MY NAME IS AMY. ~ Part One
by C.A.B.
(Fiction. MF/F, Warning: adult themes. non-consensual, sex. violence, torture)
My name is Amy. Well, not really, but it will do for this story; a confession actually. I am 28 years old. I am in college and studying for my master's degree. I have a boyfriend and grew up in a pretty normal, middle class family. I had a decent (if not boring) side job doing data entry, but I quit. I quit, not because it sucked, the pay was good and the hours fitted my schedule, I quit because I found a better job. My name is Amy, and I am a professional torturer.
Now, before you think I'm some kind of sicko, please let me tell you my story. I'm not into the whole BDSM thing, like in kink clubs, with all those cheesy dom wanna-be's and stiletto gals that get paid to smack around fat, pussifed men. No. In fact my sex life with my boyfriend is quite vanilla, and we like it that way. I'll admit it now, I do have sex with women, but not the way you think. I'm totally into guys and cock, I am NOT a prostitute. The women thing is part of my job. Let me explain.
About a year ago, some gal pals and I went out clubbing and sort of split up a little as the night wore on. I found myself talking to this guy (we'll call him Steve) and he was very funny and engaging. He was just cool and relaxed, unlike most of the club-boy fare who try to impress you with a face full of beer breath and a cheap line. No, Steve was very interesting and we talked about a lot of different things. He was older with a touch of gray and seemed to be worldly and knowledgeable without being a know-it-all. As far as I could deduce, he was divorced but not whacked out by it.
The conversation inevitably turned to sexual innuendo, and in Steve's defense, I started it. The topic of kinky sex cropped up and we played some clever word banter about it, and then it became about "power-exchange," and bondage, and sado-masochism. Steve wasn't trying to lure me, in fact, he mostly listened, and answered my stupid questions honestly. I asked him if he was a "dom" and he laughed, stating a definite "No," that he wasn't into that whole scene, but he did have experience tying up women. When he said that, I felt a little twinge inside and I hoped I didn't blush.
My friends had long since left me for some extended dancing in a fogged up car or were passing out in some stall somewhere. But I was totally into my conversation with Steve. I had had enough wine that my mouth and honesty were getting the better of me and I think I said something that I hoped would make Steve blush in return. Stupid. But I blurted out that I always wanted to tie up a girl and kind of... torture her. I felt really weird when I realized what I said and I thought Steve would smirk and find an excuse to leave. He called over the waitress and asked if I wanted another drink. I did, I was so stunned at what I said. He asked the waitress to bring me another wine and to bring him his bar tab.
I started to awkwardly apologize, but it didn't come out right. In fact I sounded like a stupid "drunk girl". Steve just smiled casually and when his check came he tore off a piece of paper and scribbled on it. He paid the waitress and when she left he handed me the paper. Then he looked me dead in the eye (and I'll never forget the look on his face) and said, "If you want to know what it feels like to tie up a woman and torture her, call me at this number." Then he simply smiled politely, shook my sweaty hand, got up and left. I sat there staring at the paper and the phone number for a long time, my heart pounding.
That night stuck with me for a long time and I tried to write it off as drunken bullshit. You know the kind; the "oh my god what the fuck did I say and do last night - that's not me" kind of guilt. Well... I did get back to my normal routine of school, studying, seeing my boyfriend, going to my boring job, et-cetera. But, especially when things got boring, my mind went back to that night and the phone number: in the shower; in my cubicle; when trying to study. I found an excuse not to throw away the piece of paper and it laid on my dresser like a secret in the open.
Now, like I told you, I am not a lesbian and I have a boyfriend; I like men. But, I have always had a secret fantasy about tying up a girl and torturing her... I'm not even sure how, really. I mean I wouldn't even know what to do. I suppose I'm a closet sadist maybe. I don't think its really a perversion... just a private fantasy that I never shared. It is kind of sexual for me and I used to daydream about this classmate that sat in front of me in eleventh grade math class. She was mouthy and bullied people, but so damn pretty. I think my fantasy started as a revenge thing because I dared not stand up to her or her clique. But then, I guess, somehow the revenge thing turned to a "control thing" and I somehow became more and more excited by it. So like I said, I don't think I'm a lesbo, but I do like the idea of "dominating". I used to masturbate to the fantasy, but I never shared or went farther with it.
Now this guy Steve and his "offer" had my heart pounding every time I would think about it. Damn.
One week my boyfriend had fucked off with his pals to go "fishing" or some bullshit excuse to go clubbing in some other town, and my part time job and school were really becoming the shits. I came home, frustrated and bored and saw that paper lying there. I got a wine from the fridge sat on my bed and stared at the paper. Then, swallowed hard, came up with some crap reason to call, and dialed the number on my cell.
It rang five times and I almost hung up when he answered. His voice was as smooth and cordial as I remembered it and he said it was "nice" that I called. I made nervous chit-chat and he was receptive, but just when I thought I was going to blow it, he interupted, "So, have you given any thought to my offer?"
"Offer?" I feigned ignorance.
"Yes," he said patiently and matter-of-factly, "I told you that night that if you would like know what it feels like to tie up and torture a woman, to call me."
"Yes, I know, but..." I was lost. Caught in dreamy like guilt and excitement. My cheeks were hot.
"Well, if you are, and there's nothing wrong with that kind of kink, I'm inviting you to experience it. In fact, if your not doing anything else tonight, you can meet me at the following address... got some paper and a pen? Its okay if you don't want to or feel funny about it. I'm not after sex. It's just business with me and another woman. I'll explain everything when you get here and if you're not comfortable, no harm done."
"Um. Well. I'd like to but..."
"Good. Be here by nine o'clock, please. OH! And just so you know, this is a paying job. It's not prostitution or anything. Just a paying job."
"Wha.. What do I have to do?" I stammered. Heart pounding. Curiosity burning.
"It's like I said," He was smooth as velvet. No nervousness. No craziness, "You help me tie up and torture a woman and I pay you for the night. You go home alone and I pay you five thousand dollars."
"Excuse me?" Bullshit alert. I almost hung up.
He laughs lightly, "I assure you, it's all legitimate. Look don't worry about the money, you can judge for yourself whether you want the job or not. Tell you what, I'll pay you two hundred and fifty dollars just to come down and see for yourself. For your trouble. A finder's fee, if you will."
"Well... It's like a Dominatrix thing, eh? Like kink for hire?"
He laughs again. "Look. I've got to go and get things prepared here. If you want to come, by all means, you're invited. If not, that's cool too. No harm done. I'm not offended."
"Okay... maybe."
"Oh! One more thing... please come alone. I know that sounds scary, but this is a public place and safe. But you must use the utmost discretion. Please. I know I can count on you. If you come, keep it a secret."
And he hung up.
I was all over the place. I got another glass of wine and must have paced my apartment for twenty minutes absorbing it all. I was totally creeped out— but then again, my mind rationalized that, if one does partake in a torture session, of course it has to be discreet. I mean... I was just in the mood to find out. It was probably some mind game crap... and I did have a stun gun. But then, "what if?" What if it was legitimate and I had my only chance of discreetly realizing a fantasy. I doubted the money line... but what if Steve was just a kinky dude and his girlfriend. If anything, I just had to find out.
— To be continued
by C.A.B.
(Fiction. MF/F, Warning: adult themes. non-consensual, sex. violence, torture)
My name is Amy. Well, not really, but it will do for this story; a confession actually. I am 28 years old. I am in college and studying for my master's degree. I have a boyfriend and grew up in a pretty normal, middle class family. I had a decent (if not boring) side job doing data entry, but I quit. I quit, not because it sucked, the pay was good and the hours fitted my schedule, I quit because I found a better job. My name is Amy, and I am a professional torturer.
Now, before you think I'm some kind of sicko, please let me tell you my story. I'm not into the whole BDSM thing, like in kink clubs, with all those cheesy dom wanna-be's and stiletto gals that get paid to smack around fat, pussifed men. No. In fact my sex life with my boyfriend is quite vanilla, and we like it that way. I'll admit it now, I do have sex with women, but not the way you think. I'm totally into guys and cock, I am NOT a prostitute. The women thing is part of my job. Let me explain.
About a year ago, some gal pals and I went out clubbing and sort of split up a little as the night wore on. I found myself talking to this guy (we'll call him Steve) and he was very funny and engaging. He was just cool and relaxed, unlike most of the club-boy fare who try to impress you with a face full of beer breath and a cheap line. No, Steve was very interesting and we talked about a lot of different things. He was older with a touch of gray and seemed to be worldly and knowledgeable without being a know-it-all. As far as I could deduce, he was divorced but not whacked out by it.
The conversation inevitably turned to sexual innuendo, and in Steve's defense, I started it. The topic of kinky sex cropped up and we played some clever word banter about it, and then it became about "power-exchange," and bondage, and sado-masochism. Steve wasn't trying to lure me, in fact, he mostly listened, and answered my stupid questions honestly. I asked him if he was a "dom" and he laughed, stating a definite "No," that he wasn't into that whole scene, but he did have experience tying up women. When he said that, I felt a little twinge inside and I hoped I didn't blush.
My friends had long since left me for some extended dancing in a fogged up car or were passing out in some stall somewhere. But I was totally into my conversation with Steve. I had had enough wine that my mouth and honesty were getting the better of me and I think I said something that I hoped would make Steve blush in return. Stupid. But I blurted out that I always wanted to tie up a girl and kind of... torture her. I felt really weird when I realized what I said and I thought Steve would smirk and find an excuse to leave. He called over the waitress and asked if I wanted another drink. I did, I was so stunned at what I said. He asked the waitress to bring me another wine and to bring him his bar tab.
I started to awkwardly apologize, but it didn't come out right. In fact I sounded like a stupid "drunk girl". Steve just smiled casually and when his check came he tore off a piece of paper and scribbled on it. He paid the waitress and when she left he handed me the paper. Then he looked me dead in the eye (and I'll never forget the look on his face) and said, "If you want to know what it feels like to tie up a woman and torture her, call me at this number." Then he simply smiled politely, shook my sweaty hand, got up and left. I sat there staring at the paper and the phone number for a long time, my heart pounding.
That night stuck with me for a long time and I tried to write it off as drunken bullshit. You know the kind; the "oh my god what the fuck did I say and do last night - that's not me" kind of guilt. Well... I did get back to my normal routine of school, studying, seeing my boyfriend, going to my boring job, et-cetera. But, especially when things got boring, my mind went back to that night and the phone number: in the shower; in my cubicle; when trying to study. I found an excuse not to throw away the piece of paper and it laid on my dresser like a secret in the open.
Now, like I told you, I am not a lesbian and I have a boyfriend; I like men. But, I have always had a secret fantasy about tying up a girl and torturing her... I'm not even sure how, really. I mean I wouldn't even know what to do. I suppose I'm a closet sadist maybe. I don't think its really a perversion... just a private fantasy that I never shared. It is kind of sexual for me and I used to daydream about this classmate that sat in front of me in eleventh grade math class. She was mouthy and bullied people, but so damn pretty. I think my fantasy started as a revenge thing because I dared not stand up to her or her clique. But then, I guess, somehow the revenge thing turned to a "control thing" and I somehow became more and more excited by it. So like I said, I don't think I'm a lesbo, but I do like the idea of "dominating". I used to masturbate to the fantasy, but I never shared or went farther with it.
Now this guy Steve and his "offer" had my heart pounding every time I would think about it. Damn.
One week my boyfriend had fucked off with his pals to go "fishing" or some bullshit excuse to go clubbing in some other town, and my part time job and school were really becoming the shits. I came home, frustrated and bored and saw that paper lying there. I got a wine from the fridge sat on my bed and stared at the paper. Then, swallowed hard, came up with some crap reason to call, and dialed the number on my cell.
It rang five times and I almost hung up when he answered. His voice was as smooth and cordial as I remembered it and he said it was "nice" that I called. I made nervous chit-chat and he was receptive, but just when I thought I was going to blow it, he interupted, "So, have you given any thought to my offer?"
"Offer?" I feigned ignorance.
"Yes," he said patiently and matter-of-factly, "I told you that night that if you would like know what it feels like to tie up and torture a woman, to call me."
"Yes, I know, but..." I was lost. Caught in dreamy like guilt and excitement. My cheeks were hot.
"Well, if you are, and there's nothing wrong with that kind of kink, I'm inviting you to experience it. In fact, if your not doing anything else tonight, you can meet me at the following address... got some paper and a pen? Its okay if you don't want to or feel funny about it. I'm not after sex. It's just business with me and another woman. I'll explain everything when you get here and if you're not comfortable, no harm done."
"Um. Well. I'd like to but..."
"Good. Be here by nine o'clock, please. OH! And just so you know, this is a paying job. It's not prostitution or anything. Just a paying job."
"Wha.. What do I have to do?" I stammered. Heart pounding. Curiosity burning.
"It's like I said," He was smooth as velvet. No nervousness. No craziness, "You help me tie up and torture a woman and I pay you for the night. You go home alone and I pay you five thousand dollars."
"Excuse me?" Bullshit alert. I almost hung up.
He laughs lightly, "I assure you, it's all legitimate. Look don't worry about the money, you can judge for yourself whether you want the job or not. Tell you what, I'll pay you two hundred and fifty dollars just to come down and see for yourself. For your trouble. A finder's fee, if you will."
"Well... It's like a Dominatrix thing, eh? Like kink for hire?"
He laughs again. "Look. I've got to go and get things prepared here. If you want to come, by all means, you're invited. If not, that's cool too. No harm done. I'm not offended."
"Okay... maybe."
"Oh! One more thing... please come alone. I know that sounds scary, but this is a public place and safe. But you must use the utmost discretion. Please. I know I can count on you. If you come, keep it a secret."
And he hung up.
I was all over the place. I got another glass of wine and must have paced my apartment for twenty minutes absorbing it all. I was totally creeped out— but then again, my mind rationalized that, if one does partake in a torture session, of course it has to be discreet. I mean... I was just in the mood to find out. It was probably some mind game crap... and I did have a stun gun. But then, "what if?" What if it was legitimate and I had my only chance of discreetly realizing a fantasy. I doubted the money line... but what if Steve was just a kinky dude and his girlfriend. If anything, I just had to find out.
— To be continued
