I am thinking about a story I heard in college about an experiment with frogs. Being cold blooded, they adapt to the temperatures around them. In this experiment, a frog was placed in a pan of water. The temperature of the water was turned up, one degree at a time. Little by little the frog cooked. The temperature changes were so gradual, the frog kept adapting, until it eventually died.
Master taught me to love pain in a similar fashion. At the beginning, he'd fuck me from behind, swatting my ass with his big rough palm, until I cried out.
"Play with your pussy," he ordered one day. I couldn't do it that first time and was too ashamed. I froze. He stopped abruptly and pulled out, his wet cock rubbing me. I pushed back, wiggling, wanting him back in me. He backed away, and I sensed his fury.
"I'm sorry, please come back," I said, sitting on the bed, "Please."
"Fuck off, I'm outta here," he said, pulling on his jockey briefs, looking for his pants.
"NO!" I was panic-stricken. I couldn't believe he would leave! This wasn't the way it worked for me; I should tell him, Fine, get the fuck out. But I can't do it. If only my pussy wasn't so hot. "Please, stay, I'll do it."
"Do it now," he told me "Get on your hands and knees, spread your ass and pussy for me, rub your cunt, and beg for it. Now."
I do what he says. I turn and present myself to him, wide. I close my eyes in shame, in heat and touch myself. I'm so wet, ready. The begging comes easily.
"Please fuck me," I say, "I'm so sorry for acting like a bitch. I just want your cock in me, PLEASE. I'll never do it again, please just fuck me."
He enters in one thrust, and is pounding me hard. He grabs my hair with one hand and hits my ass hard with the other. I'm thinking that he's hitting too hard, this is too much, but I start to cum and cum and nothing hurts.
We didn't talk about this, but something changed between us. In my mind at the time, I was being "nicer" to him, because I liked him. I wasn't nice to many men, I didn't have to be. A few days later, he had me lay face down naked on the bed, fingers in my pussy. He told me to masturbate. I did as he told me, until I was grinding my hips a little. At that point, I felt a sharp pain across my ass. I stopped and tried to turn around, but he pushed my head roughly to the bed.
"Play with your cunt," he told me through clenched teeth, bringing the belt down again and again. "Keep playing with your cunt." The belt stung badly, I was starting to cry out. He hit the lower part of my ass, again and again.
"I'm cumming," I told him, feeling the orgasm in my cunt, ass, and the endorphin release in my brain. I remember actually stopping the orgasm because it was lasting so long it scared me.
Pain became associated with pleasure. Or maybe it was the other way around. I didn't care. He'd wear the belt that he beat me with to work, to dinner. I'd look at it, cunt aching for it, oblivious to anything else. I could take anything for him, crops, canes, and whips, while strumming myself to a crescendo.
One day, he tied my hands to the bedposts. I wondered absently how I was going to get myself off. I snuggled into the mattress, ass and thighs waiting, wanting. Pussy already soaked, it was Pavlovian at this point. The first blow from the wire coat hanger took a second to register. Rather than scream, I gasped for breath. The horrible pain hit, I started to scream, when he whipped me again. My mouth was open in agony, and no sound was coming out. Again the hanger whistled through the air and I felt nothing but white-hot pain. This I couldn't take.
"Cum," he told me. Another blow. I remember begging, although I have no idea what I said. I also remember hating him.
"Cum, you dumb cunt," he said in a normal voice. The hanger whistled again, landing across both cheeks, searing me. I screamed again. I was sobbing and incoherent.
"Just cum," he said again, "It's what you do best, fucking whore." I was beyond despair, I clenched my ass together, waiting for the next slice. He hit again. I remained clenched, my whole being cringing waiting for the next blow. He hit low, where my thighs start, burning beyond anything I'd ever experienced. I remember my voice sounding ragged, screams coming from deep in the back of my throat. I also remember something happening, the clenching of my muscles, and the whipping was having an erogenous effect. I felt a fucking orgasm building and it was going to be huge.
"Cum for me," he said, and then he hurt me again. This time I obeyed. When the waves of the orgasm ebbed, I had a feeling of sadness, wondering if I'll ever cum like that again. He patted my flank, told me I was a good girl, and left me.
We are having brunch at a local deli. I've called in sick to work. Again. There is a rumor that I am seriously ill, and I think it's very funny. He's telling me about a woman he met a few days before. Said he thought he liked her at first. I do a reading of my emotions, checking for jealousy, surprised to not feel it. He tells me that she likes to be hurt, that she was attractive in a "hard way." He tells me that she smoked cigarettes, and would talk with it sticking straight out of her mouth. It reminded him of James Cagney. I laugh at his description. He likes to make me laugh. He's looking at me very carefully.
"Do you have any limits?" he asks. I was used to sudden topic changes. I long ago abandoned any conversational games. At one time I would have stalled for time, "What do you mean?" or "Limits?" Now, I just answer, "Gang Bangs, I guess," I tell him. I'm not sure if he heard me, he's looking at something across the restaurant, on to something else.
He paid the bill, and we got in the car. I didn't know where we were going, but it was spring and sunny and I was feeling good. He drove into the parking lot at the local college and parked by the basketball courts. Seven or eight students were playing, in lieu of eating lunch. Shirts and rosy skins, in the brisk air, bumping under the net. He got out of the car and leaned against the hood. I thought he might join in the play. Instead, I hear him say "Hey!" They stop grappling, curious.
"Do you want to see her tits?" He asks them. One laughs. The leader, holding the basketball on his hip says, "Yes." The group moves a little closer. They are so cute. I think almost tenderly, I can read their minds. They've been trained by their mommas to not take candy from strangers, but they've sized up this man, and know that they have safety in numbers. He walked around the car, and opened my door. He extended his hand to me, elegantly, helped me out.
"Gather 'round men," he said, as he pulled my blouse from my skirt, unbuttoning me, "Today's your lucky day." My back is to the school, they are in a semi-circle around us.
"Take your bra off," he told me. A few snicker. I hesitate, pulling my blouse closed.
"I told you to take your fucking bra off, cunt," he says, calmly but deadly serious. Several of the guys think this is hilarious. I reached back and unhooked my bra. He lifted the bra and my tits flopped out.
"You can touch 'em, but you gotta be rough," He told them, as he lifted one by the nipple, and let it fall with a slap. I couldn't look at any of them. I let my hair fall over my face. I heard the basketball drop, and descending bounces as the first pair of hands grabbed me. The basketball player squeezed them very hard, kneading them. That pair of hands was soon replaced. The next one twisted my nipples.
"Feel her cunt," He told the team, "She loves this."
Rough fingers slide into my slit. Someone kissed me, tongue deep into my mouth.
"See how wet? How juicy, men?" He said, sounding like a coach, "Always remember, Men; treat the ladies like whores and the whores like ladies.
Unless it's this whore in particular, and then you just fuck her up." I was pushed down to my knees. The car blocked me from the view of the school. I remember the first cock in my mouth, almost pulsing before I had him all the way in.
"Rough, men," I heard him saying, "I see two more holes available, by the way. You gentlemen will thank me for this when you're in a fraternity."
"100 bucks for the one who makes her cum," he said, bringing on a fresh onslaught of pumping, and cumming. My skirt was hiked up high over my hips, and I felt my ass cheeks spread. I was entered decisively; this one knew what to do. As he pounded my ass hard, I took another cock in my mouth. It was already salty. They were on seconds.
"Cum, bitch," he said, his mouth close to my ear. And I did, my ass gripped him, milked him to climax.
"She came!" he panted, joyous. From fucking, or the hundred dollars, or both.
I was dazed on the ride home. I had sperm drying on my cheek and he made me leave it there, tightening the skin. He was high, and incredulous.
"We were there less than 15 minutes!" He hooted. At the house, he dropped me off at the door, saying he'd be back later. He said he had to cum, but I was too dirty for him.
Master taught me to love pain in a similar fashion. At the beginning, he'd fuck me from behind, swatting my ass with his big rough palm, until I cried out.
"Play with your pussy," he ordered one day. I couldn't do it that first time and was too ashamed. I froze. He stopped abruptly and pulled out, his wet cock rubbing me. I pushed back, wiggling, wanting him back in me. He backed away, and I sensed his fury.
"I'm sorry, please come back," I said, sitting on the bed, "Please."
"Fuck off, I'm outta here," he said, pulling on his jockey briefs, looking for his pants.
"NO!" I was panic-stricken. I couldn't believe he would leave! This wasn't the way it worked for me; I should tell him, Fine, get the fuck out. But I can't do it. If only my pussy wasn't so hot. "Please, stay, I'll do it."
"Do it now," he told me "Get on your hands and knees, spread your ass and pussy for me, rub your cunt, and beg for it. Now."
I do what he says. I turn and present myself to him, wide. I close my eyes in shame, in heat and touch myself. I'm so wet, ready. The begging comes easily.
"Please fuck me," I say, "I'm so sorry for acting like a bitch. I just want your cock in me, PLEASE. I'll never do it again, please just fuck me."
He enters in one thrust, and is pounding me hard. He grabs my hair with one hand and hits my ass hard with the other. I'm thinking that he's hitting too hard, this is too much, but I start to cum and cum and nothing hurts.
We didn't talk about this, but something changed between us. In my mind at the time, I was being "nicer" to him, because I liked him. I wasn't nice to many men, I didn't have to be. A few days later, he had me lay face down naked on the bed, fingers in my pussy. He told me to masturbate. I did as he told me, until I was grinding my hips a little. At that point, I felt a sharp pain across my ass. I stopped and tried to turn around, but he pushed my head roughly to the bed.
"Play with your cunt," he told me through clenched teeth, bringing the belt down again and again. "Keep playing with your cunt." The belt stung badly, I was starting to cry out. He hit the lower part of my ass, again and again.
"I'm cumming," I told him, feeling the orgasm in my cunt, ass, and the endorphin release in my brain. I remember actually stopping the orgasm because it was lasting so long it scared me.
Pain became associated with pleasure. Or maybe it was the other way around. I didn't care. He'd wear the belt that he beat me with to work, to dinner. I'd look at it, cunt aching for it, oblivious to anything else. I could take anything for him, crops, canes, and whips, while strumming myself to a crescendo.
One day, he tied my hands to the bedposts. I wondered absently how I was going to get myself off. I snuggled into the mattress, ass and thighs waiting, wanting. Pussy already soaked, it was Pavlovian at this point. The first blow from the wire coat hanger took a second to register. Rather than scream, I gasped for breath. The horrible pain hit, I started to scream, when he whipped me again. My mouth was open in agony, and no sound was coming out. Again the hanger whistled through the air and I felt nothing but white-hot pain. This I couldn't take.
"Cum," he told me. Another blow. I remember begging, although I have no idea what I said. I also remember hating him.
"Cum, you dumb cunt," he said in a normal voice. The hanger whistled again, landing across both cheeks, searing me. I screamed again. I was sobbing and incoherent.
"Just cum," he said again, "It's what you do best, fucking whore." I was beyond despair, I clenched my ass together, waiting for the next slice. He hit again. I remained clenched, my whole being cringing waiting for the next blow. He hit low, where my thighs start, burning beyond anything I'd ever experienced. I remember my voice sounding ragged, screams coming from deep in the back of my throat. I also remember something happening, the clenching of my muscles, and the whipping was having an erogenous effect. I felt a fucking orgasm building and it was going to be huge.
"Cum for me," he said, and then he hurt me again. This time I obeyed. When the waves of the orgasm ebbed, I had a feeling of sadness, wondering if I'll ever cum like that again. He patted my flank, told me I was a good girl, and left me.
We are having brunch at a local deli. I've called in sick to work. Again. There is a rumor that I am seriously ill, and I think it's very funny. He's telling me about a woman he met a few days before. Said he thought he liked her at first. I do a reading of my emotions, checking for jealousy, surprised to not feel it. He tells me that she likes to be hurt, that she was attractive in a "hard way." He tells me that she smoked cigarettes, and would talk with it sticking straight out of her mouth. It reminded him of James Cagney. I laugh at his description. He likes to make me laugh. He's looking at me very carefully.
"Do you have any limits?" he asks. I was used to sudden topic changes. I long ago abandoned any conversational games. At one time I would have stalled for time, "What do you mean?" or "Limits?" Now, I just answer, "Gang Bangs, I guess," I tell him. I'm not sure if he heard me, he's looking at something across the restaurant, on to something else.
He paid the bill, and we got in the car. I didn't know where we were going, but it was spring and sunny and I was feeling good. He drove into the parking lot at the local college and parked by the basketball courts. Seven or eight students were playing, in lieu of eating lunch. Shirts and rosy skins, in the brisk air, bumping under the net. He got out of the car and leaned against the hood. I thought he might join in the play. Instead, I hear him say "Hey!" They stop grappling, curious.
"Do you want to see her tits?" He asks them. One laughs. The leader, holding the basketball on his hip says, "Yes." The group moves a little closer. They are so cute. I think almost tenderly, I can read their minds. They've been trained by their mommas to not take candy from strangers, but they've sized up this man, and know that they have safety in numbers. He walked around the car, and opened my door. He extended his hand to me, elegantly, helped me out.
"Gather 'round men," he said, as he pulled my blouse from my skirt, unbuttoning me, "Today's your lucky day." My back is to the school, they are in a semi-circle around us.
"Take your bra off," he told me. A few snicker. I hesitate, pulling my blouse closed.
"I told you to take your fucking bra off, cunt," he says, calmly but deadly serious. Several of the guys think this is hilarious. I reached back and unhooked my bra. He lifted the bra and my tits flopped out.
"You can touch 'em, but you gotta be rough," He told them, as he lifted one by the nipple, and let it fall with a slap. I couldn't look at any of them. I let my hair fall over my face. I heard the basketball drop, and descending bounces as the first pair of hands grabbed me. The basketball player squeezed them very hard, kneading them. That pair of hands was soon replaced. The next one twisted my nipples.
"Feel her cunt," He told the team, "She loves this."
Rough fingers slide into my slit. Someone kissed me, tongue deep into my mouth.
"See how wet? How juicy, men?" He said, sounding like a coach, "Always remember, Men; treat the ladies like whores and the whores like ladies.
Unless it's this whore in particular, and then you just fuck her up." I was pushed down to my knees. The car blocked me from the view of the school. I remember the first cock in my mouth, almost pulsing before I had him all the way in.
"Rough, men," I heard him saying, "I see two more holes available, by the way. You gentlemen will thank me for this when you're in a fraternity."
"100 bucks for the one who makes her cum," he said, bringing on a fresh onslaught of pumping, and cumming. My skirt was hiked up high over my hips, and I felt my ass cheeks spread. I was entered decisively; this one knew what to do. As he pounded my ass hard, I took another cock in my mouth. It was already salty. They were on seconds.
"Cum, bitch," he said, his mouth close to my ear. And I did, my ass gripped him, milked him to climax.
"She came!" he panted, joyous. From fucking, or the hundred dollars, or both.
I was dazed on the ride home. I had sperm drying on my cheek and he made me leave it there, tightening the skin. He was high, and incredulous.
"We were there less than 15 minutes!" He hooted. At the house, he dropped me off at the door, saying he'd be back later. He said he had to cum, but I was too dirty for him.
Leave a comment