© Copyright 2014 - The Technician - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-f: F/f; D/s; exhibitionist; nudity; video; online; cuffs; bdsm; machine; crop; whip; paddle; toys; insert; tease; punish; bar; strip; hot-sauce; mast; climax; cons; XX
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This is week three of that diary. There are five weeks, each more or less stands on its own, but makes more sense if you have read the previous weeks.
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Diary of a Pain Slut - Week Three of FiveMaddi’s Diary, Day Eleven, Monday
Today was a session with Dr. B. I thought he would concentrate on the Beat Girl thing or maybe on the fact that I found out that my Mom is almost as much a pain slut as I am, but instead he seemed to be mostly interested in the fact that I hadn’t mentioned the Friday group session at all.
I don’t know why, but that pissed me off and I got snarky with him. “I didn’t mention when I took a crap either,” I said, “or how many sheets of toilet paper I used to wipe my ass.”
That was a mistake. One, never get snarky with a therapist. They just sit there and stare at you without responding in any way. And two, never try to be funny with a shrink. They have no sense of humor and everything that you say means SOMETHING to them.
“So,” he replied, “do you equate going to group with going to the bathroom?”
“Taking a crap is just a necessary bodily function that doesn’t mean a whole lot except that you have to do it.” I replied. Again, I made the mistake of trying to be cute in my answer.
“But it is a necessary function that removes waste from the body, isn’t it?” he asked.
“So are you saying that going to group is like taking a crap?” I asked. I was really pressing it and I knew it.
“No,” he answered, “I’m just pointing out that even taking a crap is beneficial to the body. If you don’t do it, you end up being full of shit.”
He smiled and then raised his eyebrows at me with his eyes twinkling at me over the top of this glasses. I guess shrinks have a sense of humor after all, it is just a very weird sense of humor.
“OK,” I finally said, “next week I will write out my feelings about what happened in group. Satisfied?”
“Yes,” he said, “and don’t forget to also write out your feelings about having your mother watch you as you broadcast your Beat Girl session.”
“I set her up with a permanent pass,” I replied.
Dr B gave me one of those therapist you-don’t-get-it-yet smiles and said, “I didn’t say to tell me your feelings about having your mother watch the broadcast, I said tell me your feelings about having her watch you DOING the broadcast.”
“You want me to have my mother in the studio with me?” I sputtered in surprise.
“Beat Girl isn’t real,” he answered. “She is just a live animated internet cartoon that gets her ass whapped, zapped and ka-powed.”
He leaned toward me and his voice became very serious, “You are real. You showed your mother the cartoon Beat Girl. Are you willing to show your mother your real self?”
“Oh,” I said.
“Or are you going to try to always keep the real you hidden behind a pink mask and cape?”
This time I just looked down at the floor. He had me.
He coughed slightly and I looked back up at him. He looked up at me over his glasses. “Remember to write up a complete description of what happens and what your and your mother’s responses and feelings were.”
“Yes, Dr. B,” I answered.
“Then that is all for now. I will see you Wednesday and talk about some other things. I assume I will read about tomorrow night when you send in your log next Sunday.”
Not much else happened today. I worked until close at the restaurant. The only thing interesting there was that Brad Summers came in with several of his buddies to eat. This was actually the first time I had seen them since that night. I expected them to make some kind of gross remarks or make references to that night at the Pit, but they acted as if they had never seen me before.
It wasn’t until they were gone that I realized that they actually didn’t recognize me. They recognized me at the restaurant. They knew me as someone from around town. Brad recognized me as the girl who had told him to go to hell. But somehow they could not connect the demurely dressed waitress who waited politely on them and served them dinner with the drunken slut who stood naked before them begging to be fucked that night at the Pit.
Maybe the reason that Brad and his friend never told anyone who the girl was is that they didn’t know it was me that night. I must have been so drunk and wild that it didn’t even look like me. I am torn between keeping that secret in the deep dark places of my mind or saying and doing something so that he realizes who it was that night.
End of entry for Day ElevenMaddi’s Diary, Day Twelve, Tuesday
I guess that I am getting better at talking about really strange and embarrassing things with my mother. A week ago, I was worried about talking to her about me being found naked under the interstate. This morning over breakfast, I calmly said, “Mom, Dr. B wants you to watch me live while I a do a Beat Girl session. Then he wants me to talk to you about it and write down my feelings about having you there.”
I thought she might object or have a lot of questions, but all she replied was “When?”
“Tonight,” I answered. “I work mid-day today and late shift tomorrow.”
I tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “I have my schedule set up like that so it doesn’t interfere with Beat Girl. I usually work early shift on Tuesdays so I am home early and then the late afternoon and evening on Wednesdays to give me a little time to recuperate on Wednesday morning.”
I shrugged, “My appointments with Dr. B screw that up for me.”
“I’ll have a light supper ready for you when you get home at 4:00,” she said. “Then you can clean up and get ready. You should have time to give me a tour of your studio before you go online.”
I couldn’t believe how calm she was about the whole thing. It was like we were discussing “Take Your Mother to Work Day” or something like that.
Work was OK. There were no obnoxious customers and the tips were decent. Actually for a waitress job, no obnoxious customers and decent tips is a very good day. I got home around 4:00 and Mom had supper waiting for me. Strangely, I don’t really remember what it was. I guess I was too worried about the rest of the evening.
I took a long, hot bath– regular bath, not Mom’s version of a long hot bath, and I used my little spinning tweezer thingy to make sure that I was smooth all over. The cameras are HD and you wouldn’t believe what is clearly visible on a high-quality monitor or video screen.
I put on a robe and went out into the living room. Mom was also in a robe. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “I should be naked while I watch you.”
I know I looked a little surprised, but I didn’t say anything.
“That way,” she continued, “we are both revealing our total selves to each other.”
I nodded in understanding even though I was not quite sure I understood.
“And I need to be bound and gagged.”
“What?” I sputtered.
“Odysseus and the Sirens” she replied.
“Now you have totally lost me,” I answered.
“They don’t teach the classics anymore, do they?” She responded. “In the ancient Greek story, ‘The Odyssey’ by Homer, the hero, named Odysseus is a sea captain who wants to hear the song of the sirens, who are sort of like mermaid people. Their song is beautiful, but no one can resist it and it lures you to destruction. So he had his men fill their ears with wax so they couldn’t hear it and tie him to the mast of the ship. Then they sailed past the home of the sirens and he got to hear their song. He was captivated and would have been drawn in, but because he was bound to the mast, all he could do was watch and listen.”
“You’re afraid you will do something stupid if you are just standing there,” I said.
“Yes,” she answered.
“And you’re afraid that you will yell out or something if you aren’t gagged.”
“Yes,” she answered again.
“Besides,” she said, giving me one of her really weird smiles. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be tied up helpless and naked.”
“Click!” I suddenly realized that Mom was exploring her limits, or testing the waters, or whatever. I wonder if she will want to check out her responses to humiliation next? I may have to sit down and have a real daughter to mother talk about the dangers of checking that out drunk and in public.
We walked out to “the long shed,” as Dad calls it. I call it the play house because Dad made one end of it into a play house for me when I was a little girl. He also fixed up the rest of it as a big open room that my girlfriends and I could play in on a rainy day. It has its own furnace and air conditioning and bathrooms all that. It even has a pretty good shower.
We had sleep-overs out there when I was younger. In high school, I used to go out there to study a lot. Dad keeps kidding me that all he has to do is improve the kitchen and bathroom a little and I could move in out there.
It sits toward the back of our property and at one time had something to do with the dairy farm that was once here. There is a small, really modern metal building right next to it, just inside the property line, with a tall microwave tower that has cell phone stuff about half-way up. That setup belongs to the phone company or a cable company or somebody like that. There are also some sort of glass cables buried across our land and the fields on either side of it. The building is some sort of switching center or whatever that connects the cables to the tower and to each other.
They pay Dad so much a year to rent the land and for access back to the tower. They also gives us free internet access. Harold says that I don’t appreciate what I have. He says it is T-something speed and has “bandwidth out the ass,” whatever that means. I don’t know anything about it, but when Harold first approached me with the idea of doing online stuff, he said I already had the perfect place to do it. He also said that if Dad was ever interested, his friends might have a proposal for putting some servers or whatever out next to the tower. I told him that would never happen, because I was never telling Dad about the studio. But now, who knows?
Mom gasped out loud when we entered the studio. There was a LOT of very expensive equipment sitting all over the place. “There are basically three areas,” I said, pointing to the three segments. “There is one for the spanking bench, one for the rotating frame for electro night, and one for the restraint poles for TAZapper night.”
I walked over and started turning on the production lights. “If there is a fifth Tuesday,” I continued, Harold re-arranges the robot arms so that the spanking machines can work on me while I am upright between the TAZapper posts.” I gave Mom sort of a shrug and said, “Combination nights cost extra points to enter and everything is doubled in cost from the start.”
I walked over to the corner and dragged a heavy, strange looking chair over to the edge of the Beat Girl spanking bench area. The chair had really heavy arms and legs with several leather restraint straps on each arm and leg. The seat was cut out sort of like a really wide toilet seat that was missing the back half.
When you sat in the chair, the only thing holding you up were two polished strips of wood that went under your legs. Your ass was basically hanging out there on its own. “Harold bought this from some fetish shop. He thought we could work it into the productions somewhere, but neither of us has thought of anything.”
I lifted up one of the straps and said, “You will definitely not be able to break loose no matter how strongly the sirens call to you.” I smiled at her, “And besides, you said you wanted to be helpless and naked. In this chair you are really helpless... and you are REALLY naked.”
Mom looked like she wasn’t too sure about this anymore, but she sat down in the chair. It took a little moving around to get situated properly so that she was actually sitting on the thin strips. I started by strapping her ankles and then moved upward.
The next set of straps were just below her knees and when I pulled them tight, it pulled her legs wide apart. She gasped slightly, but said nothing. The next set was just above the knees. These didn’t need to be pulled quite as tight, but even then, the helped open her up a little more.
There was a wide strap that went more or less across her waist and held her tight to the back of the chair. Straps just below the elbow and at the wrists held her arms tightly to the arms of the chair.
There was a flat post-like section that stuck up straight in the back with a pad on the front of it. I pushed her head back against the pad and put a leather strap across her forehead. Once it was tight, she was unable to turn her head and had to look straight ahead.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I asked. I was standing there holding a red ball gag.
“Yes,” she answered. Then she said, “God, I have never felt so vulnerable in my life. You could do anything to me and there is nothing I could do about it.”
I put the ball gag in place, giving her a second to work her jaws around it before I tied it firmly in place around the post. As I turned to go back into the other area to put on my Beat Girl cape and mask, I suddenly had a strange idea. Was Mom asking me to do something to her?
That would be just way too weird, but... I walked over to the “toy box”and got out a magic wand with remote control and a microphone stand. Harold had modified the microphone stand so that the magic wand would clip into it just like a microphone normally would. The stand had one of those long arms on it so the microphone could be held next to a guitar, or come over the top of the music stand to be close to a singer’s mouth.
I set it up in front of Mom so that the arm was down between her legs and the magic wand was pointing up at an angle toward her cunt. OK Dr. B, that makes me feel weird, talking about my mother’s cunt, but if I am rigging a remote controlled, industrial strength vibrator up to it while she is strapped in a sex bondage chair, I don’t think “vagina” is the right word.
Anyway, I set it up so that it would be right against her slit and would just touch her clit. If she rocked down just a little bit, she could force it directly on her clit. When I set it in place, her eyes got a little wide and she “umphed” at me through the ball gag. Then I picked up the control box and turned it on to minimum.
Her eyes got even wider, but then she said, “mmmmm” and closed her eyes for a moment. It was definitely getting her in the mood. I looked up at the clock and realized that I had to get moving if we were going to go online on time tonight.
I went over to the control board and checked that all 8 cameras were live and working. Then I cycled the paddle, the whip, and the cane through their test cycles. I also checked that the paddle, whip and cane were all firmly held in their mounting brackets. The cane had gotten loose one session a few months back, and I had ended up having to drop the safety switch when the tip of the cane slammed into me hard enough to cut a deep gouge. Luckily, I didn’t have to go to the ER and it healed without scarring.
Everything was ready and it was coming up on 8:00. I could see the website on the big monitor on the wall above Mom and it was counting down the minutes to air time. At 7:58, the screen was filled with the animated Beat Girl. I had the routine down exactly after all these sessions. First she got WHAPPED, then she got KA-POWED, then she got ZAPPED, and then it switched to live camera three and I ran toward it and turned around so that my ass filled the screen when BEAT GIRL flashed across my ass.
I did the standard opening explaining how things worked and enticing people to spend their points on the paddle, the whip, or the cane. Suddenly I had an idea. “We have a special guest tonight,” I bubbled at the main camera. “A special slut who wanted to watch a live Beat Girl session. We can’t show her face, but I am going to put camera 9 where you can see the interesting parts.”
The on-screen controls are actually capable of bringing up 10 cameras, but normally only 8 are turned on. I ran off screen and grabbed camera 9. It is usually just sitting there and can be substituted for one of the other cameras if something isn’t working just before show time.
Camera 9 is mounted on a really short tripod and I set it down right in front of Mom so that it was shooting right between her legs. I was pretty sure that all that would be visible on the screen was the inside of her legs and her cunt with the vibrator pressed against it.
As I set it in place, Mom grunted and tried to shake her head. Then I could see her whole body turning a deep shade of red.
I ran back into the set and looked back up at the main monitor. All ten cameras show on the monitor if they are on. Camera 9 was the inside of Mom’s legs from the strap above the knee to very top. Her cunt was clearly visible and you could see the moisture dripping from her labia alongside the head to the magic wand.
“No extra charge for the extra camera,” I chirped. “Now, let’s get started.”
I got down on the bench and started strapping myself in. Most of it is automated, so it’s just a matter of me slipping arms, legs, etc through the straps and lying down over the padded seat. Once in place, I squeeze my safety switch. The restraints tighten immediately and the timer started its countdown from 30 minutes.
I looked down at the monitor beneath me so I could see who was up in the cue. Number 001 was AsianBeauty and she had spent her points for seven strokes of the cane.
Rats! No warm up swats from the paddle before getting to the really hard stuff. I noticed that number 002 was also in the cane cue and he had five strokes. Ouch! I was starting off with twelve of the best without even getting any warmup. I raised my head a little and looked over at Mom. Was this instant Karma for what I had done to her?
I didn’t get a chance to think about that very long because the cane strokes started hitting. I told Mom that a lot of the time the screams and thrashing around were fake for the cameras. This wasn’t. Twelve strokes of the cane with no warm up is not fun. I screamed and thrashed and yelled and cursed. I wonder if any of the people in the cues or watching knew what I meant when I was yelling out, “Come on, E buddies! Come on E buddies!”
Luckily, the next person in the cue was on the paddle list, and ProudPapa43 took his time with his 15 strokes. He was spacing them out at somewhere between 20 and 30 seconds. Or maybe he was delaying until the automatic kicked in. In any case, I never knew for sure when they were coming, but they were standard spanks with the paddle and my E buddies had time to arrive by the time we got to about the seventh swat. By the time he finished, the endorphin level in my body was high enough that a triple cane stroke would have still felt like pleasure rather than pain.
The remainder of the session was a mixture of paddle, cane and whip. A lot of my screams after that were fake for the audience, except the screams when I orgasmed. I had three very nice orgasms before the timer clicked down to zero. They weren’t mind shattering or anything like that, but there is no such thing as a bad orgasm... Well, I guess if you are tied down and forced into your twenty-something orgasm it might be a little bad, but other than something like that, there is no such thing as a bad orgasm.
When the timer clicked down to zero, the restraints automatically released. As I squirmed my way out of the spanking bench, I could hear the automated voices reminding people to be back next week and telling them the advantages of a yearly membership which allowed them to view any recorded session on the site 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.
After my legs got steady, I walked over and stood in front of Mom. She was rocking herself down so that she was rubbing her clit against the magic wand and she was grunting with each rock of her hips.
She looked at me with wild eyes. She was trying to say something, but nothing was understandable with the ball gag.
“Do you need to cum?” I asked.
She nodded her head, or at least tried to, and grunted out something that sounded like “Yes, yes, YES!”
I walked over to the control box and turned it up to maximum and then walked back to take a shower.
When I came back out, Mom was motionless in the chair. Her eyes were glazed. She was moaning softly around the ball gag. I slowly turned the vibrator down to zero and stood there and waited. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and then looked up at me.
I reached down and moved Camera 9 out of the way. Then I pulled the microphone stand holding the vibrator out away from her legs. Even though it was off, she whimpered slightly when the vibrator lost contact with her clit. Then I started undoing the straps.
I undid the straps in the same order that I had tied them in place, starting with the ones on her ankles. She did not move at all as I released her arms and legs. The last thing I removed was the ball gag.
“What did you do to me?” she asked in a deep and throaty voice.
“What you wanted?” I answered. “I think.”
She didn’t answer, but her head nodded slowly up and down answering both my question and hers.
I told her to go take a shower while I finished shutting down the rest of the studio and then we would go back up to the house and talk.
About twenty minutes later we were sitting in the living room in our robes with a glass of wine in our hands. “So,” Mom began, “how was it for you?”
I laughed. She sounded like an insecure young man checking on how he performed in bed. “I was nervous that you were watching me,” I answered. “It’s kind of hard to have your mom watching you as you climb your way to a pain orgasm.”
“It didn’t look like it was pleasurable at first,” she said.
I took a sip of wine and answered, “No, it wasn’t. But sometimes pain is the price you pay to get to the point where you can enjoy the sensations.”
She raised her eyebrows as if she had a question, and I explained. “If you want to get the most pleasure out of a pain experience, you start sort of slow. A warm up spanking or something like that. Then once it starts to hurt, your body begins to react and your E buddies start showing up.”
“E buddies?” She asked.
“Endorphins,” I replied. “Everybody produces endorphins. For some people, pain, especially pain that the body knows is not life-threatening, will cause your body to flood endorphins into your system. It prepares you for more pain almost like your cunt juices prepare you for intercourse.”
Both Mom and I paused for large sips of wine. “If your cunt flows juices down your legs when you just think about sex, you are probably a slut. If your brain and pituitary gland dump tons of endorphins into your body in response to pain, you are probably a long distance runner or other athlete that really abuses their body. If your body does both, well, that’s you and me. Then, you have the makings of a pain slut.”
“So God did make us this way,” Mom said with a laugh.
“God just laid out the wiring.” I said, “We decide wether or not to switch on the system. You keep the switch turned off most of the time. I keep the lights burning ’most every night.”
“If I didn’t know how hard it is to keep the lights off,” Mom answered, “I would tell you to just learn how to control yourself. But I know how hard that is. All I could think of as I was strapped in watching you was that if you gave me an opportunity to do so, I would strap myself into that spanking bench with the whole world watching. I would even do it without a mask if that was the only way.”
“Are you sure you would do that?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that destroy what you and Dad have?”
“I didn’t say I would do it,” she answered, “I said that’s all I could think of.” Then she turned very red. “No, that wasn’t all I could think of. That damn vibrator pushed up against my twat was driving me wild and I couldn’t believe that I was dripping on the floor with a camera focused right between my legs.”
She looked at me and said hoarsely, “It was so humiliating, but at the same time, it caused me to flood even more as I thought about all the people who were watching me rub my clit against the head of the vibrator.”
“That’s why I did it,” I said softly. “Now you know that humiliation can turn you on. You don’t have to go out and experiment to find out.”
“Is that what you were doing when you went down to The Grease Pit?” she asked.
I drained my glass and answered, “That was the general idea, but Brad was late and I got stoned out of my mind on bourbon and cokes. I was so wasted that they didn’t even recognize that it was me. I didn’t want you to do something that stupid.”
“Did you think I would do something like that?”
“I hoped not,” I answered, “but I know how strong these urges are. I don’t do the Beat Girl thing for the money. I do it because it keeps me from doing something far more stupid and dangerous.”
She drained her glass and said, “I think we both need a refill and then we need to go to bed.”
She took my empty glass with her into the kitchen and came back a few moments later with both glasses refilled. From that point on we talked about school and her job and a little about how she has to work at it to get Dad interested in sex.
My glass was almost empty and hers was down to her last sip when she suddenly became very serious. She drained the glass and set it down on the coffee table. “I think we found out a lot about each other tonight,” she said, “and also about ourselves.
“You are a pain slut. So am I. But I have a wonderful husband and a marvelous life. I choose to keep what I call the beast caged. Watching your sessions on a computer is like going to the zoo to visit the beast. I can handle that. But being there, that is going out into the wild and letting the beasts roam free. I can never do that again. Don’t invite me, and if I ask, don’t let me.”
“I don’t know where I go from here,” I replied. “I can’t cage the beast. I can only tame it or find someone or someplace or something that can control it. For now, that is Beat Girl. But I don’t know what it will be in the future.”
We hugged each other and went to bed. Both of our robes had fallen open and when we hugged our naked bodies pressed tightly against each other. It felt really weird, but there was nothing sexual about it. In fact, it felt like we were acknowledging that there was no longer anything between us and we would support each other from now on... not only as mother and daughter, but as sister pain sluts.
End of entry for Day TwelveMaddi’s Diary, Day Thirteen, Wednesday
I hate having to get out of bed early on Wednesday morning just to go down to the hospital and meet with Dr. B. Sorry, Dr. B, but that’s how I feel.
I started to tell him about last night, but he cut me off with “I will read about that Sunday night. I don’t need to know what happened. What I need to know now is where what happened has brought you. What is the most important thing on your mind right now?”
“Where do I go from here?” I answered. “I’m a pain slut. I don’t know whether or not I can ever change that, but I am pretty sure that I don’t WANT to change that. So, where DO I go from here?”
Dr. B put his fingertips together and looked at me across his desk. I haven’t been to a lot of therapists, but I know that when they put their fingertips together, they are about to say something that they think is really significant.
“When I do marital counseling,” he began, “one of the first things that I have to clarify is whether I am doing marriage counseling or divorce counseling. Obviously they are not the same thing. The most important thing that we needed to clarify is whether we are doing lifestyle change counseling or life direction counseling.”
He stood up and walked around the desk. That is also not a good sign from a therapist. He sat on the desk facing me. “You are not a crazy mixed up kid. You have things figured out pretty well. You have the classic underlying physiology of ... a pain slut. I could use the technical term, but let’s call it what it is. And you are more or less comfortable with being a pain slut.”
I looked at him in shock and surprise. I couldn’t believe he was telling me this.
“You are not nuts,” he said with a smile. “You are just at a point in your life where you have to figure out how to live out what you are as a safe and productive member of society.”
He laughed slightly. “Everybody is nuts in one way or another. A lot of people become therapists because they have significant emotional or mental issues. People become scientists because they are obsessed with facts and figures. The question is what does a person who is sexually turned on by pain become?”
“What?” I asked.
He laughed again. “That is for you to figure out. Therapists ask questions. Patients answer them.”
Dr. B can be so frustrating.
Nothing much happened the rest of the day except I couldn’t get that question out of my mind. “What DOES a person who is sexually turned on by pain become that will make her a safe and productive member of society.”
End of entry for Day ThirteenMaddi’s Diary, Day Fourteen, Thursday
Today was an absolutely normal day. By that I mean that I got up, ate breakfast, went to work, came home and watched television until I went to bed. Mom and I talked a little, but it was primarily about whether or not I was still sore and how my bruises were healing.
I pulled down my pants and panties and showed her my ass. The bruises already had that yellowish color that indicates they are healing. I heal very fast. By Saturday night, they will be mostly gone and by Monday my ass will be totally clear except for a couple of lines from the cane. Bruises from the cane must go deeper because they always take longer to heal.
While we were talking, Dad called. He must have asked Mom what she had been doing or something like that because she turned very red and said, “Oh, I’ve been keeping busy.”
After that she got up and walked into the other room. As she was leaving, I could hear her say, “You’d better eat some oysters or something, honey, because I am really missing you. While Maddi is at work Saturday morning, you and I are going to spend some serious loving time in bed.”
I couldn’t hear what she was saying after that, but it would appear that Dad was going to have to feed the caged beast, even if it didn’t exactly get the diet it wanted.
End of entry for Day FourteenMaddi’s Diary, Day Fifteen, Friday
It’s kind of late while I am writing this. Friday is normally an afternoon-evening shift at work, so I was there until close. Shirley and Vicki came in well after the dinner rush had passed. They sat in a corner booth in my area and ate onion rings and sipped on Cokes. As long as everyone gets waited on like they are supposed to and the table tops get cleaned and set, the manager doesn’t mind if I talk to friends occasionally.
Things get pretty dead around nine and by nine-thirty they were the only customers in the place. When it is that dead, normally the manager would send me home early, but instead she said, “Why don’t you just clock out and sit and talk with your friends.”
Vicki kept looking over at Shirley with a silly grin on her face. Finally she said, “Are you going to ask her, or am I?”
Shirley looked embarrassed, which is very unusual for her since she always seems to be so much in control. After a few moments of silence, Vicki said, “Maddi, you told us you were a little weird. I’m a little weird, too, but I’m not really into pain. It’s more like... well, I like someone telling me what to do, or maybe being unable to do anything while they do whatever they want.”
I smirked at her. “It’s always the quiet ones who surprise you,” I said, reflecting Shirley’s words from last week. Leaning in slightly and speaking quietly so we wouldn’t be overheard, I continued, “So, I’m a pain slut and you are a bondage slut.” Turning to Shirley, I asked, “What does that make you?”
Shirley’s whole face and body suddenly changed. She was sitting up straight and her eyes were wider. She wasn’t open-eyed like in surprise. Her eyebrows were in normal position, but somehow her eyes were bigger and more intense. She looked at me... or into me... or through me, it was the most intense look I had ever experienced. Then she said in a very quiet voice that sounded as solid as steel, “A Dom.”
Now my eyes were open, and so was my mouth. I looked back and forth between my two best friends. How had we kept all of this from each other all of these years? I knew that Shirl and Vic were normally much wilder than me in public, but why did they never tell me about this side of them?
Oh! They kept it from me because they thought I was little Miss Goodie Two-shoes! I got caught naked in public and now they feel safe telling me.
Oh! again. I pointed my finger at Shirley, “You’re a Dom.” Then I pointed my finger at Vicki, “You’re a sub.” I looked back and forth between them, “Do you two ever...”
“We’ve played once or twice,” Shirley said quietly, “but she prefers men.”
“And Shirley,” said Vicki, “prefers girls.” She took a deep breath, “Which brings us to the question of the evening.”
“Yes?” I said.
“Someone,” began Vicki, looking over at Shirley, “prides herself on having perfect gaydar. She says that she has never been wrong.”
“So?” I asked, not sure of where this was leading.
“I’ve had a crush on you since seventh grade,” Shirley said quietly. “I’ve never doubted my gaydar, but my subdar isn’t quite so good. I didn’t want to pull you into a kind of relationship that you didn’t want, so I have never said anything.”
“She didn’t realize you were a kinky match for her,” said Vicki. “Her subdar was wrong, but I think her gaydar is just as wrong, too.”
Vicki looked at me smugly, “There’s a bet riding on this. Which of us is right?”
Oh! a third time. They were asking me if I was a lesbian. “I’ve been with women a couple of times,” I said, “but it was sort of accidental after too much to drink and no men available.”
“But did it get you off?” asked Vicki.
“So did the men,” I answered.
“So which do you prefer?” Vicki pressed.
“Pain,” I answered.
“What?” said Vicki, trying to hide her surprise.
“You asked what I preferred,” I said. “What gets me off the best is pain, but I haven’t really checked to see if it’s different if it’s from a man or woman.”
“OK,” said Vicki. “Let’s try this a different way. Who did you have your first crush on and do you still have that crush?”
I sat there and stared at her while I turned redder... and redder... and redder... and redder.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “You didn’t have any real trouble telling us that you are a pain slut, but you can’t bring yourself to say who your first crush was.”
I kept looking at her and turning redder and glancing over at Shirley. Suddenly Vicki looked over at Shirley and then back at me and then back at Shirley and then back at me.
“For how long?” Vicki said. There was surprise in her voice and on her face.
“Forever, I think,” I answered. “For sure since sometime in the eighth grade. At least that’s when I figured out it was a crush and not just wanting to be really good friends.”
“Holy shit!” Vicki said, still looking back and forth between us. “And neither of you said anything to the other?”
“What was I supposed to say?” I asked. “Shirley, there is nothing more in the world I would like than to be your wife?... or lover?, or slave?, or whatever? I thought it was just screwed up adolescent thinking caused by screwed up adolescent hormones.”
“And what do you think now?” Asked Shirley. There was something in her voice I had never heard before. Was it love?... compassion?... hope?
“I’m not sure,” I answered. “I still would love to be your wife or lover or slave or whatever, but right now my mind is so screwed up that I’m not sure what I really want.”
I tried to keep from crying as I looked into her eyes and asked, “What do you want?’
“I want you to be happy,” she replied. Her eyes were filled with tears, but unlike me, they were not spilling down her face. “If you being happy means you marrying some guy some day, That’s what will be, and I won’t interfere because I love you. If you being happy means you being with me as whatever, then we will both be happy because I have loved you since I first knew what love was.”
“Double Holy Shit!” said Vicki as she slumped her shoulders and looked over at Shirley. “I guess you’ve won... twice. She is gay and she loves you. And I’ve lost our bet.”
“What was the bet?” I asked.
Vicki didn’t answer, but instead looked over to Shirley who said with a smile. “The loser is the winner’s slave for a night and as part of the events of that night the loser gets displayed naked and played with and forced to orgasm in public.”
“Wow!” was all I could say. “And I thought I was kinky.”
“Shirley is a member of a rather discreet little club in the city,” said Vicki. “Actually, her dad’s on the board of directors. She has taken me there a couple of times as a guest and has let some of the guys play with me a little. But this would be the first time on stage for either of us. I sort of imagined it being me in some sort of sexy catsuit and her tied up and squirming.”
“Never bet against a sure thing,” Shirley said. Her voice sounded very mature and authoritative. I could suddenly see her in a skin tight black catsuit slamming a paddle into my ass.
“Are you OK?” Vicki suddenly asked me. “You look... excited.”
“It’s almost closing time,” I answered, dodging the question. “Mom will be expecting me home. Why don’t we plan on going out together tomorrow night. We can talk about this a little more then. Besides, I really have to think about all this for a while.”
“OK,” said Shirley. “Eight O’clock tomorrow night at Juan Carlos’. We’ll grab something to eat and then go out dive hopping.” She looked over at me, “That is, if you’re allowed to do that now.”
“Dr. B said it’s OK,” I replied, “and Dad will trust me if I am out with you two. But I can’t risk driving if I’m not totally sober. The slightest police thing could get me sent to the state facility for thirty days.”
“Boy,” Vicki said, “they really have you by the short hairs.”
“Don’t have any,” I replied with a big grin.
“I’ll pick you up at your place around 7:30,” said Shirley. “Just look for a red Ford F150 with a matching bed cap. OK?”
I said “OK.”
So, that’s what we are planning to do tomorrow night. I’m going to close this out and go to bed.
CRAP! I can’t go to bed yet! I forgot to say anything about group again. I should probably go back and put this in before what I had to say about Shirley and Vicki coming into the restaurant, but Dr. B was emphatic when he told me how to do this and he insisted that there was to be NO EDITING! I’m just supposed to let it flow out of my fingertips onto the keyboard.
Sorry about almost forgetting again, Dr. B, but not that much really happened in group. There are five of us in the group. Two of them, a teenaged boy and girl, say they are sex addicts. My personal opinion is that if they just started their own private little group, they could take care of each other. :-)
Sorry about that Dr. B, but if they screwed each other like bunnies all the time, it would probably take care of the problem eventually.
The other two are teachers who got it on with their students. They say that they are not sex addicts or pedophiles or anything like that but it is just that they loved the students and the students loved them.
I guess even I have some limits, because that seems wrong. Both women had sex with several of their students. For one, it was her male students. For the other, it was female students. I don’t deny that a young man or woman can fall in love with an older woman, and vice versa, but two or three or four in the same class?
I don’t understand them, but then again, they don’t understand me. When I said that I was a pain slut who was trying to figure out how to live that out and be a safe and productive member of society, they both said, “But liking pain is perverted. Don’t you WANT to change?”
This from a 29 year-old woman who was sleeping with four different 13 year-old girls? Come off of it!
And they’ve got it wrong. I don’t like pain. Under certain circumstances, I get sexual pleasure out of pain... and out of bondage... and out of humiliation... and maybe out of making love to another woman. No, it’s not for everybody, but I don’t hurt others or screw up some kid’s life in the eighth grade while they are still all mixed up about who and what they are.
Satisfied, Dr. B? I said something about group. Now I am going to bed.
End of entry for Day FifteenMaddi’s Diary, Day Sixteen, Saturday
I’m actually writing on Sunday morning. I got in really, really late and if I had stopped to write things up then, it would have still been Sunday morning anyway.
Shirley picked me up a little after 7:30 just like she said she would. She told me that she was also picking up Vicki and she would be the designated driver for the night. Then she held up one of those home Breathalyzer things.
“As long as I keep it below .05, I’m the driver,” she said. “That means I can still drink– a little, but we walk from place to place and before I drive home we make sure that I’m below .05.” She grinned at me, “I figure worst case you two have to have another drink or two while I sober up enough to drive you home.”
As we drove into town, I suddenly felt very weird. This was like a date! She picked me up and she would be dropping me back off at home. I suddenly realized that I was even sitting in the middle of the seat next to her. I started to unbuckle the seat belt to slide over to the passenger side, but she reached down and grabbed my arm.
“No,” she said. “Stay. You’ll have to sit in the middle when I pick up Vic anyway.”
She gave me a quick glance. “Besides, I like you sitting next to me like that.”
The rest of the way into town, she was driving one-handed and using the other hand to lightly stroke my leg beneath my shorts.
Vicki came running out of the house as soon as Shirley pulled into the driveway and jumped into the cab of the truck almost before it came to a stop. Then she leaned out the window and yelled, “Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. Shirley will be bringing me home, but it might be really, really late. Love you both.”
Her dad was doing something in the yard and her mom was pulling weeds in the front flower bed. They both looked up and said, “Love you, honey.” Then they went back to what they were doing.
“What was that all about?” I asked, looking over at Vicki.
Shirley laughed. “She’s got her tube top and micro-mini shorts on and was afraid her dad wouldn’t let her out of the house in that outfit.”
The tube top wasn’t all that revealing. It totally covered her breasts, but it was very obvious that there was no bra of any sort under it. Her nipples were clearly outlined in the fabric. If any of the places we went to had their air conditioning turned way down, she was going to look very interesting.
I looked down at Vicki’s legs. Sitting down, her shorts ended just a little below where a pair of granny panties would. The top was a wide, elastic belt area that ran from about two inches below her naval to the middle of her public bone. That meant that most of her stomach was bare. The legs were so short that if they hadn’t had elastic holding them tight to her thighs, everything would have been visible from the front or the back.
“Commando?” I asked, smirking slightly.
She stuck her tongue out at me and replied, “Panty shield on the crotch, just in case.”
“Juan Carlos’, first stop,” said Shirley and we backed out of the drive.
I had a glass of wine with my meal at the pub. So did Vicki, but Shirley stuck to 7-up. Then we walked down the strip and started making the rounds. I’d had a couple of whiskey sours by the time we got to “David’s Dock.” Obviously, the place has a boat theme and there are anchors and ropes and canvas and nets and all of that hanging all over the walls and from the ceiling.
There was a big poster on a stand at the entrance that said, “Short Short Contest Saturday Night - Shortest Shorts wins a $50 Dave’s Dock gift certificate.”
“Did you know about this in advance?” I asked Vicki.
“No,” she replied, “but you can bet your ass that I’m going to enter.”
The judging wasn’t until 11:00 so we sat around drinking until then. At 11:00 Dave stood up and called all the entrants up onto the stage. Several of the girls got up on stage with almost standard shorts on, but as soon as they looked at the shorts the other girls were wearing, they went back to their tables.
“Audience votes,” yelled Dave, “but I am going to narrow it down to the top three.” He then walked down the row of girls and tapped most of them on the shoulder and indicated that they should go sit down.
“All right,” he shouted at the crowd. “You are supposed to vote based on three things. The criteria is shortest shorts, cutest legs, and best ass. The band is going to play and the three girls are going to dance for you to show off their ASSets. When the song is over, we vote.”
The band then started into a song I didn’t recognize that was somewhere between hard rock and bump and grind. I knew that Vicki had taken a lot of dance lessons and had gone to contests in high school, but I had never seen her really cut loose.
The other two girls were trying. One was doing what looked like a stripper’s pelvic thrusts, or at least she was trying to. She was wearing cut offs that had been hacked even shorter. As she gyrated around the stage, they were riding up in the crack of her ass. She couldn’t dance for shit, but it looked like she might win on pure daring. Then the string popped out.
She kicked her leg out at the audience and a tampon string dropped out of the almost-not-there crotch of the shorts and hung down between her legs. Everybody started laughing and a couple of guys started hooting at her and pointing. She looked down and realized what had happened and ran off the stage.
That left Vicki and one other girl. Vicki’s shorts were denim and the other girls were black spandex, but they were about the same length. Both girls had nice legs and good looking asses, but Vicki could dance circles around the other girl. At one point, Vicki put her leg above her head from the side and twirled on her other foot. It was a very good thing that the micro-mini shorts had elastic around the legs or everything she had would have been totally visible.
It might have still been close, but timed exactly with the end of the song, Vicki did some sort of front flip and came down on the stage in full splits with one leg back and the other forward toward the audience. She had her hands held out in front of her and after the music stopped, she bowed down so that her forehead was touching her leg.
The place went nuts. The other girl walked off stage shaking her head. It was obvious that she had lost. Dave had Vicki stand next to him and did the “What’s your name?” sort of stuff. Then he and Vicki went over and sat at a table just off stage.
After a while, Vicki came back and said, “I hope you guys don’t mind, but Dave wants me to hang around for a while. He can drive me home later.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” said Shirley with a smirk.
“I plan on doing everything that you would do,” Vicki replied with a matching smirk, “but I’m going to do it with a man.”
Shirley just laughed as Vicki walked back over to the table where Dave was sitting.
“She does have a nice ass,” Shirley said.
Suddenly I felt... jealous. Shirley must have sensed it because she put her hand on top of mine and said, “But your ass is mine.” Then she leaned over and kissed me.
I kissed her back. It felt good... really good. Shirley leaned in close and asked, “So, where do you want to go from here?”
“The Pit,” I answered.
“You sure?” she replied.
“You’ll be with me,” I said. “And I need to overlay some memories.”
Shirley looked at me like she wasn’t sure what I meant by that. I wasn’t all that sure either, but she said, “OK, but we will have to drive there.”
She got out her little machine and blew into it. Then she held it up so I could see it. “Point oh four,” she said. “Let’s go slumming.”
Some things in life never change, and The Grease Pit is one of those things. It is always dark, dirty, smoky and loud. In town they enforce the state no smoking in bars laws, but out here at the pit, I don’t think the law ever stops by... unless it’s to break up a major fight or something like that.
As we walked back to one of the back booths, I heard somebody call out, “Do you ladies need someone to join you?”
Shirley turned toward the darkness where the voice had come from and answered, “I’m with her. We don’t need someone else.”
That brought a chorus of “Ohs” and laughter, but no one else bothered us as we went back and sat down. A waitress scurried over and asked what we wanted. I decided to stick with my whiskey sours. Shirley went with a seven and seven and told the waitress to put it in a tall glass and fill the rest with 7-up.
“I want to be sure we can leave here at any time,” she said as she looked around. Some nights you really don’t want to have to hang around at the Pit.
After the waitress brought our drinks, I slid over a little closer to Shirley in the booth and sort of leaned my head against her shoulder. “What do we do now?” I asked.
Shirley looked over at me, but said nothing.
“I mean,” I said, “where do we go from here?” I lifted up my head so that I could look at her. “I think I love you. I think I always have, but how can we be sure that it isn’t just a school girl crush that has lingered for too long?”
I put my head back against her shoulder and said, “How do we know if we are actually made for each other? Are you what I need and am I what you need?”
Shirley let me sigh a couple more times, then she pushed me upright and turned me slightly so that I was looking directly at her. “Take off your shorts,” she said. Her voice was stern and commanding.
“What?” I sputtered.
“You said you wanted to overlay some memories. We are going to do that. Take off your shorts and give them to me.”
I looked at her. She nodded her head slightly and I reached down with both hands and stuck my thumbs under the waistband of my shorts. I had them pushed down just below my knees when the waitress suddenly stopped by the table.
“Need anything else?” she asked.
“Another whiskey sour and a small dish of your super hot wings,” Shirley answered.
As soon as the waitress left, I finished pushing my shorts over my knees. I had to put my shoulders on the table to reach down far enough to slide them down to my ankles. I sat up and pulled one foot out of the shorts and then used the other foot to lift them up far enough for me to grab.
I handed them to Shirley and she said, “Now the panties.”
I took a deep breath and repeated the action with my panties. The leather of the booth felt slippery against my ass. I knew that I must be gushing from my cunt to cause that. As I was handing my panties to Shirley, the waitress showed back up with the order. Her eyebrows went up a little, but she put the drink and wings on the table like this was an everyday occurrence. At the Pit, maybe it was.
Shirley pushed at twenty across the table to her and told her to keep the change. As she walked away, Shirley added, “We won’t be needing anything else tonight.”
Shirley reached down under the table and started stroking my leg. “Finish your drink,” she said. I had about a fourth of a glass left, but I downed it in one gulp. She slid my empty glass to the outside of the table and put the full one more or less in front of me.
“Open your legs,” she said. I did. I could feel her hand on my upper thigh. I pushed myself forward trying to bring her hand between my legs, but she moved with my leg and kept it on my thigh.
“Now you are going to play with yourself,” she said. “But these are the conditions. You can only stroke yourself while you are drinking your whiskey sour. That means that you’d better sip it very carefully or your drink will be empty before you get where you want to go. And if I say ‘Stop,’ everything stops. If I say that, you put your drink down and you hold it with both hands on the table.”
Her hand went between my legs and she stroked my sopping cunt. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” I breathed heavily.
“Then begin,” she said as she pushed the drink closer to me.
I reached down with my right hand and started stroking myself. With my left hand I lifted the whiskey sour to my mouth and started sipping. I was trying really hard to sip only a little bit, but with each stroke of my hand, I was getting wetter and wetter and when my hand started moving up onto my clit and making little circles I suddenly realized that my glass was empty.
“Naughty little girls don’t know how to control themselves, do they?” asked Shirley.
Then her voice got really stern and firm and she said, “I said you would have to stop when you finished your drink. Hold the empty glass with both hands.”
I whimpered slightly, but I brought my other hand up onto the table and grabbed the empty whisky sour glass with both hands.
“I guess we are going to have to give you something else to sip on,” she said. Then she reached down and stroked my thigh. Her fingers slipped between my legs and she pulled them through my slit and upward across my clit. I gasped out loud.
“Do you know what I am going to do?” she asked.
“No,” I whimpered back.
She slid the plate of super hot wings across the table in front of me. I didn’t know why she had ordered them. I know that she doesn’t like spicy food. I do, but the super hot wings here are almost inedible because they are so hot.
She picked up my panties from the seat of the booth and started wiping the sauce off the plate and the wings with them. Soon they were saturated with the spicy hot sauce. “Open up,” she said, and I spread my legs wide under the table.
“Wrong end,” she said with a laugh. “Open up your mouth.”
“I am going to stick these in your mouth,” she said calmly. “As long as you keep them in there, I will rub and stroke you and make you feel good. If you spit them out, it’s all over and I take you home.” She lifted my head slightly so I was looking directly into her dark brown eyes. “Do you understand that?
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes, what?” she replied.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t think “please” was what she was looking for. Then it hit me. “Yes, Mistress,” I replied.
“Open wide,” she said and she pushed the panties into my mouth.
I started to make some grunting sounds as the fiery liquid seared the inside of my mouth, but she put her fingers against my lips and said, “Close your mouth and keep quiet or we go home.”
I closed my mouth and tried, but I was still making little mewling sounds through my closed lips. Then her hand touched my lower lips. There was evidently still some of the hot sauce on her fingers because when she first touched me, it burned, but almost immediately the pleasure overtook the pain.
She slid her fingers in and out of me and I rocked forward and then back to give her better access. Then she reached down with her other hand and began making little circles around my clit. We were all the way in the back and there wasn’t anybody sitting near us, but anyone sitting anywhere in the bar who looked back at us could probably tell what was going on.
I didn’t care. I’d done much worse in here and that wasn’t with someone I really wanted to be with. I don’t know if the sauce in my mouth was getting diluted by my saliva or if it was just that my E buddies were showing up in droves, but it stopped hurting and all I could feel was the pleasure of her hands on my body.
I could feel it building. It was going to be big. Shirley evidently could feel me building toward it also because she said quietly in my ear, “Keep you mouth tightly closed and don’t swallow your panties.”
Then she pinched my clit... hard. I almost stood up in the booth, but she was holding me down with her other hand. I was concentrating on holding my mouth shut and being quiet, but I know that my grunts and groans could be heard all through the bar. Then it happened.
It was as strong as any orgasm I had ever experienced, but somehow this one was different. I wasn’t just exploding and going out of my mind. For a moment or two it was as though Shirley was inside me, and I don’t mean her hand. She was inside me and I was inside her and we were blasting through the universe together. ... and I almost swallowed my panties.
I gagged slightly and reached up and pulled them out of my mouth. I took a deep breath and then pushed my lips against hers and kissed her deeply. She kissed me back just as deeply and we remained locked together for several moments until she pushed me back lightly and said, “I think it’s time I got you home.”
The bar was nearly empty. It was almost 2:00 am and Tommy the bartender was starting to shut things down for closing. “Leave the panties,” she said. “It will give the cleaning crew something to talk about.”
I left my shorts, too. My blouse was long enough that it looked like I had on a really short mini skirt. If I had bent over at all, my ass would have shown, but I stayed upright and took small steps as Shirley and I hurried out to the pickup. A half-hour later, she was dropping me off at my house.
The light was on in my parents bedroom, so I went into my bedroom and put on a robe and then stuck my head into the room. Mom was lying in bed reading. Dad was asleep.
“I wasn’t really waiting up for you,” she said. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
Then she smiled up at me and said, “It wasn’t like you were out on a date and I was worrying that you were going to come home without your panties.”
“It was a date,” I said.
Mom looked up at me. “And I did come home without my panties.” Her mouth opened as if she was going to say something, but I said, “ But we will talk about that next week when Dad is back on the road.”
Mom looked over to make sure that Dad was really asleep and then said, “I’ll be gone most of next week also. Our little talk may have to wait.”
As I turned to leave the room, she added. “I’ll see you Tuesday night.”
I turned back to look at her and she smiled and said, “Have a good night.”
End of entry for Day SixteenMaddi’s Diary, Day Seventeen, Sunday.
Sunday was actually a pretty normal day. Dad wasn’t desperately trying to do “normal” things, we just did. He greased his truck while Mom and I cleaned house and then we basically sat around the house doing nothing. I lay out in the back yard sunning myself for an hour or two. You can’t see the back yard from the road, so I worked on my all-over tan. I heard a small plane go over while I was lying there face up with my eyes closed behind my sunglasses. I wondered if he could see that I was naked. I spread my legs out to the edges of the blanket to give him a better view. Whoever it was probably didn’t even notice.
It was kind of nice to do nothing all day.
End of entry for Day Seventeen
End of entry for Week Three
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