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Adult BDSM Content - Maddis Diary - Exploring Boundaries and Desire WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century. Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2014 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. ) Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Maddi’s Diary, Day Eleven, Monday Today was a session with Dr. B. I thought he would concentrate on the Beat Girl thing or maybe on the fact that I found out that my Mom is almost as much a pain slut as I am, but instead he seemed to be mostly interested in the fact that I hadn’t mentioned the Friday group session at all. I don’t know why, but that pissed me off and I got snarky with him. “I didn’t mention when I took a crap either,” I said, “or how many sheets of toilet paper I used to wipe my ass.” That was a mistake. One, never get snarky with a therapist. They just sit there and stare at you without responding in any way. And two, never try to be funny with a shrink. They have no sense of humor and everything that you say means SOMETHING to them. “So,” he replied, “do you equate going to group with going to the bathroom?” “Taking a crap is just a necessary bodily function that doesn’t mean a whole lot except that you have to do it.” I replied. Again, I made the mistake of trying to be cute in my answer. …but everything was about to change
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Adult BDSM Content - Maddis Diary - Exploring Boundaries and Desire
WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2014 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Maddi’s Diary, Day Eleven, Monday
Today was a session with Dr. B. I thought he would concentrate on the Beat Girl thing or maybe on the fact that I found out that my Mom is almost as much a pain slut as I am, but instead he seemed to be mostly interested in the fact that I hadn’t mentioned the Friday group session at all.
I don’t know why, but that pissed me off and I got snarky with him. “I didn’t mention when I took a crap either,” I said, “or how many sheets of toilet paper I used to wipe my ass.”
That was a mistake. One, never get snarky with a therapist. They just sit there and stare at you without responding in any way. And two, never try to be funny with a shrink. They have no sense of humor and everything that you say means SOMETHING to them.
“So,” he replied, “do you equate going to group with going to the bathroom?”
“Taking a crap is just a necessary bodily function that doesn’t mean a whole lot except that you have to do it.” I replied. Again, I made the mistake of trying to be cute in my answer.
“But it is a necessary function that removes waste from the body, isn’t it?” he asked.
“So are you saying that going to group is like taking a crap?” I asked. I was really pressing it and I knew it.
“No,” he answered, “I’m just pointing out that even taking a crap is beneficial to the body. If you don’t do it, you end up being full of shit.”
He smiled and then raised his eyebrows at me with his eyes twinkling at me over the top of this glasses. I guess shrinks have a sense of humor after all, it is just a very weird sense of humor.
“OK,” I finally said, “next week I will write out my feelings about what happened in group. Satisfied?”
“Yes,” he said, “and don’t forget to also write out your feelings about having your mother watch you as you broadcast your Beat Girl session.”
“I set her up with a permanent pass,” I replied.
Dr B gave me one of those therapist you-don’t-get-it-yet smiles and said, “I didn’t say to tell me your feelings about having your mother watch the broadcast, I said tell me your feelings about having her watch you DOING the broadcast.”
“You want me to have my mother in the studio with me?” I sputtered in surprise.
“Beat Girl isn’t real,” he answered. “She is just a live animated internet cartoon that gets her ass whapped, zapped and ka-powed.”
He leaned toward me and his voice became very serious, “You are real. You showed your mother the cartoon Beat Girl. Are you willing to show your mother your real self?”
“Oh,” I said.
“Or are you going to try to always keep the real you hidden behind a pink mask and cape?”
This time I just looked down at the floor. He had me.
He coughed slightly and I looked back up at him. He looked up at me over his glasses. “Remember to write up a complete description of what happens and what your and your mother’s responses and feelings were.”
“Yes, Dr. B,” I answered.
“Then that is all for now. I will see you Wednesday and talk about some other things. I assume I will read about tomorrow night when you send in your log next Sunday.”
Not much else happened today. I worked until close at the restaurant. The only thing interesting there was that Brad Summers came in with several of his buddies to eat. This was actually the first time I had seen them since that night. I expected them to make some kind of gross remarks or make references to that night at the Pit, but they acted as if they had never seen me before.
It wasn’t until they were gone that I realized that they actually didn’t recognize me. They recognized me at the restaurant. They knew me as someone from around town. Brad recognized me as the girl who had told him to go to hell. But somehow they could not connect the demurely dressed waitress who waited politely on them and served them dinner with the drunken slut who stood naked before them begging to be fucked that night at the Pit.
Maybe the reason that Brad and his friend never told anyone who the girl was is that they didn’t know it was me that night. I must have been so drunk and wild that it didn’t even look like me. I am torn between keeping that secret in the deep dark places of my mind or saying and doing something so that he realizes who it was that night.
End of entry for Day Eleven
Maddi’s Diary, Day Twelve, Tuesday
I guess that I am getting better at talking about really strange and embarrassing things with my mother. A week ago, I was worried about talking to her about me being found naked under the interstate. This morning over breakfast, I calmly said, “Mom, Dr. B wants you to watch me live while I a do a Beat Girl session. Then he wants me to talk to you about it and write down my feelings about having you there.”
I thought she might object or have a lot of questions, but all she replied was “When?”
“Tonight,” I answered. “I work mid-day today and late shift tomorrow.”
I tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “I have my schedule set up like that so it doesn’t interfere with Beat Girl. I usually work early shift on Tuesdays so I am home early and then the late afternoon and evening on Wednesdays to give me a little time to recuperate on Wednesday morning.”
I shrugged, “My appointments with Dr. B screw that up for me.”
“I’ll have a light supper ready for you when you get home at 4:00,” she said. “Then you can clean up and get ready. You should have time to give me a tour of your studio before you go online.”
I couldn’t believe how calm she was about the whole thing. It was like we were discussing “Take Your Mother to Work Day” or something like that.
Work was OK. There were no obnoxious customers and the tips were decent. Actually for a waitress job, no obnoxious customers and decent tips is a very good day. I got home around 4:00 and Mom had supper waiting for me. Strangely, I don’t really remember what it was. I guess I was too worried about the rest of the evening.
I took a long, hot bath– regular bath, not Mom’s version of a long hot bath, and I used my little spinning tweezer thingy to make sure that I was smooth all over. The cameras are HD and you wouldn’t believe what is clearly visible on a high-quality monitor or video screen.
I put on a robe and went out into the living room. Mom was also in a robe. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “I should be naked while I watch you.”
I know I looked a little surprised, but I didn’t say anything.
“That way,” she continued, “we are both revealing our total selves to each other.”
I nodded in understanding even though I was not quite sure I understood.
“And I need to be bound and gagged.”
“What?” I sputtered.
“Odysseus and the Sirens” she replied.
“Now you have totally lost me,” I answered.
“They don’t teach the classics anymore, do they?” She responded. “In the ancient Greek story, ‘The Odyssey’ by Homer, the hero, named Odysseus is a sea captain who wants to hear the song of the sirens, who are sort of like mermaid people. Their song is beautiful, but no one can resist it and it lures you to destruction. So he had his men fill their ears with wax so they couldn’t hear it and tie him to the mast of the ship. Then they sailed past the home of the sirens and he got to hear their song. He was captivated and would have been drawn in, but because he was bound to the mast, all he could do was watch and listen.”
“You’re afraid you will do something stupid if you are just standing there,” I said.
“Yes,” she answered.
“And you’re afraid that you will yell out or something if you aren’t gagged.”
“Yes,” she answered again.
“Besides,” she said, giving me one of her really weird smiles. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be tied up helpless and naked.”
“Click!” I suddenly realized that Mom was exploring her limits, or testing the waters, or whatever. I wonder if she will want to check out her responses to humiliation next? I may have to sit down and have a real daughter to mother talk about the dangers of checking that out drunk and in public.
We walked out to “the long shed,” as Dad calls it. I call it the play house because Dad made one end of it into a play house for me when I was a little girl. He also fixed up the rest of it as a big open room that my girlfriends and I could play in on a rainy day. It has its own furnace and air conditioning and bathrooms all that. It even has a pretty good shower.
We had sleep-overs out there when I was younger. In high school, I used to go out there to study a lot. Dad keeps kidding me that all he has to do is improve the kitchen and bathroom a little and I could move in out there.
It sits toward the back of our property and at one time had something to do with the dairy farm that was once here. There is a small, really modern metal building right next to it, just inside the property line, with a tall microwave tower that has cell phone stuff about half-way up. That setup belongs to the phone company or a cable company or somebody like that. There are also some sort of glass cables buried across our land and the fields on either side of it. The building is some sort of switching center or whatever that connects the cables to the tower and to each other.
They pay Dad so much a year to rent the land and for access back to the tower. They also gives us free internet access. Harold says that I don’t appreciate what I have. He says it is T-something speed and has “bandwidth out the ass,” whatever that means. I don’t know anything about it, but when Harold first approached me with the idea of doing online stuff, he said I already had the perfect place to do it. He also said that if Dad was ever interested, his friends might have a proposal for putting some servers or whatever out next to the tower. I told him that would never happen, because I was never telling Dad about the studio. But now, who knows?
Mom gasped out loud when we entered the studio. There was a LOT of very expensive equipment sitting all over the place. “There are basically three areas,” I said, pointing to the three segments. “There is one for the spanking bench, one for the rotating frame for electro night, and one for the restraint poles for TAZapper night.”
I walked over and started turning on the production lights. “If there is a fifth Tuesday,” I continued, Harold re-arranges the robot arms so that the spanking machines can work on me while I am upright between the TAZapper posts.” I gave Mom sort of a shrug and said, “Combination nights cost extra points to enter and everything is doubled in cost from the start.”
I walked over to the corner and dragged a heavy, strange looking chair over to the edge of the Beat Girl spanking bench area. The chair had really heavy arms and legs with several leather restraint straps on each arm and leg. The seat was cut out sort of like a really wide toilet seat that was missing the back half.
When you sat in the chair, the only thing holding you up were two polished strips of wood that went under your legs. Your ass was basically hanging out there on its own. “Harold bought this from some fetish shop. He thought we could work it into the productions somewhere, but neither of us has thought of anything.”
I lifted up one of the straps and said, “You will definitely not be able to break loose no matter how strongly the sirens call to you.” I smiled at her, “And besides, you said you wanted to be helpless and naked. In this chair you are really helpless... and you are REALLY naked.”
Mom looked like she wasn’t too sure about this anymore, but she sat down in the chair. It took a little moving around to get situated properly so that she was actually sitting on the thin strips. I started by strapping her ankles and then moved upward.
The next set of straps were just below her knees and when I pulled them tight, it pulled her legs wide apart. She gasped slightly, but said nothing. The next set was just above the knees. These didn’t need to be pulled quite as tight, but even then, the helped open her up a little more.
There was a wide strap that went more or less across her waist and held her tight to the back of the chair. Straps just below the elbow and at the wrists held her arms tightly to the arms of the chair.
There was a flat post-like section that stuck up straight in the back with a pad on the front of it. I pushed her head back against the pad and put a leather strap across her forehead. Once it was tight, she was unable to turn her head and had to look straight ahead.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I asked. I was standing there holding a red ball gag.
“Yes,” she answered. Then she said, “God, I have never felt so vulnerable in my life. You could do anything to me and there is nothing I could do about it.”
I put the ball gag in place, giving her a second to work her jaws around it before I tied it firmly in place around the post. As I turned to go back into the other area to put on my Beat Girl cape and mask, I suddenly had a strange idea. Was Mom asking me to do something to her?
That would be just way too weird, but... I walked over to the “toy box”and got out a magic wand with remote control and a microphone stand. Harold had modified the microphone stand so that the magic wand would clip into it just like a microphone normally would. The stand had one of those long arms on it so the microphone could be held next to a guitar, or come over the top of the music stand to be close to a singer’s mouth.
I set it up in front of Mom so that the arm was down between her legs and the magic wand was pointing up at an angle toward her cunt. OK Dr. B, that makes me feel weird, talking about my mother’s cunt, but if I am rigging a remote controlled, industrial strength vibrator up to it while she is strapped in a sex bondage chair, I don’t think “vagina” is the right word.
Anyway, I set it up so that it would be right against her slit and would just touch her clit. If she rocked down just a little bit, she could force it directly on her clit. When I set it in place, her eyes got a little wide and she “umphed” at me through the ball gag. Then I picked up the control box and turned it on to minimum.
Her eyes got even wider, but then she said, “mmmmm” and closed her eyes for a moment. It was definitely getting her in the mood. I looked up at the clock and realized that I had to get moving if we were going to go online on time tonight.
I went over to the control board and checked that all 8 cameras were live and working. Then I cycled the paddle, the whip, and the cane through their test cycles. I also checked that the paddle, whip and cane were all firmly held in their mounting brackets. The cane had gotten loose one session a few months back, and I had ended up having to drop the safety switch when the tip of the cane slammed into me hard enough to cut a deep gouge. Luckily, I didn’t have to go to the ER and it healed without scarring.
Everything was ready and it was coming up on 8:00. I could see the website on the big monitor on the wall above Mom and it was counting down the minutes to air time. At 7:58, the screen was filled with the animated Beat Girl. I had the routine down exactly after all these sessions. First she got WHAPPED, then she got KA-POWED, then she got ZAPPED, and then it switched to live camera three and I ran toward it and turned around so that my ass filled the screen when BEAT GIRL flashed across my ass.
I did the standard opening explaining how things worked and enticing people to spend their points on the paddle, the whip, or the cane. Suddenly I had an idea. “We have a special guest tonight,” I bubbled at the main camera. “A special slut who wanted to watch a live Beat Girl session. We can’t show her face, but I am going to put camera 9 where you can see the interesting parts.”
The on-screen controls are actually capable of bringing up 10 cameras, but normally only 8 are turned on. I ran off screen and grabbed camera 9. It is usually just sitting there and can be substituted for one of the other cameras if something isn’t working just before show time.
Camera 9 is mounted on a really short tripod and I set it down right in front of Mom so that it was shooting right between her legs. I was pretty sure that all that would be visible on the screen was the inside of her legs and her cunt with the vibrator pressed against it.
As I set it in place, Mom grunted and tried to shake her head. Then I could see her whole body turning a deep shade of red.
I ran back into the set and looked back up at the main monitor. All ten cameras show on the monitor if they are on. Camera 9 was the inside of Mom’s legs from the strap above the knee to very top. Her cunt was clearly visible and you could see the moisture dripping from her labia alongside the head to the magic wand.
“No extra charge for the extra camera,” I chirped. “Now, let’s get started.”
I got down on the bench and started strapping myself in. Most of it is automated, so it’s just a matter of me slipping arms, legs, etc through the straps and lying down over the padded seat. Once in place, I squeeze my safety switch. The restraints tighten immediately and the timer started its countdown from 30 minutes.
I looked down at the monitor beneath me so I could see who was up in the cue. Number 001 was AsianBeauty and she had spent her points for seven strokes of the cane.
Rats! No warm up swats from the paddle before getting to the really hard stuff. I noticed that number 002 was also in the cane cue and he had five strokes. Ouch! I was starting off with twelve of the best without even getting any warmup. I raised my head a little and looked over at Mom. Was this instant Karma for what I had done to her?
I didn’t get a chance to think about that very long because the cane strokes started hitting. I told Mom that a lot of the time the screams and thrashing around were fake for the cameras. This wasn’t. Twelve strokes of the cane with no warm up is not fun. I screamed and thrashed and yelled and cursed. I wonder if any of the people in the cues or watching knew what I meant when I was yelling out, “Come on, E buddies! Come on E buddies!”
Luckily, the next person in the cue was on the paddle list, and ProudPapa43 took his time with his 15 strokes. He was spacing them out at somewhere between 20 and 30 seconds. Or maybe he was delaying until the automatic kicked in. In any case, I never knew for sure when they were coming, but they were standard spanks with the paddle and my E buddies had time to arrive by the time we got to about the seventh swat. By the time he finished, THE END
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2014 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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* * * * * * * * * * * *
Maddi’s Diary, Day Eleven, Monday
Today was a session with Dr. B. I thought he would concentrate on the Beat Girl thing or maybe on the fact that I found out that my Mom is almost as much a pain slut as I am, but instead he seemed to be mostly interested in the fact that I hadn’t mentioned the Friday group session at all.
I don’t know why, but that pissed me off and I got snarky with him. “I didn’t mention when I took a crap either,” I said, “or how many sheets of toilet paper I used to wipe my ass.”
That was a mistake. One, never get snarky with a therapist. They just sit there and stare at you without responding in any way. And two, never try to be funny with a shrink. They have no sense of humor and everything that you say means SOMETHING to them.
“So,” he replied, “do you equate going to group with going to the bathroom?”
“Taking a crap is just a necessary bodily function that doesn’t mean a whole lot except that you have to do it.” I replied. Again, I made the mistake of trying to be cute in my answer.
“But it is a necessary function that removes waste from the body, isn’t it?” he asked.
“So are you saying that going to group is like taking a crap?” I asked. I was really pressing it and I knew it.
“No,” he answered, “I’m just pointing out that even taking a crap is beneficial to the body. If you don’t do it, you end up being full of shit.”
He smiled and then raised his eyebrows at me with his eyes twinkling at me over the top of this glasses. I guess shrinks have a sense of humor after all, it is just a very weird sense of humor.
“OK,” I finally said, “next week I will write out my feelings about what happened in group. Satisfied?”
“Yes,” he said, “and don’t forget to also write out your feelings about having your mother watch you as you broadcast your Beat Girl session.”
“I set her up with a permanent pass,” I replied.
Dr B gave me one of those therapist you-don’t-get-it-yet smiles and said, “I didn’t say to tell me your feelings about having your mother watch the broadcast, I said tell me your feelings about having her watch you DOING the broadcast.”
“You want me to have my mother in the studio with me?” I sputtered in surprise.
“Beat Girl isn’t real,” he answered. “She is just a live animated internet cartoon that gets her ass whapped, zapped and ka-powed.”
He leaned toward me and his voice became very serious, “You are real. You showed your mother the cartoon Beat Girl. Are you willing to show your mother your real self?”
“Oh,” I said.
“Or are you going to try to always keep the real you hidden behind a pink mask and cape?”
This time I just looked down at the floor. He had me.
He coughed slightly and I looked back up at him. He looked up at me over his glasses. “Remember to write up a complete description of what happens and what your and your mother’s responses and feelings were.”
“Yes, Dr. B,” I answered.
“Then that is all for now. I will see you Wednesday and talk about some other things. I assume I will read about tomorrow night when you send in your log next Sunday.”
Not much else happened today. I worked until close at the restaurant. The only thing interesting there was that Brad Summers came in with several of his buddies to eat. This was actually the first time I had seen them since that night. I expected them to make some kind of gross remarks or make references to that night at the Pit, but they acted as if they had never seen me before.
It wasn’t until they were gone that I realized that they actually didn’t recognize me. They recognized me at the restaurant. They knew me as someone from around town. Brad recognized me as the girl who had told him to go to hell. But somehow they could not connect the demurely dressed waitress who waited politely on them and served them dinner with the drunken slut who stood naked before them begging to be fucked that night at the Pit.
Maybe the reason that Brad and his friend never told anyone who the girl was is that they didn’t know it was me that night. I must have been so drunk and wild that it didn’t even look like me. I am torn between keeping that secret in the deep dark places of my mind or saying and doing something so that he realizes who it was that night.
End of entry for Day Eleven
Maddi’s Diary, Day Twelve, Tuesday
I guess that I am getting better at talking about really strange and embarrassing things with my mother. A week ago, I was worried about talking to her about me being found naked under the interstate. This morning over breakfast, I calmly said, “Mom, Dr. B wants you to watch me live while I a do a Beat Girl session. Then he wants me to talk to you about it and write down my feelings about having you there.”
I thought she might object or have a lot of questions, but all she replied was “When?”
“Tonight,” I answered. “I work mid-day today and late shift tomorrow.”
I tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “I have my schedule set up like that so it doesn’t interfere with Beat Girl. I usually work early shift on Tuesdays so I am home early and then the late afternoon and evening on Wednesdays to give me a little time to recuperate on Wednesday morning.”
I shrugged, “My appointments with Dr. B screw that up for me.”
“I’ll have a light supper ready for you when you get home at 4:00,” she said. “Then you can clean up and get ready. You should have time to give me a tour of your studio before you go online.”
I couldn’t believe how calm she was about the whole thing. It was like we were discussing “Take Your Mother to Work Day” or something like that.
Work was OK. There were no obnoxious customers and the tips were decent. Actually for a waitress job, no obnoxious customers and decent tips is a very good day. I got home around 4:00 and Mom had supper waiting for me. Strangely, I don’t really remember what it was. I guess I was too worried about the rest of the evening.
I took a long, hot bath– regular bath, not Mom’s version of a long hot bath, and I used my little spinning tweezer thingy to make sure that I was smooth all over. The cameras are HD and you wouldn’t believe what is clearly visible on a high-quality monitor or video screen.
I put on a robe and went out into the living room. Mom was also in a robe. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “I should be naked while I watch you.”
I know I looked a little surprised, but I didn’t say anything.
“That way,” she continued, “we are both revealing our total selves to each other.”
I nodded in understanding even though I was not quite sure I understood.
“And I need to be bound and gagged.”
“What?” I sputtered.
“Odysseus and the Sirens” she replied.
“Now you have totally lost me,” I answered.
“They don’t teach the classics anymore, do they?” She responded. “In the ancient Greek story, ‘The Odyssey’ by Homer, the hero, named Odysseus is a sea captain who wants to hear the song of the sirens, who are sort of like mermaid people. Their song is beautiful, but no one can resist it and it lures you to destruction. So he had his men fill their ears with wax so they couldn’t hear it and tie him to the mast of the ship. Then they sailed past the home of the sirens and he got to hear their song. He was captivated and would have been drawn in, but because he was bound to the mast, all he could do was watch and listen.”
“You’re afraid you will do something stupid if you are just standing there,” I said.
“Yes,” she answered.
“And you’re afraid that you will yell out or something if you aren’t gagged.”
“Yes,” she answered again.
“Besides,” she said, giving me one of her really weird smiles. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be tied up helpless and naked.”
“Click!” I suddenly realized that Mom was exploring her limits, or testing the waters, or whatever. I wonder if she will want to check out her responses to humiliation next? I may have to sit down and have a real daughter to mother talk about the dangers of checking that out drunk and in public.
We walked out to “the long shed,” as Dad calls it. I call it the play house because Dad made one end of it into a play house for me when I was a little girl. He also fixed up the rest of it as a big open room that my girlfriends and I could play in on a rainy day. It has its own furnace and air conditioning and bathrooms all that. It even has a pretty good shower.
We had sleep-overs out there when I was younger. In high school, I used to go out there to study a lot. Dad keeps kidding me that all he has to do is improve the kitchen and bathroom a little and I could move in out there.
It sits toward the back of our property and at one time had something to do with the dairy farm that was once here. There is a small, really modern metal building right next to it, just inside the property line, with a tall microwave tower that has cell phone stuff about half-way up. That setup belongs to the phone company or a cable company or somebody like that. There are also some sort of glass cables buried across our land and the fields on either side of it. The building is some sort of switching center or whatever that connects the cables to the tower and to each other.
They pay Dad so much a year to rent the land and for access back to the tower. They also gives us free internet access. Harold says that I don’t appreciate what I have. He says it is T-something speed and has “bandwidth out the ass,” whatever that means. I don’t know anything about it, but when Harold first approached me with the idea of doing online stuff, he said I already had the perfect place to do it. He also said that if Dad was ever interested, his friends might have a proposal for putting some servers or whatever out next to the tower. I told him that would never happen, because I was never telling Dad about the studio. But now, who knows?
Mom gasped out loud when we entered the studio. There was a LOT of very expensive equipment sitting all over the place. “There are basically three areas,” I said, pointing to the three segments. “There is one for the spanking bench, one for the rotating frame for electro night, and one for the restraint poles for TAZapper night.”
I walked over and started turning on the production lights. “If there is a fifth Tuesday,” I continued, Harold re-arranges the robot arms so that the spanking machines can work on me while I am upright between the TAZapper posts.” I gave Mom sort of a shrug and said, “Combination nights cost extra points to enter and everything is doubled in cost from the start.”
I walked over to the corner and dragged a heavy, strange looking chair over to the edge of the Beat Girl spanking bench area. The chair had really heavy arms and legs with several leather restraint straps on each arm and leg. The seat was cut out sort of like a really wide toilet seat that was missing the back half.
When you sat in the chair, the only thing holding you up were two polished strips of wood that went under your legs. Your ass was basically hanging out there on its own. “Harold bought this from some fetish shop. He thought we could work it into the productions somewhere, but neither of us has thought of anything.”
I lifted up one of the straps and said, “You will definitely not be able to break loose no matter how strongly the sirens call to you.” I smiled at her, “And besides, you said you wanted to be helpless and naked. In this chair you are really helpless... and you are REALLY naked.”
Mom looked like she wasn’t too sure about this anymore, but she sat down in the chair. It took a little moving around to get situated properly so that she was actually sitting on the thin strips. I started by strapping her ankles and then moved upward.
The next set of straps were just below her knees and when I pulled them tight, it pulled her legs wide apart. She gasped slightly, but said nothing. The next set was just above the knees. These didn’t need to be pulled quite as tight, but even then, the helped open her up a little more.
There was a wide strap that went more or less across her waist and held her tight to the back of the chair. Straps just below the elbow and at the wrists held her arms tightly to the arms of the chair.
There was a flat post-like section that stuck up straight in the back with a pad on the front of it. I pushed her head back against the pad and put a leather strap across her forehead. Once it was tight, she was unable to turn her head and had to look straight ahead.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I asked. I was standing there holding a red ball gag.
“Yes,” she answered. Then she said, “God, I have never felt so vulnerable in my life. You could do anything to me and there is nothing I could do about it.”
I put the ball gag in place, giving her a second to work her jaws around it before I tied it firmly in place around the post. As I turned to go back into the other area to put on my Beat Girl cape and mask, I suddenly had a strange idea. Was Mom asking me to do something to her?
That would be just way too weird, but... I walked over to the “toy box”and got out a magic wand with remote control and a microphone stand. Harold had modified the microphone stand so that the magic wand would clip into it just like a microphone normally would. The stand had one of those long arms on it so the microphone could be held next to a guitar, or come over the top of the music stand to be close to a singer’s mouth.
I set it up in front of Mom so that the arm was down between her legs and the magic wand was pointing up at an angle toward her cunt. OK Dr. B, that makes me feel weird, talking about my mother’s cunt, but if I am rigging a remote controlled, industrial strength vibrator up to it while she is strapped in a sex bondage chair, I don’t think “vagina” is the right word.
Anyway, I set it up so that it would be right against her slit and would just touch her clit. If she rocked down just a little bit, she could force it directly on her clit. When I set it in place, her eyes got a little wide and she “umphed” at me through the ball gag. Then I picked up the control box and turned it on to minimum.
Her eyes got even wider, but then she said, “mmmmm” and closed her eyes for a moment. It was definitely getting her in the mood. I looked up at the clock and realized that I had to get moving if we were going to go online on time tonight.
I went over to the control board and checked that all 8 cameras were live and working. Then I cycled the paddle, the whip, and the cane through their test cycles. I also checked that the paddle, whip and cane were all firmly held in their mounting brackets. The cane had gotten loose one session a few months back, and I had ended up having to drop the safety switch when the tip of the cane slammed into me hard enough to cut a deep gouge. Luckily, I didn’t have to go to the ER and it healed without scarring.
Everything was ready and it was coming up on 8:00. I could see the website on the big monitor on the wall above Mom and it was counting down the minutes to air time. At 7:58, the screen was filled with the animated Beat Girl. I had the routine down exactly after all these sessions. First she got WHAPPED, then she got KA-POWED, then she got ZAPPED, and then it switched to live camera three and I ran toward it and turned around so that my ass filled the screen when BEAT GIRL flashed across my ass.
I did the standard opening explaining how things worked and enticing people to spend their points on the paddle, the whip, or the cane. Suddenly I had an idea. “We have a special guest tonight,” I bubbled at the main camera. “A special slut who wanted to watch a live Beat Girl session. We can’t show her face, but I am going to put camera 9 where you can see the interesting parts.”
The on-screen controls are actually capable of bringing up 10 cameras, but normally only 8 are turned on. I ran off screen and grabbed camera 9. It is usually just sitting there and can be substituted for one of the other cameras if something isn’t working just before show time.
Camera 9 is mounted on a really short tripod and I set it down right in front of Mom so that it was shooting right between her legs. I was pretty sure that all that would be visible on the screen was the inside of her legs and her cunt with the vibrator pressed against it.
As I set it in place, Mom grunted and tried to shake her head. Then I could see her whole body turning a deep shade of red.
I ran back into the set and looked back up at the main monitor. All ten cameras show on the monitor if they are on. Camera 9 was the inside of Mom’s legs from the strap above the knee to very top. Her cunt was clearly visible and you could see the moisture dripping from her labia alongside the head to the magic wand.
“No extra charge for the extra camera,” I chirped. “Now, let’s get started.”
I got down on the bench and started strapping myself in. Most of it is automated, so it’s just a matter of me slipping arms, legs, etc through the straps and lying down over the padded seat. Once in place, I squeeze my safety switch. The restraints tighten immediately and the timer started its countdown from 30 minutes.
I looked down at the monitor beneath me so I could see who was up in the cue. Number 001 was AsianBeauty and she had spent her points for seven strokes of the cane.
Rats! No warm up swats from the paddle before getting to the really hard stuff. I noticed that number 002 was also in the cane cue and he had five strokes. Ouch! I was starting off with twelve of the best without even getting any warmup. I raised my head a little and looked over at Mom. Was this instant Karma for what I had done to her?
I didn’t get a chance to think about that very long because the cane strokes started hitting. I told Mom that a lot of the time the screams and thrashing around were fake for the cameras. This wasn’t. Twelve strokes of the cane with no warm up is not fun. I screamed and thrashed and yelled and cursed. I wonder if any of the people in the cues or watching knew what I meant when I was yelling out, “Come on, E buddies! Come on E buddies!”
Luckily, the next person in the cue was on the paddle list, and ProudPapa43 took his time with his 15 strokes. He was spacing them out at somewhere between 20 and 30 seconds. Or maybe he was delaying until the automatic kicked in. In any case, I never knew for sure when they were coming, but they were standard spanks with the paddle and my E buddies had time to arrive by the time we got to about the seventh swat. By the time he finished, THE END
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