it was time for me to learn the proper way to deal with a woman. We had a long talk that afternoon. It is also one of those memorable talks that I will never forget.

"Son," he said. "You are becoming a man now. And it does my heart good to see you become so handsome and strong. Just like myself. But you are much too sensitive. And I fear that women will take advantage of you particularly since you are one day, when I die, as I surely must, going to be very rich. Always remember, my son, that you must never allow the woman to deal the cards. You must always be the master.

"Since your mother died," he went on, "I have chosen not to remarry. This isn't only because of the fact that I never thought I would find a woman as good as your mother, but I realized the illusion of marriage, and romantic love. Instead, I have established a network of what I call sexual helpers. They are the toys of a rich man. And I think I have been able to learn to deal with women as they are meant to be dealt with. You must learn these lessons as well. Or there will always be the danger that you will be taken advantage of."

So, my father took me to the apartment of one of his kept ladies. Her name was Anita. And she was a .redhead, and very young and beautiful. I figured she was only a few years older than myself.

Father explained to me that he kept these women as slaves. What they did during their free time was their business. But since he paid the rent, he never wanted another man in the apartment.

And in exchange for the financial stability, he expected total obedience from these women. He insisted that he should be able to use their bodies in any way he thought fit. In short, he owned them.

And, he wanted me to learn how to control a woman with money. He said that if I failed to learn this lesson, I would forever be unhappy in my relationships with women.

I was very uptight about going to Anita's apartment with father. He had, of course, spoken to her, and it wasn't going to be a surprise. But I felt very embarrassed, nevertheless.

She lived in a very beautiful apartment on the Upper Eastside. He wasn't stingy with her, that's for sure. He explained that to me on the way up to her penthouse suite.

"If you have the money, son," he said, "you should spend it where it gives the most benefit. In this case, I let Anita live the life of a princess. But when I want to come to her, she knows that if I want her to be trash, that's what she'll be. If I want her to eat my shit, she must. And if I want to tie her up, and beat her, because I had a bad day at the office, then, that is her contractual duty."

"I see, Father," I said. But I really didn't. Such a manner of dealing with women seemed so sinful, so void of emotion, that I could not truly relate to it. But I wanted to please him, so I went along.

When Anita opened the door, I was immediately in love. What a stunning woman. I'll never forget her for as long as I live. I suppose no man forgets the first woman he falls in love with the first woman who spreads her legs for him.

I should describe her. Though, I doubt that words alone could paint a proper portrait of her. She stood about five feet, five inches. And she was quite thin. But her figure was perfect. Her breasts were neither, too large, nor too small. The black sequined dressing gown she wore clung tightly to her body, showing off quite well the firm breasts, the gently sloping, but narrow hips, the long, shapely legs, and firm, rounded bottom.

Her hair was for real. It was a deep shade of red, almost chestnut in color. Her eyes were as green as fine emeralds, with as much magical light. Her facial features were uncommon. High cheek bones and a perfectly formed jaw gave her a noble bearing. She looked like a woman that, I suppose, the common female would pay a fortune to a plastic surgeon to look like.

And when she smiled, showing off perfect white teeth, I felt a chill run up and down my spine.

"Hello, Anita," my father said. "I want you to meet my son, Victor."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Victor," she said, so soothingly, that I felt my knees buckle, and my face flush. "Your father has told me so much about you. It's a pleasure to meet you. Come in, gentlemen."

It all seemed so friendly, I thought. I had imagined that it would be more business-like. We all sat down on the large velvet sofa, and made small talk for a few minutes.

But then, father, in his characteristic manner, brought the topic of conversation swiftly to the forefront. "I'm going to leave you two together for awhile. I'll be back to pick you up, Victor, this evening. If you should decide you want to spend the night, just call the office and leave a message with my secretary."

When he was gone, I was terrified. I didn't have him around as a model to formulate my behavior after. I was on my own, and I was terrified that if I showed the woman how sensitive I was, how vulnerable I was to her magical beauty, that she would bite my head off.

"This will be your first time with a woman, won't it, Victor?"

"Yes, Anita," I said, stiffly.

"I don't want you to be afraid. I would like to be your friend, Victor. Is that possible?"

"Yes," I managed to say, though it seemed my throat was completely swollen with emotional constipation.

"Your father tells me that you are a bit of a romantic."

"Yes," I said, as if I were apologizing. I immediately hated myself for apologizing for something I was proud to be. But I didn't say anything about it.

"That's not a good way to be in the real world, Victor," she smiled. "As your friend, I can tell you this. If I wasn't your friend, I would try to take advantage of you. But I don't want to do that, Victor. I want to teach you. I want to help shape you into the kind of man you should be. You don't want to go through life letting women play games with your head, while they take money from your pocket.

"You must remember, my friend, that in our society, it takes money to have love. It's simply a reality of our lives. But if you are going to pay for something, you must make sure you get precisely what you want. And this includes marriage. Don't imagine that marriage is any different than simply buying a prostitute off of Park Avenue. One is just longer lasting that's all. It's a built-in hooker. Can you accept these things?"

I told her I understood what she meant, but that I couldn't believe it always had to be that way.

"Well, you will probably have to learn the hard way," she said. "But most people do, so that's okay."

Then, the lovely redhead stood, and unzipped her dressing gown. She let it fall to the floor, and she was completely naked.

I had seen plenty of photos of beautiful naked women in magazines, but never anything real. I was so pleased. It was as if one of those gorgeous women had simply stepped out of the magazine, into my life. I felt my penis harden instantly.

"Do you find me beautiful?" she asked, turning about.

"Oh, yes, so very beautiful," I said. And I meant it. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life."

"You mustn't say things like that to a woman," she said. "That is your first lesson. Women are basically masochists. The more beautiful they are, the worse you should treat them. They already know they are beautiful. They are bored with it. They are sick and tired of men idolizing them. Treat them real hard. The harder, the better. Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "But I think it's sad that's the way it is."

"Of course it's sad," she smiled. "But life is sad. We simply must accept these realities."

Then she sat down beside me on the couch, and kissed me. She kissed me with passion. There was nothing soft, and gentle about it. She kissed me in a way that told me that she wanted to make passionate love. I was totally unequipped to deal with this.

"I can tell by the way you kiss me that you are frightened of me," she said. "You must never let a woman know that. It can be deadly. She can twist you around her little finger and play you for a complete fool an utter idiot if you let her. Kiss me hard. Rub my breasts. Force me to do the most perverse, vile things to you. Humble me. Treat me like I was a possession. You are the conqueror, and I am the vanquished."

I wasn't sure how to do that. It really wasn't part of my nature to act in such a harsh way.

Then, Anita slapped me. She slapped me hard. "Be a man," she scowled. "Take off your clothes. Let me see what you've got."

And then she slapped me again. It hurt. She made me angry. All of a sudden, the love I had felt for her had vanished. I was furious. I didn't realize at the time that she had done it on purpose to help me.

I slapped her back. And she slapped me. And we traded slaps until she was whimpering with pain, and I was furious. I had lost my temper.

I tore off my clothes. I had this really strange self-image at that moment. I really felt as though I were the conquering warrior, and she was simply some trophy.

I pressed my hands against her breasts.

"Harder," she said. "Hurt them. Slap them. Pinch my nipples."

I did, and to my surprise, I found that I liked hurting her. It excited me. It let me act out all my frustrations. Suddenly, I had someone to take out all my hostilities against. She was like a whipping post a scapegoat.

I continued to hit her, and kiss her, and bite her, and she cowered at my feet like a frightened dog. I felt so much power to have this beautiful woman cowering like that for me. I was her master. I felt like a king.

My cock was so stiff. It was my first time, and I wasn't sure what to do.

Anita knew this, of course, and she took care of everything. She was so submissive, and caring. And she did it in a way that made me feel like I was the master. She was an artist of sadomasochistic love. I only am now beginning to realize how great she was.

"Are you going to make me suck your cock?" she said, frightened, though letting me know, by the way she looked at me, that she wanted to.

I was on my back on the thickly carpeted floor, and she was between my thighs. I felt hypnotized by her emerald green eyes as she watched my face, while her lovely crimson lips descended upon my throbbing pink member.

It was so exciting to be with such a wild vixen. Suddenly, I realized that's really what I wanted all along. I didn't at all care about the softness. I wanted it to be rough and wild. It felt manly. I saw myself, the way I used to be, as foolish. I was excited by my new self.

She sure could suck cock, that lovely redhead. I watched her flaming hair dance over my flesh while her warm, sweet mouth moved rapidly up and down the shaft of my rod. My nuts were filled with an aching. I wanted to come in her mouth. I wanted to feel the power of emptying my sacs in that loving mouth of hers.

And I did. I reached up and grabbed her by her lovely red locks, and pressed her mouth down over my stick. Up and down she swiftly moved her mouth, and as I felt the come ready to shoot, I grabbed her by the hair, and thrust my tool deeply into her mouth shooting hot jism.

It felt so wonderful to fill her mouth with my hot juice. It was such a wonderful catharsis. And I felt dominant, like a warrior with a slave girl. One taste of that power, and I knew I was transformed. I would never be sensitive young man I was before.

After she had milked my cock dry in her mouth, she asked me if I would like a massage.

I told her I would. And that I expected a very nice massage, as well.

She smiled, knowingly, and went to the bathroom to get some massage cream.

It was quite a wonderful massage. She started with my shoulders, and worked down over my back. I was filled with wonderful sensations. And I felt my sexual strength rapidly return.

I was confident, and quite sure of myself. I told her I wanted to fuck her.

She licked her lips in a way that really excited me, and rolled over on her back. As she spread her legs, exposing the pink flesh between her labial lips, I became extremely excited. I wanted to lick that surface. I wanted to taste of her sexuality.

My cock was pounding with desire. And she lay there so helplessly, like a sex slave. That's the role she wanted to play. It was wonderful freedom for me. I pressed my mouth against the red fur, and ran my tongue along her pussy furrow.

It was wonderful. I took her clitoris in my mouth and sucked her. My entire body was vibrating with thrilling sexual tension. I apparently found the magic spot her clitoris because she put her fingers into my hair and directed my tongue movements against her clit.

It felt nice to have her so dependent on me. To know that her satisfaction was dependent on the way I ministered to her twat. I was in full control. I sucked her clit until she was almost ready to orgasm, then I pulled my mouth from her pussy.

She looked at me in a strange way when I did that. In a way that let me know that she enjoyed the game we were playing. I continued to suck on her and she got hotter and hotter. And then I would pull my mouth away again, and she would pant, and writhe, and look at me in that way that way which told me she liked the frustration.

What apparently was happening, was that this obviously masochistic woman was transforming me into a sadist. She wanted me to toy with her, to torment her.

She was quite frustrated, writhing about, and pumping her hot box up towards my face desperately in search of orgasmic release. But I didn't want to give it to her. Not yet anyway.

I continued to play this game for quite some time until she was so frustrated, that I thought she would cry. And then I sucked on her pussy in earnest. And she began to orgasm.

It filled me with such a wonderful sense of power. She had her legs wrapped around me, tightly. And she was so very pleased by the way I made her feel.

She was so very beautiful, and I was so very inspired. I continued to suck her passionately. Her clitoris was so erect and she had even more orgasms.

Then I knew the moment had come. It was time to fuck her. It felt wonderful to shove my cock in her pussy. She did all the work, and guidance. She wrapped her fingers lovingly around my pole, and introduced the head into the moistened pit.

It was the best feeling I ever had. She clamped her vaginal muscles on my cock, and squeezed me tightly as I slid into her. I began pumping her. It was the first time ever for me to be in a pussy.

And I suppose I was a bit emotional about it. I fucked her tenderly. But she didn't let up with the lessons.

"Don't be so romantic," she said. "I want to feel roughness. I want you to really know that I am being fucked."

She had ignited me again. And I pinned her arms to the floor while I pumped away in her box.

I liked the feeling of being brutal. I liked the sense of power I had from pinning her to the floor, and making her submit to me.

She struggled vainly. But she did so in a way that made me believe she really did not to be fucked. That's what made the fucking all that much more fun.

I squeezed her breasts roughly as I plunged my cock in and out of her cunt. I loved the feeling of her cunt muscles clamping down on me as I forced myself in and out of her.

It was a delicious struggle. She squeezed her thighs together, and it made the fit even tighter. I leaned forward, so my cock was rubbing against her clit, and this made it so very much more enjoyable for her.

I could feel myself ready to come. And then I did something which surprised me very much. I grabbed her by the hair, and pulled at her head painfully so and I ejaculated inside of her.

I thrust my cock as deeply into her crack as I could. I suppose I was rougher than I really had to be. I was shoving my cock up against her cervix. And she was screaming with pain. And that gave me a great deal of pleasure. I liked to see her mouth hang open, and listen to her painful cries.

It was wonderful.

It exhilarated me. It gave me a sense of power. For the first time in my life, I was able to understand why my father enjoyed being a bastard.

After I had milked my cock in her cunt, I collapsed on the floor beside her.

"You are quite a sexy boy," she said. "You learn real fast."

"Are you sure that you aren't angry that I hurt you?" I asked, not being able to believe that a woman could really enjoy pain, and humiliation.

"Listen, Victor," she said. "You have got to learn to stop being such a nice person. Don't concern yourself with how I feel. Concern yourself with making yourself feel good. If it has to be at my expense, that's fine. But if you go around acting like such a sweetheart, women will do a dance on your head."

"I'll try to remember."

She made me lunch, and we talked. Mostly about inane things. And then she said she wanted to teach me some other things. Most specifically, she explained the important role that sodomy plays in dominating the woman.

She explained to me that to force a woman to submit to taking a cock up the ass is a high form of male dominance. Once a woman has been sodomized, she said, the woman thus surrenders her body to the man. She becomes an instrument of his sexual satisfaction. She is his slave. And he is her master.

Watching her walk naked through the house, shaking her tight, firm ass, did excite me. I wanted to shove my cock up her ass. I admit it. I wanted to feel myself slide into the narrow opening.

She told me that there were two ways to approach it. I could either lie on my side, facing her back, and push myself in. That was the gentle way, she explained.

The rough way the masterly way she explained, was to force it in, with only vaginal lubricant, while the woman was face down.

I wanted it that way, of course. By that time I truly enjoyed being rough master.

She was on her belly, with her legs slightly spread. I knelt beside her, and ran my hand over her lovely ass.

She spread her legs wider as I did so, and I pushed my finger into the crack of her pussy. I liked touching her cunt. It was warm and soft. After dipping my fingers deeply into her crack, I pressed my lubricated digits against her anus, and forced my way into the tight opening.

"That's it," she said. "Be rough. Hurt me. That's the way I like it."

What a perfect woman that Anita was. She really knew how to make me feel comfortable how to make me feel in control.

I finger-fucked her ass-hole until she began to open up. And then I climbed between her lovely thighs, and pressed the head of my cock against her anal opening.

I guess my cock was a little bigger than she was used to. When I pressed myself inside of her, she yelped with pain.

"God, you are big," she said. "I don't know if I can take it. Maybe you better not go all the way in this time."

Her talk excited me terribly. I knew then that I would have to fuck her brains out in the ass. I had to have it that way. That's the only way that really excited me.

I pressed my hands under her chest, and squeezed her tits savagely, while I forced my cock deeply into her behind. I loved the sound of her screams of pain.

I was really hurting her. But I didn't feel guilty. She tried to pull away from me, but I pinned her to the floor, and really shoved my way home. All the way up her ass I forced my way. She very slowly began to relax, despite my thunderous strokes. She began to enjoy what I was doing to her.

It was a nice, tight fit, and I felt so very turned on as my cock plunged in and out ejaculation was on the way.

I felt as though I had really conquered her. As I was ready to shoot, I forced my cock all the way into her ass up to the hilt. I squirted hot jism deep into her ass.

She was apparently beginning to enjoy it as well. She began to swivel her hips about, and it was obvious she was going to come. But I didn't let her. I had learned well by her.

I pulled my stick from her ass-hole and stood over her. I had an uncontrollable urge to piss on her. I couldn't believe it. I was still just a teenager. And I had just had my first woman but what a woman she was. And I wanted to add shame to what I had done to her. I wanted to piss on her.

And I did. And she luxuriated in it. It's funny, because it all happened so naturally. I stood over her and pissed all over her hair, and her face, and her body, and it was a great feeling. It was a feeling of having complete rule over her. She was my slave. I was her master.

"You've learned a great deal today," she said, as she stood. "Your father will be very proud of you."

We showered together, and then I left. I saw her a few times after that, but my objective had become to find my own women. I wanted to feel that I could dominate, and control without my father's influence.

It took some time. And my father had to substantially increase my allowance so that I had the means, but it slowly happened. I met a few girls who would do anything for money. I set them up in apartments nothing elaborate, like the way my father took her of Anita, but nevertheless, since my eighteenth birthday, I have never been without at least two sexual slaves.

Sex has assumed a lot of meaning for me. And I think that I've been able to put it all in the right perspective.

Helen K.

Interviewed: February 12, 1977

How does pain and humiliation affect your orgasm?

From what I understand, you want a little background as to how I acquired a need for degradation. At thirty-three years of age, I think I can admit a lot of things to myself now, which I wasn't able to deal with in the past.

I can admit that I am into S&M. It's taken a long time for me to be able to deal with this. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that my father was such a detached man.

He is a psychoanalyst, trained in Europe. So he is a very private man. Growing up in his house in Los Angeles, was in many ways like being raised in a prison.

You see, part of the house served as his offices. Patients would come to the back of the house and he would see them. My mother and I always had to be very quiet.

I guess I had the image of my father being some sort of God. All these sick people would come to him to be made whole. And in reverent quiet, he would listen to their woes, and try to put them on the right track to wholeness.

I was in awe of the man. And I suppose I wanted him desperately. I guess it only stands to reason that I found a substitute for him in my first love Mark.

I met Mark when I was only in high school. Actually, he was younger than me. Only by a few years. But he looked a great deal like my father. He was quiet and serious, and very sensitive. I fell deeply in love with him.

We didn't start into a sexual relationship for some time. It was slow going. I felt that I had the upper hand in the relationship. I was the stronger of the two of us.

He was much more emotional. I had to be a bitch, I suppose, to get Mark to give me what I wanted in a sexual way. I wanted him to hold back. I wanted him to be aloof, and hard to get close to. I wanted him to be my father.

I'm sure my father loved me. But I think it's the old story about the physician not being able to take care of his own family's health. My mother went mad, and my father wasn't able to do a thing for her.

I don't think he really wanted to. He institutionalized her, and started seeing one of her girlfriends. And I think he was afraid of his sexual desires for me. He certainly kept his distance from me. When I was young, I was very much hurt by this. I suppose every young girl wants to feel that her father really loves her.

I began spending more and more time with Mark. I definitely had the upper hand, I felt almost like his mother. And to counter a tendency he had to be sweet overly emotional, I bitched at him, and set him up to be angry at me. I loved it when he was furious with me. It really stimulated me, sexually.

The first few times we made love, I felt as though I were the man, and he was the woman. But after awhile, he developed into the man I wanted him to be.

He punished me sexually. He got even with me in bed for the shit I gave him out of bed. This was really perfect for us in a lot of ways.

In this manner, I was able to work out my needs to dish out shit to be sadistic, and in bed, it was his turn. We alternated in this manner from sadism to masochism. It was a perfect balance. And he reminded me of my father, which was perfect.

We would play a game in bed. There would be the usual foreplay, and we would turn each other on. I would suck his cock, and stroke his balls, and kiss him, touch him, fondle him.

And then it would be my turn. Lying on my back, with my legs spread, he would suck my pussy. It was wonderful the way he did it. He was clever in the way he sexually tormented me.

He would suck on my clit until I was almost ready to orgasm. Of course, I didn't really want to orgasm. I wanted to suffer. And he played right into my hands.

"You'd better stop," I would cry. "I don't want to come yet. I want to save it for later."

And he would stop. He would kiss me on the inside of the thigh, or kiss me tenderly on the navel. Or he would suck on my tits. When I had calmed down again, he would return to my pussy, and suck me.

We went through this trip several times, until I was completely beside myself with desire. A desire for orgasm. But rarely did he let me have orgasm at his mouth.

We came up with a special position. I have always been slender, and small, so that Mark was able to manipulate my body around easily. Our favorite position was for me to lay on my back on top of him.

The way we approached it was with him lying on his side, facing my back. I liked this position very much.

He would kiss me on the back of the neck, and fondle my breasts, while running his cock along the corridor of my pussy lips and anus.

While he did this, he would toy with my breasts with one hand, and use his other hand to frig me. It felt exquisite this way. Of course, he wouldn't let me come.

He always had this great line to use on me. "Let's come together at the same time."

And Mark had amazing ability to control his orgasms. He didn't have to come until he was good and ready to come. Then he would roll over on his back, and I was on top of him, facing the ceiling. In this manner, his cock was stuffed into my cunt, and he had full control of my pussy.

He would pump his cock very slowly in and out of my pussy, while he used his fingers to press against, and toy with my clit. I always got so damn horny. No one ever turned me on the way he did...

He would rub my cunt until I could feel my orgasm just about to arrive. And then he would stop. He would simply raise his hand from my pussy. And I would go crazy with excitement.

There is something truly erotic about being controlled like that. He liked to make me masturbate for him. It was some sort of turn-on for him. He would take my hand and press it against my pussy, making me use my fingers to get myself off.

I suppose he thought that was humiliating for me. It really wasn't. I always liked to masturbate. No one could ever touch me as well as I could touch myself.

I didn't let him know that, however. I always fought him. And he would grip my hand, and force me to masturbate. He always got so very turned on by this. It was difficult for him to keep himself from coming. But he did. He was really great at self-control.

Before either of us could come, he would turn us over on our sides, with his cock buried deeply in my pussy. And then he would continue to toy with my clit.

He always got me so damn horny this way. And then he would pull his cock out of my cunt but only when I was really hot. That way I accepted the discomfort of the sodomy.

It was really a hot little game we played. He would frig me while he tried to shove his cock up my ass. It always hurt, but he always turned me on so much with his fingers, that it didn't seem like such a bad deal. He knew just the right angle to introduce his cock into my ass, so that it hardly hurt.

He would enter me at an angle, while he pressed against my clit. And I could feel the large cock moving slowly up against my sphincter muscle, and then into the hot hole of my ass. He went very slowly, so that it was a dull, aching pain, and not so much a harsh, sharp pain.

And when he was all the way inside me, he rolled me back on top of him, and he fucked me slowly in the ass, while he made me masturbate. And he would further torment me by insisting that we come at the same time. With his ability to restrain himself, this made it very difficult for me.

I would have to pace myself. I would have to be very careful not to make myself too horny. I moved my fingers slowly over my clit. And I would have to release my masturbatory grip each time I felt my orgasm coming on.

I had to. He would be furious with me if I didn't. It was torment for me. Every time we made love there was this torment and I liked it.

I liked it very much.

In a sick sort of way.

I actually liked the sensation of having Mark's cock up my ass. When I became accustomed to it, it was a very hot experience. Very much different from vaginal coitus.

"Okay, honey," he would moan, "I'm going to come now. Are you ready?"

Of course, I was ready. I had been ready for the nearly two hours that we had played this game. I wanted to feel his cock shoot hot jism into my ass-hole. I wanted the sensation very badly.

I frigged myself powerfully. Mark would put his hand over mine. He liked to feel the rhythm of my fingers moving over my clit. It turned him on. And he was moving his cock swiftly in and out of my ass-hole.

We were quite hot by that time, and covered with sexual perspiration. And then as we began to come, together, he would roll me over on my belly, and really shove his monster of an erection in and out of my ass-hole.

It felt splendid. It really did. I would continue rubbing my clit, while he shot jism into my ass.

And when we were through, we simply drifted off into sleep. Sometimes, he would leave his cock in my ass as we slept.

Well, I married Mark. It seemed too good a sexual relationship to let slide away.

But we weren't as good as husband and wife as we had been as lovers. We only lasted a little over a year together. The spit-up was rather abrupt. He said he wanted his freedom. I was crushed, but I knew I couldn't keep him.

We saw each other for awhile after the split-up. We continued a sexual relationship with each other. But that sort of drifted away. He found other women who would play his game with him. And I met a new fellow.

Mel was a lot like Mark. And they were both, of course, a great deal like my father.

Mel wasn't as sensitive and as intellectual as Mark. I missed the conversations we used to have together.

But a girl has to have her fair share of sex.

I couldn't play the same games with Mel that I had played with Mark, of course, because he was a different man. A completely different psychology was involved.

Mel was submissive, and took a long time to get him to be rough with me. It always blows my mind how men want to treat me like a little angel. It's so unrealistic. I don't want to be put on a pedestal. I hate it there.

The atmosphere is too rarified.

So, what I do, is start fights with Mel. It always takes that to get him where I want him to be. I set it up so he is so angry with me that he takes it out on me physically.

Mel is into oral sex, the way that Mark was into anal sex. I don't mind sucking cock. It gives me a great deal of control over the male to have his cock in my mouth.

At first I wasn't crazy about drinking jism. It just sort of nauseated me.

So, I made an agreement with Mel. I set it up so that I would suck him off, if he fucked me in the ass. I had gotten so used to the routine with Mark, that I just didn't want to break it off.

Mel and I would get into some really great oral positions. Usually, though, I was on top of him, with my cunt pressed against his mouth, and his cock in my mouth.

I would come several times before I swallowed his spunk. And then after a rest, I would resume my favorite position, with my ass pressed against his cock.

Mel's cock isn't as big as Mark's, but it does the trick. Still, I was always missing Mark. It's funny how you can get addicted to someone like that.

Mark had been traveling for several years, and then he suddenly showed up in town.

It was an auspicious occasion, really. I was having a lot of trouble with Mel. His business was falling apart, and we were fighting. Mark was living with a friend of his at the beach, and, of course I went to visit.

It didn't take long for us to get back into the swing of things. Mark was rather sentimental about it all really. It was very nice to have affair with him again, after the interruption.

The first few fucks were much too sweet and tender for my taste. I wanted it rough again. So, I had to bait him. He was nearly thirty at the time, so I played on his fears of losing his virility.

It was an easy game to play.

He was much rougher with me. And when I confessed to him that I wanted to re-play the old sexual game, he was very pleased. As it turned out, he wanted it the same way. And he had some surprises for me as well.

Somewhere along the line he had been into a woman who was into ropes and bondage.

I had never really gotten into that. Actually, I must admit, I thought it a bit too perverse for my taste.

But Mark said that the only way he would give me what I wanted, was if I gave him what he needed and wanted.

It was nice seeing each other naked again after so long.

He tied my hands together over my head, and bound my ankles together. And then he kissed me and licked me and toyed with my pussy and anus, until I was burning up with desire.

I was restrained, and helpless.

And when he sucked on my pussy, and I could feel an orgasm welling-up inside of me, he would pull away from me. I would writhe about it confusion and frustration, and that turned him on very much.

He wouldn't let me come. It had been years since we played this game, and it was so hard for me to get back into it. I knew I would come eventually. But he made me wait so damn long.

I was cursing and screaming at him. God, I wanted to come.

And he hit me. It was the first time since I knew him he had used physical violence on me. It was rough. I didn't like to be smacked around. But there was something about it, coupled with the sexual need I felt, that was exciting.

He was so violent, though, that I was frightened. He must have been harboring a great deal of anger against me. He squeezed my throat so I could barely breathe, and frigged me.

The sexual excitement was wonderful.

I knew he wouldn't really hurt me that he only wanted me to feel good. Even if it was in a bizarre way.

God, he wouldn't let me come. It was driving me crazy. But after he had worked me up into a complete frenzy of sexual excitement, he untied me, and we got back into the old groove.

I guess he just had to show me that he was the dominant one. That he had control.

It was something wonderful, after all those years, to be playing the old S&M game with Mark.

Laying on my side, with my ass to him, feeling his hand against my breast, and his other hand pressed against my cunt, rubbing my clit, not letting me come, made me so happy, that I got tears in my eyes.

The feel of his strong fingers against my clit, frigging me, taking me to the precipice of release, only to let me fall away from the magical moment, filled me with immense longing.

No one could ever do these things to me the way Mark could. I guess the secret was in realizing that we just couldn't live together. When he pressed his huge cock up my ass, I was thrilled with excitement.

I wasn't used to his size, so it took me some time to get used to him again. But with that huge cock shoved up my ass, and his hand guiding my own hand over my pussy, I was back in the swing of things. And feeling really good about it.

While he made me frig myself, I felt as though I were entirely his property. I belonged sexually to him, as I had always done.

And feeling his huge cock up my ass filled me with enormous contentment.

We spent the entire day like that, fucking each other's brains out. It's so nice to come together after a separation like that. It's like a homecoming.

I've continued to see Mark several times a week. It's perfect, because he lives at the beach with his friend. And his friend is mostly away during the day. Mark works out of the house. So, when it's convenient and we're both in the mood, I stop by and we play our little game.

I would like to think that Mark and I will continue like this for many years to come. I think we both have come to realize how rare it is to find an ideal sexual partner someone who can really act out the fantasies.

I live for Mark's cock in my ass.

And I know that he thinks of little else but tormenting me, and making me beg for orgasm. We have each other now, and we are content.

Ellie A

Interviewed: June 25, 1978

Do you have to be handled roughly to actually enjoy sex?

I was born and raised in St. Thomas. It's an idyllic way to grow up. I suppose it was too idyllic. In terms of my father, and the role he played in my development as a masochist, I suppose the island life had something to do with that.

Life on the island is very slow. It's actually boring for one who has to spend a great deal of time there. I can appreciate that the tourists love the life on the island. They're only there for a week or two. The slow, happy pace of life is what they need.

But I spent eighteen years on the island, before coming to New York City. I was glad to be off it. I had learned to despise my father. He just wasn't the symbol of what I thought a man should be. He was so content just to fish, and work in the garden. I can't remember any sternness from him for as long as I knew him.

I don't think he was a weak man. I want to be fair to him. But he just didn't symbolize what I wanted.

I thought of myself as a weak, mild mannered girl. I didn't want to be like that. I wanted to have some rough experiences with men. I wanted to have some hot and nasty sex.

Thank God I met Stefan at the job I had. I was in a secretarial pool that he relied on.

He worked in public relations for the insurance company. I liked working for him more than any of the other men. A lot of that has to do with the way I look.

I should describe myself. I am very beautiful. I don't mean that in a conceited way. But it's true. I have long, black hair, which reaches nearly to my ass.

My skin is dark brown. And I have a very nice figure.

Well, you can imagine that I was quite a hit with the men in the office. But I couldn't stand the way they eyed me. It was sickening how they would make lewd comments behind my back, and yet be terrified of me.

But Stefan wasn't afraid. He told me to my face that he thought I was a beautiful young girl. And he didn't bullshit about his sexual interest. He was very much interested in me. He told me that he wanted to fuck me.

I kind of liked his honesty. And I kind of liked him. In fact, I liked him a lot.

So, I let him take me out to dinner. And during the dinner, I realized that we were wasting our time.

We were just pussy-footing around.

What he really wanted was to be fucking my brains out. And that's what I wanted from him.

"Stefan, I think we should be truthful with each other," I said over desert. "The reason I went out with you isn't because I'm hungry. And it isn't because I simply wanted some company. What I want from you is outrageous sex."

He looked very strangely at me. At first I wasn't sure whether I had gone too far with him.

"As a matter-of-fact, Ellie," he said. "I'm glad you were the one who brought it up. I am older than you, and I wasn't sure how to handle making the moves on an eighteen year old girl. Actually, I am rather surprised that you are so open to me. I didn't know eighteen year old girls were so sexually aware."

"Times have certainly changed," I said. "You are going to be in for a treat. I have only had sex a few times, but never with the kind of man I really wanted."

"I think I am the man for you," he said. "But I want to tell you up front, I am not a gentle soul. At least not when it comes to sex."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, feeling my panties fill with hot juice. I wanted him to tell me that he wanted to beat me, to spank me, to humiliate me. I wanted him to be macho. Not like my father.

"I like rough stuff," he said.

"I think I could get into that," I replied.

And directly from dinner we went to his apartment.

He really did like to play a strange game with me. But I liked it. I've always been put off by men who don't know how to approach a woman sexually. I hate all the little hints and innuendo's. I like it all on the table. And that's exactly what I got from Stefan.

"To start with," he said. "Take off your clothes. There's no reason to bullshit around. You are going to take them off anyway. We might as well do it up front."

I liked his reasoning.

So, I stripped. He seemed to like the way I looked.

But he still had his clothes on. And sitting in his over-stuffed chair, he surveyed me like a slave master.

"I just love your body," he said. "What ripe little brown tits you have. And what a lovely ass. It's naughty to be so pretty. It's a veritable sin."

He was going to punish me for being pretty. I loved it. I thought it was a great game to play.

He made me bend over his knee, and he began to spank me. But he was a little rougher than I had expected. He wasn't just patting me on the ass. He was smacking me really hard. He was beating me.

I started to cry. It wasn't a game. It really hurt. My ass was stinging from the pain. But at the same time, I must admit, I liked it. My father had never laid a hand to me. And now I was getting the punishment I always wanted.

Despite the pain, I felt sexual excitement while he smacked me. My pussy was rubbing against his thigh, and his hand was cracking me severely on the ass.

And after he had done that sufficiently until I was really crying he started to pat my ass tenderly.

He kissed my ass globes, and ran his fingers along the furrow of my ass. He pressed the tip of his finger into my anus. It was a strange feeling. I had never been touched there before. It hurt. But I felt excitement from the pain.

I had always fantasized about sex being painful. I wanted it to hurt. And I did like the discomfort.

While I was laying across his knee, he pressed a finger into my cunt, and a finger into my ass-hole. He was fingering both holes simultaneously. And it was excruciatingly delicious.

And after he had done that, he began tonguing my anus and pussy holes. He was still dressed, and I could feel his erection pressing through his trousers against my belly.

I guess he was a bit of a masochist as well. He must have been suffering very much to keep his hands off me. He sure could suck well, though.

He torturetime with his expert tongue movements. With his tongue in my anus, I felt on fire. Hot jolts of sexual excitement tore through me. And when he sucked my pussy, I could feel an orgasm rushing towards me.

But he wouldn't let me come.'

I guess that's one of the standard trips of S&M between men and women. The man, if he is the dominant figure, plays games with the woman's sexual enjoyment.

It sort of becomes the carrot that is dangled in front of her face. And it's a question of doing what one has to do in order to have the prize of the nice orgasm.

So, he had me so horny from wanting orgasm, that when he dumped me off his lap, and unzipped his pants, pulling out his mammoth organ, I was more than happy to suck him off.

I would have done anything paid any sexual dues to feel his cock in me. I wanted it desperately.

I licked the tip of his cock, and took the entire head of his sex organ into my mouth. I sucked him, and he became very excited. I took the entire organ into my mouth, nearly gagging on it.

I knew he would want me to swallow his jism. That would be part of the degradation he desired of me.

So, I sucked him and sucked him and sucked him. My jaw was aching with pain. I was sick of it. But I knew I had to do it. It's rather difficult to get a man off with just your mouth.

It takes a lot of training. But I persisted. I reached into his pants, and pulled his gonads out into the open, where they belonged. I stroked his hairy nuts while I sucked him.

When he began moaning with hot need, I knew that he would come soon. He pressed my head down over his cock, apparently thinking that I would not willingly drink his jism.

That didn't bother me, really. In fact, I sort of liked it. I had my mouth gripped tightly on his stick, moving my mouth rapidly up and down the length of his sex.

And then he groaned deeply, and his body convulsed, and he began shooting hot jism into my mouth.

I loved the sensation of the hot, sticky juice flowing into my mouth. I gulped it all up, swallowing it greedily.

He liked that. He continued to move his cock in and out of my mouth, enjoying the sensation of my sweet, warm mouth over his ejaculating tool.

I milked him, and then sat at his feet waiting for him to recover. I was like his little sex toy. I liked the role. I really did.

When he was excited again, he got undressed, and I was very impressed with his muscular body.

I couldn't believe that he was hard again. He really was a very sexual man.

He didn't speak to me. He simply stared into my eyes, as though he were hypnotizing me. He used his hands to spread my thighs apart, and then he began toying with my pussy.

He was by no means gentle with my sensitive organ. He was a true sadist. It gave him obvious pleasure to hurt me.

The way he squeezed my clit, and shoved his fingers in and out of my hole hurt a great deal.

But as much as it hurt, it gave me pleasure.

I couldn't wait to feel his cock inside. When he had sufficiently aroused me, he bent forward, between my thighs, and pressed the tip of his cock into my cunt hole.

Hot juices were running wild. I don't think I had ever been so turned on before.

He shoved his cock into my hole. Not gently. But roughly. I loved it. He pinned my arms to the floor, and bit at my tits. He was really hurting my little titties.

He was so savage with me. He turned me on, however. He was a sadist par excellence, and he knew how to extract from me every drop of masochistic pleasure.

Ramming his tool in and out of my cunt, biting savagely at my nipples, and breast flesh, I experienced many orgasms. Each one seemed to stem from the earlier orgasm.

And after he had come in my cunt, he couldn't wait to recover his sexual powers, so he could slam his cock into my ass-hole.

He was mighty rough the way he approached my ass.

Now, mind you, this was the first time for me. I had only experienced his finger in my ass before.

This was a much larger situation.

He had me get on my belly. He was going to fool me, he thought. But I knew what he was up to.

He started off with a massage routine. He massaged my shoulders and worked slowly down my back to my ass.

He had been sitting astride me, with his erect cock laying flat in the crack of my ass.

As he got closer and closer to my rear, he slid down slowly, so that his cock touched me. He made it seem like it happened only by accident. But I knew better. I knew that that's what he was planning all along.

He was stroking my ass globes, and pressing the tip of his erection very slowly into my hole. My ass-hole.

And it hurt. I tried to pull away.

I meant it. I really didn't think I could deal with that much pain. It was going much too far.

He stuffed his tool into the opening of my ass-hole. It was so big, it felt like he was going to split me wide open.

I tried to pull away, but I couldn't. I couldn't get away from him. He was much too strong for me. There was a delicious excitement for me being held down against my will, while his huge tool moved into my rectum.

He was showing me no mercy.

I wailed with pain as his cock plunged deeper and deeper inside of me. I tried to relax. Truly I did. But it just seemed an impossible task to relax with such a huge organ being forced up my rear.

At last he was all the way inside of me, and I began to relax.

But no sooner than I relaxed, did he start in with the choking. I knew he wouldn't kill me. I had told my girlfriends at work that I was going out with him. And I know that he knew that.

It was more a situation of him just getting off on throttling me. His long fingers were powerful against my throat. I could barely breathe as he squeezed against my wind pipe.

And he continued to ram his tool in and out of my ass-hole while he did this Several times I thought I would pass out. But I didn't. He apparently knew what he was doing. His cock was beginning to feel wonderful in my ass. While he squeezed at my throat, and rammed his tool in and out of my ass, I felt a powerful orgasm building inside of me.

I don't know how my clit got so excited. He wasn't anywhere near it. But I did get excited. So very much excited.

So excited that I had an orgasm. A spontaneous orgasm at that.

And just as I came, he released his grip on my throat, and came into my ass.

I could feel his hot spunk shooting deeply into my rectum. It bathed my bowels, and somehow added a new dimension to the world of orgasm.

After that, he tied me up. There was no end to the sexual tricks that he could conjure.

He tied my hands behind my back, and used the same length of rope to tie my ankles together. In this manner, my ankles were fastened to my wrists, and I had hardly no room for movement.

When he had me in that awkward position, he made me do some very naughty thing. He was really a debauched young man. His sexual imagination apparently knew no limit.

He squatted over my face, and made me plunge my tongue into his ass-hole. It was bitter and I didn't like doing it at all.

But he had threatened to put cigarettes out on my nipples and set fire to my pubes if I didn't do whatever he said.

So, I tongued his ass-hole. And I had to let him piss on me.

And then he fucked me again. It was a Friday night that I started. He ordered food up for us several times that weekend. But for that, the entire weekend was spent in the world of perverse S&M debauchery.

CONCLUSION

As the reader can surmise, after reading the interviews contained in this timely anthology, the sexual mores of contemporary American society are taking a most apparent twist.

And the twist points towards increased decadence on the U.S. scene.

Within the parameters of this study, we have endeavored to document this sexual behavioristic swing in the direction of sadomasochistic character development.

In addition, our staff of interviewers concentrated only on individuals who had developed along S&M lines, as a result of the influence of the father in the home.

We submit that the father is indeed the culprit in these situations of sexual identity crisis. As trained psychiatrists, we are concerned about the lack of a fundamental sense of responsibility, as exhibited by fathers in America. Most notably, a moral responsibility to their offspring.

To bring a human life into this world with its peculiar difficulties, and the sometimes tragic limitations without a great deal of forethought, is a moral crime. It is a crime against the child; it is a crime against mankind; and it is a crime against God.

There is no telling how far these abnormalities may go. We note, in our statistical comparisons, that the incidence of sadomasochistic sexual behavior as well as other forms of deviance are on the upswing. If these behavior patterns persist, anthropologists and historians tell us that we may be witnessing the decline of Western Civilization as we know it.

THE END
The Crown Report - S&M And The American Father ....(70k)    by Unknown




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~







.....11153 home .....11155








---

	"Double for Nothing!! Tricks for Free!!!"™ A MrDouble Production: mrdouble

Page Design Copyright � 1998-2016, Mr Double, ALL Rights Reserved    
Stories Copyright respective authors.