Hers had been a long life. The youngest of a large family, a family cursed by depression. The first depression was the "Great" one that cursed the whole country, but also the depression we now call a mental illness. Her siblings, four brothers and five sisters, were all much older than her as were her parents. By the time she was born in 1965 she had already lost one brother to the war in Vietnam and the other was scarred by his experiences there. Her other siblings had had their share of tragedy as well, most of it caused by mental illness.
She first showed hints of it when she was a teen. Thats was when she tempted a boy to fuck her in the field behind her house. It seemed she had always had that itch, that desperate desire for sexual release. She couldn't remember when she didn't want it, need it. Of course the actions she took brought with them the overwhelming guilt, shame, and depression, knowing she couldn't take back what she had done, what she had become. She became isolated, lonely at school. They called her a slut. Not a particularly popular young girl, others found her an easy target.
At nineteen, after a suicide attempt, she was diagnosed bipolar, just like her father and older brother and most of her sisters, at least the ones who would submit to treatment, and then came the addictions. First is was alcohol, the pot, and even coke, but always sex. Dangerous, risky sex, was the only kind she wanted. She was a sensation junkie. It had to be intense, painful, blissful. She ran off with a fellow to northern California, but drugs did him in, and in shame she returned home to her family in Georgia to her family who had warned her not to leave with him. It was okay with her though. Even though he was nice enough fellow, he didn't understand her and could never keep up with her sexually.
Elisabeth wasn't stupid. With an I.Q. of 152 she had more than enough intelligence. It was her compulsions that made life difficult. She had settled down enough to get a nursing license and bought a small home in the country outside of Athens where she worked. Her medications had been worked out pretty well and except for collecting excessive amounts of china, she seemed by most appearances normal. But that itch still bothered her. Many times when shopping on Ebay she would find herself looking at shoes, slut shoes she called them. She would pour herself a glass of tequila, pull down her jeans and insert her big purple vibrating dildo in her pussy and let her imagination run wild.
It didn't take long before she was placing ads on singles site. Not regular sites but BDSM sites. She listed herself as submissive. She got herself a webcam and put on little shows trying to attract a man who could give hr what she needed. She found a world where she was understood, or so she thought. She had long since given up on love. She never thought that anyone could love her, but sex was something she was good at and she know that men would always take that from her. She was obsessed with it, she thought she might be some kind of nympho. She didn't want just sex though, she wanted to be whipped, made to hurt, disciplined, used and abused, punished. She didn't know for what crimes she should be punished but she knew she needed it. She also knew that few men could give it to her in the way she needed it. Most men were all talk she would say, most men couldn't keep up or were scared of her insatiable and unusual needs, but also, few men could understand her moods, her headaches, the paranoia, her pain and the unusual ways she coped with it.
What she found only made her feel more empty, mostly angry men who wanted to act out their anger on her. They didn't even seem to like her and gave no thought to her pleasure. They just wished to use her and discard her. It was true enough she wanted to be used, but not discarded. She wondered at times why she even craved their company. She did find other women like her. They would go out, party. She had her nipples and clitoral hood pierced one night after going to an S&M club. It was the typical impulsive thing she was apt to do. She loved the way it hurt the next morning, she loved the pain. It took the pain of being alone away for a little while.
I met Elisabeth when the company I worked for sent me to the hospital for the usual physical and drug screening. She was cheery, professional, I immediately sensed her attraction to me. You can always tell, because most women make a great effort to hide it, usually too much effort, it makes them uncomfortable, vulnerable, as though you might find out their secret. They avert their eyes give a thousand other small hints that they are unaware of. Elisabeth had many secrets. I can't say I found her immediately attractive. She was very slim, but well proportioned with red wavy hair she wore in a single braid. Of medium height she stood a little slumped as though weary in a way the belied the cheerful tone of her voice. She wouldn't let me have a good look at her face, but she seemed to have dark circles around her eyes, but I could tell she had pale skin with few freckles as are common to red heads.
"You have beautiful red hair," I told her.
"Why thank you," she replied, "but it isn't real, my true color is dark blonde."
"Well red hair does become you."
She had a heavy Southern accent. I noticed she wore no wedding ring.
I have a predilection for women involved in BDSM. I had a wife who was into it. She died about ten years ago.I had pretty much given up on love too. I had an ad on a BDSM site myself. I had met some women on the site but none to my liking. I find most women through the usual ways, mostly in my work. I have always had a sixth sense of how to pick women who were attracted to me and whom I knew needed my special sort of treatment. Once you have really know a woman who is into D/s you can recognize it quickly. I hadn't been around Elisabeth long enough to get that sense from her.
One day at work I browsed the ads. Usually I only looked the most recent and not the older ads, but I was bored today. One ad caught my eye. The nickname was "lily flower" she had included a photo showing her breasts with stiff nipples pierced by heavy gold rings, but nothing else to identify her.
I replied. From her ad it was clear she was sexually obsessed, probably into pain and that was primarily what she was looking for. I assured her I could easily accommodate her needs. I never heard from her however. Not even a friendly reply. A few days later the ad was deactivated.
I thought little of it, but about three months later the ad appeared again. I replied again, more assertively. She answered that she though I lived too far away to see her often enough to keep her satiated. I replied that if she met me that she would forget all about such small things, that I intended to ruin her for any other man, that my treatment of her would addict her to me, to my cock. I fully meant it. The sight of her breasts and those beautiful erect nipples pierced by those heavy gold rings had hooked me. I intended to know this woman, to know all of her. I intuitively sensed that she was my type. In our correspondence it had become clear she was extraordinarily intelligent, well read, and a wide range of interests. Intelligent women are one of my great turn-ons, besides they are usually quite twisted as well. I directed her to send me more photos. She sent me photos of her ass, bent over, a weight hanging from the ring in her clit, some of her nipples held in clamps. Each photo was prefaced with the title "Cumslut". Then the last photo was of her face, a shy face, with a little smile, almost embarrassed, with sparkling eyes, the face of a little girl, a shy little girl. It was Elisabeth.
I considered how I should reply. She hadn't asked for a photo, so I thought it only right to send one now. I told her I remembered her from the hospital and gave her some questions to answer. Her own reply was a confession of how she had thought of me even before I found her ad. She confessed to have great admiration for my ass, that it looked like the ass of a man who could fuck a woman down she wrote. She continued to compliment me, my own Southern accent, my intelligence, my cockiness she called it. ( I assured her, and later she discovered that I would keep my promises.) It became evident she was obsessed with me. She told me how she had masturbated in her car on the way home from work thinking about me fucking her that day I went in for the physical. She had no compunction about letting me know how badly she wanted me. She came across as a desperate slut. She sent me directions to her house and within the week I was at her door.
Her home was a gray cottage in the country, surrounded by a picket fence and large perennial gardens. Day-lily, climbing roses and iris were everywhere. I walked from the drive across the courtyard and up on the porch to some french doors. She came to the door when I knocked wearing a long dress held up by straps, her long wavy red hair fell across her shoulders and down her back. She looked at me shyly through the glass and unlocked the door.
