Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: N/A
|Introduction: A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical help from W. Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and W's help in recording the six young women's stories of how and why they are masochists. The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read the previous chapters. I am posting this entire series in the BDSM category. Although a couple of the chapters might not exactly fit the theme, all are concerned with the realities of masochism. These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on any one person. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Chapter seven of eight is W's interview with "Francine."|
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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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For some reason, I was really looking forward to my interview with Francine. Part of it was because it would be my last interview, but mostly it was because I knew she had to be 'bright eyes,' the very blue-eyed girl whom I had helped push into orgasm that first night I watched Shelly's performance art presentation of "I, Masochist." She had been practically begging for more pain so that she could cum. I gave it to her and she gave quiet a performance with her screaming, thrashing orgasm. I knew that her story would be exceptionally interesting.
She arrived exactly on time and was as spectacularly sexy fully dressed as she had been hanging naked in performance art bondage. She was wearing sandals that were almost not there. The thin sole was exactly shaped to her foot and the strap that came up between her toes and wound around her ankle matched her skin color and tone. The effect was that she appeared to be barefoot.
Her short dress was a very soft, satin-like material that molded itself tightly to her body so that every detail was visible despite being fully covered in the shiny material. It was absolute that she was not wearing a bra since the texture of her nipples was clear and distinct through the fabric. It was also highly probably that she was full commando under the skirt since the soft, thin fabric would have shown even the smallest panty line or thong strap. The total effect of the dress and sandals was that she was effectively naked while still being fully clothed. If she had passed me on the street, I would have probably stopped to watch her pass by or at least swivelled my head to keep her in view. She oozed sexuality as she walked into the room. It was even in her voice as she sat down at the kitchen table and said in a rather deep, throaty voice, "I should have been next to last. That way I would have still been an 'E' rather than an 'F.'"
I said, "Excuse me?," and she explained, "Dr. Collin's code word for me began with an 'E.' He has me filed under 'Epitome.' On our very first meeting in his office, he wrote down that he was giving me that code name because I was 'the epitome of a pure masochist.'"
"He showed you his notes?" I asked, somewhat surprised.
"No," she laughed, "but I read very well upside down, and I can tell from the movements of a pen or pencil what a person is writing. I have a visual memory so I take what I see and flip it in my mind so that I am above it as though I were writing. Then I can read every word."
"So, you know exactly what Dr. Collins wrote in his file about you?"
"And what you have written on that paper you have on the table in front of you," she answered with a smile. "I also know that Dr. Collins thinks I am sick and twisted, but for some reason really wants to know why I am the way I am."
"Why are you the way your are?"
"There is no why." she answered. "I just am. I am what I am, the epitome of a pure masochist. The tattooed lady and I have a lot in common except I don't shy away from the term masochist. The word describes me perfectly. Why shouldn't I use it? I get sexual pleasure from pain. If I got sexual pleasure from men, I would readily admit that I were a heterosexual. If I got sexual pleasure from women, I would readily admit that I were a lesbian. I do prefer the taste of a woman to a man, by the way, and get more pleasure from a mouth and tongue ON my genitals that a man's penis IN my genitals, but what I truly get sexual pleasure from is pain. I am a masochist. That's what I am."
"So, when did you first realize that you were a masochist?" I asked.
"Are you asking when I first realized I like pain or when I first realized that I got sexual pleasure from pain?"
"Both, I guess." I replied. "Are you sure you aren't a philosophy major rather than an art major?"
She laughed and said, "Artists starve. Philosophers work in fast food joints. I have both covered. My minor is Philosophy... but to answer your question, I have always gotten pleasure from pain up to a point. You hurt me bad enough I feel it as pain. If I break an arm - I did once - that is pain. Pain is just the body's opinion of how badly you have been hurt. My mind evidently overrides my body's opinion and says 'That sensation isn't threatening to life, so enjoy it.' And I do."
"Mom and dad never spanked me as a child. I asked them about it once and they said that spanking me was totally useless even when I was an infant. The couple of times that they swatted me for doing something dangerous, I just smiled at them or even laughed, so they never used spanking as a form of punishment."
"So when did you first discover that liking pain made you different?" I asked.
"It was at summer camp when I was in fourth grade," she answered. "It was your typical camp sort of thing with campfires and weird crafts and living in little cabins for a week or two so your parents could get a break from the kids. Most of the camp was up on this big hill, but there was a lake at the bottom of the hill for swimming and canoes and stuff like that. Our cabin was right on the edge of the hill overlooking the lake, but we had to walk all the way over to the edge of the camp and then back down a slanted path to get to the lake. I asked why we couldn't just walk right down the hillside to the water."
"'Why don't you try that,' suggested our cabin counselor. The other girls in the cabin sort of giggled, but they often had inside jokes that I, as a first timer at camp, didn't get. When it was time to go swimming, we all stripped down and got into our swimsuits. I was wearing a standard little girl's one piece that left my legs and arms and head bare, but basically covered up everything else."
"As we left the cabin, one of the girls said, 'Why don't you take the shortcut and we will meet you down there?'"
"Everyone giggled, but I said, 'OK,' so they went off down the path and I walked around the back of the cabin to the hillside. There were all these tall, dark green plants with fairly large leaves all the way down the hillside. I decided to leave my sandals at the cabin because I would have better traction with my bare feet on the steep slope and started down the hillside. The leaves felt funny against my skin. They sort of tickled, I guess, but I wasn't sure because I have never been ticklish. Then they started feeling really good. It is difficult to describe pleasure pain to someone else who feels pain as pain rather than pleasure, but it was a wonderful warmth that went all the way inside me to the very middle. When I got down to the bottom, I walked on out into the lake and started splashing around. The cold water felt good with the warmth on my skin."
"It was almost ten minutes later when the rest of the cabin arrived. 'How did you get down here?' they asked, and I pointed to the still visible path I had made through the green plants on the hillside. 'What did you do?' asked the counselor. 'Wrap a sheet around yourself?'"
"I told them I walked in my swimsuit barefoot and their eyes got big and they started looking at each other funny. 'Didn't it hurt?' one of them asked."
"'Why should it hurt?' I asked, and the counselor answered, 'That whole hillside is planted in stinging nettles. They grow wild around here anyway, but the camp puts them on the hillside to keep the campers away because walking straight down the hill can creating erosion lines. No one can walk through those nettles. You had to have come down here some other way.'"
"'I walked barefoot down the hillside wearing my swimsuit,' I insisted."
"'Liar!' snapped one of the older girls. 'The nettles would be too painful. You had to come down here some other way. And you must have run really fast to get here before us.'"
"'No,' I answered. 'And to prove it I will walk back up the hillside when we go back to the cabin and you can watch me do it.'"
"That put a stop to the argument for a while and we swam and played in the water for an hour or so. Then it was time to go back to the cabin. 'Are you walking through the nettles?' asked one of the younger girls.'"
"'Of course,' I answered. 'They feel good on my skin... kind of a warm tickle feeling.'"
"One of the older girls said, 'Your suit must somehow give you protection from the leaves and you figured out how to push the rest of the plant out of the way with your feet or something.'"
"I was standing right next to the hillside ready to start back up. I turned and faced her and said, 'If you think my swimsuit is something special, then I will just take it off.' I did."
"The look on the counselor's face was priceless as I took off my swimsuit and threw it to the girl who had said it protected me. 'Take that up to the cabin for me, would you?' I said cheerily and started up the hill. The counselor called after me and tried to follow me up the hill, but she only took a step or two into the plants and had to turn back."
"When I got to the top of the hill, I went in the cabin and grabbed my towel, wrapped it around myself and started over to the shower house. I was half-way there when the counselor and the rest of the cabin came running up to me. 'You can't tell anyone about this,' panted the counselor. 'I would get in real trouble for letting you walk around naked.'"
"The girl holding my suit stared at me and said, 'How did you walk through the nettles? Doesn't pain bother you?'"
"All I could answer was, 'It felt good.'"
"Several of the girls said together, 'You are very weird,'" and that is when I suddenly realized that I was different. I was weird. I liked what everyone else called pain."
When it was apparent that she was finished, I asked, "When did it become sexual?"
"It might have been all along, but I was too young to know what was going on." she answered. Then she tilted her head slightly as if thinking, "No, she said. Sexual is different. It didn't really become sexual until my senior year of high school. I knew what sexual was by then. I had gotten into some heavy petting with a couple of boyfriends, but I was still technically a virgin."
"Technically?" I asked.
"Tampons," she answered with a laugh. "And an occasional vibrator. But no penises, so although my hymen was long gone, I was still technically a virgin."
Our school still allowed dodge ball in gym class in those days and the coaches made sure that we were serious about it when we played. The rules were that the winning team got to go shower early. The losing team had to do ten laps around the gym - and it was a big gym. They had an odd way of scoring. It wasn't just who had the last man - or woman - standing. The coaches stood around with little clickers in their hands and counted every time someone got hit. That meant you could have the last player standing, but still lose if the other team had gotten more hits on your team. Last person was worth 20 points, so usually it didn't really matter, but one day I decided to see what it would feel like to get hit close up with a volley ball. I walked up to the center line and just stood there with my hands stretched out and let them hit me. There were over a hundred girls in my gym class so there were at least fifty on each side. Everyone on their side threw at me. I must have been hit forty or fifty times and was basking in the pain when the coach ran onto the court and pulled me to the sidelines."
"'Are you crazy?' she yelled at me."
"'Nope,' I replied, ' just weird.'"
"We had two players still standing at the end of the game, which normally would have guaranteed a win, but we still lost because of how many times I had been hit. Half the class went to the showers and our team started running laps around the gym. A couple of girls pushed me and one tripped me, so I was at the very back of the pack. I don't run that fast anyway and had no desire to get back in the middle of all those girls who were mad at me, so I just hung back and ran at my own pace. I stayed just fast enough that no one would catch up to me, and by the time I had finished my ten laps, the rest of the girls were already in the shower."
"Our school had one of those old-fashioned locker rooms with the big shower area that had shower heads mounted on poles throughout the middle of it. There was a large room that you walked through to get to the actual shower area. It had benches around the walls and hooks for towels The coaches offices were all the way at the other end of the locker room, and the opening to the towel room didn't line up with the openings to the shower area, so they couldn't see or hear anything from the showers themselves. When I finally got out of my gym clothes and walked into the shower area the rest of the team was standing there glaring at me. They had all the showers turned on to cover any noise and so that the coaches thought we were cleaning up. There was a lot of steam and moisture hanging in the air."
"'Your weirdness cost us the game,' one of the girls said."
"'If you want pain, we are going to give you some pain.' said another, pushing me into the middle of the room."
"'You owe us!' said a third."
"Then a senior girl, the captain of the volley ball team, stepped forward and said, 'This is what you are going to do to make it up to us. You are going to run...' she stopped to smile a wicked smile at me and then corrected herself, '... no crawl a gauntlet through the showers. We are going to form a path and you are going to crawl between our legs so we can beat your ass. And you will keep crawling until we tell you to stop.'"
"I looked around and the girls were starting to line up in a crooked path that wound through the showers. They were standing there with their legs spread wide forming a tunnel through which I was going to be forced to crawl. Some of them were holding wet towels. 'Now!' ordered the captain and I dropped to my hands and knees and started crawling. The floor had these little bumps on it so that you had traction when it was wet. They dug into my knees and hands as I crawled, but I didn't notice that once they started spanking me. I don't know how the coaches couldn't hear the smacks as their hands - or the wet towels - pounded into my butt. I think they could hear, but were letting the students handle things with the weird girl who kept causing problems in class."
"I made a full circuit through the tunnel of legs and was about half-way through the second time when the smell of cunt started getting to me. Some, if not all, of these girls were getting off on paddling my wet, naked ass. I lifted my head and started watching the pussies spread above me as I crawled through. With the showers running, everyone was dripping wet, so it was impossible to tell who was or was not turned on, but a couple of the girl's cunts were starting to gape and their mounds looked swollen. All of a sudden a switch flipped and the pain became not just warm and comfortable, but sexual... almost totally sexual. It was overwhelming."
"I started stumbling slightly as I crawled. It was getting harder and harder to move. As I slowed down, the girls started whipping me harder and harder until I finally collapsed onto the floor of the shower. I thrust my hands under me and started rubbing myself with my fingers."
"'That's way beyond weird,' I heard someone say."
"Another said, 'That's perverted.'"
"Still another voice, I think the volleyball captain, said, 'If she is such a pervert, maybe we should give her a personal pervert's shower.'"
"Suddenly the temperature of the water pouring on me changed. She was standing above me pissing on me! I could tell from the smell, that she was very turned on. I just lay there. I don't know how many more of the girls peed on me, but I had two more orgasms and lay there rubbing myself until everyone left. Finally, I cleaned myself up and went back out into the locker room to dress. They had opened my locker and taken my underwear. At least they left me the rest of my clothes. There was a note that said, 'Sluts don't need to hide anything. SEE YOU in class.'"
"I guess they thought I would cry and go home or something. I just put on my blouse and skirt and went to class. I liked the way it felt with everything bare beneath my skirt. As a matter of fact, I rarely wore any underwear from that day on."
"So was that your first, best or worst?" I asked.
"A little of all three," she answered. "It wasn't my first orgasm or the first time I received pleasure from pain, but it was the first time I ever orgasmed from pain. And it was one of the best orgasms I've ever had. But because of it, I was labeled a weird pain slut for the rest of my high school days. High school girls don't use the word 'masochist,' they prefer 'weird pain slut.'"
She smiled at me, "Everyone publicly avoided me, but the volley ball captain and I hooked up several times after that. We had to keep it secret because she was part of the in crowd, but she really got herself off that day in the shower. One day she came up to me in the hallway and whispered in my ear, 'It was a shame that I couldn't have had you all to myself in the shower. I would have made you eat my pussy while I whipped your ass with that wet towel. Then we both could have had an orgasm. If you drop by my place Saturday, I can make it happen. My parents are going to be out of town.'"
"I did, and she did. We got under the shower in her bathtub and I sucked and nibbled her pussy while she beat my ass with a wet towel. After we both orgasmed, she spread her legs and pissed in my face. Both of us went over the top again. That doesn't happen with a man's piss, I've tried. And it doesn't happen with a woman's piss unless the woman is really turned on. I guess it is the odor that takes me over the top, and like I said, I prefer the taste - and smell - of a woman."
"We tried the shower thing several more times and a couple times she used a belt or a paddle in her bedroom or the livingroom. It was fun for a while, but then I think she got tired of me. She eventually married a rich sissy-boy after high school, but still keeps a few girl play pals on the side. Everyone wonders how such a wimp was able to land such a babe even with his family money, but I know. He loves to eat pussy; he likes it when she takes him over her lap and turns his ass red; and there is this huge shower in the bathroom at their new house."
She looked up at me brightly and asked, "Any other questions?"
"A lot," I replied, "but we are out of time." I explained the release cards to her and she signed them.
After she left, Shelly came into the room. She was naked and flushed and breathing somewhat heavily. "We have GOT to try that!" she said, panting for breath.
"Try what?" I asked, totally bewildered.
"Every apartment on this floor was supposed to be especially handicapped equipped. The owner got a grant or something when he was building it. Turns out there isn't as much demand for wheelchair accessible bathrooms as they thought, so half of them are rented out to normal people like me."
"I think that depends on how you define normal," I said with a laugh.
"In any case, " she answered, "I have a huge walk-in shower with access grab handles all over it. We are going to go in there and shower together, and then we are going to get under the water and I am going to give you the best oral sex you have ever had while you swat my ass with a wet towel. Then you are going to piss all over me."
"Two out of three isn't bad," I replied. When Shelly looked confused, I explained. "A really turned on woman can still pee all over you, but a man's plumbing is a little different. Depending on how stiff he is, it may be impossible to even dribble, let alone piss all over someone."
"We'll figure something out," she said, dragging me back to her bedroom. There were two bathrooms, one off her bedroom and one with a door in the hallway. I had always used the one in the hallway because I kept my stuff in there for when I stayed over. I hadn't really paid much attention to "her" bathroom."
"The shower was huge. It was a good ten feet square with tile floors and walls and a drain more or less in the middle. There were two shower heads with two sets of handles. One shower head was at the normal height, the other was on a sliding pole and could be moved almost down to the floor. Maybe that was so you could shower while sitting on a chair or the floor or whatever. In any case, Shelly turned them both on and we got in together. She was practically vibrating as I soaped up her luscious breasts and ran my hands up and down her back. I tried to slip my hand between her legs, but she grabbed my wrist and said, "No. I'm way to excited already. I don't want to peak too soon."
After we were both clean and rinsed off, she stepped out and grabbed a big, white towel that she had set out on the counter in the bathroom. She held it under the shower for a few minutes until it was soaking. She spun it together in her hands and said, "I promise I won't bite you if you promise you will hit me really hard after I get going." Then she smiled and handed me the towel and got down on her knees.
I wasn't real sure about swatting her ass while she had her mouth on my prick, but I figured that if I started out more or less gentle I could see if she was going to clamp down when I hit her. The first swat wasn't much more than noise. It made a loud pop, but I knew it didn't cause much pain. She sucked slightly on my penis as the towel hit and said "More." The she added, "Harder."
I started putting a little heft behind the swings. She didn't clamp down or bite, but she did suck in like she was drawing a breath each time the towel stuck. She kept saying "More," and "Harder." and I started swinging faster and harder.
There is no such thing as bad sex, but this was not my thing. I enjoyed the way she was responding to the pain and watching her back and ass slowly get covered by wide, red stripes was very satisfying, but trying to keep my balance while swinging a wet towel on a tile floor somehow took away from the moment. If I had been able to lean back against the wall while somebody else took care of the towel action it might have been different, but even as I approached climax, I kept thinking of that old saying, "Nothing is impossible.... except making love standing up in a hammock."
But like I said, there is no such thing as bad sex and Shelly was really getting into it. She was writhing and squirming and letting out little yelps with each strike of the towel. Finally I spurted into her mouth and that triggered her into orgasm. She fell flat on the floor face down and started almost chanting, "More. More. Harder. Harder," as I continued to slap her with the towel. Soon, she was headed toward another orgasm and I was already almost soft. "What the hell," I said to myself, and let loose with a stream of piss. As soon as it hit her, she went over the top.
The blow job hadn't been all that great, but my voyeur side got everything it needed in that final orgasm. She was squirming and writhing on the wet tile floor yelling, "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"
She turned face up and shoved her hands into her pussy and rubbed and pumped and suddenly arched up in such a severe bow that only her head and feet were still on the ground. She vibrated up there for almost a minute and then she let out a loud, long groan. As she screamed out, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" she slowly deflated back onto the floor of the shower and lay there panting.
"After several minutes she finally stood up and said "Thank you." She kissed me lightly on the lips and said, "I know that I got a lot more out of that than you did, but I will make it up to you next week after your last interview."
"Francine WAS my last interview," I said.
"No," she replied, "SHELLY will be your last interview. Dr. Collins wouldn't let a teacher in the study, but he still wants to hear my story. Maybe next week my story will trigger one of your fantasies, and I can help you make that come to life."
By the time I had left the next morning, she had already made it up to me and I was anxiously anticipating our interview the next weekend.
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END CHAPTER SEVEN OF EIGHT
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