STRIPPED 'N WHIPPED!
Until I was 15 or 16
I get endless requests for more details about this. This is every single detail I remember, so don't ask anymore!
|A few years after my last beating with that belt. I don't remember this picture being taken, or why I would have been smiling.|
But it wasn't just at 13, it was shortly before puberty until 9th or 10th grade. It's very hard to remember anything that happened before my first hit of dope on my first day at college. That was as much a liberating religious revelation as being gang-raped was.
As a teenager (and a few years before), my mom had my stepdad make me strip naked, stare at my body to humiliate me (or maybe he was aroused, I dunno), and hit me all over my body with his belt. I thought of him as a stranger. He whipped me all over really really hard, and I was crying (until about 13, when it became a big deal not to), but he told me not to move so I didn't move and let him do it. ►Post-puberty,◄ I was unbelievably aroused sexually by this, though I felt VERY guilty (thanks to mom).
After it stopped and he went away, I'd immediately masturbate to orgasm,usually twice. I also remember masturbating while crying after punishment, but I don't know when. Since I was crying AND rubbing off, it must have been 12 or 13. This went on into early high school. But I never put two and two together that this may be why I am so extremely masochistic until I started writing this blog. Not that it's not obvious, it's just that I never really thought about it.
> Like what had you done that made him or your mom decide that a whipping was in order.
Who even knows? Whatever kids do. Lots of times I didn't do anything at all; she was drunk and just ASSUMED I did. That's what made me maddest. Or she'd misinterpret something I said as being sassy talkback. Whatever. Cunt.
> Who came up with this scene? It's not like a traditional OTK spanking.
Don't know for sure. She may never have even known the naked stuff was going on. She never watched. She was the one who screamed a slurred "punish that girl NOW!"; He never initiated it himself. It was on her orders. I never got mad at him for it, just he because it wasn't his fault. If you didn't do what my mom said, you didn't hang around her. I have no idea why he did, other than they were both fucked-up religious.
> What was going through your head the first time your mums boyfriend said, "Ok, get naked I'm going to whip you for that"?
Confused. But she had told him to, so it wasn't his fault--at least not in my mind. I was pretty young the first time, and he never hit me very hard at all, almost like he was going through the motions because she had told him to. I just thought of it as another spanking, though now she had someone else do it. I cried the first time though, because it was so out-of-context to be standing up while punished. Being naked didn't bother me because he was a grownup and he was with my mom. That meant he was like a doctor.
Of course, after I developed a hairy cunt, he REEEEALLY gave me the business. However it occurs to me that he MIGHT have hit me harder (and eventually, VERY hard) because I wasn't a fragile little kid anymore, and not my hairy cunt.
What he said was "All right young lady, now take off your clothes", just like that. But after the first few times we both knew what I was to do and he didn't have to say anything at all. In fact, after maybe the first year, the whole thing always happened without either of us saying anything, like some kind of ritual.
He never showed any sympathy or compassion for me, but I didn't perceive that he was being either sadistic or aroused by it, either. But replaying those memory tapes in my mind now, I can see that after my vagina turned into a cunt, he liked doing it. I can tell by the rapidity and intensity with which he whipped me that his heart WAS in it. He felt enthusiasm (I did too), but I think he tried really, really hard to make it not sexual, lest he get in trouble with god or my mom or the cops or whoever. But when it first started when I was 9(?) or 10, I'm sure he wasn't really into it. No I never looked to see if he had a boner. No I never touched him.
When I was punished, it was all about me. And at my house, that was the ONLY time it was about me. The moment I read the definition, I knew she had narcissistic personality disorder. She just assumed that everybody wants to serve her and do what she says and make her happy. She was the most fucked-up person I ever met in my life, and I was committed to a mental hospital for two months.
Anyway, my impression was that that was the way they punished kids when they were kids, which was probably correct. I assumed it happened to everyone else, but I am sure I never really thought about it. No I never told anyone or reported it--particularly after I started liking it. Kids adapt to whatever weird culture is ambient, you know?
> And since it so resembles your own fantasies, how could it not be the impetus for them?
Well yeah, it's obvious NOW! I had completely forgotten about the punishments for many years, until I saw a standing woman whipped on a BDSM vid, then it rushed back in a flood of memories.
> Had you started dreaming and masturbating along domination lines previously?
Well, "previously" means "9 or 10", so no.
> Was this also your mothers kink?
No. As far as I know, it wasn't anybody's kink. Well except mine, as a teenager.
> was she more into just being a voyeur?
No. She never watched. She probably completely ignored it. It was always in my room. Afterwords, no one ever mentioned it. They acted like it never happened. He never said word one to me anyway, which was just fine with me. And my mom was always fake-cheery, like she didn't have anything to do with it, but she had that fucking SMUG SMILE.
I hated her. But after she died, I don't know how I feel about her. And I don't want to think about that (about how I feel about her now). I don't want to think about that at all.
I'd rather think about what he did than what she had to do with it, because remembering it turns me on and she just pisses me off. Anyway, that's probably what you want to read about (and yank off to), so here:
I held my arms over my head while he beat me really fast, like 2 to 4 Hz. I learned to clasp my hands behind my neck so my arms wouldn't hurt from holding them up. It also gave my hands something to grab onto while I was being whipped. I stood in one place to the left of the middle of the room and he walked around me, whipping me and not saying anything except sometimes "keep your arms up!" and "be quiet!" I sniffed silently and obediently. On one hand, I didn't want to give mom the satisfaction of hearing me, but crying when he punished me was a glorious catharsis and probably the only visible emotion I ever expressed in those days around anybody, any time.
To this day, the only time I ever express ANY emotion is when I cry while being whipped or otherwise tortured. It's all the emotion I need, probably because I'm autistic. And I still like that release-feeling just as much.
I was terribly inhibited and shy before SSRIs. I never could have even written this blog then. Or for that matter, read it. My shyness during high school was really, really bad. Except when I went semi-psychotic and preached about how sex was only for animals (parroting my mom). I hung up signs in the halls saying that space people would come down and take me—and only me—away to live forever where I'd have no emotions at all. The other kids weren't worthy to be rescued from Earth because they pursued sex like animals. I would have been a sucker for that cult that killed themselves to be with a comet.
ANYWAY, your dick's getting soft reading about my high-school semi-psychosis, so:
He'd always start with my ass, then my back and right leg, moving to my right side, my front, then left side, more on my ass HARD, then back front to do my tummy and breasts more. Always the same order. He whipped my legs from my hips to above my knees. After there was hair down there, he did 2 or 3 hits specifically on my cunt. I remember wondering why, since I had one before. But the difference in what he paid attention to was noticeable.
Hitting me in that sequence was actually good, because it made it predictable. It also made it endurable, because I knew just how much I'd have to endure. If I were being tortured by the communists or something, I would have been uncertain and frightened. But as it was, I could relax and enjoy it. Kind of. After puberty.
I felt SO excited when he hit my legs because I knew that in a few seconds he would hit my breasts and cunt. The ass-whip felt real, real good too. [The tomboy blushes...]
His belt was real thin (and black), so it was more like a whip. He never used the buckle end. Holding it in his hand, he had no leverage except his two extended fingers behind the belt, but to compensate he hit me as hard as he possibly could. Sometimes he hit my nipples but I don't think it was on purpose, though thinking back, after I got breasts and became sexy to boys, I know he whipped them deliberately because he didn't before. And BTW guys, that REALLY hurts!
He whipped them both in one stroke and also one at a time, alternating, for a varying number of strokes. Whenever he hit my nipples, that was like the "peak". That hurt the most, but provided by far the most pleasure when I masturbated afterwords while rubbing the left one to make it hurt again. They were the most sensitive part he hit. Well, I guess they were the most sensitive parts I HAD. Except my clit, which he couldn't get to while I was standing.
It' s too bad, too, because I wish he had deliberately beaten my clit REAL hard with that belt, over and over, making it swollen and red and hard before I masturbated.
That eventually did happen to me in 2002, and not for 30 seconds like my stepdad did, but for almost three days nonstop. See link (it's somewhere on this page).
He never hit my face or arms or anywhere visible except my upper legs. No one ever noticed in the gym showers because it just wasn't that extreme (or if it was, nobody ever said anything). The welts on my ass may have been visible. I used to pretend I was in the boys' showers and they were all looking at me and about to push me into a corner and gang-rape me, but it was only a fantasy.
Until 2002, of course, when literally, my dreams came true and I was tortured hard like a real sex sslave, and for a very, very long time nonstop.
To this day, when I masturbate, I squeeze one of my nipples with my fingernails until it hurts, then I push my fingernails in hard once before releasing it. I imagine a cruel man or a generic one of my blog readers crushing my nipples between his fingernails and laughing at my pain while I cry and he rapes me. I like to hurt my labia like that too (with my fingernails), and pretend a cigarette tip is doing it. But only while masturbating. I'm not a "cutter". I'd sure love it if a guy cut me down there though, slowly, and ordered me not to move or make a sound. I rub off to that image, too.
In my room, the "sessions" lasted maybe 20 or 30 seconds after I took my clothes off and his belt first hit my skin. He rolled it around his hand several times, then whipped me really hard and very, very fast, I think because he wanted to get it over with. No, I don't know the expression on his face because I never looked. I looked at the sad-clown painting when I was young, and at my bare feet after puberty.
Once he finished making wide red lines all over my body, he just walked out while putting his belt back in the loops, without saying anything. I think he might have left quickly because he was embarrassed at his context stack popping us back into a "normal" context with me standing there naked. In any case, he left me there, standing alone, bare, in pain, usually crying, humiliated, and very, very aroused.
That's when I knew I could masturbate. As soon as I saw him start to leave, I'd get really excited. I locked the door first in case someone came back (no one ever did). I figured that wouldn't seem strange because I was just punished. I rubbed the nub while my whole body was stinging and burning from being hit (or belted or whatever you call it). It only took seconds for the first orgasm, which lasted like FOREVER, similar to this one. After the first cum, that's when I stopped crying. Now, I associate crying with orgasm, I think. Or maybe just sexual pleasure.
For me, that's when the "session" ended, when I cummed. Everything built up to that first one. It was like an emotional release and I shook like epileptic people do. The next one was fun to work for, because then I could concentrate on my shameful fantasies and the feelings in the girl parts of my body he had hurt. I thought back to how humiliated and embarrassed and submissive I felt when he did those things to me. I also imagined him feeling a furious, uncontrollable rage and anger that wasn't there in reality.
Sometimes I imagined him taking me back to his apartment and showing his friends what he does to this 14 year-old girl, and they start pulling their puddendas and then after I'm whipped and crying, I fall on the floor sobbing and they roughly roll me over onto my back and rape me, one after the other.
I also imagined the boys at school watching my punishment and getting boners, and me feeling humiliated as they masturbated while standing over my bed after my torturer and his belt left the room. I closed my eyes so I could imagine them above me, just a foot away. When I thought about them all ejaculating on me at the same time, it was humiliating and that's when I cummed. During my orgasm, I visualized specific boys spurting sperm on specific parts of my body. Like for example, Gary N. always filled up my bellybutton before overflowing it, making a little river of semen flowing off my left side onto the floor. And Shawn S. liked to ejaculate his cum on my tightly-closed mouth and laughing because he knows I don't want to taste it.
Eventually it occurred to me that they could fuck me too, and I abandoned being cummed on and imagined being gang raped while I cried. I also thought about being ordered to come to school wearing nothing but a long t-shirt and having to pull it up to my neck when the teacher was writing on the board, making me effectively completely naked (and completely humiliated) sitting in class.
Anyway, over 5 or 6 years my stepdad did this maybe 100 times, but I have no accurate idea. Maybe fifty, or several hundred. I never counted and I didn't keep a diary. The number of times a week varied greatly too.
I also never told anybody (I'm answering your questions here). It never seemed interesting or important. And again, if I thought about it at all, I assumed that's how all kids were punished. Plus, you have to remember that I felt unspeakably guilty about LIKING it. Add to that that the LAST thing I wanted was for adults to hassle mom at home because of me and that I had no friends at all, and you'll understand why I never said anything to anyone.
I just knew that it hurt, was embarrassing, and I secretly craved it. No, I never deliberately misbehaved to make it happen. I know I never even considered that. Maybe I would have if HE made the decisions, but crazy mom was dangerous and unpredictable.
He whipped my pussy, but only because he whipped me all over. He never made me spread my legs or ass or do anything "obscene". (Again, I'm answering your questions). He never did anything overtly sexual in any way. Though now that I think of it, when my vagina got hair and turned into a "cunt", he whipped it a lot more than he used to, and CERTAINLY a lot harder.
BTW, when I say "whip", I mean "savagely thrash with a thin belt". It matched the greasy fuck's thin mustache. He reminded me of either a 1950's con man, or Bud Abbot. Over the years, he came to whip my ass cheeks hard--I mean really, REALLY hard. It left thick, raised welts I could feel.
He wasn't very nice to the rest of me either. Maybe he was angry at me because he couldn't fuck me.He wasn't very nice to the rest of me either.
What did it look like?
Well, it wasn't like this friendly play shit:
As simulated and artificial as it is, Paintoy is the most real torture stuff made in the US. Even Insex didn't do it for me, because it was too contrived. That's an example of why I only rub off to amateur vids, where the girl is really screaming and thrashing and crying. The porn in this country is fake, like the cheese and the laugh tracks and the politician's lies, and everything else, too.
It was VERY much like this (below), except he beat me faster, repeatedly, and with a belt (which is softer than this guy's stick). But believe it or not, after I was in, like 7th(?) grade, he hit me just this hard. On my ass, literally as hard as he could. I chose this clip to illustrate it because each stroke I took, particularly on my ass, was identical to this:
I was the same age as this girl, and I had short hair then too (but brown). I'm sure I looked just as bewildered. I cried just like that, too until I was so old that crying was insulting to me, but that was near the end of the ages when he did it. Almost always, I cried. Look at the vid and you can see why. You also have to remember, it wasn't this bad because it never lasted anywhere near as long as 20 seconds. But he hit me fast. REAL fast.
Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!Whack!, and then it was over.
I never really analyzed all this stuff before. Thinking back on it now, unless he was a fag, I imagine it aroused him immensely. But until now I never really thought about that.
Again, I never saw it as sexual for him, only for me, and the fact that I liked it was one of my Filthy Secrets. So was the fact that I desired sex at all.
He never whipped my clit specifically, or made any indication that anything was sexual. I thought the sex aspect was exclusively in my guilty mind and that I was really perverted. My mom sure told me that sex feelings were guilty, that's for DAMN sure.
Then I found out years later that there's a whole subculture of women who like to be humiliated, embarrassed and whipped, I though it was literally too good to be true, and that it was all just theoretical rumor, like the other strange stuff you hear about other cultures doing, until I found out my friend Diana really did that stuff. That's what made it real for me. Then my whole life changed. See my account of 2002 for that.
He was like my evil mom's robot, but not evil himself. I never thought to see if he had a boner. I didn't even know guys got boners for a long time. I knew absolutely NOTHING about guys' bodies. there was no sex education of any kind in that backward hick county and my mom didn't tell me shit, so I was INCREDIBLY naive and totally ignorant about sex. I literally didn't have any friends close enough to tell me this stuff. Starting about 9th grade, I was completely isolated from everyone at school.
My bottom-line, best-guess analysis is this:
At first he did it reluctantly because mom told him to and he didn't get aroused by a 9 year-old. But after we both got used to it, it stopped being bizarre and frightening. The procedural structure was familiar, and after I became sexy, we continued doing it exactly the way we always had. He probably wouldn't have just all of a sudden told a 13 year old girl to strip naked and then whipped her (at least not THESE days!)
I think we unintentionally cooperated, like two animals of different species helping each other without ever communicating. I think the reason he began whipping me truly brutally might be because he picked up on nonverbal cues that I liked it. For instance,
- At first I took off my clothes slowly and hesitantly. But starting at puberty, I remember not being able to strip naked for him fast enough; I was in a real hurry.
- When I first started taking off my clothes for a session, I may have smiled in a microexpression, from excitement.
- I was ALWAYS very aroused as soon as I was naked, and after he whipped me, sometimes I could feel "lube" run down my leg. He may have noticed that too.
- My nipples were hard.
- If he ever listened at my door after, it would have been obvious to a grownup that I was masturbating.
Shit, writing about it is turning me on. I'm going to look at whip movies now.
And rub the nub.