A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist" with a little technical help from W. Afterwards, the professor who referred the masochistic models to her asks her and W's help in recording the six young women's stories of how and why they are masochists. The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense if you have read the previous chapters. I am posting this entire series in the BDSM category. Although a couple of the chapters might not exactly fit the theme, all are concerned with the realities of masochism. These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the individuals depicted is based on any one person. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Chapter three of eight is W's interview with "Brenda."
WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )
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Brenda wanted to sit in Shelly's living room for our talk. She was wearing a very small tube top that barely contained her ample breasts and a very small, very tight pair of denim shorts that would have had Daisy Duke blushing with embarrassment. I had no doubt which girl she was, or at least I was absolutely sure which model she had been in the performance. Up close, in natural light, her tattoos were even more striking. Some of the leaves were in the shape of flames and some of the flames were in the shape of leaves and the serpent or serpents that slithered throughout the burning foliage were a realistic pattern of black, green, yellow and orangish red. When combined with the movement of muscle behind it, the entire tattoo seemed to be alive.
"Let's get one thing straight," she said as she sat down. "I am not a masochist. I am a pain slut."
"What's the difference?" I asked, somewhat startled, and immediately regretting that she had so easily put me on the defensive.
"Masochists have to go the meetings," she answered.
I wasn't sure if her tone of voice was anger, bitterness or defiance, and I had no idea what she meant by her answer. Evidently my puzzlement showed on my face because she added in a somewhat softer tone, "It's an old joke about the difference between a drunk and an alcoholic. The alcoholic has to go to the meetings."
"So you think that Masochist is a label that judges you because Masochists have to go to the meetings - meaning therapy?"
"Damned straight," she spit out. "You and Dr. Collins sit up on your high horse and look down on me and say that I am sick..., or crazy..., or whatever it is that you are thinking."
"I'm thinking that you are beautiful," I replied. "And that you have some rather extensive and impressive ink that stops at your wrists and neckline. Is there a reason the coverage isn't 100%?"
"Who says it isn't?" she answered defiantly.
"Ah..., black light tattoos." I said. "I hadn't thought of that. With a black light ink overlay and additions on your face and hands, you would probably be very, very impressive at a club under black light, especially if there were strobes. I apologize for assuming without first ascertaining the true facts."
"You really mean that, don't you?" she responded in a much quieter and subdued tone.
"Yes, I do," I answered. "I pride myself on acting on facts, not suppositions. And I don't look down on you. I think you would know that if you had read my stories. Or if we had met under different circumstances."
"Sorry," she said, now speaking in a normal tone of voice. "I guess I was doing some assuming too. But Dr. Collins really gets to me. He thinks I am some low-life piece of white trash. I only participated in the study to try to keep him honest."
"I'm a pain slut and proud of it. It's what I am. I'm not sick or demented or dangerous to society. I just feel pain differently than most people..., and in most cases, it turns me on."
"When did you first realize that you felt pain differently than most people," I asked, deciding to take advantage of the opening to actually pursue some of the interview questions.
"You asked that different than Dr. Collins did." she said. "He asked when I first started feeling pain in an abnormal fashion."
"I'm not Dr. Collins," I answered. I think I managed not to add, "What an asshole!" out loud.
"I've always felt pain differently," she continued. "Some pain is really pain, but for almost everything else it is not what most people feel as pain. I guess I realized that when I was about five or six and I found out that almost all of the other children were ticklish. I have never been ticklish. My older brother used to try to tickle me once in a while and I would cry. For me, tickling isn't pleasant. And it doesn't make me laugh. It hurts to be lightly touched and tickling is very painful to me. It was after one of those times when he tried to tickle me and I cried and told him to stop hurting me that he said, 'You are weird, little sister. You smile when dad spanks you and you cry when I tickle you. There is something screwed up in your pain wiring.'"
"I had never thought of it like that before, but he was right. When dad or mom would spank us, I would feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It never really hurt no matter how hard they whaled on me. But if somebody touched me softly, it hurt. I didn't realize that wasn't normal until he said that to me."
"Later, as I grew up, the warm and fuzzy changed. It became sexual. My first orgasm was over my father's knee. I don't remember for sure how old I was, but I was young enough that he didn't realize what it was, and I guess neither did I. 'I finally put some heat in your ass,' he said when I screamed and thrashed about. 'That's the first time that I managed to really get your attention,' he added and he pulled me back up onto my feet."
"I think my mom realized what had happened though, because is wasn't too long afterwards that she told him that she thought I was too big for him to spank anymore. 'Besides,' she said, 'I think grounding her is much more of a punishment to her that getting her butt warmed up.'"
"After that, I just got grounded when I misbehaved - except once. My senior year in high school, I came home really late from a date. I didn't expect anyone to be up, but dad had been hosting a poker party and he and five of his buddies were in the family room as I tried to sneak in the back door a little before two in the morning. They had been drinking quite a bit and so had I. Dad was more than half drunk..., and so was I. 'Late and drunk,' he said as I came through the door. "I ought to take you over my knee and really warm up your ass.'"
"I leaned over to put my face right up in dad's face to yell back at him, and one of his buddies said, 'You left out naked.'"
"As I had leaned over my short skirt rode up and the man next to dad could see that I was missing my panties. My father yelled, 'What?' Then grabbed me and pulled me on down over his lap. My skirt flipped up as I fell, so I was effectively naked across his lap."
"'No daughter of mine is going to parade around town like a slut,' he yelled and started spanking. He started hitting harder when I just laughed as he swatted me. When I started panting and moaning, he lost it completely and really laid into me. My ass was on fire and turning the proper shade of red to match. After a few minutes, I had a tremendous orgasm as I lay over his lap. One of his buddies said, 'Holy shit!' as I arched my back and yelled out as I peaked."
"Dad suddenly stopped spanking and dumped me onto the floor as he jumped to his feet. 'Go to your room,' he sputtered. 'And don't you ever tell your mother anything about this. You are just like her sister Evelyn and if she thinks you turned out like that, she won't be able to handle it.' Then he turned to his buddies and said, 'This never happened! You hear me! This never happened..., because if it did, we could all be in a lot of trouble with our wives or even with the police. She's 18, but she's drunk and didn't really volunteer to show you her ass while I spanked her.' I got up off the floor and went to my room. Dad never mentioned it again, and neither did I."
"A few weeks later, I asked mom about her sister Evelyn. She went white and stared at me with wide open eyes. 'Why do you want to know?' she asked."
"I told her that I had looked at the back of one of the old family pictures in the living room and on the back of the frame in grandma's handwriting, it said, 'My daughters, Sandra and Evelyn with their cousins.' I had, but it had been months before. Then I said, 'I never knew I had an aunt Evelyn. What became of her?"
"'She's dead,' mom said in a really strange, almost whisper. 'She couldn't handle the shame of what she was, and she killed herself.'"
"'What was she?' I asked. Mom looked at me for a long time and then finally said, 'She was a pain slut. She got sexual pleasure from pain. The kids at school suspected her secret and teased her at lot. Once the girls in gym class trapped her naked in the locker room. One of them pulled her over her lap and started spanking. When her arm got tired another girl took over. After a while they were sure of what she was because they could clearly see that it was exciting her. She just lay across their laps and let them pound on her and turn her on. They passed her from girl to girl and kept going until she was so far gone, she couldn't control herself. She slid off onto floor with her hands under her rubbing herself. They left her there for the coaches to find. The whole school knew about it after that and everyone put her through hell. She couldn't change what she was, and...' Her voice trailed off and she started crying softly. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and looked me right in the eyes and said, 'Don't let that happen to you.'" "'I can't change what I am either," I said.
"'I know,' she answered. Her shoulders slumped and she began to tear up again. 'I've known for a long time. I've known - or at least been afraid of this - since you were a little child.' Then she said something that totally changed my life, 'You didn't choose to be what you are..., but you can choose whether or not you are going to be ashamed of it. Don't let them shame you into the grave like they did my sister.'"
"I'm a pain slut and I'm proud of it!" Abby said emphatically. "It is what I am. I am also an excellent artist and a damn good dancer. I hope to be a mother some day. I don't know if I would want my daughter - or son - to be like me, but if they are, then I will help them embrace what they are rather than fill them with shame and watch them destroy themselves like so many who are like us do. I would teach them to be in your face about it like I am."
"Is that why you have invested so much money in your tattoos?" I asked, "... to be in the world's face about it?"
"The tats haven't cost me a dime," she answered with a laugh. "Well, OK, the very first one was $250, cash in advance, but after that, they were free."
"How did you arrange that?"
"I designed this," she said making a sweeping gesture with her hand indicating her full-body tattoo. "... while I was still in high school. I knew exactly what I wanted on every part of my body from the very beginning, even down to the fact that one of my pussy lips is a leaf and the other is a flame and there is a black light snake that curls around my neck and crawls up onto my face. I even had every step in creating this mapped out, starting with the flames around my left nipple."
"Right after graduation, I got a job to earn money for college, and decided that part of my earnings were going to be used to start my body tat. That first little piece of ink on my left tit was going to cost $250, payable in advance, so I knew that my grand design was going to take a long time and a lot of money to get finished. I warned Bobby - he's my ink artist - that I might be moving around a lot if it got painful."
"He replied, 'That's OK, I have a lot of people who can't stand the pain.'"
"I told him, 'That's not the problem,' and started to laugh a little. When he asked, 'Then what is the problem?' I told him he wouldn't believe it unless he saw it. He answered, 'Just warn me if you are going to start moving around a lot.'"
"I laughed again and told him that he would be able to tell, in fact everyone in the shop would be able to tell. He had two partners and there were seven or eight people in the place at the time. When Bobby had everything ready, he asked me if I wanted the curtain pulled. He had a curtain like they have around hospital beds that could be pulled around his work area. I said, 'They are going to hear me, they might as well see me.'"
"He looked a little confused, but said, 'OK. Take off your blouse and bra and we will get started.'"
"He was only working on me for a little while when he started to understand. I've been told that tats can get a little painful depending on your pain tolerance and where it is on your body. I wouldn't know. For me they are powerfully pleasurable. I was getting off on the pain. Bobby was about half-finished when I had my first orgasm. 'Whoa!,' he yelled out. 'I'm not going to able to continue if you jerk around like that. You have to keep still or the design will be ruined.'"
"'I can't keep still,' I answered. 'The pain turns me on too much.'"
"'Then I will have to tie your chest down if you want to continue.' he said almost yelling at me. He was really upset that his work wouldn't be perfect if I couldn't keep still. He is that kind of artist." "I told him, 'You're going to have to tie my whole body down, then, because being tied down naked on your table while you buzz me with those needles is going to put me into near continuous orgasm.'"
"'I didn't say anything about naked,' he quickly answered. 'And you sitting in the chair works fine."
"'Why make the trip half way up the mountain if you are trying to see the sky,' I said as I stood up, flipped off my sandals and slid my shorts down to my ankles. I wasn't wearing any underwear so I was standing there naked while he got some leather straps out of a drawer and I crawled up onto his big leather table."
"I lay down on the table and he put one wide leather strap just below my tits and then two more across my legs. 'Can't have you thrashing your arms around,' he muttered as he pulled my hands above my head and strapped my arms to the table just above my head at the elbows. He added one final strap right across my shoulders - in that position, actually armpits. He couldn't pull that last one real tight because it also went across my throat. I could still bounce around a little, but my movements were pretty well restrained - which was a good thing because I had five or six more orgasms while he finished the flames on my breast and nipple."
"By the time we were done, everyone else in the shop had stopped whatever it was that they were doing and were gathered around Bobby's work area. 'My God!' said one of the men. 'I would have paid money for a ticket to see that.' I could see that there was a stain on the front of his pants. He had creamed himself watching me."
"As Bobby was cleaning me up and putting a bandage over the new tat, he said, 'I think we could work something out to finance the rest of your grand design. If you are willing to come in after hours and have an audience while I work, I think I can arrange it so the ink will be free. Who knows, maybe you will even get a little extra for your time.'"
"He sold tickets for $30 a pop. Whenever he had at least a dozen tickets sold, we did the next section of the tat. It didn't cost me a dime, and I came away from each session with fifty dollars cash in my pocket. When it was time to do the vines and flames on my pussy lips, he upped the ticket price to $50 and gave me $200. He said he was planning on giving me $100, but it was obvious that I was actually in pain while he was working on my pussy lips. That did really hurt, but it was a small part of that section, and I got off at least twice as he worked his way back toward my asshole."
She smiled at me and went quiet. I took advantage of the silence to say, "I really am going to have to ask at least one of Dr. Collins questions before we run out of time." She said, "OK," and I asked, "Would you please tell me about your absolutely best ever sexual experience?"
"Last summer," she answered immediately. "Dwayne and I went down to Mexico for a vacation and the resort had a nude beach." She made a sweeping motion with her hand and said, "These are beautiful, but they don't protect you from sunburn. We were out on the beach all day, and by the time we got back to the room, I was in pain - real pain. It wasn't bad enough for my skin to blister and damaged the art, but I was burned enough that it hurt to be touched. And I don't mean the uncomfortable hurt that a light touch always is, it HURT."
"I took off what little clothes I had on and lay down on the bed. Dwayne offered to rub some lotion on me to see if that would help. He sat down on the bed next to me and reached out and stroked my breast real lightly - almost like he wasn't even touching it. Suddenly it was like a switch flipped. Where he was touching me didn't hurt. In fact it felt wonderful."
"I moaned, 'Oh, God!' and he jerked his hand away and asked, 'Did I hurt you?'"
"'No,' I answered. 'It felt wonderful. Keep doing it.'"
"He set down the lotion and began stroking my breasts and stomach with both of his hands. It was driving me out of my mind. I had never felt anything exactly like that. The bed was getting wet between my legs as I squirmed under his touch."
"'Turn over,' he said, and I rolled onto my tummy. He began running his hands very, very lightly up and down my back and then all the way down to my ankles and back up on the insides of my legs to the crack of my ass. As he kept stroking me, I felt like I was drifting in pleasure. Finally I couldn't take any more and panted out, 'Fuck me, Dwayne. Fuck me now!'"
"Dwayne said, 'You'd better be on top. I don't want to risk hurting you with my weight pushing your back into the bed.'"
"He slid into the bed and I straddled him and impaled myself on him. As I rode him, he reached up and continued to stroke my breasts. We came together. I had a tremendous orgasm and afterward collapsed down on top of him. He reached over me and continued stroking my back. I couldn't believe how good it felt. He just kept stroking me and stroking me and stroking me. I was purring like a kitten in front of a fire. I fell asleep like that and he left me there on top of him for a long time."
"In the morning, I woke up still partially laying on top of him. He reached over and ran his hand lightly down my back..., and it hurt. Everything was back to the way it normally is. I don't know what happened, but evidently the pain of the sunburn somehow caused my pain and pleasure wiring to work like it is supposed to for a little while. It has never happened like that before or since, even when I have gotten slightly sunburned."
She sighed deeply and said, "You can tell Dr. Pervert that if he ever comes up with a pill or a shot or some treatment that would allow me to feel pleasure like that again, I might be willing to try it. I am what I am and I am not ashamed of it, but if that is the type of pleasure that a 'normal' woman can experience on a regular basis, I am definitely missing something in my life."
She looked at me like she was expecting me to say something. I was carefully weighing my words trying to find something meaningful and helpful to say while being sure that I didn't sound judgmental in any way. Before I could figure out what to say, she continued, "But then again, none of those women feel what I feel when I am getting a tattoo or hanging naked in a cage getting my ass and tits shocked off. If they could experience that once in their lives, maybe they would envy me."
She had said everything that needed to be said, so all I said was "Thank you for agreeing to the interview, Brenda." Then I asked her if she was willing to sign the forms to release information to Dr. Collins.
After she left, I went into the bedroom. Shelly was lying on the bed. It was obvious that she had been crying. "Just hold me," she said. "Hold me and stroke me and let me fall asleep in your arms. I never realized that there were people who could never enjoy the soft touch of someone they love."
I climbed into bed and pulled her into my arms and lay there with her against my chest. Her sex was pressed tightly against my hip and one of her legs was between mine. She was clinging to me, but it was not a sexual cling, it was a need for closeness. I stroked her back and sides as her breathing slowly relaxed. Eventually she fell asleep. I was really hoping for more than that, but it was obviously what she needed, and I was pretty sure that she would more than make it up to me in the morning.