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From: The Technician <Technician666@HotMail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} I Masochist 06 - Ellen     BDSM, Pain, M/f, MMMMM/f, Oral, Anal, Spanking, EXTREME
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Date: Tue, 05 Nov 2013 05:10:03 -0500
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I Masochist - Chapter Six - Ellen

By The Technician

BDSM, Pain, M/f, MMMMM/f, Oral, Anal, Spanking, EXTREME

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
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 six of eight is W's interview with "Ellen."

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
WARNING SPECIFIC TO CHAPTER SIX OF EIGHT

This particular chapter deals with child abuse and the adult fall out from such
abuse.  Although it is essential to my look at masochism, it is not absolutely
essential to the story.  If you would be upset by the depiction of cruelty to
minors (not sexual) then I would advise skipping this chapter.

However, if you want to read an erotic story of recovery and redemption that
walks through the paths of hell, please read on.

Again, this story is a composite formed from the stories told by several
different people whom I have met, and is not intended to represent or reflect
any given person.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
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.

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

I had some other weekend business I had to take care of, so it was two weeks
before I could arrange to meet with Ellen.  I really didn't know how to read
her.  I remembered her from the performance.  She had hung almost quietly in
her cage and swung slowly with the pulses.  It was almost like she was enduring
it rather than getting pleasure from it.  I had even asked Shelly if she was
sure that the girl in the third cage really wanted to be there.

Whether it was pain or pleasure for her, it was still erotic as hell for anyone
watching, including me - especially after her naked body became totally covered
with a thin sheen of sweat.  In the soft light which illuminated her cage, it
was apparent that Ellen didn't have any tattoos or brands, but she did have
scars.  Once she started to perspire, very light lines criss-crossed her back
and buttocks.  Some were even visible on her front.  That kind of scar comes
from flogging - a severe beating with something wide and flat like a man's
belt.  I knew that Ellen's story was going to be interesting and probably very
tragic.  

When she arrived, she was conservatively dressed and very quiet.  She was
wearing a skirt that hung almost to her knees and was wearing rather thick,
dark stocking.  If it wasn't for the fact that her arms were bare when she
removed her jacket, I would have wondered about whether or not she was hiding
bruises from current abuse.

After a few innocuous comments she took a deep breath and asked, "So, where do
we begin?"

"I'm not sure," I answered.  "I have a list of questions from Dr. Collins and a
couple of my own that are supposed to guide our conversation, but I think I am
going off the list for the first one.  "Ellen," I asked, "do you get any
pleasure at all out of pain?  It almost looks like you are suffering real pain
and getting nothing in return.  I can't imagine why you would allow that.  Do
you feel pleasure?  Do you think that you are supposed to suffer?  Or is it
something else?"

Her face became even more expressionless.  "Pain isn't pleasure," she replied
softly and slowly.  Then pausing as if to carefully select her words, she
continued, "Pain is the battering ram that enables me to feel pleasure."

"You've totally lost me there," I replied.  "Could you please explain a little
more clearly what you mean?"

"I've talked to the other girls," she said with a wry smile.  "They all seem to
have been born this way.  I wasn't born this way, I was brutally changed into
what I am."

"How?"  I asked when she remained silent.

"I was abused as a child... and as a young adult.  It wasn't sexual abuse - not
really.  Dad wasn't kinky, he was just a very damn mean drunk... and he was
never sober.  I was the oldest, so I put up with it the longest.  I have two
younger sisters.  I tried to protect them.  I would distract dad so they could
get in the closet if we were trapped upstairs or hide in the basement if we
could get to it.  There was a crawl space under the porch that had a small
opening from the basement that was covered with a louvered door that acted as a
vent to keep it dry under there.  Dad couldn't get back in there because the
opening was too small.  It was full of spiders and bugs and once in a while
rats and mice, but it was better than letting dad catch you when he was drunk.
I lost it as a hiding place when I was about twelve and got too big to fit
through the vent.  After that, it got really bad for me."

She looked at the floor in silence.  I couldn't think of anything that should
be said, so I waited for her to continue.  "It was a small town down south, and
daddy's family had a lot of money and power, even if he had pissed away
everything that he personally had.  His brothers and cousins covered for him.
Half the town was related to him.  The sheriff was his uncle and most of the
deputies were cousins.  Worst they would ever do was to take him downtown to
sleep it off.  Nothing ever got written up, so the state never heard of it."

"When I was eight or ten, even before things got really bad, I had learned to
turn everything off to get through it.  Once I turned everything off, he could
beat on me all night, and I wouldn't feel a thing.  But the price for that was
that I couldn't feel anything - ever.  After a while, I couldn't really turn it
back on.  There was no pain, but there was no pleasure.  Everything was just a
dull sensation on the other side of a wall.  I was able to endure and I saved
my sisters from most of it, but when Joanie got too big to fit through the
trapdoor to the porch, Momma knew she had to do something.  Dad chased Joanie
down into the basement and caught her when she couldn't get under the porch. He
whaled on her with his belt for ten of fifteen minutes.  I was upstairs in my
bedroom, but I could hear her screaming."

"Daddy must have got tired or thirsty or something because he came back up to
the kitchen yelling for Momma to get him a beer.  When he opened the basement
door, she was standing there with his shotgun.  She pulled both triggers at the
same time and put two deer slugs though his chest.  They went all the way
through him and came out through the steps going upstairs and kept going and
smashed the glass on the front door.  I came running downstairs and into the
kitchen.  Momma's only comment was, 'I think Uncle Saul is going to have to
write that one up.'"

Ellen looked like she wanted to laugh or cry or both, but she pulled herself
together and said, "They put Momma in the state hospital for the criminally
insane and sent my sisters into foster care.  I was 18, almost 19, so I was put
in temporary care and then set up with my own apartment so I could finish high
school.  But the damage was done.  I can't enjoy sex - or anything else -
unless something breaks down my wall.  Once it is down, I can feel things -
pain, pleasure, sex, whatever, but so far, the only thing that can knock down
that wall is pain."

She got quiet and I said, "I'm supposed to ask you when you first knew you were
different and what your worst and best sexual experience were, but I don't
think those questions apply."  She continued to sit there quietly and stare at
me so I asked.  "How about you talk about how and when you first figured out
that knocking down the wall had something to do with sex and how you know that
only pain will do it."

"I think I can answer all three questions," she said rather flatly.  "I'm not
exactly sure how old I was when I built the wall... like I said, maybe eight or
ten.  It happened about the same time where it got to the point that all I was
really interested in was protecting my baby sisters.  When dad would come home
drunk and go into one of his rages, I would hustle them down into the basement
and put them up into the crawl space.  Then I would wait for dad.  Like I said,
it was never sexual with him - at least not in anything like a normal way, but
he liked me to be naked when he beat me.  I think it was just so he could hear
the belt smack against my skin and could watch the welts form.  Before I got
old enough, he used to beat Mamma naked, but then he turned his attention to
me.  I guess I was protecting Momma, too, by letting him beat on me."

"At first, he would tear my clothes off.  But that would ruin them, and I
didn't have that many clothes.  So after a while, once I got the girls hidden,
I would just take off my clothes and wait for him.  I would stand there in the
middle of the basement naked and go off as far as I could behind my wall."

She looked up at me, and her face was totally blank.  I think she was talking
to me from somewhere behind that wall as she spoke.

"It was my junior year of high school, about a week after my 18th birthday.  I
had been held back a year in school because the teachers said I was emotionally
unready for junior high.  I think they were just making sure that I didn't get
a chance to talk to the new counselor at the middle school.  She only lasted a
year and got replaced by someone 'from the community.'  Then it was safe for me
to be there."

"Anyway, it was early spring, but already really warm.  I had been outside
spading the garden with my younger sisters, and we were all hot and sweaty.
When it got dark, the girls and I went inside.  We thought dad would be at work
until the end of second shift, but the plant closed early for some reason and
he had stopped at the bar for a couple of hours before coming home.  He was
sitting in the kitchen drinking a beer and cussing at Momma when we came in the
back door."

"I yelled for the girls to run and we bolted for the basement door.  I stood at
the top of the steps and held onto the doorhandle to give them time to get
under the porch.  When I let go, Daddy pulled the door open and grabbed me.  He
dragged me back up into the kitchen and then into the living room.  Momma was
cowering in her chair crying like she often did when Daddy was in one of his
moods.  Daddy dragged me over to in front of her and yelled at me, 'I think its
time that your mother saw you get a proper punishment.' and he started tearing
off my clothes."

"Momma kept saying 'Please don't.  I'll give you the best blow job you ever had
if you let her alone.  I'll let you fuck me in the ass.  I'll even let your
poker buddies do whatever they want to me Friday night.  Just leave little
Ellen alone.'"

"Daddy yelled at her, 'She ain't no little Ellen any more.'  He flipped me over
and forced my legs open so that my cunt was facing Momma.  'See that hair,' he
yelled, 'she is a grown woman.  Maybe I ought to make her suck me off or maybe
I'll fuck her in the ass.'  That was the only time that daddy ever said
anything sexual about me, and I think he was only saying it to hurt momma."

"Momma started crying and wailing,'No, no.' and she got up and started taking
off her clothes.  She went into the kitchen and came back with a stick of
butter.  She knelt over the couch and set the butter up against her asshole.
'Husband, look at me,' she said.  'I am preparing myself for you.'  And then
she shoved that whole stick of butter up her ass."

"Daddy was beating me with his belt and I was curled up in a ball in the middle
of the floor.  I think my back was bleeding, but I wasn't sure.  It was one of
the worst beatings Daddy had given me in a long time.  'Beat me or fuck me,'
Momma cried, 'But leave her alone.'"

"Daddy stopped beating on me and went over behind Momma.  He dropped his pants.
That was the first time I had ever seen my Daddy naked.  He had a really small
penis, or at least it was much smaller than anything I had ever seen on the
internet.  I know that a lot of those male models are extra big, but Daddy
wasn't much bigger than my thumb.  Maybe his meanness was just him making up
for having a such a small dick.  He pushed into Momma in one stroke and started
humping.  She just knelt there."

"He didn't take too long to finish, and when he pulled out, he slapped her on
the ass real hard and yelled, 'Get upstairs woman.  You still owe me a blow
job.'"

"Momma jumped off the couch and ran upstairs.  Daddy walked over to the stairs
and then looked back at me and said, 'Your day's coming, little Ellen.  One of
these days it will be you kneeling on the couch getting your ass pumped.'  Then
he went upstairs."

She paused at looked at me with her totally expressionless face.  "Do you know
what I did then?" she asked.

I was thinking how often I had been asked that question during these
interviews, but that was for my inner thoughts or a later conversation with
Shelly.  "No idea," I replied.

"I lay there on top of that pile of my torn up clothing and Momma's dress and
underwear and I masturbated myself to climax.  It was the first time I ever had
an orgasm.  It was the first time I had ever felt anything sexual.  Daddy had
beaten me to the point where I couldn't block out the pain, and I realized that
if I couldn't block out the pain, I couldn't block out pleasure either.  I knew
it was then or never.  And I knew that the only way I could ever feel that kind
of pleasure again was to first endure the pain.  When I finished I opened my
eyes and my oldest little sister was standing there.  She was crying and
saying, 'I don't fit anymore.  I can't get into the hidey place.  It was a
couple weeks later when Momma loaded the shotgun."

"So was that your worst sexual experience?" I asked.

Ellen laughed.  "No, that came later after Daddy was dead.  I finished high
school and then ran away.  I guess you can't really say I ran away since I was
19 and there wasn't anyone to run away from.  Maybe I was running away from
memories or the town or myself.  I don't know.  I heard that there were a lot
of jobs paying good money out in North Dakota so I headed out there."

"There were a lot of jobs, but not very many of them were for women, unless you
count strippers and hookers.  I can't dance for shit, and even in a low-class
strip joint you have to be able to move a little bit around the pole without
tripping over your own feet.  And I didn't think I was ready to go pro, so I
ended up working as a waitress in a truck stop."

"They called it a truck stop, but it was actually a fueling depot for the
company trucks that also sold gas to rigs coming in off the road.  There were
three or four big barracks-like buildings to house construction workers that
all connected to the diner area.   Construction went 24/7 so we were open 24/7.
From one o'clock on there was almost no traffic from the highway, but there
were always fifty or so workers wanting an evening meal or beer.  We didn't
sell anything harder than beer and wine."

"One night something happened at the construction site and they sent the night
shift home.  I don't know what it was, but we had two or three times the normal
load and the other waitress on my shift had called in sick.  I was running my
ass off trying to keep up with the orders.  I didn't realize it, but I was
sweating really hard, and my thin, off-white outfit was starting to turn
transparent.  Because of the summer time heat, I wasn't wearing a bra and had
on a very small pair of panties, so without realizing it, I was starting to put
on a pretty good show.  I did notice that none of the men seemed to be leaving
after they finished their meal."

"Finally after I got everyone served and was going from table to table making
sure that everyone had paid their checks, I asked one of the tables, 'Why are
you guys hanging around here?  Don't you need your sleep tonight?'"

"A smart aleck at one table said, rather loudly, 'We are all hanging around
watching you run around naked and wondering what it takes to tire you out.'"

"Everyone in the place laughed.  I still didn't realize that I was effectively
standing there naked when I answered back, 'Honey, you could never tire me
out.'  It sounded like the whole place said, 'Ooooh,' and so I looked up at all
of them and said, 'That goes for all of you.  The whole bunch of you couldn't
tire me out.'"

"I don't know if I meant it in a sexual manner or not, but it suddenly got very
quiet in there.  One of the men said, 'I'd be willing to pay $100 to see if I
could, little Ellen.  I bet I'm man enough to tire your out.'  He called
everybody 'little something,' so that didn't mean anything, but being called
'little Ellen' brought back all sorts of memories.  All of a sudden I wanted to
see if enough sex would break down my wall.  I grabbed the big tip jar off the
counter, walked over to the pool table and stripped.  It wasn't until then that
I realized just how transparent my outfit had become."

"As I took off my clothes, I set the tip jar on a stool next to the table and
said, '$100 a try.  Any hole.  No more than three at one time.  If you are the
one to tire me out, you get five times your money back.'"

"Jimmy, the manager said, 'Ellen, are you sure your want to do this?'"

"I lay back on the pool table and said, 'What does it look like?'"

"I don't know how many men I took on that night.  I lost count after
twenty-seven blow jobs, but I never really kept track of how many fucked me or
took me in the ass.  I know that several times I had somebody in each hole.
They put me on the floor for that.  It was starting to get light when big Sam
stopped to refuel before heading back east.  He drove a transport and brought
big parts for the drilling rigs in from the east coast.  I saw him come in the
door and everybody got real quiet.  He went back outside and then came right
back in carrying a big blanket.  Everybody called him 'Big Sam' or 'Good Sam.'
Big Sam because he was huge.  Good Sam because he was always helping people.
Once in a while someone would call him Preacher Sam, but never to his face."

"He walked up to the pool table and everybody scattered.  He picked up the tip
jar and scooped up the money that was scattered around it on the floor.  'Put
it in a sack,' he said to Jimmy.  There was something about his voice that made
you know that you would be in real trouble if you didn't do exactly what he
said."

"Jimmy put the money in a paper bag, and brought it back and gave it to him.
Then Sam wrapped the blanket around me and picked me up over his shoulder and
walked out to his truck.  He set me on the bed in the sleeper in the back of
his cab and said, 'You lay there.  Sam will take care of this.' and we drove
off."

"He stopped at another truck stop about fifty miles away and picked me up again
and carried me in a side door.  'Sally!' he yelled as he came through the door.
A middle-aged black woman came scurrying up to him.   'Clean her up and dress
her,' said Sam."

"Sally took me into the shower area and pushed me under a shower, blanket and
all.  'You smell like the floor of a whore house,' she said.  'Sam must have
gotten to you just in time.  You can trust him, honey.  Good Sam likes to help
people like us.  He will do good for you.  He did for me.'"

"By the time I was dry and dressed, Sam had ordered breakfast to go for both of
us.  As he walked me back to the truck, he said, 'You've got family or somebody
somewhere.  Just tell me where, and I will take you there.  It may take a
little time to get a load going that direction, but I will get you where you
need to be."

She smiled at me.  It was the first expression on her face since she had
started speaking.

"My aunt lives here in town.  I told him about her and about Momma and Daddy
and my little sisters.  He teared up while we was driving down the road.  I
asked him, 'Why do you do this?'"

"He answered, 'You aren't coming home in a box.'"

"I didn't understand, but then he continued, 'My baby girl ran away when she
was in high school.  We never knew for sure what had happened, but something
happened at school that she couldn't handle and she left.  Police found her by
the side of the road two weeks later.  She had been dead for over a week.  They
wouldn't let us see the body.  Probably not enough left of it to recognize
anyway... just a big cardboard box inside a casket.  That's all I got to see.'"

"His voice sounded like he was trying not to cry as he continued, 'They never
caught him.  Young girl hitch hiking alone, it could have been anyone.  Nothing
I can do about that, but I can see that there is one less baby girl to come
home in a box.  You are not going home in a box.  You put your life back
together, hear.  You can do it.  Do it for my baby girl.'"

"That was my worst sexual experience, but one of the best things that ever
happened in my life.  Aunt Sophia is mom's sister.  She said that she always
wanted to help, but was too afraid of my daddy and his family.  She didn't try
to get me or the girls afterwards because she had been warned to stay out of it
by his uncle, the sherif."

"I stayed with her for a while until I got settled at the university.  There
was thirty thousand dollars in that paper bag.  At a hundred dollars a pop,
that means 300 men.  Maybe it was that many, but I think Good Sam put some of
his own money in that bag before he gave it back to me.  He's never tried to
get in touch with me, but I've kept myself together for him and his baby girl."

It was getting late, so I started to go into my "If you are willing to sign
this card," routine, but she cut me off.

"'I have to tell you about my best sexual experience,' she blurted out.  'It's
important.'"

What could I say except, "OK."

"It was the Friday night that the performance first went real.  My boyfriend
came to see the show.  I met him in an abuse support group.  His childhood
wasn't much better than mine, but he is much farther along the path to
wholeness.  He understands.  He tried to talk me out of doing the show, but he
understands.  Anyway, after the show, he walked me out to his car.  We were
parked in the lot behind the studio.  We were going to go straight home, so I
was wearing just a robe.  I was all sweaty and tired from the performance, but
I could feel the cool breeze blowing up under my robe.  I shivered slightly,
and he asked what was wrong.  I said, 'The breeze coming up under my robe is
cool, that's all.'"

"Suddenly I realized what I had said.  I was FEELING the breeze.  His car was
parked in the corner of the lot alongside the building.  It was dark and there
was no one else there.  Suddenly, I leaned on the hood of his car and said,
'Fuck me.  Now!  Please!  While I can feel it.  Make love to me!'"

"Like I said, he understands.  He took me from behind, but he was gentle and
loving, and it was wonderful.  I tried real hard not to make any noise, but I
saw several lights go on in the second floor apartments after I climaxed.  We
jumped in the car and he drove me home.  That was my best sexual experience."

"He bought a tens unit and we have done some electro play since then.  He turns
it up very slowly until I just start to feel it.  Then he strokes me and rubs
my back and kisses me.  He says he is training my body and weaning me away from
the pain.  It takes less and less intensity until I can feel him stroking me.
Sometimes when we just kiss, I can almost feel it and it feels so good."

"Tell Dr. Collins," she said, "that some of us really are sick, but we can get
better.  I've never gotten pleasure out of pain.  Pain was just the price I had
to pay in order to feel anything.  That is sick.  I am glad I am getting
better."

"I'll tell him," I assured her.

After she left, Shelly came into the room.  I told her.  "I just want to go to
sleep tonight."  She raised an eyebrow at me, and I answered her unasked
question, "Sometimes you have to put some distance between yourself and the
demons of this world before you can go on with your life."

She nodded her agreement and we went into the bedroom.

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
 END CHAPTER SIX OF EIGHT  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =   

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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