Chapter One

 

What is masochism? The word gets used a lot. It started out having a sexual meaning, and it meant, supposedly, someone who enjoys receiving pain. I suppose some would call me a masochist, but I can't really say I enjoy pain. It isn't the pain itself that turns me on at all. It's... the situation around receiving it. It's the drama and outrageous nature of being victimized, of being humiliated and degraded by someone, preferably someone hot!

That's what turns me on. The whole situation around it.

I'm not sure why but if I was to analyze myself I'd say it would likely be because I've always been kind of shy and quiet and modest. Not for me the sexy dresses and tight tops and short skirts! That was all far too slutty and provocative! My parents had instilled in me a sense of proper decorum and modesty! And anything else was sinful!

I did no dating until I went to college, and then I rarely dated. I was too shy, and dressed in ways designed to disguise my body. I used to say, with some sincerity, that you can't judge a book by its cover, and if boys/men were silly enough to do that then I didn't want them anyway.

The problem with this, of course, is that publishing companies go to great lengths to design attractive covers because they know very well that without one people are much less likely to pick up the book to have a look.

I didn't really have much experience with men, nor understood them. They were all entirely fixated on either sports or sex, as far as I could tell. I had no interest in sports, myself, but as to sex, well... that had always been my weakness. You see, I'd always had a very strong sex drive, had always had... yearnings, hunger.

But with my shyness, and prim and proper behavior, that had no outlet other than, of course - fantasy. I fantasized a lot about sex. In particular, I fantasized about how I would have sex. It was hard, given my innate sense of realism, to imagine myself meeting a boy and dating and having sex. That would never happen!

I would have to date them repeatedly over a time period, in order to be convinced that we had a meaningful relationship, and then perhaps very slowly start to experiment with more physical intimacy. This, you must admit, was not really adequate for sexual fantasies.

The shortcut, of course, was to fantasize about something more outrageous, about some big, gruff, handsome, devilish man just taking me! A pirate on a ship, or some mustache twirling Frenchman in Paris, or a dastardly Baron in his manor or castle near London.

My fantasies required that I be 'ravished' without my consent, because consenting would be sinful and make me a slut. Therefore, I couldn't possibly consent, even if I wanted to have sex. And, I had to be hurt, because despite resisting, well, I knew I was a slut, and therefore, must be punished.

I'm smart enough to recognize these origins are truly silly, of course. But emotions seldom give much regard to logic. And since I've been having these dark, sexual fantasies for as long as I can remember, they've kind of taken over. And they've gotten worse because of some of the books I've read (old fashioned, 'bodice buster' romances) and the internet.

I felt guilty even looking at nasty pictures on the internet! Even in the privacy of my room! I felt as if I ought to be wearing a mask or something! But the pictures were delicious! The men with such broad shoulders and muscular bodies! And the big, hard erections!

My sex life was entirely self-involved, of course. The sight of those erections made me want to feel one inside me! But of course, I couldn't possibly do that with a man! I didn't know any men! At least, not well enough to do that!

I rented a safe deposit box, and I ordered one of those penises on the internet. Then I experimented. I found that the feeling of being penetrated, in tandem with my fantasies, filled me with passion and heat and lust and excitement!

But oh God I felt so guilty afterward!

It was perhaps inevitable that given the nature of my fantasies, and given my guilt, I would come to experiment with something more than mere penetration and masturbation.

The first time I did was in my parents' house, in the basement. I was alone in the house, and had put on a pornographic video, which I had transferred from my laptop onto the big screen TV in the basement. Naked, I knelt on the carpet, staring at it, bent over an ottoman. I had the dildo all-but buried inside me, which allowed me to grind the base against the corner of the ottoman and to mash my breasts into the soft, buttoned leather.

And in my hand, I held a belt, doubled up. It was a thin belt, and I swung it down and back to land across my buttocks. It stung, but in the mood I was in, the heat gripping my body and mind, that was not exactly a deterrent!

I swung it again, and again, harder, breathless, gasping, staring at the screen, grinding my pussy against the corner of the ottoman, jamming the base of the dildo up against my clitoris.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

My mind wandered and I was now in the darkened hall of a great manor, bent over, while the evil Baron brought his belt down across my bottom!

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

I swung harder, gasping and moaning as the belt hit. The stinging blows, though, added a sense of wild realism to my fantasy, and brought me a massive orgasm!

I used that belt, and then a heavier one, whenever I could thereafter. Unfortunately, that was not often. I could only do it when alone in the house, and that didn't happen very often. And it happened not at all when I went to college because I had no real privacy in my dorm room.

My interest in sex, my hunger, if you will, was growing. I was becoming frustrated. I wanted to see what it was really like. But I didn't want "normal" sex. I wanted the kind of wild, nasty, carnal sex like I experienced in my fantasies.

I looked to internet sites more, searching out shocking, wicked stories to masturbate to, looking at outrageous pictures of bondage and submission, of beautiful girls cruelly used - ravished!

But I was a passive girl, as I say, timid, shy, and certainly not one to message any of the men posting on such sites, or on the forums which discussed things like 'power games' and 'bdsm'. They were probably all sick, depraved degenerates who would kill me!

I'm not at all sure where my life would have headed had I not run into Professor James. I like to think of it as one of those fortuitous events which brought together people of similar interests. But of course, it was more than that. I was timid and passive, of course, but James was certainly not!

She knew what she wanted, knew what she was looking for, knew what to watch for in the many young women she encountered. Yes, she. Professor Roberta James was a woman. I had never given any actual thought to sex with women. This was a blank spot in my imagination.

James, on the other hand, was a lesbian who certainly was looking for lovely girls to dominate. And my writing - in her creative literature class - focused on romantic topics sufficient, apparently, to give her some suspicion that I might be receptive to her interest.

I being clueless, discussed some of the romantic tropes, including the 'ravishment' trope in literature without really being aware she was probing to discern my interest.

To be absolutely honest I was confused about my attractiveness in the first place. I wore loose clothing, and a bra designed to hide the size of my breasts. I was aware, though - I mean, I had seen myself in mirrors - that my body, underneath my clothes, was quite... desirable.

My hair was fairly plain. I took little care of it. It was brown, and cut off a little below my shoulders in an absolutely normal fashion without any fancy styling, and certainly no dying. I didn't wear makeup because, well, I didn't really need to, and besides I didn't really want to do a lot to attract attention to my looks.

But my face was not... unattractive, if you left out the glasses. I'm afraid I'm quite nearsighted. I'm not quite 'blind as a bat' but beyond the reach of my arms everything kind of fades to a blur. The further away, the more it blurs together.

But James saw something in it she liked, and something she guessed might be behind my eyes, and set out to see if she could draw me into her lair, as they say.

As I look back, It was fairly easy to befriend me. I was a boring person with a boring life, and not much in the way of friends. She was a sleek, sophisticated, cultured and beautiful woman almost twice my age.

My mother was frumpy, dour, and religious. She was certainly not someone who could guide me in my future. James, though, was friendly, encouraging, and open to giving advice on almost everything.

The first step was simply having lunch together. There we chatted about a number of things, including men. I did my best not to reveal just how ignorant I was, but I'm afraid I probably didn't succeed.

We had lunch a few times, and I opened up a bit more, though of course, still not talking much about my lack of sexual experience, nor my fantasies. But she was more open.

"The only things you really need from men," she said, "Is their wallet and their penis. And if you have a decent job you don't need the wallet. And if you order one from the internet you don't even need the penis."

She said in such a dry, amused style that I couldn't help giggling, despite my face going red. And of course, I did think about the dildo I had ordered, and made such use of!

"I don't think you can order a baby from the internet," I said.

She waved her hand dismissively. "If that's your desire there are any number of places which will implant semen so that you get pregnant."

This was scandalous, if logical.

"But then you have to raise it alone."

"You can have a partner of some kind, man or woman. Doesn't mean they have to be the father."

An intriguing idea!

"You know, Meredith," she said, "If you really want to attract a young men, you'd be better wearing clothing which is a bit... brighter colored and perhaps less... uhm..."

"Modest?"

"Shrouding."

I blushed slightly.

"I mean, it's all well and good to want to be admired for your mind as opposed to your body, but that doesn't mean you need to wear clothes which hide the fact you're a woman."

"I'm not... hiding," I said.

"Of course you are," she said. "Those clothes put fifty pounds on you. From what I can see you have a fairly good figure underneath. You'll get far more attention from young men if you show it."

"But - ."

"Yes, yes, I know. But I'm not suggesting you wear revealing clothing. Just that you are not ashamed that you're shaped like a woman."

"I'm not ashamed!" I said, stung.

"Well, you certainly don't want anyone to notice."

Which I thought unfair, but was unfortunately, not that far from the truth, really.

"You also wear your hair in a bun too much. And those glasses..."

She made a face.

"I'm nearsighted!"

"There are contacts, and also glasses which are more... attractive."

My glasses were thick and had thick, heavy frames.

I was unhappy with the direction this conversation had gone, but I couldn't really deny her words. And given they came from a woman who was, as I said, older, sophisticated, and quite intelligent, I had to think strongly about whether I ought to take her advice.

But then, we walked back, me to my dorm (which was along the way) and she to her office, and as we parted, I said something about not having begun my assignment, and she replied sternly that I had best get my bottom in gear! And she accompanied that remark with a sharp slap to my bottom as she departed.

Now, as I said, I'm actually quite intelligent, despite my relative innocent and ignorance. I knew quite well, because I had read the entire student handbook on expected behavior and harassment and the like, that a teacher, even a woman, was not to strike students. Especially on the bottom!

I also knew that spanking was, of course, an integral part of the whole dark world of sexual power games and bondage and the like. And then, shocked as I was by her sudden violation of the university code of conduct, I suddenly realized that Professor James had never spoken about a husband or boyfriend of her own.

And then I almost fell down in amazement as I realized she was, of course, almost certainly gay. I had simply not noticed before. I had not paid any attention to the short hair, or the mannish attitude, or the lack of makeup or the way she dressed or her somewhat deeper voice. But the instant I thought about it I could have kicked myself for not realizing it before!

Once back in my dorm I looked her up and it didn't take long to find her mentioned as a member of the university's faculty LGBQT group.

Which left me open-mouthed, literally. Because that slap, given her 'interests' raised in my mind the possibility she was interested in me, in that way!

As I said, I'd never really thought about women before, not as lovers, in any event. I was aware, of course, that a lot of girls experimented in that way, in both high school and college. There had even been suggestions and hints towards me from some girls - which I had politely rejected. Because, after all, I'm not gay.

Which was silly for I knew lots of girls experimented who weren't gay. But they were girls playing sexual games, and my morality didn't allow me to do that. Besides, they didn't have what I thought was an extremely important part of sex - a penis.

Of course, Ms. James had already pointed out that you could buy those on the internet.

My mind whirled at the possibilities. I let myself imagine Ms. James spanking me, let myself imagine Ms. James teaching me things about sex, maybe even tying me up! I would be far less reluctant to experiment with a teacher, for I would feel safer from being exposed and ridiculed - which had always been the risk should I do it with fellow students.

Besides, she was a teacher! And in a sense, that made it less... I don't know, bad. Teachers had always been authority figures in my life, so if one thought something was acceptable behavior then perhaps I could try it.

And yes, I knew the logical flaws in that line of reasoning. But again, my emotions were overpowering my logic, leaving me a little breathless with the possibilities.

***

It wasn't exactly a revealing dress. But I hadn't worn one like it before. It was blue, a dark blue, but still, not black or dark gray or dark brown. As such it would reveal my shape more. It was a wraparound dress with sleeves. I donned it like a dressing gown, then closed it in a similar fashion, except that there were buttons involved and not just a belt.

It showed my shape far better than usual, though of course, I still wore my minimizer bra to make my breasts less prominent. I had also ordered a pair of glasses from the internet. They were far cheaper there than buying them from an optician, and I didn't know if I'd actually wind up wearing them much so didn't want to waste money. They would arrive in a week or two.

I wore the dress to her class, of course. And of course, I found an excuse to talk to her alone after class, hoping she would have some comment.

"A much better dress, Meredith," she said with approval.

"Uhm, thank you," I said, blushing. "I ordered new glasses with thinner frames."

"Well, don't go too far in the other direction. I don't think you should show up in a cleavage displaying top with a bare midriff and miniskirt."

I giggled. "Don't worry."

As if I would ever wear such things!

"Lunch today?"

"Sure!" I said eagerly.

At lunch she invited me to a lecture. I, of course, accepted. So far she'd done nothing obvious since that smack to my bottom but I was feeling tight-chested with anticipation, nevertheless. We walked back, though, and again, she gave me a smack on the bottom as we parted.

"Off with you," she said.

I gulped and hurried away.

I was very anxious about what I might be getting into. I watched some videos on the internet to get a better idea of what lesbians did. It seemed to involve a lot of oral sex, though. I had little enough experience in that with men, and none with women. I watched the videos, though, and then I immediately decided to shave my pubic hair.

All of it.

I mean, every single girl in those videos had been shaved smooth. It was much the same in the ones with boys, but never before had I been in such anticipation nor felt such anxiety about the possibility of doing something sexual! And in part that was because I had an entirely different sense of what might happen here.

Always before I had looked at a guy with stern suspicion, thinking of how I might have to fight off their hands if they got too rudely familiar. But this time I had the strange sense that whatever she wanted to do, should she want to do anything at all, I would simply give in and let her!

That gave me the sense of not being in control, of being under her control. And that was an integral part of all my fantasies! Which made me feel tight-chested and sent a hot, bubbling wave of excitement through my body.

Ms. James was an attractive woman, taller than I, and more slender. Her hair was in a short bob, cut off just above the jawline to hang down straight on either side of her head, longer in front than in back, and with some on the left side pulled up and across her head to fall on her right. I thought it was kind of cute.

My own hair had grown a little longer since I hadn't cut it of late. And I had thick bangs which fell to just above my eyes. I wondered if I should make it look less... I don't know, girlish. But I had been partly hiding behind my hair for years and didn't think I could wear something like she did.

Honestly, any time I thought about anything... physical, between her and me my chest tightened so I could hardly breathe! I was desperately anxious, for I knew how little I knew, and was afraid of making a complete fool of myself!