Lacrimosa played on my stereo as I sat in the dark sipping neat Scotch whisky, pondering what had happened in the preceding few hours.
Earlier, I had gotten a phone call from my old friend Karm. His last name was something unpronounceable that he claimed was Hungarian, but I’m not really sure of that, just as I’m not sure of a lot of things about him.
“I need a favor,” he said. “I have an out of state hook up in town, and I’m not going to be able to get to her tonight. I’m up to my ass in an emergency to a client. Can you take care of her tonight?”
A little free sex? Why not? What could go wrong?
“Sure,” I replied. “Where is she?”
He told me her name was Lana, and she was at The Windsor.
“Just one thing,” he said. “She expects BDSM, and she wants to be humiliated. Is that alright?”
I thought about it for a moment.
“I suppose so,” I said with some hesitation. BDSM has never been my thing, and Karm knows it. He and I have talked about it before. He says it’s like playing a game, like role playing, and the role you’re playing is a sadistic asshole.
“Also, she can orgasm on command. The command is ‘come, bitch’.”
That she could orgasm on command excited me, but the command, not so much. But I suppose I could act like a sadistic asshole for a night.
The Windsor is one of those older hotels that was originally built around a central courtyard, which was later enclosed with a roof and turned into a large indoor atrium. I went to her floor, walked around the balcony, and knocked on her door, putting on the character I had created for myself, a stern, cocksure, sadistic asshole. I settled my face into a mild mean-face, not quite a scowl.
A small, slightly chunky brunette with a wedge haircut and hazel eyes, dressed in a red and white vertical striped cotton shirt, and a knee length denim skirt answered the door.
“Scott?” She asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “Karm asked me to take care of you this evening.”
She invited me in. The room had two beds, one of which she had set up with wrist and ankle restraints, a suitcase which seemed to be packed half with clothing and half with BDSM toys, and the desk which held several books and looked as if she had been studying. She had an open Diet Coke on the desk, but I saw no sign of food.
“Have you eaten?” I asked.
“No,” she replied.
“No what.”
“No, Master.”
For a moment I hesitated. That was remarkably easy.
“Come,” I said, and walked to the door.
I walked into the walkway, and she struggled to pull on a pair of sandals as she followed me.
We headed out of the hotel to a Thai restaurant just down the street, where we sat in a discreet booth in the back. When the elderly owner lady, an actual Thai woman, took our order I placed it for both of us.
“Pad Thai for two,” I said. I looked at Lana. “Hot. And two large iced teas.”
While we waited, I told her to tell me about herself. It was a sad tale, really. Married young, now divorced, mother of one, abusive ex-husband in prison for beating a man to death in a fight, gained a lot of weight, lost a lot of weight, going to school for a psychology degree. For myself, my heart went out to her as a survivor of what she described. In character, I remained stern and uninterested. It felt odd being this person.
A large platter of pad thai arrived, with two plates, to be served family style, with two glasses and a large pitcher of iced tea. I served both of us, seeing the red chili flakes on the dish and knowing it would be nice and spicy hot.
“Eat,” I told her.
She ate without complaint, though she did blush and sweat, and drink a lot of iced tea. The portion size was just right to follow the Asian tradition of eating only until one is about 80% full. As we finished I called for the check.
“We can’t let good tea go to waste,” I told her, pushing her glass in front of her. She drank it. I pushed my glass in front of her, and she drank it. I poured the remains of the pitcher into the glass, and she drank that as well. She must have drunk close to half a gallon of iced tea.
As we left for her hotel room an idea formed in my mind. My character chuckled. I cringed, but I did not break character. Part of me was thrilled, the other part was horrified. If she really wanted to be humiliated then I knew just how.
As we entered her room there was an awkward moment when she obviously didn’t know what to do. She looked to me for direction, expectantly. I sat in the swivel chair at the desk and looked at her.
“Take off your clothes,” I told her. “Slowly,” I corrected as she snapped to comply.
She unbuttoned her shirt one button at a time, letting the shirt slip off of her shoulders and down her arms, placing it neatly on the bed. Then her skirt, which she unzipped, worked over her hips, slid down her legs, and stepped out of one leg at a time, placing it next to her shirt. Next came her bra, which she unhooked, and slid down her arms, letting her prodigious breasts hang free. Last, her white cotton panties, which she slid down her legs and stepped out of. Now nude, she stood awkwardly, again awaiting instruction.
“Come closer and let me look at you,” I said.
She stepped closer and stood directly in front of me.
Standing about 5’4″, she had large, saggy breasts, stretch marks on her abdomen, and loose skin common among people who were once obese but had lost a lot of weight.
“Turn around, slowly.” She did.
Her back told the same story: A formerly fat person who was no longer so, but wore the scars of the experience. I have known women who wore such a body with confidence, but Lana did not.
“Come here so I can touch you.”
She had no body hair, and seemed to shave everything except her head. I started touch her at her collar bones and ran my hands down her breasts, running each finger one at a time over her nipples, which made her gasp. I continued over her belly, and down to her smooth pussy, which lacked even a hint of stubble. While I did not find her attractive to look at, she was delightfully soft and smooth to touch.
She delighted in my touch, rather like a cat. Or, perhaps more like a dog. Cats want you to please them, whereas pleasing you is all dogs want to do, and she obviously, desperately wanted to please.
I had her turn around again and felt her back in the same way, and she practically purred. I had her bend over and show me her ass, spreading her cheeks so I could see the bud of her anus, which was scrupulously clean. I had her turn around again, and show me her pussy, opening her lips to show me her inner labia, inside her labial fold, and the opening to her vagina, which glistened wetly. I reached out and flicked her clitoris, which made her jump and gasp, and her pussy twitch.
“Go lie down on the bad with the restraints,” I told her.
“Master, may I go to the bathroom first?” She asked.
“You may not.”
She lay on the bed, and put her wrists toward the restraints she had prepared to receive them. I buckled her wrists into the restraints, and then her ankles, taking care to make sure the restraints were tight enough to hold her, but not so tight they hurt her. They had wear marks showing that they had been used for this purpose before, and that guided me to the correct adjustments.
I looked into her bag of toys and found a large feather. I used the feather to tickle her, first on her nose, then her throat and ears, moving down to her nipples, her belly, the insides of her thighs, and on to the soles of her feet, which made her giggle and squirm.
I moved back up the insides of her thighs and very gently, almost imperceptibly, over the outer lips of her pussy, which made her shudder and gasp.
I found this incredibly erotic, and despite my misgivings at the situation, I got an erection.
I put the feather down and undressed, making sure she could see me the whole time.
The next toy I pulled out of her bag was a mini vibe. I repeated the pattern I had used with the feather. When it touched her nipples she gasped and squirmed. When I put it into her navel I could practically see the sensations ripple through her body. I moved the mini vibe down her belly to her pubic bone, where I pressed it so the vibrations conducted through her. She moaned.
I put the mini vibe directly on her clitoris, and she shrieked and bucked from the over intense sensation. I moved the vibe down and ran it around her labia to the opening of her vagina. Then to her perineum, then around her anus, which made her moan and squirm. I repeated this pattern several times, clit, labia, vagina, perineum, anus, until she was almost crying.
“Master, may I come, please?”
“Not yet.”
She whimpered.
I moved away from her, and she moaned in frustration.
“Master, may I go to the bathroom, please?”
“Not yet.”
“Please, it hurts.”
“Not yet.”
I got the room’s ice bucket and brought it to the night stand between the two beds. I took an ice cube and held it over her so that water dripped on her forehead and her nose.
“Oh!” she reacted to the cold wetness.
I slid the cube down her sternum, and made a figure of 8 pattern around her breasts, first with a single ice cube, then with one in each hand, tightening the pattern until I was just going around her nipples. When I touched the ice to her erect nipples she gasped and a vibration went through her body.
I placed an ice cube into her navel, which drew a breathless “OH!” I took another cube from the bucket, and ran it down her inner thighs, and to the backs of her knees. Then another down her calves. When I touched the ice to the soles of her feet she cried out. More ice, and back up to her pussy. I touched the ice to her clitoris, and she jumped and shrieked. Then down her labial fold to the opening of her vagina, which was already dripping wet from her own juices, and clamped shut by her effort to hold her bladder.
“Master, may I please go to the bathroom? I can’t hold it any longer. Please?” She pleaded.
I put the ice down. I reached to the foot of the bed and unclipped the restraints from the straps there. She sighed expectantly.
But I’m a sadistic asshole.
I raised her legs up toward her head, her knees to her chest, and clipped the ankle restraints to a second set of straps attached to the headboard.
“Please!” She begged. “Please let me go to the bathroom! Master, Please!”
I lifted her butt up so that it was nearly over her head.
“Go,” I said.
“I… I… I can’t, Master!”
Her sphincters twitched with the effort to hold her bladder, just barely restraining the reflex to let fly.
I raised my hand above my head, and slapped her anus, hard, the report echoing off the walls.
Urine erupted from her pussy in a great fountain, and she urinated copiously, her stream hitting her directly in the face, making her sputter and blubber as it went into her mouth, her nose, her eyes, her ears, and saturated her hair, running down her neck, and in rivulets over her shoulders and behind her back.
“Push it,” I said. “Push out every last drop.”
She did. As her bladder emptied the pressure of her stream reduced until it was running up her belly onto her chest. Finally it dribbled down the crack of her ass. I put her down, and left her restrained with her knees on her chest.
As she lay sputtering and trying to clear the urine from her nose, mouth, and eyes, I put on a condom.
“You don’t deserve the real deal, so I’m going to give you latex. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” she gasped.
“You don’t deserve it in your pussy, so I’m going to put it in your ass. What do you say to that?”
“Please, Master.”
I climbed on top of her. First I put a finger into her anus.
“Relax,” I told her, and she did. With her anus now open, I put my dick into it, and slowly pushed it all the way in. I built up my tempo until I was fucking her ass hard.
And my mind went to war with itself. I, me, the real me, was revolted at what I had just done, and wanted no more of it. Sadistic Asshole me wanted to jackhammer her ass and ejaculate for all he was worth. We stayed in that state, neither able to stop nor able to finish.
Under my hand I found the mini vibe, which I turned on and held to her clit.
“Oh! OH! Master, may I cum! May I cum, PLEEEEAAAASSSEEE!” She pleaded.
“Cum, bitch.”
And she did. Spectacularly. She rolled her head around, and thrust back at me as best she could in her restraints, her insides doing summersaults and handsprings, and her sphincters pulsating violently. The power of the orgasm shook her whole body repeatedly.
Her orgasm broke my stalemate and I came too, my own orgasm ripping through me. I ejaculated a huge load, one great gout after another. I rested on her legs as the stars finally stopped exploding in my vision and we both started to return to Earth. When my dick stopped pulsating, and we had both caught our breath, I rolled off of her.
I went to the bathroom, slipped off the condom, and emptied my own bladder. When I looked in the mirror I didn’t recognize who I saw there. Then I realized I was looking at The Sadistic Asshole.
I wiped myself off, and walked into the other room again. I heard Lana on the bed, still restrained, softly crying. I got dressed quickly.
First I released Lana’s legs, and helped her lower them out straight. Next, I released her wrists. Then I walked to the door.
“Clean yourself up. Wait for Karm. Study until he gets here.”
She said nothing, but continued softly crying. I quietly slipped out the door.
I needed a drink. Or several.
I felt… I don’t know what I felt. I had just had one of the most intense orgasms of my life while doing the most disgusting sex act of my life. Unusually for me, I didn’t remember where I parked, so I had to wander around the parking lot until I found my truck.
I don’t remember driving home. I don’t remember anything between getting into my truck and walking into my house.
I threw myself into the shower, and tried to wash off my experience of the evening. I soaped up and scrubbed myself from head to toe, then stood under the shower and just let it run over me. Then, still feeling dirty, I did it again. I stood under the shower until the hot water ran out.
In my bath robe, without turning on the light, I opened my liquor cabinet and grabbed the first bottle my hand touched, pouring a generous serving into a neat glass.
Laphroaig. Heavy, peaty, phenolic, smoky, medicinal. Fitting, because I needed medicine. I swallowed it whole and poured another.
I sat in my recliner in my living room, and the only piece of music I could think of was Lacrimosa from Mozart’s Requiem, so I played the Requiem, and sat in my darkened living room listening, drinking Scotch whisky, and thinking.
Why Lacrimosa? What was I mourning? Lost innocence? If so then whose? Lana’s? My own? Was I the guilty man rising from the ashes to be judged, pleading for mercy? Mercy from whom?
That character I had become, who was that? Where did he come from? I created him on the drive over to Lana’s hotel. Was he inside me the whole time, just waiting for a chance to come out? Mr. Hyde to my Dr.Jekyll? I didn’t like him, and I was disgusted that he was part of my mind.
I didn’t like BDSM before, and I thoroughly hate it now.
And I loathed. I don’t know who I loathed more, Lana for being such a willing victim, Karm for setting this whole thing in motion, or myself for doing it.
My phone rang. It was Karm. I sent it to voice mail. I didn’t want to talk to him right now. I wouldn’t talk to him tomorrow either. I might not talk to him again.
I had much to ponder. Is there really a sadistic asshole inside of me? Inside of everyone? Can I get back to normal? Or, now that the Sadistic Asshole has made his appearance must I find a new normal? Is this my new normal? What is normal? Does normal exist at all? One question led to another, with no answers.
Right now all I wanted to do was sit in the dark, sip my whisky, and listen to Lacrimosa.