I got out of the looney bin this morning. Dr. B said that I was “not a danger to myself or society,” whatever that means. I still have to complete the full evaluation, however, or the police will recommend that I be put on the state sexual offender list. I can’t believe that. Just because I was naked in public they want to lump me in with perverts who prey on little children.
I thought Dr B was just saying that to scare me, but I looked it up after I got home, and yes, they can brand you a sexual pervert for life just because you were naked in public. There is some gender discrimination, however. Women are almost never put on the list for flashing. Men, on the other hand, end up on the list quite often. I guess this is one area where sexual discrimination works in my favor.
I was really afraid of how things were going to go with my parents. They picked me up about noon after I had finished my session with Dr. B and a short trip to the court house to appear before a judge. Technically, I am in “supervised release.” I don’t know what I am released from because they haven’t charged me with anything except maybe being nuts. The public defender explained to me that supervised release meant that if I didn’t report back to Dr. B like I was supposed to, all he had to do was report it to the judge and I would be “taken in.”
I think Dad would say that they have me by the short hairs, except, I don’t have any short hairs. I keep them all plucked off with one of those spinning tweezer things. Not everybody can use one of those, but I’m not all that hairy to begin with, so I can keep everything really smooth down there with out a whole lot of effort.
Speaking of Dad, he was really silent when they picked me up and didn’t say a word all the way home. When we got home, all my equipment was laid out on the kitchen table. Well, it didn’t all fit on the table. The heavy stuff like the battery winches and some chains and things were on the floor next to the table.
“Is this everything?” Dad asked once we walked into the kitchen.
“That looks like everything that was in my bedroom and the basement,” I answered. I didn’t think it was a good time to mention the studio I had set up in the old shed that I used to use as a play house.
“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.
“The question is,” he replied, “‘What are YOU going to do with it?’ or more importantly, ‘What in the hell HAVE you been doing with it?’”
I felt myself getting all hot and red. I mean, who wants to talk to their father about their sex habits. Mom put her hand on my shoulder and smiled at me in that “I’m with you,” motherly sort of way.
“I’m a pain slut, Dad,” I said. I was really surprised to hear myself say that, but I had been saying it so much to Dr B and the other shrinks that it just came out. I stood there all red and embarrassed. This was humiliating beyond belief, but it definitely wasn’t turning me on.
“I don’t know why I am, but I am.” I stammered. “I get sexual pleasure… a lot of sexual pleasure out of pain and bondage and humiliation. This equipment allows me to do that with the minimum of danger to myself or others.”
He looked at me with a very fixed glare. I took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t know why I’m that way, but I am. If you lock all this up or make me throw it all away, what I am will eventually overwhelm me and I will go out and do something really stupid like going down to The Grease Pit and letting them do whatever they want with me.”
I stopped, unsure of what to say next and then continued, “I don’t ever want to do that… again.”
I heard Mom gasp slightly but she said nothing. I looked as directly into my Dad’s eyes as I could and said, “So please, Dad, just let Dr. B and the other keepers at the nut house work with me and see what they recommend. Maybe they can do something. Or maybe I just have to be what I am.”
Dad’s face got really red. He was trying not to yell, but his voice got deep and strong and you could probably hear him all the way out at the road in front of the house. “Are you trying to tell me that you do all this because that is the way God made you?”
“Yes,” I replied meekly. “That’s what I am trying to tell you.”
“Don’t you dare use that kind of bullshit argument with me, young lady, I…”
Mom cut him off, “Honey,” she said sweetly and he stopped mid-sentence. “Do you remember when the local transport company offered you a job as regional supervisor? You would have been in charge of four of their dispatch centers. It would have been regular hours at almost half-again what you currently make. Do you remember what you told them?”
Dad’s face suddenly got all funny and his shoulders slumped slightly. He took a deep breath and said “Yes.” Somehow all of the anger was gone from his voice. “I told them that God had made me an over-the-road trucker and that was what I was going to be ‘til the day I died. I told you that it was the only way that I could be happy and you told me that if I had to be what I was in order to be happy, then you would always love me as I was.”
For once in my life I made the exactly correct choice and said absolutely nothing.
Mom came over and hugged Dad and said, “Maddi is what she is. If she is just mixed up about what that really is, the doctors will straighten that out. But if she truly is what she says she is, then we need to give her a chance to see how she has to live that out in her life.”
Dad shook his head and softly said, “OK.”
Mom then said, “You told dispatch that you could be on the road by three. You need to get ready. Let me talk to Maddi while you change and then you can come back in and say goodbye.”
Dad walked down the hallway toward their bedroom and Mom motioned for me to come with her into the living room. She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her to indicate that I should join her.
She smiled at me and said, “We will just sit here for a while until your dad is ready to leave. That way we won’t have to stop something and try to restart it.”
We sat there quietly and a few minutes later, Dad came into the living room carrying his duffle bag. “I’ll be back sometime Saturday,” he said softly. Then with a little more force in his voice he turned to me and said, “Don’t do anything stupid. Especially don’t do anything REALLY stupid… again.”
I’m pretty sure he had heard the stories about the drunk girl who asked Brad to beat and humiliate her down at The Grease Pit. Everyone in town knew about it, but for some reason none of the guys who told the story ever said who the girl was. Maybe Brad and his friends are a little more honorable than I thought. In any case, Dad now knew that it had been me.
He put his hand on my shoulder as I sat on the couch. “I don’t want you to ruin your life. I really do love you, and will always love you, whatever you are… or think you are.”
He then bent down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. Mom stood up and they kissed… a real kiss. Then she said, “Keep it tires down.”
That was an old joke between them. Way back before I was born, Dad got caught in one of those freak thunderstorms that pushes high winds out in front of it. He was running empty on his way home and got blown off the road and flipped over by the wind. He called mom to say that he would be getting home a little late because he was “tires up in a corn field.” Ever since then, she always tells him to keep it tires down when she says goodbye.
A few minutes later, I could hear the rumble of Dad’s rig pulling out. I looked at Mom and said, “Where should I start?”
“You could start,” she replied, “by telling me how a struggling college girl can afford all this expensive equipment. Last time I looked, a Jack Rabbit cost around $90 and I know that Pullzall electric come-a-longs cost around $600 because your dad bought one for his truck a while back… and you’ve got two of them sitting on the kitchen floor.”
“You know what a Jack Rabbit costs?” I asked. My voice was slightly higher with surprise and I know that my eyes were wide.
“Actually,” Mom said smiling at me, “I prefer the waterproof pearl Rabbit.”
I felt my mouth drop open. She continued, “It does get very lonely out there in those motels every week and I really do love a nice, long, hot bath at the close of the day.”
She looked at me over the top of her glasses and said, “Honey, sexual urges don’t go away just because you get old. And I’m not that old. If I didn’t let off the steam once in a while, eventually the boiler would explode and I would end up doing something really stupid that would hurt what I have with your dad. We love each other very much. He stays faithful to me, and I stay faithful to him.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Actually,” she said, “it’s a little easier for him.” She laughed. “No, it is a LOT easier for him. He doesn’t have all that high a sex drive to begin with. I’m the one who usually has to initiate things. And it isn’t because he’s lost interest in me. He’s always been that way. When I met him, I was working at a truck stop at night while I took classes during the day. The other truckers used to tease him because he wouldn’t go out to the local titty bars and strip clubs with them. He doesn’t turn on instantly, but if you get the flame going, he can go on forever and ever and drive you…”
She suddenly colored and coughed nervously. I guess talking about your sex life to your daughter isn’t all that easy either. “But we were talking about how you could afford all of this,” she said suddenly.
Mom looked at me with one of those looks that only a parent can give you that says, “I love you whatever you say, but you had damn well better answer the question.”
“I saved up my tips to buy the jack rabbit,” I answered timidly.
“And the rest?” she asked. Her eyebrows were up in that “Tell your mother the truth” sort of way.
“I’m Beat Girl,” I said quietly.
“What?” Mom replied. “What do you mean by that?”
“Let me get my laptop,” I said and walked back into the kitchen to retrieve it. I picked up the little insert that allowed me to put the laptop on the TV and turned on the big TV on the other side of the room from us. A few moments later, my computer was on the screen. I typed a URL into the browser and an animated cartoon started playing.
A naked girl in a pink cape and Batman mask was running toward the screen. The old Batman theme was playing in the background. It kept repeating “Dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum DUM, BEAT GIRL!”
Each time it said “Beat Girl,” the animated character would be up close to the screen and would turn and bend over so that her ass nearly filled the screen. The first time, an animated paddle slapped across her ass and “Whap!” appeared in big blue letters. The next time a whip slammed into her and “Ka Pow!” appeared in giant red letters. Finally a red wand reached out and a spark jumped to the atavar’s ass. “ZAP!” appeared in big jagged letters. Then the whole animation repeated.
“That’s a TAZapper,”I said in explanation. “It’s spelled t-a-z-a-p-p-e-r, but pronounced ‘Tay Zapper.’ They’re like a cattle prod, but a lot smaller and safe to use on a human.” I paused and then added, “But they still hurt like hell.”
The cartoon had again looped back to the beginning so I clicked on a small icon in the corner that said, “Log In Here.” After I entered my name and password, a new screen appeared. There were a series of pictures of a real girl in the pink cape and Batman mask. In one she was tied over a spanking bench with a complicated spanking machine slamming a paddle into her ass. In another she was covered with wires and contact pads. The top hat electrodes on her nipples and the contact clip on her clit looked very familiar. The third image visible on the screen showed her bound between two metal poles with several robot looking arms holding TAZappers next to her skin.
Along side each image it said, “Members may click to replay previous sessions.”
At the top of the screen it said, “Next live session, Tuesday night 9 pm Eastern US Time”
“Members pay $3.00 a month.” I explained. Harold has a friend of a friend of a friend who runs a bunch of porn sites. He handles all the money transactions and Harold and I get a cut of it. Harold maintains the equipment and programs it so that it can’t actually hurt me… like in damage me. Obviously, it hurts me.
“I want to see one,” Mom said softly. Her voice was almost a whisper.
“Which one?” I asked. I really wasn’t sure about showing her one of the actual sessions.
“The one with the paddle,” she answered.
I clicked on the image and the screen went to video mode. “Do you really want to see this?” I asked, hoping she would say no, but she shook her head yes.
The Beat Girl theme started playing and on the screen I came running up to the camera and spun around so that my ass practically filled the screen. “I don’t have any tattoos or special birth marks so I can’t be recognized,” I said in explanation.
Mom remained silent.
“This is a thirty minute session,” the me on the screen said brightly. “Once I get myself strapped in, the timer starts.” Then I turned to look directly into the camera and said, “Remember to purchase your points so you can play. The paddle is 50 points a swat; the whip is 75; and the cane is 250.”
“Everything is in points,” I explained, “because this goes out all over the world and points cost different amounts in different countries.”
“You mean that the whole world watches you get your naked ass beaten?” Mom asked. There was a strange breathiness in her voice.
As the screen me started to strap herself into the spanking bench, a message appeared across the screen that said, “Remember, in a live session there are 8 camera angles to choose from. Live sessions cost 50 points to enter.” After a few seconds, that message faded and a new message said, “Next live session is Tuesday night, 9 pm Eastern US time.”
The screen me was finally in place. She squeezed something in her left hand and the restraint belts tightened to hold her firmly in place. “That is a deadman safety switch,” I explained. “If something goes really wrong, all I have to do is to let go and everything stops. Harold insists we always use one. I had one of those in my hand Thursday night.”
Mom said nothing.
A timer appeared in the upper right hand corner of the screen. Beneath it were three lists, one above the other. The top list said PADDLE; the second said WHIP; and the third said CANE. Beneath the titles were three headings. “Cue,” “Member Name,” and “Strokes.” The first person in the paddle list had cue 001 and had paid for 7 strokes. Number 002 was in the whip list and had 5 strokes. The next eight or ten in the cue must have been in paddle because the next whip name had a cue number of 0014.
“You can use a keyboard, mouse or a game controller to control the devices in the live session. For a TAYZapper session you need a joy stick or game controller.” I started to explain, but my words were drowned out as the screen me screamed with the first paddle strike.
“Most of the time,” I explained, “the screams are acting. Sometimes the orgasms are fake, too, but a lot of the time, the screams and the orgasms are totally real.”
Mom didn’t seem like she was paying attention anymore. Her eyes were glued to the screen as the paddle completed the seventh swat and the whip swung back in an arc and snapped forward. It was programmed not to hit twice in exactly the same place, so the first strike was diagonal across the screen me’s back. It then shifted slightly and slammed down again. By the time the fifth stroke hit, the screen me was screaming very loudly and it did not at all sound fake.
There was a few second pause while the whip mechanism moved out of the way and the paddle mechanism again moved into place. The members don’t know it, but there is a limit as to how fast any of the devices can be triggered. If you don’t trigger something after 30 seconds, it triggers automatically, but you can’t trigger faster than every five seconds.
I once made the mistake of sitting down and calculating the maximum number of swats I could receive in a 30 minutes session. With a limit of every ten seconds, that is 12 a minute. Thirty minutes means 360 swats. That can be a lot, especially if someone chooses the double or triple option and pays 100 or 150 per swat so it hits twice or three times as hard. Close ups of the paddle slamming into my ass supposedly prove that it is actually doubling or tripling the hit.
I wasn’t really watching the screen me. After all, I had been there. Then I heard my mother gasp. I glanced up at the screen. It was that one! I remember this session very well. Cue position 21 was someone who had paid for 12 cane strokes. There were three stars next to the number of strokes. That meant he had paid 750 points for each stroke and they would be triple.
Harold said that whoever it was probably thought I would break and drop the safety. If I do that, the session is stopped early and everyone gets their money back. Twelve strokes of the cane at 750 points each was 9000 points. If RichBastard1978 was American, he was paying twenty cents a point, so this was going to cost him $1800.
When I’m strapped into the spanking machine, I have a monitor that I can see so that I can keep track of the time and know what is coming next. When the screen me saw the 12 triple cane strokes in the cue, she almost dropped the safety switch.
I remember looking at the highlighted name in the paddle list that night just like I was watching it today. It was CharlieChan007 and he had 4 more swats coming. He was cue number 19. Cue number 20 was in the whip list and had paid for 3 strokes. The timer in the corner was down to two minutes. I knew that if these guys delayed their strokes, RichBastard wouldn’t have time for all twelve.
They must have realized that, too, because both of them had to have held down their controllers. The four swats with the paddle and the three with the whip were all exactly five seconds apart. Even with the delay between members waiting in the cue, there was still 1 minute and 20 seconds left on the timer when RichBastard took control. By the time the cane mechanism moved into place another 6 seconds had passed by. 72 seconds was more than enough time to deliver all twelve strokes.
Then the first stroke hit. Screen me’s scream and thrashing around was not faked in any way. When the second stroke hit she screamed even louder and nearly broke the restraint across her back which protected her kidneys and held her tightly in place. By the time the fourth stroke slammed into her asscheeks, her screams were continuous and she was vibrating and bouncing almost as if she were having a seizure.
By the eighth stroke, the screen me was screaming both as she exhaled and as she inhaled. She was also babbling, “Please stop. Please! Please stop! God, please stop!” But the only thing that could stop it was if she dropped the safety switch or if RichBastard cancelled out. She didn’t drop the switch, and RichBastard kept going until he had used up all twelve of his strokes. When the twelfth stroke hit, there was exactly four seconds left on the timer.
I watched as the screen me kept screaming and thrashing and crying out. Then suddenly the voice coming out of the TV changed slightly. The screams became a bit lower and throatier and then morphed into a long grunting gasps of “aahhh, aahhh, aahh, aahh.” Then her voice again rose into an extremely shrill scream as she cried out, “Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” and once again thrashed against her bonds. This time it was not pain that was driving her, but what was obviously a very intense orgasm.
I watched the screen me finally start to calm down and said, “They aren’t all like that, Mom. Some are pretty tame.”
Mom didn’t answer. After a few seconds I looked over at her. Her face was very red and she was breathing deeply. Her hands were balled up against the outside of her thighs as if she were holding them there to keep them from acting on their own.
“Mom? Are you OK?” I asked her.
She took a very deep breath and smoothed out the material of her dress with her hands. “Not really,” she replied after a few moments. “Honey, you and I are not as different as you think. I just never had the courage to act on my impulses. You probably have a lot more women than you think who sign onto your site and imagine themselves where you are.”
She stood up and walked toward the door to the kitchen. “Do what you need to do,” she said as she paused in the doorway. “I will back you and make sure that your father understands.” She gave a deep sigh, “No, he will never understand, but I do. He will back you because he loves you… and me.”
She looked at me and said, “I took tomorrow as a vacation day also, so we can talk more then. Right now, I think I have to take a long, hot bath… a really long, and really hot bath.” She then gave me a really strange smile and added, “… just me and my waterproof rabbit.”
After she walked down the hallway, I sat there staring at the doorway. I had been afraid she wouldn’t understand, but she understood. She understood completely because she was also a pain slut. She was just like me, but she was somehow able to keep it all buried deep within her and only let it out in her fantasies.
I heard the water running in the bathroom as Mom filled the tub. A sudden weird thought went through my brain and I signed back onto the website using my full administrator name and password. I created a comp account with a five-year membership and a 10,000 point reserve. Then I emailed the membership name and password to my mother.
Tomorrow night, when I go back online live, I won’t know whether or not she is watching, but the fact that she might be will add to the humiliation. Who knows, I might even see BatMom show up in the cue. I just hope she doesn’t blow all the credits buying triple cane strokes.
It’s been a long day. I’m grabbing a sandwich and going to bed.
End of entry for Day Four
Maddi’s Diary, Day Five, Tuesday
I didn’t write anything last night before I went to bed. I am actually writing this first thing Wednesday morning before going in for my session with Dr. B. By the time my online session ended last night, I was too tired and too hurting to do anything but crawl into bed.
I guess I should say what happened last night during the session. It was “Electric Beat Girl Night” so everything was electro-sex, or maybe I should say electro-pain. I don’t really like the electro stuff. It worked out on the highway because I was naked in public, but doing it in a studio setting just doesn’t feel sexual to me. That means my pain buddies don’t show up and the pain is basically just pain, but this is, after all, a business and you need to keep the customers happy. Besides, electro sessions give an additional week for the bruises and welts to heal.
The sessions alternate between impact sessions and shock sessions. First and third Tuesdays are paddle, whip and cane; second Tuesdays are electro-stim; and fourth Tuesdays are TAZapper sessions. If there is a fifth Tuesday, that is a combination session with all three types combined. I really hate those, but at the same time, I probably have my most intense orgasms during them.
Last night was a second Tuesday, so it was an electro-stim session. The overall sessions last longer on a second Tuesday because I make a big deal of putting all the electrodes in place. I start with the paste-on contact pads. The first ones in place go on my arms just above the leather wrist restraints.
The contacts themselves are white squares about 2″ across. There is a big black “1″ on each of the wrist contacts. And when I put them in place a list starts on the left side of the screen. Actually, I just step on a foot switch that triggers the list in the program. The first entry is “1 – Wrist,” so that is what I put on first. Harold set up the list. He said it works “from the perimeter to the interesting stuff” to further entice people to spend points on shocks.
Similar pads are placed on the inside of my legs just above the ankle restraints. Those are contacts number 2. Number 3 is higher up on my arms on the inside of my biceps; 4 is on the front of my legs just above the knees; 5 is inside my legs on my thighs; 6 is my upper abdomen; 7 is my lower abdomen; 8 is the bottom side of my tits; 9 is the top side of my tits; 10 and 11 are on the top and bottom of my asscheeks; 12 is at the very top of my legs in the front just on either side of the pubic mound; and 13 is on the inside of my legs right below my pussy.
After I get all the pads in place, then I start connecting the wires to the electrodes. As I clip each wire to the corresponding electrode, the list on the screen shows the point cost to use that electrode. The closer the pad is to “the interesting stuff” the more points a shock costs. Low numbers are 3 points a shock. The higher numbers are 8 points a shock.
After I get all of the wires clipped in place, I get out the anal and vaginal electrodes. The anal electrode is just a big butt plug with two metal stripes on it. I hold it up to the camera and then smear some lube on it. Then I turn around and point my ass at one of the lower cameras and slowly push it into place. As I do, it appears on the menu list. Twanging my poop shoot is 10 points.
After the butt plug is in place, I pick up the clit zapper. It is technically called a vaginal shield and clitoral electrode and it looks like a man’s ball protector cup for playing baseball, but it has electrodes on the inside that fit up against my labia and a clip electrode that connects directly to my clit. The whole thing is held in place by straps that make it look like some weird kind of thong. The strap that goes between my legs also connects to the anal electrode and holds it in place. The labia popper is 20 points. The clit zapper is 50.
The final electrode that I put in place is a tongue clamp. It is a really weirdly shaped thing that clamps down lightly on my tongue and acts as a gag at the same time. I end up with the tip of my tongue sticking out of my mouth through the center of the clamp. It isn’t all that uncomfortable unless it gets zapped. Then it hurts like hell, even more than getting zapped directly on my clit. Maybe that is because there is no erotic aspect to the pain I feel there. A single shock to the mouth is 250 points. Like I said, it hurts like hell and doesn’t give me any pleasure, so if I get zapped there, at least I know somebody paid $50 to do it. There is also no double or triple option for the tongue electrode.
It takes about twenty minutes for me to get completely wired up. Then I step into the restraint frame. The restraint frame is just a giant square that stands about 8 feet high and is about 8 feet wide. Restraint cables come down from the corners on top and out of the corners on the bottom. The cables themselves run inside the frame and aren’t visible until they come down from the corners. The whole thing can be rotated so that I can be held at any angle. During the actual session, it slowly rotates so that it makes four complete revolutions in the thirty minutes. It turns all the way over in one direction and then rotates back in the opposite direction. That way the electrode cables don’t get all wound up in the mechanism.
Because everything rotates, there isn’t a monitor that I can see to know who is in the cue or what is coming next. I wouldn’t be able to tell anyway. There isn’t a time spacer on the shocks, so they can come pretty fast and besides, the cue list for the electro-stim session doesn’t say what all a person has purchased. It just says who is next.
Once the cables are attached to my wrist and ankle restraints, a message appears on the screen telling people to make sure they have purchased their points. Harold signed me in to one of the Oriental versions of the site one day and showed me a video of one of the sessions. It was weird to see all the directions and information come up in Chinese or Japanese or whatever it was.
Anyway, I went through all of that last night and stood there waiting for the first shock. As the restraint square started to slowly rotate, I realized that because I couldn’t see a monitor I wouldn’t know if Mom actually used any of her points and zapped me. For some reason that thought and how embarrassed it made me to think that Mom might be watching or even participating in all this, started my juices flowing. Then the first shocks hit.
I probably should have had Harold program it so that you had to start with some of the milder areas, like my arms and legs, but whoever gets on the cue list first can do whatever they want. And whoever this was wanted the big three. The first zap pulled my pucker string and tightened my asshole around the butt plug. That normally doesn’t really hurt, but this must be someone with a lot of money to spend because they were using the double or triple option.
I squeaked when that first shock hit. It wasn’t really a scream, but it wasn’t fake either. There were five zaps. The last one was definitely a triple. Then the shocks bit my labia. That always hurts, and this was hurt times three. I wasn’t squeaking now. I was flat out screaming. Again there were five hits. Whoever it was spaced them so I couldn’t guess when the next one was going to hit.
After the fifth one, there was a long pause. I thought that the system was cycling the next player into place, but a sudden, intense jolt directly to my clit told me otherwise. I was now leaned quite a ways forward as the frame rotated and so I was totally suspended by my arms and legs. When the shock hit and everything tightened up I really thrashed around in the air. More pulses followed and I screamed and twisted in the air with each pulse. As I bounced around and screamed I was a little afraid that I might pull myself out of the restraint cuffs.
When the fifth pulse hit, I tried to beg him– or her, to stop, but the clamp in my mouth is a very effective gag. There was a pause and once again I thought that it might be going to the next player, but after about 15 seconds he hit me with a combination pulse. Combination pulses are on the special menu and are really expensive. Each pulse is double what the total of the individual pulses costs.
This was a combination, triple pulse– no, they had paid the added premium for a quad pulse. My ass, my labia, my clit, AND my tongue all got nailed at exactly the same instant. And it wasn’t just one pulse. It was a pulse train.
Pulse trains are also on the special menu. Selecting pulse train means that you can have the pulse or combination pulse repeat up to 25 times. It repeats really fast and I can tell that it isn’t just someone manually triggering it. The shocks slammed into my ass, my labia, my clit, and my tongue again and again and again and again.
They seemed to go on forever and I was as close as I have ever been to dropping the safety switch. Then they stopped. It wasn’t a long pause, but after 25 intense shocks in about 15 seconds, even a few seconds seems long. Then came a grand slam pulse,
No one had ever chosen a grand slam pulse before. It is the next-to-the-last item on the special menu and costs three times the total of ALL of the pulses, plus 1000 points. Since it is so expensive and is almost at the bottom of the menu, it was assumed that it would be the last pulse in a player’s play time.
When Harold told me he had put it on the menu, he said, “This is just a fantasy choice. I’ve made it so expensive that nobody is every going to pick it, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
Somebody picked it, but I didn’t have time to worry about it because I didn’t know it was coming. Every single electrode on and in my body was hit with a triple pulse all at the same time. Every muscle in my body tightened as far as they could as lightning went through my nervous system.
I heard the frame creak and groan as I pulled against it. I was now almost face down and bounced up and down like a trampoline. If the butt plug hadn’t been held firmly in place with a leather strap, I probably would have shot it out of my ass like a cork out of a bottle of champagne.
I did loose control of my bladder. I often end up peeing myself on electro nights. I even drink extra water before the session so I have a lot of urine, but peeing myself from the pain is usually fake. Sometime during the half hour, I just let go. Usually I time it so that I am upright in the frame. I learned the hard way not to let go when my feet were higher than my head, especially if I was on my back. Having your own urine running down your body toward your face is not a pleasant feeling.
When the grand slam hit, I didn’t let go, I power sprayed. And I kept going until my bladder was totally empty. The stream was so powerful, I could feel it going out of me and could hear it splashing noisily on the floor beneath me.
I was bouncing up and down in the restraints and screaming and groaning and waiting for the next fiendish pulse to hit, but nothing happened. Nothing at all.
Ten seconds passed. And then twenty. Then thirty. Surely it has cycled to the next player. But if it has, the automatic play should have kicked in and sent the first pulse in his list. Nothing happened. Or did it?
There had been a slight twinge on my clit, but after everything that had just happened, I almost didn’t feel it. Then it hit again. This time it was slightly stronger, but it was still almost not enough to feel. After a long pause, it hit again. Again slightly stronger.
This was not a different member. This was still the first player. The last item on the special menu is the ramp pulse. I don’t even remember how many points it costs, but it allows you to set up a pulse train that grows slowly in intensity and speed. You can set it for up to 100 pulses and specify whether they get stronger or weaker, faster or slower, or combinations of both.
Another pulse hit my clit. I think it was faster. I know it was stronger.
Then another and another and another and another. They weren’t up to the level of painful… yet, but all I could think about was my clit and the sensations coming from it. My whole body hurt. The previous shocks had put me through the wringer and my muscles and joints were sore. Now everything was concentrated on my clit.
Something started happening that had never happened before in an electro session. My E buddies started showing up in droves. Each pulse to my now very tender clit was a klaxon call for the endorphins to gather. And they were definitely responding to the call.
The shocks to my clit were getting stronger, but with endorphins flooding my bloodstream, the pain was being turned into pleasure and that pleasure was centered between my legs. The pulses were now strong enough to cause me to twitch as they hit, but I wasn’t screaming or thrashing around as they hit. Instead I was moaning and writhing. This was now absolutely sexual. I was in Pain Slut Nirvana.
I know the pulses were now at least at double level, but I continued to moan in ecstasy. I was well on my way to rainbow mountain and my only fear now was that the pulses would stop before I reached the peak.
The pulses were now at maximum and were hitting me at about three or four a second. I was grunting and screaming out “More. More! MORE!”
I was on the top of the mountain. My body was stretched to the extremes, and it wasn’t just because of the leather restraints and frame. I screamed out, “PLEASE! LET ME CUM!”
I don’t know if it was a part of the program of if the player overrode the pulse ramp, but as soon as I yelled that, a grand slam pulse tore through my body. I had forgotten you could combine that with the pulse ramp.
The first time I felt that pulse I screamed in agony. This time I screamed in the release of orgasm. It was truly a mind-blowing orgasm. I don’t remember anything else about the rest of the session. The next thing that I clearly remember was crawling into my bed and falling asleep. I am going to have to watch the video of that night just to find out what happened in the minutes that were left in the session.
End of entry for Day Five
Maddi’s Diary, Day Six, Wednesday
Wednesday is not a good day for individual sessions with Dr. B. At least Wednesday morning isn’t. I dragged myself out of bed and sat for a few minutes writing up last night and then headed into town so I could be in his office at 10:30. We talked primarily about how things had gone with my parents when I got home.
I told him that Dad really didn’t understand, but he was going to support me in whatever I did. I also told him that Mom understood a lot better than I thought she would, but I would rather wait until Friday to discuss that side of it. He said that it could wait until Monday after he had read my journal for the week.
Well, Dr. B, this should give us something to discuss.
I didn’t get back to the house until almost one. Mom fixed me something to eat and we sat together at the table while we ate. Mom was unusually silent. I think she was waiting for me to start the conversation.
“Did you watch last night?” I asked.
Mom turned white, and then flushed a deep red. She looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “but I had to know for sure.”
“What?” I answered.
I must have looked confused because she smiled and said, “Yes, I watched.”
She looked over at me and sighed slightly. “And I nearly emptied the account you set up for me. I signed on very early and was first in line when you started.”
“That was you!” I exclaimed. My eyes and mouth were wide open in shock.
“I had to know for sure,” she repeated softly.
She reached out and put her hand on top of mine. “Yes, you are a true pain slut,” she said.
She stared down at the table. Her voice was very flat as she continued, “… and so am I.”
“Mom,” I started, but she held up her hand indicating I shouldn’t speak.
“Each thing I did to you,” she said, looking directly into my eyes, “I imagined I was doing to myself. I screamed along with you. … both before… and after.”
She looked down at the tabletop and said softly, “You are what I am.” She sighed again and said, “I am what you are.”
She then looked over at the wall and we sat there in silence for several minutes. After a while, she turned back to me and said, “I can keep the beast caged up.” She laughed. “… most of the time.” She laughed again. “Age allows you to do that. But you are young and the beast roars much more strongly within you.”
I started to speak, but she again held up her hand to silence me. “You have two paths from which to choose. You can do as I did and firmly cage the beast and try to live as though it is not within you. Or you can search for some way… or some place, where your beast can be allowed to safely run free. Those are your only choices. Trust me on this. I have lived long enough to see it and know what is happening. Any other path will lead to your destruction.”
She patted my hand with hers. “Think about it. I’ll support you whatever you decide.”
I guess that there was nothing else to say so I remained silent. After a few moments, Mom got up and kissed me on the forehead and then headed down the hallway toward her bedroom. “I would appreciate it if the account you gave me to your website remained open, but only put enough in the account so that I can watch the sessions. The beast got away from me last night. I don’t want to risk that happening again. The temptation is too great.”
“I love you, Mom.” I answered. Then I called down the hallway after her, “I’ll have Harold set it up so you have open access to the sessions but can’t join the player cue lists.”
“Thank you, honey,” she replied. “I knew you would understand.”
Nothing much else really happened the rest of the day. Both Mom and I spent most of the day in bed. We were both exhausted.
End of entry for Day Six
Maddi’s Diary, Day Seven, Thursday
Mom went back to work today, so I had the house to myself. Dad won’t be home until Saturday night because he left late and is running behind. Mom doesn’t have to go do any training sessions until next week so she was home around six. We didn’t really see each other, though, because I had to go back to work at the restaurant and my shift began at four.
Yes, I did go back and watch the video from Tuesday night. What Mom did to me took 22 minutes, so there were 8 minutes of session left after my mind exploded. In the video it looks like I am screaming and writhing in extreme pain as the other players used up their points shocking my arms and legs and tits and ass, but the reality is that it was one, long, tear your mind and body apart orgasm.
Mom was right. The beast was roaring in both of us last night. She was also right when she said that the temptation was too great. She knew that if she had the ability to do so, she would repeat what she did or worse. And I knew that if I let the beast roar like that within me constantly, I would probably be willing to let anyone do anything to me to get back to where I was Tuesday night.
End of entry for Day Seven
Maddi’s Diary, Day Eight, Friday
I worked a modified mid-day shift at the restaurant today so Mom and I had a chance to talk tonight. She asked me a very interesting question. She wanted to know why, if I could make so much money on the website and so forth, did I work as a waitress to make money for college.
I had to think about it for a while, but then I told her that anything I make on the website goes into a special account that Harold set up for me. Everything I draw out, I put back into my toys. I never sign on to check the balance, but Harold says I could draw out a lot more. If I did that, however, and used it for college, how would I be different from a common whore?
People pay money to hurt me and watch me in pain, but that is different. I don’t do it for the money. I do it because I want to do it. It is actually a safe way for me to experience the pain I need. Making money from it is just a side benefit. But if I start spending the money on “real” things, like college, then I’ve become a pain-whore rather than a pain-slut.
Somehow I think that is going to come up in group, or at least with Dr. B.
End of entry for Day Eight
Maddi’s Diary, Day Nine, Saturday
Today was morning shift, so I got off work around two. Shirley and Vicki called this afternoon and asked if I wanted to go out tonight. I told them I had to check my schedule and would call them right back. I actually wanted to check with Mom first. She suggested that I not be too late and that I be the designated driver for the evening. In other words, no booze and be home by ten.
I called Vicki back and said that I would go out with them, but I couldn’t drink and I had to be back really early. “Party pooper,” she replied. Then she cried out in realization, “Oh! You’re in trouble, aren’t you? It must be pretty serious if you can’t drink and have to be home early. Why don’t you meet Shirl and me down at Juan Carlos around 8:00 and we can get eat and talk. Then you can head back home in time for curfew and us two will head out to do the wild things that you can’t do.”
That’s what I did. Juan Carlos’ Pub is a relatively nice little bar that serves good food. We sat in a booth in the back. As soon as we sat down, Shirley said loud enough to be heard in the whole restaurant, “Girl, what did you do?!”
Both she and Vicki laughed as I turned red and glanced around to see if everyone was looking at me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell them anything at that point, but Vicki quietly said, “We’re your friends. We’ll understand. What happened and what kind of trouble are you in?”
“Thirty-day out-patient psychiatric evaluation,” I said as softly as I could.
Both of them looked at me very wide eyed. “What DID you do?” Shirley asked again, but this time in a very quiet and concerned tone of voice.
I looked at them debating whether to tell them the truth or a lie or come up with some combination thereof when suddenly I blurted out, “I got caught doing naked self-bondage on the ledge at the Miller Road underpass.”
Vicki was taking a sip of her beer and snorted it out through her nose. Shirley dissolved in laughter. “It’s always the quiet ones who surprise you,” she said.
I waited for their laughter to stop and then added, “I was rigged up to a computer controlled TENS unit with electrodes in my cunt and ass and all over my body.” Their eyes were wide once again. I shrugged and said, “The cops who found me think I’m nuts. I have thirty days to show them that I’m not.”
“Are you?” asked Vicki.
“Am I what?”
“Are you nuts?” clarified Vicki.
“No,” I answered, “I’m not nuts. I’m just kinky.”
“We all are, girl,” replied Shirley. “You should meet some of my father’s friends.” She took a big sip of her beer and shrugged her shoulders, “Or for that matter,” she added,“you should meet my mother in private around the house.”
Vicki looked over at Shirley with confusion apparent on her face. “Let’s just say we all have secrets,” Shirley continued. “This won’t change anything between us. We will still be your friends.”
Vicki chuckled and said, “Well, it will change one thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“We can’t take you bar hopping or dive slumming for the next thirty days.” she answered.
“Actually,” I replied, “I only have twenty-one days left. Besides, Dr. B isn’t judgmental. As long as I write up everything in my diary, I can pretty much do anything that I want.”
“Wow,” said Vicki, “this is almost like being on a reality show. Are you going to write up our meeting tonight? Do you have to take videos and everything?”
I laughed and answered, “Not for this, but someday I will show you some videos that will blow your mind.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” asked Shirley.
I sipped my coke and smiled at both of them. “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe.”
We all laughed. Just then the waiter showed up with our meals, so we ate and talked regular stuff until about 9:30. After that I headed back home and they headed out to the relatively less nice bars further down the strip.
I got home around ten. Dad’s truck was pulled up alongside the shed where he normally parked it. He was sitting in his chair in the living room when I walked into the house. He looked up at me as I came into the room and I said, “I’m home; I’m early; and I’m sober.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied. “But you left off the one that is really important.”
I looked at him in confusion.
“You’re safe,” he said. “That is the important one for me.”
Neither of us had much to say after that. We sat and watched TV for a while and then I went to bed.
End of entry for Day Nine
Maddi’s Diary, Day Ten, Sunday.
Sunday was a totally uneventful day. Dad spent most of the morning doing maintenance on his truck. I helped Mom clean the house. Dad suggested that we go down to the lake for the afternoon. There is a nice beach there and it was a warm day, so I agreed.
I think Dad was just trying to do something “normal,” but we had a good time. Mom and I went into the water and raced out to the dive platform. She beat me by at least a body length. Later, a couple of boys I had never met before tried to pick me up. They suggested that we leave together and go get some beer and find someplace to party.
I said, “If it’s OK with my Dad,” and pointed to Dad who was standing right beside me at the time.
Both boys had disappeared down the beach before the laughter bubbled up out of me and Dad and Mom. It was a good afternoon.
End of entry for Day Ten
End of entry for Week Two
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