Joanna's Story Ch. 03

Then, he'd pinch my nipples, tell me to get dressed and send me home in the cab with someone's panties in my mouth.

Did I hate that? Absolutely. Would I do it again to go to bed with Ken? Only if I didn't have to eat Deedee. She never washed her pussy or douched. I gag when I even think of what she tasted and smelled like. Celia, would I have to go through all that misery if I agree to have threesomes with you and Ken?"

"Oh, honey, I'm afraid so. At least the sexual aspects and humiliation. That may be even worse for you. However, I promise you that Ken won't beat you as he did before. I'd have him beat me before I'd let him subject you to all that torture. I'll agree to his demands if he promises not to use those heavy whips on you or on other women he may bring here. Here's our unlisted number. Please call me tomorrow. Don't agree to be a part of this if you have any qualms at all, and I'll 'negotiate' with him. Thank you, so much, Susan. You could literally save my life. Oh My! How is that for pressure?"

***

Dear readers,

When I started this awful tale, I had gleaned ideas from stories on this and other sites. I even watched film clips on BDSM. Then I wrote an outline for about four chapters. I thought I could handle what my imagination would come up with. I had no idea that putting all this together would be this gross. Writing, even by filling in the blanks, seems worse than reading or watching bondage. I am a bit shocked by what I myself have written. Perhaps, like Ken, I should see a therapist.

I have attempted to write enough narrative to sort of hide some of that BDSM, but I don't seem to be succeeding in even camouflaging it. I am tempted to shut down before I really disgust you and myself. I think I should have stuck with writing lesbian stories or even "true romance". I don't think I have what it takes to write S & M. My imagination and my sensitivity seem to collide and try to fight it out. I'm not sure what part of me will win. I am, at the same time, both aroused and horrified at what I'm writing. I know that it must be a pain to listen to me tell you of my problem over and over, but I must.

I have a strong compulsion to explain myself. I would very much like to be like other writers on this site who don't seem to allow their consciences to nag them. Mea culpa.

Have you had enough or are you so jaded that this story doesn't bother you? Be my conscience. What shall I do? The next chapters could be even more horrific than this one.