From: jfriday@westmark.Stanford.EDU (The Crazy Archivist)
Subject: ARCHIVE: The Mark (by Amethyst)
Newsgroups: alt.sex,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.bondage
Path: athena.cs.uga.edu!emory!samsung!wizvax!wi.327 From: wi.327@wizvax.methuen.ma.us Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage Subject: Story, Amethyst's first attempt, "The Mark" Message-ID: <6031@wizvax.methuen.ma.us> Date: 16 Nov 91 07:48:06 GMT Sender: root@wizvax.methuen.ma.us Reply-To: wi.327@wizvax.methuen.ma.us Followup-To: alt.sex.bondage Organization: Anonymous Contact Service @ wizvax X-ACS2-Version: 2.0
This is Amethyst.
NOTE: This story contains two parts sentimentality and one part whipping (het). If either of these offends you, hit "n" now.
The man in this story is loosely based upon a real person, who was kind enough to allow me to post this story even though I have taken grave liberties with his character. (Thank you, Darlin'.) The woman is (equally loosely) based on me; the events herein portrayed have not actually taken place (at least, not between the two of us -- I don't know what the rest of y'all are doing.
This is my first attempt at writing a story, so be gentle, okay?
The Mark
They met at the agreed-upon place and, as always, spent much time talking, kissing, hugging, and snuggling.
Once they decided it was time for more structured activities, he stood up -- it was his turn to top -- and asked her to sit in a chair.
She sat quickly, not sure if they'd really started yet, but figuring that any extra obedience couldn't hurt. He was looking at her seriously, quite a change from his usual demeanor, and she wondered what was coming.
"I'd like to do something different today, and you should feel free to say no. We're not in scene yet, and I want your honest reaction to this, not a ritualized expression of whatever you think I want to hear."
They both knew that she was never very good at these ritualized expressions, and she grinned at him. "Okay -- what's up?"
"I would like to put a permanent mark somewhere on your body, to remind both of us of our relationship and of the...nature of our relationship."
"You mean, like a tattoo? What do you want it to say? Or did you have a picture in mind?"
"No, not a tattoo," he said, "something a little more serious than that." He paused for a moment. "I had in mind a whip scar. It would ensure that the passion we feel for each other would leave a visible mark on your body."
He looked at her, a little anxiously she thought, as he waited for her reaction. She thought for a second, then smiled sudden- ly. "It's romantic and twisted, both at the same time -- I love it."
"That's us, Baby, romantic and twisted."
She looked into his eyes as if by gazing into them she could read the mind behind them. (It had never worked yet, but she kept hoping.) "That's only half of the reason, isn't it? What's the other half -- are you feeling a little sadistic today?"
"I can't hide anything from you, can I?"
The question was rhetorical, but she answered it anyway. "You CAN; you just don't WANT to. So, out with it -- tell me what's on your mind."
He looked at her as if he were trying to assess something, and she wondered what he was trying to figure out and what he had concluded. "You remember the time when we spent the whole day telling each other our fantasies, and the harder yours was to admit to, the harder to tell I made mine?"
"Yeah," she said, "I remember. I told you stuff I'd never told anybody." She abandoned seriousness for a moment and started to tease him. "Not really fair; since you're an exhibitionist, you don't *have* any shameful secrets."
He stuck his tongue out at her. "Not true. But seriously, you told me that one of your fantasies was to do something that you didn't like but I did, as a gift to me or as a way of showing me how completely you belong to me, or something like that." She nodded, and he continued. "You've never seen anybody get marked before, so I'm not sure that you know just what's involved, but it's a far more serious experience than the mild beatings we give each other for our mutual pleasure. This will not be for your pleasure, or at least not for your physical pleasure. I expect, given what you've said, that you will enjoy it emotionally." He took a deep breath, then went on. "To leave a permanent scar, I will need not just to draw blood, which we've never done before, but to hit you over and over again in the same place, to make it deep enough to mark you for life."
"I understand that," she said impatiently. She was always impa- tient when someone treated her as if she were stupid, even though she knew that his careful explanation was for her benefit, to make her think things through before she agreed.
"I want you to do this as a kind of sacrifice; your pain and your blood and your screams will be a gift to me." He looked down, unable to look at her after having said that.
His embarrassment made her feel bolder. "Honey." He looked up. She gazed at him steadily and said, "I'm willing to give you anything you're willing to take."
"Baby, don't *say* things like that."
"Why, because it scares the shit out of you?"
"Yes!" They both laughed, breaking the tension.
Immediately serious again, he said, "I have one more request."
"What, marking somebody for life isn't enough for one day? You wanna cut my ear off and send it to your girlfriend?"
"Van Gogh used his own ear." He grabbed her arm and shook it slightly. "Stop being a giddy wench, you giddy wench; this is hard for me."
She sobered at once. "It's hard for me too, honey; that's why I joke. *You* may have been around the block a few times, but I've never gotten this deep with anybody before. So, what's your request?"
"I'm not going to tie you for this. I want you to hold yourself still for me, showing me that this is not something I'm stealing from you; it's something you're giving me. I know that will make it harder -- can you do it?"
"How the hell should I know? I promise to try."
"Okay. You can ask for time out if you need it."
He gestured with one hand. "Face down on the bed."
And now she had to do it. The time for jokes and sparring was over, and now it would be just her body and his, without the wit and whimsy...She cursed herself for a coward and flung herself onto the bed.
"You can still change your mind, you know," he said gently.
She raised her head and looked at him and was startled to find that he looked as scared as she. The sight of another's fear, oddly enough, had always made her more courageous, not more scared, and his obvious nervousness calmed her down. "I won't change my mind," she said, "unless you stand there all day yak- king." He nodded and moved to the foot of the bed.
He raised the whip and brought it down lightly, then again slightly harder. He settled into a rhythm of mild blows, and she raised her head and looked at him again. "You're holding back," she said.
"I am."
"The old trouble, risen up to haunt you?"
Only a nod this time. She searched for the right words to say, the ones that would make what he wanted all right. She didn't usually say anything except from the heart, but this time she spoke for effect only. "You aren't really planning on flinging my gifts back in my face, are you?" she asked, her voice hurt and angry. "I thought I was giving you something of value, but maybe you don't think so. Maybe you like to ask for things and then sit back and laugh at the poor suckers who grant them -- laugh at our gullibility, laugh at our love for you, laugh at our trust."
CRACK! The whip came down hard and she screamed, smiling inside. Those must have been the right words after all.
A storm of blows broke around her, and she felt herself losing reason and speech and even her fear. She held tight to her love for this man as the one thing that would help her weather the storm, as he hit her again and again, harder each time.
On the next blow, her skin parted and the blood flowed. She screamed again and couldn't seem to stop. The next blow fell on the exact same spot, and blood spattered all over her ass. Her screaming intensified, and she doubted that she could continue to hold herself still.
Before she could quiet herself long enough to ask for time out, he stopped. "I think you need a break," he said. His voice was as hoarse as if it were he who had been screaming, not she, and she gazed at him but did not speak. He was covered in sweat and breathing hard and looked as if he wanted to cry. "You'll get a turn at this, someday, honey," she thought to herself, "and then you will scream and I will cry."
He fetched them both a glass of water and sat down beside her on the bed. They drank in silence, then he put down his glass. "I'm going to hit you as hard as I can, five or six times, and then I think we'll be done."
She looked at him, amazed. "How hard were you hitting me when you stopped?"
"Oh, about 75%."
She gulped. "Okay."
He got off the bed and picked up the whip again. She breathed deeply, trying to center herself. He threw his whole body into the next blow, and it felt as if she'd been struck by lightning. Pain crashed through her, and she screamed. Again. She found herself wondering how many times it was possible to be struck by lightning and live. Somehow this didn't seem an illogical thought to her; reason had been jettisoned long since. He struck her again, and she stuffed her forearm into her mouth to keep from screaming their safeword aloud. Her world shrank to love, pain, and holding still.
The next-to-last blow bit deeply into her ass. She could feel it slicing its way into her and was only then reminded that the goal was to leave a mark.
He hit her for the last time, hardest of all it seemed, then withdrew the whip from the channel he had carved in her ass.
"We're done," he said hoarsely and came and gathered her up in his arms. She held him tightly as she sobbed, and although she was crying so hard that she couldn't quite tell, it seemed that he was crying, too. They cuddled for a long time; when her crying had quieted, he brought her a kleenex to blow her nose.
"I hate blowing my nose in front of people," she said. This remark seemed amazingly incongruous to both of them, and they laughed. This started her crying again, and he looked at her with concern.
"It's all right," she said, "I'm happy. You actually let me give you something."
"I think maybe you got as much out of it as I did?"
"At least," she said. "And when I've recovered a little more, I hope to give you a little something else." She winked salacious- ly.
He hugged her tightly. "Baby, you just got wore out. *Stay* worn out for a little while."
She snuggled up to him and didn't answer.
Go back to the main erotica page.