Selling Pain and Humiliation for Cash

I've described how I experimented with self-bondage at a very early age and slowly introduced myself to bondage with others. I was hooked; there was nothing better to me than feeling lost and out of control, completely subject to the whims of another, male or female.

After self bondage, I did some tie-up games with other girls, and even expanded that to some sexual relationships. I found the bondage was more intense and satisfying with men, in spite of my attraction to women. Men were more unpredictable, riskier, and more sexually aggressive as dominants, and they always seemed to fit my needs better. Girls were fun, but I never felt complete loss of personal freedom or control with them.

By the time I was 19, I had been in several submissive relationships with men, some better than others. I enjoyed each one in its own way, and felt like every step in expanding my limits and delving deeper into my submissive nature was exciting. I kept searching for the right guy, the one that would take me, demand from me, discipline and punish me, take my will away and make me his. I will write about some of these early experiences at some time, I am sure.

There came a time when I was curious whether I could take my natural interest and desire and parlay it into some money. I knew bondage models made cash but not much about the industry. Porn wasn't really an interest of mine and I wasn't about to begin a career in it, but I kept wondering if I couldn't indulge in my natural desires, satisfy myself at some level, and actually get paid for it. I struggled with this concept and finally decided to give it a try.

I really have to emphasize that I was inexperienced in this area. I quickly browsed some sites. Most were awful. The girls actually seemed happy and smiled at the camera, the ropes looked like they would fall off by themselves at any moment, and many sites were filled with simple porn that had some padded handcuffs thrown in for spice. That actually nauseated me and I was about to give up on the idea when I ran across something that looked really interesting. The images were dark, and the girls looked like there was really no way they were getting loose. There were some bizarre things going on, but I zipped over to the application page and filled it out.

The application had a long list of questions, some basics about body type and looks, but these quickly gave way to questions about limits. Just reading through the questions excited me. There were questions concerning breath play. Questions about pain. Electricity. Nudity. Public exposure. Humiliation. Penetration. piercing and blood. Wow. It was as if I was reading about a whole new world that I wanted to dive into. I checked off a bunch of the questions as 'yes' and submitted the app.

Skip straight to the interview. I guess I was pretty and young enough because they called me right away. The company wasn't that close, so I took a day off to visit. A guy interviewed me and seemed interested. He was old and sort of goofy in a sinister way. I remembered wondering whether he was for real, but when he showed me the studio and the rigging he had, it was obvious. This guy was serious. And I wanted to try it out. I mean, fuck... he had chains. I had never been in chains. There was a set of stocks in the corner. It was like a playroom and I wanted to play, though I tried hard not to show it.

The last part of the interview was me taking my clothes off. I made it clear right then I wasn't going to fuck him, and didn't want any surprises later when I was tied up. He assured me that he would not stick any part of his body into any part of mine, and so I removed my clothes and stood naked in front of a complete stranger. He turned me around, had me bend over with legs spread. After he examined me in a rather humiliating manner, touching and probing flesh, he told me to put my clothes back on. I think the whole thing was a test to verify I was really willing to flash my cunt in front of a stranger.

I signed an agreement, received a brief set of written instructions, a date was set, and that was that.

The day of the shoot I was nervous, but excited. My boyfriend at the time tied me up for sex but wasn't really interested in dominating me so I was looking forward to this bizarre situation with some strange old guy and some truly heavy bondage. On the other hand, I really had no idea what would happen. The guy had assured me that he wouldn't take me beyond my limits, but had also told me that payment was contingent on my completing the shoot. I could bail at any time, but wouldn't get paid if I did.

Arriving at the warehouse that served as the photography studio / dungeon, I parked and took a small bag with me into the building. The bag contained a change of clothes and some basic toiletries. I was wearing a light cotton dress, knee length, bra and panties underneath, and running shoes. My legs and pussy were freshly shaved, and I thought I looked pretty good. An older woman greeted me at the front like I was in an insurance office, and sent me back to where the old guy was working in the studio. He had me dump my bag and introduced me to three other men. I hadn't realized there would be that many people there, and felt my nerves get rattled.

"What is this, I wasn't expecting a bunch of extra guys here."

The old guy, his name was Bruce, explained, "Well, we have one video person, one for still shots, and one for sound. John also helps with the rigging. Though frankly, it shouldn't matter that much. We are filming this for distribution, you know, which means there will be tens of thousands of guys jerking off while looking at you."

Oh. It sunk in. Yes, of course, this was going to be photographed and sold. I was about to let a huge number of men masturbate while watching me tied and helpless. It was a humiliating concept, and sort of exciting. I felt dirty, but it also felt really good to know I was giving myself up to this. I was about to be used. This was tapping some deep inner need in me and it felt good. In fact, it was a little scary how good it felt to know I was about to debase myself in this way.

The studio was barren; old brick walls, concrete floors, metal beams exposed in the ceiling. Wires all over, though none in the area where filming would take place, they were pushed back. Several metal devices were over at the side and a single wooden chair sat in the middle of the open space. I sat down in it, fully clothed, waiting as the guys finished prepping. The chair was hard and uncomfortable. I pulled my dress down to my knees. It was weird sitting here, being ignored, like a prop.

Bruce started to talk to me, and I suddenly realized they had already been filming. A cold chill went through me. I was on camera. ACK!

Bruce asked my name: "Siobhan".

He said I was very pretty. "Thank you." I smiled. I like that I am pretty.

He asked whether I was familiar with the site: "Yes, I have looked at it a little bit."

Was I interested in bondage, or there for the money? "Both, really."

Had I experienced bondage before? "Yes. I enjoy it regularly."

And so on... finally, he said, "Let's get started. Turn sideways in the chair."

He took my arms and pulled them behind my back, quickly tying them at the wrists and then the elbows. I had never been tied so quickly, and the result felt absolutely secure. In a matter of seconds I was no longer able to use my arms or get free. My elbows were pressed together, which hurt a little though I am fairly thin and flexible so it wasn't too bad. The guy with the video camera moved around to get a different angle, and it seemed like he was panning across my body, so I struggled a little bit for him. It seemed like the right thing to do. It confirmed that there was no way I was getting out of this tie.

A hook descended from the ceiling and was placed under the ropes binding my elbows together. It pulled up, lifting my arms back and up.

Whoa. That hurt a little more. It went beyond a little discomfort into the realm of actual pain, the muscles and tendons of my shoulders twisting and stretching. I automatically stood on my tiptoes to relieve the pressure. It helped though my feet would get tired pretty soon. The video guy went around me and disappeared.

The weirdness and seriousness of this experience sank in as I hung there, dancing on my toes. The guys in the studio were either off behind me doing something, or taking pictures, but that was it. I was just hanging there, in a very uncomfortable situation, almost ignored. This was different than anything I had experienced before. It was truly inescapable, totally beyond my control as I had never experienced before. With guys before I knew that it was part of sex play, and that the guys were having fun and would let me go if I asked.

My sense of helplessness was enhanced when Bruce returned and put a ball gag in front of my face. I reluctantly opened my mouth and he slid it in place. It was a big one, and I could feel jaw muscles stretching as he pulled it deep inside, pressing my tongue down and pulling the corners of my mouth. I bit down as he buckled it behind. Well... so much for any safe words, I thought. I dangled some more. The video and still cameras were capturing my predicament in detail, and even though I still had my clothes on I felt more exposed than ever. My dress was pulled up across my boobs tightly, stomach exposed, and the edge of the skirt pulled high enough the camera was catching a glimpse of my snatch.

I wasn't nervous any more. I was excited, turned on, and a little scared. I could swear my panties were getting wet.

My ankles were tied together. Bruce did it with such ease, and the final result was clearly inescapable. It was harder to keep on my toes and there was more pressure on my shoulders and arms. They were in pain now, a low throb. I whimpered a few times. The video guy loved it.

The ball gag was making me drool. I knew this happened, most gags make me drool, and this was no exception. My face was forced down some from the weird position of my arms, and I could see long threads of drool descending to the floor and collecting in a tiny puddle. The camera captured the body fluids as I lost them through my mouth. Shit, this is humiliating, I thought.

Scissors. Bruce arrived and started at the bottom of my dress. Oh my god, he was cutting my clothes off. No wonder they had warned me to wear old clothes I didn't mind messing up. "Messing up" meant cutting to shreds. Shit, shit, shit. The cut rose up from my right thigh, past my waist and to the arm. Feeling the cold metal of the scissor blade made my skin crawl. A couple of more snips at the shoulder and the rag that had been my dress fell off and was discarded.

The video camera moved in front of me as Bruce moved behind, reaching around and running his hands over my helpless body, feeling my flesh. They roamed, running down and sliding under my panties (oh god, I shuddered). The old guy pressed his hand between my legs and massaged my pussy. I felt myself flush, and grunted, moaning with mixed disgust and embarrassment. He could feel just how wet I was, and believe me, I was wet. He knew I was aroused now and I felt like a slut. A slut he was using in just the way a slut should be used.

His hands slid back up (the video camera capturing it) and slid under my bra, fingers pinching my nipples. I moaned again, this time in complete frustration at being used by this old man for his pleasure as he filmed it for his profit.  But then, I had sold myself to him. I was in fact his, for the next few hours.

He cut my bra off. He didn't have to do that. He could have unhooked it or even undressed me before I was tied up like that. No, he chose to cut my clothes off of me. My breasts bounced slightly as the bra suddenly snapped free and dropped to the floor. Two snips and my panties were gone as well. Except for shoes, I was naked and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. The simple act of cutting my clothes off made me feel more alone, helpless and submissive than I had ever felt in my life.

The cameras (video and still) got good shots of my cunt, though with my ankles tied together they probably couldn't see much. My arms were really beginning to ache and I wondered how long I would be here. Didn't they realize how much this was hurting me? My drool ran down in a river, getting on my boobs and chest.

What I didn't realize is that these guys didn't stop. Things just kept getting worse. Instead of giving me some relief, they added to the pain. Nipple clamps appeared before my eyes. Not nice little ones that hurt a little, but big fucking evil ones; one went on my left nipple and he ratcheted it tight. "Fuuccckkkkk" I said, though with the gag it came out something like "ccggggkkkk". The right nipple fared no better, the clamp squeezing home and crushing the sensitive flesh. "GGGGGGGgggggggkkkk" I said.

Tears were coming to my eyes. My arms hurt, my shoulders hurt, and my nipples were aching, badly. I wasn't sobbing but the pain was enough to make me cringe and draw some water from my tear ducts. Showing just how callous they were, the cameramen zoomed into my face, showing the pain and watching a tear trickle down one cheek.

It kept going. Weights were added to the clamps. Holy fuck. My boobs were dragged down and pulled, making the clamps hurt worse. I began to wonder how long I had been there. It seemed like a long time but it wasn't, not really. We had just gotten started. The thought made me cringe and the pain seemed sharper.

Bruce put one hand on my face, caressing it, leaning in and kissing my cheek. I looked at him, sort of pleading, trying to let him know that I was his but I really wanted him to show some mercy. He nuzzled my neck, kissed it affectionately, and then moved away. I realized he wanted to see me broken, pleading, and that's pretty much were I was headed. Bastard.

Things slowed down for a bit at that point. I just hung there, standing on the balls of my feet to try and relieve some of the pressure on my arms in back. The weighted nipple clamps had stopped hurting so much, and felt just sort of achy-numb. My drool was collecting around the ball gag in a sort of foam before it dripped down to the floor. The worst part was the way my arms were pulled up behind me. The whole thing was just humiliating and painful.

I have to admit I was loving it in a way that was totally surprising me.

They left me there to deal with the discomfort for maybe 10 or 15 minutes, whimpering. It was at this point I saw the video monitor. It showed what the video camera was filming, so I could see myself. What I saw shocked me. I looked terrible; my arms were red and twisted, my face was streaked with tears and running mascara, my boobs looked like an old lady's, dangling down because of the weighted clamps. I was so embarrassed, it made the whole experience worse and I looked away. I didn't want to see myself suffering.

When Bruce came back he predictably made things worse. With a slow, even pull he raised my elbows and arms further up behind my back, until I was lifted off my feet. Fuck, it hurt and dangling in the air like that was like... so demeaning. The ropes pinched hard, and my legs started to kick automatically. I quickly learned that kicking, a natural response to being suspended, just jerked my body and made it hurt more. So I settled on just hanging there, breathing, watching the camera men walk around getting various shots of my misery.

Finally Bruce lowered the rope holding my arms up. I sank back down onto my feet with relief and took a big deep breath. Bruce played with the nipple clamps a bit, but they were numb. Then he removed one of them. and my nipple exploded in pain. I screamed for just a moment, caught unawares. Clamps hurt going on and coming off. When he went to the other clamp, he kissed me and fondled my breast as I held my breath waiting. Then the second one was off, and I only yelped behind the gag a little bit. I remember thinking, well crap... at least that's over with.  What a dumb thought that was.

I was lowered all the way to the floor where I lay for a bit, just resting. Bruce undid the ball gag and ropes binding my arms. There was a clock on the wall. I had been there an hour and a half. I had committed to spending four hours. Whoa. The camera guys were taking a break as well, so I guess this was the OSHA required work break time. Not that I was going anywhere. Bruce rolled me over onto my stomach and tied my arms arms behind my back, left wrist to right elbow and vice-versa. I was still immobile but it no longer hurt. It was downright comfortable.

He slowly drew my legs up in front of me, adding rope interconnecting my knees, ankles, and neck in a strange intricate tie. He pushed my uncooperative legs into place and tied them back to my body. I remember thinking how grateful I was that I was flexible; it was a little like doing the splits. It didn't hurt, but was very tight and somewhat uncomfortable. The ropes that held my arms behind me also criss crossed my boobs, squeezing them and making them stand out.

I lay on my back, legs tied up high, with my pussy exposed clearly. This was so much more fucking intense that anything I had ever imagined. I lay there for a while, unable to move even a tiny bit, tied into a sort of human ball.

Bruce lifted me up and slipped a leather  loop around my neck and then pulled up on it. It choked me and I coughed. Holding me upright until I was balanced, they let go and the noose was the main thing that kept me sitting in an upright position. I was tied and couldn't move a muscle, so the leather strap around my neck was my only way of staying upright. If I fell one way or another, it squeezed tight and strangled me. My head was forced slightly to the side and I looked up, away from my body. Moving my head was impossible.

I was sitting on my ass, except my legs were tied up in front of me, all the way to my boobs. My ass and cunt were exposed. My ass was sitting on the floor on the bony part and hurt. Suspended from the ceiling, I had to keep from moving or the noose would tighten around my neck. It was a painful, miserable, exposed and humiliating position.  Bruce pulled on the strap around my neck a little, making sure it was tight (the bastard).

Wondering if this could get any worse, I sat there, trying not to move. Of course it can get worse, I discovered. How? I met Mr. Pogo.  Mr. Pogo was a short wood handle with a large stiff rubber dildo at the end. Bruce took Mr. Pogo and smeared it with lube. Oh my god... I knew what he was going to do with it. Protest was useless, in fact it would just be filmed in detail. I clenched my teeth.

The end of the dildo was rubbed against my pussy. I hate to say it felt good, but it did. With each rub, it went a little further, spreading my lips and penetrating just a little more. Finally he shoved it in and I gasped. Holy crap that thing was huge. I felt like I was having a baby in reverse, the flesh of my vagina distended and stretching to allow the phallus inside. He pulled it part way out and then shoved it in again, and began fucking me with the thing.

It hurt. It was humiliating. I grunted and groaned as it shoved back and forth, getting deeper and wriggling around. He kept going, pushing in and out, harder and harder. I wanted to cum, but couldn't. My nipples grew hard, and I knew Bruce was aware of my reactions; he knew just how women reacted and he knew me. He was playing me. Just when I thought the pain might get to be too much he pulled Mr. Pogo out. A wave of relief swept over me.

"You looked like you were enjoying that. You were, weren't you?" Bruce was  talking to me from above where it was hard to see. The video camera was zoomed in on me.

"Yes," I said in a raspy voice because of the leather noose around my neck.

"Let's see if we can help you with that." Bruce knelt down but I couldn't see what he was going to do. Didn't matter... whatever he wanted to do he was going to do. There was a buzzing noise.

A vibrator. It touched my pussy, massaging the fold of flesh and finding my clit. The sensation was overpowering, the vibration just on my clit, nowhere else, driving me insane. My eyes rolled up in my head and I started to make gurgling moans. I forgot completely that the cameras were filming me, and just let myself be swept by the stimulation. Not long after I grunted and moaned through an orgasm and the vibrator was removed.

Realizing I had just been forced to have an orgasm on camera, I almost began crying. My face was streaked from tears already, but the humiliation of that experience was beyond anything I had imagined could happen.

"You know, we require that our girls ask for permission to cum. Didn't you know that?" Bruce was sort of amused.

"No."

"Yep. And I think you just came without permission. For that, you will need to be punished."

Oh... my god... he was going to do something worse to me? What the fuck could he do short of cutting off limbs... slicing open my abdomen and choking me with my own entrails... I was horrified... terrified... I wanted to orgasm again so badly...

A few minutes later I was strapped to a metal chair. I use the term "chair" with caution. It was shaped like a chair and I sat in it, but that's where the similarity ended. It was made of steel, just a frame of squarish tubes and no padding or any covering at all between the metal tube frame. I was strapped in tightly at ankles, knees, wrists, elbows, even neck. I had drunk some water kindly provided by the still camera guy, because I had been sweating profusely and dehydrated during the last three hours.

Punishment began.

More clamps. These had metal wires surrounding the clamps and long lead wires to a small black box. One nipple clamp had a red wire, the other black. I wasn't dumb. I knew what this meant. Pain. Simple, unadulterated, electrical shock pain. On my sensitive nipples, rippling and radiating through the soft flesh of my boobs. I caught a glimpse of myself on the monitor and turned my head away, though not before I saw the look of fear on my face.  The video guy was loving it.  So was Bruce.

"Tell me, did you cum just a little while ago?" Bruce asked.

Scared, I shook my head. "No."

It suddenly felt like my nipples were being stabbed with red hot needles, deep into my boobs. I jerked and yelped. The pain only lasted a second, but I panted and was crazed from the sudden pain for 10 or 15 seconds after.

"Don't lie to me. If you lie you know what will happen. Do you know what will happen?"

I nodded.

My entire body convulsed as the red hot pain shot through my nipples and across my chest. I screamed a little this time.

"Speak up clearly when you speak to me. Do you know what will happen if you lie?" Bruce said with an amused tone. He liked seeing me writhe.

"Yes sir, I will get a shock." I got out.

"Good, yes. Now, we don't allow orgasms here unless permission is given. Did you receive permission?"

I was stuck. "No, I didn't have permission."

"Then you will be punished. How shall we punish you?"

I thought for a second. A second too long. I imagined the smell of burned flesh as the muscles of my body tensed from the piercing pain that seemed to fill each of my breasts like acid milk.

"Speak up. How shall we punish you?"

"A spanking?" I quickly said.

Bruce laughed. "Good idea, but no. I think we will give you a little shock. This was the lowest setting. I think we will raise it to the middle setting."

Bruce adjusted knobs on the black box, and I whimpered, crying, tears running down my cheeks as I waited for the electrical impulse. It came not long after, and I clenched my teeth and arched my back against the surging pain that coursed between my breasts. In the back of my brain I remembered that electric shocks above the waist were dangerous. It could mess with the heart, even stop it. What the fuck was this guy doing?

"Fuck... you..." I said in between clenched teeth as I recovered from the last shock.

Instead of getting angry, Bruce actually laughed. "Well, maybe later. But for now, I think we need to just continue the discipline."

He left for a moment while I panted, getting my breath back. When he returned, Bruce was carrying a plastic freezer bag and a leather strap. He carefully opened and expanded the bag and then put it over my head. I could still see the studio pretty well, though it was slightly distorted.

Then Bruce put the leather strap around my neck, sealing the plastic bag.  I should have remembered the principle of that place by now. However awful it is, it will always get worse. As I breathed, the air in the bag was sucked into my lungs, collapsing the bag around my head. Breathing out, the bag expanded until it was filled and round.

The shock hit me again, pain zapping my poor nipples. Each shock seemed worse than before, the nerves raw and damaged. I screamed and the plastic back expanded out like a balloon. I sucked air in and the bag collapsed. Except breathing in it wasn't... good enough. The air didn't satisfy. I breathed out and in again, this time more urgently. The air simply was getting worse. Oxygen had gone out of it, and while I was still breathing, it wasn't giving my body what it needed. I kept panting in and out, the inside of the plastic bag fogging with moisture, but I was suffocating.

Wham. The electric shock hit me again. I screamed, and then continued panting. I knew it didn't matter, but my body insisted. I felt discomfort in all my limbs and my heart was pounding. I sucked in as hard as I could, trying to get some air in through a crack, anything. Nothing. The plastic bag was sucked into my open mouth, but there was no air. I gnawed on the bag, trying to get a hole in it.  My brain was screaming in panic, and I started shaking my head, trying to shake the cobwebs of creeping unconsciousness.

I saw Bruce outside the bag reach forward and cut a small bit of the corner of the bag off. It was only a quarter of an inch, but it was enough. Cold, fresh air came when I sucked in. I felt my lungs and heart react, and the blackness that had started to overcome me receded. I breathed for a while, getting air back into my lungs, though the small opening made it difficult and laborious.

Bruce was standing next to me. He took fingers and closed up the air hole in the bag. Immediately the air started to go stale again, and within four or five breaths the oxygen was gone and I was begging him to let me breathe.

"What will you do for me if I let you breathe?" He asked.

"Anything. Anything. Please..." I was begging.

"You said earlier that you wanted to fuck me. Do you still want to?"

I paused a moment. I didn't want to fuck him, but I wanted to breathe. I didn't know what this bastard would do next, but I had learned my lesson. It can always get worse.

I nodded.

A quick jolt of electricity made me jerk in pain. I screamed out, "YES! YES, PLEASE LET ME FUCK YOU!"

The strap at the bottom of the bag was loosened and the bag removed. I sucked in precious air. It was so wonderful. I breathed in, sucking fresh air, feeling oxygenated blood flood my body. It was wonderful.

I sat for a while, recovering. I noticed the camera guys for the first time in a while. The experience had been so intense I had completely forgotten where I was. It had all been filmed, including my breakdown and pleading. Wow.

There was a slight smell of urine. I looked down and saw I was wet. I had peed a little from the shocks, or the baggie, or both, without knowing it. That had probably been caught on video as well.

Bruce was back, thankfully removing the electric nipple clamps. What a relief. "So, I think maybe we should finish up but we have time for one more activity. I will let you choose. Would you like Mr. Pogo again, or maybe have your breasts caned? Six strokes, each side."

I thought about it for a moment. Mr. Pogo was unpleasant, no two ways about it. Bruce was holding the cane; it was a small, relatively thin flexible strip of bamboo. It looked so small, lightweight. I hated Mr. Pogo because of how it had almost made me orgasm in front of the camera, and I didn't want that again. The cane didn't look bad at all.

"The cane..." I said hesitantly.

Bruce smirked (he hardly ever actually smiled, just a smirk). Standing to the side of the bondage chair, he tapped the stick across my left breast. Tap, tap, tap... then a stronger stroke. It wasn't hard, but whoa, did I jump. It stung. A sharp, cutting sting. I yelped. The cane continued tapping slowly... not hurting, maybe a little uncomfortable, but then... whack! Another stroke.

"Oh my god!" I yelped. I had never been caned, and didn't realize just how painful it was. My poor breast. Each stroke left a raw sting, like being slapped, hard. The thin bamboo didn't lessen the pain, in fact, the thinner stick increased the cutting action and made it hurt with less force.

The video camera zoomed in close on face, recording my pained expression and reactions from each stroke. It didn't matter. My left boob was throbbing by then and Bruce was moving over to the right one. Tap... tap... stroke.  The pain built with each stroke. One stroke on top of another. The soft flesh of my boobs bounced with each strike, and by the time he was over I was crying, tears running down my cheeks.

And then the session was over. I was released. A feeling of relief flooded my body. I had made it through, lived a bondage and domination session far beyond I had ever experienced, and come out the other side. I stood and walked naked off the set area, got my bag and took a shower in the restroom. Fresh clothes and feeling clean did wonders.

Bruce met me in the hall as I walked out of the restroom. "Come into the office for a moment."

I went in and sat down. My body still hurt, but I was feeling a lot better. Nothing permanent was damaged.

Bruce took out a check and handed it to me. $1,500 for four hours work. It was damned miserable work, but it was the best I had ever been paid for anything. I just stared at the check for a while.

"You did really well. I never got the feeling you were at your limits and you stuck it out. I would be happy to work with you again sometime." Bruce was almost smiling.

"Uh... yeah... well, this was just sort of an experiment with me." I wasn't sure I wanted to repeat the experiment.

"Trust me," Bruce nodded his head at me. "I know women, and you were actually enjoying some of that. This is something you can do. Give it some thought. Up to you. And if you ever want to engage in some private play, let me know."

As I walked out to my car I thought about it. He was right. I had never, not once, considered stopping the scenes. It had been horrible, painful, degrading, humiliating, agonizing and I had loved it. It just seemed right to me. Thinking back, when I had screamed out that I would fuck Bruce, I had meant it. I would have done it and gladly, because it seemed the right thing; to be dominated and forced into submission. It was natural for me.

That night my boyfriend saw the angry red welts on my breasts, and I told him what I had done. There was an argument, and we broke up. He wasn't going to be able to give me what I needed, and he didn't like what he saw in me. We weren't destined for each other.