Diary of a Pain Slut Wee 02

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When Maddi Miller gets caught doing naked self-bondage under an interstate bridge, the police take her to the psych ward of the local hospital. She is released but has to keep a diary as part of her thirty day evaluation and submit it to her therapist at the end of each week.

This is week two of that diary. There are five weeks, each more or less stands on its own, but makes more sense if you have read the previous weeks.

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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.

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 Four, Monday

I got out of the looney bin this morning. Dr. B said that I was "not a danger to myself or society," whatever that means. I still have to complete the full evaluation, however, or the police will recommend that I be put on the state sexual offender list. I can't believe that. Just because I was naked in public they want to lump me in with perverts who prey on little children.

I thought Dr B was just saying that to scare me, but I looked it up after I got home, and yes, they can brand you a sexual pervert for life just because you were naked in public. There is some gender discrimination, however. Women are almost never put on the list for flashing. Men, on the other hand, end up on the list quite often. I guess this is one area where sexual discrimination works in my favor.

I was really afraid of how things were going to go with my parents. They picked me up about noon after I had finished my session with Dr. B and a short trip to the court house to appear before a judge. Technically, I am in "supervised release." I don't know what I am released from because they haven't charged me with anything except maybe being nuts. The public defender explained to me that supervised release meant that if I didn't report back to Dr. B like I was supposed to, all he had to do was report it to the judge and I would be "taken in."

I think Dad would say that they have me by the short hairs, except, I don't have any short hairs. I keep them all plucked off with one of those spinning tweezer things. Not everybody can use one of those, but I'm not all that hairy to begin with, so I can keep everything really smooth down there with out a whole lot of effort.

Speaking of Dad, he was really silent when they picked me up and didn't say a word all the way home. When we got home, all my equipment was laid out on the kitchen table. Well, it didn't all fit on the table. The heavy stuff like the battery winches and some chains and things were on the floor next to the table.

"Is this everything?" Dad asked once we walked into the kitchen.

"That looks like everything that was in my bedroom and the basement," I answered. I didn't think it was a good time to mention the studio I had set up in the old shed that I used to use as a play house.

"What are you going to do with it?" I asked.

"The question is," he replied, "'What are YOU going to do with it?' or more importantly, 'What in the hell HAVE you been doing with it?'"

I felt myself getting all hot and red. I mean, who wants to talk to their father about their sex habits. Mom put her hand on my shoulder and smiled at me in that "I'm with you," motherly sort of way.

"I'm a pain slut, Dad," I said. I was really surprised to hear myself say that, but I had been saying it so much to Dr B and the other shrinks that it just came out. I stood there all red and embarrassed. This was humiliating beyond belief, but it definitely wasn't turning me on.

"I don't know why I am, but I am." I stammered. "I get sexual pleasure... a lot of sexual pleasure out of pain and bondage and humiliation. This equipment allows me to do that with the minimum of danger to myself or others."

He looked at me with a very fixed glare. I took a deep breath and continued. "I don't know why I'm that way, but I am. If you lock all this up or make me throw it all away, what I am will eventually overwhelm me and I will go out and do something really stupid like going down to The Grease Pit and letting them do whatever they want with me."

I stopped, unsure of what to say next and then continued, "I don't ever want to do that... again."

I heard Mom gasp slightly but she said nothing. I looked as directly into my Dad's eyes as I could and said, "So please, Dad, just let Dr. B and the other keepers at the nut house work with me and see what they recommend. Maybe they can do something. Or maybe I just have to be what I am."

Dad's face got really red. He was trying not to yell, but his voice got deep and strong and you could probably hear him all the way out at the road in front of the house. "Are you trying to tell me that you do all this because that is the way God made you?"

"Yes," I replied meekly. "That's what I am trying to tell you."

"Don't you dare use that kind of bullshit argument with me, young lady, I..."

Mom cut him off, "Honey," she said sweetly and he stopped mid-sentence. "Do you remember when the local transport company offered you a job as regional supervisor? You would have been in charge of four of their dispatch centers. It would have been regular hours at almost half-again what you currently make. Do you remember what you told them?"

Dad's face suddenly got all funny and his shoulders slumped slightly. He took a deep breath and said "Yes." Somehow all of the anger was gone from his voice. "I told them that God had made me an over-the-road trucker and that was what I was going to be 'til the day I died. I told you that it was the only way that I could be happy and you told me that if I had to be what I was in order to be happy, then you would always love me as I was."

For once in my life I made the exactly correct choice and said absolutely nothing.

Mom came over and hugged Dad and said, "Maddi is what she is. If she is just mixed up about what that really is, the doctors will straighten that out. But if she truly is what she says she is, then we need to give her a chance to see how she has to live that out in her life."

Dad shook his head and softly said, "OK."

Mom then said, "You told dispatch that you could be on the road by three. You need to get ready. Let me talk to Maddi while you change and then you can come back in and say goodbye."

Dad walked down the hallway toward their bedroom and Mom motioned for me to come with her into the living room. She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her to indicate that I should join her.

She smiled at me and said, "We will just sit here for a while until your dad is ready to leave. That way we won't have to stop something and try to restart it."

We sat there quietly and a few minutes later, Dad came into the living room carrying his duffle bag. "I'll be back sometime Saturday," he said softly. Then with a little more force in his voice he turned to me and said, "Don't do anything stupid. Especially don't do anything REALLY stupid... again."

I'm pretty sure he had heard the stories about the drunk girl who asked Brad to beat and humiliate her down at The Grease Pit. Everyone in town knew about it, but for some reason none of the guys who told the story ever said who the girl was. Maybe Brad and his friends are a little more honorable than I thought. In any case, Dad now knew that it had been me.

He put his hand on my shoulder as I sat on the couch. "I don't want you to ruin your life. I really do love you, and will always love you, whatever you are... or think you are."

He then bent down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. Mom stood up and they kissed... a real kiss. Then she said, "Keep it tires down."

That was an old joke between them. Way back before I was born, Dad got caught in one of those freak thunderstorms that pushes high winds out in front of it. He was running empty on his way home and got blown off the road and flipped over by the wind. He called mom to say that he would be getting home a little late because he was "tires up in a corn field." Ever since then, she always tells him to keep it tires down when she says goodbye.

A few minutes later, I could hear the rumble of Dad's rig pulling out. I looked at Mom and said, "Where should I start?"

"You could start," she replied, "by telling me how a struggling college girl can afford all this expensive equipment. Last time I looked, a Jack Rabbit cost around $90 and I know that Pullzall electric come-a-longs cost around $600 because your dad bought one for his truck a while back... and you've got two of them sitting on the kitchen floor."

"You know what a Jack Rabbit costs?" I asked. My voice was slightly higher with surprise and I know that my eyes were wide.

"Actually," Mom said smiling at me, "I prefer the waterproof pearl Rabbit."

I felt my mouth drop open. She continued, "It does get very lonely out there in those motels every week and I really do love a nice, long, hot bath at the close of the day."

She looked at me over the top of her glasses and said, "Honey, sexual urges don't go away just because you get old. And I'm not that old. If I didn't let off the steam once in a while, eventually the boiler would explode and I would end up doing something really stupid that would hurt what I have with your dad. We love each other very much. He stays faithful to me, and I stay faithful to him."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Actually," she said, "it's a little easier for him." She laughed. "No, it is a LOT easier for him. He doesn't have all that high a sex drive to begin with. I'm the one who usually has to initiate things. And it isn't because he's lost interest in me. He's always been that way. When I met him, I was working at a truck stop at night while I took classes during the day. The other truckers used to tease him because he wouldn't go out to the local titty bars and strip clubs with them. He doesn't turn on instantly, but if you get the flame going, he can go on forever and ever and drive you..."

She suddenly colored and coughed nervously. I guess talking about your sex life to your daughter isn't all that easy either. "But we were talking about how you could afford all of this," she said suddenly.

Mom looked at me with one of those looks that only a parent can give you that says, "I love you whatever you say, but you had damn well better answer the question."

"I saved up my tips to buy the jack rabbit," I answered timidly.

"And the rest?" she asked. Her eyebrows were up in that "Tell your mother the truth" sort of way.

"I'm Beat Girl," I said quietly.

"What?" Mom replied. "What do you mean by that?"

"Let me get my laptop," I said and walked back into the kitchen to retrieve it. I picked up the little insert that allowed me to put the laptop on the TV and turned on the big TV on the other side of the room from us. A few moments later, my computer was on the screen. I typed a URL into the browser and an animated cartoon started playing.

A naked girl in a pink cape and Batman mask was running toward the screen. The old Batman theme was playing in the background. It kept repeating "Dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum DUM, BEAT GIRL!"

Each time it said "Beat Girl," the animated character would be up close to the screen and would turn and bend over so that her ass nearly filled the screen. The first time, an animated paddle slapped across her ass and "Whap!" appeared in big blue letters. The next time a whip slammed into her and "Ka Pow!" appeared in giant red letters. Finally a red wand reached out and a spark jumped to the atavar's ass. "ZAP!" appeared in big jagged letters. Then the whole animation repeated.

"That's a TAZapper,"I said in explanation. "It's spelled t-a-z-a-p-p-e-r, but pronounced 'Tay Zapper.' They're like a cattle prod, but a lot smaller and safe to use on a human." I paused and then added, "But they still hurt like hell."

The cartoon had again looped back to the beginning so I clicked on a small icon in the corner that said, "Log In Here." After I entered my name and password, a new screen appeared. There were a series of pictures of a real girl in the pink cape and Batman mask. In one she was tied over a spanking bench with a complicated spanking machine slamming a paddle into her ass. In another she was covered with wires and contact pads. The top hat electrodes on her nipples and the contact clip on her clit looked very familiar. The third image visible on the screen showed her bound between two metal poles with several robot looking arms holding TAZappers next to her skin.

Along side each image it said, "Members may click to replay previous sessions."

At the top of the screen it said, "Next live session, Tuesday night 9 pm Eastern US Time"

"Members pay $3.00 a month." I explained. Harold has a friend of a friend of a friend who runs a bunch of porn sites. He handles all the money transactions and Harold and I get a cut of it. Harold maintains the equipment and programs it so that it can't actually hurt me... like in damage me. Obviously, it hurts me.

"I want to see one," Mom said softly. Her voice was almost a whisper.

"Which one?" I asked. I really wasn't sure about showing her one of the actual sessions.

"The one with the paddle," she answered.

I clicked on the image and the screen went to video mode. "Do you really want to see this?" I asked, hoping she would say no, but she shook her head yes.

The Beat Girl theme started playing and on the screen I came running up to the camera and spun around so that my ass practically filled the screen. "I don't have any tattoos or special birth marks so I can't be recognized," I said in explanation.

Mom remained silent.

"This is a thirty minute session," the me on the screen said brightly. "Once I get myself strapped in, the timer starts." Then I turned to look directly into the camera and said, "Remember to purchase your points so you can play. The paddle is 50 points a swat; the whip is 75; and the cane is 250."

"Everything is in points," I explained, "because this goes out all over the world and points cost different amounts in different countries."

"You mean that the whole world watches you get your naked ass beaten?" Mom asked. There was a strange breathiness in her voice.

As the screen me started to strap herself into the spanking bench, a message appeared across the screen that said, "Remember, in a live session there are 8 camera angles to choose from. Live sessions cost 50 points to enter." After a few seconds, that message faded and a new message said, "Next live session is Tuesday night, 9 pm Eastern US time."

The screen me was finally in place. She squeezed something in her left hand and the restraint belts tightened to hold her firmly in place. "That is a deadman safety switch," I explained. "If something goes really wrong, all I have to do is to let go and everything stops. Harold insists we always use one. I had one of those in my hand Thursday night."

Mom said nothing.

A timer appeared in the upper right hand corner of the screen. Beneath it were three lists, one above the other. The top list said PADDLE; the second said WHIP; and the third said CANE. Beneath the titles were three headings. "Cue," "Member Name," and "Strokes." The first person in the paddle list had cue 001 and had paid for 7 strokes. Number 002 was in the whip list and had 5 strokes. The next eight or ten in the cue must have been in paddle because the next whip name had a cue number of 0014.

"You can use a keyboard, mouse or a game controller to control the devices in the live session. For a TAYZapper session you need a joy stick or game controller." I started to explain, but my words were drowned out as the screen me screamed with the first paddle strike.

"Most of the time," I explained, "the screams are acting. Sometimes the orgasms are fake, too, but a lot of the time, the screams and the orgasms are totally real."

Mom didn't seem like she was paying attention anymore. Her eyes were glued to the screen as the paddle completed the seventh swat and the whip swung back in an arc and snapped forward. It was programmed not to hit twice in exactly the same place, so the first strike was diagonal across the screen me's back. It then shifted slightly and slammed down again. By the time the fifth stroke hit, the screen me was screaming very loudly and it did not at all sound fake.

There was a few second pause while the whip mechanism moved out of the way and the paddle mechanism again moved into place. The members don't know it, but there is a limit as to how fast any of the devices can be triggered. If you don't trigger something after 30 seconds, it triggers automatically, but you can't trigger faster than every five seconds.

I once made the mistake of sitting down and calculating the maximum number of swats I could receive in a 30 minutes session. With a limit of every ten seconds, that is 12 a minute. Thirty minutes means 360 swats. That can be a lot, especially if someone chooses the double or triple option and pays 100 or 150 per swat so it hits twice or three times as hard. Close ups of the paddle slamming into my ass supposedly prove that it is actually doubling or tripling the hit.

I wasn't really watching the screen me. After all, I had been there. Then I heard my mother gasp. I glanced up at the screen. It was that one! I remember this session very well. Cue position 21 was someone who had paid for 12 cane strokes. There were three stars next to the number of strokes. That meant he had paid 750 points for each stroke and they would be triple.

Harold said that whoever it was probably thought I would break and drop the safety. If I do that, the session is stopped early and everyone gets their money back. Twelve strokes of the cane at 750 points each was 9000 points. If RichBastard1978 was American, he was paying twenty cents a point, so this was going to cost him $1800.

When I'm strapped into the spanking machine, I have a monitor that I can see so that I can keep track of the time and know what is coming next. When the screen me saw the 12 triple cane strokes in the cue, she almost dropped the safety switch.

I remember looking at the highlighted name in the paddle list that night just like I was watching it today. It was CharlieChan007 and he had 4 more swats coming. He was cue number 19. Cue number 20 was in the whip list and had paid for 3 strokes. The timer in the corner was down to two minutes. I knew that if these guys delayed their strokes, RichBastard wouldn't have time for all twelve.

They must have realized that, too, because both of them had to have held down their controllers. The four swats with the paddle and the three with the whip were all exactly five seconds apart. Even with the delay between members waiting in the cue, there was still 1 minute and 20 seconds left on the timer when RichBastard took control. By the time the cane mechanism moved into place another 6 seconds had passed by. 72 seconds was more than enough time to deliver all twelve strokes.