S&M And The American Father
by Unknown


Introduction 

There is nothing new or unique about sadomasochistic sexuality. Indeed, 
since earliest recorded history, there are numerous documented and 
celebrated cases of pain being employed in sexual activities. Often, in 
early history, such behavior was manifested in religious ceremonies. 

It was in the Fifteenth Century, that we first found incidences most often 
in literature of pain being employed erotically in the sex act. 
Sadomasochism is still very much a part of the sexual appetite of modern men 
and women. 

The father, frequently, plays a key role in the development of the need for 
pain in sex. In this manner, the sins of the father are frequented not only 
on the son, but on the daughter as well. 

In contemporary society, for numerous reasons, sadomasochism has become much 
more in vogue. Based on interviews with numerous respondents, this anthology 
represents the strength of the father's role in the development of S&M 
sexual behavior in America. 

We are living in an era in which the adult male most particularly the father 
finds himself shouldered with enormous responsibilities. These 
responsibilities often become too great. He needs a release. Sadly enough, 
it is the poor, innocent child, who so often becomes the scapegoat of these 
frustrated fathers. 

It's quite difficult to point the finger of blame at the American father. He 
is, like his unfortunate children, very much a product of the uncertain age 
we live in. 

Lucy R. 

Interviewed: January 12, 1976 

Is some form of pain either physical or mental necessary for you to feel 
satisfied during the sexual act? 

I'm very glad that you've asked me to participate in this research study, 
doctor. I've never really talked to a psychiatrist about all of these 
things. Lord knows that I should have. After all, I am 
twenty-eight-years-old. And I know that I have strange desires. And I know 
that it's all somehow related to my early family life. Especially my father. 
Yes, it is necessary for there to be pain for me to truly feel sexually 
fulfilled. And a lot of men I have known were not able to handle it. In 
fact, it's mighty rare for me to find a man who can deal with my specific 
sexual needs. My needs for pain. 

I suppose I should start from the beginning, and tell you how it started 
this need for pain. My father was an unhappy man. I always remember him as 
being unhappy. I don't think I can remember him even smiling very much. That 
was a long time ago it almost seems as though all of this happened to 
someone else. But it is me. I know that. 

I was just about eleven years old when my father first started taking his 
anger out on me. As an only child, I had to take the full force of his rage. 
He was just starting out as a lawyer then. He was having a hard time 
building a practice, I think. From what I understand, he had to borrow a lot 
of money from my mother's family. They had the money. My father came from a 
poor background. 

He always wanted to be rich. It seemed strange to me that he would always be 
wearing new clothes, and driving a new car. I remember my parents arguing 
about his excesses with money. He always told her that it was necessary for 
him to act as though he had a lot of money, in order to meet wealthy 
clients. 

My father is a very intelligent man, and he knows how to say things in a way 
that makes it all seem so very believable. I guess that's why he is today 
such a successful attorney. But as a husband, and as a father, he was a 
failure. And that's how I basically remember him. 

My parents would fight a lot. I remember that my mother was always crying 
when he was home. And when he was away, she drank a lot. I sort of raised 
myself. I was afraid of him. My father always seemed like an evil monster. I 
always hid when he came home from the office. 

But he would find me. I was like the cat that gets kicked by the unhappy 
master. He would ask me questions about school, and my friends. And my 
answers were never good enough. I was especially terrified when he wanted to 
help me with my homework. I never was able to answer him in quite the way he 
wanted. And I would always end up crying and running to my room. 

He was like an evil tyrant. And it's funny, now that I am older, that he 
seems like such a little man such a sad little man. I tried never to talk 
back to him. But when I did when I shouted something at him out of anger. He 
would beat me. He wouldn't just hit me, or scold me. He would beat me. Many 
a time I went to school with bruises on my arms. I would wear sweaters, or 
long sleeved blouses to try to cover it up. I was so ashamed. But I was 
young, and resilient. 

My mother got the worst of it. 

She would be so drunk sometimes, trying to numb out to the reality of the 
bad marriage. And he was so furious with her, because he wanted to bring 
potential clients to the house to meet her. But he couldn't. Her eyes were 
either too red from crying, or from drinking gin. 

I tried, but not always successfully, to finish my homework before he got 
home from the office. That way I could make myself dinner, as my mother was 
hardly ever in a condition to cook, and go to bed. 

But even if I fell asleep, I could hear them arguing. It always seemed to be 
about my mother's drinking problem, or financial worries. One night in 
particular, I remember quite vividly. 

I was around twelve at the time. I was rather pretty at that stage. Unlike 
most of the girls I grew up with, I never went through the horrible awkward 
stage. Being a blonde gentile princess can be an advantage at times, let me 
tell you. 

So, I was trying to pretend that I was sleeping. And I heard their voices in 
the living room. They were fighting. He wanted my mother to borrow a lot of 
money from her parents, so he could join the country club. He kept saying it 
was an investment to meet wealthy clients. But she said that they could 
barely afford to put food on the table, and that it was frivolous. 

Then he started calling her a witch, and a slut, and all sorts of terrible 
things. 

She told him that he was a failure. 

And then he went absolutely crazy. It was the worst ever. I could hear the 
sound of him striking her. She screamed, and they started throwing objects 
at each other. Later, I found that they had broken almost all the vases, and 
porcelain art objects in the living room. 

I always knew what to expect from their fights. There was usually a lot of 
name calling, and a few things thrown around. And then he would hit her, she 
would cry, and then run to her room and lock the door. 

My father would bang on the door, begging for her to open it. He always 
promised that he wouldn't hit her any more if she would let him in. But she 
wasn't a stupid woman. The few times that I remember her letting him in the 
bedroom, he always hit her again, and made her cry. 

So my father had to get used to sleeping on the sofa. 

But the night when things really changed was when he broke down the door of 
the bedroom. I thought he was really going to kill her. 

She had locked herself in, and he was begging to get in. She kept telling 
him to leave her alone. But that night, he wouldn't take no for an answer. 

He went to the garage, and got the axe. And he beat the door down with the 
axe. I remember distinctly, the sound of the wood flying as the steel blade 
bit into the door. With each strike of the axe, it seemed as though my room 
shook. I could feel cold terror in the pit of my belly. I was terrified. 

And then I guess he broke the door down. I remembered my mother screaming 
for weeks after that night. I couldn't get it out of my head. I think she 
was afraid that he was going to kill her with the axe. 

But he didn't kill her. She screamed so terribly loud as he beat her. I did 
think she was going to be killed, so I snuck out of my room, and went down 
to the kitchen. I took a knife. I really don't know if could or would have 
used it on him, but I took it with me just in case. If it was a choice of 
him or my mother, or even me, I wanted it to be him that died. 

In a way, I can practically remember the feeling of standing in the doorway 
of the bedroom, and seeing him, sitting on the bed beside her, slapping her 
across the face. 

It seems like it all happened just yesterday. 

My mother was wearing a pink silk nightie. I can see it all so vividly. He 
was in his shirt and pants, sitting beside her, slapping her. And she was 
trying to cover over her face. But he kept pulling her hands aside, and 
smacking her. 

I was afraid to act. I just stood there and watched. I'll try to remember 
exactly what they were saying: 

"You little bitch," he screamed at her, "it's you who have made me into the 
failure I am. With your family's connections, I could be a very wealthy and 
influential lawyer. But they hate me. No, I was never good enough for their 
daughter. My father was a coal miner. Is that so bad? So what if I had to 
put myself through college on the G.I. Bill? It's not my fault that I don't 
come from landed gentry stock." 

"That's not why they dislike you," she cried. "They dislike you because they 
always were able to see through you. They weren't blinded by love like I 
was. My father said you were a social climbing ass, and he was right!" 

"How dare you talk to me like that," my father shouted, and then beat her 
some more. "So, you think I'm a rogue? Well, I'll show you just what a 
blackguard I am." 

And then he started tearing at her clothes. He was like a wild animal. I 
think the only times he ever made love to my mother was when he was angry. 
He had to hit her to get excited. It was my first impression of sex, and so 
I suppose I always thought it was normal. 

Oh, my poor mother. The price she paid to be married to that man. I don't 
know how she put up with it as long as she did. She was his punching bag. 
That's all she was to him. 

I was spellbound as I watched him so red in the face, and furious ripping at 
her negligee, and beating his fists against her. He was outraged. He was 
berserk. 

I must admit to you, doctor, that I did feel some sexual excitement as I 
watched from the shadows in the hall. He had stripped my mother naked. I've 
never seen much of my parents nude they are both rather old fashioned about 
nudity in front of me, I guess. My mother was a very lovely woman at the 
time. That was before the gin had taken its full effect on her. 

She was so blonde and classy looking. I've heard older people compare her to 
Veronica Lake and Carole Lombard. Those were former motion picture stars. 
Well, I felt a little aroused seeing her naked. It wasn't just her nudity, 
mind you. It was the way she was so vulnerable to father. She was so afraid 
of him, and yet she liked it, in some weird way. 

I mean, after all, she did know the man. She knew how to stick needles into 
his ego, and really piss him off. And she would egg him on. She was almost 
sadistic the way she did it. And I guess she was also masochistic for doing 
it. After all, for the pleasure she derived from wounding him, she had to 
pay the price with pain. 

And she continued on. I guess she got pretty numb from the gin. Maybe it 
didn't hurt as much as it looked like it did. But he would just beat her 
something awful. And she would egg him on. 

"You coward," she would yell. "Only a mouse of a man strikes a woman. And 
you get sexual joy from it, don't you? You are worse than a coward you are a 
slimy little pervert. And that's why you'll never make any money as a 
lawyer. No one would ever trust you." 

"You lie, woman," he would slap her. "Just because you are so beautiful, you 
think you can get away with anything and everything." 

"You once loved me for my beauty," she would say. 

"That was a mistake," he said. "You have nothing else to give me but your 
body. Look at the wife you are a God damned drunk. And what kind of mother 
are you to your daughter? When was the last time you made her dinner?" 

"And you are such a wonderful father to her? And a husband to me?" 

"You never would let me be," he said. "You have undermined every attempt of 
mine to be a successful lawyer, or husband, or father." 

"You never had it in you in the first place," she said. 

And then he really went nuts. He beat her as though she were a man. I mean 
his fists were closed tightly, and he hammered away at her face and her 
chest. 

She curled up in a ball, like a little baby, and screamed. Then he took off 
his clothes. He had a huge erection. It was the first time, and the last 
time, I ever saw my father with an erection. I remember thinking how large 
it was. It frightened me. It really scared the hell out of me. 

He actually had gotten sexually aroused from hurting my mother. That was 
rather heavy for me to deal with. But I couldn't pull myself away. I was 
getting sexually excited from watching him beat her. 

He seemed so excited when she cried out in pain. And I think she must have 
derived pleasure from it. She kept yelling things at him while he hit her. 
And then he unrolled her, and stretched her out. She was always crying, but 
she didn't try to push him away when he kissed her. 

He sat astride her, pressing his thighs against her breasts, and he started 
kissing her. He had her wrists pinned to the bed. He wouldn't let her up. It 
was as though he were raping her. And she fought him all the way. It was as 
if they were making hate, not love. 

And even though she was screaming, I could tell by her breathing, and the 
way she moved her hips around on the bed, that she was getting off on it. 
That's what was so strange for me to understand as a child. I was only 
twelve, but I distinctly remember feeling my panties grow moistened with 
excitement. 

While he had my mother pinned by her wrists to the bed, he continued to kiss 
her, moving his mouth to her breasts. I watched her nipples grow swollen 
while he sucked them. 

And then he kissed her belly, moving his mouth slowly down towards her pubic 
mound. 

By that time, he let go of her wrists. She wasn't fighting him anymore. She 
would still be calling him names, but she wasn't trying to move him off her. 

She was liking what he was doing to her. He began sucking on her pussy, 
while she was calling him cock sucker, and failure, and rotten apple, and 
coal miner's son. Things like that. And he grabbed her harshly under the ass 
and sucked wildly at her pussy. 

Only when she was about to have an orgasm, did she stop screaming with 
anger, and start screaming with pleasure. It sure is a crazy, mixed-up 
world. 

And after he made her come, he would mount her. He treated her like a whore. 
He was fucking her as if he hated her. I guess he was pumping his huge cock 
too deeply in to her pussy ramming up against her cervix. Because with each 
downward stroke, she screamed in agony. 

I was terrified. I didn't know what was going on. I held the knife in my 
hand, but I was too afraid to run into the room. In my imagination, I saw 
myself moving up behind my father while he plunged his cock in and out of my 
mother's pussy, and shoving the knife into his back. 

But that wasn't all that he did to her. He wasn't satisfied just to come in 
her pussy. No, not my father. He pulled his cock out of her, and rolled her 
over on her belly. He then spread her ass cheeks apart, and pressed his cock 
up against her ass-hole. 

I had never heard of such things. I had no idea that men and women make love 
that way. It didn't seem normal because of the way he shoved his cock so 
powerfully into her ass-hole. 

She screamed as though she was going to die. 

He was holding her down to the bed with his hands, again. She tried to break 
away from his grip, but he wouldn't let her. He kept forcing his erection in 
and out of mother's ass-hole, and she was screaming so. 

I was just a little girl, and figured that it was evil what he was doing. I 
had no idea that pleasure was involved. 

It was at that point, that I ran into the room and stood over them, with the 
knife held high over my head. 

"Don't hurt mother," I screamed. 

"Oh, Lucy," my father said. And he seemed so meek about it all. 

"Honey, it's not like you think," my mother said. "Put the knife down. 
Father and I love each other. We had better have a little talk with you." 

I was crying. I didn't know what to think. I was embarrassed, feeling as 
though I had walked into their private lives. I didn't want to intrude like 
that. 

"Honey," my mother said. "It's not like it seems. This is just the way we 
are. We relate to each other in a very special way. You shouldn't worry. 
When you are older, you will understand." 

"You really have a lot of nerve barging in on us like this," my father said. 

"Oh, give her a break," my mother said. "The way we relate seems like we're 
going to kill each other." 

"I don't understand," I said. 

"Honey," my mother said. "We are what is called sadomasochists. We relate to 
each other in an abnormal way." 

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," my father said, trying to cover up 
his genitals. 

"I think you had better go back to your room," my mother said. "Everything 
is okay. This is just the way we are. Try to understand." 

And so I did. And after that, they started being more private. 

* * * 

That's very interesting. But how has this sexual history affected your 
present sexual relationships? 

Oh, it has affected me very directly. I suppose that I have become a 
sadomasochist because of the influence of my mother and father. 

At first, when I was just getting into sex, I had a hard time relating to 
men. 

I didn't understand all the softness and the sensitivity of the young boys. 
All I knew was how to relate to sexuality in a violent, and painful manner. 
Needless to say, I had a lot of difficulty finding young men who could 
satisfy that need. 

My mother had to be placed in a sanitarium because of her drinking problem, 
and my father had become quite wealthy and successful, finally. 

As a result, he was hardly ever in town. I had my own apartment, and my 
father gave me a very substantial allowance. I guess it was mostly because 
of guilt. 

I went to bars to meet older men. But for the most part, they seemed worse 
than the young men. While the young men wanted to put me up on a pedestal, 
and make love to me as though I were some sort of an angel, the older men 
treated me like their daughter. They wanted to spoil me with presents, and 
by taking me to imagine places and so on. 

All I wanted was pain. 

It was quite by accident that I got into full-on S&M. 

I was in a book store, looking for the complete works of the Marquis de 
Sade, when I happened to see this magazine called the S&M Express. I picked 
it up, of course, and was leafing through it. It seemed to be a rather 
interesting publication. 

What I discovered, was that inside, there were photos of men and women who 
were into the darker aspects of the sexual arts. They advertised for sex 
slaves. Some of the men, and some of the women actually seemed quite 
attractive. 

I decided to try it. So, I sent a photo of myself, along with a letter of 
introduction to a man, and to a woman. They wrote back immediately 
furnishing me their telephone numbers. I guess the photo I sent them was of 
interest. I used a self-portrait I had taken with a timed release, and I was 
posing nude. 

I have a very nice figure, and my blonde pubes always turns people on right 
away. 

I went to see the man first. He was very handsome. His name was Jim. He was 
really into the black leather trip complete with ropes, and whips, and 
hand-cuffs. 

I must admit, I enjoyed it thoroughly. I let him tie my hands together, and 
bind me to the head board, and then he tied my ankles to the foot board. I 
was on my stomach. 

He had me stripped naked, and he beat me with a riding crop. At first it 
hurt. And I cried something awful. He had to gag me, because he was afraid 
of what the neighbors would say. 

Fuck the neighbors, I always say. But he was a businessman, and led a dual 
life. He didn't want anyone to know about his secret perversion. It's so 
amazing to me how wide spread perversion is. 

Anyway, I started to like what he was doing to me. I mean, after I got past 
the pain, I realized that it was terribly exciting to have someone flip out 
so extensively over me. And he was really nuts over me. 

He beat me on the ass and the back and on my thighs. It was a terrible, 
stinging pain. But my pussy became very moistened as a result. I knew that I 
would have the first orgasm of my life that night. 

And I did. 

After he had finished beating me, he used the handle of the riding crop on 
my ass. I mean he pushed it into my anus. 

It was the first time a man ever did that to me. I had tried to get men to 
do it, but it was always surprisingly difficult to do so. Men can sometimes 
be more prudish than women. 

Of course, when I masturbated, I had always used my finger in my ass. I 
picked up that fetish, I suppose, from that night I witnessed my father 
sodomizing my mother. 

It felt good, after I got used to it. 

But taking a cock up the ass was a different matter altogether. 

He tried to do it without using lubricant. But it was just impossible. I 
couldn't get it to go in. 

I really tried. I even liked the pain. But I was too dry I guess or too 
frightened. Jim kept hitting me, telling me to relax. I just couldn't relax 
enough to take his ten inch sausage up the ass. 

So, he put vaseline on his cock, and shoved some up my ass, and then it went 
it rather easily. 

It just slid right on inside. And after the initial discomfort, I found that 
I liked it very much. I had a very nice orgasm while he fucked me in the 
ass. And when he shot his hot spunk up my ass, I thought I would go crazy 
from the pleasure of it. 

What a treat that was. 

Now, I always insist, when I am with a man, that he fucks me in the ass. I'm 
just not interested in taking a cock up the slash. It doesn't do a thing for 
me. 

But I also went to see the woman Gretchen. She is really a strange one, 
though we have become quite good friends. And between the two of them 
Gretchen and Jim all of my sexual needs are taken care of. 

She lives in a very nice apartment in the village. She has a bedroom that is 
completely decorated in an S&M motif. It's so interesting. 

There is black leather furniture everywhere, and she has a wall covered with 
various whips, and bondage tools. 

She's a very lovely redhead, and to see her walking on the street, you would 
never imagine just how perverted she is in private. 

We have a regular routine when I go to see her. 

She won't talk to me until after I have taken off all my clothes. 

Then she takes me into the sex room, and ties me to a flat bench. 

Whereas Jim always has me lying ass up, Gretchen has me pussy up. 

It's kind of exciting. I like the variety. 

She ties my hands beneath the bench, and my legs are forced apart, and she 
ties me by the ankles to the walls. 

Then she beats me. We've sort of settled on this velvet cat of nine tails. 
It doesn't really hurt much. In fact, it just hurts enough to get me 
excited. 

My clitoris is always swollen by the time she is through whipping me. And 
then, while I am moaning pretending that she has really hurt me badly. It 
gets us both very hot. 

And we eat each other out. 

I suppose it isn't the most tender of oral sex feasts. Gretchen's rather 
rough on me. Mostly it's the teeth. She-likes to bite while she sucks me. 
And that really disturbs me. At first, that is. But after awhile I really do 
get into it. 

I come better with her than I do with Jim. I don't know what it is. I don't 
really think I'm a lesbian. But there is just something so very erotic about 
her. I really like her. She gets me off so well. 

I can tell when she beats me that she's really into it. No faking with her. 
Jim plays sort of a game. I think S&M sex is just a kinky thing he's into. 
But for Gretchen it's real as it is for me. 

We've never really spoken much about our pasts. But what she has told me 
convinces me that she had a rather rotten childhood as well. Her father 
sounds like a regular storm trooper, and her mother seems to be a frightened 
little mouse. 

So, I stopped seeing Jim after awhile. It just didn't seem real. Together, 
we were like a couple of children dressing up in our parents' clothes and 
playing at being adults. 

But we weren't adults. We weren't really into the S&M trip. For me, it was 
like playing a game. I didn't want it that way. I wanted it to be real. 
Gretchen has helped me make it real. 

She is so understanding. She helps go back into the past and replay the 
scenes with my mother and father. And that really helps. We even re-did the 
scene when I was standing at the door of my parents' bedroom with the knife 
in my hand. 

It all seemed to come back to me. It was more than real. And I started 
lubricating in my panties just watching her lying on the bed, playing the 
role of the tormented house wife. 

And then I played my father's role. I began to understand him better. I 
could see and feel the pleasure he must have derived from mistreating my 
mother. It was very stimulating. 

I pinned Gretchen's arms to the bed, and sucked at her titties, and moved my 
mouth to her crotch, and sucked her cunt. And I bit her, and slapped her 
around. 

And then I came. 

But it was special. It was a spontaneous orgasm. I wasn't frigging myself, 
and Gretchen wasn't touching me. It just happened. All the excitement, I 
guess. And it had continued like that. I have these absolutely amazing 
orgasms when I am with Gretchen. It's wonderful. 

So, I guess it's true. I think I can only orgasm when I am involved in an 
S&M situation. 

I guess I'm perverted, but I can't help it. 

Julie D. 

Interviewed: October 23, 1978 

Was it a sadomasochistic experience in your childhood, which triggered your 
current need for violence in sex? And if so, how does this violence manifest 
itself? 

I don't know what all those big words mean, doctor. I'm an artist, not an 
intellectual. But, and correct me if I'm wrong, I think what you are getting 
at, is whether I am into S&M, and if so, how come. And what exactly is it 
that I do and so on. Is that so? 

Very good. See, we can communicate if we try. Well, I guess it really all 
started when I was about twenty-one years old. And that was only three years 
ago. 

My parents were always very loving. I can remember so many wonderful 
outings, and picnics, and family adventures. But my father started drinking 
when I was about ten. He was a different man when he drank. I think his 
business was falling apart or something like that. I never really got the 
complete story. 

I didn't see much of him during the next few years. He was drinking himself 
to death. I could see that. Even as a young girl I understood about death. I 
could see him dying. And I was so sad. 

And when I was thirteen. He was dead. For a long time I thought he had died 
from the drinking. You see, my best girlfriend's father is a doctor. He was 
the attending physician. And between he and my mother, I was convinced that 
my father had just dropped dead. 

When I was twenty, however, I was told the truth. The awful truth. My father 
had committed suicide. It took me almost until the present time to learn to 
deal with that. It's a strange thing when your own father kills himself. It 
isn't like seeing it on television or in a movie. It's all very real. He put 
a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. 

It was about that time that my brother became gay. I didn't think much about 
it. My mother was away most of the time, so my brother and I had plenty of 
freedom. He is a few years older than I am, so he had a lot of older, wild 
friends. 

I never actually saw him making love with any men, but I saw them being 
rough together. He liked to fight with his boyfriends. I guess it was his 
way of acting out his anger. Always in a fight. And they would wear leather 
clothes and get into the whole S&M act. Only, at the time, I didn't know 
what it was they were up to. 

But I was excited. I had the need to feel pain. And even more so, I had the 
need the driving need to inflict pain. My life had been so sad, and there 
had been so very much loneliness, that I wanted to hurt others. I had to get 
all the pain out of my system. 

I can see this all quite clearly now. But for the longest time, it didn't 
make sense at all to me. I would be in my bed at night, and in my brother's 
adjoining room, I could hear him carrying on with his male lovers. There 
would always be screaming, and fighting. I think they hated themselves for 
being gay. And that, on top of all the anger my brother felt towards the 
world, made him a really violent young man. 

It was rather exciting, really. I would be in bed, listening to all of this, 
and I would get horny. I could feel the hot lubricating juices trickle from 
my pussy. And my clitoris would get real hard, and I would start rubbing it. 

That was the first time I started masturbating. It was very exciting for me 
to feel pleasure. For so long there had been only pain in my life. My pussy 
was my secret desire. No matter what terrible things were happening around 
me, I could always go into the bathroom, or get under the covers of my bed, 
and rub my little clitoris. 

And there would be wonderful pleasure. Nothing could hurt me then. I was 
happy. 

And if my brother happened to be in the next room, with his friends, and if 
they were hurting each other, I would be even more excited. It really did 
something for me to hear shouts, and cries, and pleas for mercy while I 
rubbed myself. It made me feel strong, and powerful. I had fantasies of 
hurting boys. 

Now, I am a very pretty girl blonde, blue eyes the whole bit. I guess I am 
lucky, because all the boys go goo-goo over me. It gives me a lot of 
choices. 

But the guy I really flipped over was this friend of my brother. He was a 
straight guy. I would never think of messing around with one of his gay 
friends. I'm sure they wouldn't have me anyway. 

But the friend of my brother, this guy Mark, was different. I think that 
Dennis, my brother, was into Mark. like he wanted to have an affair with 
him. I suppose Mark picked up on it, because he kept a distance from my 
brother. And I could tell by the way he looked at me that he was interested. 
I think that really pissed my brother off. But what can you do. Dennis never 
really said anything to me about it. But I could tell when Mark continued 
coming around, after the school project was completed obviously to see me 
that Dennis was jealous. 

Mark was nice to him, but he was nicer to me. 

As much as I liked the guy, he was really cute and nice, I had this instinct 
to hurt him. 

I was around twenty-two at the time, and my friendship with my girlfriend 
Roz had taken on a new character. I thought I was in love with her. 

We had an affair. I didn't tell Mark about it. I played a game with him. I 
liked to pretend that I was really innocent and all that. But I wasn't. Not 
at all. I wanted him but first I wanted to torment him. 

The funny thing about my lesbian relationship with Roz was that I didn't 
feel a need to hurt her. I wanted to be good to her. We shared an apartment 
together, and really got close. We liked to do everything together. I mostly 
liked to hold her in my arms when we slept. I liked to kiss her passionately 
on the mouth, pressing my tongue into her mouth, and rub her breasts. There 
was something so good, and safe, about being with another woman. 

I suppose, psychologically speaking, that I was afraid of men. I mean, my 
father disappointed me terribly. And my brother was so weird, and hateful 
towards women. He was especially angry with me, because Mark had become 
stuck on me, and was forever coming around the house to see me not him. 

And Dennis wouldn't tell Mark where I lived. He was so selfish I thought. 

But I ran into Mark in the city one day, and asked him to come home with me. 
I had told Roz all about him, and she sort of thought it was sweet how much 
he loved me. She wasn't at all jealous: 

And Roz didn't seem at all shocked, when I brought Mark home to the 
apartment. Now, Roz and I were definitely not into a black leather S&M trip, 
but we enjoyed wearing leather, and playing the role. We were still young, 
and I suppose Dennis was a hero for us. He was an older brother to Roz as 
well, as she didn't have any brothers or sisters. 

Mark was a bit surprised when I brought him home. I was wearing a suede 
jacket, and jeans, and riding boots. I thought I looked rather cute. And I 
could tell that Mark thought the same thing. Roz was really decked out. She 
didn't know, of course, that I was bringing someone home, and she had 
planned this little surprise for me. 

She had gone out and purchased this entire brown leather costume. It was 
really something. You should have seen her. She had brown leather pants, 
boots, and jacket. And she didn't wear anything under the jacket. So that 
her large tits were exposed. 

It was sort of sexy. 

She was very nice to Mark. And I could tell by the way she looked at the 
bulge in his jeans, that she was fond of men as well as women. We had never 
really discussed our sexual preferences. I mean, it always seemed important 
that she was into me, and I was into her. We didn't talk much about others. 

But then it was clear to me that Roz could go both ways. And so, I decided 
that I would go both ways as well. Mark was going to be our first victim. 
And I could tell that he liked the idea fine. 

It seems like just yesterday when it all happened. 

"Do you girls live together?" he asked, staring at us in that strange, 
sexual way. 

"Yes," I said. "Roz and I grew up together. We are practically sisters." 

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" he said. 

"No, go ahead and shoot," Roz said. 

"Are you girls lesbians?" he asked, rather frankly. 

"Well, that certainly is a point-blank question," I said to Mark. "Would you 
mind if we were indeed lesbians?" 

"Only insomuch as I would like to have an affair with you," he said to me, 
smiling bashfully. 

That's one of the things that I liked best about Mark. He was so sensitive. 
He seemed almost like a little boy at times. I felt an instinct to protect 
him. To look out for him. 

"Let me tell you something," I said to him. "I think you are really cute, 
Mark. And I like you a lot. And you are the first man I have ever felt 
sexually attracted to. And I really do feel attracted to you. But I am in 
love with Roz. If she were a man, I think I would marry her." 

"So, there isn't a chance for us?" he asked. 

"We can be friends," I said. 

"Don't throw Julie's friendship away, Mark," Roz said. "She's a very special 
girl." 

"I know that," he said. "But I don't think that friendship alone is enough. 
I need you," he was practically falling at my feet. "I think of you only 
from morning to night. You are the rising sun of my day, and the moon of my 
nights. You are all, and everything." 

"Oh, you cute little boy," I couldn't help but pat him on the head. "What 
about Roz?" 

"Oh, she's cute too," he said. "I could learn to love Roz as well. Anyone 
who loves you, is special to me." 

"You are really crazy about that blonde, aren't you?" Roz asked Mark. 

"I sure am," he said. 

"Does that mean you don't like my friend, Roz?" I asked. 

"No, that doesn't mean that at all," he said. "I like both of you very much. 
Oh, this is all so confusing. What sort of times are these that we are 
living in?" 

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"Well, your brother and his S&M friends are so bizarre," he said. "And now I 
find that you and Roz no offence are lesbians. Where are the normal people?" 

"What is normal?" Roz asked. 

"I wish I knew," he said. "I feel as though I don't know anything anymore. I 
only know that I think I love you, Julie." 

"Oh, Mark," I said, quite dramatically, "don't you see that it just never 
would work out?" 

"But why?" 

"Because I am a lesbian I want to hurt you, Mark. You'd better run from me. 
I don't understand love. All I know is that the more you like me, the more I 
want to hurt you." 

"You'd better take a hint from her," Roz said. "If you were smart, you would 
run from Julie as fast as your legs could carry you." 

"I can't," he lowered his head. "I will be your sex slave to both of you if 
it's required. Whatever it takes to be close to you, Julie, that's how far 
I'll go. If you want to play like your brother does, and tie-me up, and hit 
me, and all that, then go right ahead." 

"Are you sure you want this, Mark?" 

"I have no choice," he said. "I must have you at all costs." 

"Very well," I smiled. "I had him where I wanted him. I should explain at 
this point, that I really was sexually attracted to Mark. I wanted him in 
the worst way. But it had to be on my terms. I had to have him where I could 
handle him. And that was tied up. I simply couldn't deal with Mark as an 
equal. For me, he had to be placed in captivity so he couldn't hurt me. 
Couldn't disappoint me. It's all the father thing. 

Roz and I had Mark undress. 

I knew he was a handsome, well-built fellow but I certainly didn't realize 
just how handsome he was. 

I could feel my pussy secreting hot lubricating juices while I looked at 
him. He was so sexy. When he took his shorts off, I saw that he was very 
well hung, as well. 

"No wonder my brother was so very much attracted to you," I said. "You are 
very handsome and masculine. And you have a beautiful cock, if you don't 
mind me saying so." 

"I don't mind at all," he said. "I like your compliments." 

"Well, don't expect too many of them," I said. "I can't afford to pay too 
much in that respect. It makes me feel vulnerable." 

"Well, at least you understand yourself," he said. "What should I do now?" 

"Go over there on the bed," I said, while removing my suede jacket. Roz had 
practically finished undressing. She wanted to get in on this as well. 

Mark was on his back on the bed, and he had a huge erection. I was so 
excited to see him like that my victim. My pussy was throbbing with 
excitement. It was wonderful. 

I took some rope from the closet, and tied his wrists together, over his 
head, and bound his ankles together. 

Roz and I were completely nude now. We embraced, and kissed passionately. 
Her firm nipples felt so good against mine. I pushed my groin to hers, and I 
could feel fire erupt between us. It was so sensual. 

I glanced at Mark, and I could see that he was very excited. There is 
something very exciting for a man, I think, to watch two women get into each 
other sexually. I really don't understand that fantasy. 

But there is a lot I don't understand about men. And even less about life in 
general. 

Nevertheless, I think that both Roz and I enjoyed caressing in front of the 
bound man. He became the symbol of all the wrongs that men ever did to us. 

The poor guy didn't really understand why we were tormenting him so. He 
really did love me, I know that now, but I'm a lesbian. I can't assume 
responsibility for how men feel about me. I just can't. There's nothing I 
can do about it. 

So Roz and I got on the bed, and we lay beside Mark. He was perspiring, and 
quite excited by what was happening. I could tell by his heavy breathing 
while Roz and I were locked in each other's arms. We kissed, and fondled 
each other's breasts, and pressed our pussies together. And there was a lot 
of heat, and sexual excitement. And poor Mark just lay there and watched. He 
tried to turn several times, to join in the festivities. But we wouldn't let 
him. We kept turning him over on his back. I was atop Roz, and I was rubbing 
my pussy against hers, while sucking at her tit. 

Mark looked over and watched, with pain. He obviously wished that it was him 
that was beneath me. That it was his cock that was shoved up my pussy. 

But I couldn't let that happen, doctor. Don't you see, that would take the 
fun out of everything. I simply wanted to force him to watch. I wanted him 
to be miserable. 

I crouched between Roz's thighs, and began sucking her pussy. She liked what 
I was doing to her. I could tell that Mark was very jealous. Each time that 
Roz sighed with pleasure, and pressed her pussy firmly against my mouth, 
getting closer and closer to orgasm, Mark would struggle against the ropes. 
He was trying to break free. He wanted to touch me, to get close to me. 

It turned me on to be desired like that. It made sex with Roz all that much 
more exciting. 

When Roz came, moaning, and writhing about in ecstasy below me, I think Mark 
almost cried with exasperation. 

But that's not my problem. It's his problem. 

I told him up front what I was. And still he persisted. So, all the pain and 
confusion he brought down on himself was entirely his fault. I don't accept 
any of the blame for it. 

It was much worse for him when I was on my back, and it was Roz between my 
thighs sucking on my pussy. 

He started to cry. And instead of feeling sorry for him, I found that it 
turned me on. I actually became excited from watching him cry, and moan, and 
writhe about, pulling at his bindings. 

I knew he was dying to have me, but he couldn't. And that gave me so much 
pleasure. I was like the goal that he could never have. I was the prize the 
aloof angel that he could never quite touch. 

And it gave me so very much pleasure to have him in that position. 

When I started to come, he began screaming with agony. 

Both Roz and I ignored him. 

He was lying right there beside us, and we pretended that he wasn't even 
there. 

All his protests, and screams, and tears, were just a joke to us. 

Well, it wasn't really a joke. I mean, I think I felt sorry for him in a 
way. But he asked for it. He made me do it. 

After I had come, Roz and I went into the other room to discuss what we 
should do about him. We were really plotting. 

"Should we untie him and send him home?" Roz asked me. 

"No, I think we should have some more fun with him," I said. "It's a gas. I 
can't help but enjoy it. Oh, Roz, do you think I am sick?" 

"No, I don't think you are sick," she said. "But I think you are taking this 
thing to far. You have to think about what you are really doing to this man. 
You are torturing him, Julie. You are doing a very evil thing to him. You 
have to think about what's going to happen to him in the future. I mean, how 
will he be able to relate to other women?" 

"I can't think about that," I said. "I have to live for the moment's 
pleasure. It's just the way it is. If you are my friend, and lover if you 
really care about me you'll help me with this. You'll see just how important 
it is to me to have my way with the young man. I tell you, I haven't had so 
much pleasure ever before. It's all so wonderful. Don't you get excited 
making love to me, knowing that he wants us, but can't have us?" 

"But that's perverse," she replied. "I love you, Julie, and I've gone along 
with all of this S&M stuff to please you, but I don't want to harm the boy. 
He seems like such a nice, sensitive young man." 

"Don't be a fool," I said. "Do you want to put our relationship in danger? 
Don't you understand that I have to act like this? I've just discovered how 
wonderful it is to have dirty sex. I mean I like it raunchy. Can't you 
understand?" 

"If it means losing you," she said, "then I will go along with the game 
plan. But I think it's unfair." 

I was losing my grip about that time, doctor. I had never ordered Roz about 
like that before. I had never put ultimatums before her. But this was 
different. I was somehow caught in the grip of a powerful, and perverse need 
to hurt Mark. I wanted to crack him to hurt him. The way my father had hurt 
me by killing himself. 

So, Roz agreed that she would make love with him. I would never let him 
actually touch me. I knew how much he wanted that. And that's why I 
couldn't. It was so much fun just to tease him. 

He was quite excited when Roz and I came back into the room. 

He was pulling at his ropes, trying to break away. But, of course, he 
couldn't. We pushed him to the center of the bed, and Roz lay beside him. I 
sat on the bed on the other side, just to watch. 

He looked at me with pleading eyes. He didn't have to tell me that he loved 
me, and that he wanted me. I could see that plain as day. 

I just smiled. I didn't say anything. And while Roz was running her fingers 
through his hair, I toyed with my body. 

Now, Roz is a very lovely woman. I should point that out. She is as 
beautiful as I am, in a brunette sort of way. And the fact that he wasn't 
paying any attention to her, while she was trying to turn him on, was most 
curious. 

He just kept looking at me, with tears in his eyes. I felt a little sad for 
him. But I couldn't help myself. The pleasure was so intense. I was pinching 
my nipples, and practically going crazy with lust, while Roz was French 
kissing him. And his eyes were on me the entire time. 

The poor critter. 

I sure hope you aren't getting shocked by what I'm telling you. I just want 
to be open and honest. 

Well, as I was saying, Roz was really getting into Mark. She always was able 
to get into men somewhat. And poor Mark wasn't at all paying attention to 
her. He was looking at me with the saddest, most wanting eyes you would ever 
want to see. 

He groaned with pleasure, of course, when Roz put her mouth over his cock 
and began sucking on his dick. But I think half the pleasure he derived from 
her mouth was because he was looking at me, pretending that I was the one 
who was sucking him off. 

I suppose it's partly my fault. I had spread my legs, so that he could see 
directly into my pussy. And I was toying with my clit while Roz sucked his 
dick. 

I was licking my lips, and making lewd expressions at him. The poor guy was 
a little shocked and hurt, I would say. 

And when he shot off in Roz's mouth, which she-likes a lot, instead of 
crying out with pleasure, the poor guy seemed to cry with hurt pride. I 
really did feel sorry for him, but I was so excited. I started coming right 
then and there. 

It was the best orgasm I think I've ever had. Every nerve fibre in my body 
was shaking. It was a total catharsis. 

And only when he saw me writhing about in the throes of sexual catharsis, 
did he begin to derive pleasure from his orgasm in my lover's mouth. 

That's really strange to me. 

He was, I think, pretending that Roz was I. And that really turned me on. I 
felt so desirable, just like a real princess. 

After Roz had milked him dry, she was really excited. 

When that woman tastes come, she just goes bananas. 

"Can I untie his feet?" she asked me. 

"Why?" 

"I want to fuck this boy," she said. "I want to feel his legs wrapped around 
me." 

"Very well," I said, "but keep him away from me." 

"Why are you so mean to me?" he asked. 

"Don't take it personally, Mark," I said. "I do like you very much. It's not 
a question of that. It's just that I'm not like other girls. You should have 
known that before you flipped out over me." 

"Oh, Julie," he said, "please let me touch you. I just would be so happy if 
I could kiss you, put my cock in your pussy, love you, and make you feel 
good. Can't you understand that?" 

"I can understand it," I said. "But I can't go along with it. Mark, this is 
your choice to be here. You surely knew what you were up against with me. 
Now, don't fight it. Accept it. You can leave now, if you want. And never 
come back. Or you can become our sex toy. But you have to understand that 
you will never make love to me. I will never let you touch me, or have me in 
any sexual manner. Can you deal with that?" 

"If it's the only way I can be close to you," he said, "then I will have to 
accept it." 

"Oh, good," Roz glowed. "Now, I'm going to give you a proper fucking. Come 
on, and get hard again. I can't wait all day." 

Roz stroked Mark's cock until he was erect again, and then she squatted over 
him, and introduced his cock into her snatch. 

She sighed with pleasure as the fat dick pressed into the mouth of her 
snatch. 

I was masturbating again really feeling turned on. It really did a great 
sexual number on my head to watch him squirming around beneath my woman 
lover. 

I lay on my side facing him. His eyes were glued to mine as I frigged my 
pussy. I couldn't help but enjoy the warmth of the occasion. I was 
squeezing, and probing and pushing against my sex, feeling so very 
wonderful, and he was crying again. 

I really didn't realize the extent of the pain I had caused him. I really 
didn't want to hurt him, you see. I was pressing and pulling and frigging 
myself, and going absolutely crazy with perverse desire. 

And Roz was having a wonderful time also. We all came at the same time 
again. It was a three-way simultaneous orgasm. And I thought that was kind 
of neat. 

We were all rather exhausted from it all. Roz and I got dressed, and then we 
untied Mark. He left. He didn't say anything more. I guess he was really 
angry and hurt. 

Two days later, I heard from my brother that he was dead. He had drowned 
himself in the sea. 

But Roz and I continued our relationship as if nothing had happened. We 
never talked about Mark. 

But now and then we still come across a man who is really into one of us. 
And we play the same game with him. If he-likes me, then we play it the way 
we did with Mark. But if he-likes Roz, then I am the one who makes love with 
him while Roz sits to the side and torments him. 

We've sort of found a natural outlet for our frustrations, and anger against 
men. 

I hope it doesn't seem too bizarre to you. I suppose with all the interviews 
you're conducting, you hear lots of strange stories. 

Lisa D. 

Interviewed: May 13, 1977 

As an admitted sadomasochist, would you please explain how you came to 
realize your need for painful sexual experience, and how you act out your 
sexual fantasies? 

Well, from speaking to other girls I know who are into S&M, I've discovered 
a common trait. You've probably noticed it in your interviews as well. 

It seems that all of us have huge angers against our fathers. It does make 
sense, when you think about it. It is always under-estimated just how 
significant the relationship is between father and daughter. After all, the 
father is the first man who makes an impression in a girl's life. 

And because he had more contact with the child than anyone else, it only 
makes sense that there would be a very strong connection. For example, my 
father is an alcoholic. I don't see much of him anymore. 

I grew up on a military base. My father was career military. He was a 
colonel. And he was a very unhappy man. He was a public information officer, 
so he had to act a certain way with the press, and with the high ranking 
officers on base. 

But it wasn't really himself. He was such an unhappy man. Oh, so very 
unhappy. Even as a little girl I could tell that. My sister, Christina, and 
I tried to give him a wide berth. 

He would always be at the officer's club drinking. And mother was often 
away, staying with her mother in Kansas. I wish she would have taken us 
along. When father was drunk, he was a mean man. And he was a perverted man 
as well. 

Christina and I were afraid of him. We always pretended that we were asleep 
when we heard him pull the car into the garage. My sister and I always 
shared a room together. We were teenagers at the time when the sexual things 
started happening. 

Mother was staying away for months at a time. And when father came home, 
drunk, and looking for trouble, Christina and I were the only ones around to 
pick on. And he sure did pick on us. 

It seems just like yesterday: 

"Okay girls," he would say, turning on the light in our room. 

"It's not so late," he said. "Get up. I want to inspect the room." 

Usually he was satisfied just to see if the room was dusted and our clothes 
were put away neatly. But this time, he was going through different number. 
He was sexually aroused. 

Both Christina and I were virgins. Sex was an entirely new dimension for us. 
We talked about it, of course. We knew what an erection was, and what was 
supposed to be done with it. 

It was winter, I remember, and we were wearing flannel nighties which mother 
had bought for us. 

"Well, the room looks rather unfit," he drawled. He was really drunk. We 
could tell by the bulge in his pants that he was also rather sexually 
aroused. 

"Get out of bed," he said, "and stand at attention." 

Neither Christina, nor I knew exactly what was coming. But we both knew that 
it was going to be heavy. 

"Take off those night gowns," he said. "I want to see if you girls have 
bathed properly." 

"Aren't we getting a little old for this, father?" Christina asked. 

She was about seventeen at the time, and I was fifteen. 

"Don't you question my authority," my father fumed. "I am a colonel in the 
Army, and what I say goes." 

So, my sister and I removed our nighties, and he stared at us with this 
really perverse look in his eyes. 

I suppose it was because of what happened that night, that Christina became 
a lesbian, and I got into the S&M scene. 

Father sort of spoiled any chance for us of having normal relationships with 
men. I mean, as a symbol of what a man is, he set a bad example. 

"So, you girls are developing into regular little women," he said. 

It was true. We were rather well developed. Christina, who has dark hair, 
had grown quite a pubic bush. She has very small breasts, which gave her a 
masculine look. 

On the other hand, I already had a nice set of jugs, and my blonde hair was 
long, and hung nearly to my waist. I could tell by the way my father was 
staring at my pussy obviously admiring my blonde pubes that Christina and I 
were going to be molested. 

It was just the reality of the situation. His cock was obviously erect in 
his uniform pants, and his face was flushed. I was frightened. Christina, 
being the older of the two of us, and sort of a mother figure for me, took 
me by the hand, and squeezed my hand. 

I felt safe. I knew that no matter what father did to us, we would still 
have each other. 

"I think that we haven't had a chance to really get to know each other 
properly," he said. "Now, I hope you don't think I am sick or mean or 
anything like that, but the two of you are now women." 

I knew what was coming at that point. I could feel it. 

"It's time that you learned about being women," he said. "The world is full 
of men who are going to want to fuck you girls. And you are going to have to 
be very careful. I want to just let you know what to expect." 

He was so drunk and weird. He started to undress. We were both young 
virgins, and terribly frightened. 

Christina and I held each other tightly. I could feel her little firm 
nipples pressing into me. And it excited me terribly. I think it was 
probably out of fear that I felt that way. 

My father was still a very handsome man. The heavy drinking hadn't seemed to 
affect his body or his face. I remember looking at his penis. It was so 
large. I thought about how it was because of that cock that I was brought 
into the world. 

His penis seemed to have special magic for me. I sensed that Christina was 
terrified by it. But I wanted it. Yes, doctor, I wanted his cock to be 
inside of me. My own father. 

Don't get me wrong. I disliked the man then, and I despise him still today. 
But at that time, I wanted him. I was still a virgin, and I can still 
remember the strange feeling of hot juices trickling into my pussy. 

When he was completely naked, and erect, he seemed a little embarrassed. But 
his embarrassment certainly wasn't stronger than his sexual desire. 

"Now, you girls get back into bed," he said. "I will deal with each one of 
you individually." 

And he did. 

He came up to me first. I thought he would. I just had that strange feeling 
a premonition, if you like. 

He was perspiring rather heavily, and sitting on the edge of my bed, running 
his fingers through my hair. "I know, Lisa," he said, "that life has been 
difficult for us. All the changes of duty stations. Nothing seems permanent. 
But I will always love you. You are my little girl. And I think it is a 
father's duty to explain these things these sexual things." 

"I understand, father," I said. And I think I really meant it, in a way. I 
was frightened, but I desperately wanted him. I wanted to feel love and 
closeness from him. 

He pulled back the bed covers, and exposed my naked body. His hands felt 
warm and nice as they moved over my breasts. He squeezed them, and then 
kissed me on the mouth. He smelled of whisky. 

And then he got into bed beside me. And he was kissing me passionately. His 
tongue was moving in and out of my mouth, and I could feel tremendous heat 
surging in my pussy. 

It was the awakening of sexuality in me. 

We were facing each other, and his hot stick was shoved between my legs. I 
could feel it pulsating up against my pussy, and as I discharged, I felt a 
great desire for him. 

I suppose he felt guilty, because he started getting rough with me as though 
he were taking out his guilt feelings on me. I think in your profession, 
doctor, that's called transference. 

Well, he was for sure transferring his problems to me. 

He forcibly rolled me over on my back, and moved in between my thighs. He 
pressed the head of his cock against my young opening, and pushed his 
erection up against the hymen. 

"It hurts, father," I cried. It really did hurt. I didn't know how I would 
be able to deal with it. 

"It always hurts the first time," he said. 

But I could tell by the way he said it that he really didn't care that he 
was hurting me. 

He was sweating, and reeking of booze, and then he shoved his cock into my 
pussy, tearing through my hymen, and I cried with pain. But he didn't even 
stop. 

I think he was enjoying it. He was enjoying forcing himself on me, and 
hurting me. He is a very sick man. I can see that now. 

My father was grinning from ear to ear as he forced his mammoth organ deeply 
into my pussy. I was bleeding. I could feel the hot blood trickle from my 
wounded vagina, but that didn't stop him. 

He kept fucking me, grabbing at my tits, as though I were some whore 
definitely not his daughter. 

Christina was in bed crying. She was crying for me, and she was also crying 
for herself. She knew that she would be next. 

My father started slapping me. I had done nothing wrong except be frightened 
and still, he kept hitting me. I was crying while he pounded his cock in and 
out of my pussy. He was panting, and obviously was too turned on. 

"Stop your sniveling you little bitch," he screamed at me. "I'm just showing 
you how it will be when you are out in the real world. This is what you can 
expect from men. I'm doing you a big favor. I just wish you would realize 
that." 

But I kept crying. 

"So, you spoiled little bitch. I can see how your mother has really ruined 
you. Well, it sickens me." 

And then he pulled his huge cock out of my little pussy, and he rolled me 
over. I knew something really bad was going to happen. I just didn't know 
what. 

But when he shoved his finger up my ass, I knew it was going to be bad. 

He kept shoving it in and out of me. And I was crying. I was crying because 
it hurt. He was hurting me. 

I tried not to cry too loudly. I knew it only made it worse. But he wouldn't 
ease up. He kept being meaner and meaner. 

And then he pressed the tip of his fat penis against my anus, and I screamed 
in pain. 

That was much too much. I had never heard about things like that before. 
About men forcing their cocks into little girl's behinds. I didn't want to 
deal with it at all. 

It was not at all pleasurable. Although I have since learned to enjoy sodomy 
because of the pain of it, at that time there was no pleasure in it. It was 
just plain pain. 

I cried into my pillow. I screamed and tried to pull away from him. But it 
wasn't any help. He was hurting me terribly. 

His cock was too big for that little hole. 

But somehow, he got all the way inside of me. I felt like I was going to 
pass out. 

I wish I could have. 

But I didn't. 

He came inside my ass. And for a week afterwards, I cried every time I had 
to take a dump. It was really killing me. 

Finally, the nightmare was over, and he pulled his cock out of my ass. I 
felt better. But not much. My young body was filled with pain. I wanted to 
love my father. I suppose I would still like to love him. But I can't. I 
hate him. I would like to see him punished. Of course, the good Lord took 
care of that for me. But not soon enough for me or badly enough. 

I think the reason I like to give men trouble; break their hearts; and give 
them general grief, is because of my father and what he did to me that 
night. 

For Christina, it's entirely different. She wants nothing to do with men. 
She's strictly into women. And that is also because of him. 

After he had pulled his cock out of my ass, he used my nightie to dry his 
cock off and then he went over to Christina's bed. 

"Leave me alone," she cried, as he pulled the covers off her. "What's wrong 
with you? You can't do things like this to your daughters." 

"The hell I can't," he said. "I'll do just as I please." 

"Father, have some honor, at least," she said. 

"I'll tell you what honor is," he said. "The first thing you have to learn 
about honor, is to honor your father. How do you like that?" 

"Your logic is all off, Dad," she said. "You are a sick man. You are 
perverse. You are a child molester, and you will be punished for this." 

"Oh, yea?" he slapped her across the face. "And are you going to punish me?" 

"I won't," she said. "It will be your karma. You'll see. You can't get away 
with this." 

"Well, we'll just see about that," he shouted. And then he pressed his 
fingers into my sister's virgin opening. She really screamed with pain. He 
forced his fingers right through her cherry. There was blood, and tears, oh, 
it's awful to even remember it. 

And then he forced her to suck his cock. 

"You aren't even a girl," he screamed. "You don't have tits. You keep your 
hair cut short. If you ask me, you're just a little boy. And you'd better 
suck on my cock. And I want you to swallow up every little drop of my jizz." 

I looked over and watched as he grabbed her by the hair and forced her mouth 
down over his cock. She had tears in her eyes. Tears of shame and fear. 

He was so rough with her the way he forced her mouth up and down on his 
shaft. And when he squirted jism into her mouth, he held her head tightly 
against his cock. He wouldn't let her up. 

She was gagging on his juice. I could hear her trying to break away from 
him. 

And he kept shooting into her mouth. 

Well, the way things work in life, you know, everyone gets what's coming to 
them. There just doesn't seem to be any escape from karmic law. And that's 
what happened to him. 

My mother left him, taking us with her back to Kansas. It was like rebirth 
to get away from him. 

Not long after that, he was transferred to Vietnam. We all figured he would 
be safe, because he had a non-combat job. But there was a rocket attack or 
something, and he took a serious wound in the leg. 

He was in the hospital in Hawaii for a long time recovering. I don't think 
the wound was so bad. It was mostly his head that was fucked up. A doctor 
wrote a letter to my mother saying, in effect, that father had lost his will 
to live. The doctor wondered if, under the circumstances, she would go to 
him, and try to put some meaning back in his life. 

But it didn't work that way. She wanted to go, but Christina and I wouldn't 
let her. We told her what father had done to us. The revelation united the 
three of us in a strong bond. 

And we forgot all about father. But about a year ago he found where we were 
living, somehow, and came to visit us. We could hardly recognize him. 

He was no longer in the Army. He had some form of pension, but it must not 
have been much, because he drove an old, battered car. His hair had turned 
white, and he had a bad limp. 

He was a ruined man. 

We all felt a little sorry for him, but his nature hadn't changed at all. He 
was still a bitter, jealous, frustrated man. And after we talked to him a 
few minutes, we managed to get him out of the house by threatening to call 
the police. 

Well, the old bastard left, and we've never seen him again, thank God. 

* * * 

That is all very informative. But would you please explain how this 
relationship with your father has influenced your present sexual life style? 

Yes, of course. I really haven't touched on that very extensively. Well, you 
see, I think I really hate men now. Not just a little. I really loath them. 
I don't trust any of them. 

But I am not a lesbian. Women don't turn me on. Christina has become a 
lesbian. And her life style seems much easier to deal with than my own. I 
enjoy sex with men, but only when I have the upper hand. I have to crush 
their spirit make them crawl. 

That's not so difficult for me, as I am a rather lovely young woman. It's 
really true about blondes having more fun. I definitely have more fun than 
most the girls I know. 

Of course, my brand of fun is a little different than most people's. I'm 
into black leather. I'm into S&M. I like nothing more than walking down the 
street, seeing how many cute men I can attract. 

I like to break their wills. I like to crush their spirit. 

I get them to beg for my body. And I let them have me. But only on my terms. 

Usually I insist that they strip off their clothes. And then I have them get 
on their hands and knees and beg for me like a dog. 

I get a thrill from that. I know it must sound bizarre to you. But it turns 
me on so very much to have the upper hand. I like to feel that I have them 
under my thumb. 

I like to feel as though I can make them roll over and play dead, or 
whatever else I want. Being beautiful lets me act out a lot of different 
fantasies. 

I enjoy that very much. 

In some of my kinkier moments, I get them to dress up in military clothes. I 
understand perfectly well why I do that. I still want to have the upper hand 
with my father. 

It doesn't matter that he is a broken down old gimp, that all his dreams of 
success and importance have come to nothing. That he is a failure, a crumb, 
and an embittered old man. 

I still feel that I must have the last word. So I go to military surplus 
stores and buy old uniforms. 

And then I make them beg. Oh, I get shivers of pleasure from doing that. 

My pussy drips with hot desire, and I can't wait to get them undressed 
again. And then I do to them just what my father did to me. Well, not 
exactly, of course. 

They are men and I am a woman. I have them get under the covers of the bed, 
and make them perform sexual acts on me. 

I guess I'm what you call a dominatrix. 

The object is most certainly not the pleasure of the men. Oh, they get off 
all right. But not before I make them jump through my hoops. 

And that is precisely how I get off on sex. There is no pleasure in normal 
sex for me. I could just frig myself if all I wanted was an orgasm. 

I want much more than that. I want to see the men crawl. I want to degrade 
them. My father died recently. He died all alone in a dirty tenement. No one 
cared. He was punished for his sins for his attitude. For his way of life. 
But that wasn't enough for me. I wanted more. 

Now I have a special boy. His name is Rufus. He's a blonde-headed little 
Irish boy. And he is so full of hope. He really believes in love. In a lot 
of ways he reminds me of how my father probably was when he was a boy. 

He comes by my place several times a week and I dress him up as a little 
soldier. 

I put him through drills, just like they do to the young men when they are 
in basic training. 

I make him run in place, and do sit-ups, and push-ups, and I have him clean 
the house. And then I inspect it. I wear white gloves, and really give him a 
run for his money. 

The young boy really loves me. That much is quite evident to me. And that is 
what precisely gives me pleasure. 

I think he would do anything and everything I ask of him. 

He even takes the dildo. 

That's my supreme joy. It's almost as good as getting even with my dead 
father. 

I'll never forget that painful sodomy for as long as I live. Each time I 
strap the leather dong on, and have little Rufus lying on his belly on my 
bed, I feel so filled with power and perverse desire. 

It's as though he is my father, and I am taking my revenge. And what sweet 
revenge it is. I like nothing better than to roll him over on his belly, and 
spread his young ass cheeks apart, and then force my fingers up his ass. 

He always screams, and begs for mercy just like I did when I was a little 
girl, and my father did those terrible things to me. But there is no mercy. 
There is only the reality of the pleasure I feel when he cries out with 
pain, I am punishing my father through him. And it feels just wonderful. 

Rufus doesn't put on an act when we are going through this number. Not at 
all. I really am hurting him. 

The funny thing is that he seems just as much into taking pain as I am into 
giving it. 

We make a perfect couple. 

I've been even thinking about breaking off my relationship with all the 
other men, and focusing especially on him. 

In a way, I might even love him. Yes, I think I do in a way. But it isn't 
the kind of love that I always fantasized I would have with a man. It isn't 
tender at all. 

It's rough, and perverse. 

And he-likes it that way. Who knows, we might even live together, or get 
married one day. 

I hope you don't get the impression that I am a total monster with him. I'm 
really not. I like to think that we have formed a very suitable 
relationship. 

I don't know a great deal about Rufus' background. From what he has told me, 
however, we seem to have opposite experiences. Whereas my father was rough 
and brutal with me, his mother was very quiet and frightened of him. 

Rufus told me once that all he ever wanted from his mother was love. But he 
never got any. At least not the kind he wanted. It's a funny thing about 
young people. They seem to want punishment as a statement of love. I've read 
that, but I'm not really convinced I believe it. Not fully, anyways. 

I certainly didn't like the brand of treatment I had from my father. And I 
know that Christina didn't like it at all either. 

But Rufus, well, I guess he was just always a boy in search of a spanking. 
And he never did seem to get a proper spanking. Not from anyone but me. 

I certainly give him enough pain to make up for all those lost years of 
attention, however. I can tell you that. I give that boy a run for his 
money. 

I saw him just yesterday. The funny thing is that I feel a strong attachment 
to him. The strongest I think I've ever felt for a man. I might even love 
him. I don't know. I'm not even sure what it means to love someone. 

Yesterday, after I had put him through his drills, and had him clean the 
house. I inspected. And it was clean. It was really clean and sparkling, and 
I was proud of him. 

In a way, I almost felt like his mother. 

There was a definite stirring of tenderness for the young boy. My heart went 
out to him. 

I had him remove his uniform, and get into bed. But this time, I didn't 
strap on my dildo, and I didn't tie him up. I didn't do anything. I just lay 
there beside him. And we didn't know what to do. 

It's sort of funny, but for the first time in my life, I felt a desire to be 
tender. He seemed so helpless, and so dependent on me for affection and 
understanding. 

And I kissed him, and put my tongue in his mouth, and we faced each other, 
lovingly. 

I was pumping my pussy against his erect penis. And I wanted that penis in 
my pussy. 

It was as if all the walls of Jericho came tumbling down. I was afraid. It 
was as though I were going through some profound change. It frightened me to 
be letting go of my old perversions. 

I tried right away to get them back. I didn't want him to see that I was 
enjoying myself. I didn't want him to see that I cared. 

I slapped him around a little bit. And he whimpered. And instead of giving 
me pleasure, it hurt me to be hurting him. 

I started to cry. I was frightened. I never imagined that all of this would 
change. That there would be a desire for normalcy in my life. 

"What's wrong?" he asked. 

Can you imagine that, doctor? After all the pain and grief I had inflicted 
on him because of my hang-ups, he wanted to know why I was crying. 

It was so hard for me to not confess my love. I haven't been able to bring 
myself to that, yet. 

I hope one day I can. 

But I did let him fuck me without the dildo, or the hand-cuffs, or any of 
that shit. I let him fuck me. And he enjoyed it. And I enjoyed it. 

Maybe I didn't have to say anything with words. Maybe he was sensitive 
enough to pick up on my feelings. Well, I guess the future will have to 
decide that. 

Paul M. 

Interviewed: April 17, 1978 

As a man, will you please tell us what women represent to you, specifically 
in terms of your admitted need for S&M sexual experiences? We are interested 
in your sexual history, as well as the specific events which have led to 
your present sexual attitudes. 

As a man, I want to thank you for the opportunity to take part in this 
collection of interviews. The secretary told me that only a few men were to 
be interviewed, in conjunction with this report on sadomasochism in America. 

I guess it all started with me at a young age. From what I understand from 
my own research mostly talking to friends who have the same sexual interests 
it always starts at a young age. 

In my case, it's all my father's fault. Talk about sadists. My father is the 
biggest sadist of all. I guess most doctors are. He's a surgeon that's 
supposed to be the worst. 

I think the old man has gone through life seeing all women as nurses, and 
all men as orderlies. It's like he was God, and at the snap of his fingers, 
he wanted the entire world to snap to attention. 

What a miserable childhood I had because of that man. But I wasn't the only 
one to suffer. He practically destroyed my mother's life, and my little 
sister is virtually a basket case. 

He lives in Los Angeles. And that's why I live in New York. As a struggling 
artist, it's rather hard for me to make it, financially. Yet, somehow, I 
struggle along. 

The world doesn't quite seem fair to me for a lot of reasons. I live 
practically in poverty, as does my sister. And he has a huge mansion 
overlooking the ocean, in Pacific Palisades. He has two new Cadillac's, a 
condominium in Hawaii, and apartment buildings throughout Northern 
California, and Arizona. 

I hope I don't sound jealous. I mean I am jealous. But he worked for all the 
things he has. But you'd think that a man who was a millionaire several 
times over would at least give a little help. 

My sister is quite a mental case. She was a junkie for many years, and spent 
a lot of time in mental hospitals, and rehabilitation houses. She can't 
work. She can't deal with society at all. He gives her a couple of hundred 
bucks a month. And she lives like a pauper. 

As a surgeon, he has no understanding of mental disorders. He has no respect 
for the field of psychiatry. 

Well, I just couldn't deal with it at all. That's why I'm in New York. It 
still doesn't feel far enough away from the old bastard. There are times 
when I have to restrain myself from getting on a plane and going to Los 
Angeles to blow his brains out. 

It's not because of the money. Not really. It's much more out an anger for 
the way I grew up. I didn't have a chance. I didn't have an opportunity to 
develop a good self-image. I had no self-respect. I could never do anything 
quite good enough for him. 

I understand that the pressures of being a surgeon must be frightening. It's 
dealing with life and death every day. But that bastard forgot completely 
about the lives he was dealing with at home. 

He would come home from the office and beat the shit out of my horny sister, 
and myself. Sure, sometimes we gave him cause. Perhaps I broke a neighbor's 
window with a baseball. That is for sure an accident. But he never saw it 
that way. 

I would always have to take a beating. 

And if he wasn't beating me for breaking a window, or receiving a less than 
excellent mark at school, he would be beating my mother because the mashed 
potatoes were lumpy. And if my little sister ran around the neighborhood 
without any clothes on, because she needed to feel free, he would beat her. 

In retrospect, it almost seems funny. But it was anything but funny at the 
time. We lived in terror of that man. My mother became a fat pig, and broke 
out in acne. She was a very beautiful woman. But she lost it all because of 
him. 

My little sister had all sorts of twitches, and she wet her bed, and 
stuttered. She never had a chance. He made sure of that. I of course, he 
would never admit that today. 

And as for me, I had many problems. I am, as you can see, a very handsome 
young man. I stand about two heads taller than my old man, and he is a very 
ugly little man. I don't hold that against him. But he certainly, holds all 
my attributes against me. I feel that I am his enemy. And he is the one who 
started it. 

So, it was the usual problems which plagued me. I had no self-confidence. I 
thought I was stupid, and so I did poorly in school, and I was afraid of 
girls. 

All of this, I believe, was because of him. I had no way to vent my rage, 
not while I was a kid, anyway. 

But my dreams as a young child which I still recall vividly were filled with 
strange, sadomasochistic images. 

I dreamed of pissing on girls, and beating them. So many nights I awoke 
smashing my fist into my pillow. I was so angry, and I had no way to take it 
out. 

Oh, I had fantasies about what I wanted to do. A young boy can dream lots of 
things. But I never really did anything not to humans, anyway. 

We lived in the foothills of Los Angeles at the time. I remember always 
wanting him to die. My father that is. Each evening when he would come home, 
I was disappointed that he hadn't been smashed up in a car crash. 

Both my sister and I spent as much time in our bedrooms as possible as far 
away from him as we could get. But he would find us. And he always had some 
flimsy excuse for yelling at us, or smacking us around. 

My mother was terrified of him. She told him all the minor infractions we 
had committed that day, because she knew that if she didn't, he would smack 
her around worse. It was simply a matter of survival. 

On the weekends, I would go up into the foothills on my own looking for 
snakes, and lizards and mice. They became my victims. I passed the anger I 
felt onto them. I feel badly today for what I did. 

But I couldn't help myself. They were the symbols for me. All the snakes and 
lizards and mice were miniature fathers. 

I wasn't always satisfied merely killing them with stones. Sometimes I would 
do cruel, pre meditated things to them. And I would prepare myself well for 
my experiments. 

Sometimes I would take a jar of turpentine, with some matches, and a knife 
along on my outings. 

I would capture lizards mostly. They were my favorites. I would pour 
turpentine on them and light them. Sometimes, I would build little pyramids 
out of mud, and entomb the living creatures inside. 

Once, I remember, taking a lizard and cutting its legs off, placing it on 
top of a large boulder, and watching while it wriggled its stumps around. 
Eventually, the sun would sizzle it. 

When I was in a really nasty mood, I would take the lizards back to my 
garage, and really do a number with them. Now and then my father left 
syringes about the house-disposable ones with hypodermic needles on them. 
These were perfect for my needs. I would inject all sorts of strange things 
into the lizards: gasoline, lighter fluid, whisky, whatever I could find. 

Once, I cut a lizard in half, and used a needle and thread to sew him back 
together, facing the wrong way. 

Of course, the lizard didn't live. 

* * * 

This is all very interesting, Paul. But would you please tell us how this 
later manifested itself in a sadomasochistic sexual manner. 

Yes, well, I was just getting to that, you see. I thought it was important 
to tell you about my early life. I thought it sort of explained how things 
worked out for me in my later years. 

Well, I had a lot of trouble relating to girls in high school. I was shy and 
unsure of myself. But in college is where I learned that I could get 
practically anything I wanted from girls. 

There seem to be girls for everything. I knew that I had to find a way to 
vent my anger. I had to find girls who would let me abuse them. That's what 
I wanted. I wanted to smack some girls around. I wanted to force them to do 
things that they didn't like. 

At first, I started with the homely girls. The girls who could never get a 
date anyway. I was very handsome and athletically built, so I could get away 
with practically bloody murder. 

But that was a drag. I really didn't enjoy forcing those girls to do things 
they were afraid of. A lot of them would have literally eaten my shit if I 
wanted them to. I wanted a bit of a struggle. 

Then I found the one I had been looking for. She worked as a waitress in 
this restaurant near my apartment. She seemed like such a nice, wholesome 
girl. I was rather attracted to her actually. 

Her name was Cindy. She was a natural blonde, and so thin and sexy. But she 
wasn't sexy in the way that most people naturally think as sexy. She was 
sexy to me because I wanted to corrupt her. I saw the possibilities. 

She was from the Midwest, and had come to Los Angeles to try to get into 
films. 

But she was such a shy and backward girl. It started out as sort of a 
masturbation fantasy. I would lay in bed. at night wacking off, thinking 
about all the things I wanted to do to her. 

She was different than the other girls. I knew that I would have go slow 
with her. It would have to start out like love, and then, very slowly, I 
would corrupt her. I had to make her dependent on me. 

I continued to eat at the restaurant practically every day. We started out 
with just a few smiles, and inane talk. I noticed that she had this 
Midwestern accent. 

It seemed as good as any point or departure for a friendship. I told her 
that I thought she was very nice, and asked her if she wanted to be my 
friend. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"I mean, would you like to go to a film or something?" I replied. 

"Why?" 

"Don't get me wrong, Cindy," I said. "I don't want anything from you. Just 
friendship. I can tell you aren't from around here." 

"How could you tell that?" she asked. 

"Well, you have a rather thick Midwestern accent," I smiled. 

"Well, it's true," she said. "I'm from Joplin." 

"See," I said. "I have a good ear for accents. And you're probably in Los 
Angeles to try to make it in films, right?" 

"You're a smart boy," she smiled. 

"Yea, well, I go to college," I smiled back at her. "Seriously, Cindy. I 
think you're real cute. I like your style." 

"I think you're nice, too, Paul," she said. 

We went to a film that night. And I dropped her off at her rooming house 
afterwards. I didn't try to kiss her goodbye or anything. I didn't even 
press my luck to get invited upstairs. 

But I kept going to the restaurant everyday, and I continued taking her to 
films. And during the summer, I took her to the beach on the weekends. 

When I saw her in a bikini, I knew she was the one for me. But I still 
didn't push my luck. I wasn't pushing anything. 

God, it was devastating for me to see her in that black bikini. I could see 
the golden pubic hairs sticking out of her crotch, and she had small 
breasts, and everything about her just excited the hell out of me. What a 
nice ass, too. 

I wanted to be patient. 

I was twenty-two at the time. And she was eighteen. We went through the 
holding hands stage, and the kissing on the cheek stage, and then we started 
petting. 

We would drive out to the beach in the evenings after she got off work. We 
would park the car, looking out over the water, and we would neck. She 
really liked me a lot, so it wasn't such a challenge to get her to warm up 
to me. 

She let me put my hand under her blouse and feel her tits. I liked the way 
they felt. They were small, and creamy smooth. And her nipples got nice and 
firm when I tweaked them. 

I always figured that if I could get my hand down a girl's pants, and toy 
with her pussy, she was as good as made. Once those hot juices began to 
flow, they are all mine. 

But she wouldn't let me put my hand down her pants at first. 

I had to content myself with just squeezing the outside of her pussy. 

She would get pretty horny from that all right. But she had a will of iron. 

Then we started going up to her place in the evenings when it got too cold 
to go down to the beach. 

I started with a new line. I thought it was rather original. 

"Cindy," I said, "I want to tell you something that might seem very strange 
to you." 

"What's that, Paul?" 

"I'm a virgin, and I am terrified of women," I said. 

"No, not really?" 

"Yes, why do you think it's been such slow going with us, sexually?" 

"I never really thought about it," she said. "I figured you were just the 
shy, sensitive type." 

"Well, that isn't so," I said. "I am simply afraid of you." 

"Now, that is absolutely silly," she said. "And here, all along, I was 
afraid of you." 

"Of me?" 

"Yes, I thought you were sort of sexually precocious." 

"That's a laugh," I said. "Are you a virgin?" 

"No, I'm not," she said. "I hope that doesn't hurt your feelings, but I want 
to be honest with you." 

"I'm glad you're being honest with me," I said. "Will you teach me about 
sex. I trust you, Cindy. I think you could really help me." 

"I'll try," she said. "Gee, I've never done anything like this before. And 
all the time, I thought I would have to fight you off. You seemed like that 
type." 

"Isn't that a strange coincidence?" I said. "And I thought that you wouldn't 
be able to understand my unique sexual problems." 

"There's nothing unique about being a virgin," she said. "We all have to 
start somewhere." 

"Yes," I said. I decided not to go too far into the S&M part, not until we 
naturally got to that stage. I would have to take it very slow. 

We got undressed. That was the first stage. What a lovely body. There is 
something about a natural blonde which really throws me. They really turn me 
on. And she was such a gorgeous lady. I felt a little guilty about duping 
her. 

But what is a fellow to do? 

We started out very slowly. Cindy gave me a hand-job, but not quite to the 
point of ejaculation. She let me suck her nipples, and fondle her pussy. 

And then she lay on her back and guided my cock in her pretty, moistened 
crack. 

It felt wonderful. It must have been my hundredth fuck, but I gave an 
academy award performance as a virgin. 

She was good and tight, and I think it must have been a fairly rare 
situation for her. 

We continued like that daily for a week. Then we started getting into the 
oral trip. 

She was a rather religious, farmer's daughter type, so I had to do some 
artistic talking. 

I told her that all the kids at school were into oral sex. And that I felt 
like something of a geek for not having gotten into it. 

I begged her to suck my cock, and when she did, it felt like I was in 
seventh heaven. 

She even swallowed my come. But I had to trick her into it. I pretended that 
I didn't know I was going to come. I was just jamming my cock in and out of 
her mouth, and suddenly, I began shooting. 

She was a bit outraged, but I acted as though I was as surprised as was her. 

"Gee I'm sorry," I said, as I pulled my stick out of her mouth. "I didn't 
know it was loaded." 

"Is that supposed to be funny?" she was still coughing and gagging. 

"No, I really didn't know I was about to come," I explained. "It surprised 
me." 

"And is that why you forced my head down over your cock while you shot off?" 

"So, don't believe me," I pouted. "If you want to think that I'm some sort 
of evil man, that's okay . But I love you, Cindy, I just want to be like the 
other fellows." 

"And you mean to tell me all your friends shoot off in their girlfriends' 
mouths?" 

"This is Los Angeles, honey," I explained. "This isn't Joplin, Missouri." 

I waited a month or so before I talked to her about sodomy. 

"You mean you want me to take your cock up my ass-hole?" she said, 
incredulously. 

"Honey, I wouldn't ask you to do it if I didn't feel it would help me with 
the burden of my sexual problems." 

"I don't see how my suffering is going to help you in the least," she said. 

"It's just that a lot of the fellows are talking about it," I said. "And I 
feel foolish for not having experienced it. I'm told that the girls really 
like it once they get used to it." 

"Give me a break, Paul," the cute little blonde said. "How can you expect me 
to believe that shit?" 

"But it's true," I persisted. "I'm told that the female orgasm, with a cock 
in the rear, is a very special treat. It's a powerful orgasm." 

"You're a fool to believe stories like that," she said. "I had a boyfriend 
who tried it on me once. Didn't even use any lubricant. I thought I would 
die." 

"Oh, come on," I said. "I'm not a sadist or anything like that," I insisted. 
I hated lying to her. But I had to act out all my fantasies with this girl. 
I just had to. 

"I promise to be gentle," I said. "I'll use vaseline, and if it really does 
start to hurt, I will stop doing it." 

"Promise?" 

"Yes," I lied. 

It was so exciting that it was delicious. I went to the bathroom and got a 
jar of vaseline that Cindy used for her chapped lips. Those light complected 
girls always seem to have trouble with their lips. 

Watching the beautiful blonde lying on her belly, with her beautiful ass 
cheeks staring up at me, drove me into a frenzy of lust. I can't remember my 
cock having been so hard, or so willing. 

I covered the head and shaft of my cock with the vaseline, and then pressed 
a gob up against her ass-hole. 

"Please be gentle," she whined. I knew she didn't really want to do this. 
That she was doing it just for me. It had taken me several months to get her 
this far along. I couldn't stop now. 

I pressed the head of my cock up against the tight opening, and she moaned 
with discomfort. I slipped very slowly inside. 

"No, I can't do this," she cried. "I definitely can't do this." 

"Oh, please try harder," I pleaded. "It's so important to me. Just relax. It 
won't be so bad." 

I pressed harder and harder. I very slowly entered the canal of her 
ass-hole. 

She was whimpering with pain. And she was trying to pull away from my cock. 

But I wouldn't let her. I wouldn't let her go. I had to be inside her 
ass-hole. 

She was screaming with pain. But I wouldn't let her go. I had gone too far, 
and there was no turning back now. 

I suppose I was like a Jekyll and Hyde character. The game was up. She was 
seeing me for what I was. 

I was so pissed off. Not really at Cindy. I was just angry against life. I 
had to have a release. I had to feel my jism shooting into her ass-hole. I 
just had to. 

I was pumping hard in and out of her. 

"You're an animal, Paul," she screamed. "An absolute animal. Please leave me 
go." 

"I can't," I murmured, enjoying the feeling of being buried to the hilt in 
her ass. "I just can't." 

"You are a sadist," she wailed. 

"I can't help it," I said. "I love being in you like this. Won't you please 
try to calm down. Just relax. It can be very nice." 

"What are you talking about?" she said. "It feels like hell." 

She kept trying to pull away from me. But I kept myself buried deeply inside 
of her. I wouldn't let her up. She was terribly uncomfortable. But what 
could I do. I was fulfilling my needs. 

Very slowly, she began to relax. What it took was my rolling her on her 
side, and playing with her clitoris. That made her happy. 

Her clit became firm, and while I stroked her, she started to get quite 
turned on. 

Very slowly the pain went away. 

She was moaning with pleasure. 

I must admit that the sounds of her pleasure didn't excite me nearly as much 
as the sounds of her anguish. But I had to settle for what was happening. It 
was a hard fought battle, and the victory tasted delightful. 

When at last I came in her ass-hole, she reached a climax as well. It was a 
wonderful sensation. 

"You know, Paul," she said, "I'm starting to wonder about you." 

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"What I mean is I am beginning to wonder if you haven't been playing a 
little game with me." 

"Who, me?" 

"Yes, you," she said. 

"What sort of game?" 

"I wonder if you really were a virgin," she said. 

"Everyone is a virgin once," I replied. 

"Don't give that shit," she went on. "You are a pervert, aren't you?" 

"Oh, give me a break," I said. "Do I seem like a pervert to you?" 

"Yes, that's why I just said what I said." 

She was no fool. That much was apparent. The jig was up. I couldn't play any 
more games with her. So, I had to come clean. 

But I did it with my usual dramatic zeal. The trick with women, it seems to 
me especially where kinky sex is involved is to play helpless and needy. 
Throw yourself at their mercy. Women are truly understanding when you come 
down to it. 

"Yes, it's true," I admitted. "I have some sexual problems. I'm not sure if 
they really are problems. But something is strange with me. I think it is 
because of my family the way I was brought up." 

"But that doesn't give you any right to go around hurting people," she said. 
"You just don't have that right." 

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" 

"That's sure what it felt like to me." 

"But you had an orgasm, didn't you?" 

"Yes, I had an orgasm," she replied. "But it was only by accident." 

"How can you say that?" I asked. 

"Come off it," she went on, exhibiting remarkable insight. "I'm not as big a 
fool as you take me for. I just wanted to see how far you would go with this 
game you are playing." 

"Game?" 

"Come off it, dammit," she said. "I never really believed you were a virgin. 
And I didn't think you really thought that I had been duped. I thought it 
was just a game we were playing. But now it's obvious to me that you were 
taking advantage of me. You were setting me up to hurt me." 

"Yes, I admit it," I came clean. I realized that I had to tell her the 
truth. She saw through me completely. 

"Why, Paul. Why?" 

"Because I am only sexually satisfied when I cause pain." 

"Didn't you ever think that I might actually enjoy pain?" 

"No. Do you?" 

"Yes, as a matter-of-fact I am a masochist." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"You never were straight with me, so I figured there was no reason to be 
straight with you." 

"Oh, you stupid fool," she said. "I love you, Paul. Doesn't that mean 
anything?" 

"Of course it does," I said. "I love you, too. I just never thought that it 
could work so simply. I mean, that honesty could lead to happiness. And to 
think that I have found a beautiful masochist who loves me, a devout sadist. 
It's what I call a happy ending." 

Fifi L 

Interviewed: February 22, 1978 

Do you have an orgasm when you are whipped? 

Yes, as a matter-of-fact I do. I know it sounds strange. And I hardly tell 
anyone about these strange sexual needs of mine. It's amazing how small 
minded people can be. Or is it more their fear of the subject? As far as I'm 
concerned, there isn't a person on earth who doesn't have some strange 
fantasy or sexual need. Most, however, never admit it never act on it. 

I suppose I would have been like that, too. But destiny unfolded for me in a 
special manner, in a unique way. It's not only being beautiful. That did 
certainly have a major effect on the way my sexual life has turned out. 
Obviously, when you are as beautiful and vivacious as I am, you have the 
pick of the roost. 

And I had some pretty good roosters in my day. 

Getting back into the realm of sadomasochism, I would like to point out that 
I do blame it all on my father. I know that sounds like a cliche. But it 
really isn't. My father is a builder. He makes a lot of money building 
homes, and offices, and even skyscrapers. But he sure botched the job of 
building a family. I'm the only child, so you can imagine what a problem it 
was for me. I got all the praise. And I also got all the punishment. 

And there was punishment. My mother is this blonde goddess type, I don't 
know where I got my dark, curly hair from. My father's hair is straight. Oh, 
well, maybe it skipped a generation. Maybe I'm a bastard, that certainly 
wouldn't surprise me. But I've always been afraid to ask about that. I think 
I was too afraid to know the truth. 

It certainly would explain a lot of things, however. Especially why my 
father always treated me so poorly. I guess that is the answer. It's funny 
that it should only come to me now, in the midst of this interview. 

Yes, I can understand it all so much better now. It's coming into focus. You 
see, as I already mentioned, my mother is a very attractive woman. My father 
is no pig, either. But I'm sure that my mother had plenty of affairs when 
she was younger, and first married. 

I am probably the result of one of those affairs. My father is the type who 
would prefer not to know those kinds of things. So, I'm sure he never asked 
my mother about it. But when he would look at me and wonder where the curly 
dark hair, and swarthy complexion came from I'm sure he subconsciously hated 
me, and all that I could possibly represent. 

He was never satisfied with anything I did. My grades in school were never 
good enough. My room was never clean enough to suit him. I never washed 
properly, in his estimation in short, I fell far short of any expectations 
he might have had for me. 

When friends of his, or mothers, would comment on how lovely I am, and 
talented, he would always scoff, and say something like, "you should only 
know her." 

My father, of course, always had to punish me for each and every infraction 
of his personal system of law. And he had some mighty peculiar ideas about 
how I should behave. 

He had this cane which he used to spank me with. It was an old English cane. 
He had bought it in an antique store. It had been used for caning naughty 
public school children in the Nineteenth Century. 

Caning can be a brutal form of punishment. He started using the cane on me 
when I was around ten. My mother was always busy fixing her make-up, or 
arguing with the maid, or the cook, so she had little time for me. I don't 
think she really cared about father and me. Though, I think it must have 
been obvious that there were sexual overtones to what was going on. She 
would have to be a fool to not see it. 

It was as plain as the red marks on my young ass. 

Perhaps she didn't want to deal with the memory of the affair that had 
spawned me. I was like a souvenir from a bummer of a vacation a scar from an 
accident. I was an obstacle to their happiness. At least they sent me to 
school, and bought me clothes. It could have been worse, I suppose. 

Not a day went by that my father didn't have an excuse for beating my young 
ass. When he came home in the afternoon, after touring his building sites, 
he would have a little talk with my mother. 

What really sickened me as I overheard these conversations, was the manner 
in which he treated her like a real queen. He hung on her every word as if 
she were an angel, speaking the words of God. 

What a lovely pedestal he constructed for her to perch upon. Well, she 
really enjoyed the role. Mother always had thought of herself as some sort 
of royalty. I think she had an impression from some charlatan mystic that 
she was the reincarnation of some French queen, or something. That's how I 
got the name of Fifi. It was a rather cruel name to give a girl living in 
New York City. All the poodles on the street seem to be named Fifi. 

And as their masters address them, I am forever turning around to see if 
someone is calling after me. It makes me feel like a dog. 

When my father talks to my mother in the afternoon, he always asks how I 
have been. The tone of his voice is always insistent. As if he really means, 
"what did she do wrong today?" 

And he expects a negative reply from Mother. She knows that she must always 
have something nasty to say about me, or he won't talk to her for the rest 
of the day. 

After my mother tells him how awful I have been and how many minor 
infractions of the rules I have made, then it's off to my room for him. 

That's how it always was. They are still together, and I imagine, even with 
me long ago moved out, that they still talk about me like that. And my 
father itches to cane me. But I'll never see him again, nor mother. I blame 
them both for my current confusion about pleasure and pain. 

When my father came to my room with the cane in his hand, I knew what was 
going to come. It was just an old routine by then. In the beginning, I had 
tried protecting myself by putting comic books, or magazines under my 
panties. But he caught on to that and punished me worse. I tried wearing 
several pair of underwear, but he just made me take them off. There was no 
escaping it. 

And he was always so red in the face. Always so excited. At first I didn't 
realize what was really happening. Not the sexual aspects. That didn't 
become apparent to me until I was about fourteen. I was becoming a little 
woman about that time. I was growing dark pubic hair, and my tits were 
already rather well developed. 

He would have a bulge in his trousers. I had heard enough talk among the 
girls at school by that point to know what the bulge signified. 

My own father was sexually interested in me. That's a heavy burden for a 
young girl to carry around with her. Believe me. I felt dirty. Nothing had 
really happened in a sexual way, yet. 

But I felt strange. I felt sick. 

It was around this time that he started to do weird things to me. He would 
rub the bulge in his trousers while he caned me. And he started making me 
undress. 

I don't know if you can imagine how uncomfortable how frightening it is for 
an adolescent girl, like I was at the time, to have to get undressed in 
front of her sexually aroused father. 

The way he stared at me just made me go weak in the knees. I tried to cover 
up, and turn away from his searching eyes. He had such a strange expression. 
So sexual, in a hot, and demented way. 

His words stung me with fright. 

"My, you really are developing into a little woman now, aren't you?" 

"Yes, Father," I said. 

"Don't turn away from me like that," he sighed. But I was too young at the 
time to know what that sigh meant. 

"I'm your father, don't be afraid. Let me see your body. You have a nice 
body. You shouldn't be ashamed of it. Don't hide." 

I knew that if I didn't expose my nakedness to him, that the punishment 
would be worse. So I simply stood before him, and accepted the perversion in 
his glance. 

He held the cane in one hand, and stepped towards me. His face was right by 
mine. I could smell the Martinis on his breath. He always had one or two 
before coming to punish me. 

"Now, I'm just going to touch you," he said. "As your father, I think I have 
that right. That little privilege." 

I knew I couldn't argue. So I simply stood there, and let him touch me. Oh, 
it was awful. I was looking at the cane he held in his left hand the cane he 
had so often used to hurt me. And his right hand touched my young breasts, 
and moved slowly down my stomach to the mound of pubic hair. 

He squeezed my pussy in a strange way. And the bulge in his pants seemed to 
become larger. It was a very awkward position for me. He ran his fingers 
into the opening of my vagina. It hurt more from fear than actual pain but 
it did hurt. 

"Don't do that," I said. "It's nasty." 

"I'm your father," he said. "You are mine. I have a right to do to you as I 
wish. You are flesh of my flesh." 

"To touch your beautiful body is the same as touching me. That's why it 
hurts me just as much when I have to punish you. Oh, I do hope you will 
learn the error of your ways, Fifi. I don't like to have to come in here day 
after day and beat you on the ass. I don't like to have to hurt you." 

I knew he was lying. But there was nothing I could do about it. He was 
really pressing his fingers into my opening. And I tried to back away from 
him. But he just wouldn't let me go. He was intent on touching me. 

And then a curious thing began to happen. I was getting excited. It was the 
first time for me, and so it was all a little frightening. When he would 
push his fingers into my opening, I could feel droplets of warm lubricant in 
the opening of my vagina. 

I could feel my clitoris begin to grow firm. I was getting very excited. But 
I didn't want to let my sexual excitement show. I was afraid that he might 
do something rash. 

As it turned out, it didn't matter what my reaction was. He was so horny for 
me that it didn't matter what I said or did. He only was aware of his own 
sexual situation. I was just meat for him, just a symbol of an old affair 
that he was still angry about the product of my mother's illicit passion. 

"Oh, you are going to grow up to be a very sexy lady, just like your mother, 
aren't you?" 

"I hope so," I replied. 

"And you will be a little bitch, too, won't you?" 

"I hope not, Father," I said. 

"I can tell that you are going to be a little bitch," he went on, red in the 
face, and with his erection pulsating in his trousers. "I think I should 
punish you for this. For what you will be." 

"How can you punish me a little girl for what I might become in the future. 
When I am a woman?" 

"Don't question my authority," he said, pulling his moistened fingers from 
my sex slit. "Now, get up on the bed, and lay on your belly. I'm going to 
beat the nastiness out of you. Maybe I can put some sense of proportion into 
your head." 

I knew better than to argue with him when he was like that. I simply got up 
on the bed, and lay flat on my belly. I knew he was going to go nuts with 
that cane. 

I was still rather sexually, stimulated. But terror of the cane had replaced 
most of my thoughts of any pleasure. 

I glanced up at him. And I saw that he had pulled his erect cock out of his 
trousers, and he was taking aim at me with it. He was stroking himself. He 
was masturbating. 

It was disgusting to me what was happening. My own father. Drunk and jerking 
off, was about to beat me. 

My body was tingling with a strange sensation. I was totally unaware of what 
was happening. I just knew that something was happening to me in a sexual 
way. It really didn't have anything to do with a sexual fantasy about my 
father. I really didn't want to have sex with him. But his fingers had 
opened a new door for me. He had touched my clitoris, and I had my first 
taste of sexual excitement. I would never be the same again. 

He started caning me. It hurt all right. There's no way that a wooden cane 
across the naked ass isn't going to hurt no matter how stimulated you are. 

Over and over again, he brought the cane down to my ass cheeks. It stung 
terribly. But somehow, the pain became translated into pleasure. I found 
myself enjoying what was happening. It felt good to me. 

My young ass began to grow numb. I was no longer aware of the stinging pain 
of the wooden cane cutting into my ass flesh. I was more concerned at that 
point with the sensation of pleasure in my pussy. 

My clitoris was throbbing. I could feel hot juices trickling from my crack. 
My nipples were swollen, and my breasts were filled with passion. 

I suddenly was aware of myself pumping the bed. My hips were pressing down 
hard against the material of the bed. I could feel my firm little clitoris 
pressing against the thick corduroy material. I was going to have an orgasm, 
but I didn't know it at the time. 

Somehow, I had translated pain into pleasure. It was a perverse alchemy, but 
it was happening. I didn't even pay attention to the sensation of the cane 
smacking my young ass. I was oblivious to the hissing sound of cane coming 
at me through the air. 

I was about to come. All I thought about was the pleasure in my loins. And 
it was a complete pleasure. It seemed as though I were alone in the room. My 
father didn't even exist. 

The cane no longer existed. I was alone in the world with the wonderful 
sensations of orgasm in my pussy. 

And when the orgasm took hold of me the first orgasm of my life it shook my 
entire body. I remember groaning, and writhing about in the spasms of sexual 
fulfillment. I felt wonderful. From the tips of my toes to the roots of my 
hair, I felt a dizzy, and delicious shower of delightful sensations. 

I wasn't even aware of the cane being dropped to the floor. 

I didn't notice my father undressing, and crouching beside me on the bed. 
And when I felt his hands on my reddened ass globes, I didn't connect them 
with my father. 

I was just floating, it seemed, into the world of adult sex. 

My father spread my young legs apart, and put his hand against my pussy. He 
rubbed me, and I could feel myself growing hotter, and wetter. It was a 
warm, good feeling. 

He pressed his fingers into my opening, and then pressed up against my clit. 

It triggered another round of orgasms. 

I wasn't aware of his stiff prick pressing into the opening of my sex, until 
I felt the sharp pain in my hymen. 

I suddenly remembered that virgin girls have a thin layer of flesh that 
protects the sexual entrance. When it is broken, they are women. 

It felt like a knife cutting into me as his cock pressed through the cherry. 
I could feel the warm blood trickle from the sexual wound. But it was a good 
feeling to have cock in me. It wasn't at all bad. 

I guess sex for the first time is like eating escargot. Until you taste it, 
you can't imagine what all the fuss is about. It seems just disgusting. But 
after you eat well prepared snails, you wonder why you ever waiting so long 
to try them. 

His cock was burning hot as it pumped in and out of my tight, young hole. I 
was still on my belly, and I could feel my nipples throbbing with pleasure. 
His cock was ramming in and out of my little hole. 

It's so obvious, in retrospect, just what a sadistic bastard he was. He 
wasn't at all concerned about any discomfort I might have had having my 
virginity stolen from me like that. 

He chose just about the most awkward position imaginable for a sexual 
fledgling like myself. The rear entry puts much too much pressure on the 
tender lips of the vagina. 

Oh, but he didn't care. Not my father. 

And he wasn't through committing his treachery, either. He pulled his cock 
out of me before he came. I knew enough about sex, from talking with my 
girlfriends, to know that the man is finished fucking when a lot of white 
juice, called semen, comes out of his thing. 

But none had come out. I thought that perhaps he didn't want to take a 
chance about making me pregnant. 

But that wasn't it. 

He wanted to hurt me some more. 

He was going to sodomize me. 

I looked around at him again, and realized just how perverse he was. He was 
all hot and bothered, and red in the face, and he was still stroking his 
cock. He looked angry, and mean. 

I had no idea what he was up to. I just knew that he wanted more sex. I 
hadn't the slightest idea of what else could be done. 

But when I felt the searing pain of my father's cock pressing up against my 
little anus, I knew that something very painful lay in store for me. I 
couldn't imagine how he was going to fit his huge erection into that little 
hole, without tearing me to pieces. 

"Father," I cried, "you're going to kill me. That won't fit in there; please 
don't do this to me." 

"Nonsense," he said. "If you are going to be a woman, you are going to have 
to become accustomed to all aspects of sex. And sodomy is your next lesson." 

I gripped the bed covers and tried to pull away. I felt as though I were 
being impaled. It was much too big. I couldn't take it in. But he wasn't 
giving up. 

I felt his hand reach under my pussy, and he began to squeeze my sex. He 
wanted to make me come. It did help me to relax, having his fingers 
stimulating me like that. 

Suddenly, I wasn't aware of pain. A cloud of pleasure was enveloping me. His 
cock slid slowly into my ass-hole. And it was certainly painful, and 
uncomfortable, but the pleasure in my pussy was stronger than the pain in my 
ass. And there seemed to be a blending. I began to pump my ass up against 
his cock. I loved the feeling of it reaching deeply into me. Hot jolts of 
pleasure shot through me. I was teetering on the cliff of orgasm. 

I suppose my father wasn't aware of how much I was enjoying what was 
happening. I think if he did, he wouldn't have touched my pussy the way he 
did. I think he did it more for his own amusement, than for any sensory 
pleasure for me. 

But I came again. And this time it felt very different. It wasn't so much a 
vaginal orgasm, as it was a rectal orgasm. I could feel the waves of 
pleasure engulf me. I was in seventh heaven. He had deflowered me, and in so 
doing, had stretched my anus to painful proportions. 

But for that moment in time, it seemed worth it. I was enjoying it. And when 
he shot his semen into my ass, I could feel it. I could feel his cock 
pumping slowly in and out of my ass. And it felt so damn wonderful. 

But after he ejaculated, he was a different man. He didn't care about my 
pleasure. He didn't care anything about me. He just pulled his cock out of 
my ass-hole, dressed, and left me there on the bed. 

He did that to me numerous times before I turned eighteen, and moved out of 
the house. I've never looked back since then. 

* * * 

Does this mean that you no longer participate in S & M sexuality? 

But by all means. I thought that was the whole purpose of this interview. I 
mean, I thought it was assumed that I am a masochist. Well, excuse me for 
being so presumptuous. Yes, I am a masochist, and I blame it all on my 
father. It's a strange feeling to know that I will never be able to have a 
normal sexual relationship with a man because of my father. 

There are these bars I go to meet men. They're referred to as S&M bars. I 
find the kind of men there that I need sadists. It's wonderful to me that 
the world is structured in such a way that I can get whatever I want. So can 
everyone. 

No matter how weird you are, or how peculiar your sexual needs might be, 
there is always someone around who can get into your trip. These specialty 
bars serve quite an important function. I would be lost without them. 

There are some really wonderful men in those bars. I mean, good looking 
guys. I think a lot of people have the wrong impression about people who are 
into S&M. We aren't creepy, pimply, strange people. We're okay. In fact, in 
a lot of ways, I think we are more normal that the so-called normal people. 

At least we admit that we need pain. At least we act it out. Everyone else 
goes around causing pain, and setting themselves up to receive pain, without 
enjoying it. They are so frustrated, and filled with guilt, that they can't 
even get into what they are closet perverts. 

Yes, I will submit that the world is just one big closet full of perverts. 

At least I'm honest. 

I have several really nice boyfriends now whom I have met at these S&M bars. 
And I like the relationship I have with them very much. There's no bullshit, 
or illusions. It's so obvious what we are after. 

I can only enjoy sex when it is painful when I am being dominated, and hurt. 

And they can only get off on it, when they are causing pain. 

I suppose I understand some of the lay psychology of it, but who really 
cares? 

I have three different boyfriends. Each of them is into a different trip. 

Bruce-likes to cane me. I like that, because it takes me back to the good 
old days, when my father first turned me on to pain. 

Jim is into whips and chains. He gets off on tying me up, and chaining me. 
Then he has this assortment of whips over at his apartment. He gets off on 
cracking the whip against my ass, and thighs, and breasts. 

I enjoy it too. I mean, he doesn't cut me to ribbons. It's just his way of 
showing that he cares. Jim never draws blood. It's more of a friendly 
beating, than anything vicious. 

He just-likes to bring the whip or riding crop crashing down on my ass, or 
on my back. And then he rolls me over, and starts on my tits. By the time 
Jim has finished whipping me, he is ready for sex. And it's wonderful the 
way we make love. The joy of it is in not being able to move. I mean, to be 
having your pussy sucked, when you are constrained, is just so exciting. 

It's like wanting to move about, flail and get excited, but not being able 
to have that pleasure. 

And when he shoves his huge cock up my snatch, I just go crazy. My favorite 
position is to be tied down to a bed. When he shoves his erect tool in my 
slit, and works it in and out, I could just scream with happiness. The smell 
of leather, and the clanking of chains somehow excites me so very much. 

However, Burt is my favorite. He is into sodomy with dildos. I can't quite 
understand the pleasure he derives from shoving leather dildos up my ass. 

I certainly enjoy the sensation. To me it's the same as a real, live cock. 
But it's only rare when he sticks his cock up my ass. I suppose when he uses 
the dildo, he just gets excited, and masturbates after I leave his 
apartment. 

He gets excited the way Father used to get excited. I like it to see a man 
get that crazy over me. It just drives me crazy with lust. All the sweat, 
and the deep breathing, and the curses. Oh, and the smell of leather. 

I like it so very much. 

I've tried S&M sex with women from time to time. It's much more gentle than 
with a man. 

It's nice to be soft, even in conjunction with pain. It's funny, but women 
seem to have the same reason for being into S&M. It's always the father. And 
most of us in S&M don't like where we are at. 

I think that I'm an exception the way I enjoy it. Most of the girls I have 
been into S&M affairs with really feel guilty about it. I have the feeling 
with them that they like to be mean to other women because they can transfer 
their self hate to their sexual partner. 

I don't mind that so much. There's this one girl, Gretchen, whom I am rather 
fond of. She-likes to put nipple clips on me, which really hurts, and suck 
on my pussy. 

It is a very strange erotic situation, because I'm never sure which to focus 
on more the pain in my nipples, or the pleasure in my pussy. 

There is one girl, Suzie, who-likes to put a clamp on my clitoris, and 
tongue fuck my ass-hole. 

That's all she-likes to do. She won't let me touch her. So, as you can see, 
I have a .wide variety of S&M friends, who fulfill various needs for me. 

Therese K. 

Interviewed: December 27, 1977 

Do you derive sexual enjoyment from mentally torturing your suitors? 

Well, that's a rather point-blank way of putting it. But I think I 
understand what you're getting at. And I suppose I have to admit that it's 
true. 

I guess it's all my father's fault. You did want me to say that, didn't you? 
I mean, I'm being interviewed for a study on the father's role in an 
emerging S&M sexual custom. Or something like that. 

I suppose I should start off by explaining a bit about myself, and my 
background. I come from a Catholic family. There are five girls, and two 
boys. As far as I know, I am the only female in the family, other than my 
mother, with whom my father had sexual relations. 

At least I hope so. I shudder to think that my younger sisters have had to 
go through what I went through. My father was always a strict 
disciplinarian. We would always be having these little chats about how I 
should act with men. At least my father called them little chats. They 
scared the hell out of me. They were more like grillings. About once a week 
he started in on me. 

"Well, my little Therese," he would say. He always seemed to be on the drunk 
side. My father if very fond of beer. And then he would start on the 
questions. 

"It seems to me that you are sixteen now," he said. He always said that, 
every week. You'd think that he would remember my age. Well, I guess he was 
shy. And that just seemed as good a way as any to approach the lewd 
conversation. I thought it was boring. But he was my father, and so I had to 
at least feign interest. 

"I suppose you are going out with boys now?" he asked, as usual. 

"There are a few boys I see, yes," I said. 

"Do they try to do things to you?" 

"Like what. Father?" 

"Well, I was once young myself, you know? I know about how young men can be. 
I know what horny little bastards they can be. Tell me, are you still a 
virgin, Therese?" 

"Yes, Father," I said. It was true, at least at that point in time. 

"Don't trust men," he said. "There is only one thing they want from women." 

"But you are a man, Father?" I noted. "How can you say that?" 

"I am that way as well," he said. "I tell you, what men really want is to be 
tormented by women. They want to be humiliated, and subjected to mental, and 
sometimes even physical pain." 

"I find that hard to believe," I said. 

"But it's true," he insisted. "Mark my words, Therese," he would say. "As 
you go through life, remember, that if you give it away, it will never be 
appreciated. It's not enough that you a lovely blue-eyed blonde. There are 
millions of lovely blue-eyed blondes around. What you have to do is find a 
man you like the man you like and string him along. Don't give him 
everything. That will make him think that you are very special." 

"He will love you more for that," he would say. "Believe me." 

When my father had these little, chats with me, he always had an erection, 
and he was forever stroking himself. He really turned himself on, that man. 
I of course pretended that I didn't know what was going on. But I did. 

And the funny thing about it, is that I felt a sexual attraction towards my 
father. And I'm sure the feeling was mutual. When he would leave me, after 
these little chats, I would go to my bathroom, and toy with myself, and he 
would go to his bathroom, and do the same. At least I figured that he did. I 
know that I did. 

I would sit on the toilet, seat and frig myself. It was a very nice 
sensation. I would picture my father standing naked before me, and I would 
squeeze my little clit, and it felt wonderful when I had a climax this way. 
It was absolutely delicious. 

My father was much too religious a man to actually initiate a sexual 
relationship with me. I wish he would have, but it wasn't up to me to work 
that out. 

I left home when I was eighteen. I wasn't a virgin. But I still hadn't 
really enjoyed sex. I had never had an opportunity to really work out my 
sexual needs. The boys in the small town where I grew up just weren't the 
type to play the sort of game that my father had turned me on to. 

But New York City was a different game altogether. I think New York is the 
kind of place that naturally attracts people who are into pain. I mean, why 
else would anyone want to have to struggle so much, just to survive day to 
day? 

With taxis screaming through the intersections seemingly taking aim at 
pedestrians, and rents that are outrageously over-priced, and restaurants 
that are too expensive, and human beings totally lacking in sensitivity, 
only someone who was really into pain would choose to live there. 

And so I certainly found plenty of victims. I got a job as a legal 
secretary. I'm really glad I took that typing class in high school. I was 
making really good money enough to rent a nice apartment, and buy some 
really fashionable clothes. 

I especially liked the summers in New York, when I didn't have to wear a 
coat. I always planned to go out in the evenings around six. I wore very 
tight-fitting cotton dresses, with no bra or underwear. 

That way, I was always sure to attract the men like ants to candy on the 
sidewalk. Usually, I only had to walk around the block a few times before I 
sensed perverse eyes on my lovely young ass. 

I don't think I am exaggerating at all when I describe myself as beautiful. 
Lovely blue-eyed blondes may indeed be a dime a dozen, but I know I am 
special. I have a stunning figure, with small, ripened breasts, and narrow 
hips, and a very lovely sculptured ass. 

When I wiggle my ass on the street, I have been known to cause more than a 
few car accidents. Men just can't pay attention to what's going on when I am 
on the prowl. I know that they enjoy watching my lovely tits bounce up and 
down, and the cotton material of my dress dip into the lovely crack in my 
ass. 

I've developed a second sense for the kind of man I like to pull my S&M 
numbers on. I like young ones guys who are a little unsure of who they are, 
and what they represent. I like them because they'll take the most shit off 
me before getting fed up. 

like I say, I have eyes in the back of my head for those guys. They are the 
ones who will never actually walk up to you and talk. They would never think 
of asking you if you want to fuck, or suck, or even have drink. 

They just follow me around, wishing and hoping that they could have me. I 
never let it happen like that, however. Never. 

When I sense I have one of these sensitive type geeks following me, I stop 
to rest on the stoop of a brownstone. I make sure that my dress is hiked up. 
I spread my legs so that only a blind man could miss my muff. It's a free 
beaver shot for the passing motorists, and pedestrians, but I don't care. In 
a way it's exciting, thinking about them going home and masturbating while 
they think of me. Or fucking their wives, pretending that it's me they're 
fucking. 

It's all worth it while the geek blushes and walks past, pretending that he 
doesn't know that I'm there. 

But I take care of that little problem. I have a special technique. 

"Have a match, good looking?" I ask. 

If they don't, I ask them if they would mind talking with me for a few 
minutes. I tell them that I'm confused about a personal problem, and that I 
need some advice. 

Those kind always love coming to the rescue of a confused damsel. Especially 
if she is blonde and gorgeous, like me. 

They just sort of blush, and drool, and dream about what would happen if I 
was one of the nymphos they read about in dirty books, and magazines. 

I'm thinking right now of this boy named Karl. He was a lot of fun. I still 
see him from time to time. Karl is a very nice looking young man. And he's 
very intelligent too. But he is so sensitive and shy. It's almost too 
difficult for him to look at me in the eye when we talk. 

I think that if I would say boo to him, he would have a heart attack and 
die. And he's only in his early twenties. 

I like that kind of guy. I can always get my way with them. 

I met Karl the way I just described. He didn't have a match, so I pulled the 
personal problem routine on him. 

"What's the matter, lady?" he asked. 

"Oh, I'm just so lonely," I said. 

"I find it hard to believe that a beautiful woman like you could possibly be 
lonely. I mean, you are so absolutely beautiful. I would think that you 
could have your pick of any man." 

"But, that's just the problem," she said. "All those guys want to do is fuck 
me. I don't know if a handsome young man like you can understand how 
difficult it is for me. I want just like to have a friend a man I could talk 
to." 

"I understand," Karl said. But I could tell the way he was looking up 
between my thighs at my naked bush, that he didn't really understand. I knew 
I had a live one. 

"If you would like," he said. "I will be your friend." 

"You mean that you don't just want to fuck me?" 

"I would be lying if I said that I didn't find you sexually attractive," he 
said. "But I can understand how you feel." 

"Oh, I'm so glad to meet a man like you," I said. "You are a rare fellow." 

And then I had him where I wanted him. 

I pulled the come up to my place, and let me fix you a little snack. Then we 
can talk routine on Karl. 

He followed me home like a little lost puppy. I could feel his eyes on my 
ass. I knew I had him. 

Karl wasn't a drinker. He was a smoker. So I rolled him a joint, and told 
him I was going to take a shower. 

I purposely left the bathroom door open and sang while I showered. I wanted 
him to think about my naked body in the shower. I wanted him to fantasize 
about making love with me. 

And after I finished showering, I would walk out of the bathroom, drying 
myself off with a towel. I didn't try at all to hide my naked body. 

I'll just never forget how Karl's eyes popped out as he looked at me. I 
gather that never in his most wild sexual fantasies, did he think that he 
would ever be alone in an apartment with a beautiful, sexy blonde like me. I 
mean, I look as good as any of those girls in the girlie magazines. 

And he just sat there on the sofa, stoned from the marijuana, and watched 
me. 

I would make idle chatter while I dried. I was always very careful to raise 
a leg on a stool while I dried my legs. That way the young man could see the 
pink canyon of sex flesh between my labial lips. 

Oh, he liked that. I could tell by the way he blushed. Karl was quite a 
little actor. He would pretend that he wasn't at all phased by staring at my 
lovely little breasts, and the pink crack in my snatch. 

He would simply continue chatting with me. His legs would, of course, be 
crossed, so that I couldn't see his throbbing erection. But I knew it was 
there. He couldn't fool me. 

"Karl, I am so glad that I have met you," I said. "You can't imagine what it 
means to a girl like me to find a nice male friend. I have just about given 
up on men." 

"Does that mean you are into women?" the way he asked that, convinced me 
that he was interested in me sexually. And he would love it if I was into 
women. 

I wasn't, and I'm still not, but I told him I was. His eyes bugged out with 
excitement. And I could see his face begin to grow covered with perverse 
perspiration. Oh, that boy wanted me. I could read his mind, as he thought 
about how divine it would be to have an affair with me, and to watch me 
making love with another woman. 

"I guess the reason that I turned to women," I said, "was essentially 
because of a lack of understanding on the part of men about my basic needs. 
You see, men just aren't sensitive. They don't seem to understand that a 
woman needs softness." 

"I like to think of myself as sensitive," he swallowed hard when he said 
that. 

"Oh, I can tell, Karl," I said, "you really are a sensitive young man. 
That's how I can tell that we could be really great friends." 

"Couldn't we be more?" he had more nerve than I at first thought. 

"Who knows what the future might offer us," I said. "Everything is possible. 
But I think you understand that I basically need your friendship right now." 

"Yes, of course," he said. "I didn't mean now. I was just thinking that 
someday..." 

"Who knows?" I smiled. "You will be a sweetie and try to understand how 
important it is for me to feel relaxed with a man. You know, no sexual 
tension. "Yes, I do understand," he was really panting now. I knew I had him 
where I wanted him. 

I can't tell you how delicious it is to torment a sensitive young man like 
Karl. Knowing that he wants me desperately, and playing with him like a cat 
with a mouse just fills me with wanton desire. 

Of course, I take my own sweet time about letting the victim know that it is 
only a game we are playing. 

That's the best part. I like to make them really suffer for wanting me. 

With Karl, it was especially fun, as he thought he would never get into my 
cunt. He would, of course. I wanted him just as much as he wanted me. But it 
would have to be entirely on my terms. 

"Karl," I said, "I would like to try something with you. Perhaps you can 
help me to make the long comeback from lesbian love, to normal, heterosexual 
love. Do you think you could deal with that?" 

"Oh, I would be so pleased to help you," he said, and he got up from the 
sofa. But he was holding his jacket in front of his crotch. It was obvious 
he didn't want me to realize how much he wanted me. 

"What can I do to help you?" he was practically jumping on me. 

"It would help me a lot," I said, "if you would take off your clothes, and 
just let me look at you. I could masturbate to your image. You see, I have 
to go very slowly. You do understand, I hope?" 

"Of course," he said, thinking I'm sure that he would have an opportunity to 
fuck me. "I would like very much to help you. I like you, Therese." 

"Yes, I can tell you do," I smiled. "You are very sweet, Karl. Now, please 
take of your clothes and let me look at your body. It's so difficult for me 
to deal with this. I wish I didn't have so many sexual problems. I do hope 
you can help me." 

"I do, too." 

I liked watching him remove his clothes. It never fails to amaze me how many 
of these shy, sensitive types, are really very handsome, and well built. 

Karl, for instance, is a perfect example. He is very handsome, and well 
built. like an athlete. 

He turned away from me when he removed his underwear. He had a nice ass, but 
it was the other end I wanted to look at. 

"Oh, Karl," I said, "how will you be able to help me to get over my fear of 
men, if you won't let me see your penis?" 

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's all rather embarrassing for me, you know?" 

"Oh, don't be embarrassed," I said. "I want you to feel comfortable with me. 
Now, turn around and let me see what you're hiding." 

He did so, and I was amazed by the size of his tool. It was a really nice 
cock. Big and strong, and I couldn't wait to feel it inside me. 

But I didn't even act as though that's what I wanted. I was really playing 
it cool. 

"What should I do?" he said. 

"Oh, just sit there on the couch," I said. 

The shy young man, of course, did as I said. He sat on the couch, with his 
stiff erection poking straight up. I lay on the floor, and stared up at him. 
I was positioned so that as I spread my legs apart, he couldn't help but 
look up my pink fuck canyon. 

I started with my breasts. I gently caressed them, while I stared at his 
erect cock. He was so red in the face with sexual hunger for me, that I 
thought he would start foaming at the mouth any moment. 

"It feels nice to touch my breasts while I am looking at you," I said. "You 
aren't uncomfortable helping me like this, are you?" 

"No, not at all," he lied expertly. The poor young man was practically 
gagging on the thick, horny saliva that had gathered in his throat. I love 
putting men in these terribly uncomfortable positions. 

"Oh, my nipples are getting so firm," I said. "Do you see, Karl, how they 
get swollen? This is a good sign that I am getting sexually stimulated from 
touching myself, while I watch you." 

"I'm glad you feel that way about me," he said, obviously in strife. 

The poor guy. I'm afraid I was really giving him an especially rough time. 
But he took it so well. It was fun. 

Now I'm going to touch my hot little pussy while I look at that nice cock of 
yours, Karl. You don't mind that I am getting excited, do you?" 

"No," he replied. "I think it's an honor to help a woman as lovely as you." 

I knew that he was thinking I would let him fuck me. 

He was wrong. That little treat would come later much later, if at all. 

I used both hands to stroke my pussy. My fingers ran nimbly through my pubic 
fur. I was giving myself a wonderful pussy massage. And the hot juices 
flowed from my pussy like a veritable fountain of pleasure. 

I pressed a finger, and then two, and then three, deep into my cunt. I could 
see that he was having a hard time sitting still. He so much wanted to come 
to me. To come in me. 

"I hope it's not difficult for you to be sitting up there on the couch all 
alone," I said. 

"Would it be possible for me to come closer?" he asked. "Just sort of kneel 
at your side?" 

"I'm afraid not, Karl," I said. "You see, I'm still too much afraid of men 
to let you get too close to me." 

"I promise not to touch you," he was really horny. "I just want to smell 
you, and be close to you. To feel your heat." 

"No, I'm afraid that isn't possible," I said, as I pressed two fingers 
against my clitoris, and began stroking myself. I could feel heat surge in 
my loins. 

Oh, I wanted that boy desperately, but I just couldn't let him know it. Not 
yet. 

"Oh, Karl," I moaned. "I think I'm going to come. Oh, and to think that you 
are responsible for these feelings. You've been so kind to me." 

And then I really put on a great show while I orgasmed. I was really 
screaming, and writhing about. It was a total sexual catharsis. And the poor 
boy could keep himself from leaping upon me. I could feel that. I sensed it 
intuitively. 

I continued to frig myself, coming many times. And while I did this, I 
pressed my finger up my ass. I knew that he wished it was his handsome erect 
cock that was being forced up my lovely ass. But it wasn't. And he was 
sweating with discomfort, and sighing with sexual need. 

"Can I please masturbate?" he asked. 

"No, I'm afraid that that would be a threat to me at this stage, Karl," I 
said. "Please try to understand." 

"But it's so difficult to be horny like this," he protested. "You are so 
beautiful, and I think I love you. I mean, it felt so especially good to 
help you with your sexual problem. Oh, would you please let me fuck you?" 

"I'm sorry," I said. "Please try to understand that it will take some time, 
working together, to overcome this problem." 

"Please try to help me with my problem," he begged. "I so much want you." 

"Like I said, Karl," I said, "it's going to take us some time to work 
through this." 

"How long do you think it will take days, weeks, months, years?" 

"I hope it won't be too long," I said, as I stood and wrapped the towel 
around me. Now, you'll have to be going, Karl. I have to be alone." 

"Don't drop me like this," he cried. "Please have some consideration." 

"I will, in due time," I said. "For the present, please try to be a little 
more understanding of my situation." 

"Can I at least have your phone number?" he asked, while he was dressing. "I 
promise not to call too often." 

"No, I think it will be better if I take your number. I'll call you. You 
don't call me." 

He seemed quite depressed when he left. It was just how I liked it to be. 
The boy was obviously hooked on me. 

I waited three days before I called him. Of course I could have called him 
earlier. Indeed, I wanted to. I wanted to feel that boy's cock in my cunt, 
and up my ass-hole, as much as he wanted to be inside me. But what young men 
like Karl fail to recognize, that the greatest joy of the sexual trip is the 
uncertainty of how the loved one thinks about them. That's the delicious 
part. 

He was so excited when I called him. He wanted to come over right away. But 
I made him wait until the following afternoon. 

He was at my door promptly at two in the afternoon, as we had arranged. 

He even brought me flowers. I thought that was cute. 

I even let him kiss me on the cheek, before we stripped our clothes. He was 
sent to the couch, as usual, and I lay on the floor, and masturbated while I 
stared at his erect cock. 

But I gave him a treat this time. 

Before I reached my climax, I let him come down off the couch and touch my 
tit. He was so excited to touch my tit. My nipple was hard, and he worked it 
sensuously between his fingers while he crouched over me. 

I frigged myself, and I was in seventh heaven. 

"Please, can I touch the tip of my cock to your nipple?" he asked me. 

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "It's just too early. But I do feel I'm getting 
better, Karl. Do you feel it?" 

"I wouldn't know," he pouted, turning away from me. 

"Don't be a baby," I said. "You said you wanted to help me with my problem. 
And now you are ignoring it completely. Why have you forsaken me, Karl?" 

"I have needs, too, you know?" he said. 

"I know you do," I said, soothingly. "I'm not a bitch, you know. I really 
want to help you. But first, you must help me. When I am a complete woman 
again, and not afraid of men, I will be able to give so much to you." 

"I don't think I can take it," he was so sad. 

"Of course you can take it," I said. "Please be patient." 

I let him kiss me on the lips before sending him home. 

A week later, I had him up again. This time I let him lay beside me while I 
frigged myself. But I still didn't let him touch me. 

Another week passed before I let him suck on my nipples. 

I gave him a blow-job two days after that. And I let him touch my pussy 
after another week. 

He was as good as a trained dog by that time. I had him just the way I 
wanted him. He was completely into me, without reservation. He was head over 
heels in love with me. 

What men fail to recognize, is that it's just as hard for me to deal with 
the waiting as it is for them. But, unlike me, I derive some sexual pleasure 
from it. They do not. 

Karl was so excited when I finally let him suck on my cunt. He went crazy. 
It was really worth it for me. Because it was the best cunt sucking I've 
ever been on the receiving end of. 

It was all the stored up sexual tension that came flooding upon me. He was 
hooked on my pussy by that time. 

Two days after that, I finally let him fuck me. What a happy boy he was. 

Of course, I took the dominant position for the much sought after coitus. 

And he didn't mind. He was so pleased to feel his prick slide into my hole. 

I really did try to give him a good fuck. I squeezed my pussy down tightly 
on his nice cock. And when he came inside of me, I rolled over and wrapping 
my legs around him, I milked him dry. 

He was mighty pleased. 

I told him, however, just to keep him chasing after me, that I wouldn't let 
him fuck me in the ass for awhile. 

And I purposely set-up our next meeting for several weeks into the future. 
He was a mixed up young man by the time I saw him next. 

His eyes were twitching and his palms were continuously wet with nervous 
perspiration. 

When he finally was allowed to enter my ass-hole with his handsome cock, I 
decided that Karl was the man for me. And that's how I met my present 
husband. Karl and I were married not long after that. I never told him about 
the game. To this day, he thinks he really helped me solve my sexual 
problems. 

Victor N. 

Interviewed: July 14, 1978 

As an admitted sexual slave master, would you please explain how your sexual 
history, and manifestations of sadomasochistic behavior developed into your 
current sexual viewpoint? 

There's always this talk about how the father caused everything. The poor 
father has been taking the rap for his children's maladjustment problems all 
down the line. And, what with Freud pointing the psychoanalytic finger at 
all things even remotely sexual, even if only symbolically, then it just 
stood to figure that the father would have to take the rap for sexual 
problems as well. 

And in my case, as much as I would like to take the old man off the hook of 
responsibility, I can't. I truly feel that it was all my father's fault. You 
see, he's a sadist. That doesn't mean he goes around in leather clothes, 
brandishing a whip. It simply means he gets his sexual thrills by inflicting 
pain be it physical, or mental. 

He's a businessman. And a very successful one at that. He got that way, by 
frightening everyone around him into breaking their necks to help him build 
a successful empire. 

As the only child of this driven man, you can imagine how much pressure I 
fell under. At the tender age of fourteen, the old man insisted that I 
become his protegee. After school, I would have to go down to his office in 
the city, where I would be instructed on the machinations of running a 
financial empire. 

I don't know if he really believed I would grow up to be like him. I knew I 
could never be. I suppose I took more after my mother. She died when I was 
very young. But I'm told she was quite intelligent, in a subjective manner, 
and very sensitive. 

It was from my mother, I suppose, that I acquired a thirst for knowledge. 
Not the kind of knowledge my father could respect knowledge of stocks, and 
bonds, and treasury notes but rather, an understanding of the soft, the 
poetic, and the beautiful in life. 

He always resented that proclivity in me. He made it perfectly clear that I 
was not the kind of son he had imagined himself having. But that didn't free 
me from his constant attempts at altering my natural state. 

And this employed all sorts of abuse physical as well as mental. 

He kept me as close to his side as possible. I guess he was always a lonely 
man, and I never knew him to, have any friends. They were all business 
associates, or enemies. 

When I approached puberty, he gave me a talk that I will never forget. It 
went something like this: "Victor, as you now become a man, there is 
something which I want you to bear in mind, concerning women. Females are 
like a business. They thrive, only when there is a healthy cash flow. In 
other words, women sell their love to the highest bidder. Which is to say 
that all women are whores. They can't help it. They don't know how to take 
care of themselves. It's up to the man to protect them. And in doing so, he, 
in essence buys them. They are his property. Just like my stocks and bonds. 
And this is how it should be. Never take grief from a woman. Simply purchase 
another one." 

I, of course, didn't want to believe the things my father told me. I dreamed 
of great and immortal loves. I thought of poetry, and gifts, affection, and 
promises of undying love. I didn't want to accept or believe what my father 
was saying. Still, the seed had been planted. And I suppose I will never 
forgive him for placing that thought in my body. It has made it so that I 
cannot deal with women in a way that I would find healthy, and satisfying. 

When I was sixteen, my father said it was time for me to become a man. He 
also said it was time for me to learn the proper way to deal with a woman. 
We had a long talk that afternoon. It is also one of those memorable talks 
that I will never forget. 

"Son," he said. "You are becoming a man now. And it does my heart good to 
see you become so handsome and strong. Just like myself. But you are much 
too sensitive. And I fear that women will take advantage of you particularly 
since you are one day, when I die, as I surely must, going to be very rich. 
Always remember, my son, that you must never allow the woman to deal the 
cards. You must always be the master. 

"Since your mother died," he went on, "I have chosen not to remarry. This 
isn't only because of the fact that I never thought I would find a woman as 
good as your mother, but I realized the illusion of marriage, and romantic 
love. Instead, I have established a network of what I call sexual helpers. 
They are the toys of a rich man. And I think I have been able to learn to 
deal with women as they are meant to be dealt with. You must learn these 
lessons as well. Or there will always be the danger that you will be taken 
advantage of." 

So, my father took me to the apartment of one of his kept ladies. Her name 
was Anita. And she was a .redhead, and very young and beautiful. I figured 
she was only a few years older than myself. 

Father explained to me that he kept these women as slaves. What they did 
during their free time was their business. But since he paid the rent, he 
never wanted another man in the apartment. 

And in exchange for the financial stability, he expected total obedience 
from these women. He insisted that he should be able to use their bodies in 
any way he thought fit. In short, he owned them. 

And, he wanted me to learn how to control a woman with money. He said that 
if I failed to learn this lesson, I would forever be unhappy in my 
relationships with women. 

I was very uptight about going to Anita's apartment with father. He had, of 
course, spoken to her, and it wasn't going to be a surprise. But I felt very 
embarrassed, nevertheless. 

She lived in a very beautiful apartment on the Upper Eastside. He wasn't 
stingy with her, that's for sure. He explained that to me on the way up to 
her penthouse suite. 

"If you have the money, son," he said, "you should spend it where it gives 
the most benefit. In this case, I let Anita live the life of a princess. But 
when I want to come to her, she knows that if I want her to be trash, that's 
what she'll be. If I want her to eat my shit, she must. And if I want to tie 
her up, and beat her, because I had a bad day at the office, then, that is 
her contractual duty." 

"I see, Father," I said. But I really didn't. Such a manner of dealing with 
women seemed so sinful, so void of emotion, that I could not truly relate to 
it. But I wanted to please him, so I went along. 

When Anita opened the door, I was immediately in love. What a stunning 
woman. I'll never forget her for as long as I live. I suppose no man forgets 
the first woman he falls in love with the first woman who spreads her legs 
for him. 

I should describe her. Though, I doubt that words alone could paint a proper 
portrait of her. She stood about five feet, five inches. And she was quite 
thin. But her figure was perfect. Her breasts were neither, too large, nor 
too small. The black sequined dressing gown she wore clung tightly to her 
body, showing off quite well the firm breasts, the gently sloping, but 
narrow hips, the long, shapely legs, and firm, rounded bottom. 

Her hair was for real. It was a deep shade of red, almost chestnut in color. 
Her eyes were as green as fine emeralds, with as much magical light. Her 
facial features were uncommon. High cheek bones and a perfectly formed jaw 
gave her a noble bearing. She looked like a woman that, I suppose, the 
common female would pay a fortune to a plastic surgeon to look like. 

And when she smiled, showing off perfect white teeth, I felt a chill run up 
and down my spine. 

"Hello, Anita," my father said. "I want you to meet my son, Victor." 

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Victor," she said, so soothingly, that I felt 
my knees buckle, and my face flush. "Your father has told me so much about 
you. It's a pleasure to meet you. Come in, gentlemen." 

It all seemed so friendly, I thought. I had imagined that it would be more 
business-like. We all sat down on the large velvet sofa, and made small talk 
for a few minutes. 

But then, father, in his characteristic manner, brought the topic of 
conversation swiftly to the forefront. "I'm going to leave you two together 
for awhile. I'll be back to pick you up, Victor, this evening. If you should 
decide you want to spend the night, just call the office and leave a message 
with my secretary." 

When he was gone, I was terrified. I didn't have him around as a model to 
formulate my behavior after. I was on my own, and I was terrified that if I 
showed the woman how sensitive I was, how vulnerable I was to her magical 
beauty, that she would bite my head off. 

"This will be your first time with a woman, won't it, Victor?" 

"Yes, Anita," I said, stiffly. 

"I don't want you to be afraid. I would like to be your friend, Victor. Is 
that possible?" 

"Yes," I managed to say, though it seemed my throat was completely swollen 
with emotional constipation. 

"Your father tells me that you are a bit of a romantic." 

"Yes," I said, as if I were apologizing. I immediately hated myself for 
apologizing for something I was proud to be. But I didn't say anything about 
it. 

"That's not a good way to be in the real world, Victor," she smiled. "As 
your friend, I can tell you this. If I wasn't your friend, I would try to 
take advantage of you. But I don't want to do that, Victor. I want to teach 
you. I want to help shape you into the kind of man you should be. You don't 
want to go through life letting women play games with your head, while they 
take money from your pocket. 

"You must remember, my friend, that in our society, it takes money to have 
love. It's simply a reality of our lives. But if you are going to pay for 
something, you must make sure you get precisely what you want. And this 
includes marriage. Don't imagine that marriage is any different than simply 
buying a prostitute off of Park Avenue. One is just longer lasting that's 
all. It's a built-in hooker. Can you accept these things?" 

I told her I understood what she meant, but that I couldn't believe it 
always had to be that way. 

"Well, you will probably have to learn the hard way," she said. "But most 
people do, so that's okay." 

Then, the lovely redhead stood, and unzipped her dressing gown. She let it 
fall to the floor, and she was completely naked. 

I had seen plenty of photos of beautiful naked women in magazines, but never 
anything real. I was so pleased. It was as if one of those gorgeous women 
had simply stepped out of the magazine, into my life. I felt my penis harden 
instantly. 

"Do you find me beautiful?" she asked, turning about. 

"Oh, yes, so very beautiful," I said. And I meant it. "You are the most 
beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life." 

"You mustn't say things like that to a woman," she said. "That is your first 
lesson. Women are basically masochists. The more beautiful they are, the 
worse you should treat them. They already know they are beautiful. They are 
bored with it. They are sick and tired of men idolizing them. Treat them 
real hard. The harder, the better. Do you understand?" 

"Oh, yes," I said. "But I think it's sad that's the way it is." 

"Of course it's sad," she smiled. "But life is sad. We simply must accept 
these realities." 

Then she sat down beside me on the couch, and kissed me. She kissed me with 
passion. There was nothing soft, and gentle about it. She kissed me in a way 
that told me that she wanted to make passionate love. I was totally 
unequipped to deal with this. 

"I can tell by the way you kiss me that you are frightened of me," she said. 
"You must never let a woman know that. It can be deadly. She can twist you 
around her little finger and play you for a complete fool an utter idiot if 
you let her. Kiss me hard. Rub my breasts. Force me to do the most perverse, 
vile things to you. Humble me. Treat me like I was a possession. You are the 
conqueror, and I am the vanquished." 

I wasn't sure how to do that. It really wasn't part of my nature to act in 
such a harsh way. 

Then, Anita slapped me. She slapped me hard. "Be a man," she scowled. "Take 
off your clothes. Let me see what you've got." 

And then she slapped me again. It hurt. She made me angry. All of a sudden, 
the love I had felt for her had vanished. I was furious. I didn't realize at 
the time that she had done it on purpose to help me. 

I slapped her back. And she slapped me. And we traded slaps until she was 
whimpering with pain, and I was furious. I had lost my temper. 

I tore off my clothes. I had this really strange self-image at that moment. 
I really felt as though I were the conquering warrior, and she was simply 
some trophy. 

I pressed my hands against her breasts. 

"Harder," she said. "Hurt them. Slap them. Pinch my nipples." 

I did, and to my surprise, I found that I liked hurting her. It excited me. 
It let me act out all my frustrations. Suddenly, I had someone to take out 
all my hostilities against. She was like a whipping post a scapegoat. 

I continued to hit her, and kiss her, and bite her, and she cowered at my 
feet like a frightened dog. I felt so much power to have this beautiful 
woman cowering like that for me. I was her master. I felt like a king. 

My cock was so stiff. It was my first time, and I wasn't sure what to do. 

Anita knew this, of course, and she took care of everything. She was so 
submissive, and caring. And she did it in a way that made me feel like I was 
the master. She was an artist of sadomasochistic love. I only am now 
beginning to realize how great she was. 

"Are you going to make me suck your cock?" she said, frightened, though 
letting me know, by the way she looked at me, that she wanted to. 

I was on my back on the thickly carpeted floor, and she was between my 
thighs. I felt hypnotized by her emerald green eyes as she watched my face, 
while her lovely crimson lips descended upon my throbbing pink member. 

It was so exciting to be with such a wild vixen. Suddenly, I realized that's 
really what I wanted all along. I didn't at all care about the softness. I 
wanted it to be rough and wild. It felt manly. I saw myself, the way I used 
to be, as foolish. I was excited by my new self. 

She sure could suck cock, that lovely redhead. I watched her flaming hair 
dance over my flesh while her warm, sweet mouth moved rapidly up and down 
the shaft of my rod. My nuts were filled with an aching. I wanted to come in 
her mouth. I wanted to feel the power of emptying my sacs in that loving 
mouth of hers. 

And I did. I reached up and grabbed her by her lovely red locks, and pressed 
her mouth down over my stick. Up and down she swiftly moved her mouth, and 
as I felt the come ready to shoot, I grabbed her by the hair, and thrust my 
tool deeply into her mouth shooting hot jism. 

It felt so wonderful to fill her mouth with my hot juice. It was such a 
wonderful catharsis. And I felt dominant, like a warrior with a slave girl. 
One taste of that power, and I knew I was transformed. I would never be 
sensitive young man I was before. 

After she had milked my cock dry in her mouth, she asked me if I would like 
a massage. 

I told her I would. And that I expected a very nice massage, as well. 

She smiled, knowingly, and went to the bathroom to get some massage cream. 

It was quite a wonderful massage. She started with my shoulders, and worked 
down over my back. I was filled with wonderful sensations. And I felt my 
sexual strength rapidly return. 

I was confident, and quite sure of myself. I told her I wanted to fuck her. 

She licked her lips in a way that really excited me, and rolled over on her 
back. As she spread her legs, exposing the pink flesh between her labial 
lips, I became extremely excited. I wanted to lick that surface. I wanted to 
taste of her sexuality. 

My cock was pounding with desire. And she lay there so helplessly, like a 
sex slave. That's the role she wanted to play. It was wonderful freedom for 
me. I pressed my mouth against the red fur, and ran my tongue along her 
pussy furrow. 

It was wonderful. I took her clitoris in my mouth and sucked her. My entire 
body was vibrating with thrilling sexual tension. I apparently found the 
magic spot her clitoris because she put her fingers into my hair and 
directed my tongue movements against her clit. 

It felt nice to have her so dependent on me. To know that her satisfaction 
was dependent on the way I ministered to her twat. I was in full control. I 
sucked her clit until she was almost ready to orgasm, then I pulled my mouth 
from her pussy. 

She looked at me in a strange way when I did that. In a way that let me know 
that she enjoyed the game we were playing. I continued to suck on her and 
she got hotter and hotter. And then I would pull my mouth away again, and 
she would pant, and writhe, and look at me in that way that way which told 
me she liked the frustration. 

What apparently was happening, was that this obviously masochistic woman was 
transforming me into a sadist. She wanted me to toy with her, to torment 
her. 

She was quite frustrated, writhing about, and pumping her hot box up towards 
my face desperately in search of orgasmic release. But I didn't want to give 
it to her. Not yet anyway. 

I continued to play this game for quite some time until she was so 
frustrated, that I thought she would cry. And then I sucked on her pussy in 
earnest. And she began to orgasm. 

It filled me with such a wonderful sense of power. She had her legs wrapped 
around me, tightly. And she was so very pleased by the way I made her feel. 

She was so very beautiful, and I was so very inspired. I continued to suck 
her passionately. Her clitoris was so erect and she had even more orgasms. 

Then I knew the moment had come. It was time to fuck her. It felt wonderful 
to shove my cock in her pussy. She did all the work, and guidance. She 
wrapped her fingers lovingly around my pole, and introduced the head into 
the moistened pit. 

It was the best feeling I ever had. She clamped her vaginal muscles on my 
cock, and squeezed me tightly as I slid into her. I began pumping her. It 
was the first time ever for me to be in a pussy. 

And I suppose I was a bit emotional about it. I fucked her tenderly. But she 
didn't let up with the lessons. 

"Don't be so romantic," she said. "I want to feel roughness. I want you to 
really know that I am being fucked." 

She had ignited me again. And I pinned her arms to the floor while I pumped 
away in her box. 

I liked the feeling of being brutal. I liked the sense of power I had from 
pinning her to the floor, and making her submit to me. 

She struggled vainly. But she did so in a way that made me believe she 
really did not to be fucked. That's what made the fucking all that much more 
fun. 

I squeezed her breasts roughly as I plunged my cock in and out of her cunt. 
I loved the feeling of her cunt muscles clamping down on me as I forced 
myself in and out of her. 

It was a delicious struggle. She squeezed her thighs together, and it made 
the fit even tighter. I leaned forward, so my cock was rubbing against her 
clit, and this made it so very much more enjoyable for her. 

I could feel myself ready to come. And then I did something which surprised 
me very much. I grabbed her by the hair, and pulled at her head painfully so 
and I ejaculated inside of her. 

I thrust my cock as deeply into her crack as I could. I suppose I was 
rougher than I really had to be. I was shoving my cock up against her 
cervix. And she was screaming with pain. And that gave me a great deal of 
pleasure. I liked to see her mouth hang open, and listen to her painful 
cries. 

It was wonderful. 

It exhilarated me. It gave me a sense of power. For the first time in my 
life, I was able to understand why my father enjoyed being a bastard. 

After I had milked my cock in her cunt, I collapsed on the floor beside her. 

"You are quite a sexy boy," she said. "You learn real fast." 

"Are you sure that you aren't angry that I hurt you?" I asked, not being 
able to believe that a woman could really enjoy pain, and humiliation. 

"Listen, Victor," she said. "You have got to learn to stop being such a nice 
person. Don't concern yourself with how I feel. Concern yourself with making 
yourself feel good. If it has to be at my expense, that's fine. But if you 
go around acting like such a sweetheart, women will do a dance on your 
head." 

"I'll try to remember." 

She made me lunch, and we talked. Mostly about inane things. And then she 
said she wanted to teach me some other things. Most specifically, she 
explained the important role that sodomy plays in dominating the woman. 

She explained to me that to force a woman to submit to taking a cock up the 
ass is a high form of male dominance. Once a woman has been sodomized, she 
said, the woman thus surrenders her body to the man. She becomes an 
instrument of his sexual satisfaction. She is his slave. And he is her 
master. 

Watching her walk naked through the house, shaking her tight, firm ass, did 
excite me. I wanted to shove my cock up her ass. I admit it. I wanted to 
feel myself slide into the narrow opening. 

She told me that there were two ways to approach it. I could either lie on 
my side, facing her back, and push myself in. That was the gentle way, she 
explained. 

The rough way the masterly way she explained, was to force it in, with only 
vaginal lubricant, while the woman was face down. 

I wanted it that way, of course. By that time I truly enjoyed being rough 
master. 

She was on her belly, with her legs slightly spread. I knelt beside her, and 
ran my hand over her lovely ass. 

She spread her legs wider as I did so, and I pushed my finger into the crack 
of her pussy. I liked touching her cunt. It was warm and soft. After dipping 
my fingers deeply into her crack, I pressed my lubricated digits against her 
anus, and forced my way into the tight opening. 

"That's it," she said. "Be rough. Hurt me. That's the way I like it." 

What a perfect woman that Anita was. She really knew how to make me feel 
comfortable how to make me feel in control. 

I finger-fucked her ass-hole until she began to open up. And then I climbed 
between her lovely thighs, and pressed the head of my cock against her anal 
opening. 

I guess my cock was a little bigger than she was used to. When I pressed 
myself inside of her, she yelped with pain. 

"God, you are big," she said. "I don't know if I can take it. Maybe you 
better not go all the way in this time." 

Her talk excited me terribly. I knew then that I would have to fuck her 
brains out in the ass. I had to have it that way. That's the only way that 
really excited me. 

I pressed my hands under her chest, and squeezed her tits savagely, while I 
forced my cock deeply into her behind. I loved the sound of her screams of 
pain. 

I was really hurting her. But I didn't feel guilty. She tried to pull away 
from me, but I pinned her to the floor, and really shoved my way home. All 
the way up her ass I forced my way. She very slowly began to relax, despite 
my thunderous strokes. She began to enjoy what I was doing to her. 

It was a nice, tight fit, and I felt so very turned on as my cock plunged in 
and out ejaculation was on the way. 

I felt as though I had really conquered her. As I was ready to shoot, I 
forced my cock all the way into her ass up to the hilt. I squirted hot jism 
deep into her ass. 

She was apparently beginning to enjoy it as well. She began to swivel her 
hips about, and it was obvious she was going to come. But I didn't let her. 
I had learned well by her. 

I pulled my stick from her ass-hole and stood over her. I had an 
uncontrollable urge to piss on her. I couldn't believe it. I was still just 
a teenager. And I had just had my first woman but what a woman she was. And 
I wanted to add shame to what I had done to her. I wanted to piss on her. 

And I did. And she luxuriated in it. It's funny, because it all happened so 
naturally. I stood over her and pissed all over her hair, and her face, and 
her body, and it was a great feeling. It was a feeling of having complete 
rule over her. She was my slave. I was her master. 

"You've learned a great deal today," she said, as she stood. "Your father 
will be very proud of you." 

We showered together, and then I left. I saw her a few times after that, but 
my objective had become to find my own women. I wanted to feel that I could 
dominate, and control without my father's influence. 

It took some time. And my father had to substantially increase my allowance 
so that I had the means, but it slowly happened. I met a few girls who would 
do anything for money. I set them up in apartments nothing elaborate, like 
the way my father took her of Anita, but nevertheless, since my eighteenth 
birthday, I have never been without at least two sexual slaves. 

Sex has assumed a lot of meaning for me. And I think that I've been able to 
put it all in the right perspective. 

Helen K. 

Interviewed: February 12, 1977 

How does pain and humiliation affect your orgasm? 

From what I understand, you want a little background as to how I acquired a 
need for degradation. At thirty-three years of age, I think I can admit a 
lot of things to myself now, which I wasn't able to deal with in the past. 

I can admit that I am into S&M. It's taken a long time for me to be able to 
deal with this. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that my father 
was such a detached man. 

He is a psychoanalyst, trained in Europe. So he is a very private man. 
Growing up in his house in Los Angeles, was in many ways like being raised 
in a prison. 

You see, part of the house served as his offices. Patients would come to the 
back of the house and he would see them. My mother and I always had to be 
very quiet. 

I guess I had the image of my father being some sort of God. All these sick 
people would come to him to be made whole. And in reverent quiet, he would 
listen to their woes, and try to put them on the right track to wholeness. 

I was in awe of the man. And I suppose I wanted him desperately. I guess it 
only stands to reason that I found a substitute for him in my first love 
Mark. 

I met Mark when I was only in high school. Actually, he was younger than me. 
Only by a few years. But he looked a great deal like my father. He was quiet 
and serious, and very sensitive. I fell deeply in love with him. 

We didn't start into a sexual relationship for some time. It was slow going. 
I felt that I had the upper hand in the relationship. I was the stronger of 
the two of us. 

He was much more emotional. I had to be a bitch, I suppose, to get Mark to 
give me what I wanted in a sexual way. I wanted him to hold back. I wanted 
him to be aloof, and hard to get close to. I wanted him to be my father. 

I'm sure my father loved me. But I think it's the old story about the 
physician not being able to take care of his own family's health. My mother 
went mad, and my father wasn't able to do a thing for her. 

I don't think he really wanted to. He institutionalized her, and started 
seeing one of her girlfriends. And I think he was afraid of his sexual 
desires for me. He certainly kept his distance from me. When I was young, I 
was very much hurt by this. I suppose every young girl wants to feel that 
her father really loves her. 

I began spending more and more time with Mark. I definitely had the upper 
hand, I felt almost like his mother. And to counter a tendency he had to be 
sweet overly emotional, I bitched at him, and set him up to be angry at me. 
I loved it when he was furious with me. It really stimulated me, sexually. 

The first few times we made love, I felt as though I were the man, and he 
was the woman. But after awhile, he developed into the man I wanted him to 
be. 

He punished me sexually. He got even with me in bed for the shit I gave him 
out of bed. This was really perfect for us in a lot of ways. 

In this manner, I was able to work out my needs to dish out shit to be 
sadistic, and in bed, it was his turn. We alternated in this manner from 
sadism to masochism. It was a perfect balance. And he reminded me of my 
father, which was perfect. 

We would play a game in bed. There would be the usual foreplay, and we would 
turn each other on. I would suck his cock, and stroke his balls, and kiss 
him, touch him, fondle him. 

And then it would be my turn. Lying on my back, with my legs spread, he 
would suck my pussy. It was wonderful the way he did it. He was clever in 
the way he sexually tormented me. 

He would suck on my clit until I was almost ready to orgasm. Of course, I 
didn't really want to orgasm. I wanted to suffer. And he played right into 
my hands. 

"You'd better stop," I would cry. "I don't want to come yet. I want to save 
it for later." 

And he would stop. He would kiss me on the inside of the thigh, or kiss me 
tenderly on the navel. Or he would suck on my tits. When I had calmed down 
again, he would return to my pussy, and suck me. 

We went through this trip several times, until I was completely beside 
myself with desire. A desire for orgasm. But rarely did he let me have 
orgasm at his mouth. 

We came up with a special position. I have always been slender, and small, 
so that Mark was able to manipulate my body around easily. Our favorite 
position was for me to lay on my back on top of him. 

The way we approached it was with him lying on his side, facing my back. I 
liked this position very much. 

He would kiss me on the back of the neck, and fondle my breasts, while 
running his cock along the corridor of my pussy lips and anus. 

While he did this, he would toy with my breasts with one hand, and use his 
other hand to frig me. It felt exquisite this way. Of course, he wouldn't 
let me come. 

He always had this great line to use on me. "Let's come together at the same 
time." 

And Mark had amazing ability to control his orgasms. He didn't have to come 
until he was good and ready to come. Then he would roll over on his back, 
and I was on top of him, facing the ceiling. In this manner, his cock was 
stuffed into my cunt, and he had full control of my pussy. 

He would pump his cock very slowly in and out of my pussy, while he used his 
fingers to press against, and toy with my clit. I always got so damn horny. 
No one ever turned me on the way he did... 

He would rub my cunt until I could feel my orgasm just about to arrive. And 
then he would stop. He would simply raise his hand from my pussy. And I 
would go crazy with excitement. 

There is something truly erotic about being controlled like that. He liked 
to make me masturbate for him. It was some sort of turn-on for him. He would 
take my hand and press it against my pussy, making me use my fingers to get 
myself off. 

I suppose he thought that was humiliating for me. It really wasn't. I always 
liked to masturbate. No one could ever touch me as well as I could touch 
myself. 

I didn't let him know that, however. I always fought him. And he would grip 
my hand, and force me to masturbate. He always got so very turned on by 
this. It was difficult for him to keep himself from coming. But he did. He 
was really great at self-control. 

Before either of us could come, he would turn us over on our sides, with his 
cock buried deeply in my pussy. And then he would continue to toy with my 
clit. 

He always got me so damn horny this way. And then he would pull his cock out 
of my cunt but only when I was really hot. That way I accepted the 
discomfort of the sodomy. 

It was really a hot little game we played. He would frig me while he tried 
to shove his cock up my ass. It always hurt, but he always turned me on so 
much with his fingers, that it didn't seem like such a bad deal. He knew 
just the right angle to introduce his cock into my ass, so that it hardly 
hurt. 

He would enter me at an angle, while he pressed against my clit. And I could 
feel the large cock moving slowly up against my sphincter muscle, and then 
into the hot hole of my ass. He went very slowly, so that it was a dull, 
aching pain, and not so much a harsh, sharp pain. 

And when he was all the way inside me, he rolled me back on top of him, and 
he fucked me slowly in the ass, while he made me masturbate. And he would 
further torment me by insisting that we come at the same time. With his 
ability to restrain himself, this made it very difficult for me. 

I would have to pace myself. I would have to be very careful not to make 
myself too horny. I moved my fingers slowly over my clit. And I would have 
to release my masturbatory grip each time I felt my orgasm coming on. 

I had to. He would be furious with me if I didn't. It was torment for me. 
Every time we made love there was this torment and I liked it. 

I liked it very much. 

In a sick sort of way. 

I actually liked the sensation of having Mark's cock up my ass. When I 
became accustomed to it, it was a very hot experience. Very much different 
from vaginal coitus. 

"Okay, honey," he would moan, "I'm going to come now. Are you ready?" 

Of course, I was ready. I had been ready for the nearly two hours that we 
had played this game. I wanted to feel his cock shoot hot jism into my 
ass-hole. I wanted the sensation very badly. 

I frigged myself powerfully. Mark would put his hand over mine. He liked to 
feel the rhythm of my fingers moving over my clit. It turned him on. And he 
was moving his cock swiftly in and out of my ass-hole. 

We were quite hot by that time, and covered with sexual perspiration. And 
then as we began to come, together, he would roll me over on my belly, and 
really shove his monster of an erection in and out of my ass-hole. 

It felt splendid. It really did. I would continue rubbing my clit, while he 
shot jism into my ass. 

And when we were through, we simply drifted off into sleep. Sometimes, he 
would leave his cock in my ass as we slept. 

Well, I married Mark. It seemed too good a sexual relationship to let slide 
away. 

But we weren't as good as husband and wife as we had been as lovers. We only 
lasted a little over a year together. The spit-up was rather abrupt. He said 
he wanted his freedom. I was crushed, but I knew I couldn't keep him. 

We saw each other for awhile after the split-up. We continued a sexual 
relationship with each other. But that sort of drifted away. He found other 
women who would play his game with him. And I met a new fellow. 

Mel was a lot like Mark. And they were both, of course, a great deal like my 
father. 

Mel wasn't as sensitive and as intellectual as Mark. I missed the 
conversations we used to have together. 

But a girl has to have her fair share of sex. 

I couldn't play the same games with Mel that I had played with Mark, of 
course, because he was a different man. A completely different psychology 
was involved. 

Mel was submissive, and took a long time to get him to be rough with me. It 
always blows my mind how men want to treat me like a little angel. It's so 
unrealistic. I don't want to be put on a pedestal. I hate it there. 

The atmosphere is too rarified. 

So, what I do, is start fights with Mel. It always takes that to get him 
where I want him to be. I set it up so he is so angry with me that he takes 
it out on me physically. 

Mel is into oral sex, the way that Mark was into anal sex. I don't mind 
sucking cock. It gives me a great deal of control over the male to have his 
cock in my mouth. 

At first I wasn't crazy about drinking jism. It just sort of nauseated me. 

So, I made an agreement with Mel. I set it up so that I would suck him off, 
if he fucked me in the ass. I had gotten so used to the routine with Mark, 
that I just didn't want to break it off. 

Mel and I would get into some really great oral positions. Usually, though, 
I was on top of him, with my cunt pressed against his mouth, and his cock in 
my mouth. 

I would come several times before I swallowed his spunk. And then after a 
rest, I would resume my favorite position, with my ass pressed against his 
cock. 

Mel's cock isn't as big as Mark's, but it does the trick. Still, I was 
always missing Mark. It's funny how you can get addicted to someone like 
that. 

Mark had been traveling for several years, and then he suddenly showed up in 
town. 

It was an auspicious occasion, really. I was having a lot of trouble with 
Mel. His business was falling apart, and we were fighting. Mark was living 
with a friend of his at the beach, and, of course I went to visit. 

It didn't take long for us to get back into the swing of things. Mark was 
rather sentimental about it all really. It was very nice to have affair with 
him again, after the interruption. 

The first few fucks were much too sweet and tender for my taste. I wanted it 
rough again. So, I had to bait him. He was nearly thirty at the time, so I 
played on his fears of losing his virility. 

It was an easy game to play. 

He was much rougher with me. And when I confessed to him that I wanted to 
re-play the old sexual game, he was very pleased. As it turned out, he 
wanted it the same way. And he had some surprises for me as well. 

Somewhere along the line he had been into a woman who was into ropes and 
bondage. 

I had never really gotten into that. Actually, I must admit, I thought it a 
bit too perverse for my taste. 

But Mark said that the only way he would give me what I wanted, was if I 
gave him what he needed and wanted. 

It was nice seeing each other naked again after so long. 

He tied my hands together over my head, and bound my ankles together. And 
then he kissed me and licked me and toyed with my pussy and anus, until I 
was burning up with desire. 

I was restrained, and helpless. 

And when he sucked on my pussy, and I could feel an orgasm welling-up inside 
of me, he would pull away from me. I would writhe about it confusion and 
frustration, and that turned him on very much. 

He wouldn't let me come. It had been years since we played this game, and it 
was so hard for me to get back into it. I knew I would come eventually. But 
he made me wait so damn long. 

I was cursing and screaming at him. God, I wanted to come. 

And he hit me. It was the first time since I knew him he had used physical 
violence on me. It was rough. I didn't like to be smacked around. But there 
was something about it, coupled with the sexual need I felt, that was 
exciting. 

He was so violent, though, that I was frightened. He must have been 
harboring a great deal of anger against me. He squeezed my throat so I could 
barely breathe, and frigged me. 

The sexual excitement was wonderful. 

I knew he wouldn't really hurt me that he only wanted me to feel good. Even 
if it was in a bizarre way. 

God, he wouldn't let me come. It was driving me crazy. But after he had 
worked me up into a complete frenzy of sexual excitement, he untied me, and 
we got back into the old groove. 

I guess he just had to show me that he was the dominant one. That he had 
control. 

It was something wonderful, after all those years, to be playing the old S&M 
game with Mark. 

Laying on my side, with my ass to him, feeling his hand against my breast, 
and his other hand pressed against my cunt, rubbing my clit, not letting me 
come, made me so happy, that I got tears in my eyes. 

The feel of his strong fingers against my clit, frigging me, taking me to 
the precipice of release, only to let me fall away from the magical moment, 
filled me with immense longing. 

No one could ever do these things to me the way Mark could. I guess the 
secret was in realizing that we just couldn't live together. When he pressed 
his huge cock up my ass, I was thrilled with excitement. 

I wasn't used to his size, so it took me some time to get used to him again. 
But with that huge cock shoved up my ass, and his hand guiding my own hand 
over my pussy, I was back in the swing of things. And feeling really good 
about it. 

While he made me frig myself, I felt as though I were entirely his property. 
I belonged sexually to him, as I had always done. 

And feeling his huge cock up my ass filled me with enormous contentment. 

We spent the entire day like that, fucking each other's brains out. It's so 
nice to come together after a separation like that. It's like a homecoming. 

I've continued to see Mark several times a week. It's perfect, because he 
lives at the beach with his friend. And his friend is mostly away during the 
day. Mark works out of the house. So, when it's convenient and we're both in 
the mood, I stop by and we play our little game. 

I would like to think that Mark and I will continue like this for many years 
to come. I think we both have come to realize how rare it is to find an 
ideal sexual partner someone who can really act out the fantasies. 

I live for Mark's cock in my ass. 

And I know that he thinks of little else but tormenting me, and making me 
beg for orgasm. We have each other now, and we are content. 

Ellie A 

Interviewed: June 25, 1978 

Do you have to be handled roughly to actually enjoy sex? 

I was born and raised in St. Thomas. It's an idyllic way to grow up. I 
suppose it was too idyllic. In terms of my father, and the role he played in 
my development as a masochist, I suppose the island life had something to do 
with that. 

Life on the island is very slow. It's actually boring for one who has to 
spend a great deal of time there. I can appreciate that the tourists love 
the life on the island. They're only there for a week or two. The slow, 
happy pace of life is what they need. 

But I spent eighteen years on the island, before coming to New York City. I 
was glad to be off it. I had learned to despise my father. He just wasn't 
the symbol of what I thought a man should be. He was so content just to 
fish, and work in the garden. I can't remember any sternness from him for as 
long as I knew him. 

I don't think he was a weak man. I want to be fair to him. But he just 
didn't symbolize what I wanted. 

I thought of myself as a weak, mild mannered girl. I didn't want to be like 
that. I wanted to have some rough experiences with men. I wanted to have 
some hot and nasty sex. 

Thank God I met Stefan at the job I had. I was in a secretarial pool that he 
relied on. 

He worked in public relations for the insurance company. I liked working for 
him more than any of the other men. A lot of that has to do with the way I 
look. 

I should describe myself. I am very beautiful. I don't mean that in a 
conceited way. But it's true. I have long, black hair, which reaches nearly 
to my ass. 

My skin is dark brown. And I have a very nice figure. 

Well, you can imagine that I was quite a hit with the men in the office. But 
I couldn't stand the way they eyed me. It was sickening how they would make 
lewd comments behind my back, and yet be terrified of me. 

But Stefan wasn't afraid. He told me to my face that he thought I was a 
beautiful young girl. And he didn't bullshit about his sexual interest. He 
was very much interested in me. He told me that he wanted to fuck me. 

I kind of liked his honesty. And I kind of liked him. In fact, I liked him a 
lot. 

So, I let him take me out to dinner. And during the dinner, I realized that 
we were wasting our time. 

We were just pussy-footing around. 

What he really wanted was to be fucking my brains out. And that's what I 
wanted from him. 

"Stefan, I think we should be truthful with each other," I said over desert. 
"The reason I went out with you isn't because I'm hungry. And it isn't 
because I simply wanted some company. What I want from you is outrageous 
sex." 

He looked very strangely at me. At first I wasn't sure whether I had gone 
too far with him. 

"As a matter-of-fact, Ellie," he said. "I'm glad you were the one who 
brought it up. I am older than you, and I wasn't sure how to handle making 
the moves on an eighteen year old girl. Actually, I am rather surprised that 
you are so open to me. I didn't know eighteen year old girls were so 
sexually aware." 

"Times have certainly changed," I said. "You are going to be in for a treat. 
I have only had sex a few times, but never with the kind of man I really 
wanted." 

"I think I am the man for you," he said. "But I want to tell you up front, I 
am not a gentle soul. At least not when it comes to sex." 

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, feeling my panties fill with hot juice. 
I wanted him to tell me that he wanted to beat me, to spank me, to humiliate 
me. I wanted him to be macho. Not like my father. 

"I like rough stuff," he said. 

"I think I could get into that," I replied. 

And directly from dinner we went to his apartment. 

He really did like to play a strange game with me. But I liked it. I've 
always been put off by men who don't know how to approach a woman sexually. 
I hate all the little hints and innuendo's. I like it all on the table. And 
that's exactly what I got from Stefan. 

"To start with," he said. "Take off your clothes. There's no reason to 
bullshit around. You are going to take them off anyway. We might as well do 
it up front." 

I liked his reasoning. 

So, I stripped. He seemed to like the way I looked. 

But he still had his clothes on. And sitting in his over-stuffed chair, he 
surveyed me like a slave master. 

"I just love your body," he said. "What ripe little brown tits you have. And 
what a lovely ass. It's naughty to be so pretty. It's a veritable sin." 

He was going to punish me for being pretty. I loved it. I thought it was a 
great game to play. 

He made me bend over his knee, and he began to spank me. But he was a little 
rougher than I had expected. He wasn't just patting me on the ass. He was 
smacking me really hard. He was beating me. 

I started to cry. It wasn't a game. It really hurt. My ass was stinging from 
the pain. But at the same time, I must admit, I liked it. My father had 
never laid a hand to me. And now I was getting the punishment I always 
wanted. 

Despite the pain, I felt sexual excitement while he smacked me. My pussy was 
rubbing against his thigh, and his hand was cracking me severely on the ass. 

And after he had done that sufficiently until I was really crying he started 
to pat my ass tenderly. 

He kissed my ass globes, and ran his fingers along the furrow of my ass. He 
pressed the tip of his finger into my anus. It was a strange feeling. I had 
never been touched there before. It hurt. But I felt excitement from the 
pain. 

I had always fantasized about sex being painful. I wanted it to hurt. And I 
did like the discomfort. 

While I was laying across his knee, he pressed a finger into my cunt, and a 
finger into my ass-hole. He was fingering both holes simultaneously. And it 
was excruciatingly delicious. 

And after he had done that, he began tonguing my anus and pussy holes. He 
was still dressed, and I could feel his erection pressing through his 
trousers against my belly. 

I guess he was a bit of a masochist as well. He must have been suffering 
very much to keep his hands off me. He sure could suck well, though. 

He torturetime with his expert tongue movements. With his tongue in my anus, 
I felt on fire. Hot jolts of sexual excitement tore through me. And when he 
sucked my pussy, I could feel an orgasm rushing towards me. 

But he wouldn't let me come.' 

I guess that's one of the standard trips of S&M between men and women. The 
man, if he is the dominant figure, plays games with the woman's sexual 
enjoyment. 

It sort of becomes the carrot that is dangled in front of her face. And it's 
a question of doing what one has to do in order to have the prize of the 
nice orgasm. 

So, he had me so horny from wanting orgasm, that when he dumped me off his 
lap, and unzipped his pants, pulling out his mammoth organ, I was more than 
happy to suck him off. 

I would have done anything paid any sexual dues to feel his cock in me. I 
wanted it desperately. 

I licked the tip of his cock, and took the entire head of his sex organ into 
my mouth. I sucked him, and he became very excited. I took the entire organ 
into my mouth, nearly gagging on it. 

I knew he would want me to swallow his jism. That would be part of the 
degradation he desired of me. 

So, I sucked him and sucked him and sucked him. My jaw was aching with pain. 
I was sick of it. But I knew I had to do it. It's rather difficult to get a 
man off with just your mouth. 

It takes a lot of training. But I persisted. I reached into his pants, and 
pulled his gonads out into the open, where they belonged. I stroked his 
hairy nuts while I sucked him. 

When he began moaning with hot need, I knew that he would come soon. He 
pressed my head down over his cock, apparently thinking that I would not 
willingly drink his jism. 

That didn't bother me, really. In fact, I sort of liked it. I had my mouth 
gripped tightly on his stick, moving my mouth rapidly up and down the length 
of his sex. 

And then he groaned deeply, and his body convulsed, and he began shooting 
hot jism into my mouth. 

I loved the sensation of the hot, sticky juice flowing into my mouth. I 
gulped it all up, swallowing it greedily. 

He liked that. He continued to move his cock in and out of my mouth, 
enjoying the sensation of my sweet, warm mouth over his ejaculating tool. 

I milked him, and then sat at his feet waiting for him to recover. I was 
like his little sex toy. I liked the role. I really did. 

When he was excited again, he got undressed, and I was very impressed with 
his muscular body. 

I couldn't believe that he was hard again. He really was a very sexual man. 

He didn't speak to me. He simply stared into my eyes, as though he were 
hypnotizing me. He used his hands to spread my thighs apart, and then he 
began toying with my pussy. 

He was by no means gentle with my sensitive organ. He was a true sadist. It 
gave him obvious pleasure to hurt me. 

The way he squeezed my clit, and shoved his fingers in and out of my hole 
hurt a great deal. 

But as much as it hurt, it gave me pleasure. 

I couldn't wait to feel his cock inside. When he had sufficiently aroused 
me, he bent forward, between my thighs, and pressed the tip of his cock into 
my cunt hole. 

Hot juices were running wild. I don't think I had ever been so turned on 
before. 

He shoved his cock into my hole. Not gently. But roughly. I loved it. He 
pinned my arms to the floor, and bit at my tits. He was really hurting my 
little titties. 

He was so savage with me. He turned me on, however. He was a sadist par 
excellence, and he knew how to extract from me every drop of masochistic 
pleasure. 

Ramming his tool in and out of my cunt, biting savagely at my nipples, and 
breast flesh, I experienced many orgasms. Each one seemed to stem from the 
earlier orgasm. 

And after he had come in my cunt, he couldn't wait to recover his sexual 
powers, so he could slam his cock into my ass-hole. 

He was mighty rough the way he approached my ass. 

Now, mind you, this was the first time for me. I had only experienced his 
finger in my ass before. 

This was a much larger situation. 

He had me get on my belly. He was going to fool me, he thought. But I knew 
what he was up to. 

He started off with a massage routine. He massaged my shoulders and worked 
slowly down my back to my ass. 

He had been sitting astride me, with his erect cock laying flat in the crack 
of my ass. 

As he got closer and closer to my rear, he slid down slowly, so that his 
cock touched me. He made it seem like it happened only by accident. But I 
knew better. I knew that that's what he was planning all along. 

He was stroking my ass globes, and pressing the tip of his erection very 
slowly into my hole. My ass-hole. 

And it hurt. I tried to pull away. 

I meant it. I really didn't think I could deal with that much pain. It was 
going much too far. 

He stuffed his tool into the opening of my ass-hole. It was so big, it felt 
like he was going to split me wide open. 

I tried to pull away, but I couldn't. I couldn't get away from him. He was 
much too strong for me. There was a delicious excitement for me being held 
down against my will, while his huge tool moved into my rectum. 

He was showing me no mercy. 

I wailed with pain as his cock plunged deeper and deeper inside of me. I 
tried to relax. Truly I did. But it just seemed an impossible task to relax 
with such a huge organ being forced up my rear. 

At last he was all the way inside of me, and I began to relax. 

But no sooner than I relaxed, did he start in with the choking. I knew he 
wouldn't kill me. I had told my girlfriends at work that I was going out 
with him. And I know that he knew that. 

It was more a situation of him just getting off on throttling me. His long 
fingers were powerful against my throat. I could barely breathe as he 
squeezed against my wind pipe. 

And he continued to ram his tool in and out of my ass-hole while he did this 
Several times I thought I would pass out. But I didn't. He apparently knew 
what he was doing. His cock was beginning to feel wonderful in my ass. While 
he squeezed at my throat, and rammed his tool in and out of my ass, I felt a 
powerful orgasm building inside of me. 

I don't know how my clit got so excited. He wasn't anywhere near it. But I 
did get excited. So very much excited. 

So excited that I had an orgasm. A spontaneous orgasm at that. 

And just as I came, he released his grip on my throat, and came into my ass. 

I could feel his hot spunk shooting deeply into my rectum. It bathed my 
bowels, and somehow added a new dimension to the world of orgasm. 

After that, he tied me up. There was no end to the sexual tricks that he 
could conjure. 

He tied my hands behind my back, and used the same length of rope to tie my 
ankles together. In this manner, my ankles were fastened to my wrists, and I 
had hardly no room for movement. 

When he had me in that awkward position, he made me do some very naughty 
thing. He was really a debauched young man. His sexual imagination 
apparently knew no limit. 

He squatted over my face, and made me plunge my tongue into his ass-hole. It 
was bitter and I didn't like doing it at all. 

But he had threatened to put cigarettes out on my nipples and set fire to my 
pubes if I didn't do whatever he said. 

So, I tongued his ass-hole. And I had to let him piss on me. 

And then he fucked me again. It was a Friday night that I started. He 
ordered food up for us several times that weekend. But for that, the entire 
weekend was spent in the world of perverse S&M debauchery. 

CONCLUSION 

As the reader can surmise, after reading the interviews contained in this 
timely anthology, the sexual mores of contemporary American society are 
taking a most apparent twist. 

And the twist points towards increased decadence on the U.S. scene. 

Within the parameters of this study, we have endeavored to document this 
sexual behavioristic swing in the direction of sadomasochistic character 
development. 

In addition, our staff of interviewers concentrated only on individuals who 
had developed along S&M lines, as a result of the influence of the father in 
the home. 

We submit that the father is indeed the culprit in these situations of 
sexual identity crisis. As trained psychiatrists, we are concerned about the 
lack of a fundamental sense of responsibility, as exhibited by fathers in 
America. Most notably, a moral responsibility to their offspring. 

To bring a human life into this world with its peculiar difficulties, and 
the sometimes tragic limitations without a great deal of forethought, is a 
moral crime. It is a crime against the child; it is a crime against mankind; 
and it is a crime against God. 

There is no telling how far these abnormalities may go. We note, in our 
statistical comparisons, that the incidence of sadomasochistic sexual 
behavior as well as other forms of deviance are on the upswing. If these 
behavior patterns persist, anthropologists and historians tell us that we 
may be witnessing the decline of Western Civilization as we know it. 


THE END
