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Do You Ever Hit Them?
Lady D reached for her glass and filled it with soda,
plucking a lemon from the little bowl and inserting it onto the
rim of the glass. I followed her example, and she raised
her glass, I touched it with mine, and we leaned back on the
couch.
“Do you ever hit them, D? The
men here?” I asked, sipping my drink.
“Oh yes. Sometimes, some of
them have this look about them that tells me they need to be
hit. And sometimes, I just feel an urge to do it, to hurt
them. JulieA, Either way, it’s just something that comes
over me, and I sort of just go with it. I can remember
this short man a few months back, who had these eyes like a
deer. They looked so frightened. But there was
something else about him, too. An ugliness. I don’t
mean he was unattractive; he wasn’t. But there was an
aura around him, something he gave off, that was ugly. It
aroused me sexually in a weird sort of way. Like I was
driven sexually to hurt him. And he knew it; he knew he
had this thing that made me want to hurt him.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I stayed away from him for a
while. But then I would see him. He would look at
me, follow me with those eyes. And the feeling would come,
the feeling that I needed to hurt him. It became a
haunting, sexual urge that was always there. It made me
horny all the time. I began looking for him, whenever I
walked around Ironwood. And I would see him and that aura
he had around him.”
D shook her head and smiled, like she
was telling me something about herself she didn’t quite
understand. Then she took a sip of her drink and stared at
the wall.
“I had no intention of doing anything to
him. It was all just too weird. But then one day I
saw him scrubbing the floor in a hallway. He was on his
hands and knees, and he was naked. I thought the hair on
his legs and his arms seemed irritating somehow, but I don’t
know why. I was going to walk on past, when he lifted his
head and looked at me with those deer eyes. And the look
was that ugly look, but I saw that he was taunting me with it,
like he knew he was radiating some kind of power that would make
me want to hurt him. It was like he was forcing me to get
excited about it.”
D looked like she was about to tell me
something terrible.
“I stopped, standing over his naked
body. All the body language indicated that I was the
superior, looming over his naked, servile inferiority. But
I wasn’t superior. He had all the power. I wanted
to hurt him with a craving that invaded my sense of myself to
such an extent that I was as out of control as a teenage boy,
fumbling with the fastener of a girl’s bra in the back seat of
a car.
“I lifted my foot and set my boot
down hard on the back of his hand and twisted it, as though I
were crushing out a cigarette. Then I stomped on his hand,
hard, feeling it flatten under my heavy boot. He slowly
turned his face up to look at me, and I saw this look that I may
never forget. The eyes had no fear in them now; they were
dilated and relaxed. They held my gaze in a controlled
stare that fixed me and told me he was in control.
“I knew better. I knew I was
superior to him. I knew that I had what he wanted, and
that he lusted after me, that he would do anything I told him to
do. But he controlled me. I kicked him in the side
of his leg and watched him fall backward. I pulled the
riding crop from my belt, and I raised it over my head and swung
it hard against his face. The look that came over him was
one of relief, his eyes filling with grateful tears, and the
aura was gone. He waited, and the deer eyes began to plead
in silence. I struck him again with the crop. I
began hitting him harder and harder, all over that groveling
body, and I kicked him as hard as I could several times, until
he rolled over on his side and looked up at me.
“That look was now unbelievably
different. Now he was the one who was craving and out of
control, and I stopped and just stood looking at him. He
began to beg me to hurt him, in phrases that were as desperate
and needy as any I have ever heard uttered by any
submissive. And his words and the look on his pathetic
face were filling me with power. I stood with my feet
apart, straddling his body, and my thigh muscles tensed and I
felt a tautness in my breasts and my pussy that pressed against
my clothes. Then a wave coursed through my entire body,
shaking me. It was an incredible orgasm that left me aware
of everything around me.
“When I was finished, I looked down
at the man. His eyes were different, now, like they’d
lost any life of their own. His face was like the other
submissive male faces that have given me their power, devoid of
character and totally dependent upon any attention I might deign
to give him.”
“I saw him several times after that,
but he no longer interested me. He had overpowered me in a
way that I would never forget, but the ordeal left him beaten
and empty.”
“Did anything ever happen between you
again? I asked.
“Between us? Not exactly.
I found myself looking at him differently after that. I
would go out of my way to degrade him, to prove to him just how
badly he was beaten and how overwhelmingly powerful I was.
I took every opportunity to prove to him he was nothing, while I
was everything. I sent for him one night and used a huge
strap-on on him. I made him cry and beg in the middle of
my floor. I used him as a toilet and spit in his
face. But nothing I did seemed beyond the power he had
given me. He accepted every indignity, every punishment,
every degradation, humbly and gratefully. Finally, I tired
of him. I knew there was nothing left to do to him.
It had all been done. I went out of my way to ignore him,
and that seemed to break his heart. He left one week, and
I never heard from him again.”
“That’s pretty incredible, D,” I
said.
“It was one of those things that
happen to you that you could never have even conceived of until
after it actually happens. It changed me, but I don’t
think I completely understand to what extent. But it did
give me one interesting perspective.”
“What’s that,” I asked.
“I can’t hear anyone refer to ‘topping
from the bottom,’ without laughing.”
~~~
Copyright 2003
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