Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.
Matt and Sonia, April, 2001
Matt -
My flirting... I'll tell you what I did but first let me say, I will be hoping for a response from you. I don't actually know what response I'll be hoping for but this was something that if it is not responded to can speak volumes in the absence of words or scolding.
At the bar Chrissie went off with this one man, he wasn't a very good looking guy but she seemed to like him. I was sitting at the bar by myself and this older unattractive man came to sit with me. He and I talked, I just kept telling him I was happily married and he left me a short while after that. The whole time I was talking to that guy there was another guy sitting right across the bar from me, we smiled each time we caught each others eyes, which was very often. I did the flirting thing where you look away or down, just enough so they know you’re interested but maybe a little shy as well.
While looking at him I licked my lips, slowly and deliberately then I bit my lower lip a little, making sure to keep our eyes locked on each other and I made sure to smile shyly. At the same time I ran the tip on my finger over the rim of the glass of my drink. He seemed to like it and soon was standing next to my chair asking me if I was there with someone. I said no, that I was alone. He took my hand and pulled me along behind him. At first I thought it was going to be just to dance, it wasn't. He past the dance floor, past the doors that led outside. (I have to now wonder if I would have gone with him if he tried to take me outside, scary thing is... I think I would have) There was a place, more of a hallway, that was secluded and that's where we ended up.
He then pushed me up against the wall, pressing his knee between my legs to keep my legs apart and he pushed both my shoulders back with his hands. He then kissed me. I let him at first, I even kissed him back, then tried to stop him. He wouldn't stop. I started to struggle to get free. He then began putting his hands up my shirt, in the back and then trying to slide them around to the front. I pushed his hands down, out of my shirt but that just seemed to make him want to put them down my pants. He put his hands down the back and sides of my pants and untied my thong. I had on one of those thongs that you tie on each side to keep it in place. Anyway he also tried to push his hands down the front of my pants. I was able to prevent that from happening. He and I were there for about 10 minutes before someone came along. As soon as the man that came along showed his face I pushed this guy, (I have no idea what his name was) and was able to get around him to escape.
Didn't I already tell you all this?
I went back to my stool at the bar and didn't see him for the rest of the night.
I was a little upset with the guy but didn't have enough sense to be scared of what he could have done until much later, like the next day.
OK, so that was it. One of those stories you hate to tell because it makes you look bad and no one else. I know I put myself in danger. I know I put my relationships in danger and really feel pretty crappy about both of those things. But it's done and cannot be undone.
Let's see, to answer your questions... Yes, I have been warned and warned, scolded and scolded and told repeatedly NOT to flirt so much. Yes, I was in danger, probably but I didn't see the danger even after it should have been totally obvious to me.
So now you know the full story, what do you think?
Sonia
Matt and Sonia, April, 2001
Matt -
My flirting... I'll tell you what I did but first let me say, I will be hoping for a response from you. I don't actually know what response I'll be hoping for but this was something that if it is not responded to can speak volumes in the absence of words or scolding.
At the bar Chrissie went off with this one man, he wasn't a very good looking guy but she seemed to like him. I was sitting at the bar by myself and this older unattractive man came to sit with me. He and I talked, I just kept telling him I was happily married and he left me a short while after that. The whole time I was talking to that guy there was another guy sitting right across the bar from me, we smiled each time we caught each others eyes, which was very often. I did the flirting thing where you look away or down, just enough so they know you’re interested but maybe a little shy as well.
While looking at him I licked my lips, slowly and deliberately then I bit my lower lip a little, making sure to keep our eyes locked on each other and I made sure to smile shyly. At the same time I ran the tip on my finger over the rim of the glass of my drink. He seemed to like it and soon was standing next to my chair asking me if I was there with someone. I said no, that I was alone. He took my hand and pulled me along behind him. At first I thought it was going to be just to dance, it wasn't. He past the dance floor, past the doors that led outside. (I have to now wonder if I would have gone with him if he tried to take me outside, scary thing is... I think I would have) There was a place, more of a hallway, that was secluded and that's where we ended up.
He then pushed me up against the wall, pressing his knee between my legs to keep my legs apart and he pushed both my shoulders back with his hands. He then kissed me. I let him at first, I even kissed him back, then tried to stop him. He wouldn't stop. I started to struggle to get free. He then began putting his hands up my shirt, in the back and then trying to slide them around to the front. I pushed his hands down, out of my shirt but that just seemed to make him want to put them down my pants. He put his hands down the back and sides of my pants and untied my thong. I had on one of those thongs that you tie on each side to keep it in place. Anyway he also tried to push his hands down the front of my pants. I was able to prevent that from happening. He and I were there for about 10 minutes before someone came along. As soon as the man that came along showed his face I pushed this guy, (I have no idea what his name was) and was able to get around him to escape.
Didn't I already tell you all this?
I went back to my stool at the bar and didn't see him for the rest of the night.
I was a little upset with the guy but didn't have enough sense to be scared of what he could have done until much later, like the next day.
OK, so that was it. One of those stories you hate to tell because it makes you look bad and no one else. I know I put myself in danger. I know I put my relationships in danger and really feel pretty crappy about both of those things. But it's done and cannot be undone.
Let's see, to answer your questions... Yes, I have been warned and warned, scolded and scolded and told repeatedly NOT to flirt so much. Yes, I was in danger, probably but I didn't see the danger even after it should have been totally obvious to me.
So now you know the full story, what do you think?
Sonia
Dear Sonia -
I can tell you, I am not going to take this incident lightly. One of the things that concerns me about it most is that the whole situation could not have been much of a surprise to you - it’s more or less a normal expected occurrence with the way you’ve been behaving, and the only questions are when something like this would catch up with you, how often this type of thing happens, and how far it ends up going - yes, this time you got off easy, through no fault of your own.
Now I don’t want to hear about all the things that guy shouldn’t have done or how wrong he was - first of all, this isn’t about him, it’s about you. Someone probably ought to beat the hell out of him and send him to jail, and if he does this type of thing now and then, people are fairly certain to do both. So just because I can’t do anything about him doesn’t mean I need to worry about it. Besides, I don’t care about him - if he winds up in a cell or a drawer in the morgue it doesn’t matter to me.
This much is certain - nothing I do, no matter how punishing, no matter how much you want me to or not to, will be anything like what this guy or guys like him are willing to do. I’m not going to backhand you across the mouth, bounce your head off a concrete floor or push your face into a brick wall; I won’t twist your arm up behind your back to get you to comply with something. If I punish you in front of people, you might be embarrassed, you might be humiliated - but it won’t be any fraction of how embarrassed you would be to explain to your mother and children how you were raped, or how you got these scars, or worse.
In fact, you may want to explain to me why this is something you want in your life, how it's not currently a good balance between a family who love you and the excitement of the club and that whole scene, what it is that makes you need something more - if that's something you can explain, I'd like to hear it.
Now as to what I think you need - we'll hear from you soon enough - you've heard me refer to wrist tethers, maybe I'd didn't make them clear how they worked. Probably in this case some long strips of terrycloth, from a towel. Then one end tied around your wrist in a double clove-hitch, with the rest of it dangling. Makes it pretty easy to keep your arms under control. No cutsie strip-tease, just out of your clothes - if he got as far as untying your thong I'm not going to hear about any reservations about taking it off. Then into the shower.
I can wrap the tethers around the showerhead and then you hold onto the ends of them. You're not exactly tied, but you're not going anywhere unless you really want to, in which case I'll deal with it. But I don't expect you to. Turn on the water and get this guy's filth scrubbed off of you - a can of Ajax and a good brush - don't you complain about where this brush has been, it should have the same complaint about you. Turn you around, work my fingers through your hair right down to the scalp, get your back side scrubbed down. Keep your head pulled back, looking up.
Unwrap your hands, back to the bedroom, push a chair up against the bed. Throw a pillow over the top of the chair and have you kneel on the seat, facing the bed. Bend over and hoist your butt up where I can get at it. Standing behind you, I've got this birch-type thing, it's plastic, not as good as wood, I know, but you'll see. I'll work the very topside of your buttocks, practically your lower back, from left to right. Not across, like you're used to, but stroking down from the top. Oh, I forget, you're pretty much used to everything, aren't you? Ready to stop playing, want some real-life rough-and-tumble now...
Funny thing about a birch, about the time you've decided that I'm a wimp and you'll just have to wait for me to finish playing, you notice that it does actually sting a little - and then a little more - and so on. All up on that fatty little pad above the cleft of your cheeks - left to right and back again, sweeping downward. At some point it gets to be enough and some while after that we're finished.
You've been looking at my belt since I took it off before cleaning you up - not something I want soaking wet - or maybe I'll wear an old one and it will be soaking wet, that should be interesting - but let's assume it's been lying on the bed where you can't miss it, especially in your position. You know what's coming, since I made you bring a wooden spoon - a smooth one, if you're smart - from home with you - but that's too intense for this position and as long as I intend to have you here. So it's a good length of leather belt across your bottom for a good length of time. While I ask you if this is what you want, if you'd rather have it from a stranger. You use my name and I forbid it - if you're going to play with men you don't know the name of, you'd better get used to it. When you complain that the belt is too much for your thighs, I ask how a remark like that is likely to go over with your new friend...
I pull you up so I can get you over my knee at last and the spoon falls without further warm-up or warning. It's long and hard and has the leverage for wicked speed and it just plain hurts. I use it a little all over and march it up and down between your cheeks but mostly it's three spots, all very low. Two are twin spots low on each cheek, a little inside of the center of the cheek, again and again to get the message hammered in well. The other spot is just as low and between your cheeks, it hurts. You get sore. And then you're spanked where you're sore.
I stand you up, tell you I hope you've learned your lesson, and remind you how lucky you are, demanding that you agree. You collapse on the bed, lying on your hip, physically spent, emotionally fragile. Painfully you lie back and whisper to me, drawing me near. You say that you're sorry and ask for the short strap. I stand up and look at you, hands above your head, each hand holding the tether to the other wrist. No, I tell you, your breasts are too small for that.
Tears spring to your eyes and I relent - but now you don't want to let me. I give you a moment to consider your defiance and it melts. The short strap is only about 9 inches long on narrow hard leather, and even so I keep half of it in my hand. I wander around your body - ribs, thighs, hips, tummy, breasts - teasing, making you wait. I reach across you and pull your breast inward, plumping it. I feather the strap on the nipple, about four beats per second. You draw in your breath and attempt to keep doing so, but you can only hold so much - and I keep going much longer than that.
Gradually it gets firmer, maybe slightly slower. You fight to keep from showing the pain I'm causing; it feels too good to want me to stop. I shift. One hand goes between your wrists, now you are held. One knee goes between your legs, one of your legs is clamped between mine. Your breast slides sideways but only an inch or two of strap, backed by my thumb, protrudes from my hand, so my aim is faultless even at this speed. Lick lick lick lick it goes on. Suddenly I stop, sweep up your breast, and suck your nipple in violently between my teeth. Your pubic bone finds the point of my hip as you arch. Then I do your right breast.
This is enough. I cut the tethers off of your wrists and wrap you to me, covering your back with a large soft towel. I stroke your hair as I hold you, I pet your shoulder.
Now, Sonia, you’re going to tell me what you really need and that's exactly stroke by stroke what we'll do, that’s what I want to hear from you.
Waiting, Matt
I can tell you, I am not going to take this incident lightly. One of the things that concerns me about it most is that the whole situation could not have been much of a surprise to you - it’s more or less a normal expected occurrence with the way you’ve been behaving, and the only questions are when something like this would catch up with you, how often this type of thing happens, and how far it ends up going - yes, this time you got off easy, through no fault of your own.
Now I don’t want to hear about all the things that guy shouldn’t have done or how wrong he was - first of all, this isn’t about him, it’s about you. Someone probably ought to beat the hell out of him and send him to jail, and if he does this type of thing now and then, people are fairly certain to do both. So just because I can’t do anything about him doesn’t mean I need to worry about it. Besides, I don’t care about him - if he winds up in a cell or a drawer in the morgue it doesn’t matter to me.
This much is certain - nothing I do, no matter how punishing, no matter how much you want me to or not to, will be anything like what this guy or guys like him are willing to do. I’m not going to backhand you across the mouth, bounce your head off a concrete floor or push your face into a brick wall; I won’t twist your arm up behind your back to get you to comply with something. If I punish you in front of people, you might be embarrassed, you might be humiliated - but it won’t be any fraction of how embarrassed you would be to explain to your mother and children how you were raped, or how you got these scars, or worse.
In fact, you may want to explain to me why this is something you want in your life, how it's not currently a good balance between a family who love you and the excitement of the club and that whole scene, what it is that makes you need something more - if that's something you can explain, I'd like to hear it.
Now as to what I think you need - we'll hear from you soon enough - you've heard me refer to wrist tethers, maybe I'd didn't make them clear how they worked. Probably in this case some long strips of terrycloth, from a towel. Then one end tied around your wrist in a double clove-hitch, with the rest of it dangling. Makes it pretty easy to keep your arms under control. No cutsie strip-tease, just out of your clothes - if he got as far as untying your thong I'm not going to hear about any reservations about taking it off. Then into the shower.
I can wrap the tethers around the showerhead and then you hold onto the ends of them. You're not exactly tied, but you're not going anywhere unless you really want to, in which case I'll deal with it. But I don't expect you to. Turn on the water and get this guy's filth scrubbed off of you - a can of Ajax and a good brush - don't you complain about where this brush has been, it should have the same complaint about you. Turn you around, work my fingers through your hair right down to the scalp, get your back side scrubbed down. Keep your head pulled back, looking up.
Unwrap your hands, back to the bedroom, push a chair up against the bed. Throw a pillow over the top of the chair and have you kneel on the seat, facing the bed. Bend over and hoist your butt up where I can get at it. Standing behind you, I've got this birch-type thing, it's plastic, not as good as wood, I know, but you'll see. I'll work the very topside of your buttocks, practically your lower back, from left to right. Not across, like you're used to, but stroking down from the top. Oh, I forget, you're pretty much used to everything, aren't you? Ready to stop playing, want some real-life rough-and-tumble now...
Funny thing about a birch, about the time you've decided that I'm a wimp and you'll just have to wait for me to finish playing, you notice that it does actually sting a little - and then a little more - and so on. All up on that fatty little pad above the cleft of your cheeks - left to right and back again, sweeping downward. At some point it gets to be enough and some while after that we're finished.
You've been looking at my belt since I took it off before cleaning you up - not something I want soaking wet - or maybe I'll wear an old one and it will be soaking wet, that should be interesting - but let's assume it's been lying on the bed where you can't miss it, especially in your position. You know what's coming, since I made you bring a wooden spoon - a smooth one, if you're smart - from home with you - but that's too intense for this position and as long as I intend to have you here. So it's a good length of leather belt across your bottom for a good length of time. While I ask you if this is what you want, if you'd rather have it from a stranger. You use my name and I forbid it - if you're going to play with men you don't know the name of, you'd better get used to it. When you complain that the belt is too much for your thighs, I ask how a remark like that is likely to go over with your new friend...
I pull you up so I can get you over my knee at last and the spoon falls without further warm-up or warning. It's long and hard and has the leverage for wicked speed and it just plain hurts. I use it a little all over and march it up and down between your cheeks but mostly it's three spots, all very low. Two are twin spots low on each cheek, a little inside of the center of the cheek, again and again to get the message hammered in well. The other spot is just as low and between your cheeks, it hurts. You get sore. And then you're spanked where you're sore.
I stand you up, tell you I hope you've learned your lesson, and remind you how lucky you are, demanding that you agree. You collapse on the bed, lying on your hip, physically spent, emotionally fragile. Painfully you lie back and whisper to me, drawing me near. You say that you're sorry and ask for the short strap. I stand up and look at you, hands above your head, each hand holding the tether to the other wrist. No, I tell you, your breasts are too small for that.
Tears spring to your eyes and I relent - but now you don't want to let me. I give you a moment to consider your defiance and it melts. The short strap is only about 9 inches long on narrow hard leather, and even so I keep half of it in my hand. I wander around your body - ribs, thighs, hips, tummy, breasts - teasing, making you wait. I reach across you and pull your breast inward, plumping it. I feather the strap on the nipple, about four beats per second. You draw in your breath and attempt to keep doing so, but you can only hold so much - and I keep going much longer than that.
Gradually it gets firmer, maybe slightly slower. You fight to keep from showing the pain I'm causing; it feels too good to want me to stop. I shift. One hand goes between your wrists, now you are held. One knee goes between your legs, one of your legs is clamped between mine. Your breast slides sideways but only an inch or two of strap, backed by my thumb, protrudes from my hand, so my aim is faultless even at this speed. Lick lick lick lick it goes on. Suddenly I stop, sweep up your breast, and suck your nipple in violently between my teeth. Your pubic bone finds the point of my hip as you arch. Then I do your right breast.
This is enough. I cut the tethers off of your wrists and wrap you to me, covering your back with a large soft towel. I stroke your hair as I hold you, I pet your shoulder.
Now, Sonia, you’re going to tell me what you really need and that's exactly stroke by stroke what we'll do, that’s what I want to hear from you.
Waiting, Matt
Harsh Stranger
by Sonia - April, 2001
I walked up to his door on weak and trembling legs. He’s my friend, I kept telling myself, but tonight he wasn't going to act like my friend. He wouldn't even allow me to use his name. He told me he would punish me even harsher if I dared disobey him tonight.
My heart pounded so loud I couldn't hear myself knocking on the door. I must have knocked longer or louder than I thought I was because when he opened the door he looked very displeased.
Fear coursed through my veins and my heart pounded in my ears.
He took me by the collar of my shirt and drug me in the house. I stumbled over the thresh-hold and started to laugh but the look he gave me froze my heart.
My heart swelled with emotion but I was confused as to why his cold distant manner would make me want him more and my confusion made my heart swell even more with affection and desire for him.
In his living room he roughly pushed me up against a wall, the rough plaster finish scratching my face. His hand held me motionless by the back of my neck. I wanted to fight, to try to move away but I couldn't. The fear almost sickened me yet I craved it.
I could see his free hand so I watched the knife approaching me. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by excited terror, but he pressed my neck harder and told me to keep my eyes open in a harsher tone than I have ever heard him use. I fought to keep my eyes open and shivered as I watched until the knife was out of sight. I then felt its cold blade on the back of my neck. He sliced my shirt in one smooth, fluid move, all the way down, the tip of the knife grazing my skin just enough to scratch it and make me feel it burn into my flesh. He then pushed each half of my shirt over my shoulders and pulled it roughly off.
Next came my bra, he cut it off as well even though he could have just unhooked it. I groaned when I felt the knife cut through my bra.
"Shut up." He almost growled at me, as he seemed to wipe away a drop of my blood.
"But, you didn't have to…" I started to say, trembling at the thought that he actually broke my skin with his knife. I was hurt and confused yet aroused and filled with love for him because he did.
He then spun me around and held me against the wall with my back pressed up against it and his hand tight around my throat.
"Shut... up" he told me in a slow deliberate manner.
I trembled and struggled to swallow, his grip that tight around my throat.
He released his hold on my throat as he sliced my shorts off, first over the right leg then the left. I watched as the trail of a red scratch mark followed the path of his knife. He then cut my thong away, cutting right above the hairline, leaving an angry red line there as well. I saw a tiny pin prick of blood in several places along that scratch and the twin lines down each leg. I wanted to cry with relief that he was being so brutal. That he seemed to know I could no longer run from my deepest, most horrific desire, so he was going to fulfill it.
I felt shame because I'd always kept my thong on in scenes before this and felt hot tears burning my eyes. I couldn't stand the idea of him seeing me this way, not if he wasn't going to tell me I looked good or that he enjoyed what he saw... I didn’t want this to be the first time he saw my naked body, yet I had daydreamed of this for months, since he and I started playing.
I tried to look away but he caught my chin with his hand and forced me to look right into his eyes. Blue eyes that were filled with passion, but his expression was cold and emotionless. His expression scared me... His expression made my heart race and my breathing faster and shallower.
‘Get your shoes off.” He ordered. I quickly obeyed.
He then took me by the hair and led me to the couch. He forced me over the arm of the couch so that my butt was well up in the air and my upper body pressed into the soft cushion.
He then took a length of cloth that was fastened to the other end of the couch and wrapped my hands in it then secured the end. I could have easily gotten free.
He took his belt off and started using it on my bottom and thighs, hard and fast. I screamed into the cushions and held onto my bondage, begging him not to hit me so hard. After some time he stopped, walked next to me and grabbed me by the hair.
“Do you think one of those strange men you meet would listen to you? You think one of them would let you off this easy?” He demanded.
I didn’t have time to answer. He pulled me up, cut my hands free and threw me into the chair across the room. I was panicked now. I didn’t know him anymore. He walked toward me and I tried to melt into the chair. I pressed my body as hard against the back of the chair as I could. I wanted to escape; I wanted to run away from him.
I glanced at the door. He looked in the direction that I glanced and laughed, “You think you can escape?” He almost taunted. “I will decide when you leave, do you understand?” And with those words he pulled me to my feet.
“Do you know what men like that do to women?” He asked, almost sounding like his old self.
I couldn’t answer, his question shamed me. I knew I flirted with those men for the danger of it, because I knew if one of them ever did turn violent it would be an out of control raging kind of violent. I shivered, my heart lodged in my throat because I secretly desired that. I wanted to feel that kind of pain, that kind of humiliation.
He pulled my head up by the back of my hair. I felt his hand as it struck the side of my face before I even knew what he was doing. My head jerked and my body was pulled out of his grasp by the force of the blow. I dropped to my knees, shocked and hurt that he would slap me. I rested my forehead on the carpet and cupped my burning cheek in my palm. I felt shame like I had never felt it before. I felt fear as I had never felt before as well. Wasn’t this the kind of treatment that thrilled me when I thought of it? Wasn’t it the risk of something like this happening that caused me to put myself in dangerous situations? Yes. Yes, and right now, feeling my heart breaking, felt strangely right.
Standing over me he yanked me up onto my knees by the back of my hair. “Isn’t this what you’re looking for when you go to those bars?” He taunted me.
“No,” I lied with a weak whisper.
He forced me to look at him, my face up and head back. He lifted his hand; I winced in fear, the power of my inner conflict too much to handle now. He dropped his hand back down to his side.
“Not what you thought it would be, is it?” He asked.
I felt hot tears stream down my cheeks. How could he have known I wanted that? How could he know of my secret and my shame? Rebellion flared within me and I tried to pull away. He had no right to read my mind!
He yanked me back into position by my hair and pulled me to my feet the same way. I cried and held onto his arm for support. I desperately wanted him to hold me now, to comfort me but I was also terrified he would do just that.
Once standing he drug me to the kitchen where he made me stand on a short stool and lean over his table, grabbing the other side. If I kept my legs straight my bottom was shamefully exposed and high in the air. He told me to be sure to keep my legs straight. My legs shook so bad I could feel my knees knocking together. I adjusted until it was no longer obvious. I dreaded him seeing me so terrified. I was afraid if he saw the extent of my fear he would stop, and afraid if he acknowledged it without stopping he would break my heart beyond repair.
On the table was a smooth wooden spoon, I hate wooden spoons! He also had a leather strap, at least it wasn’t a tawse, and a plastic brush, all things I had told him I hated.
He started spanking me with his hand and I felt my pulse quicken and my body relax, he didn’t hate me. No man can spank a woman and hate her at the same time, at least not in my mind; the flesh-to-flesh contact would make that an impossibility.
But, as he continued to spank me, I started to wonder if I might have been mistaken. He spanked so hard! He started at the top of one cheek and worked his way well below the top of that thigh then up the other side, just to repeat it the other way around. I squirmed and cried out, begging him to stop, not wanting him to stop. I wanted him to push this, to push me further than I felt I could go. I started to struggle to get up. He just shoved me roughly back onto the table and made me straighten my legs. Exhaustion started to set in and my flesh started to become slightly, yet blissfully numb.
He spanked me harder still, until I cried, “Please, stop. I can’t take it, please…” I almost got his name out but he stopped me.
“I told you not to use my name. Do you want to feel my palm against your face again?” He cruelly asked.
The tears that had stopped again began to flow and wet my cheeks. “No,” I whispered and rested my head on my forearms, hoping to show him I was going to obey him.
My heart broke but my affection for him seemed to be all that was pouring from my broken heart. I knew he cared because he had been so cruel, because he was being so cruel.
He used the leather strap on me and I tried to stay exactly as he put me, I couldn’t. I did hold onto the table and cried out with each blow of the strap, but I didn’t stand up or take my hands off the table, both of which he commented on.
“I see you are starting to get the point.” He said as he helped me off the short stool and sat in a chair that sat next to the table. He then pulled me over his lap. I would normally have basked in this position, loving the feel of my body draped over his lap, but not today. Today I was afraid of him like I had never feared him before. Today I cried because of that fear. Fear, excitement and confusion, all rolled together. His treating me in this way allowed me to feel things I could only loathe myself for feeling, for wanting before.
He took the wooden spoon off the table and paused, he put it back on the table and picked up the plastic brush.
No! I thought. If he used this on me as hard as he used the strap or his hand I wouldn’t make it. I went limp and sobbed before the first of the heartless rain of blows from that brush began. When he started spanking me with the plastic brush it was hard, harder than he had ever used it on me. My body went stiff and I twisted even though I desperately wanted to stay limp and just take it. I was totally out of control, my body reacted and seemed to have a mind of it’s own. I grabbed the chair leg and his left ankle just to keep from putting my hands back. I knew better than to do that. I yelled and cried and cried out, but he ignored my pleas.
After endless minutes of that plastic brush assaulting my bottom and thighs, raising blisters that would make clothing and sitting impossible for days, I was able to twist so I could curl around him and my bottom was safely out of harms way, for a second anyway. I was able to face him and begged him with my eyes to end his torture with that brush. He stood up, dumping me on the floor, heartlessly. I curled into a ball and sobbed, feeling more at peace than I had in months, years even.
Seconds later I was being pulled to my feet again by my hair and pulled along behind him to his bedroom. I wanted to be in his bedroom, I wanted him to make love to me. I wanted him to take me forcefully while I was still in pain and crying.
He threw me on the bed and took one hand then the other and made me hold onto a sheet he had ripped up. He told me not to let go of the strips of sheet no matter what. I was lying on my back, legs slightly spread. My hands over my head, I looped the sheet around each wrist twice so I could hold on better and watched him from my self-imposed bondage.
At least I could see him now. I could watch his eyes and his eyes gave away his feelings, he didn’t hate me, he cared about me.
He had brought the leather strap into the room with us and began strapping the fronts of my thighs. It hurt and I turned from side to side. As I turned on my left side he strapped my right hip and outer thigh. I turned onto my right side to protect it and he did the same to the left. Turning from side to side I wondered at his mercilessness and craved it as much as I hated it. His cruelty filled a void, maybe a need, I never allowed to surface completely, or at all if I could help it.
When he seemed to become bored with that he placed one hand on my chest and held me in place while he strapped my thighs and pelvic. I screamed and cried, tears flowing freely down my cheeks, but didn’t want him to stop. He started out strapping me very harshly then let up and just strapped me rhythmically. It felt so good and yet it hurt so bad. I felt myself going somewhere emotionally and I was finally able to just let go and go wherever it was that I seemed to always want to go during a scene but never had the courage to let myself. I was floating on raw emotion and physical sensation, nothing else mattered, nothing else existed.
Soon he moved his hand off my chest and began strapping my breasts and ribs as well as pubic area and thighs. He did this until the tears stopped flowing and my body started responding in a totally different way. I felt the heat of the strap and my skin colliding to make my flesh burn. I moaned and he made me spread my legs wide so he could strap between my legs. He strapped the inner thigh and my crotch, hard at first and I started to cry and fight again but soon I wanted him to strap me as hard as he was. I looked into his eyes and could see a raw passion I hadn’t seen earlier that night, or ever, for that matter. He strapped me and I responded, my body moving as though the strap were my lover.
He stopped sometime later, I lost all track of time so I don’t know how long he strapped me, all of me, all over the front of my body as well as the inner thighs and “there”, it must have been a long time because when I looked down at my breasts and stomach and thighs and everywhere I was red and had welts over a good portion of my body.
He took my right hand in his then pulled me gently to my feet. We looked into each other’s eyes for what seemed like forever then he pulled me to his bathroom. He started the water and as it heated up he tied each wrist in the strip of sheet he must have brought with him. It had a good length between each hand so when he helped me step into the shower he was able to wrap the middle part of the sheet strip over the showerhead. My arms were pulled up, over my head and I stood helplessly in the warm water, waiting.
He stepped into the shower with me and my heart swelled yet again. Just when I thought I wouldn’t be able to feel anything more, he makes me feel SO much more.
He tilted my head to wet my hair and made sure he pushed it all out of my face. The warm water soothing my tear-chapped face. He then traced each welt on each breast, then moved to my ribcage. He traced and caressed his way down to my thighs, skipping my womanly mound. I moaned with frustration. He kissed each angry red welt on each thigh then he kneeled and began kissing the insides of my thighs. I began to tremble and moan, gripping the ends of the torn sheet for support.
His hand moved between my legs, finding me wet and waiting for him…. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks from here.
by Sonia - April, 2001
I walked up to his door on weak and trembling legs. He’s my friend, I kept telling myself, but tonight he wasn't going to act like my friend. He wouldn't even allow me to use his name. He told me he would punish me even harsher if I dared disobey him tonight.
My heart pounded so loud I couldn't hear myself knocking on the door. I must have knocked longer or louder than I thought I was because when he opened the door he looked very displeased.
Fear coursed through my veins and my heart pounded in my ears.
He took me by the collar of my shirt and drug me in the house. I stumbled over the thresh-hold and started to laugh but the look he gave me froze my heart.
My heart swelled with emotion but I was confused as to why his cold distant manner would make me want him more and my confusion made my heart swell even more with affection and desire for him.
In his living room he roughly pushed me up against a wall, the rough plaster finish scratching my face. His hand held me motionless by the back of my neck. I wanted to fight, to try to move away but I couldn't. The fear almost sickened me yet I craved it.
I could see his free hand so I watched the knife approaching me. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by excited terror, but he pressed my neck harder and told me to keep my eyes open in a harsher tone than I have ever heard him use. I fought to keep my eyes open and shivered as I watched until the knife was out of sight. I then felt its cold blade on the back of my neck. He sliced my shirt in one smooth, fluid move, all the way down, the tip of the knife grazing my skin just enough to scratch it and make me feel it burn into my flesh. He then pushed each half of my shirt over my shoulders and pulled it roughly off.
Next came my bra, he cut it off as well even though he could have just unhooked it. I groaned when I felt the knife cut through my bra.
"Shut up." He almost growled at me, as he seemed to wipe away a drop of my blood.
"But, you didn't have to…" I started to say, trembling at the thought that he actually broke my skin with his knife. I was hurt and confused yet aroused and filled with love for him because he did.
He then spun me around and held me against the wall with my back pressed up against it and his hand tight around my throat.
"Shut... up" he told me in a slow deliberate manner.
I trembled and struggled to swallow, his grip that tight around my throat.
He released his hold on my throat as he sliced my shorts off, first over the right leg then the left. I watched as the trail of a red scratch mark followed the path of his knife. He then cut my thong away, cutting right above the hairline, leaving an angry red line there as well. I saw a tiny pin prick of blood in several places along that scratch and the twin lines down each leg. I wanted to cry with relief that he was being so brutal. That he seemed to know I could no longer run from my deepest, most horrific desire, so he was going to fulfill it.
I felt shame because I'd always kept my thong on in scenes before this and felt hot tears burning my eyes. I couldn't stand the idea of him seeing me this way, not if he wasn't going to tell me I looked good or that he enjoyed what he saw... I didn’t want this to be the first time he saw my naked body, yet I had daydreamed of this for months, since he and I started playing.
I tried to look away but he caught my chin with his hand and forced me to look right into his eyes. Blue eyes that were filled with passion, but his expression was cold and emotionless. His expression scared me... His expression made my heart race and my breathing faster and shallower.
‘Get your shoes off.” He ordered. I quickly obeyed.
He then took me by the hair and led me to the couch. He forced me over the arm of the couch so that my butt was well up in the air and my upper body pressed into the soft cushion.
He then took a length of cloth that was fastened to the other end of the couch and wrapped my hands in it then secured the end. I could have easily gotten free.
He took his belt off and started using it on my bottom and thighs, hard and fast. I screamed into the cushions and held onto my bondage, begging him not to hit me so hard. After some time he stopped, walked next to me and grabbed me by the hair.
“Do you think one of those strange men you meet would listen to you? You think one of them would let you off this easy?” He demanded.
I didn’t have time to answer. He pulled me up, cut my hands free and threw me into the chair across the room. I was panicked now. I didn’t know him anymore. He walked toward me and I tried to melt into the chair. I pressed my body as hard against the back of the chair as I could. I wanted to escape; I wanted to run away from him.
I glanced at the door. He looked in the direction that I glanced and laughed, “You think you can escape?” He almost taunted. “I will decide when you leave, do you understand?” And with those words he pulled me to my feet.
“Do you know what men like that do to women?” He asked, almost sounding like his old self.
I couldn’t answer, his question shamed me. I knew I flirted with those men for the danger of it, because I knew if one of them ever did turn violent it would be an out of control raging kind of violent. I shivered, my heart lodged in my throat because I secretly desired that. I wanted to feel that kind of pain, that kind of humiliation.
He pulled my head up by the back of my hair. I felt his hand as it struck the side of my face before I even knew what he was doing. My head jerked and my body was pulled out of his grasp by the force of the blow. I dropped to my knees, shocked and hurt that he would slap me. I rested my forehead on the carpet and cupped my burning cheek in my palm. I felt shame like I had never felt it before. I felt fear as I had never felt before as well. Wasn’t this the kind of treatment that thrilled me when I thought of it? Wasn’t it the risk of something like this happening that caused me to put myself in dangerous situations? Yes. Yes, and right now, feeling my heart breaking, felt strangely right.
Standing over me he yanked me up onto my knees by the back of my hair. “Isn’t this what you’re looking for when you go to those bars?” He taunted me.
“No,” I lied with a weak whisper.
He forced me to look at him, my face up and head back. He lifted his hand; I winced in fear, the power of my inner conflict too much to handle now. He dropped his hand back down to his side.
“Not what you thought it would be, is it?” He asked.
I felt hot tears stream down my cheeks. How could he have known I wanted that? How could he know of my secret and my shame? Rebellion flared within me and I tried to pull away. He had no right to read my mind!
He yanked me back into position by my hair and pulled me to my feet the same way. I cried and held onto his arm for support. I desperately wanted him to hold me now, to comfort me but I was also terrified he would do just that.
Once standing he drug me to the kitchen where he made me stand on a short stool and lean over his table, grabbing the other side. If I kept my legs straight my bottom was shamefully exposed and high in the air. He told me to be sure to keep my legs straight. My legs shook so bad I could feel my knees knocking together. I adjusted until it was no longer obvious. I dreaded him seeing me so terrified. I was afraid if he saw the extent of my fear he would stop, and afraid if he acknowledged it without stopping he would break my heart beyond repair.
On the table was a smooth wooden spoon, I hate wooden spoons! He also had a leather strap, at least it wasn’t a tawse, and a plastic brush, all things I had told him I hated.
He started spanking me with his hand and I felt my pulse quicken and my body relax, he didn’t hate me. No man can spank a woman and hate her at the same time, at least not in my mind; the flesh-to-flesh contact would make that an impossibility.
But, as he continued to spank me, I started to wonder if I might have been mistaken. He spanked so hard! He started at the top of one cheek and worked his way well below the top of that thigh then up the other side, just to repeat it the other way around. I squirmed and cried out, begging him to stop, not wanting him to stop. I wanted him to push this, to push me further than I felt I could go. I started to struggle to get up. He just shoved me roughly back onto the table and made me straighten my legs. Exhaustion started to set in and my flesh started to become slightly, yet blissfully numb.
He spanked me harder still, until I cried, “Please, stop. I can’t take it, please…” I almost got his name out but he stopped me.
“I told you not to use my name. Do you want to feel my palm against your face again?” He cruelly asked.
The tears that had stopped again began to flow and wet my cheeks. “No,” I whispered and rested my head on my forearms, hoping to show him I was going to obey him.
My heart broke but my affection for him seemed to be all that was pouring from my broken heart. I knew he cared because he had been so cruel, because he was being so cruel.
He used the leather strap on me and I tried to stay exactly as he put me, I couldn’t. I did hold onto the table and cried out with each blow of the strap, but I didn’t stand up or take my hands off the table, both of which he commented on.
“I see you are starting to get the point.” He said as he helped me off the short stool and sat in a chair that sat next to the table. He then pulled me over his lap. I would normally have basked in this position, loving the feel of my body draped over his lap, but not today. Today I was afraid of him like I had never feared him before. Today I cried because of that fear. Fear, excitement and confusion, all rolled together. His treating me in this way allowed me to feel things I could only loathe myself for feeling, for wanting before.
He took the wooden spoon off the table and paused, he put it back on the table and picked up the plastic brush.
No! I thought. If he used this on me as hard as he used the strap or his hand I wouldn’t make it. I went limp and sobbed before the first of the heartless rain of blows from that brush began. When he started spanking me with the plastic brush it was hard, harder than he had ever used it on me. My body went stiff and I twisted even though I desperately wanted to stay limp and just take it. I was totally out of control, my body reacted and seemed to have a mind of it’s own. I grabbed the chair leg and his left ankle just to keep from putting my hands back. I knew better than to do that. I yelled and cried and cried out, but he ignored my pleas.
After endless minutes of that plastic brush assaulting my bottom and thighs, raising blisters that would make clothing and sitting impossible for days, I was able to twist so I could curl around him and my bottom was safely out of harms way, for a second anyway. I was able to face him and begged him with my eyes to end his torture with that brush. He stood up, dumping me on the floor, heartlessly. I curled into a ball and sobbed, feeling more at peace than I had in months, years even.
Seconds later I was being pulled to my feet again by my hair and pulled along behind him to his bedroom. I wanted to be in his bedroom, I wanted him to make love to me. I wanted him to take me forcefully while I was still in pain and crying.
He threw me on the bed and took one hand then the other and made me hold onto a sheet he had ripped up. He told me not to let go of the strips of sheet no matter what. I was lying on my back, legs slightly spread. My hands over my head, I looped the sheet around each wrist twice so I could hold on better and watched him from my self-imposed bondage.
At least I could see him now. I could watch his eyes and his eyes gave away his feelings, he didn’t hate me, he cared about me.
He had brought the leather strap into the room with us and began strapping the fronts of my thighs. It hurt and I turned from side to side. As I turned on my left side he strapped my right hip and outer thigh. I turned onto my right side to protect it and he did the same to the left. Turning from side to side I wondered at his mercilessness and craved it as much as I hated it. His cruelty filled a void, maybe a need, I never allowed to surface completely, or at all if I could help it.
When he seemed to become bored with that he placed one hand on my chest and held me in place while he strapped my thighs and pelvic. I screamed and cried, tears flowing freely down my cheeks, but didn’t want him to stop. He started out strapping me very harshly then let up and just strapped me rhythmically. It felt so good and yet it hurt so bad. I felt myself going somewhere emotionally and I was finally able to just let go and go wherever it was that I seemed to always want to go during a scene but never had the courage to let myself. I was floating on raw emotion and physical sensation, nothing else mattered, nothing else existed.
Soon he moved his hand off my chest and began strapping my breasts and ribs as well as pubic area and thighs. He did this until the tears stopped flowing and my body started responding in a totally different way. I felt the heat of the strap and my skin colliding to make my flesh burn. I moaned and he made me spread my legs wide so he could strap between my legs. He strapped the inner thigh and my crotch, hard at first and I started to cry and fight again but soon I wanted him to strap me as hard as he was. I looked into his eyes and could see a raw passion I hadn’t seen earlier that night, or ever, for that matter. He strapped me and I responded, my body moving as though the strap were my lover.
He stopped sometime later, I lost all track of time so I don’t know how long he strapped me, all of me, all over the front of my body as well as the inner thighs and “there”, it must have been a long time because when I looked down at my breasts and stomach and thighs and everywhere I was red and had welts over a good portion of my body.
He took my right hand in his then pulled me gently to my feet. We looked into each other’s eyes for what seemed like forever then he pulled me to his bathroom. He started the water and as it heated up he tied each wrist in the strip of sheet he must have brought with him. It had a good length between each hand so when he helped me step into the shower he was able to wrap the middle part of the sheet strip over the showerhead. My arms were pulled up, over my head and I stood helplessly in the warm water, waiting.
He stepped into the shower with me and my heart swelled yet again. Just when I thought I wouldn’t be able to feel anything more, he makes me feel SO much more.
He tilted my head to wet my hair and made sure he pushed it all out of my face. The warm water soothing my tear-chapped face. He then traced each welt on each breast, then moved to my ribcage. He traced and caressed his way down to my thighs, skipping my womanly mound. I moaned with frustration. He kissed each angry red welt on each thigh then he kneeled and began kissing the insides of my thighs. I began to tremble and moan, gripping the ends of the torn sheet for support.
His hand moved between my legs, finding me wet and waiting for him…. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks from here.
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