4 comments/ 28871 views/ 26 favorites Diary of a Pain Slut Week 01 By: The_Technician = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = When Maddi Miller gets caught doing naked self-bondage under an interstate bridge, the police take her to the psych ward of the local hospital. She is released but has to keep a diary as part of her thirty day evaluation and submit it to her therapist at the end of each week. This is week one 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Maddi's Diary, Day One My full name is Madison Miller, but everybody calls me Maddi. This is day one of my thirty day journal or diary or whatever you want to call it that is a part of my court-ordered counseling and evaluation. Dr. Bergenstein said I have to take time at the end of each day to record my thoughts and feelings about the day. Then every Sunday night I am supposed to log onto a special website and send him what I wrote. I can add a video message to him if I want to. Or I could even log in every night and do the whole thing into my webcam, but Dr. B said he prefers that I take the time to write it down. He says that taking the time to write it down will cause me to think more about it. He also said that some of the things I write he will bring up in group or, if it is confidential, at our individual sessions. Group is on Fridays, and I meet with Dr. B individually on Mondays and Wednesdays for at least the next thirty days. I really don't want to do any of this, but it's this or a thirty day in-patient observation at the state psychiatric facility. They think I'm nuts, but I'm not. I'm just a pain slut. That means that I'm sort of addicted to pain. If I were an adrenalin junkie and spent all my time riding roller coasters over at the big amusement park up by the lake, they wouldn't think anything of it. But because my thrill of choice involves pain and sex, they think I am nuts. Maybe it would be a little different if I were addicted to something destructive like drugs or alcohol or even cigarettes. And I could see their concern if my addiction involved hurting other people– who didn't want to be hurt– or messing with little children or something like that. But the only one hurting is me. And I make sure that I'm not putting myself or anyone else in danger. Well, ok, major danger. A degree of danger is part of the fun, but a lot of things are dangerous. People don't get locked up for skydiving or mountain climbing or being a professional car or motorcycle racer. Those are dangerous too. This all started last Thursday night when the police found me tied naked between the support pillars of the underpass out on Miller Road where it goes beneath the interstate. Miller Road is a farm to market road that doesn't have an exit, so it just goes under the interstate and eventually winds its way into town. There isn't all that much traffic on that road at night, but one of the dozen or so cars that had passed by must have seen me and called 911. A couple of county mounties showed up all lights and sirens and guns drawn like they were taking down America's number one terrorist, but all they found was me standing there naked. Their first question after they cut me down was "Who did this to you?" When I said "Nobody," they looked at me really strangely. When they figured out what all my equipment was for, and that I had done this to myself, they wrapped me in a blanket and took me to the psych ward at the hospital up in the city. I know what I was doing was breaking the law. I know that they could have, and probably should have charged me with public indecency, I was, after all, naked in public. But they didn't do that. They locked me in the back of their car and took me to the looney bin. That's where Dr. Bergenstein got involved. I'm here for 72 hours. I'm in what they call a "transition ward," which is pretty much like a regular hospital ward except the door at the end of the hallway is locked. They gave me back my laptop and cell phone once they put me in this almost regular room, so it isn't too bad. When they let me out Monday morning, I will have to come back three times a week for the next thirty days. Dr. B says he can extend that to forty-five days with just his signature and up to six months by calling the judge. Then he added, "So, you better take this seriously and continue with the program when you get home." Yes, Dr. B, I am taking this very seriously. BRB Back Just texted Dr B to ask if it was OK to share these writings with others. He called me back and answered, "The rules of confidentiality say that I can't share them with anybody. But you can share them with anybody you like. You can even post them on the internet if that's what you want to do." :-) I told him that's exactly what I am going to do! :-) Dr. B didn't think I was serious at first, but when he realized that I meant it, he said I should wait until he releases me to post anything and that I really should show everything to him first. He said sharing it with a couple of close friends might be helpful. And I have the right to post whatever I want, wherever I want, whenever I want, but he feels obligated to make sure I know the ramifications of what I will be telling the entire world, including my parents... and the police. OK, back to my ramblings. I'm supposed to start out by giving the background story of what brought me to this point. I guess the best place to start would actually be last night. When they found me last night, I was on a ledge alongside the highway stretched out in a naked X facing away from the road. There used to be a big, steep hill on the old highway, but when they put in the interstate they cut off the hills and filled in the valleys. At the point where Miller Road goes under the interstate, they built it up quite a bit so the bridge above the underpass is pretty far up there. There is a wide shoulder area on either side of the highway and then a straight up concrete wall about eight feet high. From there, two large, square pillars go up to support each lane of the interstate. Actually, the pillars go all the way to the bottom, but the wall fills in the space between them. Concrete slants upward from the top of the wall to bottom of the roadway at the end of the bridge. On the outside of the underpass, concrete slants downward to road level. With a little determination, it is possible to climb up the slanted concrete and get to the ledge between the pillars. That is what I had done. There are four pillars on each side of the road, two for each direction of the interstate. The space between the outer two pillars is really wide because there are two lanes up there on the interstate, but the space between the inner two pillars is just the distance between the two bridges, and that is exactly the right size. That area is also open to the sky above, so being up there is like standing out in the open totally naked. I can see the sky above me and hear the constant zoom of the traffic passing by overhead. As I was standing there, I was wondering what those truckers would think if they could see that far over the railing on the bridge. I was also hoping that they really couldn't see me. I didn't want to cause an accident or anything like that. The idea to do this came to me last summer when they were repainting the steel on the underside of the bridge. They put a big iron band around the pillars at the very bottom and second one near the top a few feet below the interstate. There were large eyebolt-like rings on each corner of the band. They used those rings to stretch out cables that held huge tarps over the roadway and down between the columns. It was evidently intended to protect any cars that might be driving on the lower road from their sandblasting or spray painting or whatever. When the project was finished, they took down the cables and tarps, but they left the bands... and the rings. All summer I watched them sandblast and paint that bridge. After they left, those rings called to me all winter as I drove back and forth under that overpass on my way to class at the local community college. The call of those rings got even louder as the weather grew warmer and I was driving to my waitress job in town. Finally, I knew that I had to act. I have been practicing self-bondage at home for a couple of years and have done some minor almost-public stuff in the park or out on country roads. You would be amazed how isolated it is in the middle of a cornfield in August. I live with my parents, but my dad is an over-the-road trucker and the company mom works for sends her all over the state to train people how to use their products. She's gone a couple of days every week and all week a lot of the time. So, I have the house to myself most weekdays... and nights, and even occasional weekends. Over the years I have acquired some really neat equipment including timers and computer controls and padded cuffs and all of that. How a struggling community college student could afford to buy such an extensive collection of toys is a story for a different time. How I got it all set up and learned how to use it properly is very simple. Geek boys will do anything for sex. And I will do almost anything to get a proper pain fix. Harold, my favorite nerd, isn't too bad in bed. He is my personal techie and the one who put the equipment together for my roadside adventure. He even went out to the overpass earlier in the day and put the ropes through the rings at the top and bottom of the columns and hauled the heavy battery powered come-a-long style winches up onto the ledge. By the time I got there after dark, all I had to do was set up the equipment that was connected to me, connect the ropes to my wrist and ankle restraints, and trigger the program on the computer. The equipment consisted of the come-a-longs that tightened the ropes, a laptop computer, a couple of tens units, and several light sensors. Harold was my safety. He was supposed to come by just before dawn and take down the ropes and winches. I told him I would give him a blowjob when he brought the equipment back to me. I also told him that if I hadn't gotten free by the time he got there, he could fuck me in the ass right where I stood. I was pretty sure that I would be able to get free, but if I didn't, it would be worth getting screwed in the ass to see how Harold was able to stand behind me on that thin ledge to do it. The way it worked was this. Once I was in place, I triggered the program on the computer and it pulled the ropes tight with the winches... and I mean tight. I was stretched out almost like I was on a rack. Then, whenever a car came down the road, it would trigger one of the light sensors and the computer would start the tens units. I had an electrode in my ass, top hat electrodes on my nipples, a clip electrode on my clit, and several patch electrodes up and down my legs and ass and on my stomach. Each pulse from the tens unit corresponded to a very tiny loosening of the winch's pull on the ropes. The pulses started out in the leg patches and after a certain number of zaps, the stomach patches kicked in and then the tit and ass circuit and finally the clit buzzer went off. The pulses also got a little stronger with each pulse. I had a safety switch in my hand that turned off the shocks if they got too severe. All I had to do was let go of the switch, but it was going to take a thousand or so pulses before the ropes were loose enough for me to get loose. And like I said there really aren't all that many cars on Miller Road at night. About a dozen cars had passed by. For the first couple, I stopped things shortly after it started zapping my nipples. On the next car, I let it go all the way to hitting me in the clit. I really should have thought more about the fact that the intensity would be way up there before the clit clip kicked in. The first time it activated, I screamed loud enough to be heard even with the ball gag in my mouth and I peed myself. I might have even dirtied myself if I hadn't had a butt plug in my ass that was held in place with a leather strap. The next time, I was a little more ready for it, but I still yelled. It hurt like mad, but I held that switch down for twenty shocks after it hit my clit. I counted every one of them. It pulses about once every half second, so that was around ten seconds at that level. I think the tens unit actually got to maximum somewhere around the fifteenth shock. After I finally released the button, I stood there crying and begging the computer to let me go. It couldn't really hear me– well, actually it could. There was a high quality web cam facing me and recording everything so Harold could edit it later. He gets to watch the raw video and then he does his electronic magic and obscures my face and edits it down to the interesting parts. He has a friend who has a friend who runs a porn website and they pay fairly well for good quality "amateur" pain videos. They also pay really well for stuff we do from my "studio," but that is a story for another time. As I was begging the computer to let me go, my pain buddies arrived. That's what I call the endorphin rush I get from pain in a sexual situation. The situation has to be sexual to begin with or the pain is just pain. But if the situation is sexual– like being tied up naked in public, then the pain brings the E buddies, and the E buddies heighten the sexual feelings which enable me to take more pain which brings more E buddies... well, you get the idea. Under the right circumstances, I can have wonderful orgasms from the pain alone. If you add additional sexual stimulation to that... WOW! By two in the morning when the police arrived, the ropes on my arms were getting pretty loose and after a car passed by, I wasn't releasing the safety button until I lost my grip on it during the intense orgasm. Had another car or two gone past before the cops got there, I might have been gone. Or then again, I might have just stood up there and waited for one more glorious, pain-induced orgasm. Oh, oh. That's the lights out chime. We're supposed to go to bed when that comes over the intercoms. I'll have to write more tomorrow. End of entry for Day One. Maddi's Diary, Day Two Have you ever seen the porn classic movie "The Devil in Miss Jones"? Because she has a totally crappy life, Justine Jones commits suicide and gets sent to hell. Because she had led a basically good, but really lousy life, she is put in Hell's equivalent of a transition unit in one of the upper levels of hell... sorry about that Dr. B, but you said to share my feelings. Anyway, the Devil offers her a chance to go back to earth for a certain time and really earn her place in hell. She gets to choose from any of the mortal sins and, since it is a porn film, she chooses lust. The rest of the film is her experiencing every type of forbidden sexual pleasure. Then she goes back to hell. She is put in a room with an unresponsive imbecile who just sits in the corner and stares at the walls. Having tasted the true pleasures of lust, she is incredibly horny. She tries to get herself off, but can't do it by herself. The film ends with her pleading with the catatonic man to fuck her or rub her or do ANYTHING to her, and then with her pleading with the Devil to just allow her to cum. She is now truly in hell. Care to guess why I am thinking of that story? There are video cameras EVERYWHERE! And Dr. B explained that uncontrolled masturbation or any self-inflicted pain of any sort would get me an automatic thirty day visit to the state psych facility. It's not that I need to pop my cork every day. I have gone days or even weeks without even attempting an orgasm. It's that I can't do it. Orgasm is forbidden here! If Dr. B had said, "You can jill yourself off twenty times a day if you want to," I probably would just play cards with the nuts over in the corner or see what was interesting on the web. But because it is forbidden, my cunt itches like mad and my clit is screaming to be touched. I really want to say "The Hell with it!" and get myself off, but if I get sent downstate for thirty days, I really will end up nuts. Maybe the forbidden is part of what pulled me into pain, but I don't think so. My fascination with pain sex started a few years back with a couple of nights where I was really lonely and really horny. I was lonely because we live way out in the country and mom and dad were both gone. I was horny because I was a teen-aged girl. What else is a lonely, horny, 18 year old girl supposed to do out in the middle of nowhere? I took matters into my own hands, so-to-speak. It was supposed to just be some good-old-fashioned self satisfaction, but it wasn't working. Oh, it felt good. I had several different vibrators of various size and shape, and they all feel good. But I wasn't looking for feeling good. I was looking for that over the top explosion and release. Geez, I almost sound like a guy there, but it was the truth. I really needed to pop my cork, and jilling off wasn't working. I had downed a couple of glasses of wine to put me in the mood before I started, and my buzzing plastic friend was trying its best, but it wasn't getting me where I needed to be. Then I reached up to stroke my breast. That doesn't really work either. I guess trying to stroke your own breast is sort of like trying to tickle yourself. Somebody else has to do it. You can't really do it to yourself. I squeezed my left boob lightly and that sort of felt good. Then I pinched my nipple... hard. That worked! I felt something between my legs when I did that. I pinched again and it was like a strong electric shock went through my clit. I pinched and twisted and the electricity got even stronger. Then I reached up with my other hand and grabbed my other nipple. The electricity grew stronger, but soon it rapidly faded. With both hands on my nipples, there was nothing holding my plastic friend in the right spot. I needed a third hand... or at least I needed something else to hold the vibrator in place or to pinch my nipples. Driven by need and necessity, I started looking around my bedroom, but there was nothing that looked useful. Then I remembered pictures I had seen on-line of women with clothespins on their breasts and nipples. I hurried downstairs to the laundry room and grabbed my mother's old bag of clothespins that she used to use back when she had to hang up clothes outside. I grabbed a handful of them and scurried back upstairs. I lay back down on the bed, put one on either side of each nipple, clamping down on the aerole and then pushed my vibrator back into my cunt. I was stroking it slowly in and out and then pulling it out far enough to run it over my clit. This was working. I was getting there. But I wanted more. I reached up and pinched and twisted my left nipple. "Aieeeee!" I think the neighbors heard me when I screamed. It was unbelievably painful because my nipple was so sensitive, but at the same time, it was unbelievably wonderful. I pinched the right nipple and screamed even louder. This was definitely taking me toward the explosion I was seeking. I started pumping harder with my vibrator and at the same time reached down onto the bed and picked up another clothespin. This one I put directly on my nipple, just barely clipping it onto the tip so that it clamped down on the most sensitive area. I wasn't even able to scream. The sensations were overwhelming. It was pain. Oh, it was pain, but it was pleasure at the same time, and behind it all there was... something. I learned later that the "something" was my body pumping endorphins into me from the combination of pain and pleasure. I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that it felt really, really good and was promising to feel even better. I drove my vibrator in and out of my cunt like it was a jackhammer. Diary of a Pain Slut Week 01 I was getting close. Time for the second clothespin. I could barely control my hand enough to get the clothespin to my breast. I tried to put it out on the tip just like the other one, but my hand was shaking too much and I put it on all the way so that the pin was actually pinching just behind the nipple itself. That wasn't as intense as the other nipple, but it was enough. The whole world exploded. I trashed around violently on the bed. This was the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced. I was far from being a virgin. I had gone over the top with several men and a couple of women, but nothing I had previously experienced came anywhere close to this. I don't know if I squirted or peed myself or just ran that much juice, but my sheet was sopping wet beneath me and my ass was making wet smacking sounds as I bounced around on the bed. I lay there panting as the world slowly stopped spinning. Then I could feel the pressure on my tits and reached up to release the clothespins. This time I was sure that the neighbors heard my scream as I pulled all three of them off my left breast with one quick motion. I clenched my jaw tightly shut and released each of the pins on my right breast individually. Doing it slowly didn't make it any less painful. I lay on the bed massaging my breasts until the deep dimples caused by the clothespins slowly disappeared, and then... and then... and then I put the clothespins back in place, making sure that the one on my right breast was also way out on the tip so that it tightly pinched that most sensitive area. And I started rubbing myself. I left the vibrator lying on the bed next to me, humming softly. I didn't really need it. But I did need the pain. I wanted the pain. I loved the pain. And with the pain from my nipples egging me on, I exploded once again into a mind shattering orgasm. This time after the world stopped spinning, I reached up with both hands and pulled all six clothespins off my breasts all at once. I screamed from the unbelievable pain, but it was still a good pain because it was part of the sensations that had given me such unbelievable pleasure. From that night on, almost every night that I had the house to myself, me and my plastic friend and my bag of clothespins would have a little pain party in my bedroom. I also started searching the internet for pain stuff. From the stories and the pictures, I found out that humiliation had the same effect as pain for some people. And for a few special people, the combination of pain and humiliation could bring about extreme sexual pleasure. I decided to find out for myself. One Friday night when my parents were both out of town for the weekend, I took my clothespins with me in my purse and went out bar hopping. Shirley and Vicki and I go out bar hopping about once a month or so, but they weren't with me that night. None of my girlfriends were with me. And I guess I can't really call it bar hopping since I was going to only one bar, The Grease Pit. The Grease Pit was located right next to the entrance to the race track. It had been around forever and looked like it. The sign with the name showed somebody in a grease pit, one of those old fashioned trenches beneath a car that they used to have in service stations. The sign was so weathered that you could barely see the image, and even if you could, most people my age wouldn't know what it was. I only did because my dad had one next to the shed so he could grease his truck. The Pit wasn't quite a dive, but it was close... very close. It wasn't quite a biker bar either, but on any given night there were probably as many vehicles with two wheels parked out front as there were ones with four. A girl went to The Grease Pit alone for one of two reasons. She was from out of town and lost, or she was looking to get laid. I was a local; I was alone; and I was dressed pretty slutty, so it was very obvious that I was looking to get laid. Several different men tried to pick me up, but I brushed them off. I knew exactly who I was looking for, and that somebody was Brad Summers. Brad had a reputation for being kinky. I had once watched him order a girl who insulted him to get over his lap. She did, and he spanked her ass right there in The Grease Pit. As she kicked and screamed, her short dress rode up over her ass cheeks exposing them and the skimpy thong she was wearing to everyone in the bar. Brad whaled away until she her ass was starting to turn purple and she was crying and begging for him to stop. She went to the police the next morning, but he hadn't done anything sexual to her and she had willingly placed herself over his lap, so there was nothing they could do. Brad had the hots for me, and was always hanging around us when we slummed at the Pit. I had slapped his face a while back when he tried to pick me up. I told him to get the hell away from me and yelled that I would never go out with a neanderthal like him. He told me that he was going to make me very sorry for that one day. Yes, Brad was definitely the one I was looking for if I wanted pain and humiliation. Brad was almost always at the Pit from about nine o'clock on every Friday night, but tonight he wasn't showing. I decided to wait for him, and sat there by myself in a booth for several hours sipping on bourbon and cokes and fending off various bar flies who wanted to take me home... or out into the parking lot... or just back into the bathrooms. I lost count of how many drinks I had, but I knew that I was in no shape to attempt to drive home. It was almost two am and getting close to closing. I was starting to think that I would have to take up one of the barflies on their offer when Brad walked in. He looked upset. Someone called out, "Where's Jill?" "That didn't work out," he answered curtly and then ordered a double Jack, neat at the bar. I immediately slid out of the booth and staggered over to sit next to him. "What do you want?" he snarled. I put the clothespins on the bar in front of him and said "I want you to spank my ass until I can't scream anymore and then take me somewhere and screw my brains out while these are clamped on my tits." I don't know if that was what I had been planning on saying, but it was what I wanted. My voice was pretty slurred from the drinks. So was my mind, I guess, because I said what I said loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear me. Brad got up off the barstool and pulled a chair out into the center of the room. "If any of it happens here, it all happens here," he said. Then he pointed his finger at me and said loud enough for everyone to hear, "If you meant what you said, get naked, put those clothespins on your tits and lay down over my lap. After I have warmed you up enough, I will fuck you senseless right there on the pool table." Then he turned to the bartender and said, "Tommy, you'd better lock the front door a little early tonight." Turning back to me he said, "If you're leaving, you'd better go before he locks the door. If not, get your ass over here." In response I stepped out of my high heels and slid my dress to the floor. I hadn't worn any panties under it. I think I had been looking forward to having to show my naked ass to everyone in the bar as I squirmed under the spanking, but this was even better. I was so humiliated and ashamed, but at the same time I couldn't believe how turned on this was making me. I pulled off my top and stood naked in front of everyone. God, how could I actually be doing this? "Over here," Brad said playfully as he tapped his upper leg. I walked over to where he was sitting and stood next to him. "Do you really want this?" he asked. "I don't want you calling the cops tomorrow morning and saying I forced you." In response, I began clipping the clothespins on my breasts. I had ten of them with me. I started with two just on either side of each nipple. Then I put two more outside of them right on the edge of the aerole. After I had eight of them in place, I turned around slowly so that everyone in the bar could see what I had done. Someone started clapping and soon the whole bar was filled with the sound of applause. What I was doing suddenly penetrated through my alcohol soaked brain and I felt slightly afraid, but more than that, I realized that these were all people who knew me. How could I ever face them again after doing this? The shame and humiliation was overwhelming, but it was doing exactly what I had hoped it would do. I had been running juices down the inside of my thighs before I put the first clothespin in place, but now, I was absolutely gushing. I held up the next clothespin and then very carefully clipped it to the very tip of my left breast. That brought another round of applause and another flood of juice from my pussy. I repeated my actions with the clip for my right breast, and then draped myself over his legs. This combination of pain and humiliation was definitely working, and he hadn't even started spanking me yet. Brad didn't waste any time working up to the spanking. He didn't stroke my back or my ass or say anything to me. He just put one hand firmly in the middle of my back to hold me in place and started whaling away on my ass. Most of the spanks hit right in the middle of the ass cheek, but once in a while he would hit lower, almost on the leg. That was a lot more painful and would cause me to kick my legs way up in the air and scream even louder. I knew that each time I did that I was showing my twat to everyone who was looking. That added humiliation was driving me crazy with lust. I felt like I was on the verge of an explosive orgasm just from the pain and humiliation of it all, and then he stopped. "Change of plans," he said sternly. Down on your hands and knees right here. I did as he had instructed. At that point I think I would have done anything for anybody just to get that orgasm that was just over the hill in front of me. "Tommy," he said, "I think you deserve a special tip from this little lady. You take her mouth while I take her cunt." As he knelt on the floor in front of me, Brad added, "The only thing is that when she starts to cum, you have to yank all those clothespins off her tits. You got that?" "Got it, Brad," he answered His prick was already out of his pants and starting to get hard. I hadn't said anything about sucking anybody off, but I did want to be humiliated and there is nothing more humiliating than being forced to give a man a blow job in public. I gobbled his prick into my mouth and started slurping. Meanwhile, Brad rammed himself into me from behind. I've never really been a fan of doggy style, but it also added to the humiliation. I started grunting and groaning and yelling out as much as I could around Tommy's prick. I was heading higher than I had ever been before. The pain of Brad slamming up against my bruised asscheeks combined with the humiliation of having Tommy's prick in my mouth and the fact that all of this was taking place in front of a crowd on the filthy floor of a dive bar was doing things to me that I had never felt before. Suddenly I yelled out, "Take my ass. Now! Take my ass!" I didn't know why I said that. I definitely do not, or did not, like anal. It is painful... and disgusting... and humiliating. Well, three for three. That's what I was looking for– pain, disgust and humiliation. Brad pulled way back until he was clear of my cunt and then rammed forward in one thrust and buried himself in my ass. I screamed in pain, but as soon as his balls hit me between the legs, I started to climax. Brad and Tommy were both holding on to me as I screamed and thrashed and bucked like a bronco coming out of the shoot. Then Brad yelled, "Now!" and Tommy ripped all of the clothespins from my body. My mind literally exploded. Everything was color and sound and flashes of light. In my next truly conscious moment, I realized that I was laying face down on the floor. Dave was pumping madly in my ass and Tommy was now spurting into my hair. Then I heard Dave say, "Who's next?" He pulled out of my ass with a loud pop and almost immediately someone else took his place. This new person went for my pussy rather than my asshole, but I still squirmed and screamed and tried to get out from under him. Two more men from the bar came over and held my arms. One reached under me and squeezed my breasts and then pinched one of my nipples. That was the magic button. "Fuck me. Fuck me. FUCK ME!" I screamed. The two men pulled me back up onto my knees and one of them put his prick in my mouth. I was too far gone to give him a true blow job, but it didn't matter because he was actually fucking my face. He didn't last very long and shot his load down my throat. He was immediately replaced by another man, who also didn't last very long, but he pulled out of my mouth and shot his load all over my face. I think a different man took over behind me at that point because the prick was back in my ass rather than my cunt. My mind collapsed after that and I really don't know how many men had me or in which hole. I woke up really early the next morning lying naked on the barroom floor. My purse and $400 in twenties were laying on the floor next to me. There was a note that read, "Lock the door when you leave." My clothes, unfortunately, were nowhere to be found. I was a filthy mess. I stunk so bad that I could even smell myself. It was a mixture of cunt and cum and urine and sweat and barroom floor. I looked for my clothes for a while and finally said out loud, "The hell with it. You wanted humiliation, you might as well top it off by driving home naked." Luckily there wasn't much traffic that early on a Saturday morning and I was able to get out of town and home without being stopped by the police. One of the neighbor boys, however, was out mowing ditches and he did see me get out of the car and go into the house. I heard him gasp as he realized that I was naked and covered in cum. By the time I got in the kitchen door, I was once again burning with shame and embarrassment. The night had been everything I had hoped it would be, but it was also a lot that I hadn't hoped for or really wanted. I now knew that both pain and humiliation took me to places that most girls can only dream of. But I also knew that if I kept this up, one morning I would find myself dead in an alley rather than just bruised, beaten, and hung over on a barroom floor. That was when I decided that I would be better off finding ways to get pain and humiliation a little more safely. I went back to the internet and started looking at pictures and reading stories. There is a lot of bullshit out there, but every once in a while, there is a story or post or series of images that actually has something to do with reality. I found out enough to know that I am evidently a natural born pain slut and I also found that there might be third avenue to the explosive pleasure which I now craved. That third avenue was restraint. Pain would take me over the top. Pain and humiliation would take me even higher. Would adding restraint to that put me in the stratosphere? And was there a way to do this safely? There are actually quite a few good sites which give a lot of useful information about self bondage. I learned how to make a simple ice cube key release and tried that as my first attempt. I didn't have a safety backup, but this was a pretty simple setup for test purposes. All I did was buy some cheap handcuffs and leg irons from an online store and put them on my wrists and ankles before one of my nightly masturbation sessions. If something went wrong and the key didn't drop down next to the bed like it was supposed to, worse come to worse, I could work my way downstairs to my dad's basement workshop and use some of his tools to cut myself free. I lay back on the bed like I normally did and put the clothespins in place. I was now up to nine on each tit so that they formed an X with my nipple right in the middle. I was using my favorite vibrator, a jack rabbit. The jack rabbit not only has the rabbit ears to put a tingle on your clit, it thrusts in and out and spins as the same time. At first, I didn't think that having my hands and legs cuffed together would make any difference. But then things started to heat up and I tried to open my legs. They would only pull open as far apart as the chain that held my ankles. I had to pull my feet almost up against my ass in order to open myself up like I wanted to. As I struggled against the confinement of the chain, I found myself responding to the inability to move freely. Something about not being totally in control was pushing me higher than just the pain and the jack rabbit. It wasn't until I started getting close to where I wanted to be that I realized what it meant for my hands to be bound together. Normally as I approach that grand finish, I reach up and twist some of the clothespins on my tits. I sometimes even twist the one that is directly on my nipple. My right hand started to move toward my breasts, but it was attached to my left hand that was controlling the jack rabbit. I heard myself groan out, "Noooooo." I wanted the additional pain of the twisted clothespin, but I also wanted to keep the sensations from the jack rabbit. In my previous sessions, I would sometimes let go of the vibrator to twist pins and play with my clit at the same time, but I never totally abandoned one area for the other. Now I had to choose. I pulled my feet as tight into my ass as I could so that my heels were pushing against the jack rabbit. Then I raised both hands up to my breasts. I couldn't even reach both breasts at the same time! I needed that little extra stimulation to take me over the top and I couldn't do it. I bounced over to the edge of the bed so that I could lower my feet over the side and sit up. Now my weight was keeping the vibrator in place and holding it so that it could thrust inside me rather than just slip slightly in and out of my cunt. The only problem was that sitting on the jack rabbit was more like sitting on a jack hammer. It was pounding against the top of my cervix like an incessant woodpecker. With the rabbit held firmly in place I went back to pulling and twisting the clothespins on my breasts. If I could just tweak both nipples at the same time, I knew I would go over the edge, but I couldn't. I was screaming and crying in frustration. I found myself begging the handcuffs to let me free. "Please, please, please, please," I cried out. "Let me make myself cum." Then I realized that something else was happening. No, I couldn't cum... not yet, but I was still going higher and higher and higher. I was already in the mind bending range and I hadn't popped yet. I was chanting, "Please, please, please, please, please," but there was nobody there to listen except me. I started bouncing up and down on the bed to drive the rabbit further and further into me. About the fifth or sixth time I bounced, a voice from the very back of my mind said, "That will work for your tits. Reverse it." I pulled my legs back up onto the bed and got up on my knees. My hands were now between my legs pumping the jack rabbit in and out of my cunt. With its own motion and with what I was doing with my hands, I was almost there, but I still needed something more. I pumped up and down with my hands about ten times and then gave one final extra heavy push and fell forward onto my face on the bed. All of the clothespins twisted at the same time. About half popped off. So did I. By the time I finished thrashing and screaming, I had knocked all of the clothespins off my breasts and deeply scraped my wrists and ankles with the cuffs. I realized there is a reason that you should buy the more expensive padded restraints. I also realized that a string that wound through the center of the spring on all of the clips would allow me to rip them all off in an instant. Diary of a Pain Slut Week 01 I lay their panting and groaning for what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. Then I rolled back over onto my stomach with my hands between my legs. I could feel the cuffs pressing into the skin of my lower abdomen. I looked up at the ice cube which was holding the handcuff key up by the ceiling. I could feel the icy drops of water hitting my lower back. Each drop was a tiny icy shock to my overheated body. I lay their waiting... and waiting... and waiting for the ice to melt enough to allow the key to drop. The key itself was now clear of the ice, but a large clump of ice remained frozen solid around the carefully coiled string. If my hands and feet weren't bound, I could have stood up on the bed and reached up to grab the key. But then again, if my hands and feet weren't in cuffs, I wouldn't need the key. I rolled over onto my back and continued to watch the ice slowly melt. Now the drops of icy water were falling on my lower abdomen. I scootched over so that the drops were landing between my legs. After a little re-positioning, they were hitting directly on my clit. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was totally restrained and that the drops of ice water were part of some deranged man's fiendish torture. Brad's face flashed before my mind. He was laughing and calling me an insatiable slut. I came violently as soon as I imagined that. It took me totally by surprise. There was no lead up to it. My body didn't climb slowly to the peak before I threw myself off. It was like I was suddenly shot out of a cannon. I screamed and yelled and thrashed on the bed like I had done so many times before, but this time it was almost totally caused by the idea of being captive to someone like Brad. That's when I then knew for sure that I had the big three. I was turned on by pain, humiliation, and bondage. I was a true pain slut. Writing this has me gushing. I think I need to quit and go to bed before I can't control myself. Maybe if I have a really intense dream with Brad or somebody tying me up and doing all sorts of great things to me, I might dream myself an orgasm. If that happens, it doesn't break the rules because I'm asleep. Hmmmmmm. If all that is required is that I look like I'm asleep? Sorry about that thought, Dr. B, but if something does happen tonight I will truly be asleep and dreaming. Really I will. (-.-)Zzz... :-) :-) :-) End of entry for Day Two. Maddi's Diary, Day Three My thoughts about today is that today sucked. Is sucked worse than yesterday. It is Sunday. There are no groups, no individual meetings, no activities– other than a really lame church service with some 90 year old retired preacher who kept forgetting where he was in his sermon. I sat in the back because there wasn't anything else to do and the TV was off during the service. The internet connection isn't good enough to stream movies or TV shows to my laptop so I am stuck with what is on the TV in the day room. It is controlled by the nurse at the desk behind the window. If it weren't for the fact that I watched her switch through all ten channels that are available, I would assume that she was a sadistic bitch who intentionally picked the worst crap possible for us to have to watch. But after seeing what was on, I realized that the crap she picked was the best crap that was available. Last night I managed to "dream up" an orgasm, so that itch between my legs has died down some. Tomorrow morning, I have a private session with Dr. B, a quick appearance before a judge, and then I am supposed to be released to my parents. Dad is delaying his departure to be here to take me home, and Mom is taking a couple vacation days from work. I'm not quite sure what I am going to say to them. Dr. B said that Dad picked up my "belongings" from the police station. Humiliation turns me on, but having to explain to my father what a butt plug electrode is for is not the kind of humiliation I'm looking for. I will deal with all of that tomorrow. Right now I think everything is beginning to catch up to me and I just need to sleep. I am going to close this out and send it to Dr. B. End of entry for Day Three. End of entry for Week One = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END OF STORY 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Diary of a Pain Slut Week 02 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = When Maddi Miller gets caught doing naked self-bondage under an interstate bridge, the police take her to the psych ward of the local hospital. She is released but has to keep a diary as part of her thirty day evaluation and submit it to her therapist at the end of each week. This is week two 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 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) 2014 by The Technician. 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Maddi's Diary, Day Four, Monday I got out of the looney bin this morning. Dr. B said that I was "not a danger to myself or society," whatever that means. I still have to complete the full evaluation, however, or the police will recommend that I be put on the state sexual offender list. I can't believe that. Just because I was naked in public they want to lump me in with perverts who prey on little children. I thought Dr B was just saying that to scare me, but I looked it up after I got home, and yes, they can brand you a sexual pervert for life just because you were naked in public. There is some gender discrimination, however. Women are almost never put on the list for flashing. Men, on the other hand, end up on the list quite often. I guess this is one area where sexual discrimination works in my favor. I was really afraid of how things were going to go with my parents. They picked me up about noon after I had finished my session with Dr. B and a short trip to the court house to appear before a judge. Technically, I am in "supervised release." I don't know what I am released from because they haven't charged me with anything except maybe being nuts. The public defender explained to me that supervised release meant that if I didn't report back to Dr. B like I was supposed to, all he had to do was report it to the judge and I would be "taken in." I think Dad would say that they have me by the short hairs, except, I don't have any short hairs. I keep them all plucked off with one of those spinning tweezer things. Not everybody can use one of those, but I'm not all that hairy to begin with, so I can keep everything really smooth down there with out a whole lot of effort. Speaking of Dad, he was really silent when they picked me up and didn't say a word all the way home. When we got home, all my equipment was laid out on the kitchen table. Well, it didn't all fit on the table. The heavy stuff like the battery winches and some chains and things were on the floor next to the table. "Is this everything?" Dad asked once we walked into the kitchen. "That looks like everything that was in my bedroom and the basement," I answered. I didn't think it was a good time to mention the studio I had set up in the old shed that I used to use as a play house. "What are you going to do with it?" I asked. "The question is," he replied, "'What are YOU going to do with it?' or more importantly, 'What in the hell HAVE you been doing with it?'" I felt myself getting all hot and red. I mean, who wants to talk to their father about their sex habits. Mom put her hand on my shoulder and smiled at me in that "I'm with you," motherly sort of way. "I'm a pain slut, Dad," I said. I was really surprised to hear myself say that, but I had been saying it so much to Dr B and the other shrinks that it just came out. I stood there all red and embarrassed. This was humiliating beyond belief, but it definitely wasn't turning me on. "I don't know why I am, but I am." I stammered. "I get sexual pleasure... a lot of sexual pleasure out of pain and bondage and humiliation. This equipment allows me to do that with the minimum of danger to myself or others." He looked at me with a very fixed glare. I took a deep breath and continued. "I don't know why I'm that way, but I am. If you lock all this up or make me throw it all away, what I am will eventually overwhelm me and I will go out and do something really stupid like going down to The Grease Pit and letting them do whatever they want with me." I stopped, unsure of what to say next and then continued, "I don't ever want to do that... again." I heard Mom gasp slightly but she said nothing. I looked as directly into my Dad's eyes as I could and said, "So please, Dad, just let Dr. B and the other keepers at the nut house work with me and see what they recommend. Maybe they can do something. Or maybe I just have to be what I am." Dad's face got really red. He was trying not to yell, but his voice got deep and strong and you could probably hear him all the way out at the road in front of the house. "Are you trying to tell me that you do all this because that is the way God made you?" "Yes," I replied meekly. "That's what I am trying to tell you." "Don't you dare use that kind of bullshit argument with me, young lady, I..." Mom cut him off, "Honey," she said sweetly and he stopped mid-sentence. "Do you remember when the local transport company offered you a job as regional supervisor? You would have been in charge of four of their dispatch centers. It would have been regular hours at almost half-again what you currently make. Do you remember what you told them?" Dad's face suddenly got all funny and his shoulders slumped slightly. He took a deep breath and said "Yes." Somehow all of the anger was gone from his voice. "I told them that God had made me an over-the-road trucker and that was what I was going to be 'til the day I died. I told you that it was the only way that I could be happy and you told me that if I had to be what I was in order to be happy, then you would always love me as I was." For once in my life I made the exactly correct choice and said absolutely nothing. Mom came over and hugged Dad and said, "Maddi is what she is. If she is just mixed up about what that really is, the doctors will straighten that out. But if she truly is what she says she is, then we need to give her a chance to see how she has to live that out in her life." Dad shook his head and softly said, "OK." Mom then said, "You told dispatch that you could be on the road by three. You need to get ready. Let me talk to Maddi while you change and then you can come back in and say goodbye." Dad walked down the hallway toward their bedroom and Mom motioned for me to come with her into the living room. She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her to indicate that I should join her. She smiled at me and said, "We will just sit here for a while until your dad is ready to leave. That way we won't have to stop something and try to restart it." We sat there quietly and a few minutes later, Dad came into the living room carrying his duffle bag. "I'll be back sometime Saturday," he said softly. Then with a little more force in his voice he turned to me and said, "Don't do anything stupid. Especially don't do anything REALLY stupid... again." I'm pretty sure he had heard the stories about the drunk girl who asked Brad to beat and humiliate her down at The Grease Pit. Everyone in town knew about it, but for some reason none of the guys who told the story ever said who the girl was. Maybe Brad and his friends are a little more honorable than I thought. In any case, Dad now knew that it had been me. He put his hand on my shoulder as I sat on the couch. "I don't want you to ruin your life. I really do love you, and will always love you, whatever you are... or think you are." He then bent down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. Mom stood up and they kissed... a real kiss. Then she said, "Keep it tires down." That was an old joke between them. Way back before I was born, Dad got caught in one of those freak thunderstorms that pushes high winds out in front of it. He was running empty on his way home and got blown off the road and flipped over by the wind. He called mom to say that he would be getting home a little late because he was "tires up in a corn field." Ever since then, she always tells him to keep it tires down when she says goodbye. A few minutes later, I could hear the rumble of Dad's rig pulling out. I looked at Mom and said, "Where should I start?" "You could start," she replied, "by telling me how a struggling college girl can afford all this expensive equipment. Last time I looked, a Jack Rabbit cost around $90 and I know that Pullzall electric come-a-longs cost around $600 because your dad bought one for his truck a while back... and you've got two of them sitting on the kitchen floor." "You know what a Jack Rabbit costs?" I asked. My voice was slightly higher with surprise and I know that my eyes were wide. "Actually," Mom said smiling at me, "I prefer the waterproof pearl Rabbit." I felt my mouth drop open. She continued, "It does get very lonely out there in those motels every week and I really do love a nice, long, hot bath at the close of the day." She looked at me over the top of her glasses and said, "Honey, sexual urges don't go away just because you get old. And I'm not that old. If I didn't let off the steam once in a while, eventually the boiler would explode and I would end up doing something really stupid that would hurt what I have with your dad. We love each other very much. He stays faithful to me, and I stay faithful to him." She shrugged her shoulders. "Actually," she said, "it's a little easier for him." She laughed. "No, it is a LOT easier for him. He doesn't have all that high a sex drive to begin with. I'm the one who usually has to initiate things. And it isn't because he's lost interest in me. He's always been that way. When I met him, I was working at a truck stop at night while I took classes during the day. The other truckers used to tease him because he wouldn't go out to the local titty bars and strip clubs with them. He doesn't turn on instantly, but if you get the flame going, he can go on forever and ever and drive you..." She suddenly colored and coughed nervously. I guess talking about your sex life to your daughter isn't all that easy either. "But we were talking about how you could afford all of this," she said suddenly. Mom looked at me with one of those looks that only a parent can give you that says, "I love you whatever you say, but you had damn well better answer the question." "I saved up my tips to buy the jack rabbit," I answered timidly. "And the rest?" she asked. Her eyebrows were up in that "Tell your mother the truth" sort of way. "I'm Beat Girl," I said quietly. "What?" Mom replied. "What do you mean by that?" "Let me get my laptop," I said and walked back into the kitchen to retrieve it. I picked up the little insert that allowed me to put the laptop on the TV and turned on the big TV on the other side of the room from us. A few moments later, my computer was on the screen. I typed a URL into the browser and an animated cartoon started playing. A naked girl in a pink cape and Batman mask was running toward the screen. The old Batman theme was playing in the background. It kept repeating "Dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum DUM, BEAT GIRL!" Each time it said "Beat Girl," the animated character would be up close to the screen and would turn and bend over so that her ass nearly filled the screen. The first time, an animated paddle slapped across her ass and "Whap!" appeared in big blue letters. The next time a whip slammed into her and "Ka Pow!" appeared in giant red letters. Finally a red wand reached out and a spark jumped to the atavar's ass. "ZAP!" appeared in big jagged letters. Then the whole animation repeated. "That's a TAZapper,"I said in explanation. "It's spelled t-a-z-a-p-p-e-r, but pronounced 'Tay Zapper.' They're like a cattle prod, but a lot smaller and safe to use on a human." I paused and then added, "But they still hurt like hell." The cartoon had again looped back to the beginning so I clicked on a small icon in the corner that said, "Log In Here." After I entered my name and password, a new screen appeared. There were a series of pictures of a real girl in the pink cape and Batman mask. In one she was tied over a spanking bench with a complicated spanking machine slamming a paddle into her ass. In another she was covered with wires and contact pads. The top hat electrodes on her nipples and the contact clip on her clit looked very familiar. The third image visible on the screen showed her bound between two metal poles with several robot looking arms holding TAZappers next to her skin. Along side each image it said, "Members may click to replay previous sessions." At the top of the screen it said, "Next live session, Tuesday night 9 pm Eastern US Time" "Members pay $3.00 a month." I explained. Harold has a friend of a friend of a friend who runs a bunch of porn sites. He handles all the money transactions and Harold and I get a cut of it. Harold maintains the equipment and programs it so that it can't actually hurt me... like in damage me. Obviously, it hurts me. "I want to see one," Mom said softly. Her voice was almost a whisper. "Which one?" I asked. I really wasn't sure about showing her one of the actual sessions. "The one with the paddle," she answered. I clicked on the image and the screen went to video mode. "Do you really want to see this?" I asked, hoping she would say no, but she shook her head yes. The Beat Girl theme started playing and on the screen I came running up to the camera and spun around so that my ass practically filled the screen. "I don't have any tattoos or special birth marks so I can't be recognized," I said in explanation. Mom remained silent. "This is a thirty minute session," the me on the screen said brightly. "Once I get myself strapped in, the timer starts." Then I turned to look directly into the camera and said, "Remember to purchase your points so you can play. The paddle is 50 points a swat; the whip is 75; and the cane is 250." "Everything is in points," I explained, "because this goes out all over the world and points cost different amounts in different countries." "You mean that the whole world watches you get your naked ass beaten?" Mom asked. There was a strange breathiness in her voice. As the screen me started to strap herself into the spanking bench, a message appeared across the screen that said, "Remember, in a live session there are 8 camera angles to choose from. Live sessions cost 50 points to enter." After a few seconds, that message faded and a new message said, "Next live session is Tuesday night, 9 pm Eastern US time." The screen me was finally in place. She squeezed something in her left hand and the restraint belts tightened to hold her firmly in place. "That is a deadman safety switch," I explained. "If something goes really wrong, all I have to do is to let go and everything stops. Harold insists we always use one. I had one of those in my hand Thursday night." Mom said nothing. A timer appeared in the upper right hand corner of the screen. Beneath it were three lists, one above the other. The top list said PADDLE; the second said WHIP; and the third said CANE. Beneath the titles were three headings. "Cue," "Member Name," and "Strokes." The first person in the paddle list had cue 001 and had paid for 7 strokes. Number 002 was in the whip list and had 5 strokes. The next eight or ten in the cue must have been in paddle because the next whip name had a cue number of 0014. "You can use a keyboard, mouse or a game controller to control the devices in the live session. For a TAYZapper session you need a joy stick or game controller." I started to explain, but my words were drowned out as the screen me screamed with the first paddle strike. "Most of the time," I explained, "the screams are acting. Sometimes the orgasms are fake, too, but a lot of the time, the screams and the orgasms are totally real." Mom didn't seem like she was paying attention anymore. Her eyes were glued to the screen as the paddle completed the seventh swat and the whip swung back in an arc and snapped forward. It was programmed not to hit twice in exactly the same place, so the first strike was diagonal across the screen me's back. It then shifted slightly and slammed down again. By the time the fifth stroke hit, the screen me was screaming very loudly and it did not at all sound fake. There was a few second pause while the whip mechanism moved out of the way and the paddle mechanism again moved into place. The members don't know it, but there is a limit as to how fast any of the devices can be triggered. If you don't trigger something after 30 seconds, it triggers automatically, but you can't trigger faster than every five seconds. I once made the mistake of sitting down and calculating the maximum number of swats I could receive in a 30 minutes session. With a limit of every ten seconds, that is 12 a minute. Thirty minutes means 360 swats. That can be a lot, especially if someone chooses the double or triple option and pays 100 or 150 per swat so it hits twice or three times as hard. Close ups of the paddle slamming into my ass supposedly prove that it is actually doubling or tripling the hit. I wasn't really watching the screen me. After all, I had been there. Then I heard my mother gasp. I glanced up at the screen. It was that one! I remember this session very well. Cue position 21 was someone who had paid for 12 cane strokes. There were three stars next to the number of strokes. That meant he had paid 750 points for each stroke and they would be triple. Harold said that whoever it was probably thought I would break and drop the safety. If I do that, the session is stopped early and everyone gets their money back. Twelve strokes of the cane at 750 points each was 9000 points. If RichBastard1978 was American, he was paying twenty cents a point, so this was going to cost him $1800. When I'm strapped into the spanking machine, I have a monitor that I can see so that I can keep track of the time and know what is coming next. When the screen me saw the 12 triple cane strokes in the cue, she almost dropped the safety switch. I remember looking at the highlighted name in the paddle list that night just like I was watching it today. It was CharlieChan007 and he had 4 more swats coming. He was cue number 19. Cue number 20 was in the whip list and had paid for 3 strokes. The timer in the corner was down to two minutes. I knew that if these guys delayed their strokes, RichBastard wouldn't have time for all twelve. They must have realized that, too, because both of them had to have held down their controllers. The four swats with the paddle and the three with the whip were all exactly five seconds apart. Even with the delay between members waiting in the cue, there was still 1 minute and 20 seconds left on the timer when RichBastard took control. By the time the cane mechanism moved into place another 6 seconds had passed by. 72 seconds was more than enough time to deliver all twelve strokes. Diary of a Pain Slut Week 02 Then the first stroke hit. Screen me's scream and thrashing around was not faked in any way. When the second stroke hit she screamed even louder and nearly broke the restraint across her back which protected her kidneys and held her tightly in place. By the time the fourth stroke slammed into her asscheeks, her screams were continuous and she was vibrating and bouncing almost as if she were having a seizure. By the eighth stroke, the screen me was screaming both as she exhaled and as she inhaled. She was also babbling, "Please stop. Please! Please stop! God, please stop!" But the only thing that could stop it was if she dropped the safety switch or if RichBastard cancelled out. She didn't drop the switch, and RichBastard kept going until he had used up all twelve of his strokes. When the twelfth stroke hit, there was exactly four seconds left on the timer. I watched as the screen me kept screaming and thrashing and crying out. Then suddenly the voice coming out of the TV changed slightly. The screams became a bit lower and throatier and then morphed into a long grunting gasps of "aahhh, aahhh, aahh, aahh." Then her voice again rose into an extremely shrill scream as she cried out, "Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" and once again thrashed against her bonds. This time it was not pain that was driving her, but what was obviously a very intense orgasm. I watched the screen me finally start to calm down and said, "They aren't all like that, Mom. Some are pretty tame." Mom didn't answer. After a few seconds I looked over at her. Her face was very red and she was breathing deeply. Her hands were balled up against the outside of her thighs as if she were holding them there to keep them from acting on their own. "Mom? Are you OK?" I asked her. She took a very deep breath and smoothed out the material of her dress with her hands. "Not really," she replied after a few moments. "Honey, you and I are not as different as you think. I just never had the courage to act on my impulses. You probably have a lot more women than you think who sign onto your site and imagine themselves where you are." She stood up and walked toward the door to the kitchen. "Do what you need to do," she said as she paused in the doorway. "I will back you and make sure that your father understands." She gave a deep sigh, "No, he will never understand, but I do. He will back you because he loves you... and me." She looked at me and said, "I took tomorrow as a vacation day also, so we can talk more then. Right now, I think I have to take a long, hot bath... a really long, and really hot bath." She then gave me a really strange smile and added, "... just me and my waterproof rabbit." After she walked down the hallway, I sat there staring at the doorway. I had been afraid she wouldn't understand, but she understood. She understood completely because she was also a pain slut. She was just like me, but she was somehow able to keep it all buried deep within her and only let it out in her fantasies. I heard the water running in the bathroom as Mom filled the tub. A sudden weird thought went through my brain and I signed back onto the website using my full administrator name and password. I created a comp account with a five-year membership and a 10,000 point reserve. Then I emailed the membership name and password to my mother. Tomorrow night, when I go back online live, I won't know whether or not she is watching, but the fact that she might be will add to the humiliation. Who knows, I might even see BatMom show up in the cue. I just hope she doesn't blow all the credits buying triple cane strokes. It's been a long day. I'm grabbing a sandwich and going to bed. End of entry for Day Four Maddi's Diary, Day Five, Tuesday I didn't write anything last night before I went to bed. I am actually writing this first thing Wednesday morning before going in for my session with Dr. B. By the time my online session ended last night, I was too tired and too hurting to do anything but crawl into bed. I guess I should say what happened last night during the session. It was "Electric Beat Girl Night" so everything was electro-sex, or maybe I should say electro-pain. I don't really like the electro stuff. It worked out on the highway because I was naked in public, but doing it in a studio setting just doesn't feel sexual to me. That means my pain buddies don't show up and the pain is basically just pain, but this is, after all, a business and you need to keep the customers happy. Besides, electro sessions give an additional week for the bruises and welts to heal. The sessions alternate between impact sessions and shock sessions. First and third Tuesdays are paddle, whip and cane; second Tuesdays are electro-stim; and fourth Tuesdays are TAZapper sessions. If there is a fifth Tuesday, that is a combination session with all three types combined. I really hate those, but at the same time, I probably have my most intense orgasms during them. Last night was a second Tuesday, so it was an electro-stim session. The overall sessions last longer on a second Tuesday because I make a big deal of putting all the electrodes in place. I start with the paste-on contact pads. The first ones in place go on my arms just above the leather wrist restraints. The contacts themselves are white squares about 2" across. There is a big black "1" on each of the wrist contacts. And when I put them in place a list starts on the left side of the screen. Actually, I just step on a foot switch that triggers the list in the program. The first entry is "1 - Wrist," so that is what I put on first. Harold set up the list. He said it works "from the perimeter to the interesting stuff" to further entice people to spend points on shocks. Similar pads are placed on the inside of my legs just above the ankle restraints. Those are contacts number 2. Number 3 is higher up on my arms on the inside of my biceps; 4 is on the front of my legs just above the knees; 5 is inside my legs on my thighs; 6 is my upper abdomen; 7 is my lower abdomen; 8 is the bottom side of my tits; 9 is the top side of my tits; 10 and 11 are on the top and bottom of my asscheeks; 12 is at the very top of my legs in the front just on either side of the pubic mound; and 13 is on the inside of my legs right below my pussy. After I get all the pads in place, then I start connecting the wires to the electrodes. As I clip each wire to the corresponding electrode, the list on the screen shows the point cost to use that electrode. The closer the pad is to "the interesting stuff" the more points a shock costs. Low numbers are 3 points a shock. The higher numbers are 8 points a shock. After I get all of the wires clipped in place, I get out the anal and vaginal electrodes. The anal electrode is just a big butt plug with two metal stripes on it. I hold it up to the camera and then smear some lube on it. Then I turn around and point my ass at one of the lower cameras and slowly push it into place. As I do, it appears on the menu list. Twanging my poop shoot is 10 points. After the butt plug is in place, I pick up the clit zapper. It is technically called a vaginal shield and clitoral electrode and it looks like a man's ball protector cup for playing baseball, but it has electrodes on the inside that fit up against my labia and a clip electrode that connects directly to my clit. The whole thing is held in place by straps that make it look like some weird kind of thong. The strap that goes between my legs also connects to the anal electrode and holds it in place. The labia popper is 20 points. The clit zapper is 50. The final electrode that I put in place is a tongue clamp. It is a really weirdly shaped thing that clamps down lightly on my tongue and acts as a gag at the same time. I end up with the tip of my tongue sticking out of my mouth through the center of the clamp. It isn't all that uncomfortable unless it gets zapped. Then it hurts like hell, even more than getting zapped directly on my clit. Maybe that is because there is no erotic aspect to the pain I feel there. A single shock to the mouth is 250 points. Like I said, it hurts like hell and doesn't give me any pleasure, so if I get zapped there, at least I know somebody paid $50 to do it. There is also no double or triple option for the tongue electrode. It takes about twenty minutes for me to get completely wired up. Then I step into the restraint frame. The restraint frame is just a giant square that stands about 8 feet high and is about 8 feet wide. Restraint cables come down from the corners on top and out of the corners on the bottom. The cables themselves run inside the frame and aren't visible until they come down from the corners. The whole thing can be rotated so that I can be held at any angle. During the actual session, it slowly rotates so that it makes four complete revolutions in the thirty minutes. It turns all the way over in one direction and then rotates back in the opposite direction. That way the electrode cables don't get all wound up in the mechanism. Because everything rotates, there isn't a monitor that I can see to know who is in the cue or what is coming next. I wouldn't be able to tell anyway. There isn't a time spacer on the shocks, so they can come pretty fast and besides, the cue list for the electro-stim session doesn't say what all a person has purchased. It just says who is next. Once the cables are attached to my wrist and ankle restraints, a message appears on the screen telling people to make sure they have purchased their points. Harold signed me in to one of the Oriental versions of the site one day and showed me a video of one of the sessions. It was weird to see all the directions and information come up in Chinese or Japanese or whatever it was. Anyway, I went through all of that last night and stood there waiting for the first shock. As the restraint square started to slowly rotate, I realized that because I couldn't see a monitor I wouldn't know if Mom actually used any of her points and zapped me. For some reason that thought and how embarrassed it made me to think that Mom might be watching or even participating in all this, started my juices flowing. Then the first shocks hit. I probably should have had Harold program it so that you had to start with some of the milder areas, like my arms and legs, but whoever gets on the cue list first can do whatever they want. And whoever this was wanted the big three. The first zap pulled my pucker string and tightened my asshole around the butt plug. That normally doesn't really hurt, but this must be someone with a lot of money to spend because they were using the double or triple option. I squeaked when that first shock hit. It wasn't really a scream, but it wasn't fake either. There were five zaps. The last one was definitely a triple. Then the shocks bit my labia. That always hurts, and this was hurt times three. I wasn't squeaking now. I was flat out screaming. Again there were five hits. Whoever it was spaced them so I couldn't guess when the next one was going to hit. After the fifth one, there was a long pause. I thought that the system was cycling the next player into place, but a sudden, intense jolt directly to my clit told me otherwise. I was now leaned quite a ways forward as the frame rotated and so I was totally suspended by my arms and legs. When the shock hit and everything tightened up I really thrashed around in the air. More pulses followed and I screamed and twisted in the air with each pulse. As I bounced around and screamed I was a little afraid that I might pull myself out of the restraint cuffs. When the fifth pulse hit, I tried to beg him- or her, to stop, but the clamp in my mouth is a very effective gag. There was a pause and once again I thought that it might be going to the next player, but after about 15 seconds he hit me with a combination pulse. Combination pulses are on the special menu and are really expensive. Each pulse is double what the total of the individual pulses costs. This was a combination, triple pulse- no, they had paid the added premium for a quad pulse. My ass, my labia, my clit, AND my tongue all got nailed at exactly the same instant. And it wasn't just one pulse. It was a pulse train. Pulse trains are also on the special menu. Selecting pulse train means that you can have the pulse or combination pulse repeat up to 25 times. It repeats really fast and I can tell that it isn't just someone manually triggering it. The shocks slammed into my ass, my labia, my clit, and my tongue again and again and again and again. They seemed to go on forever and I was as close as I have ever been to dropping the safety switch. Then they stopped. It wasn't a long pause, but after 25 intense shocks in about 15 seconds, even a few seconds seems long. Then came a grand slam pulse, No one had ever chosen a grand slam pulse before. It is the next-to-the-last item on the special menu and costs three times the total of ALL of the pulses, plus 1000 points. Since it is so expensive and is almost at the bottom of the menu, it was assumed that it would be the last pulse in a player's play time. When Harold told me he had put it on the menu, he said, "This is just a fantasy choice. I've made it so expensive that nobody is every going to pick it, so you don't have to worry about it." Somebody picked it, but I didn't have time to worry about it because I didn't know it was coming. Every single electrode on and in my body was hit with a triple pulse all at the same time. Every muscle in my body tightened as far as they could as lightning went through my nervous system. I heard the frame creak and groan as I pulled against it. I was now almost face down and bounced up and down like a trampoline. If the butt plug hadn't been held firmly in place with a leather strap, I probably would have shot it out of my ass like a cork out of a bottle of champagne. I did loose control of my bladder. I often end up peeing myself on electro nights. I even drink extra water before the session so I have a lot of urine, but peeing myself from the pain is usually fake. Sometime during the half hour, I just let go. Usually I time it so that I am upright in the frame. I learned the hard way not to let go when my feet were higher than my head, especially if I was on my back. Having your own urine running down your body toward your face is not a pleasant feeling. When the grand slam hit, I didn't let go, I power sprayed. And I kept going until my bladder was totally empty. The stream was so powerful, I could feel it going out of me and could hear it splashing noisily on the floor beneath me. I was bouncing up and down in the restraints and screaming and groaning and waiting for the next fiendish pulse to hit, but nothing happened. Nothing at all. Ten seconds passed. And then twenty. Then thirty. Surely it has cycled to the next player. But if it has, the automatic play should have kicked in and sent the first pulse in his list. Nothing happened. Or did it? There had been a slight twinge on my clit, but after everything that had just happened, I almost didn't feel it. Then it hit again. This time it was slightly stronger, but it was still almost not enough to feel. After a long pause, it hit again. Again slightly stronger. This was not a different member. This was still the first player. The last item on the special menu is the ramp pulse. I don't even remember how many points it costs, but it allows you to set up a pulse train that grows slowly in intensity and speed. You can set it for up to 100 pulses and specify whether they get stronger or weaker, faster or slower, or combinations of both. Another pulse hit my clit. I think it was faster. I know it was stronger. Then another and another and another and another. They weren't up to the level of painful... yet, but all I could think about was my clit and the sensations coming from it. My whole body hurt. The previous shocks had put me through the wringer and my muscles and joints were sore. Now everything was concentrated on my clit. Something started happening that had never happened before in an electro session. My E buddies started showing up in droves. Each pulse to my now very tender clit was a klaxon call for the endorphins to gather. And they were definitely responding to the call. The shocks to my clit were getting stronger, but with endorphins flooding my bloodstream, the pain was being turned into pleasure and that pleasure was centered between my legs. The pulses were now strong enough to cause me to twitch as they hit, but I wasn't screaming or thrashing around as they hit. Instead I was moaning and writhing. This was now absolutely sexual. I was in Pain Slut Nirvana. I know the pulses were now at least at double level, but I continued to moan in ecstasy. I was well on my way to rainbow mountain and my only fear now was that the pulses would stop before I reached the peak. The pulses were now at maximum and were hitting me at about three or four a second. I was grunting and screaming out "More. More! MORE!" I was on the top of the mountain. My body was stretched to the extremes, and it wasn't just because of the leather restraints and frame. I screamed out, "PLEASE! LET ME CUM!" I don't know if it was a part of the program of if the player overrode the pulse ramp, but as soon as I yelled that, a grand slam pulse tore through my body. I had forgotten you could combine that with the pulse ramp. The first time I felt that pulse I screamed in agony. This time I screamed in the release of orgasm. It was truly a mind-blowing orgasm. I don't remember anything else about the rest of the session. The next thing that I clearly remember was crawling into my bed and falling asleep. I am going to have to watch the video of that night just to find out what happened in the minutes that were left in the session. End of entry for Day Five Maddi's Diary, Day Six, Wednesday Wednesday is not a good day for individual sessions with Dr. B. At least Wednesday morning isn't. I dragged myself out of bed and sat for a few minutes writing up last night and then headed into town so I could be in his office at 10:30. We talked primarily about how things had gone with my parents when I got home. I told him that Dad really didn't understand, but he was going to support me in whatever I did. I also told him that Mom understood a lot better than I thought she would, but I would rather wait until Friday to discuss that side of it. He said that it could wait until Monday after he had read my journal for the week. Well, Dr. B, this should give us something to discuss. I didn't get back to the house until almost one. Mom fixed me something to eat and we sat together at the table while we ate. Mom was unusually silent. I think she was waiting for me to start the conversation. "Did you watch last night?" I asked. Mom turned white, and then flushed a deep red. She looked down at her lap. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "but I had to know for sure." "What?" I answered. I must have looked confused because she smiled and said, "Yes, I watched." She looked over at me and sighed slightly. "And I nearly emptied the account you set up for me. I signed on very early and was first in line when you started." "That was you!" I exclaimed. My eyes and mouth were wide open in shock. "I had to know for sure," she repeated softly. She reached out and put her hand on top of mine. "Yes, you are a true pain slut," she said. She stared down at the table. Her voice was very flat as she continued, "... and so am I." "Mom," I started, but she held up her hand indicating I shouldn't speak. "Each thing I did to you," she said, looking directly into my eyes, "I imagined I was doing to myself. I screamed along with you. ... both before... and after." Diary of a Pain Slut Week 02 She looked down at the tabletop and said softly, "You are what I am." She sighed again and said, "I am what you are." She then looked over at the wall and we sat there in silence for several minutes. After a while, she turned back to me and said, "I can keep the beast caged up." She laughed. "... most of the time." She laughed again. "Age allows you to do that. But you are young and the beast roars much more strongly within you." I started to speak, but she again held up her hand to silence me. "You have two paths from which to choose. You can do as I did and firmly cage the beast and try to live as though it is not within you. Or you can search for some way... or some place, where your beast can be allowed to safely run free. Those are your only choices. Trust me on this. I have lived long enough to see it and know what is happening. Any other path will lead to your destruction." She patted my hand with hers. "Think about it. I'll support you whatever you decide." I guess that there was nothing else to say so I remained silent. After a few moments, Mom got up and kissed me on the forehead and then headed down the hallway toward her bedroom. "I would appreciate it if the account you gave me to your website remained open, but only put enough in the account so that I can watch the sessions. The beast got away from me last night. I don't want to risk that happening again. The temptation is too great." "I love you, Mom." I answered. Then I called down the hallway after her, "I'll have Harold set it up so you have open access to the sessions but can't join the player cue lists." "Thank you, honey," she replied. "I knew you would understand." Nothing much else really happened the rest of the day. Both Mom and I spent most of the day in bed. We were both exhausted. End of entry for Day Six Maddi's Diary, Day Seven, Thursday Mom went back to work today, so I had the house to myself. Dad won't be home until Saturday night because he left late and is running behind. Mom doesn't have to go do any training sessions until next week so she was home around six. We didn't really see each other, though, because I had to go back to work at the restaurant and my shift began at four. Yes, I did go back and watch the video from Tuesday night. What Mom did to me took 22 minutes, so there were 8 minutes of session left after my mind exploded. In the video it looks like I am screaming and writhing in extreme pain as the other players used up their points shocking my arms and legs and tits and ass, but the reality is that it was one, long, tear your mind and body apart orgasm. Mom was right. The beast was roaring in both of us last night. She was also right when she said that the temptation was too great. She knew that if she had the ability to do so, she would repeat what she did or worse. And I knew that if I let the beast roar like that within me constantly, I would probably be willing to let anyone do anything to me to get back to where I was Tuesday night. End of entry for Day Seven Maddi's Diary, Day Eight, Friday I worked a modified mid-day shift at the restaurant today so Mom and I had a chance to talk tonight. She asked me a very interesting question. She wanted to know why, if I could make so much money on the website and so forth, did I work as a waitress to make money for college. I had to think about it for a while, but then I told her that anything I make on the website goes into a special account that Harold set up for me. Everything I draw out, I put back into my toys. I never sign on to check the balance, but Harold says I could draw out a lot more. If I did that, however, and used it for college, how would I be different from a common whore? People pay money to hurt me and watch me in pain, but that is different. I don't do it for the money. I do it because I want to do it. It is actually a safe way for me to experience the pain I need. Making money from it is just a side benefit. But if I start spending the money on "real" things, like college, then I've become a pain-whore rather than a pain-slut. Somehow I think that is going to come up in group, or at least with Dr. B. End of entry for Day Eight Maddi's Diary, Day Nine, Saturday Today was morning shift, so I got off work around two. Shirley and Vicki called this afternoon and asked if I wanted to go out tonight. I told them I had to check my schedule and would call them right back. I actually wanted to check with Mom first. She suggested that I not be too late and that I be the designated driver for the evening. In other words, no booze and be home by ten. I called Vicki back and said that I would go out with them, but I couldn't drink and I had to be back really early. "Party pooper," she replied. Then she cried out in realization, "Oh! You're in trouble, aren't you? It must be pretty serious if you can't drink and have to be home early. Why don't you meet Shirl and me down at Juan Carlos around 8:00 and we can get eat and talk. Then you can head back home in time for curfew and us two will head out to do the wild things that you can't do." That's what I did. Juan Carlos' Pub is a relatively nice little bar that serves good food. We sat in a booth in the back. As soon as we sat down, Shirley said loud enough to be heard in the whole restaurant, "Girl, what did you do?!" Both she and Vicki laughed as I turned red and glanced around to see if everyone was looking at me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell them anything at that point, but Vicki quietly said, "We're your friends. We'll understand. What happened and what kind of trouble are you in?" "Thirty-day out-patient psychiatric evaluation," I said as softly as I could. Both of them looked at me very wide eyed. "What DID you do?" Shirley asked again, but this time in a very quiet and concerned tone of voice. I looked at them debating whether to tell them the truth or a lie or come up with some combination thereof when suddenly I blurted out, "I got caught doing naked self-bondage on the ledge at the Miller Road underpass." Vicki was taking a sip of her beer and snorted it out through her nose. Shirley dissolved in laughter. "It's always the quiet ones who surprise you," she said. I waited for their laughter to stop and then added, "I was rigged up to a computer controlled TENS unit with electrodes in my cunt and ass and all over my body." Their eyes were wide once again. I shrugged and said, "The cops who found me think I'm nuts. I have thirty days to show them that I'm not." "Are you?" asked Vicki. "Am I what?" "Are you nuts?" clarified Vicki. "No," I answered, "I'm not nuts. I'm just kinky." "We all are, girl," replied Shirley. "You should meet some of my father's friends." She took a big sip of her beer and shrugged her shoulders, "Or for that matter," she added,"you should meet my mother in private around the house." Vicki looked over at Shirley with confusion apparent on her face. "Let's just say we all have secrets," Shirley continued. "This won't change anything between us. We will still be your friends." Vicki chuckled and said, "Well, it will change one thing." "What's that?" I asked. "We can't take you bar hopping or dive slumming for the next thirty days." she answered. "Actually," I replied, "I only have twenty-one days left. Besides, Dr. B isn't judgmental. As long as I write up everything in my diary, I can pretty much do anything that I want." "Wow," said Vicki, "this is almost like being on a reality show. Are you going to write up our meeting tonight? Do you have to take videos and everything?" I laughed and answered, "Not for this, but someday I will show you some videos that will blow your mind." "You're kidding, aren't you?" asked Shirley. I sipped my coke and smiled at both of them. "Maybe," I said. "Maybe." We all laughed. Just then the waiter showed up with our meals, so we ate and talked regular stuff until about 9:30. After that I headed back home and they headed out to the relatively less nice bars further down the strip. I got home around ten. Dad's truck was pulled up alongside the shed where he normally parked it. He was sitting in his chair in the living room when I walked into the house. He looked up at me as I came into the room and I said, "I'm home; I'm early; and I'm sober." "I didn't say anything," he replied. "But you left off the one that is really important." I looked at him in confusion. "You're safe," he said. "That is the important one for me." Neither of us had much to say after that. We sat and watched TV for a while and then I went to bed. End of entry for Day Nine Maddi's Diary, Day Ten, Sunday. Sunday was a totally uneventful day. Dad spent most of the morning doing maintenance on his truck. I helped Mom clean the house. Dad suggested that we go down to the lake for the afternoon. There is a nice beach there and it was a warm day, so I agreed. I think Dad was just trying to do something "normal," but we had a good time. Mom and I went into the water and raced out to the dive platform. She beat me by at least a body length. Later, a couple of boys I had never met before tried to pick me up. They suggested that we leave together and go get some beer and find someplace to party. I said, "If it's OK with my Dad," and pointed to Dad who was standing right beside me at the time. Both boys had disappeared down the beach before the laughter bubbled up out of me and Dad and Mom. It was a good afternoon. End of entry for Day Ten End of entry for Week Two = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END OF STORY 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Diary of a Pain Slut Week 03 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = When Maddi Miller gets caught doing naked self-bondage under an interstate bridge, the police take her to the psych ward of the local hospital. She is released but has to keep a diary as part of her thirty day evaluation and submit it to her therapist at the end of each week. 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 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) 2014 by The Technician. 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Maddi'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 Eleven Maddi'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. Diary of a Pain Slut Week 03 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 Twelve Maddi'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 Thirteen Maddi'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 Fourteen Maddi'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." I did. 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. Diary of a Pain Slut Week 03 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 college 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 at the local community college who got it on with their students. They say that they are not sex addicts 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 female students? 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 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 Fifteen Maddi'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 you 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 Sixteen Maddi'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. Diary of a Pain Slut Week 03 It was kind of nice to do nothing all day. End of entry for Day Seventeen End of entry for Week Three = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END OF STORY 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Diary of a Pain Slut Week 04 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = When Maddi Miller gets caught doing naked self-bondage under an interstate bridge, the police take her to the psych ward of the local hospital. She is released but has to keep a diary as part of her thirty day evaluation and submit it to her therapist at the end of each week. This is week four 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 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) 2014 by The Technician. 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Maddi's Diary, Day Eighteen, Monday Dr. B can be so frustrating. He practically ordered me to have Mom watch me do one of my Beat Girl webcasts, and then he wouldn't talk about it. Last Wednesday, he said he would wait until he had read my write-up. I wrote it all up for him and today all he said was, "Nothing unexpected occurred. I think we need to look more at what happened Friday and Saturday night." "What do you mean?" I asked. "I was being my normal pain slut self. It was just live at The Pit rather than on line." "Who told you to take off your shorts and panties?" he asked. I looked down and said softly, "Shirley." "Who ordered you to masturbate while you drank your whiskey sour?" "Shirley." "Who soaked your panties in hot sauce and stuffed them in your mouth?" "Shirley." "Who masturbated you to climax while the hot sauce burned your mouth?" "Shirley." "Who did you call Mistress?" I just stared at him for a long time. Finally I answered, "Shirley." "It sounds like something very major has changed in your life, doesn't it?" "Yes," I answered. "When I read your journal for this coming week," he said, "I want to hear about what you and Shirley have done to clarify your relationship. I also want to know what your parents think of it, as well as hers." He closed the file on his desk and said, "Think you can do that?" I nodded my head yes and he got up from behind his desk. "Then we'll see you on Wednesday." When I got home, I called Shirley. "We have to talk," I said. "Are you having second thoughts?" she asked. "No!!" I said. I tried to make that sound really emphatic. "I'm not having second thoughts." I tried to make that sound emphatic, too. I almost cried into the phone, "I'm having therapy session homework." I know that sounded very frustrated and I wasn't even trying to sound that way. "Oh," she said. "What are you supposed to do?" "Talk," I replied. "We are supposed to talk about what our relationship means and then we are supposed to talk to my parents and yours." "Is that all?!" she screeched into the phone. "Who in the hell is your therapist?" "Dr. Bergenstein," I replied. "Thomas Bergenstein?" she asked. Her voice was suddenly much quieter. "I think so," I answered. "Do you know him?" "Yes," she answered. After a pause she added, "That explains a lot." "Does that mean something is wrong?" I was starting to get worried. "No," she laughed. "It means that he understands you a lot better than you think he does. Why don't I come out to your house tonight and we can sit down and talk to your mom?" "OK," I said. "And I have an idea about how you can meet my parents. There is a party at the club this weekend." "Does that mean I can go as your guest?" I asked. "Not exactly," she said. "Only another Master or Mistress can come to the club as a guest." "Then what will I be?" "You will come as my slave," she answered. Then she laughed, "Trust me, you will love it." She paused and asked, "What time do you get off work today?" "I work close every other Monday," I answered, "but I did that last week. So tonight, I'll be home a little after seven." "I'll be there around 7:30," she replied. I got home at 7:15. I had just told Mom Shirley was coming when she pulled in exactly at 7:30. We all sat down in the living room. Mom looked over at Shirley and asked, "Does this have something to do with Maddi coming home without her panties Saturday night?" I turned red. Shirley just laughed. "She was also missing her shorts," she said. "But yes, it has something to do with that." She paused before continuing, "... and the fact that we have been in love with each other since junior high school. Well, back then it was a crush. Now it is love." "I didn't know," Mom said rather breathlessly. She was trying to hide her surprise and not sound judgmental or whatever. "Neither did we," I said. "It would appear that we have all learned a lot about each other in the past few weeks," Shirley said. "I found out that the girl who I was afraid to tell that I loved her was a submissive pain slut." "I found out," I continued, "that the girl who I was afraid to tell that I loved her was a very powerful Dominatrix and Mistress." I shrugged. "We were sort of made for each other all along and didn't know it." "I found out more about what I am," said Mom. "But I also found out that my relationship with my husband is far more important than what I am. I can be happy keeping the beast caged within me." She turned to me, "But you can't. Your beast can never be caged. It can only be tamed. And it looks like you might have found your beast tamer. You have my blessing." She hugged me, "And though you father will never be able to really understand, he will give you his blessing, too, because he loves you and he will be able to see that this is what is best for you." That led to a group hug and all of us crying. Just before Shirley left, she gave me something. It was a light gray, velvet choker necklace with a silver emblem on the front of it. She said I didn't have to wear it until this weekend, but that when she came to pick me up Saturday night, I should be wearing it, and nothing else. It was a pale shade of grey, but she called it a "white collar," and said that it would identify me as a slave who was not yet in a permanent collared relationship. "It's sort of the equivalent to wearing a guy's class ring," she explained to me and Mom. "You aren't married, or even engaged, but it still tells others that you are taken and not available." "I guess I will have to figure out how to explain this all to Dad sometime before then," I said. Mom smiled and said, "No, I think it should be a surprise to your father. You stay in your room until Shirley comes to pick you up. When she gets here, you wait for ten or fifteen minutes before you come out of your room. That will give him time to do his fatherly cross-examination of your date. Then you come out and the two of you leave. After you are gone, your father and I will have lots of time to discuss what all of this means." End of entry for Day Eighteen Maddi's Diary, Day Nineteen, Tuesday The first thing I did when I got up this morning was to put on my white collar- I know its gray, but Shirley called it a white collar and that's how I think of it. I went out to breakfast wearing it, and nothing else. Mom looked at me and raised her eyebrows, but I answered, "I thought I should get used to it so it looks natural Saturday night." "Does it feel natural?" she asked. "Oh, yes," I replied. I was surprised that my voice was practically gushing. I sounded very much like a young woman deeply in love. I guess that's what I am. I am a young, female pain slut who is deeply in love with someone who will, hopefully, be my Mistress forever. I am also a pain slut who has a job she has to be at this morning and an online webcast she has to do tonight. Tonight is TAZapper night, and that takes a lot out of me, so I know that I won't be writing anything after the performance. I'm writing this up after work, but before Beat Girl goes on the air. Things at the restaurant today were very normal except for the fact that I was wearing nothing beneath my waitress uniform. As I took orders from customers, I kept imagining myself doing so wearing just the collar. The manager noticed that I didn't sit down at all during my break. That was because I was afraid that I would leave a wet spot on my dress. She asked me if everything was OK and I said I was fine. Then she said, "You look different today. If I didn't know better, I would say that you were in love." I smiled back at her and said, "I am." End of entry for Day Nineteen Maddi's Diary, Day Twenty, Wednesday Last night was TAZapper night on Beat Girl. The TAZapper- pronounced TAY-ZAPPER, is a cattle-prod like thing about the size of one of those lighters with a long barrel. It looks something like one of them also except it is red with a solid, black plastic barrel. There are two pieces of metal on the tip of the barrel. They look sort of like the end of two paperclips that are embedded in the plastic. They are the electrodes. They're shaped that way so they can't accidentally snag on something and won't penetrate the skin. The TAZapper is supposed to be safe for use on a human, and the pulse is supposed to stay more or less in the skin so it won't cause heart problems or any of that. A cattle prod is a lot stronger and the electrodes are pointed so they will penetrate slightly into the cow's thick skin. The cattle prod hurts a LOT more than the TAZapper and causes involuntary muscle contraction, but it can also stop your heart if you accidentally put it on someone's chest or even if you get the electrodes exactly on top of an artery and a vein when you press it against the skin. The chances of that happening are pretty small, but it is still too dangerous to use regularly. For TAZapper night, five players can be up at the same time. Three have zappers, and two have vibrators. One of the vibrators is a big ol' fat Magic Wand vibrator. The other is a slim line vibrating dildo. The zappers and the vibrators are mounted on robot arms like are used to weld cars together on an assembly line. In fact that's what they are. Harold bought them used from somewhere and modified them so that they can be controlled with a game joystick. I had to stand there for hours while he programmed them so they will touch my skin, but can't spear me... well the zappers can't spear me. The vibrators, that's a different story. If a player has skilled hands, he can shove the Miracle Wand all the way into my cunt or put the slim-line vibrator up my ass. Harold put a lot of safeties into the robot programming to make sure they can't hurt me- as in damage me. Players pay for time, not shocks. It is so many points for so many minutes. The shocks are always the same level- hard. You can select an intensity level for the vibrators, but it doesn't cost more. I do the introductory stuff with restraint cuffs already in place on my wrists and ankles. I used to put them on after my intro, but then I am rushed and one week, I got the cuffs way too tight and my hands and feet were almost purple by the time the half hour was up. Now they are in place and, when I first explain things, I click the metal D-rings on my wrist cuffs together so they click really loud and say, "Tonight is TAZapper night." Then I explain how everything is supposed to work and encourage them to get in the cues early. Time costs a hundred points a minute, so you can actually sign in for the whole thirty minutes for 3000 points. In US dollars, that is $600, and it is not unusual to have someone in for the full session. Since there are five players, that means that the whole session brings in only $3000 from the players. That's a little lower than the other sessions, but for some reason, the TAZapper sessions have a much larger following. Most of the actual income comes from the huge number of people who log in to watch at 50 points per session, so the total income for the night is actually much higher. Anyway, after I do all my introductions, I clip my restraints to the cables and stand between the two pillars of the TAZapper set. The cables tighten and pull my legs really far apart, and then the upper cables tighten until I am held taut. The timers come on screen, but don't start counting down for another three minutes while the Magic Wand robot goes through an automated program that gets me ready. The pain from the TAZapper shocks is different from a spanking or whipping or even from shocks from a TENS unit, and unless I am already pretty well turned on, they won't trigger the pain-pleasure cycle. They just hurt. I told Harold that I wasn't going to do the TAZapper anymore because of that, but he convinced me to try it one more time with what he called "the warm up cycle." I did, and it worked. It is still my least favorite session, but it's OK now. And it doesn't leave any marks or bruises that have to heal, so it does give my ass time to clear between sessions with the paddle and cane. I did my introductions, the Magic Wand robot got me ready, and then all five robot arms pulled back into the standby/ready position. I looked up at the big monitor on the wall and could see that all five player slots were booked for the whole session. Then the first arm moved in and popped me right on the tip of my nipple. That wasn't a good sign. That meant that at least one of the players was a skilled gamer and he- or she-was going to be able to move quickly and put their zaps exactly where they wanted. A second zap hit me almost immediately right in the middle of my belly button. I wasn't expecting that... well not there, and I yelped a bit when it hit me. After that things started get pretty fast and furious. It must have been a woman on the Magic Wand, because whoever it was really knew how to use it. So did whoever had the slim line. They were pumping it in and out of my ass as if I were being fucked back there. Did I mention that the slim line vibrator is also self-lubricating? It pumps out a baby-oil-like solution from small holes in the tip so that it slides across my skin or slips easily into my ass. I've had a couple of people try to put it in my mouth, but the sign-on instructions clearly say that the neck is the limit and the arms are programmed not to go above my collar bones. I was yelping and squirming pretty good from the shocks and the vibrator action when I did something that I've never done before. I closed my eyes and imagined that it was Shirley doing all this to me. Ignoring the fact that there were actually three TAZappers and two vibrators, I imagined that she had a vibrator in one hand and a zapper in the other and was doing all of this to me on stage somewhere. For the first time, I felt a major orgasm building during a TAZapper session. I've gone over the top once or twice during TAZapper sessions, but those were always little orgasms, not much more than what I call a sneeze orgasm. It's there and then it's gone. This wasn't a sneeze orgasm. It was a jump off the mountain into the clouds orgasm. I think the timer had counted down to about 8 minutes when it finally happened. I heard myself screaming out "Mistress, I love you!" and then the world dissolved in white light and bright colors. By the time things got back into focus, I was standing between the restraint poles with the cables hanging slack from my wrists. It must have looked impressive because the readouts showed a huge number of download requests for the video of the session. Afterwards, I didn't shower or even take off the restraint cuffs, but staggered naked back up to the house and fell into bed. I woke up barely in time to make my session with Dr. B. This afternoon, the manager didn't tell me I looked like I was in love. Instead she said, "You look really tired today. Long night?" "No," I answered, "just a very intense evening." End of entry for Day Twenty Maddi's Diary, Day Twenty-One, Thursday Wednesday is "hump day" for most people, but for some reason, Thursday seems more like that to me. Maybe it is because I am recovering from Tuesday nights on Wednesday, but by Thursday I am looking forward to the weekend. I am especially looking forward to this weekend. End of entry for Day Twenty-One Maddi's Diary, Day Twenty-Two, Friday OK Dr. B, I am talking about group first today... but mainly because of how badly it sucked. I sat there quietly while the two teachers who basically raped their students went on and on about how unfair society is for punishing people like them who are in love. I really wanted to scream at them, "It isn't love when you are banging three or four students at the same time!" but I held my tongue because you are not supposed to be judgmental in group. I also didn't say anything when the sex addict college boy and girl kept looking sideways at each other and reaching over and touching each other's leg when they thought no one was looking. I think they are taking my advice about helping each other out even though I never said anything to them. Then Wanda- that's teacher #1 who was sleeping with 4 girls in her class at the same time - noticed my necklace. "Do you know what you are wearing?" she asked in a really snarky, haughty voice. I put my hand to my throat and gripped the emblem on the front of the velvet choker. The emblem is silver and sort of looks like the Chinese Yin and Yang emblem except that are three teardrops that intertwined, all three were black within a silver outline, and there was a hole in the center of each teardrop through which you could see the velvet of the choker. "And what am I wearing?" I asked. "You may have bought it at some street fair thinking it is a Triskele and are wearing it to look Irish," she continued, still sounding like a haughty teacher belittling an ignorant student, "but that is definitely NOT the Celtic symbol of the three phases of the Goddess in your life. With those little holes drilled through it, that is the BDSM symbol, and with it on the front of a choker like that, it is the symbol of a slave." She looked around the rest of the group looking very satisfied with herself. "Where DID you get it?" she asked. Her voice sounded very gleeful and she looked like a hawk ready pounce as she waited for me to answer so that she could further expound on my ignorance of Celtic and BDSM symbols. "My Mistress gave it to me," I answered. "It's a white collar which means that she is my Mistress and I am her slave, but we have not made that permanent with a collaring ceremony. If we do make it permanent, I will wear a black collar, probably a leather one when we are together, and a black choker similar to this one when I am out in public doing other things." Diane, teacher #2, joined in at this point. "How can you do that to yourself? How can you lower yourself to such a degree as to become a slave? You are not a piece of property! That is sick!" Diary of a Pain Slut Week 04 I lost it at that point, "You two seduce impressionable students who don't know what they are doing and you think that me making a conscious decision to give myself to the woman I love is sick?! We actually DO love each other! And we ARE equal. I am not being forced. This is my choice as much as it is hers. I am choosing to give myself to her and trusting that she will use me in ways that are good for both of us. I can't control the beast within me, but she can. By letting her control me, I am letting her help me control the beast before it devours me." Then I did something that I was absolutely not supposed to do. I stood up and walked out of group. I knew that doing so could be grounds to send me downstate for in-patient treatment, but I didn't care. It was either leave or physically attack these two hypocritical bimbos, and I chose to leave. As I got to my car, my phone chirped. It was a text from Dr. B that said, "You may leave group early today." I guess that was his way of telling me he wouldn't send me downstate. Or maybe, he was creating a paper trail so that he could justify not doing so. In either case, thank you Dr. B. :-) End of entry for Day Twenty-Two Maddi's Diary, Day Twenty-Three, Saturday Again, I am writing early on Sunday morning because I got in WAY too late last night to sit down and write anything. I was nervous all day thinking about what was going to happen. I only vaguely remember Shirley's parents from when I met them once in high school. I kept trying to picture her dad in my mind, but all I could see was Robert DeNiro as Mr. Byrnes in that movie "Meeting the Parents." I was so distracted that I made mistakes on two orders. That almost never happens. And then I did the unthinkable. I dropped a tray. The manager immediately came over to the table and apologized profusely for the accident. Luckily the tray tipped toward an empty table and no one got splattered with any of the food. The manager told the family that if they would just wait for the order to be re-done, it would be on the house. "On the house," isn't exactly accurate. It would come out of my pay. But it was my fault, so I can't really complain. The manager took me aside after that and asked if I was OK. "You've been very distracted all day," she said. "This isn't like you." "I'm meeting my fiancee's parents tonight," I replied. "We are going out to a club together." "Oh," she replied. "Congratulations! You will have to bring him in to meet me, but in the meantime, I am sending you home before you dump a pot of hot coffee over some customer's head." "Thank you," I said. Then I added, "But it's a she, and you have met her... Shirley, the girl who comes in here with Vicki all the time." "It's still congratulations," she replied with a smile. Then she put her hands on her hips and said, "And you still need to go home before you really hurt somebody." "Thank you," I repeated and headed home. I got there about 1:00. I took a long, hot bubble bath as soon as I got home. I was tempted to make it a Mom-style bath, but decided that I should save myself. Besides, none of my vibrators are waterproof. I used my little spinning tweezer thing to make sure that I was totally smooth everywhere. Then I put on a robe and went out to sit in the living room to watch TV. Nothing interesting was on, and I really wanted to take a nap, but I was afraid that if I went back to my bed I would end up spending all afternoon with my Jack Rabbit. Finally, I decided that I really was tired and went back to my bedroom. I didn't even think about the sexual tension that was building within me. Instead, I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. I woke back up around 5:00 when I heard the rumble of Dad's truck being backed up into its parking place by the big shed. I went back into the bathroom and washed my hair in the shower and started getting it ready for the evening. I still hadn't figured out what I was going to say to Dad. Mom wanted me to just surprise him when Shirley showed up, but I wasn't so sure. It took about 45 minutes to get everything right with my hair, and by that time, Dad had put his stuff away, showered, and was sitting in the living room. I went back out and sat on the couch. Dad was in his old beat-up recliner. Mom keeps threatening to throw it out, but it is too heavy for her to move by herself. The compromise is that she keeps a cover thrown over it while Dad is on the road. He folds it up and sets it on the floor next to it while he is home. I guess all relationships are built on compromises. Mom came in about six and announced that they were going to have a late supper after I left on my date. Dad perked up and asked, "You have a date tonight?" "Yes," I answered. I was about to say that Shirley would pick me up in about an hour and a half, but Mom cut me off with "Her date will be here at 7:30. We will eat around 8:00, if that's OK with you, honey?" Dad said "No problem," and went back to reading his paper and ignoring the television. He always has it on when he is in the living room, but he never really watches it. I think he is just so used to the noise in his truck cab, that the quiet of the house takes some getting used to. Shirley got there at exactly 7:30. When he heard the car in the driveway, Dad looked over at me and said, "You'd better shake your ass. It sounds like your date is here and you aren't ready yet." "I am ready," I said quietly, and he looked at me with his eyes scrunched up a little bit like he was confused. Then Mom let Shirley in the front door. "Oh," Dad said. "Double date?" "No," I answered. "Shirley is my date." I stood up and dropped my robe to the floor. I was wearing nothing but her white collar. "And my Mistress," I added. Dad sat there with his face totally blank looking back and forth between Shirley and me. I was waiting for the explosion, but instead he turned to Shirley and said in a very firm and fatherly voice, "Treat her right. Keep her safe. Keep her happy." Then his voice softened as he added, "She's always been different, but I think you already know that. And I can see it in your faces that you love each other." He shrugged. "Actually," he continued, "I sort of thought you loved each other back in high school, but I wasn't going to ask back then." Then his voice hardened again, "But never forget that she is my daughter, and if you break her heart, you will have to answer to me!" It's a good thing that Shirley had said no makeup, or it would have been running down my face as I went over and hugged my Dad where he sat. He looked up at me and said, "And you never forget that I am your father. I will always be there for you, no matter what." As we started to leave, he added with a laugh. "At least your Mom won't have to stay up late tonight worrying that you are going to come home without your panties." Shirley laughed and said, "Good night, Mr. Miller. Good night, Mrs. Miller." She stopped and looked directly at Dad. "And don't worry. I will treat her right. I will keep her safe. And I will try my best to keep her happy." Tears were pouring off my face as we walked out to the car. I noticed that she had pulled it around so that the passenger side door was right up against the grass and I wouldn't have to walk across the gravel in my bare feet to get in. "I love you," I said softly as I got in the front seat. "There's a blanket on the floor that you can use to cover yourself if necessary... and if I give you permission. Don't use it unless you have to, and unless I tell you to." "Yes, Mistress," I answered as we drove out of the driveway. The club wasn't in town, but rather up in the city. It took about an hour and a half to get there, so it was about 9:00 when we arrived. I wasn't sure where we were except that it was close to downtown. Shirley pulled into what looked like the entrance to a parking deck. She put some kind of card in the gate and it opened for us. A short while after we descended into the darkness of the parking area, we came to a well lit booth with a guard sitting inside it. The lane was blocked at that point with a heavy barricade-style gate that looked like it could stop a tank. There was also what looked like a heavy concrete barrier sitting across the road. The guard said nothing, but Shirley leaned her head out of her window slightly and said, "Mistress Shirley Beckworth and one unregistered white collar slave." The guard pushed a button or something and the heavy steel barrier in front of us slid upward while the concrete buttress folded back into the pavement. They evidently took security pretty seriously here. As we started to move forward, the guard said pleasantly, "Have a good evening Mistress Shirley" Then nodding toward me he added, "... slave Maddi." "I thought you said you weren't telling your parents that you were bringing me," I said. "I didn't," she answered. "Then how did the guard know my name?" I asked. Shirley chuckled. "Big brother is watching you," she said as she pointed up at one of the many cameras on the ceiling. "The facial recognition programs knew who we were before the first gate opened for us. The Society has access to the Homeland Security database, so they knew everything about you before we got to the guard's booth." "Is all that really necessary?" I asked. "There are some very important and powerful people who are members of the Society. You couldn't really hurt them by exposing their membership, but it's a bother to clean up that kind of mess. And just because it doesn't work, doesn't mean that there aren't people out there who wouldn't try." "Like who?" I asked. We had gotten to a parking place, and Shirley shut off the car and turned to face me. "A couple of years ago," she began, "a local reporter got the idea of doing a big expose' on the club. She really didn't know much about it, but knew it was kinky and that rich and powerful people were involved. She decided to pose as a slave in order to get in." Shirley reached up and touched my neck. "She even had a white collar made to make it look real. Then she got some female private detective to pose as a Mistress. The PI had connections in Seattle and somehow got false membership papers from there. She even got her name and picture in the club member database." She laughed, "But they didn't count on facial recognition. The guards let them go in, but security met them at the door. They were told that since they wanted to find out what goes on in here, they would. They were both stripped... well the PI was stripped, the reporter was already naked. Then they were taken down to the dining room and put up on stage strapped to X-shaped frames that held them securely in place on top of two Sybian machines with double penetration attachments. "All of the hidden surveillance cameras that the PI had smuggled in were trained on them and broadcasting or recording everything while they sat on those machines all night being forced into one orgasm after another. In addition the club cameras were recording everything. Around 1:00 am, the local Grand Master came up on stage and put stainless steel collars on both of them. Then they were dropped off naked in front of the newspaper offices. "Each of them was given a little memory card that would unlock the collar if it were programmed with the right key code. They told the PI that they would give her that code when she turned over all her files and told them exactly how she had managed to hack into the Seattle club. They told the reporter that they would give her the code when she gave them her files." "What happened then?" "The PI turned over the files and gave the name of the hacker to the security people. It turns out he had bragged to a friend of his that he could get into the most secure server in Seattle, which just happens to be the one at the Society club there. The PI out there found out about it and told him to prove it by setting up a fictitious member- the PI from here. The hacker did, but he also contacted security and told them where the weakness was. It had already been fixed by the time the reporter tried to sneak in here. The hacker works for the Society now." "And what happened to the reporter?" "People who play with fire, sometimes get burned," Shirley said. "You might meet her tonight. She still wears the stainless steel collar except now it has a Mistresses name engraved on it. She wanted to find out something about the club, but instead found out something about herself." She opened her car door, "But enough history! It's time to meet the parents." As they started to walk toward the entrance, Shirley said to me, "No one will say anything tonight because you are an untrained slave, but proper etiquette is that you walk slightly behind me and to the right." I tried to walk where she said I should, but kept finding myself alongside her. "That's OK," she said. "Just don't ever get in front of me. Then someone will say something regardless of whether or not this is your first night." She paused and added, "And watch for sharp stuff on the floor out here in the parking area. They keep it pretty well cleaned up, but I don't want anything to mess up you meeting Mom and Dad." We walked down to the end of the parking area where there was a well lit door which said "Entrance." Just inside the door was a standard hostess / maitre-de welcome desk. A very beautiful woman in a long black dress looked up at us as we entered and said, "Ah, Mistress Shirley, your parents are already seated and waiting for you." It felt kind of weird. She didn't ignore me. It was more like I wasn't there. I found myself looking at the mirrored wall alongside the welcome desk to see if I was actually visible. What I saw was two beautiful women, one older in a long black dress, and one younger and more beautiful in a shorter, light blue evening dress... and a naked slave. I had to look twice to find me. It was sort of like I didn't exist, but somehow, my nakedness and almost invisibility, made Shirley that much more visible and beautiful and I was very pleased. It was OK if I couldn't be seen if it made her more beautiful in my eyes and the eyes of the world. The hostess led us over to the far side of the eating area near the stage. The dining room was arranged like you would expect at a night club. There was a small dance floor area in middle on one side and in the wall behind the dance floor was a slightly raised stage about 20 feet wide. The stage protruded out into the room about ten feet in a large half circle that touched the walls at the edge of the curtained opening. As we walked through the crowd, I tried to stay two steps behind Shirley like I was supposed to, but it was impossible to be slightly to her right. I had to follow directly behind her. I noticed that one or more people at many of the tables was naked, like me. Most had black leather collars, but a few had jeweled collars or shiny stainless steel bands around their necks. One or two slaves were kneeling on the floor next to their Masters or Mistresses. Seeing them reminded me that I, too was naked, but my nakedness felt more and more natural. A handsome man about my Dad's age stood up at one of the tables right next to the edge of the stage and waved at us. Shirley waved back and then we were at the table. "Mom, Dad," Shirley began, "this is Maddi. She is wearing my white collar." "Congratulations!" boomed Mr. Beckworth as he hugged his daughter. "Yes, congratulations," said Mrs. Beckworth quietly. "Have you set a date for a collaring ceremony or is it too soon to talk about that?" I started to say something about us needing to work through some things first, but as I turned to Shirley's Mom, no words came out. She was naked! There was a soft black leather collar around her neck with an emblem similar to what I had except it had jewels around it and the word Master on one side and David on the other. Her nipples were pierced and two small silver weights hung from each. The weights were small silver figures of a woman hanging in bondage with her hands above her head. The silver rope from which the figures hung was tied to the ring in each of Mrs. Beckworth's nipples. "Maddi is totally untrained," Shirley said brightly. "She doesn't know for sure what this would mean for us. So I don't think it would be fair to ask for a total commitment before she is trained and knows what would be expected of her." I was still sputtering softly and trying to speak. "You're... you're..." "Yes?" Mrs. Beckworth said, looking up at me. "You're a slave?" I finally got out. "Yes, I am," she answered with a smile. "But you are both attorneys in one of those big offices downtown?" I continued to sputter as I looked back and forth from Shirley's Dad to her Mother. "I am that also," she continued. "And so is Master David. But being a Master or, in my case, a submissive, isn't my total being. I am many things. I am not always submissive and I'm not submissive to everybody." She smiled brightly. "Ask any prosecuting attorney whose ass I've kicked in court about that." She motioned for me to sit down and continued. "A Master-slave relationship is very complex, as are all true, loving relationships. Some couples," she said, pointing toward a nearby table, "are Master-Mistress and they have slaves together." She then pointed to the naked man and woman kneeling at the feet of the Master-Mistress couple. "Those two slaves are also a couple." She laughed slightly, "As a matter of fact, they are married with three children." "Some couples are Mistress-slave," she continued. "There are rules to the relationship which must be abided by if one is to remain a member of the Society, but there are no rules as to what composes that relationship. If you decide that this relationship is right for you and Shirley, and you accept her collar, you will be welcomed here as a registered slave, with all of the rights and privileges which that gives you." I probably looked and sounded as confused as I was. I asked, "Rights and privileges? For a slave?" Now it was Shirley's Dad who spoke. "The relationships in the Society are Masters and submissive slaves, not captive slaves. A slave gives herself, or himself, to his or her Master. They are not enslaved. And if, at any time, the relationship sours and the Master no longer properly cares for his slave, she can appeal to the council." He cleared his throat. "Sometimes that means the council mandates that the couple seek counseling. Sometimes the council reminds the Master of the proper way to treat a slave. And sometimes, the council steps in to free and protect the slave. In my time here at the club we have had to remove one or two members who would not follow the advice of the council, but most come around when they are shown the error of their ways." As he was finishing speaking, a waitress appeared at the table. It was hard to tell if she was a slave, but she was definitely not a Mistress. She was dressed in a frilly French maid's outfit that barely covered her ass. She had on a fishnet body stocking of some sort and a tiny black thong that was totally visible beneath the little black dress. The top had half cups that did not cover her breasts, but rather held them out for display. She walked with funny steps almost as if her ankles were bound together, but I could see nothing that was hobbling her. If you ignored how she was dressed, she acted no differently than I did when I take an order at the restaurant. She even started with the one whom she thought would probably be paying the bill, namely Mr. Beckworth. Shirley ordered next and then the waitress looked over at me. I was unsure what to do. Finally I whispered to Shirley, "Do I order on my own, or do you do that for me?" Diary of a Pain Slut Week 04 Shirley's Mom answered me with a laugh. "You order on your own, Maddi, unless your Mistress has told you otherwise." She patted me on the back of my hand, "But you will figure all these things out soon enough." I gave the waitress my order and after she got Mrs. Beckworth's order she minced back into the darkness. "Is she a slave?" I asked. "No," Mr. Beckworth said. "She's a college student working her way through college. Her name's Tracy and she works here rather than at one of the bars or strip clubs because here no one pats her ass or tries to pick her up. Waitresses are considered slaves of the club, even though they are really employees. And it is against club rules to touch another person's slave without permission." He then turned to Shirley and asked, "If Maddi is totally untrained, why did you have me reserve time on stage tonight so that you could display a new slave?" "Daddy!" Shirley hissed. "That was supposed to be a surprise." Shirley then turned to me and said, "Don't worry, Maddi. I just want to introduce you to the club and show them that you are a natural pain slut and worthy to be called a Society slave." I was trying to figure out what to say, when her mother said to me, "Shirley didn't tell us that you were into pain. Did you start with self-pain or self-bondage pain sessions?" I had been worried about Shirley's parents not understanding, but now the problem seemed to be that they understood all too well and were asking questions that I wasn't sure how to answer. "Maddi is Beat Girl," Shirley said suddenly. "Oh," her Mom responded. "That's why you looked somewhat familiar. I am so happy to meet Beat Girl in person. Master David bought me a season pass so I can watch all your sessions. He won't let me play, but I can watch and dream that it is me. I especially like to watch the TAZapper sessions. If he comes home late, he can tell if I have been watching the video from one of those sessions because I'm ready for anything by the time he gets his coat hung up." This was the first time I had met one of Beat Girl's fans and now I really wasn't sure what to say. I was pretty sure that I shouldn't tell her that the TAZapper sessions were my least favorite. Luckily, our waitress arrived with our food before the silence got too long and I had to say anything. It was a very good meal. I had a glass of wine with the meal and Shirley ordered a second glass for herself and for me as the table was being cleared. Her Mom and Dad ordered some sort of after dinner liqueur. When the drinks came, Shirley turned her chair almost around and indicated that I should do the same. I wasn't sure why until I saw the hostess standing in the middle of the stage. "Masters and Doms," she began, "Mistresses and Monsieurs, for your entertainment tonight we have three offerings. The first is the punishment of a slave who has been disobedient one too many times. She was given a choice of relinquishing her collar or being punished publicly before you. She chose public punishment. The second is between two Mistresses, both of whom think that their slave can take more strokes of the cane. There is a very interesting bet riding on the results of that contest. And the final presentation is the introduction of a new slave to our midst. Let us begin with the punishment of a wayward slave." "Slave gloria ends up on stage about once every six months," Mr. Beckworth explained quietly. "She claims she is not a pain slut, but she forces her Mistress to publicly beat the hell out of her a couple of times a year. Mistress Sharon knows what is going on, but she loves gloria and knows that gloria needs this." The curtains opened on the stage and a large Saint Andrew's cross was pushed out to the front of the stage. A very blond, very white, very thin young woman was bound tightly to the cross facing it. A very striking looking woman in a black silk blouse and long, black leather skirt walked out to the middle of the stage. She was holding a very long leather paddle about three inches wide. It had some sort of wooden handle that was also wrapped in black leather. "How many strokes do you think that you deserve for your disobedience?" the woman asked the bound slave. "Twenty-five," the slave answered in a shaky voice. "You will receive one hundred," the Mistress answered firmly. "No please, Mistress, I could never stand that," begged the slave. "Please, no more than forty." "Sixty," responded the Mistress. "Fifty," replied the slave. "Very well," said the woman in black. "I will respect your weakness and give you only fifty swats of the flat whip, but you must count each stroke properly or we begin again." David again leaned in so that Maddi could hear and said, "It is always fifty strokes." Then he laughed slightly, "And about half the Masters and Mistresses have bets as to whether she messes up the count at eight, nine, or ten." He then sat back to watch what was unfolding on stage. The woman had called it a flat whip, and she indeed handled it like a whip. She pulled her hand back and the long flap of leather curled back almost as would a bull whip. Then she snapped her wrist forward and the long, flat leather paddle whipped forward and slammed into the slave's ass. The slave screamed a very high-pitched scream, but then said in a shaky voice, "One, thank you Mistress." The stroke and the count were repeated again and again and again. On the tenth stroke, the bound slave yelped, but then said, "Twenty, thank you Mistress." Mr. Beckworth leaned over toward the next table and the man there pushed a couple of bills into his hands. Evidently he had ten in the pool or whatever. "Stupid slave," the Mistress growled. "We are going to have to start over and I am going to swing twice as hard. If you mess up the count again, we will keep starting over until you get it right." She then pulled back on her arm and curled the flat whip in the air. This time when she flipped her wrist forward, you could almost hear the tip of the leather snap in the air. I made a very resounding "Thwack," as it slammed into the slave's ass cheeks. But this time it was not a yelp of pain. Instead, the slave said, "One, thank you Mistress." in a voice I have heard many times before because I have used it. It was the voice of pleasure pain. "She didn't mess up the count," I whispered to Shirley. "That was her signal to her Mistress that her E buddies had arrived and she could start really laying it on." "I know," said Shirley. She turned to me and grinned. "I know; you know; Mistress Sharon knows; the whole room knows; but slave gloria evidently doesn't know." She turned a little further so that she could look me in the face, "Not everyone understands what it is to be a pain slut like you do. There are a lot of women- and men- out there who do not understand the cravings they feel in their body. Many seek the pleasure in pain without knowing why and are destroyed by people who take advantage of them. Many cannot accept what they are and destroy themselves. You have been given the gift of understanding who and what you are." "And I have been given the gift of parents who understand, and..." I choked up a little at this point but I finally pushed out, "... the gift of a woman who loves me because of, and despite, what I am." Shirley took my hand and then patted the side of her leg and pointed at the floor. I knelt on the floor next to her and put my head on her leg. My tears were wetting the fabric of her dress, but I didn't care. I closed my eyes and let her stroke my hair lightly as I knelt there and cried for joy. I really wasn't hearing what was happening on stage, but suddenly Shirley's hands were gone from my hair and everyone in the room was applauding. I looked up on stage and the Saint Andrew's Cross was being twisted from side to side so that everyone in the room could see the results of the whipping. With her very, very white skin, her now very red ass shown out like a beacon. There was some coloring of the skin at the top of the legs indicating that a couple of times the flat whip had struck a little low. But there were no marks on the lower back over the kidneys. Mistress Sharon knew her stuff and I doubted that those low strikes were accidental. I know from experience that a strike just below the ass cheek hurts five or ten times more than a swat on the meat of your ass. As the cross was turned our direction, I could also see that the inside of slave gloria's thighs were wet all the way down to her knees. Her E buddies had definitely shown up for her. I pitied her, not because she had just received sixty swats with a really wicked looking whip, but because she didn't understand that all she had to do was tell her Mistress that she needed pleasure pain, and Mistress Sharon would have given her what she needed without having to go through all this charade of misbehavior. Oh well, it works for her. And I am in no position to say what is normal. The cross was pushed off stage and the hostess returned to the center of the stage. "We have a disagreement between two Mistresses," she began. "Both claim to have the slave with the highest tolerance for pain of all the slaves in the club. And they are willing to bet their own asses on it." There was a titter of laughter from the crowd. The hostess made a motion with her hands and two sets of stocks were pushed onto the stage. There was a female slave secured in each of the stocks. Their ankles were strapped to the front of the base of the stocks and they were bent over at the waist over a T-shaped piece. A strap over their back held them in place there and then their heads and hands went through normal stocks. These stocks were obviously intended as whipping stocks. The stocks were positioned so that the slaves were facing each other. Each of them appeared to have a large, red ball gag in their mouths, but there didn't appear to be a holding strap going around their head. They also were holding large red balls in each of their hands. "The contest is simple," the hostess began. "Mistress Darlene will cane Mistress Trudy's slave, and Mistress Trudy will cane Mistress Darlene's slave. Each slave has three rubber balls, one in each hand and one in her mouth. The first slave to drop all three is the loser, or should I say, the Mistress of the first slave to drop all three is the loser. "The losing Mistress will then keep caning the slave in her stocks until that slave has dropped all three balls. At that point, the losing Mistress will replace the losing slave in the stocks and receive the number of strokes that it took to cause the winning slave to drop the balls." She turned to two Mistresses dressed in leather Dom outfits who were standing on the edge of the stage. "Do you understand the terms of the bet?" "Is there a limit to the number of strokes of the cane that she will receive?" asked one of the Doms. "No," answered the other. "There is no limit as to how many strokes I am going to lay across your naked ass once you have lost." "Then we begin," announced the hostess. "You will strike on my count, and only on my count. Is that understood?" "Yes," both Mistresses answered and held their canes at the ready. "One," intoned the hostess and both Doms swung as hard as they could with their canes. Both slaves gave muffled grunts of pain, but neither dropped anything. "Two," said the hostess. Again both slaves grunted, but the one slave's grunt was higher pitched. I looked up at Shirley and said, "Mistress Darlene is going to lose, and lose badly." "What?" she answered me. "Mistress Trudy is more accurate with her swing than my robots. Harold had to program them to move slightly for each stroke or I couldn't stand the pain of getting hit time after time in the same place. Mistress Trudy is putting each stroke of the cane in exactly the same place. That slave won't be able to stand it for long." Shirley smiled at me and leaned back to whisper something to her father. He then leaned across to the man from whom he had collected the earlier bet and after a few words, I saw them shake hands. "You'd better be right," Shirley whispered down to me. "Dad has a thousand dollars riding on your word." I wasn't wrong. On the fifth swing, the one slave let out a tremendous yelp and the rubber ball bounced across the stage. On the ninth swing, the ball from her left hand joined the other on the floor of the stage. I could see her fingers digging into the ball in her right hand as she tried to hold onto it, but I dropped the safety switch at ten before Harold reprogrammed the robots. I know that the pain was nearly unbearable. At twelve the slave groaned out, "Nooooo!" as she realized that her hand had involuntarily let go of the ball in reaction to the intense pain. Mistress Trudy stood with her cane in her hand and looked over at her defeated opponent. Mistress Darlene glared at her as the hostess said, "I will begin the count again. The number when the slave drops the third ball is the number of strokes Mistress Darlene will receive from Mistress Trudy. "One," she began. Mistress Darlene was swinging with all her might. The slave in her stocks had yet to drop a single ball. Her stroke was very strong, but her aim was wild. Each stroke was all over the place. The slaves ass was crisscrossed with stripes, but she still held on to all three balls. It wasn't until "Fifteen" that the first ball dropped. Surprisingly, it wasn't the ball from the mouth, but rather the one from the left hand. At "Nineteen" the ball from the right hand joined its brother on the floor. It wasn't until "Twenty-seven" that the ball from the slave's mouth dropped. I had expected it to fall when she screamed or something like that, but it just dropped to the floor as the slave grunted and twisted in the stocks. After it hit the floor, the slave spit something out of her mouth. It was a piece of the ball. She had dropped the ball not because she had opened her mouth to scream, but because she had bitten through it. Regardless of the Mistresses caning techniques, that slave could handle a tremendous amount of pain- and I don't think it was pleasure pain. She was bearing the pain out of love and devotion to her Mistress. I'm not sure I totally understand that, but then she probably doesn't understand me getting pleasure out of pain either. Mistress Darlene was sweaty with exertion. She looked out at the crowd in the club. "I acknowledge my defeat," she said firmly, "and I accept the consequences of it." With that she began removing her clothing, letting each item drop as she removed it. Then she went over to the stocks which were now empty and draped herself across the front piece. Two burley men in black jeans and black T-shirts with "Security" written on the back, pulled her tight and began strapping her in place. Once she was firmly in place, they pushed the stocks out toward the front of the stage so that her ass was pointed toward the audience. Her ass cheeks glistened with her perspiration. "The difference between what the two slaves endured was twenty-seven strokes," said the hostess. "You may begin, Mistress Trudy." "And you'd better count them properly," Mistress Trudy said to her defeated opponent, "or Mistress or no Mistress, I will start over." The snap of the cane striking Mistress Darlene's ass was very loud and echoed throughout the club. "One, Mistress Trudy," Mistress Darlene said. By the tenth stroke, there was a single, dark purple, bleeding welt across Mistress Darlene's ass and she was crying and begging for Mistress Trudy to stop. By the fifteenth stroke she was almost incoherent. She got the number out, but was blubbering, "Please, no more. No more. Please, no more." "There is only one way I will stop," responded Mistress Trudy. "If you submit to me as your Mistress and accept slavery at my hand." There was a long period of silence and then Mistress Darlene said firmly, "Fifteen, thank you Mistress Trudy, may I have another." She counted each stroke that way for the remainder of the caning, finishing with, "Twenty-seven, Mistress Trudy. I will still be a Mistress long after you are kneeling at the feet of a slave." "Ouch," said Shirley's Dad. "That is one of the greatest insults you can throw at a Master or Mistress, to say that they will kneel at the feet of a slave." He then looked down at Maddi and said, "Love is a wonderful emotion, but sometimes it is hate that will get you through hell." "I hope I never have to find out," I answered. "I hope I never have to find out." Shirley stroked my hair one last time and said, "Time for us to go up on stage." She smiled at me and then said, "You won't need hate to get through this. Just your love for me and some help from your E buddies." I walked behind her as she crossed the dance floor and walked up the steps to the stage. There was a simple padded wooden chair in the middle of the stage. Shirley sat down on it and then patted her lap and said quietly, "Lay across my lap." I did. She looked out at the people in the club and said, "I am Mistress Shirley Beckworth. I want to introduce to you tonight a young woman whom I love and to whom I hope to extend my collar in the near future." She patted me lightly on the butt. I felt really silly lying there across her lap looking out at the audience as she introduced me. "Maddi is totally untrained and is basically ignorant of the rules and expectations of the Society. But she is the most natural pain slut that I have ever seen. And she has the heart of a slave who loves her Mistress. I want to show you both those qualities tonight." She patted me lightly again and rubbed my ass. Her fingers slipped between my legs slightly and I felt myself starting to get wet. "I also love her and she loves me." Shirley said. "As she is trained, and if she accepts my collar, I will bring her back up on stage regularly so that you can see her develop into a fully trained Society slave." She stroked my butt and slid her hand between my legs. "Open yourself up," she said. "You should be open to this." I spread my legs slightly and felt the air cool the moisture between my legs. "I will start with one hundred spanks of my hand with her over my knee," Shirley explained. "Then I will give her fifty swats of a paddle while she is kneeling on the chair." I heard myself gasp at that. "Then," continued Shirley, "she will then put herself over the back of the chair for twelve cuts with the cane." There was a smattering of polite applause from the crowd. She patted my butt a little harder and said, "Slave Maddi, this is my first public command to you. You MAY NOT CUM until the twelfth stroke of the cane. Do you understand this?" "Yes," I said. I understood what she said, but I didn't understand why she said it. She wanted me to hold myself back through the whole thing, and only let go at the very end. I wasn't sure I could do that. "Let us begin," she said and started swatting me on the ass. Her swats were firm and they stung, but they weren't exceptionally hard. After about a dozen hits, she said, "You don't have to count these, in fact, I don't want you to count these or the paddle, but when we get to the cane I want you to count them properly. I think you saw what was expected in the last presentation." "Yes Mistress Shirley," I replied. She patted me several times lightly on the butt as a way of saying that I had answered properly, and then she went back to a real spanking. I noticed that as she continued, she was getting harder and faster. The smacks were starting to really sting, and then they were starting to hurt, and then they were starting to really hurt. I could feel my legs starting to kick on their own and I was starting to make little grunting sounds as I tried to keep quiet, but she was getting harder and harder and faster and faster. Then the first of my E buddies showed up. Diary of a Pain Slut Week 04 It wasn't long before I stopped kicking and grunting and slowly changed to writhing and moaning. With the way she had spanked me, Shirley had taken me into pleasure pain long before the pain level got unbearable, or even serious. I was floating on an endorphin high and not noticing how many swats she was delivering to my ass. Suddenly I realized that she was patting me again, rather than swatting me. "Stand up," she said, and I did. "Now kneel on the seat of the chair and bend over the back and grab the back legs." I did. I could feel the heat of my ass and the top of my legs and I could also feel the coolness of my moisture as it trickled down the inside of my legs. Then "Splat!" A wooden paddle slammed into my ass. "One," said Shirley. If she had started with that paddle, I would have screamed with that first swat, but Shirley had throughly warmed me up with a hand spanking. My E buddies were in full force and I just grunted in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Each swat was painful. It hurt, and it hurt more each time that paddle slammed into my ass, but it also felt soooooooooo good. It was more than my E buddies. I was doing this for her. I was making her proud in front of her fellow Masters and Mistresses. I was taking the pleasure for myself. I was bearing the pain for her. OK, maybe I understand love pain a little better than I thought I did. Somewhere around thirty swats I started getting into trouble. No, the pain wasn't becoming unbearable, it was the exact opposite. I could feel an orgasm building deep down within me. I kept trying to push it back down, but the pressure was building and building and building. By forty swats, I was groaning and begging. I wasn't begging for her to stop, I was begging for het to let me cum. "Please, let me cum," I cried out. I repeated that several times and then switched to "Please, Mistress Shirley, let me cum." I kept chanting that for several swats and then went to, "Please, Mistress Shirley, let your worthless and undeserving slave cum." I was running out of words to add to my pleas when I heard her say, "Fifty." She patted me on the ass again. It was a very light pat, but it hurt like hell because my ass cheeks were now so bruised and swollen. "Now stand behind the chair," she said as she turned the chair around. "And bend over the back with your hands flat on the seat of the chair." I did and realized that I was in much the same position as had been the slaves- and Mistress Darlene, in the spanking stocks. "Twelve of my best," she said to me. "And you will properly count each one of them or we will start over." She paused and then added, "And remember, you may not cum until the twelfth stroke of the cane." I bent over the chair like she had instructed me to do. I could feel the muscles in my legs and ass pulling tight as I placed my hands on the seat of the chair. Then I heard a swishing sound and my ass exploded. I don't know why, but the robot canes don't make that same swishing sound. Maybe it has something to do with the way a real person whips their wrist on the backstroke or the strike or whatever, but it sounds different. It feels the same, though. It hurts... a lot! E buddies can only do so much. Normally by this time, I am riding through the pain on the wings of an orgasm, but Shirley had forbidden me to cum until the twelfth stroke of the cane. I managed to choke out, "One, thank you Mistress Shirley." Then I felt the cane tapping me on the ass. The robots never did that. She was teasing me with the cane, little taps that weren't strokes. They were barely hard enough to feel. But then she suddenly pulled back and swish, smack, explode. It took me a moment to respond. It wasn't that the pain was overwhelming me, it was that the explosion in my ass was more than enough to trigger a major orgasm and I had to push it back down inside me before I could speak. "Two, thank you Mistress Shirley." That's how it went for the next ten strokes. Swish, smack, explode, force the orgasm back down inside of me and then say, "Three, thank you Mistress Shirley. "Four, thank you Mistress Shirley. "Five, thank you Mistress Shirley. "Six, thank you Mistress Shirley. "Seven, thank you Mistress Shirley. "Eight, thank you Mistress Shirley. "Nine, thank you Mistress Shirley. "Ten, thank you Mistress Shirley. "Eleven, thank you Mistress Shirley. Finally it was swish, smack, explode, force the orgasm back down inside of me and say, "Twelve, thank you Mistress Shirley." As I heard myself say it, I realized that it was, at last, the twelfth stroke. The orgasm immediately tore its way through me. I felt myself letting go of the chair. I felt myself standing there shaking and screaming. I felt my legs wobble beneath me and I felt myself falling to the floor. It was as if three or four or even five orgasms had been bottled up inside of me and all of them got released at the same time. I lost track of where I was and possibly even who I was. I was off somewhere in orgasm land and wasn't sure I knew the way back to reality. Things finally came around and I found myself lying on the floor of the stage. Shirley was sort of sitting/kneeling on the floor and had my head in her lap. She was stroking my hair. I wasn't sure where I was at first and the sound of thunder was confusing me, then I realized that it was applause. The entire club was on their feet applauding wildly. After a few minutes, Shirley stood up and helped me to my feet. She guided me back to the table and put me in my chair. I was still so numb from the orgasm that I didn't even notice the pain of sitting on my blistered ass. After she sat down, her dad put his hands on top of mine on the table and said, "Only a truly naturally born pain slut could receive that much pleasure from what Shirley did to you." He patted my hand and added, "And only a person totally worthy to be a Society slave would have been able to hold that inside herself like you did just because your Mistress ordered you to." He patted my hands and said with obvious pride, "Welcome to the family." It was a little after 2:30 in the morning when Shirley dropped me off at home. I told her to let me off out front rather than pulling into the driveway so it wouldn't wake up Mom and Dad. "Besides," I said, "I want to walk across the grass in the moonlight dressed like I am." Shirley giggled and said, "All you're wearing is my collar and a bunch of bruises." "That's what I mean," I said and kissed her goodbye. End of entry for Day Twenty-Three Maddi's Diary, Day Twenty-Four, Sunday. This was another normal Sunday except for the fact that Shirley dropped by around 2:00 in the afternoon. She wanted to check that I was still OK with everything. Mom and Dad talked with her a little bit, but it was just the "Hi, how are you," kind of conversation. I told her that there was something I wanted to show her, and then told Mom- loud enough that Dad could hear, that we were going out to the play house to talk. I gave her a tour of the studio. As I explained each area to her, all she could say was "Wow! No wonder Mom is one of your biggest fans. This is a pain slut's paradise." "It keeps the beast in check," I replied. "Or at least it gives the beast a place to roam." "The beast?" Shirley asked. "That's what Mom calls the pain slut within us," I explained. "She keeps hers in a cage and only lets it out once in a while." I shrugged, "Mine is too strong for a cage. It needs a strong master to control it." "Or a Mistress," she replied. She reached up and stroked my hair and repeated, "Or a Mistress." I kissed her lightly on the lips and said, "You don't just have an obedient slave who loves you. You have an obedient slave who loves you and happens to have a very powerful beast loosely caged within her." "I've handled more ferocious beasts in the past," she said and she continued to stroke my hair. "Don't worry, I will tame your beast and keep it under control." Damn, why do I always end up crying even when I write down some of this stuff. End of entry for Day Twenty-Four End of entry for Week Four = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END OF STORY 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Diary of a Pain Slut Week 05 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = When Maddi Miller gets caught doing naked self-bondage under an interstate bridge, the police take her to the psych ward of the local hospital. She is released but has to keep a diary as part of her thirty day evaluation and submit it to her therapist at the end of each week. This is the final week 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 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) 2014 by The Technician. 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Maddi's Diary, Day Twenty-Five, Monday Dr. B said that he was very pleased see that I was moving forward in my relationship with Shirley. He feels that he can recommend that I be released from treatment. However... There is always a "However..." The however in this case is that I cannot be released from court-ordered treatment until all "fees, fines and restitution has been fulfilled." And court-ordered therapy does not mean court paid for therapy. I qualified for public defender because I was 18 and a college student, but the hospital stuff was submitted to my dad's insurance and that established my dad as a responsible party for the expenses. Dr. B tried to sound very sympathetic when he told me, "Normally, that would just be insurance co-payments and a few fines and fees, but in your case, your father's insurance company has rejected the claim because it stems from an illegal act in which you willingly took part." He further explained, "I can't reduce the fees because your father owns the land in the country plus his truck. They count all that as assets, so your family doesn't qualify for reduced fees." He cleared his throat nervously and said somewhat apologetically, "And in addition to all of that, the state is charging you for a special inspection of the bridge you tied yourself under." As stupid as it sounds, the biggest item on the list was that damned bridge inspection. Because I had "attached unauthorized equipment to the physical structure" of the bridge, a special inspector had to be flown in from somewhere with a special crew to do a full inspection of the bridge. I ran ropes through some eyebolts what were already in place on the bridge!! I didn't cut anything, weld anything, or even clamp anything. I didn't hit it with a truck, a car, or even my fists. I just ran some damn rope through a ring on the bridge. Evidently there is some weird-ass federal law that got written after a bridge collapsed up in Minnesota somewhere that requires this kind of inspection whenever there is "unauthorized or uncertified work or attachment on or to a bridge." The bill for the inspection is $45,000 dollars! The fines are almost nothing. My plea agreement includes a fine for public indecency. The criminal charge will be expunged from my record when I satisfactorily complete therapy. I still have to pay the $1,500 dollar fine plus $1,000 in court costs. The in-patient stay at the looney bin was $14,000 and my 15 sessions with Dr. B cost $1,100 each for a total for treatment of $30,500. If I had insurance, those sessions would automatically be reduced to the negotiated amount of $600, but since I don't have insurance– or it isn't paying, I get stuck with the full, inflated charge. It is one bullshit thing after another, but it all boils down to the fact that I have to come up with $78,000 by next Monday or go to jail...or worse, go into the state psychiatric facility downstate. "Actually," Dr B said, "the easiest thing to do would be to extend treatment. I can do that for a few weeks and recommend that it be extended on a month by month basis for up to six months. That would keep you out of jail or the state facility, but it would also continue to cost you $3,300 a week." He shrugged his shoulders. I think he was honestly sorry for me. "I know it's a real catch-22. You can't get out of treatment unless you pay for treatment, but if you don't get out of treatment, the bills keep going up." He shook his head. "There really isn't anything I can do. Maybe you can borrow the money from somewhere or your parents can help you out." "I'll see what I can arrange," I told him, but I didn't have much hope. They think Dad has all sorts of "assets," but he cracked a block on his truck out in Denver a few months back and the cost of those repairs, plus the downtime, emptied his bank accounts. He had to re-finance the truck to come up with the necessary money to replace the engine and get back on the road. There just isn't any spare cash in the Miller family right now and I think the mortgage on the land is as high as it can be already. I will have to come up with something on my own. Dad's on an extended run and won't be back until Sunday. Mom is gone on a week-long training trip and may have to work Saturday also. So I am on my own this week and most of this weekend. This isn't something I want to talk to them about on the phone, so it will have to wait until Sunday. Maybe I can figure something out before then. Work was a blur this afternoon and evening. I was really distracted, but at least I didn't drop any trays. End of entry for Day Twenty-Five Maddi's Diary, Day Five, Twenty-Six, Tuesday I called Harold first thing this morning and asked him how much money I actually had in my Beat Girl account. He said I had $51,000 that I could draw out. Jesus! I'm really glad I didn't know I had that much. I might have blown it all on some really expensive sex toys. Just kidding, Dr. B. I have enough really expensive sex toys in my studio that are already paid for out of the Beat Girl profits. I probably should sit down with Harold some day and find out how much I, and he, am actually making on Beat Girl. Harold told me that normally he could advance me quite a bit toward future earnings, but right now he was in the middle of a big business deal and most of his money was tied up. He could loan me $5,000 from his personal savings, but that was all he could come up with on short notice. I told him I would keep the $5,000 in mind, but to transfer the $51 K into my checking account immediately. As soon as I hung up from talking to Harold, I called Shirley. I cried on the phone with her for about a half hour, but then I had to get to work. I was crying most of the day, but I got all the orders right and didn't spill any hot coffee on anyone. The Beat Girl session was TERRIBLE! I should have had Harold cancel the session and put on a rerun. We do that once in a while when Beat Girl is "on vacation." But those are always announced in advance, and I didn't want to disappoint my fans. I disappointed them anyway– at least most of them. It was a spank and paddle night which usually brings out my E buddies, but I was so down that they stayed home. Anyone who was hoping to see me go into a pain-induced orgasm was very disappointed. On the other hand, anyone who wanted to hear me scream in pain really got their money's worth. I probably should have dropped the safety switch when I realized that the endorphins weren't going to kick in at all, but then I decided that maybe my body was telling me that I needed the true punishment with no help from my E buddies. I had, after all, gotten myself into this by "an illegal act in which I willingly took part." Everything hurt like hell, and I kicked and screamed and thrashed like I never had before. If this was how "normal" people experience this kind of pain, I understand why they think I am weird. There is no way that I would do this regularly if it actually hurt that much with no corresponding reward and release. As soon as the session was over, I shut down the studio and limped back up to the house barefoot and naked. I probably would have done that anyway– walked back up to the house barefoot and naked, but I wouldn't have felt like a whipped dog slinking back to its kennel while I did it. I had barely gotten back into the house when my phone rang. It was Shirley. She didn't even say "Hello," but instead started off with, "I know how we can raise the money." "I don't want to borrow from your parents," I answered. "Can't do that anyway," she replied. "I talked to them this morning. It would directly involve them in a criminal proceeding in which they did not have a direct relationship, and that could taint their credibility in other cases." She gave a short snort that was somewhere between a laugh and a chuckle. "That's my Dad's lawyer talk for why he can't do it. But I have another idea." "What?" I asked. "We do a live performance of Beat Girl!" she bubbled excitedly. "Wait a minute, Mickey Rooney," I answered, "this is not a 'Let's Put on a Show' movie. It doesn't work that way in real life." "Yes it does," she replied. "I already checked with The Grease Pit. We can rent the place for an after hours show for only $1,000. They are licensed to seat up to 250 people. If we charge $125 a ticket, and sell out, we can clear over $30,000. Even if we only have an 80% house, we still clear $25,000." "But Beat Girl doesn't have a road show," I protested, "And it would be really hard to set up all this equipment somewhere." "The only equipment you will need," she insisted, "is your cape and mask and that weird chair you showed me in the studio. I can get anything else we need. We advertise the show as a live performance of Beat Girl and Nubbin, with special guest, Beat Cat." She paused to let that sink in and then continued, "I really wanted to use Catwoman, but Dad said that would trigger a copyright bot if it appeared on the website. He's not sure how you have gotten away with Beat Girl for so long." "I'm not sure about all ths," I said. "Who do we get to be Beat Cat and Nubbin?" "I will be Beat Cat," she said. "I have a full body cat suit that will drive them wild. As far as Nubbin, have you ever seen Vicki naked?" "Not since the sixth grade," I replied. "Vicki is endowed," Shirley continued, "with a clit that is bigger than some men's pricks. When she gets turned on it sticks out of her almost two inches. And I haven't collected from her on that bet yet, so she has to do it. "Get Harold to put something on a special page of the website that says that Beat Girl and Nubbin will be appearing live this weekend. That way people can check the website to be sure that this is the real deal. We put up posters at the Pit and a couple of other bars in town and see what happens." I agreed and Shirley said she would talk to the owners at the Pit and set things up. She was also going to take care of getting the tickets and the publicity ready. I was feeling a little better when I finally went to bed, but my ass and legs and back still really hurt. With my E buddies on strike, I didn't even feel like jilling off before going to sleep. I just took some pain pills and slept on my stomach. End of entry for Day Twenty-Six Maddi's Diary, Day Twenty-Seven, Wednesday I explained to Dr. B what Shirley and I were planning to do. He advised me to pay the bill from the state first since it would take the longest to clear. We really didn't talk about much else during our session. He more or less let me vent about how unfair this all was. All I did was stand up on a ledge naked and it was practically ruining my life. "But you finally connected with Shirley because of it," he said in his helpful therapist way. "Yes, there is that," I conceded. Then he asked, "If that was the only good to come out of all of this, would you do it again?" "Damned straight!" I answered. The answer surprised me for several reasons. One, that is one of my father's expressions and I have never used it before in my life. And two, I was practically shouting as I said it. Dr. B just laughed and said, "See you Friday." I checked with Shirley before I went to work and she said everything was set up with the Pit. Tommy, the bartender, will get 5% for handling the ticket sales. That cuts some from the profits, but it is a necessary expense. She also told me that she was hiring four of the security men from the club at $250 each for the night... "just in case." "In case of what?" I asked. "Two of them are going to be wandering the crowd keeping things peaceful. The other two are going to be standing up front making sure that nobody gets over-excited and rushes the stage." I hadn't thought about that. Men can kind of lose it sometimes when things get hot on a live stage. The real reason that strip clubs started using brass poles was to keep strippers from being pulled off the stage by lust-crazed customers. The pole gave them something to hang on to. The fact that dancing around that pole can be erotic as hell, was just an accidental side benefit. Work was OK. My mind was a lot clearer. I was even able to smile and be chipper as I waited on customers. That makes a big difference. My tips went back up to their normal level. End of entry for Day Twenty-Seven Maddi's Diary, Day Twenty-Eight, Thursday I didn't realize that my E buddies could arrive so late. I was feeling a LOT better, and I woke up REALLY horny, so I dug out my jack rabbit and my stash of clothes pins. There are a lot of different pain devices on the market, but nothing really does it for me like a good ol' wooden clothespin. And it is so quick and simple to set up. I got the jack rabbit out of my toy drawer and made sure it had good batteries in it. It wouldn't do for the bouncing bunny to die on me in mid-stroke. Then I dug out the clothes pins. I've got a full bag of them now, but I have found that the nine cross does everything that I want and need to be done. I warmed myself up with the rabbit and once things were flowing, I started putting the clothes pins on my breasts. The four that are vertical are harder to put on, so I put those on first. One is just above and another just below my nipple. Then two more are right at the edge of where the aerole color starts to fade out. I don't know why, but that boundary is more sensitive than the surrounding skin. After I have the vertical pins in place, I do the horizontal ones. Again there are two right next to my nipples. These are a little harder to put in place because my skin is already stretched a little by the pinching of the vertical pins. The ones on the aerole boundary go on easily. I guess there is more skin to work with out that far from the nipple. The last thing I do is put the "tip clip" in place. It is sort of a delicate balance between getting it far enough out on the nipple so that it is actually squeezing the very tip where it is most sensitive and having it clipped far enough back so that it won't fall off as I move around. Once everything is in place, I kneel facing the headboard of my bed. The cluster of clips on each tit is tied together by a cord that threads through the center of their springs. I tie one cord to the bedpost on one side of the headboard, and then tie the other string to the other post. I scooch back until the strings are just beginning to get tight, then I start working the jack rabbit. If I close my eyes and rock forward and back slightly, I can imagine that someone– today it was Shirley, is pulling at my breasts and nipples as they work their hands on my cunt and clit. I sometimes imagine that it is Randy fucking me as I stand before him. Today, for some reason, I imagined Shirley with a big, vibrating strap-on. I had never thought about that before. I wonder if she has one? That is something we will have to explore if I can ever get out of therapy. In any case, I was just starting to get really juicy when suddenly I could feel a flood of my E buddies coming to join me. I expected some of them to arrive. I did, after all, have the clips in place on the very tips of my nipples. But this was way more than I needed to go from pain to pleasure pain. The only thing I could figure was they were from the Beat Girl session, but had somehow been delayed. With the pain buddies who had stayed away during the Beat Girl session finally arriving, I was in a self-induced narcotic rush that put me in nirvana. I pumped furiously with the jack rabbit and wobbled back and forward so that the strings would pull at the clips. I was grunting and screaming like mad. It is a good thing that we live way out in the country or the neighbors might be calling the police to say that someone was being murdered. Then I popped. As soon as I felt it start, I fell backward on the bed. The strings went tight and pulled all of the clothespins off my breasts all at once. That completed the blast off. With my legs doubled over and my butt between my feet, I was splayed open at an obscene angle as I rammed the jack rabbit home one last time and lost control. My arms were in the air above me shaking like I was having a fit. My legs were trying to flail, but they were trapped beneath me on the bed. I screamed and thrashed so hard that I felt the jack rabbit slip out of me and squirt onto the bed between my knees. My hands came down on their own and attacked my cunt as I grunted and groaned and screamed in the throes of a fantastic orgasm. When it was all over, I lay there panting and trying to regain control of my mind and body. I turned slightly onto each side and straightened my legs. I was so close to the headboard that I couldn't straighten them out, so instead I put my feet on wall above my headboard and lay there with my cunt dripping onto the sheets. I must have stayed like that for ten or fifteen minutes, or maybe even longer than that. Finally I got up out of the bed and went into the bathroom. I smelled really heavily of sex and really, really needed a shower, but I decided that my sheets would have first crack at the water heater and stripped my bed and took the sheets down to the laundry room. I had just put them in the wash machine when there was a knock at the door. It was Harold. I pulled on a robe and asked him to come into the kitchen. He looked really strange and he was having trouble meeting my eyes. "What's wrong?" I asked him. He looked all over the kitchen and then finally back at me as he said, "I can't lie to you anymore. There is no friend of a friend of a friend." "What?!" I asked in surprise. "I own the website," he blurted out. "I own all of them. I'm worth a lot of money and I really, really want to help you and would if I could, but honestly and truly, I am in the middle of a deal to buy out two of my competitors and I don't have any ready cash." He looked up at me through his always dirty, thick glasses. "If you need to raise more money with this live performance, though," he said, "I can set things up to stream it live on a pay-per-view basis and give you all the proceeds over expenses." Diary of a Pain Slut Week 05 He looked at me very seriously. "Do you want to do that?" "Definitely," I answered. "How much do you think we can raise?" "I really don't know," he answered, "but whatever it is, it should help." "Thank you, Harold," I said as I kissed him lightly on the forehead. "And don't worry about lying to me. I looked up the site a long time ago on Whois and your private email address is listed for the owner. I've known you owned Beat Girl for a long time. It doesn't matter. We all have secrets that we like to think that we keep from everybody." He grinned at me rather sheepishly and said, "I'll put the publicity on the site today and see how many people sign up for the show." End of entry for Day Twenty-Eight Maddi's Diary, Day Eight, Twenty-Nine, Friday Shirley and Vicki came out this morning before I left for group. We went out to the studio to look at the chair and make sure it was going to work for what Shirley had in mind. She had Vicki sit in it and had me on all fours down in front of her. "We'll have to put it up on blocks or something," she said. "It has to be about a foot higher." "No problem," I answered, and pointed to several small, wooden platforms that were stacked in the corner. "We had to use these at first with the robot arms," I explained, "until Harold had their legs extended slightly." Shirley and I dragged one of the platforms over to the chair and then hefted it onto the platform. Vicki sat back down and I got back down on my hands and knees. I was looking right at her crotch. "Perfect," said Shirley. I was starting to think I knew what she had in mind. The whole thing was starting to get me pretty horny, but it was time to go to group, so they left and I went down to the psych floor at the hospital for group. The sex addict boy and girl weren't there. "Karen and Terrance won't be joining us today," Dr. B explained. Wanda giggled and said, "They got caught screwing on the floor of the gazebo in the middle of the town square." I asked, "Did somebody see them and call the police?" "Everybody saw them!" chortled Diane. "It was 1:00 in the afternoon." Dr. B coughed lightly and said, "They will be participating in group at the state facility for awhile. Let's return to the issues within our current group." "And what are those?" asked Wanda. "We could talk about the problem of paying for all this when insurance won't cover it," I said, somewhat bitterly. "My insurance covers it," said Wanda. "So does mine," added Diane. I looked over at Dr. B. He said softly, "Keep control of yourself, Maddi." "I'm in control of myself," I answered. "I'm just really pissed off that my Dad's insurance won't pay because I was naked in public, but theirs will pay even though they raped their own students." "It wasn't rape," they shouted in unison. "It was just misdirected love," Wanda said as she crossed her arms in front of herself. "Well, if you had done that to me," I said, "my Dad would have misdirected his truck right across your sorry ass." Dr. B evidently knew when things were not going to get better and he said, "I can see that our environment for group today is just too hostile, so I am going to wrap things up early." Wanda and Diane both glared at me. I hope my glare at least matched theirs. I decided that I was going to hold my ground so I just sat there and stared at them. Finally they picked up their purses and left together. "Assuming that you can get the money together to pay everything off," Dr. B said to me, "this was probably your last group session with me." He smiled at me and said in a totally normal human voice, "If you still need to deal with things, wait 21 days after our last meeting and then call for an appointment. That will put it in a new case number and your Dad's insurance should pay 80%... and that will be at the lower rate." As I got up to leave, he said, "See you Monday... for the last time, I hope." Work was pretty normal except for having to not react when one of the other waitresses asked if I had heard that Beat Girl was going to be live at the Pit tomorrow night. "You ought to watch her webcasts sometime," she said. "I think you could really learn something." I just answered, "I might do that some day," and bit down hard on my lower lip to keep from bursting out laughing End of entry for Day Twenty-Nine Maddi's Diary, Day Thirty, Saturday Harold called first thing this morning to say that he was pretty sure that the pay-per-view would help with my expenses. I asked him how many were already committed and he answered, "The numbers aren't real until the credit card clears. There are a ton of people signed up for reminders, but I can't actually charge the cards until the show starts and they sign in. I'll let you know the numbers Sunday morning." Shirley also called to say that she was bringing out two of the bouncers to help move the chair and platform. I told her that I had to leave for work, but explained where the key to the studio was hidden. Work was OK. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. My tips were down again because I was distracted and not paying enough attention to the customers. I'm normally not a clock watcher, but I kept looking over at the clock to see what time it was. Show time isn't until 2:00 am, so I am going to drive myself crazy if I keep this up. The clock slowly dragged its way around to 4:00 and I left for home. There wasn't anything I needed to do to get ready for tonight's show, so I surfed the web and read and took a nap. Shirley said she and Vicki would pick me up at 10:30, so around 8:00 I drew myself a hot bubble bath and soaked for about an hour. Then I used the shower to wash my hair and got it set. I really wanted to wear Shirley's collar tonight, but she said that it would identify me too clearly since I have been wearing it around town. I gave a deep sigh as I left it on my dresser. I put my pink cape and mask in a small travel case and set it by the door. I was wearing a white, A-line dress with nothing underneath it. Shirley said that she would park in the back in the owner's spot in the alley. After we make sure everything is set up back stage, we go out the back door and come in the front like regular customers. Then we can sit in one of the back booths and relax until around 1:30. We go out the front doors like we were leaving and come back in the back door and get ready. Shirley arrived exactly on time– she always does, and we drove into town. It was 11:00 when we got to The Grease Pit. The parking lot was already absolutely full and cars were parked on the grass by the road. So much for sitting unnoticed in a back booth and relaxing. Tommy met us at the back door and said, "I'm sold out of tickets, but I've got people offering me double or triple to let them stay for the show. If I open the folding doors to the party room, I am legal for 300. Nobody can see from there and nobody will be in there when the show starts, but the cops can't shut me down for overcrowding. Do you want me to overbook?" Shirley answered him with, "Be damn sure you keep it under 300. I don't want any legal surprises in the middle of the show. Do you have some kind of ticket so the bouncers know if someone has paid or snuck in?" He answered, "Everybody gets a stamp when they turn in their ticket. If they don't have a big blue GP on their left hand, they aren't legal." "OK," Shirley shouted. Even backstage it was almost impossible to hear because of the noise of the crowd. "Looks like we wait back here," I said. "Yeah," answered Vicki, "but if they are sold out and adding 50 more at double price, you are clearing somewhere around $40,000. That ought to clear up your troubles." "About that," Shirley said, somewhat seriously. "When we were figuring what we needed to take in, we forgot Uncle Sam's cut, and the state's cut and the city's. This is all declarable income, plus the state has an entertainment tax and the city has an entertainment surcharge and both have to be paid when we clear the license." I looked over at her in shock. "Dad reminded me last night," she said. "Taxes are going to take about a third, so the extra will bring us back up to where we thought we would be to begin with." I must have looked a little disappointed because she raised my chin and said, "Don't worry. It will be enough. Just worry about the performance." We sat in the back talking while we waited for show time. Vicki kept going up and peeking out through the curtain. "You keep that up," I told her, "and somebody is going to recognize your face." I had a sudden thought, "You did bring a mask didn't you?" "I'm not that stupid," she replied, sticking out her tongue. "But I don't know if it is going to do much good. Anybody who has seen me naked will recognize me. I am pretty distinct down there." "How many have seen you fully turned on?" asked Shirley. "Nobody!" she answered, almost shouting. Then in a bit softer voice said, "Well, almost nobody." Shirley raised her eyebrows at her and Vicki said, "OK a dozen or so people, but almost all of them are girls so I don't really expect them to be out there tonight." "Don't bet on it," I interjected. "Harold says that almost 75% of Beat Girl's followers are female. That greatly increases the odds that some girl you have slept with will be out there." I paused and asked, "What about the guys?" Vicki scrunched up her face and answered, "Most guys I've slept with know how big I feel, but I don't think any of them know how big I look. And about half of them didn't even notice." "Just so your face is well covered, you are OK," said Shirley. "They might suspect, but if they don't see your nose and the area around your eyes, they can't be sure." "Oh, oh," I said. "What now?" asked Vicki. "Robin's mask doesn't cover his nose, just the area around his eyes." "Thought of that," she replied and held up a bright yellow hooded mask. It was very similar to Beat Girl's Batman mask except it didn't have any ears on top. It did have, however, a smaller black mask sewn into it. "Besides," she said. "I'm not Robin. I'm Nubbin." Then she stuck her tongue out at me again. Tommy came in through a doorway behind the bar. "Show time in a half hour. Is everybody ready back here?" "Ready, willing and able," I answered. I laughed and then pointed to myself and said, "I'm willing." Pointing to Vicki, I said, "She's ready." And finally pointing to Shirley, I said, "And she's able." I was the only one who laughed at my joke. Shirley just said quietly, "OK Nubbin, let's get you dressed and into position." Vicki pulled off her dress and pulled on the yellow Nubbin mask with the Robin mask sewn into it. Then she tied a matching bright yellow cape around her neck. I did the same with my pink Beat Girl outfit. Out front we could hear Tommy making an announcement through the speaker system. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he said. "The Grease Pit Bar and Grill will officially close at 2:00 am. No alcohol can be purchased after that. The stage and dining area has been rented by Beat Girl Websites Incorporated, and they will be presenting a show that will begin shortly after 2:00 am. If you do not have The Grease Pit stamp on your left hand, you will have to leave at 2:00 o'clock. No exceptions." Shirley was standing over by the bondage chair and she signaled with her hand that Vicki should come over there. Vicki is smaller than my Mom, so when she sat down on the chair, it spread her legs even wider than it had Mom's. I looked between her legs and her labia and clit were enormous. It reminded me of one of those Georgia O'Keeffe paintings of flowers that looked like a woman's cunt. As Shirley tightened the straps on Vicki's arms, I could see her clit starting to enlarge and stiffen. "Somebody likes this," I said in a teasing way. "No, I don't" countered Vicki. I reached down between her legs and swiped my finger through her slit. It came out glistening. I held it up in front of Vicki's eyes and said, "The juices never lie. You may or may not like pain, but you love being tied up." Vicki just looked back at me like a little kid who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Help me push her into place," Shirley said, and we pushed the chair out into the center of the stage just behind the curtain. We were just in time because I heard the Beat Girl theme start to play. Tommy had a video that was supposed to play on all the screens that had the intro to Beat Girl. The crowd was shouting along with the music, "dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, Beat Girl!" Then everyone screamed "WHAP!" The music repeated and so did the insane chanting of the crowd. They screamed out "Beat Girl," and then "KA-POW!" Everything repeated for a third time with everyone screaming even louder, "ZAP!" The music started again and the curtain opened rapidly as I ran toward it. I was afraid my timing would be off, but I got to the very front of the stage and spun around to show my ass to the crowd just as they yelled "Beat Girl." I stood there, bent over slightly, showing everything I had to the crowd in the room as Shirley slowly sashayed on stage and out to the front. It was like watching a cat walk across a field with its body down low as it sneaks up on its prey. She was wearing an absolutely skin tight, black, full-body cat suit that hid everything but left nothing to the imagination. It was so tight that you could tell that she was completely shaven between her legs. Something as small as the hair of a landing strip would have shown clearly. She raised the microphone in her hand and began. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen," she said. "We have a very special show for you tonight. For the first time EVER, Beat Girl is appearing live." There was thunderous applause and a lot of whooping and hollering. "And joining Beat Girl tonight is Nubbin!" Shirley thundered. She sounded a lot like one of those ring announcers on the wrestling channel. Well, there were a lot of similarities in the programming. Vicki's chair had been more or less in the dark until then, but now a bright spotlight illuminated her bound figure. There were actually two lights. One lit up the entire chair and showed her whole body. The other, much brighter, was concentrated on her slit. The moisture glistened in that very bright light. You could see that her eyes were wild behind the mask and she was shaking her head from side to side and trying to scream through the ball gag. I think she was acting, but I wasn't sure. She might have just lost it when the curtain opened and she saw 300 peoples staring at her open crotch. Shirley walked over to Vicki and stood beside her. "Care to guess why they call her 'Nubbin'?" she asked with a laugh. Then she reached down and flicked Vicki's clit hard with her gloved fingertip. Vicki screamed and thrashed and the crowd roared with laughter. Shirley looked out over the crowd and said, "I am Beat Cat and I will be your host for the evening." Then she walked along the front of the stage, teasing the audience with what was almost a bump and grind walk. By the time she stopped next to me, she had everyone's attention. "Tonight we are going to start with a little contest," she said. "Those of you who follow Beat Girl on the web know that she is turned on by pain." There were a couple of whoops and yelps in response to that statement. Looking back over at Vicki, she purred out, "Care to guess what turns Nubbin on?" There was some murmuring from the crowd and Shirley leaned down slightly and spoke directly to a girl in the front row. "You ever given a blow job... ... to a girl?" She asked. The crowd roared once again with laughter. Shirley turned and started walking once again across the front of the stage. "Of course not," she said. "A woman doesn't have a horn to blow." The crowd laughed again. She leaned down toward another obviously drunk woman and said, "You DO know that in a blow job you are really supposed to be sucking, not blowing, don't you?" The crowd laughed again. "Maybe she doesn't know," Shirley purred. "Maybe that isn't fat on her boyfriend. Maybe he is just over-inflated." She was back at Vicki's chair before the laugher finally died down. "Nubbin has something to blow on, or more accurately something to suck on. Tonight we are going to see if Beat Girl can suck Nubbin to orgasm before I drive her to orgasm by pounding her ass with this paddle." She reached behind the chair and held up a thick wooden paddle. No wonder she wanted the program to be spontaneous. Either Vicki or I or maybe both of us might have backed out if we had known for sure what was planned. Shirley suddenly turned toward the audience and shouted, "How many of you are into pain?... receiving, not giving?" A surprising number of people cheered. Most of the voices sounded female. "So you know," Shirley continued, "that in a proper pain session, you have to start with a warm up." Several voices yelled out their agreement. "Time to draw our first door prize," she said. "Some lucky member of our audience tonight is going to get to come up here on stage and warm up Beat Girl with a 50 swat hand spanking." Tommy the bartender walked out on stage carrying a heavy wooden chair and a large glass jar filled with slips of paper. He set the chair down at the front of the stage to the right of Vicki and then held out the jar to Shirley. Shirley made a big show stirring the papers in the jar and then stuck her hand way in and pulled out a single slip. "Oops," she said, "got two of them," and she threw the slip back into the jar. The audience couldn't see what I saw. She had palmed a slip in advance. The drawing was rigged! What was she up to? She turned and faced the audience, "Brad Summers, are you out there?" There was a bunch of wild applause from Brad's friends and he came bounding up onto the stage. Shirley had him sit down on the chair and then she crooked her finger over at me calling me to my fate. I walked slowly over to Brad. As I passed Shirley, I hissed "Traitor" at her. She ignored me and began instructing Brad. "Remember, this is a warm up. Start out firm and slow and then build up to hard and fast." I lay down over Brad's lap and he rubbed his hands over my butt. Suddenly he leaned down close to me and said, "Hello, Maddi." I stiffened on his lap and he continued, "I'm shit for remembering faces, Maddi, but I never forget an ass, especially an ass like yours." "Thank you," I replied. "Now warm it up for me, and please keep Beat Girl's little secret." "Anything for you," he answered. "Maybe we can repeat that night some time." He started swatting. "But I don't think so," he continued. "Things just came together. You can never repeat something like that." His swats were getting stronger and faster. "But I will always have my memories, and after tonight, I will have these memories, too." This wasn't fair. This was supposed to be a warm up spanking and I was about ready to pop my cork. The thought that he knew who I was and remembering that night was so humiliating and embarrassing. That was adding to the swats and I was climbing orgasm hill a lot faster than I had intended. Then I heard Shirley's voice, "Whoa, cowboy, whoa. Fifty! Only fifty. We don't want Beat Girl losing before the contest even starts do we?" The audience laughed, thinking that she was kidding, but she and Brad knew that she was very, very close to the truth. "I think we need to level the playing field a little," yelled Shirley out to the audience. She reached again behind Vicki's chair and brought out a huge, battery powered Magic Wand. She turned it on to high and held her microphone up next to it so the humming filled the room through the speakers. Vicki's eyes were wide and she was shaking her head from side to side and thrashing her legs like she was trying to get out of the chair. Diary of a Pain Slut Week 05 Shirley stood slightly to the side so she wasn't blocking the audience's view of Nubbin's nub, and then thrust the vibrator firmly up against Vicki's clit. Her "nnngh, nnngh, nnngh" was loud enough to be heard throughout the room even with Shirley's mic switched off. Shirley held the vibrator in place for almost a minute and then announced, "I think that is enough." She turned around and asked me, "Are you ready?" I nodded my head yes. She turned back and flicked Vicki's clit again and said, "Nubbin's ready." "The rules are simple," she said. "I try my best to get you off with the paddle while you try your best to get Nubbin off with your tongue and mouth. The loser gets a session on the spanking bench with members of the audience swinging paddles and canes and then a session between the restraint poles while five specially-chosen members of the audience replace the Beat Girl TAZapper robots." The audience was going wild. So was Vicki. Shirley hadn't told us any of this. I was starting to wonder what further surprises Shirley had up her sleeve, but there wasn't anything here that wasn't in a regular Beat Girl session, so I knew that I could handle it. I nuzzled in close between Nubbin's legs and started slurping and Beat Cat started pounding on my ass. The crowd was stomping and clapping in time with the swats from the paddle. This was not only degrading and humiliating and painful, it was WEIRD. These people were kinkier than I was. I could feel an orgasm building within me. Shirley knew how to read my body and she was pushing me toward that big finish, but then the blows got slightly lighter and I started slipping back down the mountainside. I don't know if her arm was tiring or she just wasn't paying close enough attention, but I would get close and then there wasn't enough smack in the swat to take me over the top. Regardless of what Shirley did, I kept licking and sucking on Vicki's now rigid mini-penis clit. It was starting to throb and I halfway expected her to spurt cum into my mouth at any minute. Then Shirley started really laying it into me with the paddle. Dammit! I knew what she was doing. She was keeping us in sync so that we would pop at the same time. The initial drawing was rigged, the contest was rigged, the whole thing was a big fake to create the best show for the people. Well, the show must go on. I was almost there and so was Vicki. Shirley slammed a really hard one into my ass and I sucked on Vicki's clit like I was trying to draw a thick milkshake up a straw. She exploded and so did I. I don't know if it was cum or what, but she squirted something into my mouth as she grunted and thrashed in an intense orgasm. I turned my head and slipped her out of my mouth so I wouldn't accidentally bite down on her as an equally intense orgasm tore through my body. "We have a tie," shouted Shirley. "We have a tie." Then she shouted to the audience "So what should we do? Are they both winners who get to go home? Or are they both losers who have to face the consequences?" She held her microphone out to the audience, but it wasn't needed. The shout of "Losers!!!!" shook the building. The two security men who were guarding the front of the stage, dashed backstage and both soon returned with two identical spanking benches that they just happen to have brought with them from the city. This performance was starting to more and more closely resemble professional wrestling. The pain is real, but the outcome is pre-determined. One of the burly men in black led me over to one of the benches and pushed me down in place. I was kneeling on a padded step with my stomach on a padded raised platform. My arms were strapped in place down at the base of the bench in the front. There was a wide leather strap across my back just above my ass that held me firmly in place. I looked over and Vicki was being placed on a similar bench. She was trying to resist, however, and the second man had to help restrain her while they strapped her in place. After Vicki was securely in place, Shirley yelled out to the crowd, "Time for more door prizes. Ten of you... times two, will get to come up on stage and give Beat Girl or Nubbin five swats with the sacred paddle." She held up a long, light weight paddle and showed it to the audience. "Do you know why it is sacred?" she asked. After a moment of silence she answered, "Because it is holy." Then she put her finger through one of the dozen or so 1" holes in the surface of the paddle. The audience groaned, but the joke gave Tommy time to show up with the jar. This time the drawing was probably legit, and pretty soon there were twenty people standing up on stage. Shirley divided them into two lines and handed the first person in each line one of the paddles. "Remember, five swats and then you hand the paddle to the next person in line and go back to your seat." The first person stepped up behind me and the crowd started chanting, "One!" Both paddles slammed into asses. "Two!" Again the strikes were synchronized. Vicki was no longer gagged and by the third strike, she was begging them to stop. I was just grunting and groaning. It wouldn't do for Beat Girl's public image if I started begging them to stop something as trivial as this. The next person in line stepped up and the crowd again counted out the five swats. They kept that up through all ten spankers. By the time we got to the last person in line, Vicki was blubbering almost incoherently. I was almost incoherent also, but that was because my E buddies had really shown up and I was on the verge of a really good orgasm. Shirley once again stepped to the front of the stage. She was holding a very thin cane in each hand. She swished them both through the air, crossing them in front of her as she spoke. "Now some very lucky person is going to get to deliver six of their best to these already sore asses." Tommy came running out with the jar and Shirley drew out two names, a man and a woman. A moment later both were on stage. Shirley handed a cane to each of them and motioned for them to come stand with her in front of Vicki. "Nubbin," she said, "I am going to let you chose which of these two gets to lay six strokes of the cane on your blistered ass. Which one do you chose?" Vicki– Nubbin sobbed out, "The girl." "Bad choice" I thought as the man walked over to stand behind me and the woman moved into place behind Vicki. I was right. The man didn't really know how to use a cane. He was swinging it like a paddle and not putting any wrist into it. He slammed it into me six times in quick succession and was done before the woman had even started. It hurt, but it didn't hurt all that bad. And it didn't make that really evil swishing noise a cane can make as it swings through the air. The woman behind Vicki, however, was a cane virtuoso. She whipped the cane back and forth rapidly just above Vicki's ass so that it sounded like an angry nest of hornets getting ready to strike. Then she tapped Vicki's ass lightly with the cane about five times before quickly snapping it back with her wrist and slamming it vertically into Vicki's left ass cheek. She repeated that and put a welt down the middle of her right ass cheek. Then she laid three across Vicki's ass. One was at the very top of the cheek, but still not on Vicki's back. One was right at the bottom of the cheek where it meets the leg muscle. And one was dead center in the middle of Vicki's ass. This woman was an expert with the cane. There was one more stroke left and I knew exactly where that sixth stroke was going to land. I cringed waiting for it even though it was Vicki, not me who was going to feel it. The woman whipped her wrist so that she spun the tip of the cane in the air just behind Vicki's ass. The circle started getting bigger and more oblong. It was now a vertical oval in the air just behind Vicki's ass. The whole place was totally silent and all that could be heard was the angry humming of that cane. Then with a single motion, the woman snapped the cane downward almost to the ground and upward right between Vicki's legs. Vicki's scream was extremely loud. Several girls in the crowd also screamed. One or two fell to the ground. Every woman in the place felt that cane smash into Nubbin's engorged nub. Vicki's eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out. Shirley stepped to the front of the stage. "It looks like Nubbin has reached her limit. We will let her rest up for the final punishment while Beat Girl gives us a live TAZapper session." "Oh great!" I thought." My least favorite session in my least favorite way." The two burly security guys pushed Vicki over to the side of the stage where she stared out at the crowd with glazed eyes and moaned softly with each breath. Then they went back stage and brought out a platform with two huge pillars on it. They pushed the pillar platform over to the center of the stage and came back over for me. I don't know if they were expecting me to resist or try to run away or what, but they made sure that one of them had a firm hold on me before the other released my restraints. Then they more or less frog-marched me over to between the pillars and tied me in place. It must have been originally set up for someone about an inch or so taller than me because it really stretched me out. I was standing there facing out over the crowd, so I couldn't see what was happening behind me. I heard Shirley call out five names and three men and two women came up on stage. They were close to the front of the stage, so I could see them out of the corner of my eye. Shirley held up a smaller jar with just a few slips of paper in it and they each drew out of a slip. She then handed out the three TAZappers and the two vibrators. "A normal session is a half-hour, but we are going to shorten that tonight." She turned to the five people and said, "You have ten minutes to see what you can do... starting now!" The first thing that happened was that one of the women with a TAZapper traded it to one of the men for the Magic Wand vibrator. After that, it was pretty much like any other Beat Girl session on TAZapper night except that live people are a lot faster and much more accurate than joystick controlled robots. Just about every zap was on my clit or a nipple. I was pretty high on endorphins, so it wasn't too bad. The only time I really yelped was when the man with the anal vibrator pulled it out and someone with a TAZapper took its place. He didn't push it inside me, but he really popped my pucker string with about six or eight quick zaps right on the rosebud. Like I said, the TAZapper sessions are not my favorites and I was glad when Shirley called out "Time," and the five people went back to their seats. Shirley walked out and stood next to me. She signaled the security guys and they pushed a second set of pillars out onto the stage and slid mine slightly to the side so that everything was properly centered. One of the men went over and got Vicki and brought her over to the second set of pillars. By the time they had her in place, she was also stretched very tight. Both men then left the stage and returned carrying bullwhips. Vicki saw them first and started thrashing and screaming. Shirley said in a loud and commanding voice, "Quiet, Nubbin." Then is a softer, almost laughing voice. "They aren't going to use those whips on you." She turned to the audience, smiled very broadly and said, "I am." The men handed her the whips and she flipped both of them underhand toward the audience so that they snapped loudly. "A little demonstration of just how good I am with these whips," she said. The two men were now pushing something else onto the stage. It was another platform. There was a shelf about four feet high and three or four feet long on the platform. On the shelf were two rows of burning candles, placed one right behind the other. There was about two inches between the rows. "A whip can kiss very lightly," Shirley said and then turned and snapped the whip in her right hand. The outermost candle went out. As second snap from the whip in her left hand, and the outermost candle on the opposite side when out. "And it takes more skill to kiss very lightly that it does to smash your lips against each other." She turned to the audience and said, "Am I right, ladies." There was a thunderous response. Shirley then turned back toward the candles and began snapping the whips alternately right hand and then left. The candles in the front row went out, one by one. "Sometimes you want to spread that light kiss across more of the body," she said and then snapped both whips at the same time. She leaned her shoulders slightly forward as she did and then pulled her body upright as her wrists made the snap. The entire back row of candles went out at the same time. There was a heart beat of silence and then tremendous applause and shouts and whistles. "Of course, the whip can do more than kiss lightly. It can inflict severe punishment and pain." A flick of the right and left hands and the outermost candles were cut in two. There was a smattering of applause that grew in volume as snap after snap cut off the candles of the first row about an inch above the shelf. "And that pain and punishment can also be spread over a large portion of the body." A simultaneous snap of both whips caused the back row of candles to disintegrate into a shower of flying wax. Shirley waited for the applause to finally die down. Then she said, "Now you know that I am an expert with these." She again snapped them underhand over the audiences head. "Tonight I am going to give you a demonstration of the difference between duty and love. I am going to give both Nubbin and Beat Girl twenty-five strokes of the whip. Some will be very light kisses." The left-hand whip snapped over the audience. It was a very light crack. "Some, not so light." The right hand whip cracked and it was like a rifle shot. Then Shirley snapped both whips. The crack was somewhere between the kiss and the rifle shot. "But every stroke to both Nubbin and Beat Girl will be identical. Nubbin is here because she lost a bet to me. She is letting me do all this to her because she is an honorable woman and it is her duty. Beat Girl is here tonight because she got herself in trouble and she needs the money. But she is letting me do all of this to her because she loves me. And I am doing this because I love her." She snapped the whips above the crowd once again and said in a very dramatic voice, "Now see the difference between duty and love." Shirley turned to me and said in a very stern voice, "You may not cum until the twenty-fifth stroke." Then she turned to Vicki, laughed slightly and said, "You may cum whenever you want. You don't enjoy pain as much as Beat Girl, but you enjoy it a lot more than you are willing to admit." She then stepped back slightly on the stage and began snapping the whips against the two girls at the same time. She would snap the whip in the air and then strike. The first several snaps were kisses that landed squarely in the middle of Beat Girl and Nubbin's ass cheeks. Then a louder crack signaled a harder strike and two more simultaneous strokes landed on ass cheeks. The impact of the whip could be heard throughout the room. So could Vicki's scream, and, I think, my moan of pleasure. At that point, I thought that I could probably endure any pain possible. And it wasn't just my E buddies. Oh, they were there all right, but there was an even greater high flowing trough my body. Shirley had told me, and the whole world, that she loved me. Two more snaps landed on my body... kisses on the outside of my right breast and then my left. They were kisses. They were kisses from Shirley. As soon as I thought that, I was in trouble. I could hear Vicki struggling to endure the pain, but I was now struggling to hold back an orgasm. A louder snap signaled that a harder strike was coming and I felt the whip bite into my right breast. Another loud snap and another bite, but this time on my left breast. Down, beast, down! Mistress said no orgasm until the twenty-fifth stroke! A soft snap signaled a kiss to come and suddenly the whip kissed my right nipple. Even a light kiss of the whip right on the nipple caused a yelp from me and a scream from Vicki. Another soft snap and the whip kissed my left nipple. This time I was expecting it and remained silent. Vicki did not. Knowing the pattern that Shirley had been following, I really expected a loud snap and a terrible bite on my nipple, but instead there was another soft snap and a kiss on the front of my right hip. Soft snaps and light kisses continued. The kisses worked their way across my abdomen. They were working closer and closer to my pussy and drawing my thoughts more and more to my throbbing clit. I wondered if Vicki's clit was also throbbing or if she was still just enduring pain. The change in Vicki's voice answered my question. She was no longer screaming, but was rather grunting and moaning with each kiss of the whip. I guess everyone has E buddies. Some just have more and faster E buddies. Mine are really fast and I must have a whole lot of E friends on my pain page. Vicki was definitely climbing the hill. I had been on the peak for quite a while, hanging on desperately... and my fingers were slipping. I suddenly had a terrifying thought. How would I know it was the twenty-fifth stroke. No one was counting. With no one was counting, I might let go too early! The kisses moved between my legs. The whip was curling up between my legs and snapping slightly outward so that the kiss landed just outside my labia. Three or four whip kisses landed between my legs and I finally realized that I would know when the final stroke hit. I knew what it would be and I knew that it would be coming soon. Two more soft snaps signaled kisses and then there was a very loud snap. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This was going to be it. The whip came up between my legs and the tip snapped exactly against my clit. It wasn't as hard as the loud snap might have signaled, but it was definitely not a kiss. I knew that was stroke twenty-five, and more importantly, my body knew. In that fraction of a second before my orgasm overwhelmed me, I expected to hear Vicki's scream, but instead I heard the beginning of a loud groan of pleasure. Vicki was also going into a major orgasm– or at least I think she was. I lost control at that point as my own orgasm overwhelmed me. Your body reacts differently when you orgasm while tautly held standing up. It is like the orgasm echoes around inside you going from your head to your feet and back in waves. And your mind reacts differently to an orgasm when there are 300 people applauding wildly. I've had orgasms in public before, but in those cases as you explode off the cliff, you know in the back of your mind that somebody is or might be watching. 300 people were definitely letting me know that they were watching me scream and writhe and squirt. And that wasn't counting the probably thousands who were watching the live webcast. My mind's reaction to the applause flung me back up into the stratosphere. It was public humiliation, but it was more than that. Maybe my mind took the applause as approval of my public pleasure. Maybe it took it as a command to go higher. Whatever happened, a second wave of extreme pleasure overwhelmed me and I screamed out even louder and thrashed so violently that I was afraid I was going to tear loose the restraints– or my shoulder. Finally the applause, and my orgasm subsided and Shirley bowed to the audience. "That concludes our live show for the evening," she said. "Remember to join Beat Girl on line every Tuesday night for her weekly webcasts." Diary of a Pain Slut Week 05 She bowed again and started to walk off stage. The two burly security guys pushed us off stage behind her. As the curtains closed behind us, the audience gave one last round of applause and shouts. The men released us from our restraints and both Vicki and I stood on shaky legs in front of Shirley. "You bitch!" Vicki said. She was trying to sound angry, but there was a smirk on her face. "Are you telling me that you didn't like it?" asked Shirley, matching Vicki's smirk. "No," Vicki replied. "I did." She pointed her finger at Shirley. "And you knew I would." "Yes, I did," answered Shirley. "You liked it very much." She reached over and lifted Vicki's head. "And you would have liked it much, much more if I had been a Batman rather than Catwoman." Vicki reddened. The color of her face was more than enough to verify Shirley's claim. "I could set you up with a young Master at the club," Shirley said. "You made quite an impression on some of them when I took you there as my guest slave." "That was just so I could see what the club was like." Vicki protested. "I don't even know if I want to go back." Shirley laughed and reached down to slip a finger through Vicki's crack. Vicki gave a slight moan. "The body never lies," said Shirley with another laugh. "The body never lies." I turned around and started toward the door and stopped suddenly. There were two county deputies standing behind us in full uniform. I recognized one of them from the night they found me under the interstate. "Evening, Maddi," he said. I was starting to panic when Shirley put her hand on my shoulder and said, "It's all right. I made arrangements for them to accompany us to the bank to make the deposit. They also guarded the receipts during the performance." I whispered to Shirley, "Could they see the performance?" I must have been a little louder than I thought because one of them answered, "Yes ma'am, we could. It was quite a show." He paused a moment and added, "... but legal out here outside the city limits." The other officer then added, "But remember to cover it up before you go outside. I wouldn't want to have to wrap you up in a blanket again." Then he stepped up in front of me and said softly, "And maybe the next time I find a girl doing what you were doing, I will understand a little better and just tell her to go home and find a safer way to fulfill her fantasies." "Thank you," I said. Vicki and I took off our masks and capes and pulled our dresses on over our heads. Shirley remained in costume as we walked back to the car. We were about at the car when one of the deputies said, "Can't do that, Shirley." She turned around and he added, "Face has to be visible when you are driving a car." "Rats," she said as she pulled off her mask and hood. "I was hoping to brighten some poor sucker's life who has to review security tapes all day." We made the deposit at the bank and Shirley dropped Vicki off at her place about 4:00 in the morning. Dawn was starting to lighten the sky when she dropped me off in front of my house. I was too worked up to sleep, so I wrote this entry for Saturday. It's now about 9:00 in the morning and I am dead tired. I am going to bed. End of entry for Day Thirty Maddi's Diary, Day Thirty-One, Sunday - Final Entry. Mom got in early last night. Dad got home around noon. I got up around 2:00. Dad is always a little grumpy when he has a long haul that brings him back on Sunday. He says he'd rather do a two weeker than a Sunday return. "I don't have time to do anything here except catch an overnight nap," he complained. "Oh, I don't know," Mom answered as she sat on his lap. "There is time for one or two other things." I was just walking into the living room and decided that it would be best for me to pretend that I hadn't heard anything. "How did last night go?" Mom asked. "What happened last night?" said Dad. "Benefit concert to help with her legal fees," chirped Mom as she smiled at me. "It went well," I answered. "Between that and some other ideas, I think I have enough to pay things off." Dad looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but Mom gave him one of her "Do you really want to know?" looks and he instead returned to his paper. "Good to hear that," he mumbled. The rest of the day was really normal. I was too tired and too sore to do much of anything. Just before I went to bed, I got a text from Harold that said, "Wire transferred $20,000 to your account. There is more if you need it, but I thought you would want to build your reserve back up." I texted back a thank you and climbed into bed. Just before I fell asleep I suddenly thought, "Was the whole world watching me last night?" End of entry for Day Thirty-One End of entry for Week Five Maddi's Diary, Day Thirty-Two, Monday This is actually an addendum or an epilogue or whatever you want to call it. Whatever it is, this is truly my last entry. My diary for Dr. B ended yesterday, but if I am going to let others read this, I thought that I should say what happened today. First thing this morning Shirley and I went to the bank and verified the deposits and got some certified checks. Then we went to the court house and paid all my fines and the hospital and cleared all of my bills there. After we got the receipts from the clerk at city hall, I told Shirley that I would have to see Dr. B one last time so that he could release me. She surprised me when she said she wanted to come along. I told her that Dr. B might not allow that, but she said that she thought he would understand. I wasn't so sure. My appointment was for 10:30. We had to really hustle to get everything done and get there on time. When the receptionist told me to go on in, Shirley followed me through the door. Dr. B greeted me with, "Hello, Maddi." Then he turned to Shirley and said, "Good morning, Mistress Shirley." She replied, "Good morning, Master Thomas." I thought my jaw was going to hit the floor. "I told you he understood you a lot better than you thought," Shirley said. "I understand that you have cleared all outstanding fees, fines and obligations," he said with a grin. Then he handed me two sheets of paper. "The top form is my official release. My findings state that you have a high tolerance for and an unusual craving for pain, but that you are mentally fit and not a danger to yourself or society." He laughed, "In other words, you're kinky, but you're not nuts." "The lower form," he continued, "is your official release from supervision." "I thought I had to appear before a judge to get that," I said, somewhat surprised. "I know a judge who understand these things a little better than most," he explained. "She was willing to sign the forms based on my explanation of the situation." "Mistress Judy?" Shirley asked. Dr. B just laughed and said, "Good guess." "Then we're through here?" I asked. "Not quite," said Shirley. "Doctor Bergenstein, does pre-collaring counseling for the Society." "Master Thomas," she said, addressing Dr. B. "Would you be willing to guide Maddi and me through that?" "I would be delighted," he replied. "Pre-collaring counseling?" I said. "That sounds a little weird." "Kinky isn't crazy," Dr. B, or should I say, Master Thomas said. "And any relationship can use a little help in the beginning. I will tell my secretary to set you up with a series of appointments." "Can I make one request?" I said. They both looked at me, and I continued, "Not on Wednesday morning. Even Beat Girl needs to get her sleep." Shirley kissed me on the forehead and said, "Especially since Harold wants to know if Beat Cat and Nubbin can make occasional guest appearances." I looked at her with wide open eyes and she added, "I told him we would have to think about it." I asked her if she was serious. She gave me a hug and said, "I don't know, maybe we should save Nubbin and Beat Cat for your live appearances." I think she was teasing me... but I'm not sure. End of entry for Day Thirty-Two End of Diary = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END OF STORY 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. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =