Am I really a Masochist?

I've always been fascinated by the stories which depict a masochist submitting to a sadist. The scenes where the sub is brought to the brink and beyond excite me. Then I discovered S&M porn videos. I could see the look on their faces as they cried out. You could see the tears in their eyes and the tremor in their voice as they asked "Please sir, may I have another?" It was fascinating.

I've run into a few people who thought that they were doms. One wanted to me kneel and call him master as I performed fellatio on him. He got hard as he softly swatted at my butt. I almost laughed at how ineffectual he was. I got nothing out of it. A few others just wanted to be dominant and insulting but didn't get turned on by the whole sadist angle.

Not long ago I came across a man in a chat room. He was looking for a young man to spank and abuse. I did not fit any of his criteria. He wanted young and fit. I'm in my 40s and a touch chubby. He wanted to give a blow job in trade for a spanking. I was offering to swallow HIS cock in exchange for a spanking. He wanted a young submissive. I wanted to see if I was submissive. But despite all that I managed to pique his interest. Maybe it was the picture of my bare ass that changed his mind. Maybe it was that I told him that he could do as he pleased and I would do my best to endure it. Whatever it was, I was able to talk my way into an invitation to his house. It was a 15 mile drive to his place, and the whole time that I was driving I thought about the wisdom of meeting up with an avowed sadist in a strange town. Even so, I was excited, and my erect cock leaked a little pre-cum along the way.

By the time I arrived at his house the reality had set in, and I was becoming nervous. I was so nervous that my hands shook as I took off the seat belt. I'd assured him that I appeared quite vanilla, so I had changed to a pair of blue jeans and a light tee-shirt before leaving the house. My light brown hair was cut short in a business man style. My mustache was still the dirty blond that it was when I was a teen. I worked out just enough that I had no problem picking up 50 pound bags of fertilizer. Yeah, no one would look at me twice.

I walked slowly from my car to the house's back door as I was directed. Mister Sadist greeted me at the door. I doubted that it was the right place at first. He looked like a tall ( 6 foot ) cheery elf with a sparkle in his eye and a disarming smile. I knew I was in the right place when he called me by name. He invited me inside and instantly took over. He had me pirouette slowly so that he could check me out. I had to bend over and touch my toes. I had to take off my shoes and socks, but he told me to leave every thing else on.

I'd already explained my limits online but he went over them again. There were to be no lasting marks on my body, and none that showed when I was wearing my underclothes. Yep, he had it right. I found myself trembling again as he formally established our relationship. I was to submit to his will. He was free to hurt me as he wished.

He led me to a large chair with nary a word. He bent me over the back of the chair. "This is where I usually do it" was all he said. I had no idea what he would really do, or how he'd do it. But I'd promised that I'd behave for him and as such I felt compelled to do what he wanted. When I bent over the chair the top of my head was in the seat of the chair and my face was pressed into the cushions of the seat back. Even so, it was a good height. My feet barely touched the floor and my knees bent just a little.

With my face buried in the seat cushion I could not see much of what he was doing. I heard small noises as he opened and closed drawers and cabinets. All my senses were concentrated on what I could feel and hear. The chair's wooden frame was not cushioned by the pillows; there was nothing to cushion my pelvic bones as they rubbed against the non upholstered wood. It was uncomfortable, but not quite painful. He'd said I would be spanked, and he knew how he wanted me positioned. He did not seem to care whether I was clothed or not.

At first he used his open hand to spank my bottom near the back of my legs. The first blows were dulled by the fabric of my jeans. As he hit higher it hurt more like a punch than a spank. Then I realized that I had left my wallet in one pocket and a small flashlight in the other. His hands must have hurt as he swatted my bottom despite the pocket's contents. The blows felt more like he was punching my ass as opposed to slapping it. Within a minute he'd managed to hit every inch of my ass and the backs of my thighs. By the time he was through he was hitting quite hard and it was starting to sting like a proper spanking. I have no idea how long he was beating my ass.

He let me relax for a moment. I started to thank him, but he shushed me. I guess that I was not supposed to talk. While I laid there absorbing the sensations of the beating, his hands worked their way up my spine, gently messaging as he went. Then he reached around and fondled my cock through my pants. I pumped my hips slightly to show that I liked it. His hands moved up along my belly until they reached my highly erect nipples. I moaned as he tenderly played with them, then let out a squeak as he gave them a quick pinch.

By now I was super sensitive to his touch. I was hungry for more of something. I did not quite know what I wanted, but when he slipped his hand under the waistband of my jeans I melted, arching my back and moving my hips to move his hand deeper under the fabric covering my cock. I had visions of his hand holding my erect cock. I knew what he meant when he said "Down" and gently tugged on my pants leg. I did not hesitate.

I was already working at the belt buckle as I straightened up. A moment later he gave a tug and my pants fell to my ankles. No words were needed. A gentle push on my shoulder was all it took to put me face down in the seat cushions again. I think he liked the thin cotton bikini briefs that I wore. I could feel his hands move back and forth as he explored my newly exposed behind. He started spanking with a back and forth motion. First his fingertips would graze my as as his hand came from the right, then his knuckles would hit on the return swing. He knew what he was doing when he pulled the waistband of my underpants. The fabric disappeared between my ass cheeks like in a wedgie, leaving my bottom bare. The feeling intensified. Fast moving fingertips on bare tender skin hurts a lot!

His right hand moved to my lap as his left started a slow, light slapping that alternated between my left and right cheek. I did not realize that I had a hard-on until he touched it. All he did was to cradle it in his palm while I supplied the motion. The feeling was fantastic.

I pushed my butt back to meet each swing of his hand. The thumps from earlier had turned to fast moving slaps and they were starting to burn. My cock ached for more contact with his hand and so I thrust forward to stroke my dick against his palm and then pushed back to receive the sting of his other hand. I don't know why I wanted more, but I did. When he suddenly stopped I was left with nothing but the burning and aching. And yearning. You can't forget the sense of yearning when he stopped touching me.

"Lets get those clothes off." he said. I turned to look at him and comply. He took the initiative and pulled my shirt over my head. His hands rested on my shoulders for a moment, then slid down my chest, my abs, my waist and smoothly snagged the waistband. My underwear joined my jeans at my ankles. I was facing him now and could see the smile on his face as he reached out to fondle my now naked body.

He was very good at fondling. Light touches here and there. Gentle squeezes where I did not expect them. The last thing I saw as he pushed me over the chair again was a bottle of baby oil that he picked up off the shelf. "Everyone needs to be oiled" he said as he applied a generous amount to my back and butt. He worked it around my back, then between my cheeks.

He'd not mentioned sex in any way, so his exploring fingers were a surprise. His thumb found it's way inside me. His other hand pumped my cock in slow strokes that matched the rhythm of his thumb. I think he was pleased that I was responding to both stimuli so well. I had only expected a spanking. Pure and simple strokes with an open hand. I did not expect the thumb that was slowly fucking me.

I felt empty when he withdrew from my ass, but quickly forgot about it when he started spanking me again. The oil on my ass had soaked in and the glancing blows stung like getting slapped. I was lost in the burn. I don't know how long he spanked me like that. It seemed to go on and on. He only stopped long enough to caress me gently, reaching around to stroke my hard cock or torture my tits.

I don't think I'd ever had my tits pinched so hard. He simply captured the nipples between his calloused thumb and finger and squeezed them together like a vice. He pinched and pulled until I let out a squeal, then he released them, rubbing lightly to calm me down. Once I was calm again he would do it again or maybe he would stroke my cock. It was his choice. Either way it felt exceedingly good. I started to pump my hips slowly to push against his barely moving hand but he reached between my legs with the other hand and grabbed my balls to stop me.

My balls are not real big, so he easily encircled the base of them with one hand. Then he tightened his grip and pulled back. I, of course, froze. He tickled the head of my cock with his fingers. Every time I moved my balls ached a little more. He again elicited a squeal when he just squeezed. Hard. I felt like I'd been kicked in the balls. I found myself whispering "please please please no more please" over and over as he massaged, no he mashed, my tender balls. I did not utter the safe word so he was free to continue or stop as he wished. He was enjoying the way I reacted to the pain. I cried and sobbed and begged as I tried to climb over the couch to get away. You can't get away when someone is holding onto your balls tightly.

But no safeword was uttered. He stopped only when he was satisfied or to change the tools he used to torment me. At some point his hand must have gotten tired or sore. He switched to a belt which he laid across the back of my thighs and worked his way up to top of my cheeks, then down again. Something had changed in me. It hurt, it burned and stung and ached at the same time and all I could do is to lay there whimpering as blow after blow tenderized my innocent bottom.

I basically collapsed over the chair. That's when he finally stopped. He informed me that my bright red and purple ass was as far as he could go without leaving marks. I did not know what to do. My ass was burning, my balls were aching and my heart was pounding but I had not cum yet! I slid off the chair and onto my knees. I realized I was shaking uncontrollably as I knelt naked at his feet, arm wrapped around his legs, my head leaning against his thigh.

I looked up at him, and he was smiling like a boy with a new toy. He told me again that we had to stop, and that I should dress. I begged for a little more. I wanted to be fondled. I needed to cum. I did not care how. I told him that. I even offered a blow job in exchange. He smiled as he said that he was just keeping to the rules that I had put forth. No marks that would show when dressed and a one hour time limit. He stressed that he always kept his word. Now I needed to get dressed and leave, or else he'd kick my naked ass out the door.

I left in a bit of a daze. I could feel every touch of my shirt against my nipples as I walked back to my car. It was not until I gently eased my aching body into the drivers seat that I realized how well he'd spanked me and abused me. I stopped at a Starbucks so that I could masturbate in their restroom before making the long trip home. Backing my sore bare ass up against the cold tile walls felt so good that I came before my drink was ready.

The next morning I had the shock of my life when I looked at my ass in the mirror. Every inch of my ass was either black and blue or an angry red. Amazingly, the bruises did not show when I put my underpants on. I managed to get away with it, even when my wife came home 4 days later. By then the marks had faded, and she never looks closely at my ass anyway.

Even now, weeks later, I think of him when I sit down, or when my tight jeans trap a ball against the in-seam. It was a wonderful experiment.