"There were times when I got so tensed up that I had to go out and find a man--a brutal kind of man. Now you just can't go stand in the middle of the Loop and yell that you're a masochist and you're looking for a good beating. I mean, you're liable to get beat to death... maybe even by a cop. Well, I'll tell you--those one-nighters weren't much safer. One kid who picked me up misunderstood what I meant by a beating. Like I don't want much more than a hard strapping--like my daddy used to give me.
"This jerk broke both my arms, and I think he was about to go to work on my legs when my screams scared him away. One other joker refused to take the whole thing seriously. When I told him what I wanted, he took a piece of string, dragged it across my shoulders a couple of times, and asked me if I was worked up yet. Kept laughing all the time he was balling me--flicking that string out at my sides and asking me if he was being too rough."
* * *
This excerpt from the case history of a female masochist shows some of the problems a girl has in locating a male who will dominate her. From looking at the traditional roles in society, one would think it would be easy--man has always been the aggressor, the one who slew the dragon, brought home the saber-toothed tiger roast, manned the front lines. With the recent emancipation of woman, however, man has been losing his traditional place in society until he is barely a shadow of himself. But some women cry out for a return to the role--even an exaggerated return--wanting punishment for the guilt they suffer as usurpers. And there are still some males who are casting a giant shadow of themselves. Not necessarily the John Waynes, the Steve McQueens, they do know how to control their women, and may utilize any number of ways, whether a snap of the whip or a glint from the eye, to tame their women.
From Freud on down, psychologists list numerous reasons for this, the dominant male. One of the primary reasons is the submissive female. Just as no dominant damsel could ride roughshod without a passive male, there could be no sadistic males without a masochistic counterpart.
The book will look into the phenomenon of male domination--from the sadistic teacher who delights in chastising errant pupils, to the super stud who "burns his woman down" with his mere presence. While not attempting to be a complete work on the byways of every type of sadist, it is hoped that enlightenment and information will be provided, with insights into the lives of men who hold the upper hand in their dealings with their women.
H. Hadley Williams Los Angeles, California
CHAPTER ONE - MASTER
The Latins call it machismo. In places south of the border, such as Mexico, it is practically a cult that enshrines the virtues of masculinity, the super he-man who exudes "male" with every movement as he stoically faces death in the bullring or bedroom, leaving the senorita sighing, "Muy macho." It pervades all cultures, although it is on the decline in popularity among youthful radicals who cite the male-female polarity as being extremely destructive--pointing out such tragedies as two-fisted Ernest Hemingway's suicide as an example--and who display in their mode of dress their preference for a more unisexual society. Yet there are still a great number of men, and an even larger number of admiring women, who walk in the deep footprints of the illusionary Neitzschean superman, constantly seeking to prove their special quality of maleness, which one NBC commentator calls, "charisma with hair on the chest."
It has only been in the last century that man's role of aggressor has been challenged by his mate. For aeons he has been the one to forge the fires, man the cannons, pass the laws, while his woman has contented herself with the knowledge that she can control his tenderest moments, bear his children, soothe his wounds. But developing a defensive sixth sense was not enough for her, and somewhere in the night, the "king" awoke to find that sixty-two percent of his land was owned by women, that he'd been Carry-Nationed. Probably the most realistic adaptation to the feminine emergence took place in Israel, where the populace conceded to the ultimate wisdom and chose to be led by a Jewish Mother--and that's with a capital M, Portnoy.
In the precursor to this work, The Female Dominator, it was pointed out that many people aren't content with confining their sexual libido to the normal limits of aggression and passivity, that some flow over social bounds into the realm of sadomasochism. It was further pointed out that in a heterosexual situation it was more common to find the female as the dominant partner, the male as passive; a condition that may largely derive from the fact that most women with masochistic inclinations, and men with dominant traits, are able to satisfy these needs within the so-called normal paths of a male-female relationship. It is only when the needs become wants that the trouble begins. As Bob Dylan sings in his composition, "Memphis Blues Again":
Your debutante just knows what you need, But I know what you want.
Wants are not so easy to take care of. Born of lofty illusions, often untested by reality, they are the ideals that torture a man's soul. They represent what seems impossible for him ever to attain--whether it be sexual satisfaction, or immortality. He combats this seemingly inevitable with many irrational means--church, devil worship, lust, drink, drugs, philosophy, philandering, food, stupor, or even something as irrational as dressing up in Aunt Bertha's garter belt.
From Freud to McLuhan, modern thinkers have attempted to explain just what it is that causes a man to become caught up in recurrent patterns to protect their security. In Dianetics, Ron Hubbard calls those incidences that seem to bury themselves in the subconscious and appear irrationally to hold a hypnotic effect over the individual engrams. Whatever they are called, they are often impossible to alter and seem ridiculous from an objective viewpoint even to the person who compulsively returns to them time and time again for gratification.
Many deviations from the norm, such as sadomasochism, involve a fetishistic rather than a body-oriented approach to sex, even though a person could conceivably find pleasure from both orientations. For instance, a masochist may find sexual pleasure from acting out a ritualistic compromise with his mental fantasy of being tied and dominated, but will at the same time receive gratification from the tactile sensation from the striking of his buttocks, a highly erogenous area of his body. And yet, compared to straight sex, the realm of sadomasochism depends much more on the stimulation of the mind than of the body.
Another point to be brought out is that most individuals involved in such activity are neither purely sadistic, nor masochistic, but are a combination of both--even when a person may take nothing but the passive role. A sadist, getting no real tactile sensation as he whips his bound victim, may actually become aroused through the sensation of empathizing with his victim as he watches the writhing, the reddening of the flesh. He may even imagine himself in the place of his victim, although the suggestion of reversing roles and receiving the actual punishment may be repugnant to him. Rather than view the sadist and the masochist as two separate phenomena, Wilhelm Stekel suggests that the subject be looked at as the heads and tails of the same coin.
But, as with the preceding work--on the feminine aspect of the domination syndrome--more will be revealed about the situation through the study of some well-documented case histories. While not meant to be the epitome of the dominating male, each case presents a representative example of the various situations a dominating male may become involved in. It is hoped that these cases will give the reader greater insight into this phenomenon. In case the reader is interested in looking farther into the various psychological studies of sadomasochism, it is suggested that he refer to the bibliography at the end of this book.
Case History:
"If my wife had suspected at the time I married her that I'd be able soon to have her and her sister as my virtual slaves, she would've backed out, I'm sure. And yet, now, through my painstaking indulgence in training her, Bona and her younger sister, Rita, live with me, and both do exactly as I tell them--whether it's having them attend a motion picture with me, or forcing Rita to suck me off while Rona gives it to Rita in the ass with the dildoe."
Ed is a 32-year-old executive, who is known to his cohorts at the advertising firm as a just and competent man with an astute eye for detail. What his business comrades don't know is just how far Ed carries his precision behind the walls of his comfortable suburban home in New Jersey. Ed relates the method he used to play upon his wife's submissive qualities, and how it led to involving Rona's vulnerable, naive younger sister, Rita.
"I always sensed the submissive nature of my wife-to-be, using little reality-testers from time to time, but never really getting much farther than gaining what assurance my suspicions needed at the time. From the way Rona would react # to my tests I was able to gauge her susceptibility to domination by comparing her reactions to those of various other girls with whom I had gone farther in the past.
"I was really tired of meeting the same old girls--the professional masochists--through the correspondence clubs. I had to find something as pure--with a resemblance of purity, since the real thing is a myth--as I could find. I started dating younger girls, young innocents, most of whom bored me to tears. But, finally, through a friend of mine at my country club, I was introduced to Rona. She had just graduated from college, was looking for something to do like most of those ridiculous girls, liberal arts majors who aren't swept off and married by the captain of the football team--or, I guess I should say, the leader of the SDS these days. I think she'd about made up her mind to go on to graduate school just before we met. I could tell that she was impressed by older men--not fossils, mind you. I was only around twenty-eight at the time, but far enough removed from her own age group. The rah-rah boys, if you know what I mean.
"It wasn't until after I'd checked her emotions out to my satisfaction that I began any physical domination. I wanted to have her completely under my control from a mental standpoint first. Both she and her younger sister, who was in high school at the time, were very shy. Both had been raised by a maiden aunt--their parents had been killed in an auto crash when they were very young--who had instilled in them a rather puritanical sense of ethics. But I knew that this kind of upbringing, what with the guilt that goes along with it, lent itself easily to creating a submissive attitude...
"So it must have been in our third or fourth month of marriage that I actually punished her physically. She had done something cunty--a term I use for the stupidity that is inherently feminine in nature--something like breaking, no, she had scratched one of my favorite records--something that I'd warned her about previously, that's what it was. I remember the look on her face--those big, almond eyes wide with fear as I held her by the arms and scolded her in a stern, but calm, voice. I make it a point never to raise my voice in anger when dealing with the subject. It's much better to keep a cool control. That way, they know you mean business.
"I had scolded her before, but this time I told her I would have to take more drastic measures, saying that mere talking didn't seem to mean very much to her. I asked her if she agreed that she needed to be punished--of course, she didn't have any idea what I had in mind--and she lowered her eyes to the floor and blushed, then blurted out in sobs that it was exactly what she needed. It was very important for me to get her mentally preconditioned for the whole experiment. I had actually established in her mind a need to be punished.
"Seating myself on the divan, I drew my startled wife down across my knees. Even though neither she nor her sister had ever been spanked, I think she sensed what was coming at that moment. However, she remained completely passive, offering no resistance even as I raised her dress up over her back and tugged her sheer panties down to her knees. The only defense was an involuntary clenching of her buttocks in a vain attempt to ward off the inevitable blows that would soon warm them with stinging pain. I took my time about the task, wanting to assert my total control of the situation, knowing that the anticipation was driving her to the brink of insanity. Telling her firmly that this was only to be the first step in correcting her behavior, I raised my hand and then brought it down squarely over the middle of her wriggling butt. The flesh trembled as my hand bounced off. Red finger-shadows crept from her cleft to the summit of the right cheek. Rona clenched and unclenched her backside in anticipation for the second spank.
"I smacked each summit in rapid succession. She was entirely unprepared for the change in cadence and I had caught her unclenching on the second. I waited about fifteen seconds before bringing my hand down again. After several such repetitions--several smacks followed by a brief cooling-off period--I began a regular cadence, gradually building up the strength of the smacks until Rona was letting out long sighs, little oos that hissed out between her tightened teeth with each application of my palm. I must have given her seventy or eighty swats before I stopped to lecture her. I asked her if she thought she could behave in a more proper fashion in the future. She answered in the affirmative, sobbing out her answer like a three-year-old girl. Despite the obvious pain she had undergone I could sense by her irregular breathing that she was getting into the area of pleasure-pain--the glow that begins to spread after the initial sting. Perhaps it was too soon for her to interpret it as such, too confusing a thought for such a naive female to handle at this point of the game, but my mental preparations for her domination had eased the way. I knew it would be no time before she would be begging me to beat her. So enslaved was she by my very presence, the actual periods of punishment were merely icing on the cake, so to speak, a ritual that confirmed our situation.
"I surprised her by punctuating the summation of my lecture with the hardest smacks yet delivered, swatting her now flaming buttocks hard after each word I wanted to emphasize. 'Now do you think you can--smack--behave--smack--the way young ladies your age--smack--are supposed to behave--smack, smack--? If you act like a little girl--smack--then I shall just have to treat you--smack--like a little girl--smack, smack, smack...
"The lecture was punctuated also by her cries and pleas, attesting to the knowledge she had so painfully gained...
"By the time I'd finished the lecture, I must have landed another thirty or so hard slaps on her already sore bottom. My cock was pounding steadily against the tight confines of my briefs as a result of the stimulus my eyes and hands fed to my brain. I let Rona just lie there and sob over my lap, noticing to my satisfaction that between the choked sobs was a steady moan of rising passion. Since it was so new to her, I decided not to let her get away from it this first time. I had to encourage this association of pain and pleasure in my feminine subject. I placed the hand that had stung the fires to her buttocks gently down on the battlefield and began to gently massage the silky warmth of it. Shudders ripped up and down Rona's back each time I touched a particularly sensitive welt, but the shudders soon ceased. Soon Rona pushed the top half of her body up from the divan, resting on her elbows, and looked over her shoulder at me. Despite the tear streaks on her blushing cheeks, there was a smile on her parted lips, a glassy glow in her eyeballs. I had proved my total domination. No matter how confused she might have been by the shocking fact that she had actually received pleasure from something as painful as a spanking, she had accepted it. It was something I had done, and Rona's acceptance of the fact that her body as well as her mind had now accepted my control had broken down the last barrier between us. She was now my slave!
"For the first time in her life, she didn't have to be told what comes next. Oral copulation was something that was repugnant to her before we had met. I had carefully indoctrinated her into the joys such an act could bring. And yet, up until this moment, I had always had to remind her verbally when it was time to do the deed. But now, without so much as a whisper from me, she was sliding her body to the floor, brushing my trousers enticingly with her hands for support, her eyes fixed lovingly on mine, her smile of anticipation even wider. She settled on her knees between my parted legs and began to undo my trousers, rubbing her hands wildly over the head of my cock through my briefs. Once my trousers were out of the way, I helped her ease down my briefs, freeing my cock so that it stabbed out at her lips. She moaned like an animal as she seized my cock in her hands and began stroking it as she lowered her head to its tip. The muscles in my back quivered as her soft, hot lips touched the head. Her fingers were stroking up and down the corded shaft as her lips brushed at the head, her tongue flicking out between her teeth against the taut skin. Slowly the thought process of my mind gave way to the sensual pleasures being offered by my well-trained slave. There was no more need for me to rely upon command--the lesson had been absorbed by the subject. I just relaxed with the natural flow of pleasure, while my mind dragged behind.
"Rona was gaining much pleasure from her subjugated position. She arched her body in such a way that she could rub her clitoris against the rough material of my trousers, surrendered to the domination of my steady hands at her back, her neck, hair, ears, shoulders.
"I gave in to my reeling senses as Rona captured more and more of my manhood inside her moist mouth, massaging my cock with her tongue, nipping at the meatus (sic) with her teeth, cushioning my balls with her hands, soothing the heat with her breath. Now she was pumping her head up and down, full-length on my shaft, making smacking noises of suction. The hot stream of her nostrils tickled the tender areas of my lower stomach.
"And now--the first time with Rona--I could let go. Before, I hadn't been completely sure of her devotion, I always had to keep some measure of control. But now that my control over her had been firmly established, I could in turn trust her to satisfy the needs of her superior. My vision blurred, my head spun, as gentle hallucinations danced in waves around me. The heavy load inside my guts was building up against the wall, threatening to burst forth at the next descent of her pliant lips down my rigid cock. It came-- unpredictable in its power. All my painstaking training had been rewarded in this instant, an instant that promised an even higher level of satisfaction in the future. My moans of release mixed with hers--deeper and more demanding than her cries of passivity. Command was established even in the realm of sensuality."
Following the ritual that was established that night, Ed and Rona became more firmly entrenched in their master-slave relationship. From simplistic spankings, the ritual evolved to more de Sadian levels, featuring riding crops and boots. But despite the advanced experimentation, they always returned to the root sources of pleasure--the ceremony involving a father and his daughter.
"We came to find out that the closer we got to simulating a father's punishing an errant daughter of, say, five or six, the more pleasure we both derived from it. Perhaps Rona had then found a way of filling a void in her life, a period of primal sexuality when she had deeply missed having an authoritarian father image in her life. Since discovering that she was able to find her greatest pleasures from masochism, Rona has become very cooperative with me. She's even gone so far as to suggest improvements upon our little game. For instance, she suggested that she dress in a small girl's type of dress for some of our sessions, including knee socks, frilly panties, and saddle shoes. She even braids her hair, complete with little ribbons, on some of these occasions. Moments like these--her frilly panties down to her knees as she screams for her 'daddy' not to spank so hard, her chubby legs kicking across my lap as I apply a hairbrush to her reddening butt--are among our very favorite."
But Ed was able to find a way to expand his sphere of influence, a way to add yet another to his list of subjects. And, to keep it all in the family, it was in the person of none other than Rona's younger sister, Rita.
"I had always sensed a trace of the same quality in her sister, though not as well defined since she was younger. But it was there. She just needed someone to bring it to the surface. After the death of her aunt, Rita was left with nowhere to turn. She had disliked college and had found a job as a secretary. Yet, when it came to facing a life alone in the jungle of the city, she was ill- prepared. That's when Rona suggested that she come spend some time with us. That was almost two years ago. She's still with us.
"I didn't know quite how to go about it, but I had a strong desire to include her in our games. I knew I had to be very careful in my timing. It would be shocking to Rona, let alone Rita. I tried to put it out of my mind, to sublimate it to fantasy, but it wasn't easy. Rita still had that way of teasing, just asking for it, like she did when she was younger. She didn't really know what she was asking for, but just the same, she was ready for it.
"Little did I know that Rona herself would be the one to bring her sister into our game, even though her help was, at best, unwitting. During one of our sessions, or perhaps during several for all I know, Rita had somehow overheard us. That's not really so surprising when one considers just how much noise comes from spanking. Rona sort of objected to going through our little ritual with Rita in the house, but I would be damned if I'd let anything stand in the way of my sexual enjoyments. I'd assure Rona that Rita was sound asleep and go on with it. Passive to my wishes as she is, Rona gave in. In a way, I suppose I was hoping that Rita would hear us and have her curiosity aroused... I'm not sure just what it was. Even if she did, I had no idea just how I would handle such a ticklish situation when confronted with it, but just the same, I went on with it.
"Sure enough, Rita's curiosity got the best of her. I don't know just how much she had heard, or how many times it took before she had the nerve to ask about it; but, finally, one day while I was at the agency, Rita confronted my wife about it. Rona told me later that Rita had been very indirect asking about it, beating around the bush for several days before she actually came out and asked her. Knowing my wife's embarrassment, I suppose she did quite a bit of hedging around the issue herself. Nevertheless, it all finally came out. Rona noticed that rather than being appalled by the whole incident, Rita's curiosity seemed to be heightened. In fact, my wife made a half-joking remark to her that she just might end up across my lap herself if she didn't stop asking so many questions. Rona said that she could detect a devilish twinkle in her sister's eye after that statement.
"Rona discussed the matter with me that night, wondering if we should continue the activity now that her sister knew about it positively. Pointing out to her that I was the master of the situation, that it was up to me to decide such issues, I drew out of her the full story--the fact that she had sensed Rita to be more than interested in the subject. I told her that I just might decide to add another slave to my harem if she didn't watch it.
"During the next few days, I noticed that Rita was going out of her way to tease me. Of course, she didn't know that I was aware that she was aware that... So I just played a sort of cat and mouse game with her, contenting myself with mental fascination for the time being. And yet, I knew that I would have to test her at some time in the near future whenever I'd get a glimpse of that tempting hourglass backside of hers. She had one of those nice, firm apple-asses, actually much more tempting for purposes of flagellation than Rona's.
"It was one of those spur-of-the-moment things that prompted me to include Rita in our sessions. One evening I had been going through a routine with Rona--the little girl thing--and had just finished giving her a tanning. I was going through the question and answer part of the punishment that usually follows the main part of the spanking and goes something like: 'And do you know just why you've been punished?' 'Y-y- yessss, dad-d-dy.' 'Do you think you can behave yourself in the future?' and so on. I sometimes follow with a few more swats before going on to the good part. Anyway, during this session, with my hand resting on the flaming buttocks of my sobbing wife, I heard a loud noise in the hall. Sort of a bumping noise, perhaps like someone falling. Dumping Rona awkwardly to the floor, I rushed to the door and flung it open. There in the hallway, trying to regain her feet after having apparently slipped on the throw rug, was Rita. The color of her face alternated between blush pink and ashen white, her confusion and embarrassment quite evident.
"My mind raced automatically into a plan I would actuate. This was the opportune moment. I firmly told Rita to come into the bedroom. Bowing her head like a submissive child, she did as she was told. I knew instantly that she would go along with whatever I told her from this point on. Two slaves for the price of one!
"Once inside the bedroom, I seated myself on a large ottoman next to the foot of the bed. Rona was still struggling to pull up her child bloomers. Rita's eyes bugged out at the sight of her sister's blazing posterior, but I could sense the rush of excitement it was bringing her.
"I began the routine immediately. As best as I can recall it, our conversation went something like this:
" 'Rita,' I said, 'I think you are by now aware that I like things to go my way?' I paused. 'Well, answer me!'
" 'Er--well--I--I--'
" 'Don't aye-aye me! You know what goes on between your sister and me... Don't lie to me, Rita.'
"Rita cast an apprehensive look at her sister, then, noting that Rona was irritated, looked at her hands clasped nervously in front of her.
" 'I--I suppose so. I--'
" 'Goddamn right you suppose! Really, Rita, I don't know what's wrong with you. I thought your sister was completely incorrigible when I met her, but I feel that you might never be any good. What do you think about that, Rita?'
" 'Well... I don't really know.'
" 'You don't know, for chrissake! She doesn't know. Well, Rita, for a girl who doesn't know very much, you surely seem to get a lot of information at your disposal. Why don't you use some of it? I mean, a girl who snoops around trying to find out things from her sister, then goes sneaking around the halls, must either not know very much, or be a little liar as well as a snoop.' I paused to let the words have their effect upon her. She was cringing under my stare. 'I don't know what to do with your sister, Rona. I suppose she'll just have to leave...'
" 'Oh no, sir. Please not that!'
" 'What's this ? The girl wants us to look out for her. After all of this trouble she's been giving us... Well, I suppose something could be arranged. But the girl does need training--she can't go undisciplined a day longer. It could take months to make her see the error of her ways.'
" 'Oh, I wouldn't be any trouble. Please...'
" 'Well, I don't know... Would you agree to put yourself completely under my strict supervision? You will have to accept some sort of punishment for this, you know.'
" 'Oh. Ah--ye-yesssirrrr... I'm afraid s-ssso. I'll do anything--j-j-just give me a ch-chance.'
" 'Very well, miss. Just this one chance. Now then, Rona. What do you suggest as punishment for this impudent little sister of yours?'
" 'Spank her!'
"I was delighted in the way my wife responded, in fact in the way they both responded. Rita betrayed her deep interest in the subject, while my wife showed that she'd get some enjoyment from having someone else do the suffering once in a while. The old thing about misery loving company, or something along that line, I suppose. "As Rita approached me, I noticed that glimmer in her eye that Rona had informed me about--she was definitely fair game. Soon, panties at her knees, she was kicking across my lap as I warmed her behind with my hand. Her buttocks were fuller, more resilient than her big sister's, almost wobbling under the blows rather than jouncing the way Rona's were prone to do. Halfway through her ordeal, I was aware that she adapted more rapidly than Rona to the role of slave. Her cries were unmistakably those of passion, not of pain. By the time her buttocks had attained a bright red hue, she was practically rubbing herself off on my lap. She even thanked me when I had finished, without me so much as asking. My cock was about to explode through my pants, but I wasn't so sure what I'd do next- making an overt move at going beyond this stage might not be right just yet, I thought. Rather than taking her in my arms to comfort her, as I would with Rona, I told her to go apologize to her sister for her indiscretions.
"I still don't believe what happened next. It would have taken me months to evolve the game to that stage, but Rona and Rita did it for me. The dual spankings had aroused both beyond the point of logic, and incest, a term that would have previously shocked either of them, seemed like the right thing to indulge in their condition. I practically fell off the ottoman when I observed the embrace between my wife and Rita--quite a lot more than sisterly affection. I could hardly believe my good fortune. All I could do was sit there paralyzed, as my eyes feasted upon the action going on in front of me.
"Rona had pulled Rita's head close to her full breasts to soothe her, and had begun rubbing her hands over Rita's sensitized butt while she kissed the top of her head. But the rubbing got much more heated as it went on, far beyond the limits that any of us could ever have imagined before. I looked closer and saw that Rita had taken one of my wife's nipples into her mouth and was sucking on it much as a baby would do. If Rona had any intentions of discouraging such actions, she put them away. She was responding favorably to the ministrations of her sister's mouth and had increased the pressure she exerted upon Rita's back and buttocks. Soon, they were both moaning and thrashing around on the bed. Rona's fingers pushed at the elastic of Rita's panties until they had fallen free of her kicking ankles. Now Rona had settled down flat on her back, giving further encouragement to her all-too-willing younger sister. Her hands ran up and down the sides of the girl who was now giving her oral attention to the other mound, flicking her tongue out as if she were an experienced lesbian.
"It was all I could do to keep from jumping atop them right then and there, but I did as much as I humanly could to restrain myself, not wanting to take the chance of spoiling the situation by too early an interruption. I was offered an excellent view of both sexes: Rona's undulating on the bed between her spread thighs; Rita's showing between the crack of her inflamed buttocks as she knelt down to her sister. I found myself clutching my cock, involuntarily pulling at it like a thirteen-year-old boy. It was all I could do in the present situation.
"I got an even better view of Rita's young, delicious cunt as she scooted her knees down the bed, her lips trailing down Rona's body in search of hotter territory. Then I heard the choked commands from Rona's mouth, telling her sister exactly how to go about her tasks. It seemed that my wife wasn't always going to be submissive from the way she gave the orders. But as long as she had an outlet with Rita it would be alright by me. Seniority system. I was still king of the hill.
"She was telling her exactly what to do--how to avoid her cunt and to concentrate on the clit, to take it gently between her teeth and roll it back and forth, to blow on it, and so on. I had to slow down the pulling of my cock--didn't want to blow my load just yet. And just then, when I most needed it, a garbled cry came from Rita, in- between mouthfuls of my wife's box. She was asking me to join them, begging me to kneel behind her and give her cunt a ramming. I didn't need a second request. Eager as a schoolboy, I leaped up and took my place behind the freshly- spanked butt that bobbed in front of me. Since Rita was giving head to my wife, her buttocks were down at the very foot of the bed, leaving no room for me. I adapted easily, however, standing behind her, stooping down slightly, rubbing my cock against the silken skin that bounced below me.
"I spread my legs to give me a better angle and, gripping my pounding cock with one hand while holding onto Rita's waist with the other for support, I pushed gently into the furrow, rubbing my cock up and down along the edges. When I came to the puckered anus, I probed gently a couple of times, bringing moans from Rita, who was once again engaged in the act of eating my wife. Deciding to be more civil for this first time at least, I trailed the head of my cock farther down along the shadowy cleft until I came to the soft puffs of her cunt lips. I felt Rita arch back against me to aid in my entrance, rubbing the juices of her excitement over the tip of my cock to ease the way. Then, gripping her waist more firmly, guiding my cock with my thumb and forefinger, I leaned hard against the pouting lips and pushed inside her warm tunnel.
"Her cunt was hungry for man and began feasting, gobbling in spasms with its multiple folds at the long, thick shaft that surrendered to it. I began bucking my hips against hers, trying to time my thrusts with her bouncing hips. She aided me by pushing back against it in a rocking motion until she had fully skewered herself upon it. Just as I pulled out, she let out a cunt fart which only added to my enjoyment. The audio reactions are some of my greatest delights--whether they be the sounds of punishment, with the pleas from the victim, or as it was now, with the good sounds of a wet cunt sucking on a cock, the cries and moans of my sister-in-law and wife, the slurping of Rita's mouth, the creaking of the bed.
"I pumped in long strokes as quickly as possible. We were all in a highly aroused state, and I didn't want to be the last one to the post. The girls were both getting pretty close to their climaxes from the looks of things--my wife thrashing and moaning under Rita, her feet sometimes kicking out against my knees; Rita, lips glued to Rona's cunt, bobbing that ass around wildly in a circular motion that practically knocked me off balance. The hot, surging feeling in my nuts told me that I wouldn't be able to hold on very long myself. Reaching around Rita's waist to try and control her bucking hips, I squeezed in a vise grip as my fingers plunged to her crotch to pull at her cunt hairs. She made a yipping noise and bucked even more violently at that, almost twisting my cock out by the roots. There was only one way to tame her. Arching my hips up as high as I could, pulling my cock out almost to the head, I slammed in with a mighty thrust, squeezing even harder with my arms. That did it--blooeee! My jism pumped out into Rita's nice little cunt and started a chain reaction. Pretty soon, both of the girls were busting their nuts.
"This was only the start of what turned out to be a beautiful relationship. Whatever qualms the girls might have had previously were dissolved by our almost nightly forays into the wilds of the boudoir. Rita adapted well to the role of the slave. Many's the night that I've had them giving me dual service after having punished them both in some manner.
"Of course, such a relationship couldn't last forever--it just wouldn't have been fair to Rita. But we were able to find just the right guy for her. He's a sort of namby-pamby sort of guy whom we were able to train to the role. The girls have a bit of the sadist in themselves, so this gives them a chance to work him over. Of course, I'm always the boss of our little get-togethers; but if the girls want to work off a little energy at Henry's expense--more power to them. Since Henry and Rita have married, they've purchased a house just a few blocks over, so we still are able to spend a hell of a lot of time going through our little rituals together."
Comments:
It is easy to ascertain the extent to which Ed must exert his powers to achieve control by listening to his testimony. He is a firm believer in mind over matter, and in his case the cliche is proved to all who see. In Ed's situation, he is able to confine his sadistic activities to the milder forms, and at least his victims are willing. It is when a person overflows the normal societal bounds in the need for ego food that the situation can become extremely dangerous, as evidenced by such people as Adolph Hitler, who controlled millions, or, more recently, phenomena such as Charles Manson, the leader of the hippie cult that is alleged to have killed Sharon Tate and others. The sadist must, indeed, walk a fine line.
CHAPTER TWO - SLAVE
The following passage, from Pauline Reage's classic Story of O, illustrates the extremes to which a masochistic woman will go to please her male--even to the denial of any pleasure for herself if it means pleasing him.
* * *
"Without uttering a word, without so much as a glance at Jacqueline, Sir Stephen made a sign to Rene to let 0 go, and to O to go into the other room. But on the other side of the door 0, who was immediately- wedged against the wall, her belly and breasts seized, her lips forced apart by Sir Stephen's insistent tongue, moaned with happiness and deliverance. The points of her breasts stiffened beneath his hand's caress, and with his other hand Sir Stephen probed her loins so roughly she thought she would faint. Would she ever dare tell him that no pleasure, no joy, no figment of her imagination could ever compete with the happiness she felt at the way he used her with such utter freedom, at the notion that he could do anything with her, that there was no limit, no restriction in the manner with which, on her body, he might search for pleasure. Her absolute certainty that when he touched her, whether it was to fondle or flog her, when he ordered her to do something it was solely because he wanted to, her certainty that all he cared about was his own desire so overwhelmed and gratified 0 that each time she saw a new proof of it, and often even when it merely occurred to her in thought, a cape of fire, a burning breastplate extending from the shoulders to the knees, descended upon her. As she was there, pinned against the wall, her eyes closed, her lips murmuring 'I love you' when she could find the breath to say them, Sir Stephen's hands, though they were as cool as the waters of a bubbling spring on the fire coursing through from head to toe, made her burn even hotter. Gently he released her, dropping her skirt down over her moist thighs, closing her bolero over her quivering breasts."
* * *
In O's standards, it is even more enchanting to her when her lover cares not a whit for her own welfare. Fortunately for them, most women do not go to the extent that O does to prove their devotion to their master. Most women are able to sublimate their passive roles into that of the housewife devoted to her husband. At least, that's the way it was in the good old days--whenever that was. In today's society, many women compete on a man-to-man basis (if you will) in the business world, demand entrance into professions that were formerly the stronghold of the male, and, in general, draw a lot of fire from the John Waynes of our society, to mention one man who knows how to handle his women. However, if most men were to attempt Mr. Wayne's rather coarse handling of women in actuality, they might wake up in the morning sounding like Truman Capote. And, despite their growing social gains, there are some women who crave a return to the protected status, to the submissive role of whatever those days were, if, in truth, they existed. And when they transgress the lines, they seek to assuage their guilt like a Joan of Arc. However, the modern masochistic female is not so abrupt as Joanie, preferring to do her suffering on the installment plan, a little at a time.
Many of today's masochistic women are found among the ranks of the lesbians. They somehow invert their need for a father figure and find it in the arms of a manly woman. Many other try both men and women before they are able to find the right, "daddy," such as the young woman in our case history.
Case History:
Tanya is an extremely good-looking woman of twenty-eight, a redhead who enjoys having another part of her body turned red. She is a masochist. As a child, her father gave her numerous whippings, punishment she dreaded until an eventful change occurred when she was fourteen.
"Daddy had laid off of me for over a year. I guess, he thought I'd outgrown the need for whipping. But I did something particularly bad... I don't even remember what it was, and daddy started taking off his belt. I knew from past experience not to argue with him, that it would only go worse for me. I think he almost backed out when he saw my butt upturned over his lap for the first time since I'd started filling out, swelling out through my thin panties after I'd dropped my jeans. But he was still pretty angry, so he doubled the belt and really started laying it on. The pain was terrible as usual, only after he hit me a few dozen licks, it started to change. The pain was still there, but a strange glow started to spread from my hips up through my tummy. He stopped about then, leaving me confused at the growing warmth as he dumped me from his lap.
"Well, I scooted out of there and ran sobbing to my bedroom, but the strange glow was still there. Trying to soothe my injured feelings, I lowered my panties, shoved my fingers up my twat, and started diddling myself off. It only took a few seconds for me to come.
"I got a couple more whippings from my daddy after that, and both times I got the same feeling-- even stronger. After each session with that strap, I'd run to my room and diddle myself off just like that first time. But, somewhere around my fifteenth birthday, Daddy must've decided that I was too mature for such treatment. Besides, I think he was sort of worried about himself--I swear I felt his wangus getting hard against my thigh on that last time across his knee."
After that, Tanya was punished by the more modern method of having her allowance cut, or of being restricted. But the strange fascination for pain did not diminish as she filled out to be a luscious young woman. She had no way of comprehending just what it was that caused her to seek pain, but she did know that it excited her. Oftentimes on dates, Tanya would try and tease her date into becoming angry enough to strike her. A couple of the boys slapped her cruelly, one of them put her across his knee and gave her a few whacks across the back of her skirt, but none of them ever gave her what she really craved. When she allowed a boy to go all the way with her, she wondered why she wasn't getting the satisfaction he seemed to be getting.
Upon completion of high school; Tanya enrolled in a nearby beauty school in hopes of becoming a beautician. She was able to land a good job upon completion of the course, and had soon saved enough money to move to Chicago, where she could seek the kind of life she wanted. Finding a small but pleasant apartment for herself, she soon landed another job with an exclusive hairstyling salon on the North Side.
"That's how I got hooked up with Ginger. She was an attractive, matronly woman who was pushing forty, hard. Her knowledge of cosmetics and hair-styling countered her aging, but her love for food was waging a war with her waistline. She was the head bitch at the salon--first in line under Mr. Joseph.
"She was really ga-ga for me from the first. I'd caught on to the fact that a lot of gay activity goes on in this profession--especially with the guys--from stories I'd heard back in Muncie. I was kind of apprehensive about the way Ginger was 'taking me under her wing' as she put it, but after a while I forgot all about it as I realized that she was really a decent chick. I even agreed to go over to her place for dinner on several occasions and really had a good time. Until that last time. I got really loaded drinking champagne, and I must've passed out, 'cause the next thing I know I wake up in a strange bedroom wearing nothing but my skin. I start to put together exactly what had happened when Ginger comes in from the bathroom in the altogether herself, which seemed pretty unnecessary to me. I started thinking back to those stories I'd been told and got sort of worried.
"Ginger plopped herself down on the bed beside me and reached out to touch my brow. She went through this thing about how I'd passed out, and how she had tossed me in the shower to sober me up. She asked me how I felt, and I told her that I was fine, except for a headache, and that I'd better get on my way. I tried to rise, but Ginger shoved me back to the bed easily, telling me that I wasn't quite through there yet. When I asked her what she meant by that, my heart beating wildly in apprehension, she informed me that I'd gotten sick all over her new rug. Despite the fact that I was uncomfortable in this situation, I did feel ashamed about that part--I could vaguely remember something about being sick--but her next proposition was a real shocker to me.
"She told me that I should be punished for doing such a stupid thing. She said it calmly, a twinkle in her eye to let me know that it would be more fun than punishment. More fun for her--not me. I tried to protest, tried to tell her that she had misjudged me; but my pleas were muffled by the bedspread that was tickling under my nose--she'd just reached down and flipped me over as if I'd weighed ten pounds or so. She was a large woman, and her strength was just too much for me.
"So, without giving me so much as a chance to explain myself, Ginger lowered her fat cheeks on my back and started pummeling away at my naked bottom. Crack, crack--Oooeee, was she strong! Her large hands stung as badly as my daddy's strap. All the while, she was giving me this lecture about how I should learn to respect other people's property and all--kind of a half- joking type of lecture, but the joke was on me. My ass was on fire! Man, she must've tanned me for a good ten minutes--and that's where the problem came in. If she'd quit after a few swats, it would've been okay; but I was getting that old feeling coming over me. I just couldn't help it. I guess she reminded me of my daddy's tannings. I'm not sure just what it was, but despite the stinging pain, that glow started spreading up through my insides and I was on the verge of a come.
"If Ginger'd been smart, she would've sensed the fact that I was getting turned on and was about to make it. That way she could've stopped and gone about those lesbian things and made me think that it was her that was turning me on. But she just kept slapping until I rubbed myself off against the rough spread. Bam! just like that! Her fat hands still smacking away at my flaming fanny, while I let go with a big old come.
"The next thing I know, my spinning eyes are looking up at the ceiling, the real pain of the spanking starting to settle into my rear end. Ginger is running her hands up and down my body, trying to get me worked up again, and not doing a very good job of it. But she doesn't sense that I'm not going for it since she's in near ecstasy herself... I panicked when I saw that look on her face and realized just what was going on. Realizing that I wouldn't be able to reason with her at this point, I tucked my legs up under me and thrust them out hard, hitting her square in her big boobies and knocking her clear off the bed. I quickly jumped up and grabbed my dress and ran. She was momentarily stunned, but I didn't want to take any chances of her grabbing me, so I left the rest of my clothes behind.
"Needless to say, I quit my job Monday. Ginger was extremely apologetic, but she still didn't get the point; she invited me over to make amends. That stuff just wasn't my cup of tea. Sure, I got my rocks from the spanking, but that's just because I associate those things with my daddy. It was an involuntary reaction--I just can't help myself when someone gives me a beating."
Over the next several years, Tanya sought a man who could dominate her in the way she desired. Sometimes, she was able to find a man who would treat her roughly, but it didn't always work out to her satisfaction. Some of them were too crude in the other graces for Tanya to develop a long-term interest in them. Still others, such as Albert with whom she fell in love, weren't as interested in her as she was in them and wound up leaving her. But last year she met the man who has been able to fill the void, and the two have made plans for marriage.
"It was really a godsend to meet Pete. I'd practically given up on ever finding the man of my dreams. Some of the others... Well, they were one-night things. Either that or they didn't work out, like with Albert. A girl wants to get to the point where she gets to know the man she's making it with, and I'm afraid that isn't always possible with a girl like me.
"There were times when I got so tensed up that I had to go out and find a man--a brutal kind of man. Now you just can't go stand in the middle of the Loop and yell that you're a masochist and you're looking for a good beating. I mean, you're liable to get beat to death... maybe even by a cop. Well, I'll tell you--those one-nighters weren't much safer. One kid who picked me up misunderstood what I meant by a beating. Like I don't want much more than a hard strapping--like my dad used to give me...
"This jerk broke both my arms, and I think he was about to go to work on my legs when my screams scared him away. One other joker refused to take the whole thing seriously. When I told him what I wanted, he took a piece of string, dragged it across my shoulders a couple of times, and asked me if I was worked up yet. Kept laughing all the time he was balling me--flicking that string out at my sides and asking me if he was being too rough."
Tanya no longer has to take the risk of seeking out strangers for her satisfaction. But as you listen to her stream-of-consciousness rendering of a typical session with Pete, you might wonder if there aren't some risks involved here. And although masochism is a dangerous game, Tanya sees it as being safer with a person she knows and loves, as they can "sense their limitations." Their limitations, however, are far beyond the boundaries established by most people we know.
"Tonight. Tonight he will punish me. The juices in my thighs start running wildly from the mere thought of it. Thought, that's probably all it is. The whipping frees my thoughts, allows me liberation. Each application of the riding crop lets the mind flow in the proper wavelengths--makes everything flow. He makes me feel like nothing when he twists my poor breasts in a knot, punishes me for just being who I am and who am I-- who am I? I am nothing. The only thing that makes me exist is Peter. I live for him, I was made for him. An instrument of his lust, a thing to screw itself to his magnificent cock, a piece of mud. He fucks mud. Even the dirt can feel the imprint of his wrath, smashed down to the nothing that it is, to which I will return. Even if he should kill me, it would be just. It is all I deserve, for without him I am dead. It's as if the other years before him never were. He gives me life-- and he can take it away.
"Before he arrives, I must prepare myself. A perfumed bath so that my skin will be soft and supple, the way he likes it. I knew that when he finishes with me tonight I will seek solace in my bath to soak away some of the aches of my body. I cleanse my vagina, using a scented douche, then carefully remove any hair that has dared to debase my body. My lover doesn't like hair on his woman--he even threatens to shave my head once we are married, knowing that I can get by with a wig. But as long as I still have my hair, I must wear it in a suitable manner for him. I pull it back, stretching at the red roots almost painfully, and fasten it with a barrette in back, from which the remainder of my long tresses fall down my back in a flared ponytail.
"And now it's the red garter belt, almost too tight for my waist, and the sheer red stockings that encase my slender legs. The bra--oh, how I love that bra... He had it especially designed for me. Enforced around the cups with a flexible sort of aluminum, it has small metal protrusions --dozens of them on the insides of the cup--so that when I fasten it, jolts of pain strike my breasts every time I move. Peter especially likes me to wear this when we are to go out to the theater or dinner for the evening, satisfied in the knowledge that I am undergoing pain even though the other people cannot tell I am.
"And then, I pull on my sheer panties--no different from most bikini briefs, except that the double crotch is lined with small bristles that scratch against the sensitive skin of my shaven cunt lips and clitoris with each step I take. Before donning my dress and shoes, I complete my makeup, arching my eyebrows severely, then splash on his favorite perfume. The dress--supple black leather minidress, a full seven inches above the knee, and the shoes; the shoes with their six- inch stiletto heels that make it difficult for me to retain my balance when walking with the bristles in my crotch. They are a size too small, cramping my toes and adding to the discomfort. Complete in my 'portable bondage,' as Peter calls it, I can almost achieve an orgasm by just walking down Michigan Avenue.
"Sometimes Peter takes me dancing. No, not to some old-fashioned dinner club for bubble-lovers, but to the spots where I am forced to do the new dances, the fast ones where I must move quickly and cause the bristles and the knobs to batter me most painfully as I watusi and frug and cause myself to get so excited that I sometimes go off right in the middle of the dance floor. But even if I'm making it, I have to try and freeze my expression so that he won't notice--but I know he does. It's okay if I go off in the middle of 'Satisfaction' or 'Baby, Please Don't Go,' but once I got caught right at the end of a song and it was almost impossible to try and regain my composure and walk back to the table with my nuts coming. To top it off, Peter always inspects me after we get home, and if he finds the smallest trace of that telltale white stain in my panties, I'm in for an extra-rough session. Sometimes, just in case we're not going to be doing something strenuous that night, I'll diddle myself off before going out and make sure some of it gets on my panties. That way I'm sure I'll get the first degree when we get to Peter's place.
"Tonight it's straight to his place, as he had a late business appointment and we'll want to get right on with the real fun. He'll be here at ten sharp--very punctual, although he will sometimes purposely keep me waiting to build me up psychologically. He's on time tonight--so magnificent in his gray business suit. So tall and dark and handsome. Tanned even in the cold of winter... part Greek, so sure of himself in his stance. That tiny hooked scar at the corner of his mouth adds distinction. The gray at his temples contrasts beautifully with the bronzed skin and the sleekness of his black hair.
"The only greeting is a cold, 'Come, Tanya,' and I follow him meekly to his car. I settle back into the plush seat of his Continental, wincing as my fanny touches the seat and causes the bristles to bite in more sharply at my crotch. He says nothing on the way to his home, not so much as ask me how my day was. Peter strongly dislikes such small talk, he even forbids me to ask him such questions. Doesn't want to be bored with women's chatter. He says that his affairs, with business or anything else he does when he is away from me, are none of my business. If he decides I should know something, he'll tell me.
"I can feel myself getting excited just by looking at his profile, sharp as a knife, across the seat from me. The slight rolling motions of the car cause the bristles to bring a keen pain to me. Peter is getting blurry...
" 'Tanya--I've told you never to stare at me until I've given you permission!'
"I force my eyes to the road, for it is his wish... And now we have reached our destination. Down the stairs to his basement, where we always have our little sessions. In the center of the room is a large circular bed, covered with a rubber sheet. There is a small bar in one corner for his refreshment, as he never allows me to drink when I'm with him. The walls are covered with the various instruments of torture that I have come to love. As I have been trained, I go to the corner opposite the bar and stand facing the wall until he is ready to give me a command.
"It is not long in coming. He has me come to the center of the room, bend over, and grab my ankles. He proceeds to use the splints on me--two pieces of wood that are attached to several straps. Each splint goes up the back of one leg, the straps being wrapped around the leg and securing my arms to the front. I am completely helpless in this position as I cannot flex my legs with the splints running up the backs of my knees, my arms tied to the front. My legs are spread about two feet apart, so that I must bend my ankles in to keep a balance on those high heels. He has left me in this position for several hours at a time, and the backs of your legs can get pretty uncomfortable in a much shorter period of time. However, I have learned not to fall over; for the one time I did he refused to go on with my punishment--the worst torture of all.
"While I go through this ordeal, my master pours' himself a drink and sits down to read the evening paper. After completing this, he goes to his bedroom to dress himself for the remainder of the evening. He always wears the same attire --nothing but a pair of silk black briefs, and a leather face mask. It covers his entire face, with openings for the nostrils, mouth and eyes. It's really a frightening spectacle to behold... Looks evil.
"Now I hear the footsteps as he returns. I tremble in anticipation, knowing that soon I will be used for whatever whim my master dreams up. Now the tanned legs, covered with silky black hair are in front of me--the strong thighs rippling and flexing... Peter's a very strong man, was a gymnast in college. Washboard stomach, long and lean, muscular, corded tendons... And now he will put his strength to use. I must be reminded of my place. Never the same routine with him. My mind races over what he might have in store... the quirt, the rack, burned at the stake, crucified? No, all of these things may pass through my mind, even though Peter's activities are more refined... I mean, he couldn't kill me... Although I suppose it would be alright with me... No, it wouldn't. If I couldn't have my Peter I don't know what I would do. Good thing he knows how to limit the tortures. The way he builds the whole thing up, so slowly and calculatingly--well, it's almost as bad as being executed I suppose. He knows how to build me to just the right pitch, gets me crazy with the way he goes about...
"The riding crop! I can't help but scream. He's flipped the tip of it right up between my legs and driven those bristles right up my snatch. The pain is awful!
"He's stopped. I'm all numb down there... Then, the gag. He doesn't like to hear my screams usually. Not right off anyway. Would rather save them for last, to build the whole thing to a climax. Doesn't like the screams at first. That's what he says. Likes the muffled groans that come from the gagging. Oh, I hate the gag, hate it, hate it! I've missed it. He hasn't used this one in a long time. The one with the rubber ball--really is a mouthful. Have to spread my mouth so far open that my jaws hurt. And he ties the leather bands so tight around the back of my head.
"I moan against my soft bit as two more and two more send pain shooting up my spine and down to my numb extremities. I can hear him chuckle... Peter is satisfied with my muffled cries. And later he will get the kind of screams he likes, the kind I have never really heard--not the way they sound. He played them back to me on the tape recorder once. Just taped it because I didn't know what he was talking about. But he likes to take the gag out when I'm completely crazy with pain--so hysterical that I can't really tell that I'm screaming. I've gone past that conscious point by then, into ecstatic hysteria. The sounds he played back for me just didn't sound like me. They were the cries of a madwoman.
"He flicks me many many more times--until I'm wavering sideways and it looks like I'll fall over, but the splints hold me in, restrain me within myself where my body can no longer control itself. The numbness. A sharp numbness. So sharp that the pain is piercing. That doesn't make sense. No sense--but I can't explain it any other way, hard to understand if you've never been there... So very wonderful, so very very...
"And it is over, over... But my body doesn't know. It still shakes and quivers and jumps along with the rocky, angular, shoots of pain that invade at irregular intervals. The combination of the stiff ache from the bonds mixes with it, confuses my nerve endings so I can't tell the exact origins of the pain. This one I can tell. From behind. He's lowered my panties and the ripping pain as the bristles pull away from my cunt lips is directed to my brain and it feels like someone is pulling adhesive tape right from the cortex. The mixture of blood specks and my jism--rushing out in the tiny holes from the bristles. And now a pushing from behind... hard and brutal. Feels like someone is trying to drive a truck up my ass and the rectal tissues won't give... Please some lubrication, Peter, please, please... But he can't hear me, he just hears my moans.
"Another pain. My breasts, already brutalized by the knobs, are being squeezed. He has reached around my sides for support, and each hand is squeezing a bra cup and pushing those dreadful knobs against my tits--and the pushing from behind, a sharp thrust and he's inside the hot passageway of my ass. Sticky and unlubed. Grasping and ungrasping crazily, not able to handle the sudden, dry intrusion. I'm sweating profusely beneath the hot, leather dress and, combined with the pain of the beating, I'm ready to ignite. And still the painful ramming from behind, the terrible squeezing from the front, and the slams and slams and slams against me until my head reels beneath the gentle hammer that trips my brain every time, every time... And now the hot seed is running up inside me, splashing against the core of my lifehood and now I am delivered... I am free--free--free--and I sink down...
"When I am revived, Peter ties me to the pulley above the bed. Just a simple rope that is swung over a pulley in the ceiling and comes down where Peter can fasten it to a bedpost. He has stripped me... I look down at my sweat-soaked body: little rivers of blood on my thighs; massive bruises on my breasts.
"Peter has stripped off his briefs, but the Satanic mask is still covering his face. My hands are tied above my head, lifting me just a couple of inches from the rubber sheet below my toes. My master approaches me--the rope whip--about ten or twelve little thin ropes, about three feet long and fastened to a handle at one end. The business ends of the rope are tied in small knots that can leave welts as large as bee stings, and that's what they feel like, too. I'd almost rather have the buggy whip, which can cut the flesh, than this little monster that, while not usually able to draw blood, can make you feel like you've spent the day in a beehive...
"He's removed the gag from my mouth, and my jaw feels like it's been snapped in two. He brings the thongs whipping around my thighs. One of the tips snaps against my clit. I begin wailing from the first. My shoulders, back-- nothing will escape the dreaded rope lashes. My legs kick out wildly, uncontrollably. I see myself in the mirrors at the side of the bed, my body jumping spasmodically, swinging from the rope, twitching like a puppet on the end of a single string. I can't believe it's me. It's someone else, this red-striped body that jumps as though it's going through the dying quivers. The man lashes the body and it jumps and twitches. I feel the sting, but it is impossible to associate the pain with the woman who dances in the mirrors. The schizoid split. The body and mind cannot relate. I moan insanely as the woman in the mirrors does her death dances all around me.
"After several extrahard cuts to my mutilated breasts, he throws down the whip, goes over and cuts down the girl in the mirror. She falls into a crumpled pile and disappears from sight. A man appears, all legs, above me; a massive cock in his hand... The cock isn't fully hard; the man strains, the opening dilates. A thick yellow stream cascades down. It spills down, glimmering in the light as it splashes into my stomach and causes me to explode. The instant the piss hits my navel, I go off, writhing in abandonment below my master. The stream is stiff and hot as it travels up to my breasts, my neck, my chin... I open my mouth to receive the only offering my love will give me, and take it gladly, swallowing quickly, the hot acid burning my throat... "
Comments:
Tanya's tale of her submission is a mass of contradictions. The fact that she hates the thing she desires, the worst torture being no torture at all, etc. But most masochists are a walking contradiction, at least to those who do not understand them. The idea of receiving pleasure from pain, when the dictionary exegesis classifies the two terms as opposites, is hard for most to grasp.
Most masochistic women never reach the level of understanding, nor seek the extremes of degradation that Tanya does; but then, she epitomizes the state of the masochist. The fact that she was able to receive pain from the lesbian but was horrified at the thought of making love with a woman shows the extent of her psychological addiction. If it were merely tactile gratification that she was seeking, the fact that it was a woman would have had little to do with it, but her mind's fantasy has pictured a man, her father, and she needed that to complete her fantasy.
But those who would pity the poor ingrate can hold back their tears. Tanya herself will do the crying; for tears are happiness to her--and never before has she had so much to cry about.
CHAPTER THREE - SUPER STUF
There is a man who needn't go to the "freaky" extent that some sadists seek. The man who exemplifies the standards of machismo discussed in the first chapter, the man who can "burn a woman down" with his eyes, the superhero whom all men secretly admire and publicly curse when they find he has stolen their wives. The super stud.
In this country, probably none illustrate the legend of the super stud better than certain men from the black community. The black man has come into his own in the past decade and has in some instances actuated the myth of the black phallus. Eldridge Cleaver, in Soul On Ice, says that the white man has perpetuated the myth himself. He has allowed his woman to dominate him for the most part, retreating from his body to the financially lucrative and exploitive area of his mind. He has tried to reduce the black man to a simplistic beast of burden, making him a helpless creature in the eyes of the black women, but leaving white women longing for the carnality that has been assigned him in the myths of their husbands. Of course, in actuality, this is not always true, but many black men do relate to their bodies in the swaggering, cock-of-the-walk manner which most white men have abandoned in favor of fat checkbooks.
Some of these so-called studs seem to hold such a spell over their women, are so adept at building up a psychological prelude to the exhibition of their physical prowess, that they seem to exude a mental form of sadism. That is, they do not need to use the physical means for enslaving their women that are usually used by the sadist--the whips, etc.--but, instead, are able to control their women with their mere physical presence.
The following case history, that of Pies, a twenty-seven-year-old Negro who always seems to please, illustrates that ability well.
Case History:
"A dude don't really have to know nothin' when it comes to cuttin' it with a woman. Yeah. That's no shit. Most cats just don't recognize the fact that the foxes are a different bag altogether. Dig --a chick just don't have the mind of a dude. Ask them somethin', and you'll get the most off-the- wall, backwards thing you've ever heard. I don't mean just fay chicks neither... I've known a hell of a lot of sisters who ain't no better. Right on!
"Now this ain't to say I don't dig the fox. Shit, there ain't nothin' I dig more than my chicken. Just that I realize that they're all real short when it comes up to thinkin'. And if more dudes realized that, 'stead of sniffin' around their fox's assholes, they'd be a whole lot better off and get to do their thing a whole lot more than they do. Get to do the thing they do. Yeah.
"Now I know that I don't run no firsts when it comes to being invited to no sewing-circles. That's to say, I know a lot of women bad-rap me behind my back. They'll even swear that they hate me for the way I treat them, just badmouth the shit outa me. Actually they're just mad with themselves for allowin' themselves to be treated the way they are by me, but that don't mean no shit to me. 'Cause there's one thing they want from me, and no matter how bad I treat them, no matter how long it is between visits--and that can sometimes be a long stretch since I've got so many holes to cover--they just can't resist a toss in the sack with me. Now you talk to some of them chicks yourself, and you'll know how they'll run it down to you that I'm a lousy sonofabitch and all that crap, but they keep cornin' back for more. I don't really have to do no braggin' on myself about it to build me up like Whitey--I know what I've got, baby.
"Guess the first time I recognized the power I had over women was back in high school. Back to old Thelma. Might say that I got my practice offa Thelma. Sweet little old bitch. That mother- fuckin' woman was clean out of her skull, crazy in love for me. I always used to tell her that she was just goin' with me for my letter sweater, but I knew there was more. A lot more. Looked so funky walkin' around with that sweater hangin' down to her knees. Ass lookin' like two cats fightin' under that sweater. Gotta be a football hero and all that jive shit. But that wasn't where it was at, Jack. I'd seen her eyes all rollin' back inside her skull when she got her cookies and knew better. Old Thelma just loved to shuck and jive. That bitch was a hot motherfucker, I'll tell you. I played around on that bitch a lot, and she suspected somethin'--started giving me a hard time about it. But I quickly learned that I could cool her by pinnin' her to the mat and goin' to work on her.
"Wildest thing I remember when I was a kid happened when I was sixteen or so. This old fay bitch, not a bad looker for her age--must've been thirty or so, but that was old to a kid sixteen-- well, she's always hangin' around this place where I was coachin' in the summer. See, the man--you know, the pigs, had started this summer program, this youth program for kids. Kind of a day camp sort of thing--swimmin', crafts, softball--that sort of thing. They'd gotten some of the brothers from my high school to act as coaches durin' this whole scene. Well, I signed up. White man's money is as good as the next cat's.
"This one kid's mother kept cornin' around a lot, hangin' around and sort of cornin' on to me all the time. Sure had a fine lookin' ass. I was hot to get a fay bitch... Shit, she could've been Grandma Moses for all I cared. Just as long as she was white.
"So I sensed that I had the bitch. Just lay back and play it cool, Jack--everythin' will turn out all right. Sure enough, it did. Bitch finally invites me over, tellin' me that the kid would be away at some friend's house for the night. Old man was long gone--think she was divorced. Fay bitches are funny like that. They'll come on to some brother in the way they'd never think of cornin' on to some other white dude. Guess they've heard about the old black prick. 'Spect you to have twenty inches. But what the fuck? This was too much for me. I was a little shaky about goin' uptown at night, but I borrowed my cousin's car just so everythin'd be cool. Shit, that bitch's house was really a dirty little hole. Don't ever lay that shit down to me about slums. White trash'll run down a neighborhood faster'n any ten niggers I know.
"Bitch didn't waste any time gettin' real friendly with me. Started talkin' dirty around me.
Fucked-up bitch thought she could talk jive with me. Sort of burned me--the whole setup, but I was too hot for her box to let it upset me too much. I just decided to play her game. Asked her if she was my friend. That sort of threw her off, but she came back with a yes. I told her that was good because I fucked all my friends. That got her. Mouth down to here, you know. Come out with the big one and the old bitches about shit. But you know what, Jack? She comes out in a little while and asks me again what I do with my friends. So I tell her, and she almost pisses in her pants--the motherfuckin' bitch is getting excited about hearin' it. Double-minded motherfuckers! So I just start tellin' her how I'm gonna put some action to my words. Stare the bitch right down and tell her how I'm gonna take off her clothes and touch her all over, how I'm gonna lap her up, then fuck the eyes outa her. Man, she practically came right there. Her eyes were get- tin' all glazed and misty--it was as if I'd hypnotized her or somethin'.
"This boy ain't no fool. If I ever had an open invitation, this was it. Man, I was over there beside her on the couch quicker than a flash, and was holdin' her in my arms, kissin' her and lovin' her up. She's pretendin' that I'm goin' too fast for her, but I just slap her up side the head and tell her that she knows what I'm here for and not to give me any jive. I just run the whole scene down for her, tellin' her that she's a horny bitch and wants to fuck and that's the only reason I'm here. She likes the way I'm out front with her-- me sayin' all them degradin' things to her, and she's just eatin' it up. Didn't have no more resistance from her that night.
"I knew I had her under my spell, so I just keep runnin' my mouth, tellin' her exactly what I'm gonna do next, then gettin' on with doin' it. I slip her sweater up over her head, unsnap her bra, and start playin' bouncy-bouncy with the first set of white tits I'd ever laid eyes on. Kind of saggy, but I was sure gettin' a hard up just touching those pink melons, groovin' on the faint blue veins poppin' under the surface. Holdin' them firmly in my hands, I drove my head down to them and started runnin' my tongue all over the springy surface, suckin' at the nipples until they were all stiff and pointy.
"I run one of my hands down and start rubbin' at her hips and thighs, squeezin' a cheek through the tight material of her shorts--she didn't have no skivvies on. She's moanin' for me to lay her out and fuck her good, so I don't need a second request. I unsnap the shorts, run the zipper down, then start tuggin' at the waist while she raises up to make it easier. My cock's poundin' hard against my pants when I get a look at that white stomach of hers--the line where her tan ended drove me out of my mind. Those brown, curly hairs poppin' out from that white skin in an inverted triangle--set me loose! My hand was down there and workin' away in a flash rubbin' at that soft butt of hers, runnin' around to pull at those nice pussy hairs, probin' those fat cunt lips. Bitch is strugglin' with my zipper, hungry to get at my cock, so I figure it's time to get the deal on. I reluctantly pull my hand away from her warm, wet pussy for a minute and help her undo my belt so I can pull my pants and jocks down. Man, she about shit when she takes a look at my rod, jumpin' out there and standin' at attention. She takes a grip on it with both hands and works on it like a kid with a brand new toy. Then she starts practically screamin' for me to shove it up her-- really frantic about the whole situation. Be cool, baby. Damn! Restrain yourself, fool. I take my time about gettin' on with it, wantin' to get some more looks in at that fine pussy of hers, then lay her out on the couch and get on with it.
"I take my cock in my hand as I climb aboard, and sort of tease her with it, rubbin' it around her belly, her inner thighs, along the lips of her pussy--her bouncin' around on the couch like she was almost to come already. But I just fix a look on her eyes and get her calmed down--don't say nothin', just communicate the idea for her to calm down. That's the kind of thing that I can get goin' with a broad--sort of control her mind.
"I take my time, still fixin' the look on her, and just rub my prickhead against her clit. I can see that it's all she can do to keep from climbin' the walls, but I still hold back and bide my time. Then I begin to settle down on top of her, pressin' my cock against the openin' of her pink pussy. I push gently, slidin' in easily. The bitch lets out this long moan--probably never had anythin' so far up her snatch before. I start movin' my hips against hers, nice and slow, lowerin' my head to hers, my tongue flickin' out to her lips. She locks her lips to mine and begins grindin' her hips in time with me. The bitch is a fighter, tries to speed up the tempo a couple of times but I just let her know with a couple of deep thrusts that I don't want to speed up the tempo just yet. Bitch gets the idea real fast.
"I build up the tempo real nice and slow, givin' her a little more of my cock with each thrust, until I've got her worked to just the peak I want. Then I grab on to her real tight and start really givin' it to her--about twice as fast as before, sinkin' it in until my balls are slappin' heavily against her ass. She's buckin' and squirmin' under me, lashin' her tongue up around mine as we swap spit. Suddenly the dam busts loose and I can feel a flood cornin' down around the head of my cock. Her stomach muscles just sort of collapse, and she grinds her snatch up tight against my balls and holds it there like she's paralyzed. I ease off for a second--hardly worked up myself, just ridin' nice and easy and waitin' for her to come around again.
"Pretty soon, the bitch regains some of her senses, but she's wantin' to rest. Rest ? What does that mean, bitch? I don't know how. This is the onliest thing I know. I start pumpin' into her wet pussy, and she's murmurin' 'no, no.' But I just run my hands up and down her whiteness and pump away, knowin' that it'll soon be yes. And it is--bitch is surely surprised that I'm still goin'. She's goin' out of her head now as I ram her good and deep, tamin' her real nice. She's screamin' for more, pantin' and moanin' that it's good, sooooo gooooood! Yeah, man. By the time I bust my nuts, the bitch is mine forever, tongue all hangin' out, diggin' ditches in my back with them long fingernails, beatin' on my ass with her feet... That was my first taste of white nookey.
"That bitch was after me clear through high school. I only went over there a couple of times more durin' that summer. Once school was on, I got booked up again. But that woman was ringin' me up seven months later, tellin' me to come on over--we'll be cool together and all that shit. My little sister took some of the calls and started teasin' at me about it. Got me sort of hot--told her not to fool with me or else I'd slap her up top the head.
"After high school, it was the service. Now the Army was a motherfucker--a motherfucker! some of them dudes hangin' around since the Civil War, Jack. Old honks with fat red noses. Man, it's a shame I didn't cut some of them--just to do it, dig? At least I was in before the thing got goin' over in Nam. Yeah, this is one nigger that'd be missin' that action. Me and the two guys chasin' me. That's no shit, Jim. Yeah...
"But the foxes--the foxes in Germany were all right. Outa sight. Good things they was over there--otherwise, I'd been in lots of trouble with them honky NCOs. Good thing for them foxes of Stuttgart. One fat-ass bitch over there--Helga-- man, she cracked me up. Always wantin' me to fart--yeah, no shit. Wantin' me to fart all the time so's she can sniff my asshole. That's why I know that women are stupid.
"Started doin' a little singin' over there. Bunch of the brothers over there had a band, so I do some singin' with them. Cat can pick up a lot of chicks like that. Stupid girls hangin' round the stage, hopin' the dude will spit on them or somethin'. That's been my jig ever since. 'Course you don't make no great livin' off that. I have to do some hustlin' on the side--sometimes it might be a few weeks between jigs. But I make most my bread from dealin' dope now anyway. No problem. I never see the shit--I'm always clean. I just set the deal up, make the connections, dig? I don't mess with grass and the small shit. Mainly smack (heroin) and cock (cocaine). Once in a while I'll want a taste of somethin' besides grass, so I'll order up a spoon or two from my man... And I dig to snort push. But, unless I want somethin' for myself, I stay clean, let the other fools worry about gettin' busted. Never catch this dude hold- in'.
"Now, doin' these different jigs gives me lots of chances to get it on with all different kinds of chicks. I get to eat lots of chicken--most of them fay bitches. But I don't confine my prowlin' to them. Fact is, I dig the sisters a whole lot better. With them fay bitches, the big thrill is from the way they degrade themselves... I mean the fact I'm ballin' them isn't degradin'--not to me-- but those foxes set themselves up for this weird trip in their own heads--make me into some kind of forbidden fruit or somethin'. So I just lay a heavy number on their mother-fuckin' heads, dig? Get them in my control, play with them, then have them get the fuck out.
"My favorite chick is Lou. Beautiful sister-- very together. Sisters have really been cornin' into their own lately. Proud to be black--no more of that Aunt Jemimah shit. Lou is this model-- big-ass natural, tall and slinky. Just plain outa sight. Probably the onliest reason I dig her so much is the fact that she's so proud. Like here's a sister that will try and match me inch for inch, stroke for stroke. We get a real animal thing goin' when we make it--eyes flashin' at each other, bodies slappin' like there's no tomorrow. 'Course I always end up wearin' her down, but I really feel like I've been with a real woman when I'm through with her.
"Like I'll have her over to my crib. She'll always be wearin' somethin' real funky, lookin' real slinky like a lean she-cat. We just lay back and dig on each other, usually arguin' over some point. Not that we don't get along--just that we get along best by not gettin' along. By that I mean that we always take a differin' opinion, sort of a game we have. That way when we're all worked up and angry at each other, we get a real thing goin' in the sack. Like we're ready to tear each other up tooth and claw. Always a real battle.
"I'll put some Sonny or maybe Miles on the box and we'll get loaded. Don't take too many tokes with this weed I've gotten into lately-- some really bad shit. Have a little wine to cool our throats, sit and rap, dig on the box. After a while, I'll dim down the lights, turn on the black- light and get ready to get it on. Sometimes before we ball, I'll put on this wild record by Bib Black, this drum thing that's a whole sexual thing. We kind of make it to the tempo of the record. Pure animal.
"I'll go over and put my hand under her chin, stare into her eyes and tell her, 'Black bitch, I'm gonna burn you down.' She'll flash a heavy look back on me, givin' me the challenge. Then maybe I'll stand her up, slip her dress off, trip her down to skin, her eyes flashin' to let me know that she'll give me a real go. Then she starts clawin' my clothes off, scratchin' at my back with her sharp fingers, a real hate thing in her face. She might grab my cock and squeeze it hard, pumpin' at it. I pull myself away and lower myself down to my knees, my tongue lickin' at her breasts and belly on the way down. Then I'll go to work on her bush, blowin' hot breath on her lower belly and thighs, kneadin' my fingers hard on her hard butt. She's still standin' there stiff and straight, pullin' my hair with her fingers, but refusin' to let go, not wantin' to admit that I'm gettin' to her, her butt muscles clenchin' up real tight in defense. But I just go to work on that button of hers, poppin' that clit with my teeth and tongue till the juices start flowin'. The first sign I'm gettin' to her is that she'll get real tense, like she's doin' everythin' in her power to resist my tongue. Then the muscles will start jumpin' and twitchin', goin' through spasms as her body takes over from her mind.
"About this time, she'll pull herself away, or slide down to the floor, not wantin' to give in this quick. I'll grab her real quick and force my mouth against hers, pryin' and bitin' until she accepts her own love juices from mouth. Then it's a free- for-all. Usually with me pinnin' her down to the carpet--I have this real thick shag rug that's really together when it comes to makin' it--and fightin' my way into her pussy. Yeah. And it usually takes some doin'--that bitch can really squirm like a caught fish when she puts her mind to it. But, finally, I push past that first wall of resistance and slide in her easy as you please. Bitch wraps her legs up around my ass and the war is on. Grinds those hips into mine, tryin' in vain to milk me dry. Never works out that way in the end, but she sure gives it a try. Work, mama. Do your thing! She does. Oh, that Lou can flat workout, Jack. She's tearin' holes in my back with her fingers, bitin' at my neck and ears, makin' gruntin' noises as she tries to burn me down. I just stay in the groove, runnin' my hands down to her asshole, up her thighs, pullin' at her hair with the other, as I pump in long, powerful strokes. Finally I sense her submission as she starts humpin' those hips rapid-fire and clutches on tight, workin' toward her come. That's when I'll stop--pull it almost out and make it impossible for her to work. I'll raise up on my elbows and stare her in the eyes. She looks so sweet and helpless, head thrashin' back and forth. I do this to prove the point--everytime she'll beg me not to stop, to keep goin'. I let her plead for a couple of seconds--so pathetic, wantin' it so bad, you understand--then I start movin' into her again, my cock plowin' through the pussy walls that have contracted, in short strokes. She just melts then, stops her fightin' and lays back and takes it. Arms just hug me, not scratchin' and fightin' anymore. Her grunts become groans--sometimes she'll just say my name over and over: 'Oh, Pies, Pies, baby.' Dig it? I build up the tempo graduallike until I'm slammin' in full-length, pullin' out to almost the tip on my backward motion, then slammin' it in to my balls. I like for her to reach down with one hand and massage my balls right about then--helps me catch up to her--my point's already been made and now I want to enjoy it myself. We work together like this for a long time... She can really hold on for longer than any chick I've ever known when she's tryin' to wait for me. But, after a while, she just starts workin' that pussy of hers in circles to let me know it's nitty-gritty time. I can feel the hot load buildin' up inside me, so I pump hard and fast and faster and faster--until we both let out a cry, our come mixin' together inside her.
Clutchin' and grabbin' together. The room filled with the sweet smell of our sexcess. Pump through it until our bodies ache. Lips mashed together, fingers entwined.
"Man, it's beautiful when you can make it together with your fox. Takes some timin', but we've got it worked out to a T. It's beautiful, just beautiful."
Comments:
Pies exhibits the more controlled form of domination, not having to rely on artifacts to aid in his subjugation of his woman. As he states himself, the racial barrier has to do with a lot of the domination factors when he is involved with a white woman, but he is able to establish that aura without relying upon it, as evidenced in his sessions with Lou.
He is the epitome of what the ideal state of union between the dominant male and submissive female should be. Unfortunately, however, many millions of men in this country just can't pass the physical.
CHAPTER FOUR - PASSIVE DOMINATION
The term may seem like a contradiction at first glance, but it is a reality. Passive dominators are those who want to be passive in physically sexual matters, but are still the dominant ones in that they "call the shots." They differ from people such as Pies in the last chapter only in that they do not play out the aggressive role once they have established mental domination over their partners. They are content to lie back and "let the female do the work," such as performing fellatio upon them, or assuming the top position in intercourse.
By the old standards, it is "the sport of sissies, faggots, perverts, and commies." But the recent flourish of sexual liberation has changed the role of the male, has allowed him to exhibit passive qualities without being looked upon as inferior. To illustrate the fact, instead of drawing upon the flower children among whom the practice is more common, the case history presented will be that of Steve, a 33-year-old construction foreman. Even though his knowledge of sexual terminology is as limited as his education, he has a good working understanding of his body and how to relate to it in sexual matters. Despite the fact that he calls all the shots with his wife, he enjoys being the passive partner in his sexual relationship with her, content to lie back and let her make the advances, moves that he first trained her in before allowing her to take the initiative.
Case History:
"Ever since I can remember, I've gotten a big bang out of fooling around with my balls. When I was a kid, around thirteen or whenever it was, I'd always play with my nuts when I was beating off. You know, squeezing them, pulling at my pubes--really helped me work up a good wad. That might even be the reason my nuts are so goddamn big, I don't know. I was always sort of fat, and my old tallywhacker ain't the biggest thing in the fucking world, mind you. When it's soft, it don't even hang halfway down my nuts, but it really grows and grows when I get all worked up--nice and thick. Anyway, there's been no complaints. Broad takes a look at my nuts and she knows there's a man behind them."
Steve dropped out of high school to join the Navy, and took up construction work upon his discharge. He's been at it ever since and has worked his way up through the ranks to the position of foreman. Despite a more than comfortable paunch at his midsection, his bulging arms and callused hands testify that he is a man who has worked hard most of his life. He has been married for nine years to a pretty blonde three years his junior and has fathered two children, both boys. He is a straightforward, honest man of the meat-and-potatoes variety, who likes his sex to be the same way. As one will notice from his description of the various sexual activities he has engaged in, he is not a man to rationalize his actions, but one who enjoys sensual stimulation without complication. In all other ways, he is the boss around his home. Even though he is passive, he actually gives the orders to his wife; she merely carries out his preferences. He feels that it was his first sexual experience with a girl that got him interested in the way he carries out his sexual activities today.
"First girl I bagged--I must've been around fifteen or so--not long before I lied about my age and joined the Navy, was one of the hottest things going in them days. You know, the funny thing about them girls that was hot to trot when they was young--you see them in about four or five years and they're slobs, real goddamn slobs. Couple of fucking curtain climbers, hanging to their dress, all fat and dumpy--wrecks on wheels, I'll tell you. Know what I mean? But back when she was fifteen, that Lynn, she was a knockout. Big fucking boobs that looked like the front end of a Caddy, long red hair, legs that just wouldn't quit... Jeez, that little mother was some looker. She was alright!
"First time I ever strapped her on was in the back seat of a buddy of mine's car. We'd parked out at the end of good old River Road, out where the guys took the real snakes in them days. Well, Eddie--he's the guy whose car it was--took a blanket and hightailed it for the sticks with his dolly. Old Maggie Muchmore--and she sure was. Fastest fuck in town, but easy. That's what counted back then, know what I mean? Me, I was sitting there in the back seat of the car with Lynn. Must've been the third, maybe the fourth time I'd been out with her, but it was the first fucking time I had a chance to really be alone with her, if you know what I mean? Have to admit I was a little nervous, knowing about Lynn's reputation and all that, you know... Going along with the fact that I'd never had no poon-tang. I mean, I always came on like I knew the score--all the guys did. Didn't mean to seem like I was some kind of ignoramus--no creep or nothing. So here I was in the back seat of Eddie's car with Lynn, not really knowing what to do, but anxious as all hell to find out.
"We was frenching and stuff like that--me running my hands all up and down her back, pressing my chest into those big, soft tits of hers; her running her hands up to my fucking crotch and making my nuts feel like they was going to blow right up. Had a big hard on already from those fingers of hers and those tits--just thinking about them--so I figured I'd best see about taking care of the situation. Otherwise I might as well decide not to make it the rest of my life. I mean, if I couldn't lay this chick, I was in pretty bad shape. Would have to do my washing by hand, if you get what I mean...
"So anyway, I went to the stock stuff to start out with--you know, the stuff I'd done before, just so she wouldn't catch on to how much I didn't know. I brought one of my hands around to the front of her blouse and started undoing the buttons. Couldn't wait to get my hands on those big, ripe melons. Old Lynn, she must've liked it, 'cause her tongue started working double time inside my mouth. I finally got enough buttons undone to get my hand inside and started working those mothers over through the sticky material of her bra-- she sweats a lot. Like you know how us fat people sweat a lot? Well Lynn had fat tits that sweat a lot. You know...
"Well, I could feel them bazooms throbbing hard, the nipples straining tight against that sticky cloth like they was ready to bust out any minute. Bust out? Get it? So I decided that now was the time for one of my really good moves-- the unwrapping of the titties. Man, I hadn't had too many chances to get much farther than tittie before, but I'll say one thing... What I had learned, I'd learned well. Learned my stuff real good. I was the best one-handed bra unsnapper in the whole damned West... That's because I'm such a smart bastard. I got my arm around her side, and it wasn't two seconds before--bam! floop-floop, those mothers were out there. She must've been growing too fast to keep up with her bra size 'cause those mothers actually jumped right out of their holsters.
"I dove my head down, cupping one of those huge bazooms in one hand, and went to work with my tongue, sloshing it around the nipple. All this time, Lynn's blowing in my ear and massaging at my crotch with her hand. She's breathing real deep now--none of that crap like 'no, stop,' like a lot of them phony broads will give you. That's one thing that really used to piss me off. Them prima donnas that would lead you right up to the fucking brink, then cut you off. I can see why a lot of guys stack a girl like that against the wall, knock her fucking teeth down her throat. But when Lynn liked something, she wasn't about to be damned fool enough to tell you to stop. None of that bullshit from her.
"Well, that was all the encouragement I needed, and I really went to doing a job on her tits, nipping at them rosy pink buds with my teeth to add a little extra excitement, breathing in that good smell of woman sweat mixed with that great Woolworth's perfume, feeling that nice, slick, sweaty-hot skin. Meanwhile, Lynn was really making the sparks fly off the crotch of my Levi's. Me? I was getting to feel that weak, helpless feeling; it was starting to burn right up to my stomach. Kind of a nice hurt, if you know what I mean? It's a really weird thing. I've been popped in the nuts in a fight, and it hurts like holy hell, but you get almost the same kind of feeling when a broad is rubbing them and squeezing them, only it feels real good then. Really weird what a different situation will do.
"Just about then, I felt her fingers go to my zipper and start tugging like all getout. I reached down to help her, not wanting her to catch hold of one of my pubes or to take a big chunk out of my tool, since there wasn't much room down there inside my pants with my cock all swollen up the way it was. She patted my crotch and smiled. 'Whatsa matter, baby, got frogs in your pants?' I struggled and pulled the zipper open with a hard tug and let 'froggie' out. He was hopping and spitting, ready to get on with the action, his first action ever.
"While all this was going on, I'm sitting there trying to figure out the next move. I knew I had to do something, 'cause I was past the point of chickening out--my cock was just too eager to get on with the show, if you know what I mean. And that's why I'm glad as a bear in the woods that my first broad was a girl like Lynn. In fact, it was Lynn. Most girls would've been real hard on a guy, making them do all the fucking work, but Lynn was the kind of girl who went after what she wanted, like I said. That's the way I've come to like it--trained my wife to be that way. Old Lynn didn't leave me much room to think very long, 'cause as soon as she spotted my cock standing out between my hairy balls, she dove her head right down there and went to work. I practically shit in my pants. This was just too good to be true!
"She worked at it with her hands at first, almost the way I did when I beat myself off, only it was a whole lot better having a broad do it. With me doing it, it was so predictable. I was too familiar with Old Lady Hand and Her Five Fingers playing with almost nightly on my tool. Her hands felt real different--gentler, more versatile. Then I felt a hot breath of air on the head of my cock, then her hot, wet lips brushing against it. I must've jumped a few inches when she did that. My head was really spinning 'cause it's really a wild thing to have some girl doing things to you you've only heard about before. Blow job, blow job. Suck suck suck. 'Course Lynn didn't know this was my first time... I wonder, though--maybe she did know... No, I don't think so--guess it really don't matter none.
"She started flicking her tongue out around the tender head of my cock, sending chills up and down my whole body. Then she took a little bit of it in her mouth and started sucking gently, then blowing another hot stream of air on it. All this time I was trying to recover my senses, wondering what I should be doing myself. But I was so helpless and stunned by all of this I couldn't do much. Besides, our position wasn't the kind that gave me much chance to do anything, me sitting there with her across my lap, sucking off the tender head of my cock. So I just moved one hand sort of between us and tried my best to massage her big titties, while I ran the other one up under her skirt and started running it over her butt cheeks through the smooth, electric material of her nylon panties.
"She really knew what she was doing, and I knew I wouldn't be able to hold on very long. She made sure of that when she ran her hand down from the stump of my cock to my ball sac and started rubbing my nuts in a circular motion. It took me by surprise. I jerked my head back against the seat and let out a moan that didn't even sound like it came from me. It seemed like it was coming from off in the distance, far outside the car somewhere. Right away she caught on that I really was crazy about what she was doing, and she worked my nuts harder with her hand, cupping them to squeeze them together-- clap, clap--from time to time and driving me wild with the strangely pleasant aching of it all. This made the heat and fire really run rampant through the pit of my guts, then my head rolled back again, my eyes fogging, making my vision all blurry. I can remember that I noticed how fogged up the windows of Eddie's car had gotten and wondered if my eyes looked like that, too. Needed some windshield wipers for my eyes. We had really steamed that old Ford up with the heat and smell of our sex play. I think we even ripped the upholstery a little the way we were bouncing around--it was a pretty old car and the seams gave away easy since it was so rotten.
"Now Lynn was really doing a job on my cock, her head bobbing up and down in my lap. She could really take a big mouthful. She would dive her head down to the base of my fat whacker, then draw it out almost to the tip. Christ Almighty, I would've thought someone would choke on that much! All the while, I'm kneading the soft flesh of her fat tits with one hand and rubbing the seat of her panties so hard that sparks must've been flying. And here I was trying as best I could to hold on as long as possible, not wanting to blow the whole job too soon... I could see that the whole thing was a losing battle on my part, 'cause she was really working on my balls, my very tenderest area. Pinching, squeezing, pulling. Just like two big old marbles. She clutched at the skin, pulling it till it was stretched taut, then let go, allowing the balls to slam to the car seat. That really did a crazy thing to my aching nuts. Then she wrapped some of my pubes around her finger, causing the skin to pop out around the roots of the hairs like goose pimples. Then she flicked her fingers against each nut, making me almost cry out in pain. But it was a nice, warm kind of pain. It was real torture, but I didn't want it to stop--ever. But my body just couldn't hold up under this thing very much longer. I was sopping with sweat and my guts were tightening up in a ball, just about ready to snap. I knew that I was about to make it and, being the polite kind of kid I was, I tried to warn Lynn the best way I could. I moaned. That didn't work, so I pulled my hand back as far as I could under her skirt and slapped her lightly on the ass a couple of times. Nothing. I slapped harder. Her head bobbed even faster. She still wasn't catching on, and I was coming on pretty fast, so I tried to put some words together, to yell out a warning. But I fucked up, since I was so caught up in my rising lust, and the best thing I could come up with was another loud moan. She finally seemed to catch on, but it didn't seem to faze her. She sort of mumbled a reply, humming tantalizingly against my cock skin as she kept her mouth clamped tight around it. Could this really be? She seemed to know what I was saying, but she wouldn't budge. She actually seemed determined to take my load in her mouth. This was one of the wildest things I'd ever heard of. Her head was bobbing even faster than ever before, her fingers working more frantically at my balls, trying to coax the jism out of me.
"When it happened, I wasn't really prepared for it--it sort of snuck up on me. I was already so high and reeling that I was halfway through my come before I could feel my stomach muscles quiver in a wild releasing movement, feel the tension in my nuts being drained and sucked from me, feel the crazy sensation of my jism slushing in-between my cock and her tongue. She kept swallowing and gulping, as if she was determined to -suck me dry and then swallow my cock, too. Never to this day have I ever let go so fucking hard. I just sort of collapsed in the seat like she had deflated me or something. All of this--and I'd never done a bit of work. Since then, my favorite way is with the chick doing all the work. When you come, you have nothing to do with it. It sort of sneaks up on you, and you're drained before you know what happened. That's really the class way to fly, know what I mean?
"The next thing I knew, Lynn was kissing her way up my stomach. She must've pulled open my shirt, 'cause I sure don't remember doing it myself, and was running her fingers and tongue all over my smooth, almost hairless, stomach and chest. Hard to believe I've got such a jungle now. She must've really enjoyed doing that shit to me, 'cause she had a wild grin on her face, her eyes had this glassy, faraway look.
"By now, she might have sensed that it was my first time--the way I'd let go and everything. But, even if she sensed it, she didn't say nothing about it. She was real cool about the whole thing. She just asked me if I'd like to learn about how to make her happy. That was sort of a giveaway to the fact that she knew it was my first time, now that I think about it. Don't matter. Man, I was so tired I didn't think I could do anything, but I was so happy I'd just have to pay her back. So, give her the old college try. Whatever that means. I gave it the old high school dropout try.
"I- knew from past experience in loping the old mule that it would be a while before I could get it up again to do the job. Some guys are always giving out with the bullshit about how they can make it dozens of times or some such shit and not lose their bone. I just don't believe that crap! Either that, or they're not enjoying it. But Lynn told me there was another way for me to please her--like the way she'd done for me. I really felt like an ignorant asshole for not thinking of that right away. But I didn't think that way very long, I'll tell you that for a fact, a goddamned fact! That's 'cause I'm a smart bastard. Before I can say 'shit,' I'm down on the floorboard getting acquainted with my first pussy. Hello, pussy. Lynn is straddling my shoulders with her legs as I slowly go about my lessons. It was kind of dark in the car, but I got to know my way around pretty good, and soon she was moaning out for me to 'do her real good.'
"Now I was kind of surprised at first 'cause I wasn't really turned on by it at all, but I figured that was just because I had just come and was all worn out. But as time went on, the fishy cunt smell filling my nostrils, I realized that this just wasn't making it as far as I was concerned-- not that it really turned me off or anything, it just plain wasn't making it. Something like just sitting and twiddling my thumbs. Easy to do, but I'd just as soon be doing something else. I figured that something must be wrong with me at first, after I'd seen the way Lynn had gotten her jollies from polishing my knob (her panties had been, soaking with her come when I pulled them off) I felt kind of out of it. A little guilty maybe... Something was wrong, but I didn't say nothing to Lynn about it, just kept after her cunt hole with my tongue and mouth. But ever since that first time, I've never really gotten real worked up from scarfing a box, although I'll do it to my old lady every once in a while since I know how much pleasure it gives a broad to have it done to her. That's the only reason. They'll end up paying you back in aces. Lots of guys I know claim there's nothing in the world like it, but it just don't quite make it with me. It's helped me out knowing how to do it--like when I was in the service a lot of broads went for it. If you'd do it for them, they'd do a better job on you. Like that.
"So I tried to go to school that night in Eddie's car, just to learn as much as I could. Where all the vital parts were, what really seemed to make her jump--that sort of shit. But there were just some things I couldn't get the knack of right off. I tried several times to get my tongue way up her snatch, but I've got a short, fat tongue and couldn't get it to go very deep. Anyway, Lynn told me that that wasn't the best part of it for her anyway. She showed me how to just concentrate on her clit since that was the thing that made her climb the walls, the best part (for her anyway) of the whole action. So I just clamped my face around that little man of hers and ran it all around it, up against the folds of her lips and everywhere. I sucked and licked for a few minutes, swallowing my spit and her juices as I did that nice little button, until she started going crazy. She made it real big--it was hard for me to keep my head between her legs the way she was bouncing around. Like to broke my fucking neck right off. "Once she'd settled down from her spasms, I climbed back up beside her and started playing with her tits with one hand and her snatch with the other, getting myself worked up again. I was relieved when I felt my cock growing, since I'd been kind of worried about not getting hard over eating her out and all that. Afraid I wouldn't be able to get it up for the big play--my cock still hadn't been inside its first pussy. Hate to have to sit on the bench for your first piece of tail. But it was checking out A-OK and all systems were go. And away I went. Familiar with the territory, I bunched her skirt up a little higher on her hips and rolled over to press my weight down upon her tummy. I was feeling a whole lot more confident about this whole thing by now. We began rubbing against each other in little circles as we mashed our lips together and started trenching. Her tongue was the fastest thing going, running circles around mine, pinning it to the roof of my mouth, then letting it go to fence with it some more. All the time I was fumbling around, trying to find the right hole. I sort of used my hand to guide my cock in, and after a couple of false starts I pushed it hard against the tight opening of her cunt, gave a couple of shoves, then slid easily into the inside walls of her box. Pushing my feet against the armrest for leverage, I began to rock gently and slowly, not wanting to get myself worked up too fast. Man, did that cooze of hers fit like a glove--it was the greatest feeling I'd ever known. Lynn began moving in rhythm with me, and soon my cock was making a nice sucking sound as it moved through the wetness of her pussy. That box of hers flapped--yeah, flapped--as my rod pushed in and out. She moved her legs up around my sides and began to squeeze my kidneys as she pushed her legs together gently. Her hands were helping work me up too, as she reached over the crack of my ass with one of them to massage my aching balls. Man, that really set me off. My nuts were still tingling from that first time, so when she touched me all hell broke loose on the inside of my guts. I began pumping faster and faster, rocking up and down, in and out, like I had a hinge on my pelvis. Lynn followed my every move, keeping time not only with her hips and thighs, but with her hand, too, squeezing my nuts hard and driving me on to the highest peaks I'd ever been to.
"Before very long, we were working like a jackhammer, slamming our bodies against each other as fast as we could. It wasn't going to be one of those wait-for-me jobs--we were going as fast and hard as we could. Even our upper bodies were making a squishing sound where my sweaty chest was squashing her fat tits. I moved my hands down around Lynn's ass, shifting my weight slightly, and pinched the mounds in-between my fingers. She was moaning and thrashing her head back and forth, making it difficult for me to keep trenching her. But, of course, that didn't matter since we were both so close to making it strong. The heat inside me was getting to be too much, and I could tell that Lynn was close by the way she was pumping so hard, making little grunts with each thrust of her hips. But the hell with her--I was too far overboard to stop, so she'd have to shift for herself. We were both just about to make it--almost--and we did! I was pumping away at my first big come ever, my guts were too weak to hold back anymore. Lynn must've known I was about to make it. She grabbed a handful of my pubes that grew from my nuts and gave a hard tug just as I made it. Man, that was really the berries! It took everything I had left in me out of me. I wasn't even strong enough to keep pumping. I just collapsed full-weight on top of her, shooting off like a lawn sprinkler inside Lynn. The heat of my come triggered Lynn's orgasm, and she came right after me, pumping her hips to drain me, pulling madly at my pubes, shuddering under me as she gave in to her own pleasure. As she bucked her way through her come, her movements slowed down until she was lying motionless like me. After a while, she opened her eyes, smiled, and patted the sweat from my forehead.
"I learned a lot of things from Lynn after that. She was a real hot piece of action all right. Never went with her--I mean steady or anything like that. Never did do that kind of thing with a girl like her. But I must've gotten to make it with her more than anybody else for a few months or so. Either that, or she ran a busy fucking schedule. Was a shame the way she looked when I saw her a few years later, after I'd gotten out of the Navy. Just like I said about them girls that are hot numbers when they're kids. They really deteriorate. She was all fat and sloppy--stringy hair. Guess she must've given the best to me and then run outa gas.
"There was this one time in particular I remember with her, probably 'cause it was such a different kind of thing--not your run-of-the-mill sort of fuck, if you know what I mean. It happened only a few weeks before I stopped making it with her--right before she started going steady with this other clown. Yeah, she started laying this really scruffy-looking guy about then... Well, I can't even tell you for sure if she put out to him or not. I mean, with the guy being dumb enough to go steady with a broad like that, she must've really laid a line on him. He probably thought she was a cherry. That's a laugh. But some guys are like that. Think it's the guy who finally married her.
"Anyway, there was this old garage where we used to work on our cars. Guy that owned it closed down on the weekends and hit the bottle. One of the guys I used to run around with was this mechanic's son. Greg was a real asshole, pimply punk, but we all let him hang around with us so's we could use his old man's tools to work on our heaps. He let us use the garage for our jalopies on the weekends, provided we took care of the tools and cleaned the joint up. I had just turned sixteen then, and was working on this old Merc I'd bought with the money I'd earned from my job at the mill the summer before.
"So I'm working there one Saturday morning-- almost noon I guess. There'd been a bunch of us there earlier, just like usual, but all of them had split, leaving me and my Merc. And who do you think shows up? You guessed it--good old Lynn! She's looking real sexy, as usual, with one of those tight sweaters on showing off her chief assets. God, what bazooms she had! Well, once she shows up, I don't get too much work done. Not on my heap anyway. We started fucking around with each other--just grab-ass at first, but it gets sort of serious after a while, if you know what I mean. We're just laughing, rolling around in the grease, cutting up. Then we got into something... What was it? Oh, yeah. This'll crack you up--I know it cracked Lynn up. I started showing her how to make a sound like a fart by putting a hand up under my armpit, and bringing my arm down on it. Old Lynn was really cracking up--funniest thing she's ever seen or heard. I don't know how it happened, but pretty soon all our clothes was strewed all over hell and we was both bare-assed naked. 'Course I shut the fucking garage door first. Then we was petting heavy and wrestling with each other and just having a good old time. We was a-humping and a-pumping and sticking things up each other's ass and stuff. That was about the time that Lynn did this crazy thing. She gets this wild-ass look on her face and breaks away from me. I just stand there, leaning back against the car, wondering where to stick my hard on. But what it was-- she'd spotted the air hose. You know, the kind they use to blow up tires and shit like that? She pulls the thing over to where I'm leaning, and presses the fucking valve. Starts running it all over my body, holding it back a few inches from me so that I get a pretty good stream of air. Tickles, really doesn't do much for me. Makes me laugh, but nothing more than that. Until it hits my nuts, that is. Man, was that wild. It made my face twitch it was so good. I thought I'd come on the spot. Lynn's just grinning her pretty ass off, trying to hold me in one spot with the other hand while she keeps hosing me down. I was jumping around like crazy--it felt good, but it still tickled some. Either that or it was just so good that I couldn't stand it, if you know what I mean. It was really one of the craziest things that'd ever happened to me. That air was really strong rushing through that hose. All I could do to keep from running up the walls. Then she tried to move it in right next to my balls, but it was just too much. The pressure was too strong, felt like somebody was drilling a hole in my nuts. I finally was able to knock it away from her. Then I grabbed her and strapped her on so good she almost cried.
"Glad I got to know a broad like Lynn. Really showed me the whole fucking game. I'm probably better adjusted to my wife because of her.
"I was straight with Lou from the start. Too many guys don't come' out straight with their old ladies, so it gets to the point where they never get to enjoy each other. Then them guys end up having a lot of bowling nights, or golf days-- yeah, and they're really sneaking out on their old ladies. Me? I get mine at home, and I'm glad of it, buddy. Me and Lou--we have a good thing going and we know it. She knows how it drives me wild when she plays around with my balls--she's really good at it. She knows--I've trained her real good--that I like to lay back and let her do all the work. I mean, sometimes I do things for her too, you know--got to--but most of the time I just lay back and take it easy, if you know what I mean. But she don't ever give me no lip. She knows I'd slap her head silly if she ever did that.
"We experiment around with other ways of doing it once in a while, no freaky stuff like them crazy commie perverts do, but enough variety to make it sorta interesting for both of us. But if she don't get no kicks outa something I might try, we'll let it go. Nothing's that fucking important.
"Like, for instance, I really got to like doing it dog-style--picked it up when I was in the Navy. You see, it's 'cause that way my nuts can swing freely and bang against her ass the way I like.' A little extra thrill. A big charge for me. She digs it, too, says my nuts banging back there give her a little extra, too. But, like I say, I never do nothing unless my old lady can have fun, too. One day when we was doing it dog-style, I got the idea of slipping it in her ass. Seemed like a natural thing since we did it in that position so often. Stuck it right up the old lady's ass. But the old lady said that it was really a pain-in-the-ass, so we cut that crap out.
"Yeah, I get my tail at home. That's the way it should be, too, buddy, I'll tell you. It's like this: Wouldn't be so many creeps running around and causing so much damned trouble if people'd just stay the fuck at home. Know what I mean?"
Comments:
While Steve is not the most astute observer of social mores, for a man of his station in life he has a well-adjusted approach to his environment. Many with similar backgrounds do not have even the earthy knowledge that he holds of sexual matters. While gross misunderstandings of mutual needs may drive many of his cohorts from their homes in search for their needs, Steve can be contented in the knowledge that he has his feet firmly planted, through his limited understanding and acceptance of his bodily drives, deep in "the sod of Mainstream America." Know what I mean ?
CHAPTER FIVE - FORCED LEARNING
Authorities state that certain professions attract certain personalities. In this regard, it is quite easy to see that the professional soldier could easily tend to be authoritarian in his personality whereas the professional entertainer would be exhibitionistic.
Where does that leave the sadist?
It is a safe guess to suppose that he will be in a position of authority, rather than of subservience; and if his orders cause discomfort of some kind, "all the better."
The immediate type that comes to mind is the classic prison guard who brutalizes his charges; a drill instructor who rationalizes his acts as beneficial in the long run to the Nation; and a registered nurse who specializes in vitamin B-12 injections. But there's plenty of room for the sadist in more conventional forms of employment. In fact, some of the sadists interviewed occupied rather unimportant positions in large corporations, wherein their sadism took a more hidden turn. The telephone information operator who delighted in giving out wrong numbers; the elevator operator who took pleasure in passing key floors at the height of rush hour, stranding dozens of people; and the waitress who always brought the customer not quite what he ordered. All sadists, who manage to pass as normal, integrated personalities.
The next case history concerns a young lady who, while enrolled in one of the finest dance academies, was brutalized beyond belief by a sadistic dance instructor. While her case may seem isolated and unrelated to dance academies per se, one can note that the duties of a dance instructor--barring pure love of the dance and its teaching--could easily indicate that he is one of our hidden sadists.
Case History:
"All I can really say, now that it's over and done with and that freak is not around to torment me, is... WOW! He really put me through it, backwards and forward and up and down, and all with a great deal of pain! That was it, you know--the pain, I mean. It was so totally alien to me that for a long time I didn't realize what it was doing to me. Call it the collective guilt of my class or something, but I felt like I kind of deserved it, you know. And Ramon sure knew it!
"Ramon. That's Raymond in English. He was the dance instructor--wait. I'll start at the beginning...
"I was sixteen years old, and it was right after my birthday that I started attending dance school--or the academy, as they called it. In fact, it was because of my birthday that I attended. My father bought me a year's worth of lessons, 'to improve my body grace,' he said. I was too old to start dancing with a career as a goal--those girls start when they're youngsters. Anyway, I hadn't even planned to attend. I mean, it sounded so square and all at my age to be going to dance school, but my mom kept harpooning me about Dad feeling bad because I didn't dig his gift and all that--and my dad's kind of a sad sack anyway, so I decided to go and make him feel better.
"It was a Saturday morning when I first went down there. The school was located right in Beverly Hills, which is a swell area. In fact, it's right off the Strip, and I figured I'd be able to cruise the Strip after my lessons. That's not the way it worked out, but that was my plan. Anyway, it was about ten-thirty in the morning when I arrived at the academy. I had my booklet worth a year'3 lessons in my hand. The receptionist was very nice; in fact, she even remembered my father. She said what a nice man he was and she asked me if I wanted to start dancing that day. I said no, because I didn't have a leotard or anything, but I wanted to see what the place was all about. She said fine and started to show me around. It was a nice-looking place, expensive-looking. We walked around awhile, and I liked what I saw. Finally she said she'd let me see a group working out. That was interesting because that would give me a clue of what was going to be in store for me.
"We walked into a large room that had a mirror covering one wall so that everything in the room was reflected. In front of the mirror was a handrail that ran the length of the mirror. It looked about what you'd expect a dance studio to look like. But what I couldn't take my eyes off was this incredible-looking man standing there, his coal-black eyes boring holes in me. He was beautiful. He was wearing bell bottoms, very tight across his rear and his thighs, and an old sweat shirt. But it was his face that wiped me out. He looked mean and mad, and he looked like he didn't like me very much. I had half expected some fag to be teaching dance, but it was obvious from the way Ramon looked at me that he was no fag. He had a way of looking at a girl that told her he desired her but that he'd have her on his terms only, whatever they were, or he wouldn't bother with her. I guess he could tell from my face that I'd let him do whatever he wanted if he'd just-- do whatever he wanted to me.
"He finally smiled when he saw that I was about to drool on the floor. He walked over to us, and the receptionist introduced us. He shook my hand, which was unusual, and kept staring into my eyes,, trying to read something there.
"Elene, the receptionist, explained that I'd received a year's worth of lessons and would begin soon.
"Ramon smiled and said that he could hardly wait, because he enjoyed working with beginners so much. 'There's so much one can teach them,' he said, his black eyes making me uncomfortable.
"We said good-bye and Elene gave me the rest of the tour. I left and decided that I'd start Monday after school instead of the following Saturday.
"Sunday was an agony of waiting, but Monday passed pretty quickly, what with classes and all. I had bought a leotard Saturday afternoon, and a pair of soft ballet slippers. I hurried to the academy after my last class at school. I went right to the dressing room and started changing into my outfit, feeling uncomfortable about the way it revealed every inch of my body. I'm well developed for my age, considering how tall I am. My breasts looked huge in that outfit, but they looked good, too, I realized as I looked at myself in the dressing-room mirror.
"I hurried to Ramon's studio, not even sure he'd be there. But he was. He was all alone, doing warm-up exercises, stretching his magnificent body into various positions that I found--erotic.
"He looked up when I closed the door and he smiled. 'I'm glad you came, Leslie,' he said.
"I couldn't speak. I nodded at him, and he waved me over to him. I walked over, and he began smiling--not a nice smile, a smile reserved for an animal that its trainer feels is responding to commands. He told me to turn around, and I did. I could almost feel his hot eyes sliding down to my buttocks and staring there, warming two spots on my leotard. When my cheeks began to redden with shame, he told me to turn around.
" 'I'm going to speak to you in plain language,' he began. 'You could no more benefit from a dance course than I could from a foot transplant. Just look at you. Your breasts are big and lovely and will undoubtedly provide some young man your age unlimited opportunities to teethe; and your backside, if you don't mind my saying so, looks interesting enough to mount right now. But, as far as dancing is concerned, you'd better return your leotard to wherever you purchased it before you get it dirty.' He turned away from me and began his exercises again.
"I was dumbstruck. Nobody had ever spoken to me like that in my life! If my father had, I'd of kicked him down the stairs or something; that's how unthinkable it was. And here was a perfect stranger doing it. I stood there for some time with my mouth open, I guess, until he finally turned around.
" 'Perhaps you didn't understand me,' he began. "I got mad. 'I understood you. And I'm going to report this to my father and he'll see that you get fired!'
"He smiled. 'Perhaps. But what I said was true, and you know it. Why did you come back today? Certainly not because of your interest in the dance, because you have none.'
" 'I--I--' I couldn't answer.
"He nodded. 'Exactly as I thought. Forgive me, but you're not the first young lady who has... responded to me. If you'll admit that, we'll be able to have a more honest relationship.'
"My face was burning with shame that he'd been able to see through me that easily. But what he said was true, and he knew that I knew it. 'You're right,' I said, looking down at his feet.
"He chuckled. 'That's all right, Leslie. You'll find me an easy person to deal with--if you are honest with me, because I'll be honest with you. As I was before,' he said.
"I looked up and he was smiling. 'You do have a splendid body, you know,' he continued. 'Perhaps not suitable for dancing, but I assure you I can teach you things that your body is much more suited for--and that are much more enjoyable--than writhing to music.'
" 'What are you talking about?' I asked.
"His hand shot out and cupped one of my breasts, massaging it warmly, sending thrills through my body. 'I'm talking of this, you stupid cow. Your tits are gloriously large and firm with the juices of youth--and yet you have the notion that because of your age a grown man should not be interested in you. Answer me this, Leslie. When you take all your clothes off and look at yourself in a mirror, is it a child or a woman you see?' He didn't need my answer. He was holding it in his hand. 'And that's what I can teach you,' he said. 'Who you are and what you are-- if you're interested.' He turned away from me.
"I knew that there was no way that I could stay away from him, just knew it. I stood there until he turned around again, the same smile on his lips.
" 'Good. I take it you've made up your mind.' He was perspiring freely from his exercises, and he wiped his forehead with a towel that was lying on a chair. 'Come here,' he said.
"I did as he told me. He ordered me to do a split--you know, where the girl sort of slides down on the floor, her legs apart, until she's split, one leg behind her, the other in front, her rear end on the floor. I tried, but I was in no shape to do it. He laughed at my discomfort and urged me to continue, talking all the while about what a strange debut I'd have as a dancer if I was unable to do a split. Then he leaned down close to my face and whispered, 'Imagine, Leslie, that I am underneath you, my mouth between your legs. If you exert yourself and reach me, my mouth will devour you between your legs--licking you, biting you, sucking your juicy little thing. All you have to do is push it down in my face.'
"His talk made me blush, but I could feel the swelling of my cunt, and we both could smell the fish-glue odor that wafted through my clothes.
" 'You like that kind of talk, don't you?' He sneered.
"You bet I liked it. I liked it so much that I grunted savagely and pushed myself down into that goddamn split, and he laughed and said, 'Good for you! Maybe next time I shall be between your legs, and I will suck your pussy!'
"I was both excited and outraged. I'd never before been treated like that or spoken to like that in my life, and in one afternoon he'd reduced me to this level. He continued with his exercises, making me do various things that hurt like hell, and all the time he'd be grinning at me, telling me of all the things he'd do to me sexually if I did this or that correctly. I really was eager to make him do something, because I said, 'You sure talk a good game, Ramon. But from what I've heard of dance teachers, you couldn't even get it hard for a girl, I bet.'
"He sure stopped smiling when I said that. He nodded as if I'd raised a valid point in a debate or something and stepped back, his hand on his chin, wondering what to do next. Finally he decided. He walked over to the door to the studio and threw the bolt, locking it. It was the only way in or out of the room, and there were no windows.
" 'You are curious about Ramon, are you?' He stood in front of me, his old sneer back.
" 'Well...'
"He shook his head. 'Too late to change your mind. You wished a demonstration--and you shall have it.'
"I didn't know what to expect.
"He undid his pants and tugged them off. He was wearing a jock strap, and he let me look at the lump in front while he skinned off his sweat shirt. He was built beautifully, like the statue of David that freaks in Orange County are always trying to hang a fig leaf on. He was lean, but very muscular, and his skin looked satiny smooth, almost like a girl's. To tell you the truth, I think my cunt almost sat up and barked when I saw him like that--I knew I wanted him, even though I was a virgin. He was smiling easily, his hands toying with the elastic band that encircled his waist.
"Then he pulled the silly jock off and his prick popped into sight. It was as magnificent as the rest of him. It wasn't hard yet, but it was getting there, standing out from his body at a forty-five degree angle downwards, and it was already as thick as my wrist and about seven inches long. I wasn't so sure I wanted that monster poked into me, but I knew he wouldn't take no for an answer.
"He was really smiling. 'Like what you see, Leslie? Do you want to suck it to make sure it gets hard for a girl like you?'
"Again, I didn't know what to say. I wasn't used to that kind of language in the first place, and things had happened so fast since I had walked in there a short hour back that I wasn't sure I wasn't dreaming or something.
" 'Take your clothes off!' There was a new note in his voice and it kind of scared me, but I did what I was told. I stripped the leotard off, and my slippers. I was ashamed of being naked like that, and his penetrating, laughing eyes didn't make it any easier. He pointed between my legs. 'Your cunt gives you away, Leslie, because it's wet--sopping, dripping wet--and the lips are open and you want my cock to fuck you. Don't you, Leslie?'
"I nodded dumbly. His cock was completely hard now, throbbing with his pulse as he stood before me, his balls nestled under it.
"He grabbed me roughly by the shoulders, forced me to my knees, and ordered me to look at him. I started to resist, but it was no use. He had control of my will, it seemed, and anything he asked me to do, I would do. It was really weird. I looked at his sticky, greasy cock and began to wonder what it would taste like.
"And, just as if he could read my mind, he said, 'Aren't you curious about reaching out and grabbing me and pushing my big cock into your mouth, Leslie? Do it if you want to--or I might make you do it anyway!'
"Again I did as I was told, pulling his tool toward me, closing my eyes as the reddish head approached my lips. It was hot and greasy, like it looked, but I sucked hard and it began to taste good.
" 'Suck it harder, you whore!' he shouted, and I was afraid somebody would hear him and somehow get in there and catch us. I feared that worse than I feared what I was doing. I sucked as hard as I could, and I could hear him chuckling above me, and I wondered just what kind of a nut he was. Still, the goo was flowing from his cock and this whole experience was so new to me that I was digging it a lot.
"He wrapped his fingers in my hair and began pulling it and it hurt a lot, and when I took his cock out of my mouth to complain, he jerked my head backwards by the hair, which hurt like hell, and told me never to do anything like that before I was ordered to, or he'd really hurt me.
"I believed him. I shoved his cock back down my throat and sucked harder than ever, hoping he'd like it. He let me suck for a few minutes more, filling my mouth with a clear, messy goo that wasn't come, he said, but came out before the come. I didn't know.
"Then he turned around, presenting me with his girlish buttocks. 'Suck me in there!' he ordered. I was horrified! Suck his asshole? I shook my head and was about to get to my feet when he reared back with his left foot and kicked me right in the tit. I fell backwards, my tit hurting like hell.
" 'Listen, you fucking slut,' he growled, 'when I tell you to do something, you'd damn well better do it!'
"I didn't know what to do except to obey him.
He returned to his position and I quickly inserted my face between his ass cheeks and found his tiny hole with my tongue. I didn't like doing that, but he laughed as if it were tickling him to death. He even had the nerve to--gas me back there while I was doing that! Then he told me to stand up. I did. He looked me up and down as if deciding what to do with me. I couldn't bear it much longer,. I thought, but the shameful thing was that my pussy was wetter than ever, and he knew it.
" 'Don't worry,' he said, 'you'll get fucked soon, Leslie. I want to have some fun with you. I want to put you in your place. You think that, because you have the money to afford dancing lessons, I'm some sort of slave to do your bidding. Far from it, you cheap shit. You'll do exactly as I say and you'll not tell anybody about it because they won't believe you. Or they'll ask you why you didn't call for help--which you haven't done, Leslie, and won't do, because you're a common cunt. You enjoy this as much as I do. You'd have eaten my shit if I ordered you to and you know it!' With that, he slapped me very hard across the face.
"I almost fell down, but I managed to maintain my footing while he circled me, figuring out what to do next. I heard him chuckle behind me.
" 'I have an idea,' he said.
"I didn't want to know about it and, on the other hand, was dying to know about it. He really had me, and he knew it, damn him. He told me to kneel down, I did, and then he told me to put my hands on the floor, too--to be on all fours. I did as he asked. I felt him straddle me, and then I felt his hand working around in the goo from my cunt. He was smearing it around, all around, and around my asshole! I was scared for a minute. I'd heard of people doing that--cornholing, they call it--and I was curious, but not that curious. But I knew it'd be senseless to object to Ramon.
"He popped the head of his cock in and let it stay there awhile without moving it, letting my tight asshole fit itself to his monster. It hurt like hell, and I could feel a trickle of blood start running down my thigh. Then he started pumping more and more in, and I rocked under the strength of his powerful thrusts. It hurt worse and worse, and I felt as if I were splitting apart, my cunt and asshole becoming one big slit with no wall of tissue separating them. He laughed as I writhed under him, apparently oblivious to the pain he was causing me. I was beginning to think that I'd made a mistake letting Ramon treat me like this.
"He finally had enough of my ass and pulled his dripping cock out. I sprawled on the floor, weak and hurt and scared. I could sense that he was standing there, smiling at my agony. He was that kind of person. While I caught my breath, he walked around me, still thinking of some devilment for me.
"All I wanted to do was get out of there and report him secretly--you know, let somebody know they should keep an eye on him before he really hurt somebody. But there was something that kept me from calling out for help. Maybe I was afraid of the scandal, and maybe, as Ramon suggested, I was just too horny for his cock to stop. Anyway, he told me to spread my legs, which I did, and he told me he was going to suck my cunt. That's how he said it: 'I'll suck your cunt.'
"I felt his warm face slide in there, and then his tongue began lapping gently at my cunt, and it felt good, really good, after his earlier treatment. I let my legs open wider and tried to angle my pussy to his mouth so that he could do a good job, and then I felt his tongue slide into my come and I slid into a powerful orgasm.
"The next thing I knew, he'd seized my clit between his teeth and bit it. It hurt like hell, but the pain blended with the intense pleasure of my orgasm in a funny kind of way that provided me with a third sensation, somewhere between pleasure and pain that I can't name. He rolled my clit in his mouth, and I alternated between trying to pull away from him and trying to push my cunt harder into his face. Before he was through, I was a sopping mess of hair and cunt juice and saliva, and he was still laughing.
"Then he started beating me up. He started slowly, hitting me in the tits lightly, just enough to make me hurt but not enough to make me cry out. Then he kneed me in the cunt, and that hurts as badly as they say it hurts a guy to be kneed on the balls. I was in complete agony again, and he began issuing his orders. Suck my cock. Play with yourself. Suck my toes. Lick my asshole. Pinch your tits until they bleed. He had a whole catalog of little things for me to do.
"It was getting late now, and I was really afraid that somebody would somehow get into the room and see us. I couldn't bear the thought of being caught like this, fucked up and shitty looking and obviously a willing subject. So I did everything he said, no matter how disgusting it seemed to me, because I wanted to get it over with in a hurry and get out of there. And, of course, I enjoyed some of it, so it wasn't all bad. And I wanted his cock by then. There was no longer any doubt about it. He sensed what I wanted.
" 'I told you not to worry, Leslie. You'll get what you want--what all the cows want, a stiff prick buried up their cunts so that they can grind their meaty little clits on it and get their juices flowing and suck the come right out of a man's stomach. But I don't mind. And we'll do it when I say so--not until then!'
"I was sucking his cock when he made that little speech, and when he was through he pulled my face away from his cock and said, 'I wish they could see you now--all your friends, and your family--all those who know little Leslie. See how different you look with cock grease smeared all over your face, with your pussy swollen and smelly, with your asshole torn apart by a cock you've been sucking! That's what Leslie really looks like, isn't it, Leslie?'
"I nodded dumbly, and then he got a bored look on his face. 'You're no different from the rest,' he said, almost sighing. 'Lie down on your back. I'm going to fuck you now.'
"I did as I was told, my legs cocked to receive him. He climbed aboard and slid his thick, swollen cock all the way in on one stroke, tearing out what was left of my hymen and making me moan and grunt like a stuck pig. But it felt so good that I knew it was worth all the garbage I'd had to go through to get it. I didn't know if all guys had a cock like that and I didn't want to lose his. Not for a minute. I rolled with him as he stroked my open cunt hard and fast, burying his tool all the way on each powerful, lusty stroke. It felt like nothing I'd ever thought of before--a giant slab of red-hot meat, perfectly shaped, its taste still in my mouth, going in and out of me, making me feel like my insides were being shifted around to make room for it. And above me I could see Ramon's evil, mean face leering down at me as if I were a pig he was feeding slop to, and I even enjoyed that, because I realized that I'd enjoy anything he chose to do with me if only he'd let it end with his cock buried in my steaming, clammy cunt!
"He had a tremendous amount of sexual energy and stamina because all through the whole afternoon he hadn't come once, and he was pumping me so hard that I was coming about once every two minutes, my orgasms blending into each other. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I was ready to throw up from all the fucking I'd done, and all those orgasms were beginning to hurt now. But he was still smiling, and fucking me like a machine. Fucking, fucking, fucking, steady and straight up and down, boring into me, grinding his savage meat into me until my thoughts started to blend and I knew I was passing out. Just as the room started to dim and fade out, I heard him swear and he began beating me in the face, and I felt his spurting cock pouring his shitty semen deep inside me.
"Later, he helped me dress and sent me home. He warned me again about telling anyone, reminding me that I could've yelled for help at any time, and didn't.
"And he was right. But they caught us anyway, because about two weeks later he got so carried away that he opened the door himself and called all the people waiting in the lobby to come look at me and see just what shit women were. I guess he'd really freaked out or something. I had to start undergoing treatment myself, and it's helped a lot. I think he used to be that way with the other girls, too; but they're not talking.
"That Ramon--he was sure some kinda guy."
Comment: Ramon "sure was," but his latent homosexuality was hardly concealed. His sadistic behavior, plus his passion for domination, could be seen as reflections of his own inner urge to fight down what he thought was his homosexual side--though he had never had relations with a man.
Leslie, on the other hand, could be excused merely because of her age. However, her attending case worker feels the seeds of her trouble are deeper than mere immaturity. Her desire for sex, in all forms, is hardly considered normal in our society, regardless of whether it is in fact "normal" or not.
CHAPTER SIX - LEATHER BOYS
Researchers in the field of social behavior have found a much higher incidence of sadomasochistic behavior among homosexuals, both male and female, than among the so-called "straight" society. Psychologist Wilhelm Stekel found that much of the conditioning in early life that leads to either a sadomasochistic or homosexual behavior in later life is quite similar; so it is hardly surprising that the two inversions are often evidenced in the makeup of the same individual. Of course, this is not to say that all homosexuals are sadomasochists, or the reverse. A small percentage of practicing homosexuals actually show overt behavior of this nature. It is just that the percentage is much higher than among heterosexuals.
One of the most striking similarities in the development of both homosexuals and sadomasochists, is the frequent presence of a dominant mother. Oftentimes, the male figure in the home is either weak and ineffectual, or absent from the home entirely. In the case of homosexuals and masochists, the adult is submitting, in effect, to the wishes of the mother when he acts out his sexual fantasies. The sadist is trying to throw the yoke off.
A recent phenomenon in major cities across the United States is the emergence of the "leather bars," so named due to the fact that many of the customers are tough, leather-jacketed, motorcycle riding homosexuals. In an attempt to throw off the inaccurate stereotype assigned them--that of a primping, lisping pansy--many of these "butch" members of homophilia exude a strong, masculine image or at least attempt to effect it.
Los Angeles--the West Coast metropolitan areas being a haven to the homosexuals--has more than its share of clubs that cater to the rough trade. The following case history describes what happened to one young homosexual who began frequenting such an establishment in search of a butch partner.
Case History:
Ken is a 23-year-old man who has just broken up with his lover, after living with him for two years. During their relationship, his roommate was constantly berating Ken for not being dominant enough--a situation that led directly to the dissolution of the affair. Since his lover, too, was passive, it just wasn't working out.
Ken was thrown into a quandary. Realizing he had a desire to be the passive partner, he began searching his soul in an attempt to find out the extent of his desires. At times, during his involvement with his friend, he had a mad desire to be punished, humiliated by his partner, a feeling he found confusing as he had no experience with any form of physical domination. Yet, he realized that the possibility did exist--that he was, indeed, a masochist. He finally decided to find out, the only way he knew how. He had heard, through the homosexual grapevine, of the leather scene. He decided to check it out.
He found a bar that fit the description not far from his new apartment. He'd tried a lot of the wilder bars, the ones where the motorcycle clubs hung out, but was frightened away by the thought of chains, boots, and the rough mannerisms of the customers. This one, while being known as a bar that catered to the s-m trade, was at least more covert. The men were definitely butch, strong, aggressive, but didn't seem to need the whips and boots regalia to prove it. At least it didn't look that way.
Ken went into the club a couple of times for drinks, but nothing really happened. A couple of men made passes at him, but he wasn't really interested in them. These weren't "the right type." Besides, he was still sort of broken up over breaking up with Tony. "Spend that much time living with somebody and it isn't easy to just wipe them off your mind right away. Not even the drinks helped that very much.
"Then," he went on, "on my later visits to the bar, a man came in who immediately attracted my attention. He was a tall, dark man, with an angular face and large hands. The first couple of times, I viewed him from the other end of the bar. Our eyes met, acknowledging the other's attentions, but that was as far as it got. But the last time he came in, he had sat himself down beside me and offered to buy me a drink. We had talked for a short time--mostly small talk, and I found the man to be pleasant and interesting, even though I was able to sense something about him, some aura the man held--dominant? Maybe that's how they were. I wasn't sure. But this tall, dark man who called himself 'Dutch' definitely had future possibilities. The guy filled his Levi's so well that I wondered if he had a padded basket.
"The next time I talked to the man, I got an invitation to dinner. I didn't have to be asked twice. It was on--the next Saturday.
"Dutch had a beautiful apartment--part of what had once been a large home, now cut into individual units. Wood paneling, split levels, rich oriental carpeting. After a hearty meal--a very appetizing souffle, we sat around the crackling fireplace over a glass of burgundy. After circling the issues, fencing and talking small, Dutch came to the point, bringing up an issue that had been brushed over back at the bar.
" 'So, what's that you were saying about domination, about wondering if that's what you went for? I'm not sure just how you put it... "I was taken off guard by the bluntness of the question. I blurted out the situation with Tony, about the confusion I'd been feeling, how I'd wanted to check this thing out. Dutch listened intently, smiling as if he understood the problem. Just maybe, I thought, this would be my chance to find out about myself.
" 'There's only one way to find out,' he suggested.
"Several moments passed, and the next thing I knew, I was tied down over a chair, my pants and shorts down to my ankles. My mind was racing with fear--I hadn't really planned it this way. What if this Dutch was really one of those bloodthirsty sadists--decided to kill me or something freaky like that? But there was nothing I could do even if I wanted to. My hands were bound to the front legs of the chair, my legs to the back--my ass sticking up in the air at Dutch's disposal. My heart beat wildly in my fear. There was absolutely no excitement in this for me.
"Dutch calmed my nerves a bit when he told me, 'Listen, I'm not bloodthirsty--I won't kill you. Since this is sort of an experiment for you--this being your first time--I want you to let me know if it doesn't work out. I kind of dig mild discipline myself, but it isn't a thing with me. I can make it just as well without it. So if things don't work out for you, if you're not getting turned on and feel only pain, I want you to tell me. I'll stop anytime you want me to.'
"That relieved me somewhat. But I still felt a tremble of anticipation when I looked over my shoulder and saw Dutch drawing his thick leather belt out of his trousers, wrapping the buckle end around his fist a couple of times, and swishing it through the air to test it out. The hairs on my buttocks stood up in cold fear. But there was no more time for thinking.
"Swish--wap! Swish--wap! The strap curled around my butt leaving its hot imprint. I jumped against my bonds as the third, the fourth came down across my nether hemispheres. Never had I felt such a hot pain. If this was what being passive meant--I wanted none of it. I gritted my teeth and held on as best I could, but by the time twenty strokes had fallen, I was screaming for Dutch to stop.
" 'No warm feeling underneath the pain? Nothing like that?' Dutch asked me, noting how the initial pain could turn to a sexual feeling. There was nothing but pain. Dutch began untying me, explaining to me that passivity didn't necessarily mean the person liked to be beaten. 'You might just like to be the old lady--nothing more than that. From what you say about your relationship with Tony, he never gave you a chance to be passive. Listen, that butt of yours looks pretty sore... Why don't you pop into the shower to try and soothe it? Then I'll show you how to be the old lady--the nice, gentle way.'
"To me, my buttocks welting from the burning strap, both propositions sounded terrific. I definitely didn't relish pain. At least I'd found that out. That shower would feel good, and the prospect of making it with the lean, handsome man excited me.
"The stinging needles of water revitalized me. At first the water was a little too much for my tortured buns, but after a while the stream loosened them up, penetrating to my bloodstream. The rough towel tingled and aroused my body back to a state of attention. In a way, I guess, I felt a little bad--moralistically or some stupid thing like that--about making it with someone who was almost a total stranger. He wasn't some cheap trick, some two-bit hustler out with the rest of the drugstore cowboys on Hollywood Boulevard. But then, what more was there to know? Dutch was an exciting kind of guy.
"When I came into the bedroom, towel draped about my lean hips, I found Dutch stripped to the waist, brushing back his wiry hair in front of the dresser mirror. He turned, displaying his lean torso that had received much of the sun's warmth in recent days. A small white scar, probably from an appendectomy, peeked up above his belt. I yawned and sat down on the edge of the bed, spreading my legs wide to expose the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs.
" 'Sleepy?' Dutch asked me.
" 'Oh, a little, I guess. That shower really took the zing out of me.' I did feel a little bushed. Like I was floating, my brain detached from my body. I tried to move, but my muscles wouldn't respond to the command.
"Dutch sat down on the bed beside me. He got straight to the point. 'I bet I can put some zing back in you. I don't think your cock is sleepy.' His velvety fingertips reached over to flit inside the towel. I felt the other hand pull back the towel, felt the cool air in my naked torso. Hands that were all over me now. Touching my nipples, my stomach, and my sides, then dropping to touch my hardening penis. I waited in anxious anticipation as Dutch padded out to the living room to turn out the lights. The throbbing in my buttocks had diminished, only a slight tingle remained. Dutch returned and slowly slid out of his tight Levi's and bikini shorts.
"Any thoughts I had held about Dutch padding his basket were quickly dispelled. He was all man. Every inch a real man. As I lay on the bed, I opened my eyes wide and vaguely discerned the figure of a man kneeling over me on all fours. Oddly, I did not find the sight strange, even though it was Dutch and not Tony. Watching intently, I felt the figure advance and the beat of the long cock press against my face. I felt a tremendous urge to grab it with my teeth, but I restrained myself. The opportunity would come in no time at all. I felt the roundness of the testicles on my chin, and the sexy smell of male genitals filled my nostrils. It was a new smell. A new man.
"I stared at the massive organ, wondering if I would be able to take it all in. It seemed to me that it was at least ten inches long, but then my mind had a tendency to exaggerate when confronted by such a hunk. These moments of passion seemed to add greatly to all of my dimensions. Whatever it was, it was one of the largest organs I had ever seen in my life.
"Dutch shifted his weight off his hands and rested back on his haunches. He motioned to the side table, to a tube of K-Y, and I reached over, squeezed a small amount on my hands, and smeared it on my anus. Dutch watched as I arranged myself, slipping a pillow under my hips and then cocking back my legs until my knees reached my chest. I was ready for action.
"Dutch leaned forward and, taking his cock in one hand, began to rub the massive head around my anus, teasing and tantalizing it, trying to make me relax, I guess. Maybe trying to overcome the slight fear he may have sensed in my eyes.
" 'It won't hurt, baby,' he reassured me. 'It's big, but it's gentle and nice.'
"I jumped slightly as I felt the head go in, felt my sphincter ring contract about it. Sure enough--it was gentle and nice. There was no pain at all. When several inches had gone into my canal, I was conscious of the head swelling out, filling me wonderfully and painlessly. It wasn't anywhere as bad as it had looked. The cock continued its journey without any hindrance from me. I felt the large, swollen head deep inside me --deeper than anyone had ever penetrated me. I wondered what it was up there inside me that was being touched, caressed, and probed. Whatever it was, it was delightfully sensitive. Then, the last inch slipped in, and I felt something above me... closer. It was Dutch's neck, his mouth... hot gusts of air. And then we kissed. Dutch's lips were sensual and full. I found them more than pleasant to kiss. Dutch made no attempt to move his lower body. He remained still, allowing me to get used to the feeling of enormity, the fullness that was inside me.
"He kissed me and caressed my cheek and ear with one hand, while stroking my thick hair with the other. I reciprocated by stroking Dutch's broad expanse of back and his neck. Suddenly, without warning, Dutch pulled his cock all the way out to the very tip, held a split second, then slid back to the hilt. It felt like a string had been attached to my insides, had pulled them out, then shoved them back in. I moaned and squirmed and jumped at the stimulation. It felt absolutely tremendous. I bit at Dutch's lips tenderly. I felt Dutch's big nuts tickling my spine again.
" 'Do me, Dutch. Give it to me!' I was almost amazed at my words. Such a blatant invitation. Asking a man--almost begging him--to dominate me. But it was a nice kind of domination. I still couldn't figure how people liked pain. I was reminded of the slight tingle in my backside.
" 'Have patience, baby.' Dutch pulled out about an inch, then slowly eased in; then out an inch; then back in--slowly to let the narrow passageway adjust to his great length and breadth. I felt my legs tightening from the wonderful stimulation. Muscles jumped wildly in my calves and thighs. I could feel my own cock telescope as it lay between our churning bellies. It lengthened out to its fullest, throbbing and pounding with desire. Now our tongues were intertwining. Some of Dutch's saliva ran into my mouth to slosh about my lashing tongue. I wanted this feeling--wanted it to drive away all thoughts of the past, to shove both my memory of Tony and the recent beating far inside me to be burned forever.
"And the man's hips moved an inch or two at a time. Tantalizing and teasing.
" 'Oh God, Dutch! Fuck me. Fuck me.' But Dutch continued as before, the master of the situation. For a long, long time. I had to have more, more. I was like a madman now. The past was thrown away. I wanted sex now. I began to attempt pelvic movement of my own. It was pretty difficult. I didn't have much leverage in my present position. But still my hips tried to obey the commands of my reeling brain. I was sweating profusely now, in spite of the cold air of the room. The heat between us had created a shield of warmth around our struggling bodies. Our lips writhed against each other, making wet, sucking noises that added to my frenzy. I pulled with all my might and uncrossed my legs. I still held them high and out, but I reached down with my hands and spread them so that the penetration would reach its greatest depth.
"I tried again to move my hips, and this time I met with a little more success, although the action was more rotary than thrusting. I felt feverish as I swept up in that familiar pitch of ecstasy. Only it was kind of different this time. Not the usual lofty fantasies of love that I'd felt before... with Tony. This was straight and simple lust.
"Now Dutch was thrusting in a little more. He was the supreme expert of his homophile craft. Measuring the length of his strokes, and then setting it into a pattern as if regulated by a machine. Plunging in the exact distance each time. Building his victim to a maddened state of passion and lust. Then he moved a little farther, ramming about half his cock in with each smooth stroke. Now it was coming in at about two-thirds the length. I was about to climb the walls. I wrapped one of my legs up tight around Dutch's waist once more, tightening in my agonizing pleasure. Dutch gave me his tongue and I sucked on it as though my life depended upon it. Even his tongue felt large and soft. I sucked it and used it as I would a penis, working my own tongue along the length of it. Dutch moaned and thrust with a little more push and power behind it. I felt the head go deeper, felt as though it had invaded an upper bowel. Was that possible? Would it do me any harm? I didn't know. But then, at this point, I didn't really care. It felt so marvelous--for that moment, at least--I was willing to die if that was the price I had to pay for it.
"Dutch's mouth moved to my ear and sucked at the lobe. Then inside, where it lewdly deposited some moisture. Then the chin, the neck, the face. I felt Dutch's large hands, callused from hard work, leave my head and travel down my hips until they rested upon the cheeks of my striped buttocks. The hands were rough, but honest, and expressed a lot of deep feeling. They dug in, the fingernails scratching the pink surface--only I was no longer aware of the pain. In my present aroused state, the scratching, even on my pulverized buttocks, felt nice--added to my mounting pleasure. The strokes were bringing a delicious sensation now. I surrendered mentally as well as physically--my past a good thousand miles behind me.
"Dutch seemed to sense this surrender and it must have brought out the primitive maleness in him. He made little guttural sounds and bit sharply at my shoulders. Dominance. Adding to the scratching of my butt. But, under this much arousal, it felt good to be dominated to a point where I didn't have to think for myself, where another controlled both my body and my mind. Dutch's abdomen pressed tightly against me; his strong hands gripped me. I felt my cock, hot and throbbing, swell and pound up into Dutch's stomach. And Dutch's shaft continued to ply my constricting canal. On an outward pull, I could feel the large, fat head rub against the nut-shaped prostate as though it wanted to push it up through my body. Each thrust was nothing but delicious pleasure. Each additional thrust was ecstasy. Each undulation of the abdominal flesh brought an additional source of pleasure to my cock. I could feel my climax building. There was a noticeable tightening of my anal tract. I was more conscious than ever of Dutch's girth, could feel my cock throbbing between our bellies and my prostate gland enlarging and hardening and becoming even more sensitive to stimulation. I felt as though I was being sucked from the inside out. I began to moan and sweat more profusely. My fingers entwined in Dutch's hair and pressed into the scalp.
"I tried to hold back the rising tide, but I knew I would come soon. I tried to wait for Dutch, but I had no notion of the man's timing. I tried, tried, tried... but the stimulation was too great. I felt my seed leaving my balls and rising to my cock... No floating with the birds, no clouds, no swirling colors. Just a thumping, pounding sensation of the flesh as my semen finally erupted and spurted out between our bellies in forceful jets. The friction between us milked more from my insides and I pumped frantically like an animal to purge my body of all my lust.
"It had never happened quite like that before. I didn't even try and compare it with the loving feeling of Tony, even though I could see what men derived from an orgy. The indiscriminate meeting of man and man. One to one. No emotional ties. Just skin against skin, man against man, in a wild purging of the flesh.
"When the great peak of my passion was over and I'd almost chewed Dutch's ear off--wasn't even aware how my mouth had gotten there--I felt the mighty cock still working inside my ass. My anal sphincter contracted. The stimulation was too much now.
" 'Oh, Dutch! Daddy, how much longer ?'
" 'I--I take a long time.'
" 'I'll say. I should have such problems.'
"Gradually, as my muscles relaxed and the anal tract no longer grasped the penis orgasmically, I found that I could tolerate the continued movement. My own penis was no longer hypersensitive in its flaccid condition. I tried to open my anal muscles, but they were already so distended that they couldn't respond to my command. Still, the massive organ thrust its huge length in and out, in and out, in and out--never seeming to end.
"Calmed after my violent orgasm, I gently stroked Dutch's back. My hand slid easily over the moist surface. I reached over and pulled up a handful of sheet to mop up the wetness from his skin. I caressed the back of Dutch's neck. Dutch's face was buried in my shoulder, against my neck, breathing sharp streams of warm air down upon me. I found that in my relaxed state I could study my companion from an almost clinical, detached point of view, without having my own strong sensations to contend with. I continued to rub the back, scratching it a little with my fingernails. I found that I could relax the hold of my legs around Dutch's waist without disconnecting us. I felt so warm and calm, even though I was beginning to feel a growing passion from the steady tattoo Dutch beat against my anus.
" 'Get it, baby,' I whispered encouragingly.
"Dutch moaned and increased the tempo of his pistoning. He was moving dangerously out of the channel now, leaving just the fat head of his cock in on the backward stroke, then plunging drastically to the root on his inward thrust. But it still seemed as though he had only half a hard on. A soft on, perhaps? Anyway, Dutch's mouth covered my own and I surrendered myself completely to his will. I caressed the scalp, rubbing the man's back and shoulder blades lovingly. I was conscious of the movement of Dutch's flanks as he squirmed, of the bristly pubic hair tickling at my buttocks, the large balls knocking against my spine.
"For almost ten minutes following my climax, I endured the continuing thrusting of my partner. Then Dutch's movements became more frenzied. I guess, the uncivilized male that lay beneath the surface of this man was now coming to the fore with the approach of his orgasm. His mouth moved over my face, teeth nipping my ears and nose as he made apelike yells and moans of passion. For a minute there, I thought I was with a zombi, but the sudden response made me realize that my gay partner was all male. I felt a brief moment of panic as the enormous, spongy cock suddenly lost its pliancy and became rock hard. My anus burned, but only for a few strokes. I would have cried out at that moment if it weren't for the fact that Dutch's mouth now covered my own, smothering the cry to a mumbled groan. I sucked desperately on the tongue, and my anal tract felt as though it might split, spilling out my guts. Then the instrument subsided slightly, returning to its former pliant texture. Could that have been it? I felt sure that I had felt small jets of semen. Did this hombre fire blanks. I doubted it. Either I couldn't hold it very long, or he was such a stud he could control his passion at will. Remembering the way Dutch had controlled me, I suspected the latter was true. Only time would tell... My inner muscles kept squeezing and nipping at the intruding monster. And then Dutch's aggressiveness disappeared as he melted against me. He kissed my face with hundreds of little smacks. I continued to rub my new buddy's back. I reached down as far as I could and rubbed the protrusion of spine. Farther down, and into the cleft of the hairy buttocks. The cushion of my fingertip touched the rim of Dutch's anus. I tickled it as I was kissed. My hand brushed over my own thigh and then tickled Dutch's left flank, moving underneath my own spinal area to grasp the big sac of testes. I squeezed gently, lovingly. The testicles were wet with fluid--a mixture of perspiration, lubricant, and semen. I let my fingers flit over the tautly stretched skin, delighting in their roundness and response to touch. They seemed to want to draw up and away from the source of the stimulation as though it were far too pleasant to take.
"Dutch's flaccid member continued to rest inside my anus. Dutch settled his weight down upon me, and I gloried in all of it. I let my legs come down slightly to rest across Dutch's big buttocks. He was heavy upon me, though he didn't look much larger than me. I could feel my anus gripping tightly. There was no danger of us becoming separated. The tightness of the sphincter had kept the penis from returning to its original shortness--though in Dutch's case, it was more a case of being less long. Could hardly call that hunk of meat short, ever. It was now limp, but stretched out inside my burning asshole.
"We lay there, talking for a while, savoring the quick memory of our heated exchange. Then we silenced the talk and drank in each other with our eyes, each content to lie quietly, united bodies mingling together. Our breath had finally returned to normal and my legs and buttocks no longer ached. I found that I could stretch my hard legs fully now, resting them atop the backs of Dutch's big thighs, and the cock still would not move.
"I did a lot of thinking. I liked the feeling of being submissive, of feeling Dutch's heavy weight upon me and knowing that I had brought so much satisfaction and pleasure to my partner. It was caveman sex. Not the soaring pleasure of deep love, but an entirely different thing. Just as much pleasure, but a different brand--maybe even greater, I rationalized. There was no big crash from the lofty spire--the disappointment I had felt before so often in my relationship with Tony. And the size of Dutch's cock! He could play King Kong with me any day. I didn't mind being Fay Wray. Not to a big stud animal like this.
"As we cuddled there in the silence of the dimly lit room, our warmth brought new life back to us. A surging feeling that seemed to rise between us like electric sparks. I felt the cock inside me begin to balloon outward and inward, inflating itself and pressing against the anal tissues around it as it forged out in its own motion. The cock telescoped back to its former position, the glans touching that indefinable spot somewhere deep inside me. My legs shot up and around the waist involuntarily and gripped tightly. Dutch took several tentative strokes, and I felt a wonderfully relaxing feeling in response to the strokes. Nice and easy. High and tight, and, once again, my own cock swelled up and slithered through its previous ejaculation. Dutch fell into the coital motion and the big penis moved about easier than it had the first time. I was feeling a joyous ecstasy. My hand groped around in the darkness of our shadows until it was squeezing at Dutch's mighty balls. Gently at first, then with increasingly stronger grasps, letting them slip through my kneading fingers, twisting them this way and that. The more I did it, the more excited Dutch became.
"Animals. Tearing at each other. Mouths grasping and sucking. Tongues battling. Teeth nipping. I squeezed and milked the huge nuts, tickling them lovingly, pulling them sharply. I ran my fingers up to the hairy crevice so they could investigate the anus. Then I got the idea to pull them down and around to my own ass so I could feel the shaft as it moved in and out. It seemed dilated beyond belief. I snapped my finger at the underside of the cock as it came out of the passageway to increase Dutch's stimulation. I could feel the slickness of the abundant semen which Dutch had deposited the first time and which was now oozing out on the shaft, making wet, sucking noises. I found that with a minimal exertion on my part I could reach up with my other hand to tickle Dutch's anus.
"Contorting. Grimacing. In the pleasure of being dominated. Dutch reacted to the wet fingertip wildly. He embraced me in a crushing grip and rotated his hips in a circular motion. He was making those little whimpering noises again. Impressive from a big man. He nuzzled me like a bear, and, all the while, I absorbed him through my pores. I could feel my orgasm beginning to build, but I knew that I could hold on longer the second time around... From my first experience with Dutch, I knew that I should try to hold on for as long as humanly possible. And he wouldn't be able to hold on nearly so long this time. He was letting himself go, forgetting his control... Let her rip. At that moment he was about to go. He yelled out his distress--a signal for me to climax. At first, I couldn't believe it, but when Dutch nodded, I saw that the tables had turned, that it was a new ball game. I knew that Dutch had liked me, felt relaxed enough with me to enjoy satisfaction. And he realized that there was power even in being dominated, that the passive partner, moving in unison with the aggressor, could exert his own level of control.
"Dutch relaxed for just a moment as his cock once again got rock hard. He was about to come, so I rubbed as tightly as I could against the warm belly, urging my own fluids up from my body. Suddenly, Dutch's body tensed and then gave out with a mighty lurch that burned into my insides and prompted sparks of joy throughout my body. But he was going to finish ahead of me this time. He was now realizing his passion, I guess, as he pumped in short strokes, each bringing a spurt of the abundant fluid. Coming this fast must have been a remarkable thing for him... But, I guess, it was a salute, a tribute to his feelings for me. His cock was spurting, but he continued to thrust, wanting to coax my sperm to the surface, I guess.
My arms and legs seemed to be full around him, squeezing the life from his massive body.
"Dutch panted, as though struggling in an attempt to stay hard long enough to give me pleasure. It was a turnabout for him, I suppose.
"Finally, I gripped him tightly. My seed once again spilled between our bellies, as I sobbed aloud. Dutch gripped me close to prolong my explosion. Closer and closer. And then I was smothered' into a sleep--a dead, black sleep where no memories painted ugly patterns on my mind."
Comments:
Through his relationship with Dutch, Ken was able to learn to what extent he was a passive individual, and the role that he could play with it. After finding this surprising power, he has gone on to other affairs, being somewhat fickle-- as opposed to his previous steady nature--a trait shared by many of his gay compatriots. He was extremely fortunate that he hadn't been picked up by the rougher members of the butch trade, judging from his negative reaction to pain, and lucky to find the nature of his deviation and to understand that passivity does not necessarily involve boots and chains.
CHAPTER SEVEN - INCEST AND SADISM
A study recently concluded by Dr. S. Kirson Weinberg, and brought forth in London and Caprio's Sexual Deviations, has disclosed that the incidence of incestuous activity (sexual relations between members of an immediate family) is inversely relative to the scale of income; the poor are more inclined to commit this, the most forbidden act in Western culture. Overcrowded living conditions forcing several members of the family to sleep in one room, a feeling of being left out of the mainstream of life, alcoholism and drug addiction, substandard moral development, all these are but a few of the reasons cited as contributing factors to incest. Dr. Weinberg also noted in his study that incest is more likely to occur in a home where the father is a strongly dominant figure, often a stern disciplinarian with a temperamental emotional makeup.
When a case worker uncovered the file of a girl who had recently been brought to her attention by the juvenile courts, she discovered on her hands a case that fit very well under the conditions described above.
Case History:
Janet was the youngest of six children, a "whoops" child, unplanned. The preceding child was six years her senior, and Janet certainly had been no blessing to a family that had been on and off the welfare rolls for most of its existence. Her father had left the Deep South, where his father had been a sharecropper, at the age of twenty and wound up in Detroit where he was able to fare somewhat better for a while.
Married and the father of six, Clem suffered a severe industrial injury in an explosion at the factory one day. Janet was only three. Although his back healed, he was unfit for heavy work from that time on and lived on workmen's compensation and, sometimes, the welfare rolls. At times, he took light part-time work, but his love for the bottle always cost him the job.
Meanwhile, Janet's mother tried to make the best of it, supporting the family by working the night shift in a laundry. The work was backbreaking and left little time for the children. If something went wrong, it was Clem who took care of the discipline, as Janet soon found out.
Being the youngest, and the prettiest, Janet had largely escaped the terrible wrath of her father; in fact, she had been about the only one ever to receive a pat on the head as encouragement. Yet her developing mind could not help but wonder why her father never belabored her with the strap as he frequently had her older brothers and sisters. In a way, she felt guilty somehow, left out, and unloved--the beginnings of a masochistic compulsion. She even tried to go out of her way to break the rules, hoping that she might incur the wrath of her father, but her actions went largely unnoticed.
All this changed when the last of her older sisters left home, leaving Janet, at fourteen, the only one at home. Her father seemed to pay more attention to her now that she was budding into young womanhood. He would often tease her when she returned from school, chiding her about wearing sweaters that were too tight. Janet shrugged off his comments, not realizing that her father had evil intentions.
"One day after school," Janet says, "I began teasing Father back, telling him that he should keep his thoughts to himself, that he was nothing but a dirty old invalid who couldn't cut the mustard anymore. Anger swept across his face for a brief second, then faded.
" 'You know something, Miss Smart-britches? I never laid a finger on you, and I can see that it was a mistake. It's high time that I do something about it!'
"- 'That won't teach me something, you old fart. Nobody can teach me nothing!' My heart was racing wildly at his threat, so I taunted him.
"I noticed that my father was only pretending anger with me, that his eyes were twinkling. Whenever one of my older brothers or sisters had received a strapping, his face filled with red rage, the veins popping out along his scrawny neck. I didn't really understand why I wanted to be punished, but to me it would have been a testimony of love.
" 'Know what I'm about to do, you little shit- ass? I'm gonna turn you over my knee and give you a good lickin'.'
" 'Think your tongue's long enough, you old codger you?' Actually, I'd never seen a codger, but I'd certainly heard enough about them to know that they were ugly.
" 'Not that kind of lickin'--this one will burn your hide. And if you don't watch it, I might give you the other kind.' His eyes twinkled again, betraying his real feelings, old codger that he was.
" 'I don't think you're man enough to do either one of them things. I just dare you to try!' I really hoped he backed up his words, all of them, even though I wasn't quite sure what he meant about the second thing.
" 'Come here then, you little yellow-belly, and take what you've got coming!'
"He was really surprised to see how meekly I submitted after my verbal outburst. But as I lowered my young body over his lap, I taunted him again--as if I didn't think he could hurt me. I guess he thought, so that's it. Snippity young bitch doesn't think that it can hurt her... She'll soon find out. He threw my woolen skirt up over my back and ripped down my panties. He gasped aloud, I guess at the sight of my lush young buttocks--he hadn't been aware just how mature I'd become.
"Furiously, he began to smack my jouncing backside with the palm of his large hand. He spanked fast and hard, and by the time a minute was up, my bottom must have turned a rosy hue. I kicked my legs, inadvertently exposing my shadowy cleft. He was breathing deeply. And yet, I didn't so much as cry out--this was really strange. He spanked harder, until my fanny was flaming red--I'd had over a hundred good smacks, but the most I did was moan a little. He paused to get his breath for a second.
" 'Whatsa matter, you old piece of dung, can't you hit any harder than that?'
"It really took him by surprise--I was really goading him along. I even seemed to like it. No-- or, maybe, yes--I don't think he was sure of anything, except the fact that he liked it. 'C'mon and get on with it. Spank me!'
"Now he was sure--I really did want it. He probably couldn't believe his good fortune. It was exciting him sexually--I knew it. He really laid it on this time, pounding away at my wriggling butt until it was puffy and angry red. I moaned deeply as I thrashed across his lap--this really felt good. The initial pain had turned to a deep glow. I was surprised to feel that my father liked it too. That had to be a hard on my thigh was bumping against--really surprising, as I had thought that men couldn't do those things after they were forty or so, and pop was well over fifty. That old codger!
"My butt was burning up, but it didn't compare to the flames that were igniting themselves inside my belly. With a final flurry of spanks, Father stopped his assault, breathing heavily over me, both from the exertion of the ordeal and from his rising lust, I guess. And I was really enjoying myself, too, squirming around on his lap. I guess he must've heard about womenfolk like this, but he never suspected it of his own daughter.
" 'Well, what about the second part?'
"He couldn't believe what he'd heard. I could see it. His little girl? 'You wouldn't have to lick me--whatever that is, but you could fuck me.'
" 'Where'd you learn about that sort of thing?' he demanded. I'm sure he couldn't believe this was happening.
" 'Brother Fess showed me. I've never really been fucked, but he told me about it, showed me how to get all gooey inside with my finger.'
" 'Why, if he was around, I'd tear him a new asshole.'
" 'Why don't you do it to me instead ?' I was really asking for it, and his cock beat hard against my leg. 'Yes, he had one of those big ice-cream sticks one day--from those dilly-bars we used to eat when we was little--stuck it right up my little old cunny-hole.'
"Father fumed, not knowing really what to say.
" 'And I'm sure it'd be alright with Fess if you went ahead and showed me how to do those big- people things. See--he told me that I was too little to fuck then. Said I'd have to wait a few years.'
" 'Well, in that case let's get on with it. Anything good enough for my boy is good enough for me,' he said. He stood me on my feet in front of him and told me to take off the rest of my clothes while he freed himself from his own garments. His cock throbbed upward when he gazed at me-- I saw his eyes take in the fuzz of my cunt, the budding tits with the brown centers, my hourglass hips.
" 'Now I'm gonna give you a real lickin',' he warned, and I moved against him. But he was turning me around to face away from him--I wasn't sure that this was the right side, not from what Fess had said. But I figured Daddy must know more about it than I did.
"Still seated, Father clamped my legs between his and grasped my hips as he pressed his face against the burning heat of my buttocks. He rubbed his stubbled cheeks against the silken warmth of them, ran his coarse tongue over the twin hillocks, buried his nose in the depths of my crack. He soothed the burning flesh with cool kisses as he pried the cleft apart with his thumbs. He raked at the curling hairs with his teeth, curling his tongue and poking it in my asshole. He reamed me for a couple of seconds, drawing cries of passion from me, then retreated, pulling his hands away to let the nether cheeks flap together.
"Nudging me with one hand, he prompted me to turn around so that he could get down to real business. Cupping his hands around the hot moons of my ass, he pulled my rounded belly close to his face. He planted the tip of his nose in my navel, pressing his lips against my lower abdomen for a moment, then pulled his head back away from me for a second while he surveyed the area he was about to assault. Urging me to spread my legs apart a little more, he lunged down at the furry box. Spreading the lips with one hand, bracing himself with the other on my hip, he flicked his tongue into the depths, tasting the goo that drizzled from the contracting, tight vagina. He forced his rigid tongue into the hole, probed it around in the wet, virginal depths, drawing cries of pleasure from me. But as suddenly as he had entered, his tongue retreated, ran up to the top in search of the tiny pink button. As his tongue first brushed the sensitized clitoris, I jumped and tensed my buttock muscles.
" 'Oh, Daddy, that feels sooo goooood!'
"He just mumbled in reply, busying himself at flipping the small clit with his tongue and mouth. Then I reached down and grasped his long, knotted cock with one of my hands. I began pulling it in awkward, inexperienced jerks, but it still caused the tool to throb and spit. Being so unused to all this attention, I mounted up to an orgasm quickly, my walls giving way before I realized what had happened. The sharpness of the clitoral orgasm made me lurch backward, begging for a rest. But the rest was not very long, because my father had a very long thing that needed satisfying. He walked me over to the couch and lowered me down on my back. He patiently explained to me just what to do, as he gingerly rested his body atop mine. Massaging my hardened young breasts with one hand, he guided his slender red snake up to the opening of my cunt. He rubbed the head around in the slosh for lubrication, then began to push against the resisting hole. Telling me to raise up my legs and clamp them around his back so that the folds would give more easily, he pushed his feet against the armrest and gave a mighty shove.
"I screamed as the tool pierced through my virginal walls, then grew accustomed to the intruder as the walls fitted to its thickness and length. I bucked my hips up tight to my father's loins and locked my hands around his skinny back. Starting with short strokes, so that I could adjust to him, I guess, he began to slide his prick in and out of my young box that fit like a glove. His buttocks arched in the air as he drew out farther, then convulsed as he pivoted on his hip hinges and fell into the depths of his last-born.
" 'Oh, Daddy, take me now. Take me clear to hillbilly heaven.' And Father tried as best he could to take me where I wanted to go, although I'm sure that wasn't exactly the destination he had in mind. But I went where I wanted, 'cause he was supplying the rocket ship, just as I was taking him away. I felt the hotness in his nuts explode as he pumped, full-shaft, into my folds, felt the hot rocks bubble out into me. The sudden upsurge, brought about my orgasm, and I gave way to its violence."
For the next year and a half, father and daughter continued their forbidden experimentations while Clem's wife was away at work. The sexual sessions were almost invariably preceded by a hot bout of spanking, which never failed to arouse both participants. By the time she was sixteen, Janet had swelled out to a scrumptious figure of womanhood and was as knowledgeable about the byways of sex as her father.
All this came to a tragic, but predictable, end one night when Janet's mother came home from work and found the two asleep on the couch together, nude and entwined in each other's arms. They had both consumed a large amount of whiskey before partaking in their nightly ritual and had passed out from the exertion of their love- making. Awakened by the slapping hand of her near-hysterical mother, Janet blurted out a confession in her confusion, while her father cowered on the couch. What had started out as simple family discipline, had ended in bizarre sexual excess.
Comments:
In Janet's case, it was more a situation of daughter seducing father than the usual case, although Clem was by no means a reluctant participant. Charges of contributing to the delinquency of a minor were brought against the hapless man, but were later dropped, providing he accept treatment, which he did.
For Janet, who teased her father into the seduction, the climb back to a more normal relationship with her world will be a long one. Masochistic fixations such as hers do not develop overnight, and often take an even longer time to redirect. However, due to her youthful age, time and patience may help her to adapt to a more acceptable pattern of behavior.
CHAPTER EIGHT - THE FETISHIST
Sadomasochism by definition is primarily a fetishistic phenomenon which depends upon the interpretations and rationalizations of the mind rather than upon the stimulus-reflex responses of the body. According to noted psychologist Rollo May we are in danger of developing into a schizoid society unless we try and find some way of returning to our bodies. Institutes such as the one at Esalen in California's Big Sur are attempting to stress the need to relate to one's body in a healthier way. But it isn't easy in this society of rapid change.
Our Everyman U.S.A. has become less identified with his own bodily image, confused by the multitudes of nameless faces around him, insulted by the persistent electromedia impulses, and driven to seek refuge from his inept body in the shelter of his mind. He tends to disassociate from the thousands of bodies around him due to the paranoid fear that they will bring harm to him. To combat the masses he retreats into a world of his own making, an ideal world where everything operates at his whim. His sexual encounters tend to be little more than onanistic backslaps to his ego, fetishistic in nature. He may counter any lack of sexual muscle by rationalizing it to his ego, boasting of his conquest to pump the ego full of energy for his next haphazard nonconfrontation with flesh. Anyone who had listened to the philandering filiations of our Mr. Man will attest that his ego's imagination knows no bounds.
But the egoists will counter this by saying that the mind is the primary erogenous zone, that the only way to react to a neurotic world is to be neurotic. Unfortunately, they have a point there.
Fetishism means the association, through the processes of the mind, of sexual gratification with an inanimate or nonsexual object or action. A person who likes to whip someone is acting out a fetishistic role. Fetishism does not necessarily always imply sadomasochism, however, as evidenced by garment fetishists such as those attracted to women's panties or shoes. For the purposes of differentiation, in this work a case will be studied involving extreme fetishism, concerning more than just simple sadomasochistic fetishism of action as it also includes object fetishism.
Case History:
"Dear Sirs: "My wife is in the corner as of this writing, her wrists painfully tied behind her back through the special armholders at the back of her leather corset. The only way it will work, is with the hands touching the elbows of the opposite arm, not the usual hand-to-hand apparatus. This forces her arms much higher than normal, causing excruciating pain in her arm sockets. The leather corset is laced in, constricting her waist to nineteen inches. Since I married Wilma, she's lost over four inches around her waist. This affair also constricts her breasts terribly, mashing them inside the hot confines of the leather.
"Today, I haven't fit on her face mask--actually there are several... My favorite is the one that encloses her entire face except for the mouth opening. Into the mouth opening is built a metal bit that forces her mouth open so that I may use it whenever I want to satisfy my lust in that manner.
"The large steamer trunk in our special basement--we call it the dungeon--is filled with hundreds of items for either binding Wilma or beating her. The basement itself contains many implements of torture--many of them of my own design, others merely replicas of various artifacts used for the purpose of punishment in days gone by--such as the stocks, the rack, the whipping stool.
"Presently, we shall be going down there to complete my slave's humiliation. I plan to test out a little device I picked up recently. Pincer rings that can be attached to the vaginal folds, or breasts... Very interesting!
"At present, I can see that my wife is about to swoon over in the corner, and, as I don't want her to miss the best part of her humiliation, I shall have to retire to the dungeon with her. You see, she is being made to kneel upon a mat that is covered with tiny pebbles--very painful on the shins. But being bound as she is inside her corset, there is very little she can do about her predicament. She is quite naked aside from the corset, with the exception of the punishment collar of course, which she constantly wears. It fits quite snugly around her neck, and the tiny metal protrusions sewn inside the collar make it difficult for her to move her head comfortably. There is a small ring on the outside where I can attach a chain if I so desire--either for the purpose of leading her around, or for fastening her in a stationary pose to detain her.
"Of course, there is plenty of equipment at my disposal that can be used on her lower body-- the boots, too small, of course; the chastity belts; the bands that can be used as tourniquets to cut off circulation. But today, I'm of a different disposition. I want her legs and backside to be bare-- first so that she can feel the pain of the pebbles under her shins, and second so that her thighs and buttocks can feel the sting of my crop once we get downstairs. I shall continue this discussion, filling you in on the details of our punishment session after I return...
"It was quite a successful little experiment. But I regret to say that the suggestion of Harold A.-- the one about the pincer rings--didn't work out. I'll have to have them reforged as they didn't seem to apply enough pressure. I'll give you an idea that works about as well, but unfortunately doesn't have the appeal of the rings as far as aesthetics go. Accomplishes the purpose quite handily however. Use a paper clasp--not a paper clip, but the clasps with the spring hinges. If I'm still unclear, what I mean is the metal clasps similar to those found on clipboards. When you pull them open and let them go, you can see what a tremendous snap they have. Now imagine the same thing, only it isn't attached to a notebook. They're very nice when your wife's nipples are between the jaws of it. Believe me, judging from Wilma's screams and from the discoloration of her breasts, you can only do it several times, or leave them fastened to the breasts, applying a steady pressure to them and reminding the subject of the intensity of the ritual.
"The first thing I did with Wilma on this occasion was not so drastic, yet quite painful to her. She had to be revived with a cold washcloth after her ordeal on the pebbles, but I finally got her to stumble downstairs. The next thing she knew, she forgot all about the pain in her shins. Leaving her corset in place, her arms helpless behind her back, I made her straddle a little device of my own invention, which consists of two parallel bars about as high as a woman's crotch-- Wilma's to be exact. They are several feet long and fit through slots in two brick structures. I fasten her ankles to the ropes that come up from two metal pegs in the floor. They stretch her legs out taut, and prevent her from kicking them about or touching the floor. Thus, all her weight is on her buttocks and inner thighs, resting heavily on the two slats. With a device at the end of the slats, I can move them about, up and down and sideways. This really gives Wilma a wild ride. Since she can't move very far, either horizontally or vertically, the rods slam up and slap her thighs and buttocks. But the thing I like best is when I slam the rods together, pinching the lips of her cunt. After giving her a five or six minute ride, I let her rest for a second. By this time, tears are streaming down her pretty cheeks, her entire body racked with convulsive sobs.
"Before cutting her down from her position, I took a thin piece of flexible metal that I fashioned from a television antenna and flicked it up hard between her thighs. I usually am able to catch her clit a couple of times; when I do, she screams.
"After amusing myself with such minor pleasures I decided the time had come to indulge myself in a final act of wonderful depravity. I dragged my helpless wife over to the stocks and fastened her ankles in the metal rings on the floor behind them. The rings force her legs wide apart so that, once she is bending through the stocks, her entire sex is exposed. Before putting her through the stocks, however, there was the matter of the corset--it had to be removed, naturally, in order that her hands could be fitted through the proper holes. This is the transfer part of our little game from a state of bondage that is portable to one which is stationary. I call this moment, 'stocks and bonds.'
"Once I unlaced the corset, my wife's arms hung limply at her sides. She couldn't even unbend her elbows at first, and I had to tug on her arms to pull her through the stocks. Once she was bending down with her head and arms in the proper slots, I pulled down the top of the stocks and locked her in position. She was completely helpless, her buttocks high in the air, her legs and body bent at a ninety-degree angle.
"I picked up my supple riding quirt and drank in the sight of my shackled victim. Her back bore the recent deep impressions of the corset--you could even see several red diamond-shaped ridges where the laces had cut into her skin. It contrasted nicely with her pure white backside that held only the slightest traces of bruises from a previous flagellation from my thin whalebone cane.
"Standing by her side, I raised my arm high and brought the whip slashing down across the broad expanse of her plump hemispheres. A splendid red line was etched there when I withdrew the whip, climaxed by a round welt where the tip had planted its painful kiss. I brought it zipping down again across the lower part of her buttocks, and she yelped as another line appeared. Slowly and methodically, I continued her castigation, allowing a full twenty or twenty-five seconds between each cut. By the time I had laid thirty stripes on with the flexible whip, Wilma was rotating her hips around in a wild attempt to free herself; but this, of course, was completely impossible. Her cries had diminished to insane moans and her sex was twitching and winking at me. Her buttocks were now swollen and streaked, a brilliant red hue engulfing them. Several more cuts, and I opened a small wound on her right flank; the tiny trickle of blood coursed a zigzag pattern down her leg and caused my cock to swell with anticipation.
"I concluded her punishment by flicking the tip of the crop against her pussy. It shuddered violently and she let out a long groan of passion. Throwing the crop to the floor, I quickly unzipped my pants--my long penis leaped out red and ready.
"Placing my hands on her warm hips, I shoved myself against Wilma, my cocktip pressed against her bumhole. I knew my wife would rather be buggered than have her pussy done--which really had nothing to do with the reason for my selection. It was just that I happened to be feeling that way that's all.
"It took considerable effort, but soon my cock had pierced past her sphincter and was burrowing its way through the sticky substance of her arsehole. The tissues of her tacky tract burned against my thrusting rod and filled me with rampant desire. Finally, I was buried to the hilt and began a slow rocking motion, drawing it in and out slowly as it rended the compromised flesh. Soon, her arse tissues adjusted to the intrusion and I was able to push and pull with greater length. It was only a matter of moments before I felt my come being squeezed from my insides, draining my juices from me. Pulling my shit- and blood-covered cock from her arsehole, I proceeded around to the front of the stocks and presented my half-flaccid member to her. She knew what to do. She took it into her mouth and lovingly cleaned away the waste until it was as slick and clean as a pennywhistle.
"Leaving her in her bondage, I have returned to finish my correspondence with you. My wife and I eagerly await your next issue, and hope that you can print more pictures in the future. Now I must return to my wife... I wonder what I'll dream up for her this time ? Ah, well, I'm sure it will be fitting to her behavior and bound to please us both.
Sincerely, Fred S."
Comments:
The above case history was taken from a letter published in a Canadian periodical that specializes in the more bizarre aspects of corporal punishment. In each publication several letters from readers are published that are typical of devotees of bondage, flagellation, fetishism, etc. It is difficult to comment upon Fred's personality, as he is not available to us, but I'm sure that he could fill several volumes of a psychologist's casebook. Yet, many letters are even more bizarre than Fred's.
CHAPTER NINE - MALES BY MAIL
During the past decade, state and federal court rulings have allowed the underground mail clubs to move into more direct forms of advertising, the pen-pal and lonely-heart innuendos giving way to "meat me in St. Louie" and "have boots and whips--will travel." However, the Post Office is quite unhappy about the flood of flesh- for-sale in the pouches of their marsupialmen and are grumbling for new, more clearly defined legislation. And yet, there is no slack in sight for the growing popularity of "the sport." Mailorder clubs that specialize in sex are estimated to have quadrupled in the past five years alone.
Ads in these club magazines and underground newspapers are placed by people who want to meet others of their liking. Whether it's to swap photos, arrange group gatherings, or to get together for special sexual interests, thousands place the ads in hopes of reply. For instance, the following is an advertisement placed by a dominant damsel, looking for masochistic males who are willing to pay for her services:
* * *
NYC--Demanding English Governess seeks docile males everywhere who will cater to her whims. Has complete line of equipment at her disposal for those who can afford to be generous. Box No. 5663.
* * *
In preparing the material for this volume the author came across a married man in his midthirties who had met his wife indirectly through the use of these sex clubs. In an interview with the author, he explained some of his experiences during the eight years he had practiced sex by mail.
Case History:
HHW. How long have you been involved in these so-called correspondence clubs?
BART. For eight years now, but since I've gotten married I've kind of tapered off.
HHW. What was it? Your wife have some objections?
BART. No, to the contrary. We're still swinging--it's just that we've already established a pretty full circle.
HHW. What was it that motivated you to join these clubs in the first place?
BART. I was horny. Actually, being that I like to- dominate girls, I was kind of sick going through all the things you have to do--all the trouble of checking out a girl to see her possibilities, to see how far you could get later on. I mean, you can go through all the special graces with a girl and everything--wine her and dine her and set her up for the score, and make it with her. But that sort of approach, the subtle seduction, only works for straight chicks that want straight sex. You can easily go up and ask her to ball you, but it's not too cool to walk up and ask her if she'd like a black eye.
HHW. Is that what you like to do with girls?
BART. What's that?
BART. Give them black eyes?
BART. Oh, no. Not unless they really want that. I just meant that as a figure of speech. I only dig to spank girls and stuff like that. I don't get into the really violent stuff the way a lot of people do. You know, whipping a person with a bullwhip that might cut open the skin or something like that... But, to get back to what I was saying, it's not that easy to feel out a broad to see if she's game to fuck, let alone to check her out for being a masochist. And even if she is a masochist, most of the time she won't admit it. You might try and con yourself into thinking that some broad you're going out with is a masochist from the way she's acting, but you get down to the bare facts and you find that she's the kind that doesn't like physical pain. Lots of chicks like that, but they either aren't aware of their sexuality or they like to be dominated in other ways that don't involve pain.
HHW. So how did you get started?
BART. With my first girl.
HHW. And--?
BART. Well, then there was the second--and then the third, but I don't remember exactly if that was the correct order.
HHW. No, no. I mean how did you go about it.
BART. I got hold of some of those correspondence club bulletins. I sort of had to debate with myself for a while--whether I should give it a try or not. Then I figured a compromise. I wouldn't advertise myself--not until I checked it out first. You could write to the girls who advertised. Weren't too many girls that advertised themselves as being submissive in those days. Lots of dominating women, most of them charging money, since there's a lot of wimpy guys around. Not too many girls though. The next problem was finding a girl in my area, since I couldn't travel too far on my income back then.
HHW. Where were you living?
BART. Provo, Utah.
HHW. Not too many masochists in Provo.
BART. Not many. Lots of strange sea gulls, but I didn't go in for that shit. I moved right after that, here to the East Coast.
HHW. I don't know how to tell you this--but this is the West Coast.
BART. You're kidding. They oughta put up a sign or something--let us know. But most of the action in those days was in the big cities--still is for that matter, like here in Los York, or New Angeles, or whatever the fuck we are.
HHW. Provo.
BART. Anyway, even after I got here there was a problem--most of the advertisers in those days were married couples and they only wanted to swing with other married couples. It was really narrowed down. Like most of the advertisers just wanted to swap--straight sex. Then there were all the deviations--gay activity is very big. By the time you narrowed the field down to the masochistic chicks you were trying to find, there were only five or six names in the whole publication, and maybe only a couple of them anywhere near your home.
HHW. So what'd you do?
BART. Fortunately, I was able to land a job where I traveled a lot, expense account. That way, I could correspond with someone and set up a date for when I'd be in town. I also solved the problem of the no-singles rule, by teaming up with this old girl friend of mine who'd moved here from Provo a few years back. This gay chick.
HHW. Were you the one responsible for her going to lesbianism?
BART. No, she had a very bad incident with a sea gull. She was really bi, but she dug chicks more. But this way, we could at least get in the door. We ran into some problems there though. Some of the guys turned out to be gay and wanted me to make it with them. Didn't go for that shit just one bit. Rather make it with a sea gull. The groups have really enlarged today. We don't even do much swinging with the out-of-towners anymore. Belong to a real nice club here. One of the girls I'd met through an ad clued me in on it, and that's how I eventually met my wife. But some of those freaks I ran into in the old days--I could write a book... Anyway, one of the problems was the disappointment of seeing some of the broads. Even the ones that ran a picture with their ads could turn out real bad. Like maybe the picture was taken ten years ago, or it wasn't even a picture of them. Now some of them turned out to be okay, but a lot of them were pigs. One of them I met was such a pig. I just looked at her, then said, 'Why, you're a pig!' She says, 'oink,' and I get outa there real quicklike.
One of the best ones was this dame back in Boston. Said she needed a daddy who could treat her mean in the letters she wrote me. From the picture, I could see that she was a doll, a real doll. I was just hoping she'd look half as good in person. Man, did she ever. When she met me at her apartment door, my eyes went goo-goo. Tall, very tall, blonde chick. All dressed up in high- heeled pumps, sharp dress, nylon--first class. We had a couple of drinks and I was real impressed with how feminine she was. Could see that she knew how to be a woman, knew that she'd be real nice and submissive.
Came time for us to get into the action. I was gonna give her a nice little spanking to start things off. The dame slips off her dress and bends over a big chair. She asked me if it was okay to keep her panties on, her back turned to me. Well, I usually like to give it to a girl's bare ass, but this chick looked so good in those see-through black nylon panties that I decided to go along with it. I stand up close to them nice smooth cheeks and take a swat or two with the paddle she's given me. I noticed then that her hips seemed to be a little on the thin side, but I don't give it too much thought. But they were definitely not rounded, flared. Wish I would've stopped then, but I kept slamming away at that nice ass, turning it all red and getting a big old hard on. I finally figured she'd had enough and tossed the board down, figured it was time to feed my cock.
I slapped her on the backside with my open palm and told her to go lie down on the couch, pull off her panties, and spread her legs. I bound over after her, watching her slide those panties down her legs, showing me that red fanny. Then she turns around, and--Christ--it's a he! I should've known--those hips, the way he'd kept his legs squeezed together. That motherfucking little twerp! Trying to run a TV gag on me. Fucking little fairy! There was only one thing to do...
HHW. What was that?
BART. I gave him a black eye. Didn't help the whole thing at all. He thought I was showing him some more affection. He--she, whatever it was, falls down and grabs onto my leg and begs for more. So I Hick him and spit on him, until I realize that the little creep likes it. Then I get outa there real quick, believe me.
HHW. Isn't that illegal?
BAR. No, an ill sea gull. But that was back in Provo.
HHW. No, I mean advertising as a girl when you're a boy. False advertising?
BART. False tits at least. I think it's illegal, but who's gonna complain? That's like telling the cops that your partner didn't give you your share of the loot you got from robbing the bank. I've run into a lot of weird ones, I'll tell you. There was this chick who had me clap a pair of cymbals together with her tit in the middle. Same broad that, when it's all over, wants me to take a dump in her mouth. Wants me to sit on her face and take a dump right in her mouth. I tried, but I couldn't even work up a decent fart. I just don't go in for that sort of scene.
HHW. Did you ever get into any situations you enjoyed?
BAR. Oh, sure, lots of them. Probably my favorite was Edie. She's this brunette up in Oakland. Really a hot little number. Her letter stated that she only went in for mild discipline, only once in a while. Like that wasn't her whole bag. But she did like to be forced to do things.
Like, for instance--that first time, after I'd spanked her and fucked her outa this world--I decided that I could use a blow job. So I tell her to get down there quick, but she shakes her head no. So I go over to where she's sitting and backhand her across the face. Her eyes light up real nice and bright--she dug it. But she calls me a bunch of names, telling me that she doesn't want to do it. Well, from the way she's going about it, I know that she really wants to do it. It's just that she wants to make this big game out of the whole thing, trying to get me to force her to do it.
Well, I just grab a handful of that long hair of hers and pull her down to the floor in front of me. I twist a lock of it in my hand and slap her across the face a couple of times. Christ, that hair-pulling must've hurt like the dickens, but she gets this dreamy look in her eyes and pops my tool in her mouth. That pain must've done something to her from the way she polished off my tool. She just pumps her head up and down my shaft, kissing it with her lips, and swirling her tongue around it. And can she ever suck-- had real good lung power. Her teeth nip at it a little bit as she keeps working her jaws around my tool real good. Me--I've still got one hand clutching at her hair, giving a little tug once in a while and making the scalp pop up around the roots. I wasn't able to hold back my come very long--she just sucked me dry. Did it so good that my knees got weak and I fell on top of her... Speaking about some of the things Edie and I did... I went back up there several times, and she came down here some, too. But one day, hot summer afternoon, we'd finished eating. Had watermelon for dessert. Edie starts asking me if I'd ever fucked a watermelon--tells me that she read in some book about a guy doing it to one. I tell her that I've heard some dirty jokes about it, but that I'd never really taken it seriously. Never found anything very stimulating about them.
And here's this big watermelon that we were going to have for dessert sitting on the table. Edie dares me to do it. Just to egg me on, she takes a knife and cuts a hole in it--just about the size of my cock--even bores out some of the inside so I'll have some room. I contemplate the watermelon, unzipping my pants. Nothing. Just can't seem to get it worked up. The watermelon didn't do nothing for me. Maybe that's it, the problem with watermelons--they don't do anything. How can they expect you to do anything to them, if they don't do something to you? But anyway, here I am trying to get worked up about fucking this watermelon that isn't doing a thing for me.
Then Edie gets an idea. She goes around behind me and kneels down. I'm standing up now, the watermelon resting on the edge of the table in eager anticipation of my next move--or whatever watermelons do to get worked up. Suddenly I feel my ass cheeks being separated and feel a warm moistness at my asshole. Edie's going to do my asshole with her tongue. While she reams me, she cups my balls in her hand and starts massaging them real nice and gentle. Edie must've done a few assholes in her time--she didn't act like an amateur or anything like that. Little spits of air, the tongue curling inside--the whole pro job... Isn't too long before my cock is starting to get hard. There's this nice aching in my nuts from Edie's hand, and the tongue probing my asshole is having its results, too. To make it a little better, Edie tugs at my pubic hairs every once in a while. By this time, my cock is fully erect, throbbing with every heartbeat.
Now, I contemplate the watermelon, tipping it slightly to adjust to the angle of my cock. I try to look at it eye-to-eye, but this is ridiculous since they don't have any. Got to find a way to communicate with this thing. Hard to do when something won't meet you in the eye... I finally decide the best thing to do is try not to think about it--the watermelon that is. I just concentrate on enjoying the pleasure Edie is giving me from behind. I grasp the watermelon with both hands, and press my cock to the hole. Now I push hard, and am surprised how easy it is to slip inside--once you get past the rind it's pretty soft and mushy. I begin rocking in and out, controlled from going too far in when my cock root hits the outside of the melon. At least I can get along with this kind of fruit. What with Edie's frantic hands and tongue working me back there, I soon come hard inside the melon... Some time later there was this other thing we got into concerning food. The funny thing about this one was that there were two other couples... I mean they were swingers, so everything was okay as far as that whole thing's concerned. It's just that it took place in the middle of dinner--way before we were going to get into anything.
Edie was in the kitchen preparing dessert. I'd just cleared the table and was taking the last of the dishes into the kitchen when I noticed that she was putting the strawberries into a bowl. Somehow, our eyes met and we got into one of those animal flash things that we'd do once in a while. Well, it only started out to be a couple of quick kisses, but then, before I knew what was happening, we were rubbing tight against each other and really making out. I realized the situation--the people being right there in the dining room--but Edie didn't seem to care at that juncture. She just kept rubbing up against me until I had a hard on that wouldn't quit.
Edie pulled away, that wide crazy grin she got when she was hot all over her face, and reached down to undo my zipper. I just stood there in a trance, Edie grabbing my cock tightly. She reached over and got the bowl with the strawberries in it and dipped my cock into the puree. Once my cock was well marinated, she knelt down and started polishing it off. Must have been the sweetest head she ever gave in her life. I looked out of the corner of my eye, and there were our friends standing in the doorway, eyes gaping at what they saw. Needless to say, it was a long time before any of us had our strawberry shortcake that night.
HHW. What about your wife?
BART. What about her?
HHW. How did you meet her?
BART. Like I said before, I met her through this other girl who I used to swing with. Said that she'd swung with her before, but that the chick was basically straight. Said she went in for a little mild s-m, so she fixed me up with her. It was kind of like going clear back to high school taking out Jan. For some reason or another, we instantly had this thing going between us and we both started acting like two school kids in love. I don't think I even took her to bed until the fourth or fifth time. I guess it was a nice change for both of us. Even though I'd been swinging to get away from all the phony bullshit in a seduction, I guess there were parts of it I missed. Besides, in the back of my mind, I remembered what her friend had told me, so I knew she went for the same sex stuff that I did. Dating and seduction is really fun when you're out with a girl you really think a lot of.
So the first few dates, we just went to movies, to the zoo... Anyway, the night finally came when Jan and I got together. She's really the one that brought it about. She was going to cook me a meal that night, but she got distracted about the time somehow and the roast got burned to a crisp. She practically had tears in her eyes when she met me at the door. Pouting like a sad little girl. And then she comes on with this line about being a bad girl, that she had messed up our dinner, and how she thought she should be punished. So I caught on to the act, remembering what the girl said about her liking s-m and also knowing how that's the main reason I was interested in her in the first place. I decided, since I wasn't going to be able to eat anyway, to proceed with the main act.
I made her go over and stand in the corner for a while, just to check out how she'd react to orders. She cast her eyes down to her toes, pouted out her lower lip, and did as I told her. I sat there reading the evening paper for about an hour or so I guess, while Jan stood in the corner. Finally, I heard her meek voice from the corner. 'Daddy, can't you punish me the regular way?' Daddy-- what's this? And I've got no idea what the regular way is, though I've got a hunch. So I ask her what she means by the regular way, and she blurts out that she means for me to take her over my lap and give her a spanking.
That's what I've been waiting for, though I never had any idea that she'd be the one to initiate everything this way. I told her if she thought that was what she deserved then she better get over here right away. She stands before me, her head bowed, hands clasped in front of her, looking every bit the part of a naughty five-year-old about to be punished by her father. Just the thought of it, the very image of her standing there like that, was enough for my dick to swell up and throb inside my pants.
Then Jan raised her dress and held it above her waist. As I stared at the nice triangle that showed through her skimpy yellow bikini panties I got the idea that she wanted me to lower them, so I reached out and tugged them down to her knees, marveling at the smoothness of her young thighs and belly.
I told her to lower herself across my knees and warned her that she was going to get everything she deserved, warming to my role of a stern parent. She complied, laying her body across my left thigh and extending her upper torso along the couch, while I pinned my right leg over the backs of her thighs to clamp her into position. I began to lecture her as I ran my hands over the soft white globes to test the firmness of her behind. She had a nice springy skin and a wonderful pear-shaped ass. I could see that it was covered with goose pimples in anticipation of the spanking.
From the start she played the role well. With the first swat of my hand, she began squirming around and promising to be a good little girl in the future. But I wasn't going to let her off easy. I pinned her struggling hands with my left hand and clamped them to her back as my right hand bounced off her jiggling butt. Once her bottom had taken on a nice red sheen, I began to lecture her with each smack. Jan responded with more promises of good behavior, sobbing and gulping from the pain. After about fifty well-placed smacks, I relented, not wanting to beat her to death the first time. I held her across my lap for several minutes, stroking and patting the pain from her blazing cheeks, while she continued to cry. Finally, I unclamped my right leg and bent down to kiss each warm cheek. It was time for better things.
Telling Jan to stand between my thighs once again, I had her strip off the rest of her clothing, while I pulled open my trousers to give my rising cock more room. Her cheeks were flushed, tear- stains coursing down them, her lip still stuck out in a pout. I resolved to do something to erase that facial expression as I ran my eyes over the contours of her body. She had an almost boyish figure, very petite. Her breasts were small but well-formed and tipped by two tiny rosebuds. Her legs were short, but well turned, flaring up to her lean hips and prominent pelvis.
I could stand it no more. I grabbed her by the butt, causing her to wince slightly, and brought my face down to that delectable cunt of hers. My nose breathed deeply through the golden pubic hairs as it sniffed out the target of my desires.
Finding the tiny button, I spread open the folds of her pink nest and ran my tongue out gently to touch it. I steadied my grip on Jan's hips, and began to take the clit between my lips so that I could flick my tongue all over its nut-shaped goodness. Sucking, blowing, and licking, I soon brought her to a violent clitoral orgasm that filled my mouth with wonderful juices--most of them probably my own saliva.
Now it was time to take care of Daddy. I lowered her sweet body to the couch and laid her out. I fondled her body for a moment, sitting on the couch beside her, marveling at the way her tiny breasts erected. Her nipples really got nice and stiff as I pinched them gently between my thumb and forefinger. Leaning down to kiss her lips, I noticed that I had erased all traces of her pout. Our tongues dueled madly, flicking out between our teeth to curl over the roofs of our mouths, to push at each other's tongue, to suck and lash. Now I shifted myself into position above her and eased my weight down upon her leanness, half afraid that I'd crush her. But that was the last thing I did--she took it well, arching her body to meet mine, spreading her legs and hooking them up over the backs of my thighs as I pressed the head of my dick against her hole. That pussy must've had teeth--it grabbed at my cock and seemed to swallow it right up, making it unnecessary for me to thrust very hard. Next thing I know, I'm halfway inside her and I haven't even started to move my hips. But that's because she had pivoted her hips, taken me in, and was milking away at my bone with that soft hot cunny of hers.
I reapplied my mouth to hers and began sucking, while my hands trailed up and down her lean sides, stopping only to flick at her neck, her hair, or to pinch the flattened flesh of her buttocks. I began to drive in short strokes, timing my pelvic action with hers, meeting her onslaught with my own power.
We fucked at each other for several long minutes, her arms clutching at my back, her legs squeezing my kidneys. This broad sure as hell loved to root. Our sweat lubricated our mingling skin, her tongue moistened my throat, our juices eased the channel of her love. Now I was going full steam, ramming her with every inch I had. She met me, stroke for stroke, making little cries that were muffled by my mouth. Soon I realized that the time was very near, knew that I couldn't hold back the tide of my rising lust very much longer. And then I felt that unmistakable hot flood inside her vagina, signaling that she'd made it, had been delivered, and it triggered my own orgasm--spurting out in regular intervals until I was completely drained.
Jan and I grew closer during the next few months, teaming up as partners for the parties my friends threw. With this little doll as my playmate, I suddenly found that I was being invited to a hell of a lot more parties than I used to, but when I figured the way she could root, plus the fact that she was such a cute little devil, it was no wonder. We finally decided to make it a permanent arrangement, and it's been that way for the last five years. We don't go nearly to as many parties as before--we're pretty content with each other--but once in a while it's nice to get out with others and get the party on. Kind of makes a nice change of pace to see someone else's butt over my lap as it turns bright red, good to have a different mouth polish off my tool once in a while. Variety. Makes us appreciate each other that much more when we're back together again. Also, Jan's got a taste for women every now and again, so this gives her a chance to do that.
HHW. Do you ever travel to get together with couples ?
BART. Not often. Only if the people are recommended to us by some people we trust. It just depends on the situation.
Comments:
From the overreaction to the transvestite, it appears that Bart, like Ramon, the dance instructor, is trying to play down fears of latent homosexuality.
CHAPTER TEN - HEAD TRIPS
In a very conservative estimate last November, President Richard Nixon stated that about one- third of the college students in this country have smoked marihuana. Even some little old ladies in tennis shoes have tried to keep up with the changing times by smoking pot.
Pointing out that legislation for easier penalties concerning marihuana may be forthcoming, the President called for a crackdown on the heavier drugs, such as heroin, methedrine and even LSD. It seems that the original hippie trip of peace, love, and flowers has gone astray. The more violent elements of our society began dropping out and it soon became apparent that they'd brought their jackboots along. One observer of the scene is a disillusioned hippie named Van. He began turning on several years ago, but now reports that violence has become a commodity among some of the new arrivals and finds that he himself is vulnerable to it.
Case History:
"Man, I just wasn't ready for all this that has gone down the past year or so. Like when the whole thing started, we were all grooving, loving each other as brother and sister, and getting it on. But now I see that the potential for violence can still be tapped, even if you've tripped acid hundreds of times and had a mellow trip.
"Dig--I've had lots of really groovy experiences with some really far-out people. Good people. And, back then, not one of them wanted any kind of heavy scene as far as violence is concerned. But when you deal with the ego--have the world forced back down your throat--you need an Outlet. Like there wasn't anything around to hate once you really looked at things through acid, checked into your own head. But I guess it became a collective-hate thing, like the spades have had going for years. You become a freak to society--it's always trying to put you down. So, since there's no hate among us--at least we don't think so--you refocus and rechannel your hate toward another object. The object becomes the straight world, the establishment, the pigs, right? The SDS, the Panthers, and all of that. So violence has crept in. Only it was there all along. You just fool yourself and think it isn't there because you have some really groovy friends, but it comes to the surface as soon as you find a scapegoat for your own inner feelings. That's where it's got to be at, man. These things are only in people's heads. 'And you justify it by saying that the other guy's a bad dude, same way as the right-wingers justify killing the Cong. It all comes around full circle.
"I really can see where hate sneaks up on you, since it happened to me. I just didn't realize my head was in that kind of place at the time, and it was really a bummer.
"As an example, I'll fill you in on how it was back a few years ago with chicks--what my trip was--then lay a heavy rap on you about something I just didn't believe, man. I didn't think it could happen to me--this thing that finally freaked me out that happened with this other cunt.
"Like my trip with Sonia. She was this far-out broad I met at the Fillmore one night when the Plane, [Jefferson Airplane, a rock group] was there. I'd been tripping acid when I met her, and so was she. We got one of those instant flashes when our eyes met. Well, the whole thing developed into a scene, and we split together. Went over to her pad to smoke a little dope to try and sustain the trip... Never works once you've lost the original rush of acid, or mescaline, or peyote, whatever--you're not gonna be there again. But the vibes this chick was putting out made everything really groovy.
"We sat and rapped for a few hours, leaning up against each other and having a ball. The natural flow was beautiful--we were at peace, man. So the natural thing to do is get some kind of love scene on. It just flowed into it, no ego-trip planning or any bad shit like that. Just the two of us becoming one--really heavy. Pretty soon, we're both naked and doing the natural thing, moving against each other's skin, exploring our bodies and minds. I'm kissing her and she's stroking my hair, and pretty soon we're balling. I can't say exactly how we got to that place, since it was all so natural and beautiful. You can really get a multiple orgasm thing going for a chick when she's on acid. Her eyes just blended with mine as I held her close and pumped my energy into hers.
"So that's how it was. I just happened to mention Sonia since she was my old lady for a while --longer than any other chick, must've been three or four months. But time sort of happened and our heads were in another place, so we just sort of went on to other things. That's what happens as you grow. No hard feelings--we each just had to get into another thing. So I drift along, trying to stay clean and all, but I get really hassled in the last year, like a lot of other cats I know. I'd gotten busted a couple of times, and the second time up, I get slapped with three months in the man's cooler. That was really a paranoid thing-- the first few times I tried to get loaded after I got out were really bum trips. You just can't shake that feeling of being imprisoned that fast.
"Things weren't really happening for me when I met this other chick a few months back. I was still kind of up-tight about some things, still believed in the movement, but the signs all seemed to be bad, right? So I meet up with this Sunshine chick--that's the -name she went by. I think her real name was Sarah. We got a good thing on right away, and I move into her pad with her since I don't have my own thing together. She's a groovy ball, and we trip together well. Except I start to grow a little up-tight on some of the trips when I read her. Like I can't read anything but my own head, really, right? But this chick was a real freak-tripper, and she just put out vibes sometimes that made me flash on the demons inside my own head. It's all there, inside your mind, it's just a matter how you interpret it. And, lately, it had gotten to be a real zero.
"She was into witchcraft and Satanic things, really read up on it, but as far as I knew, she hadn't really practiced any of it. I think it was partly because of her freaky sex trip that she got turned on to those things. She'd never really come out and admit it to you, but she really kind of dug to get hurt, slapped around, and bit a little, when she made it.
"So, okay, a little of that I can handle. Never got really out of hand until that last night. Wow, was that ever the all-time bummer.
"Sunshine and I had dropped some acid. Just to make sure it would deliver me, I shot up a little speed first. After about a half hour, I really came on strong. The rush was really fantastic, man. The whole room was flowing, the wave dance and everything. I look over to Sunshine and see that she is really spaced, too. We just sort of got into our own trips and everything was beautiful for a while. But then, I pick up some bad vibes in the room, and see that Sunshine's face is all screwed up in sheer terror. I try to bring her away from whatever it is inside her head that's freaking her out, but I can't do too much since I'm so wired myself.
"Finally she calms down, but the whole scene has brought me partway down, too. The heavy part of the rush is over anyway, so I try to get into her head to see what it was that freaked her so bad. But she says that she had a vision, and she has to do something about it now. Says that it's something that has to be driven out of her. She says she wants me to strip her and tie her up, then abuse her sexually--not real bad, but she says it's something that she's seen in herself that she's never really tried to deal with. I say okay, that I'll go along with it, figuring that by doing something physical, it will bring her completely down to a level where I can deal with her. If I would've known what was about to happen, though, I would've split right then.
"So I strip her and tie her up to a beam in the ceiling. I do it the way she asks me to, stretching her hands over her head so that she's barely touching the floor with the tips of her toes, her body stretched out by the rope she's hanging from. But since she thinks that this will help her confront her own reality, I go along with it. She tells me to take my belt and whip her all over her body. Like I say, I'd seen this trip coming before, and I should've stayed away from it the first time I realized she liked to be hurt. She says not to go to extremes, just whip her lightly as she wants to find the root cause of her need for this action. So, I think, maybe it will help her.
"I start lightly, slapping my belt across her rear, her legs, and back. She gets this real ecstatic look on her face, and I just hope she gets whatever it is she's after. I must've hit her twenty times or so--light red weals painted across the spots I'd hit--when I start rushing heavy again. From then on, it's not really clear in my mind, but I know that it wasn't long before she was screaming for me to stop. I'd somehow tripped a thing in my head and gotten carried away much farther than she wanted to go--and here it was her trip. Well, it was my trip now, and my ego was really clashing with my reality. I was slicing the belt down real hard, hitting her everywhere --tits, her box, even her face. I was on this real power trip, and I couldn't seem to control my body. It was as if a demon had taken over and was controlling my hand as I brought it down powerfully across her body. All the time this is happening, I'm getting really weird hallucinations-- like seeing my mother instead of Sunshine and things like that.
"Next thing I know, I've dropped the belt, and I'm sticking my prick up her ass. I don't even know if I came from that whole part of it, but I was overcome with a rising surge of power. When I was done, I took a metal fire poker and shoved it up her ass... I think she passed out about then, but I just kept ramming the thing up her ass until blood gushed down her legs. I left the poker in place and went over to her front and began mangling her tits, squeezing them hard between my hands and biting them until the blood came. Then I just used her as a punching bag, hitting her everywhere, even loosening a couple of her teeth.
"When I came down, I was lying on the floor. I looked up at the mess hanging from the ceiling above me. She had sort of half come to, but her eyes were swollen shut. There was blood all over her body, and she looked pretty bad. But the whole strange thing about it was that it didn't freak me out then. I had no feelings at all about it... It was just flesh, and flesh was so meaningless.
"I split out of there, and it was several days before I came down, 'cause I took a lot of heavy drugs then. But the reality of the situation didn't sink in until I came crashing down at the beach a few days later. Here I was sitting on some remote beach, torturing a dog--I didn't even know where it came from--and here I was torturing the fucking thing, man. And I loved animals. The whole trip flashed back on me and I about went out of my mind. They say they found me walking down the beach, raving like a complete lunatic. The shrink called it toxic psychosis, induced by drugs, but I still say it had to be there in the first place for the drugs to unleash it.
"I'm through with that whole trip, man--too many freaks walking around to suit me. Especially when I realized that I'm one of them. We all have limits--someplace where we have to cut off. Otherwise our bodies just won't go on living, man."
Comments:
Drugs and violence don't mix, as Van sadly found out. Fortunately, he was able to restrain himself before he ended up killing someone. We all have to learn our limitations before we can effectively deal with our realities.
Several communal families--offshoots of the hippie movement--have missed the whole point of that idea. Instead of practicing love and peace, they are filling with hate and anger. Some of them go overboard, preying on innocent victims. A family that preys together, might well end up accused of murder, as evidenced by the members of the Manson clan, reportedly responsible for the Sharon Tate murders. Even in violence, control must be learned, if further tragedies such as this are to be averted in the Brave New World.
CONCLUSION
In a highly structured, depersonalized society such as ours, it is hardly surprising that there are those individuals so lost, so ignored by the flow of life, that they turn to the violent forms of reaction even in their lovemaking. Until the industrial age castrated him, replaced him with robotlike computers, man had a more honest relationship with the land, was able to find an outlet for his aggressions in his day-to-day struggle for survival. But now he must try and find new outlets for his animalistic urges, and practically the only unadulterated method that remains from his biological origins is expressed in his sexual drives. To adapt these dominant male traits to that of a sometimes impotent society takes a great deal of restraint, along with a knowledge of human limitations. Those who dare to challenge the fine line of human endurance, however, may well be the closest to realizing what the real human experience is all about.
