XII – Lauren’s ‘Experience’
Lauren had finally managed to share the details of her unsettling, confusing experience in Rome with all of us now. I hadn’t talked with Paul, mainly because I’m sure it’s too soon for him to talk about it. But one thing I was sure of. He’s a dad. He may not care at all about anything that Lauren did, or anything that was done to her — if it was with her consent. After all, he has done some pretty ‘harsh’ things with my beautiful daughter over the years. But anything that made Lauren unhappy and confused and uncertain about herself must have driven him crazy.
Here, I think Lauren, along with Janey and Georgia, had eased his mind a bit. The bottom line was: his precious baby girl had been bruised, but she hadn’t been harmed.
However, there was still the matter of her doubts and curiosity and — I think Georgia’s word captures it best — ‘craving.’ Something about those three nights touched something that was already lurking there inside of Lauren. Lord knows, she and I have ventured into some pretty ‘intense’ territory. After all, our very first time together we were choking each other, for Christ’s sake. And there’s her desire for Paul and me to use her pretty roughly — any way we can think of — when we’re together. I think the nights in Rome just awakened her to the extent of how far those things could go, and she was intrigued by what the possibilities might be. But like many things in life, the reality is often far different from the prospect, and not always in a good way.
And that’s where Georgia’s idea came in. As we came to know more and more about Georgia and about her life with her late husband, Arthur, we learned that sex with multiple partners — group sex — was a frequent feature of their lives. And it was Georgia who floated the idea, first with Janey, who was probably the one most likely to have insight into Lauren’s psyche.
It was the idea that the four of us could arrange for Lauren to experience the kind of sexual use she seemed to think she needed. We have dildos and candles and clothes pins, and we can easily buy clips and clamps.
The only unknowns: First, would Lauren accept such an arrangement? And, second, when the time came, could we bring ourselves to do all those things to our Lauren?
And, finally, would such an arrangement address Lauren’s craving?
We discussed this with Paul. He was her father, and anything that might affect Lauren profoundly would also affect him. Then, Jane and Georgia went to Lauren with their proposal.
Jane started. “Lauren, we’ve been together and done everything together for five years now, and I think we know each other pretty well, and I know that you came back from Italy with an itch. And I know you — you won’t let it go until that itch has been scratched. Georgia and I think we’ve come up with a way for you to get that itch scratched. But first, you tell us — why do you think you are drawn to this — this …?”
“I can’t say. First, it’s not a rational thing, so it’s hard to come up with a rational explanation of ‘why’. But I knew that I’d have to find some way to explain it to you, and to myself. And I’ve tried to remember what I was thinking when I was there, when I saw those women — completely defenseless, offering themselves to — to whatever. The best answer I can give myself is that I was drawn by the thought of what they were experiencing — to be completely vulnerable to whatever perverted ideas other people might come up with, and not knowing what was going to happen next, and that there was nothing I could do about it — I’d just have to accept whatever was going to happen to me.”
Georgia was the one who seemed to understand the emotions that Lauren was struggling to express. “Sweetheart, of course we’ll need to talk some more about this, but if you feel that you must have this, I think there are ways that we can arrange for you to experience those feelings.”
That stopped Lauren for a moment. Jane thought that Lauren might actually be frightened by Georgia’s words, and by the thought that we might really be able to cause her ‘cravings’ to become reality.
We — and by ‘we,’ I mean all of us except Lauren — sat down to talk about what it would take to allow Lauren to have the experience she thought she needed.
We had already talked about various devices. Some could be procured from “adult entertainment” shops, while others were as close as the neighborhood hardware store. Jane was given the assignment of researching the Internet for some of the more “specialized” accessories.
We also had to think about what we wanted to be able to do, and by “able to do,” I mean, what we were ready to inflict upon Lauren. And this part made me uncomfortable — “uncomfortable” in the same way that thinking about the things my Janey occasionally demands from Paul make me uncomfortable. Nevertheless, this was something we had to do if we were going to help Lauren deal with this Kartal Escort need that she feels she has.
We had never gotten around to doing anything with the fourth bedroom. As a result, it’s mostly empty, and that made it the ideal place to convert into — into what? A sex club? A torture chamber? As I said — not completely comfortable.
As I poked around on the Internet, I came across a thing called a chiropractic table, like a doctor’s examining table that’s specially designed for chiropractic examinations and treatments. They have multiple sections that can be raised or lowered and are, theoretically, quite sturdy (“Supports up to 450 pounds!”). We found that we could easily rent one from a medical supply house. When it arrived, we saw that it had lots of handles or brackets that we could use to fasten restraints. We — Paul and I — positioned it in the room, and we came to the conclusion that one eye-bolt in the wall and another over the table would allow us to restrain Lauren the way the women were in the club she described in Rome.
With the table in place and the eye-bolts installed (removal would be an easy home repair when we were finished), we did a “walk-through” of our temporary club room to understand what we could do, and what we were intending to do, and how we would do it.
While we were making these preparations, I think Paul and I kind of got into it, like an engineering challenge. But after everything was in place, I felt sick, as I came to realize that we had created this whole thing for the sole purpose of abusing the Lauren that we both love so much.
I guess I’m the only one who can describe what happens after that, so, here goes …
Georgia was the one who seemed to be taking responsibility for guiding me through this — experience, I guess you’d call it. Somehow, she seemed to have some familiarity with things like this — whatever the heck ‘this’ is. [Dad later explained to me, with Georgia’s permission, of course, just how she came to be experienced in things ‘like this.’ I guess my dear, loving grandma was quite a hot piece of ass in her day. In fact, it still seems to be ‘her day,’ doesn’t it? I love my grandmother so much! ]
Anyhow, she explained, “We’ve arranged for this — experience — for this Saturday night. That will give you all of Saturday to prepare yourself, and at least all of Sunday to recuperate.
“But there’s something else, Sweetheart. Have you thought about how you might feel when this is over? When Saturday comes, you might feel that this is not something that you really want to go through with. Or, you might go ahead, and when it’s done, decide that it was a disappointment — a big letdown. Or you might decide that it was everything you wanted to experience, but now that you’ve done it, this one time was enough. Or you might decide that you want more of that kind of intense treatment as a regular part of sex. If you do, I’m certain that your regular partners would be willing to accommodate you in that.
“Or,…what if you decide that our session here doesn’t give you the sense of danger and loss of control that you crave? What then?”
I was stunned. I hadn’t given any thought to any of the possible outcomes, from being a complete bust, to Georgia’s last possibility — that it wouldn’t be enough for me.
“Oh, Georgia — I couldn’t … I don’t think there’d be any way that I would want that last thing … I mean, I don’t think I’m that sick that I’d …”
“Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart. We love you, and however it turns out, we’ll make it all work.”
Despite her reassurances, I was still shaken by Georgia’s last suggestion. Could I really be that kind of person? The kind who needs to be abused by random strangers in order to be truly satisfied? Well, I guess I was going to find out, and I was going to find out in a situation where I wouldn’t be risking actual physical harm. Still, …
And so I went through much of Friday and all of Saturday wavering between “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” to “I can’t believe it’s finally going to happen!”
And then about 7:30 Saturday night, Georgia and Janey came to me in my room. They bathed me, then told me “Don’t worry about how to dress — we’ll prepare you.” They actually used the word “prepare.”
They then set out to “prepare” me. I had already shaved myself, so there was no need for them to do that. First, lipstick. Jane did my lips, in a shade that was redder than I normally would have selected for myself. She applied it generously, but not so much that I looked like a cartoon caricature of a whore.
Next, Georgia fastened a black leather dog collar around my neck, like the ones the women in the Rome club wore, with a ring on it. But then, they surprised me by putting my wrists and my ankles in leather cuffs. The cuffs were padded in something soft, like lambs wool, and each cuff had a ring on it so the cuffs — and therefore, my arms and legs — could be fastened to something, probably Pendik Escort to some kind of restraint. This was followed by a wide leather belt, maybe four inches wide, fastened around my waist, firmly, but not tightly. Then I remembered: I had said that the women at the club wore them, and that Annabella had even made me wear one that last time at the club.
Then Jane came to me with a little jar of makeup that I decided must be some kind of rouge, which she applied to my nipples, which made them look even larger and more aroused. But then she surprised me by telling me to bend over. She then applied the same rouge to my labia — outer and inner. Even more surprising, she applied some to my anus. Although I couldn’t see it, I imagined how this would make it look — larger and redder and — angry? — but in any case, inviting attention, probably rough attention.
Then a few final preparations. Janey brought me her pair of black five-inch stiletto heels and helped me put them on. There’s no way I could ever actually wear shoes like this, but I guess I wasn’t going to be doing too much walking tonight — or standing, for that matter.
Then Janey told me to stand up, and she explained that since there wouldn’t be a roomful of strangers to explore my body tonight, I had to be blindfolded, so that everything that was done to me would be unexpected. The blindfold had cushions inside so the pads completely filled my eye sockets and I was really unable to see anything at all. Then, either Jane or Georgia grasped my right nipple and put some kind of spring clamp onto it. The clamp squeezed my nipple, but it was not unbearable. But then they grabbed my other nipple and put a clamp on it, and then I realized that there was a chain that ran between the two clamps, and there was a weight on the chain that tugged on my nipples. Now this hurt!
Then Georgia told me to spread my legs. This time the clamps were attached to my labia, and each clamp seemed to have a chain attached to it, and some kind of weights on the chains. As a consequence, I was now being stretched, and not in a pleasant way. Still,… I had asked for this.
Georgia asked me, “Do you still want to do this, Sweetheart?” I said yes. She then said, “If you reach a point where you can’t take anymore and you want it to stop, we should have a ‘safe word.’ That way we’ll know that you really do want it to end. What would be a good word, dear?”
For some bizarre reason, I said, “Pineapple.”
Without any comment, Georgia said, “Alright, ‘pineapple’.”
Each one kissed me on a cheek. Then they took hold of the chains on my nipples and on my labia and began pulling me toward the room they had prepared for tonight.
“There — you wanted to have no control, slut? Well, here it is.”
Then one of them stuck three fingers into my pussy and grabbed me and lifted me and held me like that, then removed the fingers and gave my clit a final pinch before leading me into the room.
I have to tell you, being blindfolded, unable to see even a flicker of light, was disorienting, and it created the desired effect of making me feel that I had no control over where I was going or what was going to happen to me when I got there.
The first thing I noticed was that no one spoke. I guess this was to heighten my uncertainty as to what was happening — I wouldn’t even know who was doing something, let alone have any control over it.
They led me into the room and I was maneuvered into standing in some particular spot where they wanted me. With my eyes still blindfolded, someone took both my hands and fastened something to the ring on one of the padded cuffs, and then on the other, so now my hands were effectively ‘cuffed’ together. Then someone — a taller person, Dad or Matthew — looped something — a chain or rope — through the thing that was connecting my wrist cuffs. Then I felt my arms being pulled upward, and I understood what was happening. I had seen enough pornos that I could even picture what I looked like — naked, blindfolded, black leather belt cinching my waist, contrasting against my skin, the weighted chain clamped to my nipples, weighted chains pulling down on my cunt lips, arms extended above my head, balancing on Janey’s extra-high heeled shoes. I probably looked like some cheesy illustration from a BDSM magazine.
In fact, I actually hoped that’s how I looked.
I think I wanted to be humiliated, but I didn’t know it until that moment.
Then it started. With no warning, I felt a sharp slap on my right breast. I was startled more by the unexpected sound than by the pain. But then the pain started to sink in. I guess the first slap was not ‘satisfactory,’ because I felt a hand grasp my breast to hold it firmly for the slap that followed. Than a slap to my left breast, then another. Then, two hands began exploring my body — fingertips touching my breasts, my nipples, up each arm and back down, one person firmly dragging their fingernails across my armpit several Göztepe Escort times. Then down over my belly. One person dragged their nails sharply across my lower belly — probably Jane or Georgia, from the feel of the nails, and they probably left welts. Well, I guess I’d find out later.
Hands began touching me mid-thigh, nails gently stroking down my legs, then back up, all the way to my pussy, where they gently explored my pussy lips, and then my asshole, then leaving me. Then a hand reached between my legs and roughly grabbed my pussy, shoving probably three fingers inside me while pressing a thumb into my clit. From the size of the hand and the shorter fingernails, I think it was Jane. I almost collapsed from the pain of the sudden invasion. The only thing that prevented it was that my hands were still cuffed and chained to the overhead restraint — that, and the fact that I was being held up by the hand in my pussy.
The fingers continued to work over my pussy, quite roughly. It was uncomfortable and unpleasant, and I reflexively squirmed to get away from the discomfort, but of course, I couldn’t.
And then I realized — I wanted to come from the brutal treatment my pussy was being subjected to. I wanted to come, but I couldn’t. I was writhing and thrusting on the fingers that were inside me, trying to get just that little extra push that would give me the release that I now craved so intensely.
A woman’s voice, muffled somehow, hissed, “Look at the slut — she’s trying to come.”
Then the chain holding my arms up was released, and I collapsed a little onto the hand in my pussy that was still holding me up. With my wrists still cuffed together, they moved me over next to some kind of table or bench — a table, I guess, because it seemed to have multiple sections, and later they were readjusted for “special purposes.” I was positioned next to the table and hands guided me down. Then I felt some sort of restraint being fed through the chain that was connecting my wrists, and then I felt my cuffed arms being pulled backward above my head.
I also felt and heard hooks being attached to the rings on my ankle cuffs so that my legs were spread and my knees bent back. I lay there completely exposed, just waiting. The clamps were still attached to my nipples and the weighted chain to my cunt lips, although I was starting to get used to that particular discomfort.
To my surprise, the clamps were suddenly removed from my nipples and my lips, and I was left there to experience the relief and the feel of the cool air on the tender, abused flesh.
The relief was not allowed to last. Suddenly I felt a sharp slap, right on my pussy. And on my clit. Than another slap, then another. Each slap stung. Then there was a few moments’ pause, and I was able to realize that my pussy felt hot and my clit hurt, in a way it never had before.
During the pause, the hot, stinging feelings subsided a little. But then the slapping began again — hard, perhaps ten or so, and I arched my hips and squirmed and tried to get away from the slaps, but they just continued. I couldn’t believe that people I knew — people who said they loved me — could do such things to me.
And then I remembered — I asked them to.
They stopped again, leaving my pussy sore and burning — and itching for something more.
Someone, Janey or Georgia, I think, dropped some cool cream or lotion on my burning pussy and spread it around. It was cooling, and soothing, and the burning I was feeling there began to feel just pleasantly warm.
And that’s when I felt another slap. Only this time, it wasn’t a hand. It felt more like, well, sort of a fly swatter, except smaller and probably leather, either a riding crop or some sort of BDSM instrument. I cried out, from both the pain and the surprise. And I realized that what I had asked for was about to begin in earnest.
Another “Crack!” I jumped, at least, what I could do in my restrained position. This one stung, because it partially landed on my clit, and it sent a jolt through my entire body. Now I was going to know what those helpless women in that dark club in Rome knew. And now I had to decide: Could I turn myself completely over to those feelings of helplessness, to detach my mind and my judgement and submit to — to whatever these faceless people wanted to do to my body?
I let go, and I waited for whatever was to come next. My pussy was stinging from the repeated slaps from the whip or crop. It felt red and hot, and while it hurt, it also felt warm and arousing. No more slaps on my pussy — for now. Instead, a series of six or seven slaps with the whip, on my belly, my ass, and on my tits. One hit my nipple just right, and the pain was so sudden and intense that things went black for a second or two. And then the whipping stopped.
The relief didn’t last long. The previous clamps were replaced by new clamps, different from the first ones. They didn’t seem to have a chain or any weights, but these clamps hurt my flesh even more, because they seemed to have some kind of “teeth,” maybe like those clips they use to make electrical connections. These hurt like hell. The only good thing was that they fastened several of these clips onto each of my tits, but they didn’t put any on my nipples.