STRIPPED 'N WHIPPED!
Until I was 14 or 15
I get endless requests for more details about this. This is every single detail I remember, so don't ask anymore! I don't remember many things I probably should, and this would be more interesting and sexy if I did. But tough titties. You'll yank off to it anyway, so I don't care. Even if you DON'T yank off to it, I still don't care.
Before I say anything else, I want you to know that, while this is just yank fuel to you, it was terrifying to me. Horrible, unspeakable terror. I didn't know what I did that made me so bad, and that just made it worse because I sincerely assumed I deserved it. I realize that until my Revelation in 2001, I had PTSD my whole life, and this is probably why I am so fucked up.
Adults—even teenage kids can contextualize and cognitively isolate experiences like this. But little kids can't. Everything in the world becomes unspeakable horror, and it's all aimed at you because you did something wrong, you don't know what it is, and you're way too afraid to ask. People you thought loved you hate you and deliberately hurt you. All you can do it cry into your pillow after, and repeat to no one in particular, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Whipping a naked 13 year-old girl all over her body until she cries is intensely sexy. Doing the same thing to a 7 year-old is like throwing a kitten in the fire and masturbating while it screams.
But you'll masturbate anyway, because that;s what men ARE. It's what they're supposed to be, and we are programmed to like that treatment—after puberty. When guys (like you) aren't cruel, we feel contempt, not compassion. Because when our cunts get swollen, dark red, and hairy; we aren't innocent kittens anymore. Then, we're GIRLS, and we deserve to be tortured and raped—as punishment for craving it.
The whole point of this blog is to get you guys to accept the monster inside you as a PART of you, not something alien that you have to deny and suppress at horrible cost to your integrity and to everyone round you. Remember the ST:TOS episode, :"The Enemy Within," where Kirk was split into two people, an "evil" one and an ineffective "good" one? He discovered that BOTH parts need to work together to modulate the influence of the other. Only then can you be a functioning, happy person instead of an insane, rampaging Frankenstein or (in your case) a scared, contemptible, geek.
...Okay, I said it, Now you worthless dorks can take out your small, never-been-a-girl dicks for a yank-fest and oretend it's you doing these things to me.
> I've been waiting for you to describe this whipping scene, when you were a kid.
It was way before puberty until 9th or 10th grade, maybe even 11th (but I was skipped ahead two grades so that wasn't as old as it sounds). I have no idea how old I was then, and even less idea of when it started. It's among my earliest memories. 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 12 or 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).
|Yup, that's the belt. I don't know how old I was here because |
I don't remember this picture taken, or why I would have been smiling.
> 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 method? Your mom? 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 slurred "punish that girl NOW!"; He never initiated it himself. It was on her orders. I never got mad at him for it, 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. What he said was "All right young lady, now take off your clothes". But after a while, we both knew what I was to do and he didn't have to say anything at all. In fact, the whole thing always happened without either of us ever 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, 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 it is grownups are so afraid of. But when it first started, when I was 7 or 8, 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. He never touched me, either. His belt sure did, though.
When I was punished, 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 was the way parents punished kids when they were kids, which was probably correct. I guess I assumed it happened to everyone else, but I am sure I never really thought about it. Frankly, it seems strange that you guys make a big deal out of it. how DO they punish kids, then? 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 wishes, 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 with her hands on her head whipped on a BDSM vid, then it rushed back in a flood of memories. When that happened, I had the most intense masturbation cum in recent memory.
|Me chained to a bed.|
These days I get to lie down when I'm whipped.
> Had you started dreaming and masturbating along domination lines previously?
Well, "previously" means "7 years old", 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 me from my knees to my neck, and all sides. After there was hair down there, he did several "thwak!" 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. It was traumatic before that, and I'm sure I had PTSD.
I felt SO excited when he hit my legs because I knew that in a few seconds he would hit my front. The ass-whip felt real, real good too. [The tomboy blushes...]
His belt was thin, so it was more like a whip. He never used the buckle end. I wish he had once, just to I could know what it's like even though it would make me bleed. 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!
|I get beaten really hard these days, and I like it..|
Click for 2,000 pixel wide
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 2001, of course, when literally, my dreams came true and I was tortured hard like a real sex slave, 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.
|I've been left like this for hours.|
I feel like that's what I am.
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, unimaginably embarrassed, sometimes 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.
|You can't move at ALL.|
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 until college. The number of times a week varied greatly too.
|When you worry about how the other person sees you,you totally forget that sex is exiting and magical and fun.|
That's what you need to remember.
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.
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 2001 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 for it to happen again.
- I started taking off my socks too, so I would be completely naked.
- When I first started taking off my clothes for a session, I may have smiled in a microexpression, from excitement. I remember sometimes catching his eyes when I liked it, and I think I smiled slightly then.
- 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, like two little pencil erasers.
- If he ever listened at my door after, it may have been obvious to a grownup that I was masturbating, particularly when I cummed.
- After puberty, I didn't cry.
Shit, writing about it is turning me on. I'm going to look at whip movies now.
And rub the nub.