Joanna's Story Ch. 02

Chapter 02

Celia's Wedding Night

Two weeks before their wedding, Ken approached Celia. This was the first time Celia had seen Ken since her impregnation. She was immediately aroused, but held her sphincter tightly closed. She had been fantasizing about their wedding night and came close to orgasm when Ken came near her.

"Celia," glared Ken, "I am so damned mad at you that I can't see straight. You have to tell our parents that the baby isn't mine."

"But Ken, that time with you was the only time I've ever had sex." She remembered that Karla had licked her vagina and added. "With a man."

"Okay, Celia. This is the way it's going to go down {so to speak} if you insist on going through with this. I can't go against my father or he'll cut off my allowance, but know this. I will NOT stop having sex with other girls, and I WILL use you as a sex slave. I will force you to do things you've never even heard of. I'll punish you any time you don't do exactly as I say. I will probably beat you when I think about how you entrapped me. Do you still want to go through with this charade?"

Celia was actually turned on by Ken's threat and said, "Ken, I'm deeply in love with you, and I'm willing to accept anything to be married to you." Ken stormed off.

Two weeks later, after they said their vows and the minister said they could kiss, Ken shoved his tongue deep into Celia's mouth. Her bridal gown had to be dry-cleaned.

After the wedding reception, Ken and Celia drove to their new home. Their parents had pitched in and bought them a brand new 3200 square foot house, 4 bedrooms, family room, 3 baths, and a large unfinished basement. Attached to the side of the house were a three-car garage and a small workshop. The house, a ranch style, was 40 feet by 80 feet, with the master bedroom and a bed/sitting room on one side of the house and two bedrooms on the other. There was a bathroom between each pair of bedrooms and one in the basement. Both Celia and Ken had been raised in large, luxurious homes, so this house seemed normal to them. The house was two miles from the edge of town in the quiet, secluded suburbs.

Ken grabbed Celia's wrist and half dragged her into a bedroom next to the Master Bedroom. Celia was so excited with the idea that Ken was going to have intercourse with her that she didn't notice that they weren't in the big bedroom. Ken practically tore off Celia's honeymoon dress and her Victoria's Secrets underclothes. She helped him tear them off. He lifted her and placed her on the bed. He cuffed her wrists and fastened them to the lower part of the high bedposts behind her. He then cuffed her ankles and pulling her legs back until they were over her head and fastened them to the same bedposts behind her. Celia was so sexually aroused that she liked this position. It opened up her body to whatever Ken had in mind. She was cooing in anticipation.

Ken pulled his belt off, doubled it and walked to the foot of the bed. The sight of Celia's exposed bottom and genitals aroused him so much that he had to free his erection, as his pants were so tight.

The first blow of the belt landed directly on Celia's pubes. She screamed with shock and pain when the belt struck; however, a fraction of a second after the strike, she experienced a warm, delicious glow that filled her loins. The pleasure was so intense that pain no longer existed. In fact, the pleasure was more difficult to bear than the pain. Each time that Ken hit her with the belt, she reacted in the same way: a shriek of pain, a groan, and then a beatific look swept over her face. She was lapping it up {so to speak}. Ken kept up the beating, hoping to make her cry or at least make her scream for him to stop. His arm became tired before he accomplished that goal. When he realized that her thighs and genitals were bright red, he was afraid to continue lest he cause permanent damage.

He pulled off his pants and the rest of his clothes and climbed onto the bed. Celia had her eyes closed and had a blissful smile on her face. Ken mistook it for abject pain and grinned. He lowered himself onto her trussed body and pushed his penis into her.

Celia's vaginal secretions - her lubrication- filled her canal to overflowing; however, her position -- her legs up in the air -- tilted her vagina upward and kept the fluid from spilling over. Ken's entrance was like a plumber's plunger and it forced all that fluid up and out of her. It drenched his lower body, his pubic hair, and her pubic hair.

He swore and wondered if this girl ever stopped pouring fluids from her groin. He went to the bathroom, wiped himself with a towel, came back and wiped Celia's crotch.

He was unaware that if he had struck her between the legs one more time with his belt or even the towel he was holding that she would have a powerful orgasm.

Celia's pubic lips and clitoris were engorged. Her labia were puffed -- swollen. Her clitoris was erect to its ½ inch limit and stood up and out from the hood. Her vagina was still filling with lubrication and was too slippery to allow enough friction for Ken to orgasm.

Not realizing the extent of Celia's arousal, Ken once more drove his very hard erection between her open pubic lips. With no resistance from her vaginal entrance or passageway, he hit her G-spot dead on and the ridge of his penis head dragged across that ready area.

Celia erupted with a volcanic orgasm and a powerful ejaculation. The gush hit Ken's loins. The spate, like a fire hose, soaked his entire body as well as hers.

Swearing aloud, Ken retrieved a dry towel and dried the two of them off again. He was angry now and determined to punish her. He reached down between her upturned legs and began to slap her breasts, back and forth. She screamed in pain with each slap but again experienced that warm, sensual feeling in her breasts and pubic area.

Because of the beating of her genitals and her breasts, Celia had become multi-orgasmic and her body was primed to explode again. As her breasts reached a ruddy glow from the slaps, she erupted again. Because her crotch was aimed upward and Ken was leaning between her legs to torture her breasts, her sexual torrent hit him full in the face. His mouth had been open from exertion and much of the fluid went into his mouth. Most of it went down his throat, as he had to continue swallowing to keep from gagging.

Ken ran to the bathroom connecting this room to the master bedroom. He bent over the commode thinking he was about to throw up, but that didn't happen. Disgusted, Ken put on a pair of shorts, and muttering something about pissing women, marched to the cellar door and down the stairs, leaving Celia trussed up on the bed. Ken had lost his erection when Celia's juices went down his throat, and he was no longer in the mood for sex. Celia had had two excruciating orgasms and felt sated although the marriage still had not been consummated. Ken had been inside her body but had not ejaculated. Still enjoying having her legs up in the air, Celia fell into a blissful sleep.

Ken spent the rest of their honeymoon night in the basement, drilling, hammering, and building his idea of a dungeon. At dawn, he returned to the bedroom and freed Celia from her contorted position. He practically pushed her out of bed, laid down, and fell asleep. Celia, a little stiff and sore from her trussed position all night, managed to stagger to their master bedroom and went back to sleep.

From the time of her wedding night, Celia was both sequentially and multi-orgasmic. She could orgasm quickly from either direct stimulation of her genitals and/or by being beaten. During their marriage, this would be a source of pleasure for Ken but also a source of frustration. He never knew when she would spew her juices all over him, and though he would keep trying, beating her didn't bring the results he wanted.

The morning after their wedding night, Celia and Ken stared at each other across the breakfast table. Celia was still in an orgasmic glow and beamed at Ken. Ken had not reached climax, had spent the night working in the basement, and was angry with Celia for several reasons. He glared across the table at her. She thought he was very handsome and masculine.

"Celia, I intend to beat the crap out you over and over until you file for divorce. I can't file or my father will disinherit me. I need my freedom to screw as many women as I possibly can before I'm too old to do so. Life is too short to spend it drilling only one pussy.

Even if you don't file for divorce, I intend to keep on banging everyone in dresses. I told you that before you trapped me into marriage, and I intend to do just that."

"Yes, dear, I remember that you said that, but I will become all things to you, and you'll forget that. You'll see."

"Fat chance." Ken growled, and went back down to the basement.

They never had sex in the master bedroom. Because Celia soaked Ken, herself, and the bed every single time they had intercourse, they put plastic covers over the mattress in the adjoining anteroom, and went back to the master bedroom to sleep after a sex session. Celia was on cloud nine. Ken was getting angrier by the day.

Eventually, Ken's anger got the better of him. One day after they had sex and Celia drenched him, Ken picked Celia up, slung her over his shoulder and carried her to the basement where he would punish her severely, or so he thought. He cuffed her wrists and clipped them to a spreader bar; he cuffed her ankles and clipped them to another spreader bar; then he hoisted her up near the ceiling and went to look for something with which to beat her. Celia enjoyed new experiences and thought this was a lot of fun.

Ken had brought whips and other devices from his loft apartment and opened the box they were in. He chose a long plaited whip, uncoiled it and snapped it across Celia's bottom. Celia shrieked, feeling the pain and then the afterglow, and cooed. Ken hit her again with the same results. After the twelve strokes that he always administered to his submissive women, he stopped to check out his handiwork. Celia's buttocks were striped and bruised, but having delivered the usual twelve lashes, his adherence to his "dozen" superstition wouldn't allow him to hit her butt again with this whip.

Ken walked around in front of her and lashed out at her upper thighs and pubes. Since Celia was over a foot up off the floor, her ejaculation caught Ken in the face and open mouth. Disgusted, he threw down the whip and marched up the stairs, leaving Celia suspended from the ceiling. He left her hanging there for half an hour before returning to the basement and letting her down. He carried her upstairs, dumped her on the anteroom bed, and slunk off to his favorite watering hole. He wondered if she would ever stop dousing him. He couldn't seem to win even one round. He returned hours later, half drunk and irritated. Celia was sound asleep in the master bedroom. Ken went to bed in the anteroom.

The next morning, Ken went into the master bedroom to check his 'handiwork'.

Celia was sound asleep, so he rolled her over to look at her bottom. She had welts and bruises on her lower buttocks and upper thighs.

Will miracles never cease! Ken was a little ashamed that he had abused those sweet cheeks. This may have been the only time in his life he had felt even a semblance of remorse. Maybe he was falling in love with his wife. She was so extremely innocent. He bent over and kissed her ass; something he would never have done if she were awake. He had too much 'masculine pride'. He told himself that he wouldn't beat her again, but, in his heart, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He was driven to abuse his women. His concern for Celia lasted for an extremely short time.

For a week, Ken stuck to that self made promise, but she drenched him during sex on the following Saturday evening; he lost his cool and carried her down to the basement and beat her with a sjambok for his requisite number of twelve strokes. The pain was so intense that even Celia couldn't cope with it and passed out. She woke up in her bed as he was applying lotion to the welts on her buttocks. She was lulled by his evident concern and tried to coax him back into bed for another round of sex, but he knew what that would bring; he stormed off to his favorite bar.

The following week, he added another dozen strokes with a cane overlaying the previous welts. Her skin was soft and delicate and would take several weeks for the stripes to heal. Week after week, he beat her until her backside was crisscrossed with whip marks. She was not healing fast enough, and he was not used to having only one woman to beat. All his other women had had time for their buttocks and thighs to heal before coming back for more punishment. Furthermore, although Celia was more or less handling the pain, she was becoming ill from the trauma of the beatings.

His frustration with Celia's constant ejaculation and her ability to withstand pain was driving him up the wall. He was at his wit's end and was drinking more and more heavily. He had never been so demoralized by a woman before. He had to find a way out of his dilemma.

Ken had been seeing a psychiatrist every week since he was twenty-one. His sexual addiction was so overwhelming that it interfered with every aspect of his life. Had the Internet existed when he first realized he was a sexual addict, he could have gone online and found this article:

There is a line between enjoying sex, its peripheral pleasures and sexual addiction. In sexual addiction long periods of time are given over to sex-related activities. Sex addicts feel unable to control sexual behavior or even reduce its incidence. People with sexual addiction behavior often use sex as an escape from other problems such as anxiety, stress, depression and social isolation.

*************

The next episode in this charming tale has not been written yet, so be patient, dear reader. It will be when time permits and I'm able to write it without throwing up.

I am not implying that it is only Celia's genetic disposition that would cause a woman to be stimulated by pain. There is enough anecdotal evidence that many women, without Celia's problem, are turned on by physical abuse. The pages of this forum are replete with tales by female authors of those circumstances. They can't all be circumventing the truth. They either have 'been there, done that' and have been aroused by pain, or they fantasize about it. I am not pointing a finger or denying it does happen; however, Celia doesn't fall into that category. Her body recognizes pain as something pleasant after the initial blow.

The following will not be as tasty and juicy as a succulent vagina, so if you're easily bored by my ramblings, feel free to bypass it. As you're probably aware of by now, I have a compulsion to explain just about everything I do. That may have something to do with computer programming in the past. In any case, I would like to tell you readers who are still listening how I go about writing these inflammatory chapters. I don't know how my sisters set up their yummy stories, but this is the way I write:

Firstly, I am a voracious reader and tend to maintain a database of facts, figures, and TONS of trivia and minutia in the hard drive in my head.

Secondly, I read all the deliciously dirty stuff that my sister writers fantasize about (keeping my juices flowing) and offer us on Literotica and other sites. I make a list, not unlike a grocery-shopping list, of all the tidbits (or is that tit-bits? Yum!) and smutty little details that I want to incorporate into my dirty stories. When the list is fairly complete (it never stops growing), I organize it into chapters and build an outline.

Thirdly, I fill my dirty mind with these facts and the direction I want to go, and I turn on my autopilot. Having the list and outline in front of me, the story seems to write itself. I am often amazed at what comes out of my conscious and subconscious.

Fourthly, as I tend to write long descriptive paragraphs, I have to slash, cut, burn, and dump a large portion of what I write -- as much as three quarters (I have no trouble writing 500 or 600 pages). I know that would be far too much for this site. It would bore you into a coma. However, rest assured that the salient, filthy, morally corrupt thoughts remain.

My Literotica editor, that wonderful, astute, sweet young woman, keeps me on track. She reminds me that I'm not writing the "Great American Novel". She knows that I don't seek help in grammar, spelling, syntax, etc. (That doesn't mean I don't make mistakes. I just don't seek help). That girl keeps pointing out where I've gone wrong; when I'm writing too much detail; and keeps encouraging me. She also tries to get me to use dirty words like f__k, pussy, c__t, tits, etc. in order to make my stories more lewd and lascivious. As you can see, I have an awful time trying to use non-technical terms. I can say 'hell' and 'damn' without too much blushing. I've even been known to say 'shit!' when something has gone terribly awry. Well, you get the point. You're wondering how an innocent, like I am, can write such filthy stories. Believe me, it doesn't 'come' easily. It's the difficult part of writing for me. BUT, I love dirty stories in spite of my reticence to put the trashy parts down on paper or in bits and bytes.

That being said, I am having difficulty in writing the next chapters. They are so lewd and pain filled that my long-suffering editor has warned me to tone them down. So don't blame her if they disgust you. I refuse blame, also. You may blame it on my dirty mind that is on automatic pilot. You may wish to stop reading with this chapter so as to preclude any possible corruption of your soul. I know, I know. You're well equipped to handle anything I can dish out. Well, you've been told. Don't say I didn't warn you.

If, at any point, you think I've gone too far, please don't hesitate to let me know. I'll answer all your emails to try to explain my obscene thoughts.

Raven ( or should that be ravin'?)