TWO PAIN STORIES
FATHER WAS A HARD MAN
Father,was a very exacting man, and got on me about doing work around the house and the yard, when I wasn’t involved in my studies, which he also supervised quite intensely. I can remember Father being upset because he thought I did a shoddy job scrubbing the kitchen “Come here, Lawson” Father shouted. What a big, handsome man he was, with thick black hair and bulging muscles.
Father grabbed me that day by the shoulder—I was twenty then, and just about his size, but not nearly as muscular—and Father shook me. “Is this what you call a clean kitchen?” Father let go of my shoulder and back handed me so hard my mouth bled.
“Look at the spots around the sink, and you certainly didn’t scour the burners.”
Getting up off the floor, I protested, my knees knocking but I could tell Father was already reaching for his belt. “I’m so sorry, sir, I’ll—“
But Father was removing his belt. “No no, you’re going to pay for this, mister, drop your britches!” Father’s brows were thunderous, and my brothers and sisters, all high school and college age, came to watch the show.
“Right now, in front of my little sisters?” I was trying to negotiate, to get Father to see the sense of propriety, but my sisters of course were not going to help, as they loved my ritual humiliations. I had never seen any of them disciplined, or undressed, beyond a gentle word of reproach…but I of course, as the Great Hope of the family, the one who was to be so successful, I had to be kept in line…strictly in line!
“Daddy, don’t let Lawson get away with this!” Lissie, my 18 year old, golden haired brat of a sister said. “Beat his ass…I need something to tell the girls at the mall tonight, and my boyfriend will think it’s hilarious, like the time he came over and Lawson was in the corner with his pants down!”
I could tell that Father was attempting to hide a smile at my sister’s comments, and my other sisters, Celeste and Colette were giggling as well. They all had a night life with boyfriends and other interests, but I was always kept in, doing housework and academic efforts, as I was the one who would support the family one day.
“Down with those pants, now, sir!” Father shouted at me, and I struggled to quickly take down my trousers, and then my underwear. Father then threw me across the kitchen table and began whacking my bare buttocks, first with the heel of his wing-tip leather shoes, and then with his feared belt, which had the ability to reduce me to acute misery and hysteria. I tried hard not to sob; as my brothers were laughing now, but there was no use…I didn’t take pain well!
Sometimes Father would give me a more severe punishment—he’d sentence me to “restriction” which meant sixty days of not leaving the house or watching TV or computer time, but also I would be forced to wear a pair of frilly panties, and that was all.
This could be especially embarrassing, as my sisters were friends with some of the hotties at the college I went to, and they would come visit, and it was terribly humiliating!
Having these clothed girls around, laughing behind their pretty, manicured hands as I skulked around the house, nearly naked except for the panties was almost too much to bear, and my athletic, gang-boy brothers weren’t much help either. They loved to try and toss me a football as I danced in the panties, and their hoodlum friends were quite involved in the fun.
Of course Father and Mother would see any excuse to make me bare my buttocks for another thrashing…my upbringing was such that my parents expected only the best from me, as I had the highest IQ in Kimball County.
Sometimes when I didn’t do particularly well on a test, Father would first thrash me until I cried with a thick leather belt, or a big wooden paddle that he’d had made by a craftsman friend of his…he enjoyed ordering me to get it from it’s hanging place on the wall, and coming, teary-eyed to get my licking.
Then Father would, after my whipping make me stand in the corner with my frilly panties down to my knees, sometimes for hours. When he was especially displeased with me, Father would make me stand in my sister’s high heels, which almost crushed my feet.
When Marjorie Winslow, the most beautiful sophomore at Kimball College came over to study with my sister and saw me this way, I am afraid she took a picture with her Iphone which was displayed all over the neighborhood—my reddened bottom, the lowered panties and of course the ridiculous high heels.
I remember Marjorie laughed lightly and when I turned to look at her, from my position in the corner, she gasped in pretend horror at my erect penis, and Father came over and turned me over his knee for having the effrontery of leaving the corner without his permission.
I endured forty whacks that time with the strap before he threw me back sobbing and miserable, quite humiliated in the corner to stand again. Later that night, I was masturbating; thinking of lovely Marjorie and her sexy violet sweater, and Father came in and caught me, and ordered me to lie spread eagled on the bed, where he secured my wrists to the bedposts.
Father then whipped my cock for the disobedience and sin of masturbation for nearly an hour, this time using cut rosebush branches, thorny as all get out. Father had told met hat onanism was the greatest of sins, and that I had to keep my reproductive juices for the woman I was to marry, even if I was a randy adolescent boy.
By the time Father had broken five thorny branches, my penis was wilted and bleeding and my thighs were filled with scratch marks from the thorny branches, and my eyes were wet from crying, my voice hoarse from screams.
But it never stopped me from touching my nasty member, as soon as Father left the room, I am ashamed to say that I just couldn’t control myself, and began stroking again, quite illegally.
Yes, Father treated me with such contempt. After he caught me masturbating he called me his spittoon, and for weeks afterwards, while I was still on restriction, Father would order me to bend and catch his tobacco spit in my mouth…I realize now that Father was just trying to show me what a nasty little pervert I was being…and that I could grow up to be respectable and manly. After all, jerking off is such an unmanly way to behave!
Sometimes, when Mother and Father were exasperated with me, such as when I missed two questions on the Foreign Service exam, they’d arrange for a nice drive with my siblings and take them to an amusement park or the beach, but they’d lock me in the closet naked, and I’d have to while away the long hot sweaty hours in the confined space.
Or, if the family was going to leave for several days, they’d lock me in the trunk of Dad’s Subaru and let my 19 year old sister Colette feed me bits of bread during the brief time that the family was taking umbrellas and sunscreen out of the trunk on the way to the beach. Colette and Celeste would sometimes play with my dick just a little, before the trunk slammed!
I would be given a pee bottle and have to pee in it during the time I was locked in the dark trunk and then I’d have to hand that out to Colette, and she would pour it into the parking lot and hand it back to me, before she went to surf and play in the water with my brothers and sisters. If she saw or sniffed that I’d even dropped a tiny droplet of pee in the trunk, I’d be required to drink the contents of the urine bottle!
It was a little better at night, being locked in the trunk and a tiny bit cooler, but I was sad because of course the family would be inside the motel room, enjoying cable television and snacks, and I would be eating a stale crust of bread…
My father and brothers would jerk off on the bread and sop it up with their semen and I’d have to lick it clean for the sins of my masturbation…because of course it didn’t matter that Bubba and Sonny jerked off, they weren’t the ones that were the Great Hope for the Family…they got to fuck girls and raise hell…and I had a very disciplined life…alas!
One night when I was in the trunk of my parent’s car, at a Super 8 motel, just outside
Father and my brother Bubba opened the trunk around and put a blindfold on me, binding my hands and
feet. Atlantic City
They took me (I assume) to an apartment somewhere and I was ordered to suck numerous men’s cocks as Father and Bubba had incurred some serious gambling debts while going to casinos while Mother and my siblings had been enjoying the beach, and of course I had been locked in the trunk.
Father told me that I had to service many penises to keep our house from being taken away by Salvatore “Salami” Mazzotti, who was apparently some gay Mafioso. By the end of the night, my jaws were aching and tired, and my anus was ravaged and engorged, and I was glad to be locked back in the trunk. It was a shame that Dad and Bubba neglected to untie me when they laid me in the trunk again so I could at least stretch a bit, after all I’d done to keep from losing our homestead.
I lived at home the entire time I went to college and got my MBA. Father wouldn’t have it any other way, though of course I was on full scholarship. Father was good at keeping me up to the academic mark. Sometimes he would quiz me from the trigonometry text, or check my term paper on the art of Cezanne for spelling or other errors. If Father found one error that particularly irked him, he would exercise his thick blackthorn walking stick on my bare buttocks as I crouched in the punishment position he’d trained me for since childhood—naked, head down, butt up where Dad could have a good and inviting target!
And sometimes he would even shove the cane up my rectum a little to remind me that a slovenly student would never be a successful or reputable businessman. When Father thought I was focusing too much on the girls at university (though I wasn’t allowed to date, or even leave the house at night) he gave me a unique punishment—Father and my two blue collar brothers hosted a poker game some nights.
As I said before, Father had a gambling problem—and Dad would make me be the waitress on the game, serving beer while wearing full makeup and eye shadow, blusher and lipstick and a little purple gown…and serve the men, some of them guys I’d gone to school with…and when Dad lost big, he’d replace his IOUs by having me service some of the boys as currency with my mouth…and then assured me that a man who sucked cock as I did really would be of no use to a woman, which made me cry bitterly!
I CAN TELL YOU MORE AT
SLAVE LEA’S DIARY
So today I was coming back from my business trip in ______ and on the highway home, I drove past a group of motorcycle guys, obvious patched bikers. I waved at one of them, and he waved back, and I pulled over, and he and the other bikers pulled up, probably quite pleased to note an attractive, curvy blonde waving them over.
I stepped out of the car, and made my pitch to the guy who I guess was the um, leader. His name was Phil. I think I might have shocked him. I told him what I needed, and told him that I would be willing to pay for it, as well as pay for the motel room, and to service he and his friends in any way they liked, after it was finished.
Phil, who was a nicer guy than he looked, which was tattooed, bald and scary, insisted I didn’t have to pay them—indeed, they’d love the opportunity! “I’ve had some rough sex.” But I told him, that it was important that I paid for my needs, that I needed it quite intensely.
We pulled up to a real shitbag—Motel 8, or 6, or some number, and I paid for the room and invited Phil and his six friends in. They stood and looked at me for a moment, while I disrobed, taking off my Chanel skirt and jacket, unbuttoning my silk blouse and then removing my French demi bra and panties…and then I took off my wig.
This might have staggered lesser men, a cleanly shaven head on an otherwise attractive and normal looking woman. But other than a gasp or two, they continued to just stand, dumbly.
I went into my briefcase and took out the cuffs, both for my wrists and ankles. “Now cuff me and put me straight on the bed, because I’m a squirmer” I said to Phil, and his (sidekick?) Freckles. “Take out the two foot paddle from my knapsack, that’s next to the briefcase, and the razor strop, and give me what I need.”
Freckles mumbled something about a safe word and I snickered at him. “I don’t need a safe word.” I said, smiling. “If you want, you can gag me, but it’s probably not necessary. I’m just going to kneel on the bed here and have you boys cuff me up, and I trust you’ll give me a nice hard time. And if I’m impressed, we’ll go to the ATM and you’ll be handsomely rewarded!”
I knelt on the bed. I’m about thirty-two, so I’m not THAT young, but I look pretty good, and Phil let one of the barely-twentysomethings put the cuffs on me. I could tell that he had not been near a whole lot of women, as he was panting a little and being careful with the cuffs—I was kneeling on the bed with my face away from him as he locked on the cuffs on my wrists and then the others on my ankles.
“I hope these ain’t too tight, Miss” the boy said, and I turned to look at him with a rueful smile.
“Sweetie, the tighter the better. Have you ever spanked a girl before?” But of course he just blushed. My God, he was probably nineteen, and Phil and the other guys laughed.
“Leland is a little wet behin’ the ears, Lea, but he’s damned willing!” Phil laughed.
“Oh go to hell, Phil” Leland mumbled, but he touched my back hesitantly.
I turned my bald head to Leland and smiled. “Leland, I’ve been a bad girl, and I need a spanking on my round little butt…can you accommodate me? Put a couple pillows under my stomach so you have a good target.”
The guys all laughed, but Phil and Freckles did the pillow work, and then they handed Leland the paddle. He was such a sweet kid, with a Mohawk and he was wearing one of those ridiculous jean jackets with the cut-off sleeves…
Leland gave my ass a half-hearted slap with the paddle. I knew he was afraid of hurting me. I turned my head to him, shaking the cue-ball at him. “C’mon, Leland, you can do better than that—you’re not a wimp, are you?”
Leland muttered something about hitting a defenseless bound woman, but then he swung the paddle harder—it was a short, thick fraternity paddle, and the second time he swung it, it connected pretty hard, and I could feel the redness gathering in my buttocks cheeks.
“Boys, if Leland isn’t up to it, it’ll have to be someone else.” I was trying to piss Leland off, I guess, and finally I think I got him. Leland began energetically swatting my buttocks, about thirty times. I didn’t make a sound, and finally, I guess his arm was tired…
Leland had a pretty good swing, but he didn’t know how to arch his back and put effort into it, scientifically, like Mother does. Mother knows where the tender spot is just below my buttocks and my upper thighs, and is smart enough to slash the paddle on secret sensitive spots that always bring me to sure tears…but Mother is an old adversary.
Phil took up the paddle next, and thrashed me a bit, and then I suggested they take out the razor strop, and use it on my breasts…For a time Phil and Freckles double-teamed me, one whipping my boobs with the strop while the other attended to my rear—and then Leland looked a little resentful, so I told him that I’d suck him off …and if I didn’t make him cum in three minutes he could put a cigarette out on my tender breasts.
Mother would have been so proud…
The rest of this diary can be obtained from