Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Missy Likes It - Chapter 01 of 05 by The Technician BDSM Young; fff/f; F/f ; Spanking; Pain; Public Nudity = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = A five part story of a young woman growing up in a BDSM family Chapter 01 goes back to the beginning of her urges and needs = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century. Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician Technician666@Gmail.Com. Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * The Broadmore family was your typical suburban family according to any of their neighbors. The father and head of the household, Harold David Broadmore, was an investment broker who had done quite well, even in fluctuating markets. He had the knack of moving his money and investments, and those of his clients, just ahead of the manure hitting the ventilator. Willamina Jane Broadmore, better known as Janie, was the typical suburban housewife who took her turn for the carpool and baked cookies for the school or softball team bake sales. She had once been a beautiful young bride, and through the years had progressed past the MILF phase to the OMILF (Older MILF) stage, but would still turn most heads as she jogged through the park on her morning run. There was just something overtly sexy about her, no matter where she was or how she was dressed. Harold David was their oldest son. David had played softball in high school and had gotten an athletic scholarship at one of the state colleges. Rebecca Jane, a year younger than David, was the head of the cheerleader squad in high school, and at the same time was team captain of the volley ball team. She was also riding an athletic scholarship with hopes of becoming a high school teacher and coach. David William, two years younger than Becky, was brilliant, but shy and awkward. He was not quite a nerd, but he was definitely overshadowed by his older brother. His older brother even overshadowed his name, and he had to go by his middle name, Billy, since Harold went by his middle name, David. Marion Michele, two years younger than Billy, was neither overly athletic or overly smart, but she was adequate in both areas and was able to maintain a high B average in high school that got her into the local teacher's college with several small scholarships. The youngest, and the reason I am writing this, was Melissa Sue Broadmore. Four years younger than her next oldest sister, Mary, and almost ten years younger than her oldest brother, David, she was the baby of the family. She was a 22 year old senior in college when she emailed me and asked if she could sit down and talk to me because she needed some advice about life. She signed the email, "Missy." I assumed that she had somehow gotten my email off the internet, and emailed back that I was not a counselor or therapist, but that I would gladly recommend several. Her response was "SSSuzy said you would understand. I know her because I have stayed some weekends at the campground she and her husband run. She said that you might be the only person who wouldn't judge me and would just listen to me and help me decide what to do." That got my attention. Self-Sub Suzy was a client of mine and would never have given my name and email to just anyone. Still, I was a little suspicious. One of the maxims I live by is "Just because you are paranoid, it doesn't mean that there isn't someone out there trying to get you." I sent back a response telling her to call me between 9:15 and 9:30 that night. I gave her the phone number of one of my pre-paid "burner phones." I have boxes of them that I have purchased randomly from all over the nation as I travel. This one would be smashed up and in a dumpster by morning. Using that phone I called SSSuzy. She answered with the name of the campground. I immediately said, "If you recognize my voice do not say my name. Just say yes." "Yes," she answered. "Do not say her name, but did you refer a young woman to me that needs advice?" "Yes," she answered. "Am I really the only one who can handle this?" "I think so," she replied. "It's really complicated. David, her father..." As soon as she said a name, I broke the connection. She had already told me everything I needed to know. My actions may sound overly controlling or even rude, but I keep too many people's secrets. Keeping secrets is part of the service I am paid for. There is always someone trying to dig up other people's secrets, so I always have to assume that every conversation is recorded. At 9:10 I was pulled up into a rest stop on the interstate. What I like about this particular rest stop is that, because of the hilly terrain, there isn't room for a rest stop on the other side. So, it is fed by traffic from both directions, and it is possible to return to the interstate in either direction. It has video surveillance, but only around the area of the rest rooms. There are no cameras on the entrances or exits. If this was a setup and someone tried to ping my cellphone position once I put the battery back in, I would be long gone before anyone could be there. There is an overflow lot for cars behind the truck parking area. At this time of night, the trucks are packed in with shipments that have just come out of the city. The drivers are getting some down time before starting their long haul to wherever it is they are going. The slanted line of trucks not only blocked any view of the overflow lot from the highway or restrooms, it also blocked almost all light which meant that I was sitting in darkness. I still had, however, a clear view of both entrances. At exactly 9:15 the cellphone rang. I picked up on the second ring and answered with "Don't use any names on the phone. Not mine. Not yours. Not anyone else's. Do you understand that?" "uhh... yes, I guess so. I just need to talk to someone about my mom and my dad and what I am and how I handle it and what I can do with my life." She dissolved into crying. "What are you?" I asked. "I'm a pain slut - a severe masochist if you want to use the proper term, but its like a drug. I keep trying for more and more and I'm afraid I'm going to do something stupid." She started crying again. Then she blurted out, "I don't want to die. I just want the pleasure of suffering." She was crying almost hysterically now. Her voice was shrill. "Nobody understands. Nobody." "I do," I said calmly. "And I will help you. What I can do for you is to listen to you, and help you clarify what you are feeling. Then I can get you connected with a professional who will not judge you and will help you sort out what you want to do with your life." She was now just sniffling into the phone. I spoke clearly and sharply, "Missy, do you want me to do that for you?" "Yes," she answered. "Then be at the airport tomorrow at noon. Take a cab or park your car in long-term parking. I will pick you up at the passenger pick up area. That is for your safety. The pickup area is under constant video surveillance so there will be an official record of you leaving with me. We will go somewhere where we can talk. You will be safe there, but you might be gone at least for the weekend - perhaps even for the week. Can you mange that?" "Yes, I think so." "You think so, or you know so?" "I know so." "Good, I will pick you up at noon tomorrow at the airport." At 12:01 the next day, I pulled though the airport pickup lane. I recognized Missy from a picture that SSSuzy had shown me when I stopped out at the camp. I popped the trunk, got out and opened the front passenger door for her. "Get in, if you're coming," I said and picked up her bag and stowed it in the trunk. Then I walked back around and got into the driver's seat. Missy started to say something to me, but I held up my hand. "Just relax, enjoy the ride, and we will talk when we get up to the cabin." After a short time, she lay her head back against the seat and fell asleep. Three hours and forty-five minutes later we were at my cabin on a lake in the middle of the woods. I own the lake. Actually, I own everything within about a five-mile radius of the cabin. The lake isn't all that big, and the land isn't worth much because it is inaccessible, but I own it and it provides a more than adequate insulation against the outside world. Besides, the people around here tend to stay out of each other's business. I took her upstairs and I let her get settled into her room. When she came back out, she had changed into sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt. I offered her a drink and asked if she wanted to sit at the table or at the fireplace. She asked for white wine, and, not surprisingly, she chose the fireplace. There is something about a warm fire and a glass of wine that makes you feel safe and cozy. She sipped her wine in silence for several minutes and then asked quietly, "Where should I begin?" "I would start at wherever you think the beginning is," I said.. "We have all the time that you need." She stared into the fire for a while as she was thinking, took a deep breath, and began. "I first knew that I was different at around age six or seven. I didn't know what it was back then, but I knew that I was different." "We had a permanent kiddie pool about two feet deep right at the edge of our back patio. Dad called it 'the goldfish pond,' and always said that once we kids outgrew it, he was going to put Koi in it. It was brick on the outside and porcelain tiles on the inside. You could step right into it from the patio. In the summertime, all my little friends in the neighborhood liked to come over and splash around with me in the water. We could step over the wall and out onto the grass on the outside of it. Sometimes their moms would come over with them and we would all sit at the picnic tables in the yard and have lunch or snacks." "It was because of the picnic tables that I first realized how different I was. They were permanent circular metal tables supported by a large pillar in the middle. There were six little round metal seats around each of them that were also metal and were supported by pipe. The tables were painted white. The seats were painted a dark green." "The problem was that the dark green really got hot in the sun. Our moms would usually bring a cushion or towel over from the patio and set it down on the seat before sitting down. The other kids would usually bring some water over from the pool and pour it over the seat to cool it off. I would just sit down on the hot seat. I liked the way it really heated up my bottom. And as it heated my bottom it was like the heat flowed up toward my tummy and made me feel really good." "Some of my friends would ask, 'Doesn't that hurt?' and I would answer, 'No, it feels good.' "While I was sitting there, Chrissy started to tease me in a sing-song voice, 'Missy likes a hot butt, Missy likes a hot butt...'" "I yelled for everyone to get back into the pool and we did. But every so often Chrissy would look at me and smile and say, 'Missy likes it.' "After that, as we were growing up, sometimes something would come up where I wouldn't respond like the other girls and Chrissy would tease me with 'Missy likes it.' In biology class when I didn't get all grossed out when they were showing us frogs and stuff in jars I could hear her behind me saying it." She shrugged her shoulders. "It wasn't until later... a lot later that it started to take on a sexual overtone. And it wasn't until later that I recognized how different I was. I just sometimes liked what other kids thought was painful. I didn't think anything of it. I didn't like spicy food that burned my mouth, but some of the other kids did." Missy suddenly looked up at me and asked, "Speaking of food, you got anything interesting to eat in this place?" I guess that was a good a way as any of telling me that this conversation was over for the time being. "Tell you what," I answered. "I will get some steaks and onion rings out of the freezer and you decide what wine you want. The wine cellar is that thin closet by the basement door." It was well past ten by the time we had finished eating. After some innocuous chit-chat at the table, I suggested that we both get some sleep. "I will let you sleep in as late as you want in the morning," I told her, "but after lunch, you are continuing your story. OK?" Missy yawned and shook her head and said, "Yeah, I guess so. I'll do the dishes in the morning." "Don't worry about it. Right now you are a guest in my house. Go get some sleep. I will clean up the kitchen and come upstairs after I have locked up and set the alarms." "SSSuzy said you were paranoid," she responded. "Doesn't mean that someone isn't out to get you." I answered as she headed up the stairs to her bedroom. <em>= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END CHAPTER ONE OF FIVE Please remember to vote by clicking on one of the stars at the end of the story. If you really liked it, click 5. If you really hated it, click 1, but please click something. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = </em>