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From: The Technician <Technician666@HotMail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} I Masochist 03 - Brenda     BDSM, Public Tattoo, Public Spanking, Public Sex
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Date: Tue, 05 Nov 2013 04:10:03 -0500
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I Masochist - Chapter Three - Brenda

By The Technician

BDSM, Public Tattoo, Public Spanking, Public Sex

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
A college professor presents a performance art production of "I, Masochist"
with a little technical help from W.  Afterwards, the professor who referred
the masochistic models to her asks her and W's help in recording the six young
women's stories of how and why they are masochists.

The eight chapters of this story each stand on their own, but make more sense
if you have read the previous chapters.  I am posting this entire series in the
BDSM category. Although a couple of the chapters might not exactly fit the
theme, all are concerned with the realities of masochism.

These stories are loosely based on conversations I have had through the years
with people who are attracted to or receive pleasure from pain, but none of the
individuals depicted is based on any one person.  Any resemblance to any
person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.   

Chapter three of eight is W's interview with "Brenda."

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY.
Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All people and
events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is
purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and
should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between
fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal
territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please
stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first
century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment
of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article.
This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for
personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this story on
paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
 * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Brenda wanted to sit in Shelly's living room for our talk.  She was wearing a
very small tube top that barely contained her ample breasts and a very small,
very tight pair of denim shorts that would have had Daisy Duke blushing with
embarrassment.  I had no doubt which girl she was, or at least I was absolutely
sure which model she had been in the performance.  Up close, in natural light,
her tattoos were even more striking.  Some of the leaves were in the shape of
flames and some of the flames were in the shape of leaves and the serpent or
serpents that slithered throughout the burning foliage were a realistic pattern
of black, green, yellow and orangish red.  When combined with the movement of
muscle behind it, the entire tattoo seemed to be alive.

"Let's get one thing straight," she said as she sat down.  "I am not a
masochist.  I am a pain slut."

"What's the difference?" I asked, somewhat startled, and immediately regretting
that she had so easily put me on the defensive.

"Masochists have to go the meetings," she answered.

I wasn't sure if her tone of voice was anger, bitterness or defiance, and I had
no idea what she meant by her answer.  Evidently my puzzlement showed on my
face because she added in a somewhat softer tone, "It's an old joke about the
difference between a drunk and an alcoholic.  The alcoholic has to go to the
meetings."

"So you think that Masochist is a label that judges you because Masochists have
to go to the meetings - meaning therapy?"

"Damned straight," she spit out.  "You and Dr. Collins sit up on your high
horse and look down on me and say that I am sick...,  or crazy..., or whatever
it is that you are thinking."

"I'm thinking that you are beautiful," I replied.  "And that you have some
rather extensive and impressive ink that stops at your wrists and neckline.  Is
there a reason the coverage isn't 100%?"

"Who says it isn't?"  she answered defiantly.

"Ah..., black light tattoos." I said.  "I hadn't thought of that.  With a black
light ink overlay and additions on your face and hands, you would probably be
very, very impressive at a club under black light, especially if there were
strobes.  I apologize for assuming without first ascertaining  the true facts."

"You really mean that, don't you?" she responded in a much quieter and subdued
tone.

"Yes, I do," I answered.  "I pride myself on acting on facts, not suppositions.
And I don't look down on you.  I think you would know that if you had read my
stories.  Or if we had met under different circumstances."

"Sorry," she said, now speaking in a normal tone of voice.  "I guess I was
doing some assuming too.  But Dr. Collins really gets to me.  He thinks I am
some low-life piece of white trash.  I only participated in the study to try to
keep him honest."

"Honest?"

"I'm a pain slut and proud of it.  It's what I am.  I'm not sick or demented or
dangerous to society.  I just feel pain differently than most people...,  and
in most cases, it turns me on."

"When did you first realize that you felt pain differently than most people," I
asked, deciding to take advantage of the opening to actually pursue some of the
interview questions.

"You asked that different than Dr. Collins did." she said.  "He asked when I
first started feeling pain in an abnormal fashion."

"I'm not Dr. Collins," I answered.  I think I managed not to add, "What an
asshole!" out loud.

"I've always felt pain differently," she continued.  "Some pain is really pain,
but for almost everything else it is not what most people feel as pain.  I
guess I realized that when I was about five or six and I found out that almost
all of the other children were ticklish.  I have never been ticklish.  My older
brother used to try to tickle me once in a while and I would cry.  For me,
tickling isn't pleasant.  And it doesn't make me laugh.  It hurts to be lightly
touched and tickling is very painful to me.  It was after one of those times
when he tried to tickle me and I cried and told him to stop hurting me that he
said, 'You are weird, little sister.  You smile when dad spanks you and you cry
when I tickle you.  There is something screwed up in your pain wiring.'"

"I had never thought of it like that before, but he was right.  When dad or mom
would spank us, I would feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  It never really hurt
no matter how hard they whaled on me.  But if somebody touched me softly, it
hurt.  I didn't realize that wasn't normal until he said that to me."

"Later, as I grew up, the warm and fuzzy changed.  It became sexual.  My first
orgasm was over my father's knee.  I don't remember for sure how old I was, but
I was young enough that he didn't realize what it was, and I guess neither did
I.  'I finally put some heat in your ass,' he said when I screamed and thrashed
about.  'That's the first time that I managed to really get your attention,' he
added and he pulled me back up onto my feet."

"I think my mom realized what had happened though, because is wasn't too long
afterwards that she told him that she thought I was too big for him to spank
anymore.  'Besides,' she said, 'I think grounding her is much more of a
punishment to her that getting her butt warmed up.'"

"After that, I just got grounded when I misbehaved - except once.  My senior
year in high school, I came home really late from a date.  I didn't expect
anyone to be up, but dad had been hosting a poker party and he and five of his
buddies were in the family room as I tried to sneak in the back door a little
before two in the morning.  They had been drinking quite a bit and so had I.
Dad was more than half drunk..., and so was I.  'Late and drunk,' he said as I
came through the door.  "I ought to take you over my knee and really warm up
your ass.'"

"I leaned over to put my face right up in dad's face to yell back at him, and
one of his buddies said, 'You left out naked.'"

"As I had leaned over my short skirt rode up and the man next to dad could see
that I was missing my panties.  My father yelled, 'What?'  Then grabbed me and
pulled me on down over his lap.  My skirt flipped up as I fell, so I was
effectively naked across his lap."

"'No daughter of mine is going to parade around town like a slut,' he yelled
and started spanking.  He started hitting harder when I just laughed as he
swatted me.   When I started panting and moaning, he lost it completely and
really laid into me.  My ass was on fire and turning the proper shade of red to
match.  After a few minutes, I had a tremendous orgasm as I lay over his lap.
One of his buddies said, 'Holy shit!' as I arched my back and yelled out as I
peaked."

"Dad suddenly stopped spanking and dumped me onto the floor as he jumped to his
feet.  'Go to your room,' he sputtered.  'And don't you ever tell your mother
anything about this.  You are just like her sister Evelyn and if she thinks you
turned out like that, she won't be able to handle it.'  Then he turned to his
buddies and said, 'This never happened!  You hear me!  This never happened...,
because if it did, we could all be in a lot of trouble with our wives or even
with the police.  She's 18, but she's drunk and didn't really volunteer to show
you her ass while I spanked her.'  I got up off the floor and went to my room.
Dad never mentioned it again, and neither did I."

"A few weeks later, I asked mom about her sister Evelyn.  She went white and
stared at me with wide open eyes.  'Why do you want to know?' she asked."

"I told her that I had looked at the back of one of the old family pictures in
the living room and on the back of the frame in grandma's handwriting, it said,
'My daughters, Sandra and Evelyn with their cousins.'  I had, but it had been
months before.  Then I said, 'I never knew I had an aunt Evelyn.  What became
of her?"

"'She's dead,' mom said in a really strange, almost whisper.  'She couldn't
handle the shame of what she was, and she killed herself.'"

"'What was she?' I asked.  Mom looked at me for a long time and then finally
said, 'She was a pain slut.  She got sexual pleasure from pain.  The kids at
school suspected her secret and teased her at lot.  Once the girls in gym class
trapped her naked in the locker room.  One of them pulled her over her lap and
started spanking.  When her arm got tired another girl took over.  After a
while they were sure of what she was because they could clearly see that it was
exciting her.  She just lay across their laps and let them pound on her and
turn her on.  They passed her from girl to girl and kept going until she was so
far gone, she couldn't control herself.  She slid off onto floor with her hands
under her rubbing herself.  They left her there for the coaches to find.  The
whole school knew about it after that and everyone put her through hell.  She
couldn't change what she was, and...' Her voice trailed off and she started
crying softly.  Then she put her hands on my shoulders and looked me right in
the eyes and said, 'Don't let that happen to you.'"                      "'I
can't change what I am either," I said.

"'I know,' she answered.  Her shoulders slumped and she began to tear up again.
'I've known for a long time.  I've known - or at least been afraid of this -
since you were a little child.'  Then she said something that totally changed
my life, 'You didn't choose to be what you are..., but you can choose whether
or not you are going to be ashamed of it.  Don't let them shame you into the
grave like they did my sister.'"

"I'm a pain slut and I'm proud of it!" Abby said emphatically.  "It is what I
am.  I am also an excellent artist and a damn good dancer.  I hope to be a
mother some day.  I don't know if I would want my daughter - or son - to be
like me, but if they are, then I will help them embrace what they are rather
than fill them with shame and watch them destroy themselves like so many who
are like us do.  I would teach them to be in your face about it like I am."

"Is that why you have invested so much money in your tattoos?" I asked, "... to
be in the world's  face about it?"

"The tats haven't cost me a dime," she answered with a laugh.  "Well, OK, the
very first one was $250, cash in advance, but after that, they were free."

"How did you arrange that?"

"I designed this," she said making a sweeping gesture with her hand indicating
her full-body tattoo.  "... while I was still in high school.  I knew exactly
what I wanted on every part of my body from the very beginning, even down to
the fact that one of my pussy lips is a leaf and the other is a flame and there
is a black light snake that curls around my neck and crawls up onto my face.  I
even had every step in creating this mapped out, starting with the flames
around my left nipple."

"Right after graduation, I got a job to earn money for college, and decided
that part of my earnings were going to be used to start my body tat.  That
first little piece of ink on my left tit was going to cost $250, payable in
advance, so I knew that my grand design was going to take a long time and a lot
of money to get finished.  I warned Bobby - he's my ink artist - that I might
be moving around a lot if it got painful."

"He replied, 'That's OK, I have a lot of people who can't stand the pain.'"

"I told him, 'That's not the problem,' and started to laugh a little.  When he
asked, 'Then what is the problem?' I told him he wouldn't believe it unless he
saw it.  He answered, 'Just warn me if you are going to start moving around a
lot.'"

"I laughed again and told him that he would be able to tell, in fact everyone
in the shop would be able to tell.  He had two partners and there were seven or
eight people in the place at the time.  When Bobby had everything ready, he
asked me if I wanted the curtain pulled.  He had a curtain like they have
around hospital beds that could be pulled around his work area.  I said, 'They
are going to hear me, they might as well see me.'"

"He looked a little confused, but said, 'OK.  Take off your blouse and bra and
we will get started.'"

"He was only working on me for a little while when he started to understand.
I've been told that tats can get a little painful depending on your pain
tolerance and where it is on your body.  I wouldn't know.  For me they are
powerfully pleasurable.  I was getting off on the pain.  Bobby was about
half-finished when I had my first orgasm.  'Whoa!,' he yelled out.  'I'm not
going to able to continue if you jerk around like that.  You have to keep still
or the design will be ruined.'"

"'I can't keep still,' I answered.  'The pain turns me on too much.'"

"'Then I will have to tie your chest down if you want to continue.' he said
almost yelling at me.  He was really upset that his work wouldn't be perfect if
I couldn't keep still.  He is that kind of artist." "I told him, 'You're going
to have to tie my whole body down, then, because being tied down naked on your
table while you buzz me with those needles is going to put me into near
continuous orgasm.'"

"'I didn't say anything about naked,' he quickly answered.  'And you sitting in
the chair works fine."

"'Why make the trip half way up the mountain if you are trying to see the sky,'
I said as I stood up, flipped off my sandals and slid my shorts down to my
ankles.  I wasn't wearing any underwear so I was standing there naked while he
got some leather straps out of a drawer and I crawled up onto his big leather
table."

"I lay down on the table and he put one wide leather strap just below my tits
and then two more across my legs.  'Can't have you thrashing your arms around,'
he muttered as he pulled my hands above my head and strapped my arms to the
table just above my head at the elbows.  He added one final strap right across
my shoulders - in that position, actually armpits.  He couldn't pull that last
one real tight because it also went across my throat.  I could still bounce
around a little, but my movements were pretty well restrained - which was a
good thing because I had five or six more orgasms while he finished the flames
on my breast and nipple."

"By the time we were done, everyone else in the shop had stopped whatever it
was that they were doing and were gathered around Bobby's work area.  'My God!'
said one of the men.  'I would have paid money for a ticket to see that.'  I
could see that there was a stain on the front of his pants.  He had creamed
himself watching me."

"As Bobby was cleaning me up and putting a bandage over the new tat, he said,
'I think we could work something out to finance the rest of your grand design.
If you are willing to come in after hours and have an audience while I work, I
think I can arrange it so the ink will be free.  Who knows, maybe you will even
get a little extra for your time.'"

"He sold tickets for $30 a pop.  Whenever he had at least a dozen tickets sold,
we did the next section of the tat.  It didn't cost me a dime, and I came away
from each session with fifty dollars cash in my pocket.  When it was time to do
the vines and flames on my pussy lips, he upped the ticket price to $50 and
gave me $200.  He said he was planning on giving me $100, but it was obvious
that I was actually in pain while he was working on my pussy lips.  That did
really hurt, but it was a small part of that section, and I got off at least
twice as he worked his way back toward my asshole."

She smiled at me and went quiet.  I took advantage of the silence to say, "I
really am going to have to ask at least one of Dr. Collins questions before we
run out of time."  She said, "OK," and I asked, "Would you please tell me about
your absolutely best ever sexual experience?" 

"Last summer," she answered immediately.  "Dwayne and I went down to Mexico for
a vacation and the resort had a nude beach."  She made a sweeping motion with
her hand and said, "These are beautiful, but they don't protect you from
sunburn.  We were out on the beach all day, and by the time we got back to the
room, I was in pain - real pain.  It wasn't bad enough for my skin to blister
and damaged the art, but I was burned enough that it hurt to be touched.  And I
don't mean the uncomfortable hurt that a light touch always is, it HURT."

"I took off what little clothes I had on and lay down on the bed.  Dwayne
offered to rub some lotion on me to see if that would help.  He sat down on the
bed next to me and reached out and stroked my breast real lightly - almost like
he wasn't even touching it.  Suddenly it was like a switch flipped.  Where he
was touching me didn't hurt.  In fact it felt wonderful."

"I moaned, 'Oh, God!' and he jerked his hand away and asked, 'Did I hurt you?'"

"'No,' I answered.  'It felt wonderful.  Keep doing it.'"

"He set down the lotion and began stroking my breasts and stomach with both of
his hands.  It was driving me out of my mind.  I had never felt anything
exactly like that.  The bed was getting wet between my legs as I squirmed under
his touch."

"'Turn over,' he said, and I rolled onto my tummy.  He began running his hands
very, very lightly up and down my back and then all the way down to my ankles
and back up on the insides of my legs to the crack of my ass.  As he kept
stroking me, I felt like I was drifting in pleasure.  Finally I couldn't take
any more and panted out, 'Fuck me, Dwayne.  Fuck me now!'"

"Dwayne said, 'You'd better be on top.  I don't want to risk hurting you with
my weight pushing your back into the bed.'"

"He slid into the bed and I straddled him and impaled myself on him.  As I rode
him, he reached up and continued to stroke my breasts.  We came together.  I
had a tremendous orgasm and afterward collapsed down on top of him.  He reached
over me and continued stroking my back.  I couldn't believe how good it felt.
He just kept stroking me and stroking me and stroking me.  I was purring like a
kitten in front of a fire.  I fell asleep like that and he left me there on top
of him for a long time."

"In the morning, I woke up still partially laying on top of him.  He reached
over and ran his hand lightly down my back..., and it hurt.  Everything was
back to the way it normally is.  I don't know what happened, but evidently the
pain of the sunburn somehow caused my pain and pleasure wiring to work like it
is supposed to for a little while.  It has never happened like that before or
since, even when I have gotten slightly sunburned."

She sighed deeply and said, "You can tell Dr. Pervert that if he ever comes up
with a pill or a shot or some treatment that would allow me to feel pleasure
like that again, I might be willing to try it.  I am what I am and I am not
ashamed of it, but if that is the type of pleasure that a 'normal' woman can
experience on a regular basis, I am definitely missing something in my life."

She looked at me like she was expecting me to say something.  I was carefully
weighing my words trying to find something meaningful and helpful to say while
being sure that I didn't sound judgmental in any way.  Before I could figure
out what to say, she continued, "But then again, none of those women feel what
I feel when I am getting a tattoo or hanging naked in a cage getting my ass and
tits shocked off.  If they could experience that once in their lives, maybe
they would envy me."

She had said everything that needed to be said, so all I said was "Thank you
for agreeing to the interview, Brenda."  Then I asked her if she was willing to
sign the forms to release information to Dr. Collins.

After she left, I went into the bedroom.  Shelly was lying on the bed.  It was
obvious that she had been crying.  "Just hold me," she said.  "Hold me and
stroke me and let me fall asleep in your arms.  I never realized that there
were people who could never enjoy the soft touch of someone they love."

I climbed into bed and pulled her into my arms and lay there with her against
my chest.  Her sex was pressed tightly against my hip and one of her legs was
between mine.  She was clinging to me, but it was not a sexual cling, it was a
need for closeness.  I stroked her back and sides as her breathing slowly
relaxed.  Eventually she fell asleep.  I was really hoping for more than that,
but it was obviously what she needed, and I was pretty sure that she would more
than make it up to me in the morning.

She did.

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
 END CHAPTER THREE OF EIGHT
 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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