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Introduction:

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 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.

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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.

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.

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

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