Testing the Submissive: The Story & Confessions of a Masochist (9 page)

About every other week or so…

There was the older man in his mid-50s who beat me harshly with a thick rubber hose. I couldn’t shower for days afterward because the hot water was too painful.  My skin looked awful.  I carefully washed my hair in the sink and wore loose fitting clothing. 

After that was the married couple who had just won large
at a slot machine on the cruise ship during their honeymoon.  They decided to splurge and indulge in some kinky fun.  I was the kinky fun.  She slapped my face repeatedly while he took to my ass with a ping pong paddle.  Then one of them would fuck me, while the other continued beating me.

While the famous basketball player didn’t book me, a famous baseball player did
.  I didn’t recognize or know of him at the time of our session, but afterward I Googled him and saw that he had had quite the career.  Seemed he was quite adept at swinging a bat during his heyday.  I’d say he was equally adept at swinging a cane.

Lewis kept a reasonable distance between each of my appointments.  I’m not sure if that was for my benefit, so I could physically and mentally rest in between each.  Or, if it was for the benefit of the clients
, so each could have an unblemished piece of canvas with which to start in on.  Typically, it took anywhere from five or six days to a full three weeks for the marks on my body to fade.

In the seven months that passed
, I was well whipped and well used. My tongue found its way into a lot of places.  It might be in someone’s mouth, spending time dancing with another tongue. It might be lapping at a pair of sweaty balls.  Might be flicking away at a row of toes.  Might be buried deep into the cleft of a sodden vagina.  Might even be all stiffened up attempting to poke into someone’s wrinkled hole.  I was a whore, and I fucked whoever Lewis sent me to, usually after they took out their frustration on me.

How could I forget the plus-sized woman who wanted to wrestle me?  She was a big fan of the website Ultimate Surrender where women tussle, and the winner gets to sexually dominate the loser.  I didn’t stand a chance. It was actually quite frightening, especially when she
stared at me across the make-shift ring.  Soon, I didn’t surrender, I
begged
surrender. She made me pay for it with that massive black strap-on. Word is she’s saving up her money for a rematch.

I
ndeed I was well paid. I had accumulated a six figure savings account in less than half a year.

In between every one of these sessions
, Lewis interviewed me.  He would ask questions and I would answer. Always truthfully. I still blushed every time I confessed about my own orgasms at the hands of my abusers. Lewis would shake his head, feigning distain, but I never failed to notice his bulging pants during such instances. 

If it was a particularly harsh session
, he would come and visit me in person for aftercare.  From now on, every time I taste a chocolate croissant I will associate it with an aftercare session.  It got to the point where, when I was being whipped by someone, deep down I would hope for a bad one, thereby increasing the odds of a visit from Lewis for some aftercare.

My only
concern was, he never fucked me after Paris. It killed me. I never understood why, and dared not ask.  Until one day when he said: “I want to fuck you again Abby”.

Abby?
  I so love when he calls me by name! 
It was rare that Lewis called me by my first name, here in Chicago. I felt those familiar butterflies.

And fuck me he did. We fucked that night. In the morning. The next afternoon. And the following night.

It got to the point where I was sleeping at Lewis’ suite as often as I stayed at my place. He began to take me to social events and friend’s parties, not as a submissive, but as his girlfriend. We took his mother to dinner on her birthday, as his father had long since passed. I met a couple of his business associates at a cocktail party to raise awareness for a local charity. It felt real. We were a real couple. I think it’s fair to say we were past
falling
in love. We were
in
love.

“Oh, there’s someone I’d like you to
get to know,” he announced one day.

It was that tone of voice.
Uh oh!
I could never mistake that tone of voice. This was the tone of voice he used during our interviews. It was a firm tone of voice. There was no negotiation, no discussion, no counter-argument, and no leeway. There was only obedience and compliance from my end.

“Yes, Sir. I understand,” was the only reply I could muster.

Deep down, I didn’t care. As long as Lewis was my boyfriend, I didn’t care who else fucked me.  I’d endure it.  I’d endure anything to keep him in my life. Worse than that, deep down, I was glad.  Sure I had butterflies in my tummy as it had been a while, but a little smile crept up onto my face.  As hard as I tried to wipe it away, I couldn’t.

“You might not be smiling when you find out who will join us.”

Four days later…

I was nervous. This would be the first time Lewis would be present during one of my whippings. He’d be there to observe, and who knows, perhaps he was intending to join in.

We drove to the house of a friend of hi
s. When I met the man, he seemed quite nice. Experienced and mature Dominants always have an understated confidence, and a certain politeness.  There is no need to flaunt their power. A smart sub knows this intuitively.  Was this the man who would be joining us?  When he gathered his cell and his car keys, I realized he was leaving.

Lewis
led me down into the basement of the luxurious home, and that’s when I noticed the dungeon.  I was told to remove all of my clothing and then directed to a St. Andrew’s cross. I silently complied. My arms and legs were pulled wide apart and securely tied off in a standing position. Lewis didn’t rush the process, and it was evident he wanted me just right. My body formed a giant ‘X’.

Lewis checked his watch
, “He’ll be here in ten minutes, just enough time for your briefing.”

My briefing?
That was a first. Normally I just show up and do my best to endure the thrashing.

Lewis explained, “
Our guest today isn’t paying. Not only that, he has no idea that I put you up to this.  He in fact believes today’s session is entirely
your
idea.  And you will play along, understand?”

My idea?
The client thinks I set this up?
“Yes Sir, I think I understand. I will pretend I wanted this whipping and arranged for you to set it up.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that. You see Abby, you
know
today’s assailant.”

OH MY GOD
! I know this person outside of my world as a whipping-bitch?
  I was too stunned to speak, bound as I was, fully naked – waiting to be whipped by someone from my past, before all this.  Meanwhile, Lewis gave me further instructions.  I was momentarily discombobulated and had to concentrate to keep listening.
Snap out of it. Focus!

“Our visitor will likely be apprehensive. He may be timid. You need to convince him, not only to whip you – but to whip you severely. Bring out his inner sadist.  Work your magic to ensure he knows
you have no limits, other than his. Encourage him to do his worst. Do you understand?”

I paused to let it sink in. Then, I spoke to confirm my willingness,
“Y..yes Sir, I understand. I must show him...th...that I’m an extreme masochist, who needs – who craves – the pain he brings…and…and that the harder he hits me, the more I love it.”

“Lastly, ensure he fucks you.”

Just then, we heard the doorbell. Lewis left me to stew in my mental anguish while he went to greet our visitor. I was nervous and tried to steady my breathing. That’s when I felt something tickling me, high on my inner thigh, but moving lower.  I mocked myself:
what a pathetic whore
. I was very wet. So wet in fact, that a droplet of my pussy juice was literally running down my inner thigh. Part of me hated being here. But a part of me clearly wouldn’t be pretending at all.

I looked up as Lewis walked in, accompanied by…..
Nooooooo!!

It was
Reverend Watson! My family’s Pastor and someone I’d known for more than a decade. The Reverend was a decent man, but who had found himself in a precarious situation of late. A cleaning lady at the church stumbled upon his porn collection, predominately bdsm related. She approached the police and the press. The story was polarizing, which fueled the controversy. The vast majority of the parish supported their Reverend.  He had never touched or even approached anyone, male or female, inappropriately. However, porn is still frowned upon, particularly bdsm. Senior church officials banished him from the church.

The Reverend advanced toward me slowly, timidly.

“Abigail,” he said, attempting to sound more sure of himself than he was, “My my, look what’s become of you.”

Here I stood. Completely naked. Waiting. Arms bound. Waiting for him to come and whip me. I was deeply blushing, full of shame. Worst of all, he th
ought I’m the one who arranged all this!

“Welcome…um, Reverend. I’m.
..I’m glad you came.”

As he neared me, it was obvious he wanted to clear the air, “
So I guess you heard what happened to me, that they found some books and DVDs, and the rest is history as they say.”

“It was totally unfair, how it was handled and how they treated you.
As...as you can see, I have a rather deep liking for S&M myself,” I confessed.

“Yes, I can see that Abigail. I would never have
guessed it. Sweet Abigail, now a true whore and a kinky one at that. I barely believed Lewis at first.  Until he showed me the pictures, that is.”

I felt even more ashamed.
I remembered two clients who had taken photos which were subsequently emailed to Lewis. In one I was kneeling and looking up toward the camera, my tits red from a recent spanking, and my face still covered in the ejaculate of both men.  I could only imagine what other images were shared.

“Thank you for
being here today, Reverend. Everything you heard is true, and when I learned of your injustice, well – I just wanted to see you, and offer my body to you as a small respite.”

“You do realize
Abigail, you must be punished for your sins?”

“Yes. I know this. I agree. I deserve punishment. I deserve
severe punishment, to be sure.”

“What do you suggest I do, Abigail?” asked the Reverend, as he began to remove his own belt.

“I deserve to be whipped. Whip me, Reverend. Whip me hard. Punish me. It is warranted.”

I could see by his trousers that the Reverend was
getting aroused.  The immense bulge was evident.  With his belt in hand, he let it dangle, and then moved behind me so he could bring it down across my shoulders.  I didn’t want to interfere too quickly, so I let him take a handful of strikes before speaking.

“Feel me Reverend, feel what you’ve done to me
, feel my pussy. You’ll see.”

He m
oved around to the front of me and lightly ran two of his fingers along my slit. I was soaked. I knew I would be. His eyes lit up with joy, even though he tried to play it cool.

“You’re enjoying this Abigail, aren’t you?”

“Very much Pastor. I’ve wanted this for a long time, longer than you know.”

“Then we shall continue,” he said, wiping his wet fingers on the side of his leg.

“Pastor, if I may be so bold…when your fingers are wet with my slime, it would be my honor to clean them with my mouth. I’m quite accustomed to it, and I very much enjoy it.”

“Like this?” he asked, as he touched me again, this time with three fingers, and this time inserting them
into me to gather more evidence of my sluttiness.  He brought the dripping fingers up to my mouth, and I reached for them with my tongue – lapping at them, and then sucking each digit one at a time. He went back for more, obviously enjoying the moment. A second time I cleaned his fingers, my smell clearly evident to both of us. I moaned softly as I licked his fingers.  Just as he was returning to my backside to resume the beating, I interjected again.

“Reverend
Watson Sir, may I request something of you?”

“Yes dear, of course girl. Am I striking too hard?”

It was almost laughable how inexperienced he was, “With respect, I remind you of the pain slut I am. I’ve fucked countless men and have been whipped by many of them. I beg of you, beat me soundly, make me hurt, strike me as powerfully as you possibly can.”

It certainly worked as the next half-dozen strikes made me arch my back in
a futile attempt to avoid the lashes. He was swinging with significantly more force, and my periodic ‘yes, thank-you’ urged him on even more.  By the time he rested almost 40 strikes had landed across my shoulders, my back, and my lower waist.

Then he moved to my front.

“Reverend Watson,” I asked, mustering up as much courage as I could, “Consider what you did to my back as a warm-up. Now show my whore-tits what they deserve, please don’t hold back.”

He didn’t. He lashed my breasts again and again with the belt. I could see Lewis in the background watching the entire time.
Lewis was pleased. It was unlike me to top from below, but he knew without my manipulation the Reverend didn’t have the confidence to go full-out. The Reverend was in his glory. This was a dream come true. This was everything he ever fantasized about. He was now striking me without abandon. My receptivity only drove him further.

One horizontal strike landed square across both nipples, which caused me to pull on my bonds so hard, I almost dislocated my shoulder.  I couldn’t hide my expression of pure pain.  The Reverend noticed this, and a look of panic appeared on his face.  I forced a smile, and it took all my strength to say:

“Reverend, whew…that was a good one, directly across my nipples.  Please give me another, in the same spot, equally as hard.”  I could barely believe the words that escaped my mouth.  Bringing this kind of pain onto me was worse than simply enduring it.

My abuser pulled his arm back and repeated the exact same swing, no less hard.  I
muted a scream.  He was killing me, and here I was pretending I wanted more. 

When I heard the belt hit the floor
, I knew the whipping was over. We fucked. He actually fucked me, still standing, still bound to the cross.  We both came.  His cum dripped down my inner thigh, with some of it pooling on the floor, directly below my quivering vaginal lips. He kissed me while he fucked me, and I returned the kiss as passionately as I could. I kissed my Reverend. What a whore I’d truly become.

Our
visitor took a break and used the restroom, which provided Lewis and me the opportunity to have a short private conversation.

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

My eyes watered, I was so happy to hear him say that. Lewis continued:

“When he returns,
see if he has any particular fetishes.”

“Yes Master,” I replied. 

Master??
  I had spoken the word instinctively, without thinking. But before I could retract it, Lewis softly covered my lips with his hand to silence me.

“Shhh,” he said, “I own you now.”  He confirmed he was my Master, and I was very
much his.

When the Reverend reappeared,
Lewis melted into the background again. I in turn directed my attention to my next task – getting the client to reveal a specific fetish. I decided not to blurt out my question. A fetish can be private, and not something readily revealed. Even though the Reverend had just whipped and fucked me, he might be hesitant to disclose something so personal.  Instead, I tried a more measured approach:

“I’m glad you’re back, Reverend. I dreamed about this day for several weeks, and I can’t believe you’re actually here, r
ight before me, in the flesh. I want to please you, so badly.”

“You have been pleasing me Abigail. That was the first time I
had sex with a woman since my college years, before I entered the church.”

“
Am I the first girl you ever dominated?”

“You are,” he
said, circling my body like a shark circling its prey. “But you know, since the church defrocked me, technically I’m not longer your Reverend.  From this point forward, you might as well call me Simon.”

“Yes
Simon Sir, I understand.”

“I’d never once lifted a finger to
touch anyone inappropriately, not so much as a word; and yet they disgraced me with dismissal. That’s why I thought ‘what the hell’ when Lewis approached me and told me all about your secret.”

Simon
, as odd as it was to think of him by that name, was opening up to me.  This was ideal.  It would allow me to inquire about his kinks: “In the novels you read, or in the DVDs, was there anything that you found particularly interesting?” 

I
had chosen my words carefully. By putting my question in the context of the porn material, it was somehow less invasive, and hopefully easier for Simon to be forthcoming with me. Further, I intentionally used the word ‘interesting’ rather than ‘arousing’ to downplay it further.

He hesitated but answered, “
One story I found intriguing centered on a Master who left bite marks on his slave.”

“Oh
my.  I’ve always been incredibly turned on at the prospect of a strong dominant man biting me, sinking his teeth into my flesh; I’ve even masturbated to the fantasy of it.”

“
You have, really?”

“Yes. Very much so. Oh, please
Simon Sir, please bite me. I’d love it if you did. Please bite me anywhere you choose.”

He
moved behind me. Then reached around my body and took hold of my breasts, still very tender from the lashing they had just received.  I could feel his cock against my lower back and ass as he leaned into me. He was getting hard again. His strong fingers now squeezed deeper into my breasts. I felt his warm breath on my shoulder and knew exactly where he was contemplating sinking his teeth. All he needed was a tiny bit more encouragement: