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Subject: {ASSM} Diary of a Pain Slut - Week Three of Five     Female Exhibitionist, Self-Bondage, Public Nudity, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Public Orgasm, Spanking, Whipping, Electro-Sex, Oral, Anal
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Diary of a Pain Slut - Week Three of Five
Maddi has to keep a diary as part of court-ordered therapy

By The Technician

Female Exhibitionist, Self-Bondage, Public Nudity, Public Humiliation,
Public Sex, Public Orgasm, Spanking, Whipping, Electro-Sex, Oral, Anal

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
When Maddi Miller gets caught doing naked self-bondage under an
interstate bridge, the police take her to the psych ward of the local
hospital. She is released but has to keep a diary as part of her
thirty day evaluation and submit it to her therapist at the end of
each week.

This is week three of that diary. There are five weeks, each more or
less stands on its own, but makes more sense if you have read the
previous weeks.

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

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) 2014 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.

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

Maddi's Diary, Day Eleven, Monday

Today was a session with Dr. B. I thought he would concentrate on the
Beat Girl thing or maybe on the fact that I found out that my Mom is
almost as much a pain slut as I am, but instead he seemed to be mostly
interested in the fact that I hadn't mentioned the Friday group
session at all.

I don't know why, but that pissed me off and I got snarky with him. "I
didn't mention when I took a crap either," I said, "or how many sheets
of toilet paper I used to wipe my ass."

That was a mistake. One, never get snarky with a therapist. They just
sit there and stare at you without responding in any way. And two,
never try to be funny with a shrink. They have no sense of humor and
everything that you say means SOMETHING to them.

"So," he replied, "do you equate going to group with going to the
bathroom?"

"Taking a crap is just a necessary bodily function that doesn't mean a
whole lot except that you have to do it." I replied. Again, I made the
mistake of trying to be cute in my answer.

"But it is a necessary function that removes waste from the body,
isn't it?" he asked.

"So are you saying that going to group is like taking a crap?" I
asked. I was really pressing it and I knew it.

"No," he answered, "I'm just pointing out that even taking a crap is
beneficial to the body. If you don't do it, you end up being full of
shit."

He smiled and then raised his eyebrows at me with his eyes twinkling
at me over the top of this glasses. I guess shrinks have a sense of
humor after all, it is just a very weird sense of humor.

"OK," I finally said, "next week I will write out my feelings about
what happened in group. Satisfied?"

"Yes," he said, "and don't forget to also write out your feelings
about having your mother watch you as you broadcast your Beat Girl
session."

"I set her up with a permanent pass," I replied.

Dr B gave me one of those therapist you-don't-get-it-yet smiles and
said, "I didn't say to tell me your feelings about having your mother
watch the broadcast, I said tell me your feelings about having her
watch you DOING the broadcast."

"You want me to have my mother in the studio with me?" I sputtered in
surprise.

"Beat Girl isn't real," he answered. "She is just a live animated
internet cartoon that gets her ass whapped, zapped and ka-powed."

He leaned toward me and his voice became very serious, "You are real.
You showed your mother the cartoon Beat Girl. Are you willing to show
your mother your real self?"

"Oh," I said.

"Or are you going to try to always keep the real you hidden behind a
pink mask and cape?"

This time I just looked down at the floor. He had me.

He coughed slightly and I looked back up at him. He looked up at me
over his glasses. "Remember to write up a complete description of what
happens and what your and your mother's responses and feelings were."

"Yes, Dr. B," I answered.

"Then that is all for now. I will see you Wednesday and talk about
some other things. I assume I will read about tomorrow night when you
send in your log next Sunday."

Not much else happened today. I worked until close at the restaurant.
The only thing interesting there was that Brad Summers came in with
several of his buddies to eat. This was actually the first time I had
seen them since that night. I expected them to make some kind of gross
remarks or make references to that night at the Pit, but they acted as
if they had never seen me before.

It wasn't until they were gone that I realized that they actually
didn't recognize me. They recognized me at the restaurant. They knew
me as someone from around town. Brad recognized me as the girl who had
told him to go to hell. But somehow they could not connect the
demurely dressed waitress who waited politely on them and served them
dinner with the drunken slut who stood naked before them begging to be
fucked that night at the Pit. 

Maybe the reason that Brad and his friend never told anyone who the
girl was is that they didn't know it was me that night. I must have
been so drunk and wild that it didn't even look like me. I am torn
between keeping that secret in the deep dark places of my mind or
saying and doing something so that he realizes who it was that night.

End of entry for Day Eleven

Maddi's Diary, Day Twelve, Tuesday

I guess that I am getting better at talking about really strange and
embarrassing things with my mother. A week ago, I was worried about
talking to her about me being found naked under the interstate. This
morning over breakfast, I calmly said, "Mom, Dr. B wants you to watch
me live while I a do a Beat Girl session. Then he wants me to talk to
you about it and write down my feelings about having you there."

I thought she might object or have a lot of questions, but all she
replied was "When?"

"Tonight," I answered. "I work mid-day today and late shift tomorrow."

I tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "I have my
schedule set up like that so it doesn't interfere with Beat Girl. I
usually work early shift on Tuesdays so I am home early and then the
late afternoon and evening on Wednesdays to give me a little time to
recuperate on Wednesday morning."

I shrugged, "My appointments with Dr. B screw that up for me."

"I'll have a light supper ready for you when you get home at 4:00,"
she said. "Then you can clean up and get ready. You should have time
to give me a tour of your studio before you go online."

I couldn't believe how calm she was about the whole thing. It was like
we were discussing "Take Your Mother to Work Day" or something like
that.

Work was OK. There were no obnoxious customers and the tips were
decent. Actually for a waitress job, no obnoxious customers and decent
tips is a very good day. I got home around 4:00 and Mom had supper
waiting for me. Strangely, I don't really remember what it was. I
guess I was too worried about the rest of the evening.

I took a long, hot bath- regular bath, not Mom's version of a long hot
bath, and I used my little spinning tweezer thingy to make sure that I
was smooth all over. The cameras are HD and you wouldn't believe what
is clearly visible on a high-quality monitor or video screen.

I put on a robe and went out into the living room. Mom was also in a
robe. "I've been thinking about it," she said. "I should be naked
while I watch you."

I know I looked a little surprised, but I didn't say anything.

"That way," she continued, "we are both revealing our total selves to
each other."

I nodded in understanding even though I was not quite sure I
understood.

"And I need to be bound and gagged."

"What?" I sputtered.

"Odysseus and the Sirens" she replied.

"Now you have totally lost me," I answered.

"They don't teach the classics anymore, do they?" She responded. "In
the ancient Greek story, `The Odyssey' by Homer, the hero, named
Odysseus is a sea captain who wants to hear the song of the sirens,
who are sort of like mermaid people. Their song is beautiful, but no
one can resist it and it lures you to destruction. So he had his men
fill their ears with wax so they couldn't hear it and tie him to the
mast of the ship. Then they sailed past the home of the sirens and he
got to hear their song. He was captivated and would have been drawn
in, but because he was bound to the mast, all he could do was watch
and listen."

"You're afraid you will do something stupid if you are just standing
there," I said.

"Yes," she answered.

"And you're afraid that you will yell out or something if you aren't
gagged."

"Yes," she answered again.

"Besides," she said, giving me one of her really weird smiles. "I've
always wondered what it would feel like to be tied up helpless and
naked."

"Click!" I suddenly realized that Mom was exploring her limits, or
testing the waters, or whatever. I wonder if she will want to check
out her responses to humiliation next? I may have to sit down and have
a real daughter to mother talk about the dangers of checking that out
drunk and in public.

We walked out to "the long shed," as Dad calls it. I call it the play
house because Dad made one end of it into a play house for me when I
was a little girl. He also fixed up the rest of it as a big open room
that my girlfriends and I could play in on a rainy day. It has its own
furnace and air conditioning and bathrooms all that. It even has a
pretty good shower.

We had sleep-overs out there when I was younger. In high school, I
used to go out there to study a lot. Dad keeps kidding me that all he
has to do is improve the kitchen and bathroom a little and I could
move in out there.

It sits toward the back of our property and at one time had something
to do with the dairy farm that was once here. There is a small, really
modern metal building right next to it, just inside the property line,
with a tall microwave tower that has cell phone stuff about half-way
up. That setup belongs to the phone company or a cable company or
somebody like that. There are also some sort of glass cables buried
across our land and the fields on either side of it. The building is
some sort of switching center or whatever that connects the cables to
the tower and to each other.

They pay Dad so much a year to rent the land and for access back to
the tower. They also gives us free internet access. Harold says that I
don't appreciate what I have. He says it is T-something speed and has
"bandwidth out the ass," whatever that means. I don't know anything
about it, but when Harold first approached me with the idea of doing
online stuff, he said I already had the perfect place to do it. He
also said that if Dad was ever interested, his friends might have a
proposal for putting some servers or whatever out next to the tower. I
told him that would never happen, because I was never telling Dad
about the studio. But now, who knows?

Mom gasped out loud when we entered the studio. There was a LOT of
very expensive equipment sitting all over the place. "There are
basically three areas," I said, pointing to the three segments. "There
is one for the spanking bench, one for the rotating frame for electro
night, and one for the restraint poles for TAZapper night."

I walked over and started turning on the production lights. "If there
is a fifth Tuesday," I continued, Harold re-arranges the robot arms so
that the spanking machines can work on me while I am upright between
the TAZapper posts." I gave Mom sort of a shrug and said, "Combination
nights cost extra points to enter and everything is doubled in cost
from the start."

I walked over to the corner and dragged a heavy, strange looking chair
over to the edge of the Beat Girl spanking bench area. The chair had
really heavy arms and legs with several leather restraint straps on
each arm and leg. The seat was cut out sort of like a really wide
toilet seat that was missing the back half.

When you sat in the chair, the only thing holding you up were two
polished strips of wood that went under your legs. Your ass was
basically hanging out there on its own. "Harold bought this from some
fetish shop. He thought we could work it into the productions
somewhere, but neither of us has thought of anything."

I lifted up one of the straps and said, "You will definitely not be
able to break loose no matter how strongly the sirens call to you." I
smiled at her, "And besides, you said you wanted to be helpless and
naked. In this chair you are really helpless... and you are REALLY
naked."

Mom looked like she wasn't too sure about this anymore, but she sat
down in the chair. It took a little moving around to get situated
properly so that she was actually sitting on the thin strips. I
started by strapping her ankles and then moved upward.

The next set of straps were just below her knees and when I pulled
them tight, it pulled her legs wide apart. She gasped slightly, but
said nothing.  The next set was just above the knees. These didn't
need to be pulled quite as tight, but even then, the helped open her
up a little more.

There was a wide strap that went more or less across her waist and
held her tight to the back of the chair. Straps just below the elbow
and at the wrists held her arms tightly to the arms of the chair.  

There was a flat post-like section that stuck up straight in the back
with a pad on the front of it. I pushed her head back against the pad
and put a leather strap across her forehead. Once it was tight, she
was unable to turn her head and had to look straight ahead.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" I asked. I was
standing there holding a red ball gag.

"Yes," she answered. Then she said, "God, I have never felt so
vulnerable in my life. You could do anything to me and there is
nothing I could do about it."

I put the ball gag in place, giving her a second to work her jaws
around it before I tied it firmly in place around the post. As I
turned to go back into the other area to put on my Beat Girl cape and
mask, I suddenly had a strange idea. Was Mom asking me to do something
to her?

That would be just way too weird, but... I walked over to the "toy
box"and got out a magic wand with remote control and a microphone
stand. Harold had modified the microphone stand so that the magic wand
would clip into it just like a microphone normally would. The stand
had one of those long arms on it so the microphone could be held next
to a guitar, or come over the top of the music stand to be close to a
singer's mouth.

I set it up in front of Mom so that the arm was down between her legs
and the magic wand was pointing up at an angle toward her cunt. OK Dr.
B, that makes me feel weird, talking about my mother's cunt, but if I
am rigging a remote controlled, industrial strength vibrator up to it
while she is strapped in a sex bondage chair, I don't think "vagina"
is the right word.

Anyway, I set it up so that it would be right against her slit and
would just touch her clit. If she rocked down just a little bit, she
could force it directly on her clit. When I set it in place, her eyes
got a little wide and she "umphed" at me through the ball gag. Then I
picked up the control box and turned it on to minimum.

Her eyes got even wider, but then she said, "mmmmm" and closed her
eyes for a moment. It was definitely getting her in the mood. I looked
up at the clock and realized that I had to get moving if we were going
to go online on time tonight.

I went over to the control board and checked that all 8 cameras were
live and working. Then I cycled the paddle, the whip, and the cane
through their test cycles. I also checked that the paddle, whip and
cane were all firmly held in their mounting brackets. The cane had
gotten loose one session a few months back, and I had ended up having
to drop the safety switch when the tip of the cane slammed into me
hard enough to cut a deep gouge. Luckily, I didn't have to go to the
ER and it healed without scarring.

Everything was ready and it was coming up on 8:00. I could see the
website on the big monitor on the wall above Mom and it was counting
down the minutes to air time. At 7:58, the screen was filled with the
animated Beat Girl. I had the routine down exactly after all these
sessions. First she got WHAPPED, then she got KA-POWED, then she got
ZAPPED, and then it switched to live camera three and I ran toward it
and turned around so that my ass filled the screen when BEAT GIRL
flashed across my ass.

I did the standard opening explaining how things worked and enticing
people to spend their points on the paddle, the whip, or the cane.
Suddenly I had an idea. "We have a special guest tonight," I bubbled
at the main camera. "A special slut who wanted to watch a live Beat
Girl session. We can't show her face, but I am going to put camera 9
where you can see the interesting parts."

The on-screen controls are actually capable of bringing up 10 cameras,
but normally only 8 are turned on. I ran off screen and grabbed camera
9. It is usually just sitting there and can be substituted for one of
the other cameras if something isn't working just before show time.

Camera 9 is mounted on a really short tripod and I set it down right
in front of Mom so that it was shooting right between her legs. I was
pretty sure that all that would be visible on the screen was the
inside of her legs and her cunt with the vibrator pressed against it.

As I set it in place, Mom grunted and tried to shake her head. Then I
could see her whole body turning a deep shade of red.

I ran back into the set and looked back up at the main monitor. All
ten cameras show on the monitor if they are on. Camera 9 was the
inside of Mom's legs from the strap above the knee to very top. Her
cunt was clearly visible and you could see the moisture dripping from
her labia alongside the head to the magic wand.

"No extra charge for the extra camera," I chirped. "Now, let's get
started."

I got down on the bench and started strapping myself in. Most of it is
automated, so it's just a matter of me slipping arms, legs, etc
through the straps and lying down over the padded seat. Once in place,
I squeeze my safety switch. The restraints tighten immediately and the
timer started its countdown from 30 minutes.

I looked down at the monitor beneath me so I could see who was up in
the cue. Number 001 was AsianBeauty and she had spent her points for
seven strokes of the cane.

Rats! No warm up swats from the paddle before getting to the really
hard stuff. I noticed that number 002 was also in the cane cue and he
had five strokes. Ouch! I was starting off with twelve of the best
without even getting any warmup. I raised my head a little and looked
over at Mom. Was this instant Karma for what I had done to her?

I didn't get a chance to think about that very long because the cane
strokes started hitting. I told Mom that a lot of the time the screams
and thrashing around were fake for the cameras. This wasn't. Twelve
strokes of the cane with no warm up is not fun. I screamed and
thrashed and yelled and cursed. I wonder if any of the people in the
cues or watching knew what I meant when I was yelling out, "Come on, E
buddies! Come on E buddies!"

Luckily, the next person in the cue was on the paddle list, and
ProudPapa43 took his time with his 15 strokes. He was spacing them out
at somewhere between 20 and 30 seconds. Or maybe he was delaying until
the automatic kicked in. In any case, I never knew for sure when they
were coming, but they were standard spanks with the paddle and my E
buddies had time to arrive by the time we got to about the seventh
swat. By the time he finished, the endorphin level in my body was high
enough that a triple cane stroke would have still felt like pleasure
rather than pain.

The remainder of the session was a mixture of paddle, cane and whip. A
lot of my screams after that were fake for the audience, except the
screams when I orgasmed. I had three very nice orgasms before the
timer clicked down to zero. They weren't mind shattering or anything
like that, but there is no such thing as a bad orgasm... Well, I guess
if you are tied down and forced into your twenty-something orgasm it
might be a little bad, but other than something like that, there is no
such thing as a bad orgasm.

When the timer clicked down to zero, the restraints automatically
released. As I squirmed my way out of the spanking bench, I could hear
the automated voices reminding people to be back next week and telling
them the advantages of a yearly membership which allowed them to view
any recorded session on the site 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365
days a year.

After my legs got steady, I walked over and stood in front of Mom. She
was rocking herself down so that she was rubbing her clit against the
magic wand and she was grunting with each rock of her hips.

She looked at me with wild eyes. She was trying to say something, but
nothing was understandable with the ball gag. 

"Do you need to cum?" I asked.

She nodded her head, or at least tried to, and grunted out something
that sounded like "Yes, yes, YES!"

I walked over to the control box and turned it up to maximum and then
walked back to take a shower.

When I came back out, Mom was motionless in the chair. Her eyes were
glazed. She was moaning softly around the ball gag. I slowly turned
the vibrator down to zero and stood there and waited. After a few
moments, she took a deep breath and then looked up at me.

I reached down and moved Camera 9 out of the way. Then I pulled the
microphone stand holding the vibrator out away from her legs. Even
though it was off, she whimpered slightly when the vibrator lost
contact with her clit. Then I started undoing the straps.

I undid the straps in the same order that I had tied them in place,
starting with the ones on her ankles. She did not move at all as I
released her arms and legs. The last thing I removed was the ball gag.

"What did you do to me?" she asked in a deep and throaty voice.

"What you wanted?" I answered. "I think."

She didn't answer, but her head nodded slowly up and down answering
both my question and hers.

I told her to go take a shower while I finished shutting down the rest
of the studio and then we would go back up to the house and talk.

About twenty minutes later we were sitting in the living room in our
robes with a glass of wine in our hands. "So," Mom began, "how was it
for you?"

I laughed. She sounded like an insecure young man checking on how he
performed in bed. "I was nervous that you were watching me," I
answered. "It's kind of hard to have your mom watching you as you
climb your way to a pain orgasm."

"It didn't look like it was pleasurable at first," she said.

I took a sip of wine and answered, "No, it wasn't. But sometimes pain
is the price you pay to get to the point where you can enjoy the
sensations."

She raised her eyebrows as if she had a question, and I explained. "If
you want to get the most pleasure out of a pain experience, you start
sort of slow. A warm up spanking or something like that. Then once it
starts to hurt, your body begins to react and your E buddies start
showing up."

"E buddies?" She asked.

"Endorphins," I replied. "Everybody produces endorphins. For some
people, pain, especially pain that the body knows is not
life-threatening, will cause your body to flood endorphins into your
system. It prepares you for more pain almost like your cunt juices
prepare you for intercourse." 

Both Mom and I paused for large sips of wine. "If your cunt flows
juices down your legs when you just think about sex, you are probably
a slut. If your brain and pituitary gland dump tons of endorphins into
your body in response to pain, you are probably a long distance runner
or other athlete that really abuses their body. If your body does
both, well, that's you and me. Then, you have the makings of a pain
slut."

"So God did make us this way," Mom said with a laugh. 

"God just laid out the wiring." I said, "We decide wether or not to
switch on the system. You keep the switch turned off most of the time.
I keep the lights burning 'most every night."

"If I didn't know how hard it is to keep the lights off," Mom
answered, "I would tell you to just learn how to control yourself. But
I know how hard that is. All I could think of as I was strapped in
watching you was that if you gave me an opportunity to do so, I would
strap myself into that spanking bench with the whole world watching. I
would even do it without a mask if that was the only way."

"Are you sure you would do that?" I asked. "Wouldn't that destroy what
you and Dad have?"

"I didn't say I would do it," she answered, "I said that's all I could
think of." Then she turned very red. "No, that wasn't all I could
think of. That damn vibrator pushed up against my twat was driving me
wild and I couldn't believe that I was dripping on the floor with a
camera focused right between my legs."

She looked at me and said hoarsely, "It was so humiliating, but at the
same time, it caused me to flood even more as I thought about all the
people who were watching me rub my clit against the head of the
vibrator."

"That's why I did it," I said softly. "Now you know that humiliation
can turn you on. You don't have to go out and experiment to find out."

"Is that what you were doing when you went down to The Grease Pit?"
she asked.

I drained my glass and answered, "That was the general idea, but Brad
was late and I got stoned out of my mind on bourbon and cokes. I was
so wasted that they didn't even recognize that it was me. I didn't
want you to do something that stupid."

"Did you think I would do something like that?" 

"I hoped not," I answered, "but I know how strong these urges are. I
don't do the Beat Girl thing for the money. I do it because it keeps
me from doing something far more stupid and dangerous."

She drained her glass and said, "I think we both need a refill and
then we need to go to bed."

She took my empty glass with her into the kitchen and came back a few
moments later with both glasses refilled. From that point on we talked
about school and her job and a little about how she has to work at it
to get Dad interested in sex.

My glass was almost empty and hers was down to her last sip when she
suddenly became very serious. She drained the glass and set it down on
the coffee table. "I think we found out a lot about each other
tonight," she said, "and also about ourselves.

"You are a pain slut. So am I. But I have a wonderful husband and a
marvelous life. I choose to keep what I call the beast caged. Watching
your sessions on a computer is like going to the zoo to visit the
beast. I can handle that. But being there, that is going out into the
wild and letting the beasts roam free. I can never do that again.
Don't invite me, and if I ask, don't let me."

"I don't know where I go from here," I replied. "I can't cage the
beast. I can only tame it or find someone or someplace or something
that can control it. For now, that is Beat Girl. But I don't know what
it will be in the future."

We hugged each other and went to bed. Both of our robes had fallen
open and when we hugged our naked bodies pressed tightly against each
other. It felt really weird, but there was nothing sexual about it. In
fact, it felt like we were acknowledging that there was no longer
anything between us and we would support each other from now on... not
only as mother and daughter, but as sister pain sluts.



End of entry for Day Twelve

Maddi's Diary, Day Thirteen, Wednesday

I hate having to get out of bed early on Wednesday morning just to go
down to the hospital and meet with Dr. B. Sorry, Dr. B, but that's how
I feel.

I started to tell him about last night, but he cut me off with "I will
read about that Sunday night. I don't need to know what happened. What
I need to know now is where what happened has brought you. What is the
most important thing on your mind right now?"

"Where do I go from here?" I answered. "I'm a pain slut. I don't know
whether or not I can ever  change that, but I am pretty sure that I
don't WANT to change that. So, where DO I go from here?"

Dr. B put his fingertips together and looked at me across his desk. I
haven't been to a lot of therapists, but I know that when they put
their fingertips together, they are about to say something that they
think is really significant.

"When I do marital counseling," he began, "one of the first things
that I have to clarify is whether I am doing marriage counseling or
divorce counseling.  Obviously they are not the same thing. The most
important thing that we needed to clarify is whether we are doing
lifestyle change counseling or life direction counseling."

He stood up and walked around the desk. That is also not a good sign
from a therapist. He sat on the desk facing me. "You are not a crazy
mixed up kid. You have things figured out pretty well. You have the
classic underlying physiology of ... a pain slut. I could use the
technical term, but let's call it what it is. And you are more or less
comfortable with being a pain slut."

I looked at him in shock and surprise. I couldn't believe he was
telling me this.

"You are not nuts," he said with a smile. "You are just at a point in
your life where you have to figure out how to live out what you are as
a safe and productive member of society."

He laughed slightly. "Everybody is nuts in one way or another. A lot
of people become therapists because they have significant emotional or
mental issues. People become scientists because they are obsessed with
facts and figures. The question is what does a person who is sexually
turned on by pain become?"

"What?" I asked.

He laughed again. "That is for you to figure out. Therapists ask
questions. Patients answer them."

Dr. B can be so frustrating.

Nothing much happened the rest of the day except I couldn't get that
question out of my mind. "What DOES a person who is sexually turned on
by pain become that will make her a safe and productive member of
society." 

End of entry for Day Thirteen



Maddi's Diary, Day Fourteen, Thursday

Today was an absolutely normal day. By that I mean that I got up, ate
breakfast, went to work, came home and watched television until I went
to bed. Mom and I talked a little, but it was primarily about whether
or not I was still sore and how my bruises were healing.

I pulled down my pants and panties and showed her my ass. The bruises
already had that yellowish color that indicates they are healing. I
heal very fast. By Saturday night, they will be mostly gone and by
Monday my ass will be totally clear except for a couple of lines from
the cane. Bruises from the cane must go deeper because they always
take longer to heal.

While we were talking, Dad called. He must have asked Mom what she had
been doing or something like that because she turned very red and
said, "Oh, I've been keeping busy."

After that she got up and walked into the other room. As she was
leaving, I could hear her say, "You'd better eat some oysters or
something, honey, because I am really missing you. While Maddi is at
work Saturday morning, you and I are going to spend some serious
loving time in bed."

I couldn't hear what she was saying after that, but it would appear
that Dad was going to have to feed the caged beast, even if it didn't
exactly get the diet it wanted.

End of entry for Day Fourteen



Maddi's Diary, Day Fifteen, Friday

It's kind of late while I am writing this. Friday is normally an
afternoon-evening shift at work, so I was there until close. Shirley
and Vicki came in well after the dinner rush had passed. They sat in a
corner booth in my area and ate onion rings and sipped on Cokes. As
long as everyone gets waited on like they are supposed to and the
table tops get cleaned and set, the manager doesn't mind if I talk to
friends occasionally.

Things get pretty dead around nine and by nine-thirty. They were the
only customers in the place. When it is that dead, normally the
manager would send me home early, but instead she said, "Why don't you
just clock out and sit and talk with your friends."

I did.

Vicki kept looking over at Shirley with a silly grin on her face.
Finally she said, "Are you going to ask her, or am I?"

Shirley looked embarrassed, which is very unusual for her since she
always seems to be so much in control. After a few moments of silence,
Vicki said, "Maddi, you told us you were a little weird. I'm a little
weird, too, but I'm not really into pain. It's more like... well, I
like someone telling me what to do, or maybe being unable to do
anything while they do whatever they want."

I smirked at her. "It's always the quiet ones who surprise you," I
said, reflecting Shirley's words from last week. Leaning in slightly
and speaking quietly so we wouldn't be overheard, I continued, "So,
I'm a pain slut and you are a bondage slut." Turning to Shirley, I
asked, "What does that make you?"

Shirley's whole face and body suddenly changed. She was sitting up
straight and her eyes were wider. She wasn't open-eyed like in
surprise. Her eyebrows were in normal position, but somehow her eyes
were bigger and more intense. She looked at me... or into me... or
through me, it was the most intense look I had ever experienced. The
she said in a very quiet voice that sounded as solid as steel, "A
Dom."

Now my eyes were open, and so was my mouth. I looked back and forth
between my two best friends. How had we kept all of this from each
other all of these years? I knew that Shirl and Vic were normally much
wilder than me in public, but why did they never tell me about this
side of them? 

Oh! They kept it from me because they thought I was little Miss Goodie
Two-shoes! I got caught naked in public and now they feel safe telling
me.

Oh! again. I pointed my finger at Shirley, "You're a Dom." Then I
pointed my finger at Vicki, "You're a sub." I looked back and forth
between them, "Do you two ever..."

"We've played once or twice," Shirley said quietly, "but she prefers
men."

"And Shirley," said Vicki, "prefers girls." She took a deep breath,
"Which brings us to the question of the evening."

"Yes?" I said.

"Someone," began Vicki, looking over at Shirley, "prides herself on
having perfect gaydar. She says that she has never been wrong."

"So?" I asked, not sure of where this was leading.

"I've had a crush on you since seventh grade," Shirley said quietly.
"I've never doubted my gaydar, but my subdar isn't quite so good. I
didn't want to pull you into a kind of relationship that you didn't
want, so I have never said anything."

"She didn't realize you were a kinky match for her," said Vicki. "Her
subdar was wrong, but I think her gaydar is just as wrong, too."

Vicki looked at me smugly, "There's a bet riding on this. Which of us
is right?"

Oh! a third time. They were asking me if I was a lesbian. "I've been
with women a couple of times," I said, "but it was sort of accidental
after too much to drink and no men available."

"But did it get you off?" asked Vicki.

"So did the men," I answered.

"So which do you prefer?" Vicki pressed.

"Pain," I answered.

"What?" said Vicki, trying to hide her surprise.

"You asked what I preferred," I said. "What gets me off the best is
pain, but I haven't really checked to see if it's different if it's
from a man or woman."

"OK," said Vicki. "Let's try this a different way. Who did you have
your first crush on and do you still have that crush?"

I sat there and stared at her while I turned redder... and redder...
and redder... and redder.

"I don't get it," she said. "You didn't have any real trouble telling
us that you are a pain slut, but you can't bring yourself to say who
your first crush was."

I kept looking at her and turning redder and glancing over at Shirley.
Suddenly Vicki looked over at Shirley and then back at me and then
back at Shirley and then back at me.

"For how long?" Vicki said. There was surprise in her voice and on her
face.

"Forever, I think," I answered. "For sure since sometime in the eighth
grade. At least that's when I figured out it was a crush and not just
wanting to be really good friends."

"Holy shit!" Vicki said, still looking back and forth between us. "And
neither of you said anything to the other?"

"What was I supposed to say?" I asked. "Shirley, there is nothing more
in the world I would like than to be your wife?... or lover?, or
slave?, or whatever? I thought it was just screwed up adolescent
thinking caused by screwed up adolescent hormones."

"And what do you think now?" Asked Shirley. There was something in her
voice I had never heard before. Was it love?... compassion?... hope?

"I'm not sure," I answered. "I still would love to be your wife or
lover or slave or whatever, but right now my mind is so screwed up
that I'm not sure what I really want."

I tried to keep from crying as I looked into her eyes and asked, "What
do you want?'

"I want you to be happy," she replied. Her eyes were filled with
tears, but unlike me, they were not spilling down her face. "If you
being happy means you marrying some guy some day, That's what will be,
and I won't interfere because I love you. If you being happy means you
being with me as whatever, then we will both be happy because I have
loved you since I first knew what love was."

"Double Holy Shit!" said Vicki as she slumped her shoulders and looked
over at Shirley. "I guess you've won... twice. She is gay and she
loves you. And I've lost our bet."

"What was the bet?" I asked.

Vicki didn't answer, but instead looked over to Shirley who said with
a smile. "The loser is the winner's slave for a night and as part of
the events of that night the loser gets displayed naked and played
with and forced to orgasm in public."

"Wow!" was all I could say. "And I thought I was kinky."

"Shirley is a member of a rather discreet little club in the city,"
said Vicki. "Actually, her dad's on the board of directors. She has
taken me there a couple of times as a guest and has let some of the
guys play with me a little. But this would be the first time on stage
for either of us. I sort of imagined it being me in some sort of sexy
catsuit and her tied up and squirming."

"Never bet against a sure thing," Shirley said. Her voice sounded very
mature and authoritative. I could suddenly see her in a skin tight
black catsuit slamming a paddle into my ass.

"Are you OK?" Vicki suddenly asked me. "You look... excited."

"It's almost closing time," I answered, dodging the question. "Mom
will be expecting me home. Why don't we plan on going out together
tomorrow night. We can talk about this a little more then. Besides, I
really have to think about all this for a while."

"OK," said Shirley. "Eight O'clock tomorrow night at  Juan Carlos'.
We'll grab something to eat and then go out dive hopping." She looked
over at me, "That is, if you're allowed to do that now."

"Dr. B said it's OK," I replied, "and Dad will trust me if I am out
with you two. But I can't risk driving if I'm not totally sober. The
slightest police thing could get me sent to the state facility for
thirty days."

"Boy," Vicki said, "they really have you by the short hairs."

"Don't have any," I replied with a big grin.

"I'll pick you up at your place around 7:30," said Shirley. "Just look
for a red Ford F150 with a matching bed cap. OK?"

I said "OK." 

So, that's what we are planning to do tomorrow night. I'm going to
close this out and go to bed.

CRAP! I can't go to bed yet! I forgot to say anything about group
again. I should probably go back and put this in before what I had to
say about Shirley and Vicki coming into the restaurant, but Dr. B was
emphatic when he told me how to do this and he insisted that there was
to be NO EDITING! I'm just supposed to let it flow out of my
fingertips onto the keyboard.

Sorry about almost forgetting again, Dr. B, but not that much really
happened in group. There are five of us in the group. Two of them, a
teenaged boy and girl, say they are sex addicts. My personal opinion
is that if they just started their own private little group, they
could take care of each other. :-)  

Sorry about that Dr. B, but if they screwed each other like bunnies
all the time, it would probably take care of the problem eventually.

The other two are teachers who got it on with their students. They say
that they are not sex addicts or pedophiles or anything like that but
it is just that they loved the students and the students loved them.

I guess even I have some limits, because that seems wrong. Both women
had sex with several of their students. For one, it was her male
students. For the other, it was female students. I don't deny that a
young man or woman can fall in love with an older woman, and vice
versa, but two or three or four in the same class?

I don't understand them, but then again, they don't understand me.
When I said that I was a pain slut who was trying to figure out how to
live that out and be a safe and productive member of society, they
both said, "But liking pain is perverted. Don't you WANT to change?"

This from a 29 year-old woman who was sleeping with four different 13
year-old girls? Come off of it!

And they've got it wrong. I don't like pain. Under certain
circumstances, I get sexual pleasure out of pain... and out of
bondage... and out of humiliation... and maybe out of making love to
another woman. No, it's not for everybody, but I don't hurt others or
screw up some kid's life in the eighth grade while they are still all
mixed up about who and what they are.

Satisfied, Dr. B? I said something about group. Now I am going to bed.

End of entry for Day Fifteen



Maddi's Diary, Day Sixteen, Saturday

I'm actually writing on Sunday morning. I got in really, really late
and if I had stopped to write things up then, it would have still been
Sunday morning anyway.

Shirley picked me up a little after 7:30 just like she said she would.
She told me that she was also picking up Vicki and she would be the
designated driver for the night. Then she held up one of those home
Breathalyzer things. 

"As long as I keep it below .05, I'm the driver," she said. "That
means I can still drink- a little, but we walk from place to place and
before I drive home we make sure that I'm below .05." She grinned at
me, "I figure worst case you two have to have another drink or two
while I sober up enough to drive you home."

As we drove into town, I suddenly felt very weird. This was like a
date! She picked me up and she would be dropping me back off at home.
I suddenly realized that I was even sitting in the middle of the seat
next to her. I started to unbuckle the seat belt to slide over to the
passenger side, but she reached down and grabbed my arm.

"No," she said. "Stay. You'll have to sit in the middle when I pick up
Vic anyway."

She gave me a quick glance. "Besides, I like you sitting next to me
like that."

The rest of the way into town, she was driving one-handed and using
the other hand to lightly stroke my leg beneath my shorts.

Vicki came running out of the house as soon as Shirley pulled into the
driveway and jumped into the cab of the truck almost before it came to
a stop. Then she leaned out the window and yelled, "Bye, Mom. Bye,
Dad. Shirley will be bringing me home, but it might be really, really
late. Love you both."

Her dad was doing something in the yard and her mom was pulling weeds
in the front flower bed. They both looked up and said, "Love you,
honey." Then they went back to what they were doing.

"What was that all about?" I asked, looking over at Vicki.

Shirley laughed. "She's got her tube top and micro-mini shorts on and
was afraid her dad wouldn't let her out of the house in that outfit."

The tube top wasn't all that revealing. It totally covered her
breasts, but it was very obvious that there was no bra of any sort
under it. Her nipples were clearly outlined in the fabric. If any of
the places we went to had their air conditioning turned way down, she
was going to look very interesting.

I looked down at Vicki's legs. Sitting down, her shorts ended just a
little below where a pair of granny panties would. The top was a wide,
elastic belt area that ran from about two inches below her naval to
the middle of her public bone. That meant that most of her stomach was
bare. The legs were so short that if they hadn't had elastic holding
them tight to her thighs, everything would have been visible from the
front or the back.

"Commando?" I asked, smirking slightly.

She stuck her tongue out at me and replied, "Panty shield on the
crotch, just in case."

"Juan Carlos', first stop," said Shirley and we backed out of the
drive.

I had a glass of wine with my meal at the pub. So did Vicki, but
Shirley stuck to 7-up. Then we walked down the strip and started
making the rounds. I'd had a couple of whiskey sours by the time we
got to "David's Dock." Obviously, the place has a boat theme and there
are anchors and ropes and canvas and nets and all of that hanging all
over the walls and from the ceiling.

There was a big poster on a stand at the entrance that said, "Short
Short Contest Saturday Night - Shortest Shorts wins a $50 Dave's Dock
gift certificate."

"Did you know about this in advance?" I asked Vicki.

"No," she replied, "but you can bet your ass that I'm going to enter."

The judging wasn't until 11:00 so we sat around drinking until then.
At 11:00 Dave stood up and called all the entrants up onto the stage.
Several of the girls got up on stage with almost standard shorts on,
but as soon as they looked at the shorts the other girls were wearing,
they went back to their tables.

"Audience votes," yelled Dave, "but I am going to narrow it down to
the top three." He then walked down the row of girls and tapped most
of them on the shoulder and indicated that they should go sit down.

"All right," he shouted at the crowd. "You are supposed to vote based
on three things.  The criteria is shortest shorts, cutest legs, and
best ass. The band is going to play and the three girls are going to
dance for you to show off their ASSets. When the song is over, we
vote."

The band then started into a song I didn't recognize that was
somewhere between hard rock and bump and grind. I knew that Vicki had
taken a lot of dance lessons and had gone to contests in high school,
but I had never seen her really cut loose.

The other two girls were trying. One was doing what looked like a
strippers pelvic thrusts, or at least she was trying to. She was
wearing cut offs that had been hacked even shorter. As she gyrated
around the stage, they were riding up in the crack of her ass. She
couldn't dance for shit, but it looked like she might win on pure
daring. Then the string popped out.

She kicked her leg out at the audience and a tampon string dropped out
of the almost-not-there crotch of the shorts and hung down between her
legs. Everybody started laughing and a couple of guys started hooting
at her and pointing. She looked down and realized what had happened
and ran off the stage.

That left Vicki and one other girl. Vicki's shorts were denim and the
other girls were black spandex, but they were about the same length.
Both girls had nice legs and good looking asses, but Vicki could dance
circles around the other girl. At one point, Vicki put her leg above
her head from the side and twirled on her other foot. It was a very
good thing that the micro-mini shorts had elastic around the legs or
everything she had would have been totally visible.

It might have still been close, but timed exactly with the end of the
song, Vicki did some sort of front flip and came down on the stage in
full splits with one leg back and the other forward toward the
audience. She had her hands held out in front of her and after the
music stopped, she bowed down so that her forehead was touching her
leg.

The place went nuts. The other girl walked off stage shaking her head.
It was obvious that she had lost. Dave had Vicki stand next to him and
did the "What's your name?" sort of stuff. Then he and Vicki went over
and sat at a table just off stage. 

After a while, Vicki came back and said, "I hope you guys don't mind,
but Dave wants me to hang around for a while. He can drive me home
later."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," said Shirley with a smirk.

"I plan on doing everything that you would do," Vicki replied with a
matching smirk, "but I'm going to do it with a man."

Shirley just laughed as Vicki walked back over to the table where Dave
was sitting.

"She does have a nice ass," Shirley said.

Suddenly I felt... jealous. Shirley must have sensed it because she
put her hand on top of mine and said, "But your ass is mine." Then she
leaned over and kissed me. 

I kissed her back. It felt good... really good. Shirley leaned in
close and asked, "So, where do you want to go from here?"

"The Pit," I answered.

"You sure?" she replied.

"You'll be with me," I said. "And I need to overlay some memories."

Shirley looked at me like she wasn't sure what I meant by that. I
wasn't all that sure either, but she said, "OK, but we will have to
drive there."

She got out her little machine and blew into it. Then she held it up
so I could see it. "Point oh four," she said. "Let's go slumming."

Some things in life never change, and The Grease Pit is one of those
things. It is always dark, dirty, smoky and loud. In town they enforce
the state no smoking in bars laws, but out here at the pit, I don't
think the law ever stops by... unless it's to break up a major fight
or something like that.

As we walked back to one of the back booths, I heard somebody call
out, "Do you ladies need someone to join you?"

Shirley turned toward the darkness where the voice had come from and
answered, "I'm with her. We don't need someone else."

That brought a chorus of "Ohs" and laughter, but no one else bothered
us as we went back and sat down. A waitress scurried over and asked
what we wanted. I decided to stick with my whiskey sours. Shirley went
with a seven and seven and told the waitress to put it in a tall glass
and fill the rest with 7-up.

"I want to be sure we can leave here at any time," she said as she
looked around. Some nights you really don't want to have to hang
around at the Pit.

After the waitress brought our drinks, I slid over a little closer to
Shirley in the booth and sort of leaned my head against her shoulder.
"What do we do now?" I asked.

Shirley looked over at me, but said nothing.

"I mean," I said, "where do we go from here?" I lifted up my head so
that I could look at her. "I think I love you. I think I always have,
but how can we be sure that it isn't just a school girl crush that has
lingered for too long?"

I put my head back against her shoulder and said, "How do we know if
we are actually made for each other? Are you what I need and am I what
you need?"

Shirley let me sigh a couple more times, then she pushed me upright
and turned me slightly so that I was looking directly at her. "Take
off your shorts," she said. Her voice was stern and commanding.

"What?" I sputtered.

"You said you wanted to overlay some memories. We are going to do
that. Take off your shorts and give them to me."

I looked at her. She nodded her head slightly and I reached down with
both hands and stuck my thumbs under the waistband of my shorts. I had
them pushed down just below my knees when the waitress suddenly
stopped by the table. 

"Need anything else?" she asked.

"Another whiskey sour and a small dish of your super hot wings,"
Shirley answered.

As soon as the waitress left, I finished pushing my shorts over my
knees. I had to put my shoulders on the table to reach down far enough
to slide them down to my ankles. I sat up and pulled one foot out of
the shorts and then used the other foot to lift them up far enough for
me to grab.

I handed them to Shirley and she said, "Now the panties."

I took a deep breath and repeated the action with my panties. The
leather of the booth felt slippery against my ass. I knew that I must
be gushing from my cunt to cause that. As I was handing my panties to
Shirley, the waitress showed back up with the order. Her eyebrows went
up a little, but she put the drink and wings on the table like this
was an everyday occurrence. At the Pit, maybe it was.

Shirley pushed at twenty across the table to her and told her to keep
the change. As she walked away, Shirley added, "We won't be needing
anything else tonight."

Shirley reached down under the table and started stroking my leg.
"Finish your drink," she said. I had about a fourth of a glass left,
but I downed it in one gulp. She slid my empty glass to the outside of
the table and put the full one more or less in front of me. 

"Open your legs," she said. I did. I could feel her hand on my upper
thigh. I pushed myself forward trying to bring her hand between my
legs, but she moved with my leg and kept it on my thigh.

"Now you are going to play with yourself," she said. "But these are
the conditions. You can only stroke yourself while you are drinking
your whiskey sour. That means that you'd better sip it very carefully
or your drink will be empty before you get where you want to go. And
if I say `Stop,' everything stops. If I say that, you put your drink
down and you hold it with both hands on the table."

Her hand went between my legs and she stroked my sopping cunt. "Do you
understand that?"

"Yes," I breathed heavily.

"Then begin," she said as she pushed the drink closer to me.

I reached down with my right hand and started stroking myself. With my
left hand I lifted the whiskey sour to my mouth and started sipping. I
was trying really hard to sip only a little bit, but with each stroke
of my hand, I was getting wetter and wetter and when my hand started
moving up onto my clit and making little circles I suddenly realized
that my glass was empty.

"Naughty little girls don't know how to control themselves, do they?"
asked Shirley.

Then her voice got really stern and firm and she said, "I said you
would have to stop when you finished your drink. Hold the empty glass
with both hands."

I whimpered slightly, but I brought my other hand up onto the table
and grabbed the empty whisky sour glass with both hands.

"I guess we are going to have to give you something else to sip on,"
she said. Then she reached down and stroked my thigh. Her fingers
slipped between my legs and she pulled them through my slit and upward
across my clit. I gasped out loud.

"Do you know what I am going to do?" she asked.

"No," I whimpered back.

She slid the plate of super hot wings across the table in front of me.
I didn't know why she had ordered them. I know that she doesn't like
spicy food. I do, but the super hot wings here are almost inedible
because they are so hot.

She picked up my panties from the seat of the booth and started wiping
the sauce off the plate and the wings with them. Soon they were
saturated with the spicy hot sauce. "Open up," she said, and I spread
my legs wide under the table.

"Wrong end," she said with a laugh. "Open up your mouth."

"I am going to stick these in your mouth," she said calmly. "As long
as you keep them in there, I will rub and stroke you and make you feel
good. If you spit them out, it's all over and I take you home."  She
lifted my head slightly so I was looking directly into her dark brown
eyes. "Do you understand that?

"Yes," I said.

"Yes, what?" she replied.

I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't think "please" was what she was
looking for. Then it hit me. "Yes, Mistress," I replied.

"Open wide," she said and she pushed the panties into my mouth.

I started to make some grunting sounds as the fiery liquid seared the
inside of my mouth, but she put her fingers against my lips and said,
"Close you mouth and keep quiet or we go home."

I closed my mouth and tried, but I was still making little mewling
sounds through my closed lips. Then her hand touched my lower lips.
There was evidently still some of the hot sauce on her fingers because
when she first touched me, it burned, but almost immediately the
pleasure overtook the pain.

She slid her fingers in and out of me and I rocked forward and then
back to give her better access. Then she reached down with her other
hand and began making little circles around my clit. We were all the
way in the back and there wasn't anybody sitting near us, but anyone
sitting anywhere in the bar who looked back at us could probably tell
what was going on. 

I didn't care. I'd done much worse in here and that wasn't with
someone I really wanted to be with. I don't know if the sauce in my
mouth was getting diluted by my saliva or if it was just that my E
buddies were showing up in droves, but it stopped hurting and all I
could feel was the pleasure of her hands on my body.

I could feel it building. It was going to be big. Shirley evidently
could feel me building toward it also because she said quietly in my
ear, "Keep you mouth tightly closed and don't swallow your panties."

Then she pinched my clit... hard. I almost stood up in the booth, but
she was holding me down with her other hand. I was concentrating on
holding my mouth shut and being quiet, but I know that my grunts and
groans could be heard all through the bar. Then it happened. 

It was as strong as any orgasm I had ever experienced, but somehow
this one was different. I wasn't just exploding and going out of my
mind. For a moment or two it was as though Shirley was inside me, and
I don't mean her hand. She was inside me and I was inside her and we
were blasting through the universe together. ... and I almost
swallowed my panties.

I gagged slightly and reached up and pulled them out of my mouth. I
took a deep breath and then pushed my lips against hers and kissed her
deeply. She kissed me back just as deeply and we remained locked
together for several moments until she pushed me back lightly and
said, "I think it's time I got you home."

The bar was nearly empty. It was almost 2:00 am and Tommy the
bartender was starting to shut things down for closing. "Leave the
panties," she said. "It will give the cleaning crew something to talk
about."

I left my shorts, too. My blouse was long enough that it looked like I
had on a really short mini skirt. If I had bent over at all, my ass
would have shown, but I stayed upright and took small steps as Shirley
and I hurried out to the pickup. A half-hour later, she was dropping
me off at my house.

The light was on in my parents bedroom, so I went into my bedroom and
put on a robe and then stuck my head into the room. Mom was lying in
bed reading. Dad was asleep.

"I wasn't really waiting up for you," she said. "I just couldn't
sleep."

Then she smiled up at me and said, "It wasn't like you were out on a
date and I was worrying that you were going to come home without your
panties."

"It was a date," I said.

Mom looked up at me. "And I did come home without my panties." Her
mouth opened as if she was going to say something, but I said, " But
we will talk about that next week when Dad is back on the road."

Mom looked over to make sure that Dad was really asleep and then said,
"I'll be gone most of next week also. Our little talk may have to
wait."

As I turned to leave the room, she added. "I'll see you Tuesday
night."

I turned back to look at her and she smiled and said, "Have a good
night."

End of entry for Day Sixteen



Maddi's Diary, Day Seventeen, Sunday.

Sunday was actually a pretty normal day. Dad wasn't desperately trying
to do "normal" things, we just did. He greased his truck while Mom and
I cleaned house and then we basically sat around the house doing
nothing. I lay out in the back yard sunning myself for an hour or two.
You can't see the back yard from the road, so I worked on my all-over
tan. I heard a small plane go over while I was lying there face up
with my eyes closed behind my sunglasses. I wondered if he could see
that I was naked. I spread my legs out to the edges of the blanket to
give him a better view. Whoever it was probably didn't even notice.

It was kind of nice to do nothing all day.

End of entry for Day Seventeen

End of entry for Week Three
 

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