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ResidentSadist -> RE: Scary Lifestyle Stories (12/19/2008 5:41:42 PM)
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The mods would delete my stories and ban me if I told them in plain English. In my youth, I grew up in the 70s Detroit gay leather extremist underground. The very same type of crowd that inspired David Stein to write SSC for GMSMA in 1984.
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There once was a young man who was still exploring BDSM. He was a switch. He went to a private club with a bunch of big butch gay leathermen to watch <insert tos act here>. He got really excited by the display before his eyes and drank far too much in the rapture of it all. After all, he was young fresh meat and he could feel every old fag in the place drooling over him. That is a lot of attention and quite a bit of rapture.
Well, be it in his old age as a seasoned sadistic dominant or as a younger person exploring masochism and bottoming, he always delivered when called on stage. And when he got drunk, that is exactly what his friends did. They got him to go on stage. He let them put him in a frame, for this big buck < insert racial tos here>. Even though he saw what they did to the other guy… he was so drunk and very naive it didn’t dawn on him that it might not be smart to lay his fresh meat on the dinner table before so many extremists!
Anyway, there was no negotiation, no safeword, no set up or mental preparation. He was sitting at a table one minute, 3 minutes later he was getting beaten by this older guy who probably had sadistic personality disorder. He didn’t cry out and he barely flinched with the pain. He was a little numb from the booze and he was trained in Zen so he processed pain differently than most people. He wasn’t being a SAM, he just wasn’t being hurt.
The black Top was shouting out a variety of humiliating and racially oriented degradations at his young white ass. He didn’t know if he was supposed to act like a tortured soul and the Top got mad or the lack of reaction made the Top think he was a very heavy player. Whatever the case may be, it stepped up several notches. The Top stopped whipping his back and started whipping his chest so violently he started bleeding rather badly. It was the first time he saw whip spray. He could see his blood spraying off the wet whip in slow motion as it hit the wall.
He could feel being whipped bloody, especially when the top started hitting his genitals, but it didn’t make him cry out. He was pretty lost to the endorphins by then. You could have cut parts off of him and he wouldn’t have felt pain. So it stepped up yet another notch and the racial humiliation evolved into a gang rape, his front end being beaten bloody while his ass end was being raped bloody by a string of guys. The scent of sex and blood was so strong it cut through the stench of stale beer and cigarettes that was the normal perfume for this little club.
It took a few days until he could walk straight or wear a shirt without it getting stuck to his wounds. He didn’t think of it as being a victim in anyway. He was just young, dumb and drunk. He learned the meaning of “look before you leap” and having volunteered unconditionally to that crowd could be considered a little scary... the racial tension felt pretty genuine.
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