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From: laff@cs.uiuc.edu (Joshua A Laff)
Subject: ARCHIVE: marcs-diary-1.Z
Message-ID: <CMnDvI.6vI@cs.uiuc.edu>
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Reply-To: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu
Organization: University of Illinois, Dept. of Comp. Sci., Urbana, IL
Date: Mon, 14 Mar 1994 09:18:51 GMT
Lines: 331
This story is another from the archives, and is not written by me.
Requests for just about anything concerning these posts will be ignored.
See the FAQ in a.s.s.d for more information.
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
From: an1993@anon.penet.fi
Subject: STORY: Marc's Diary (pt. 1)
This is a fictional account. The names and characters are fictional.
The entries contain explicit descriptions of violence, bondage, non-consensual
hetero- and homosexual sex. If such things bother you, read no further.
-*} Marc's Diary {*-
9/28/92
When life is tough, you grow up one of two ways. You can grow up tough,
fighting and overcoming obstacles in your path. Even if you make it, you
carry some scars. If you're lucky, you find someone who helps you forget your
past. Or you can grow up timid, retiring from the world, seeking some inner
order or explanation for the chaos. I'm more the latter, a seeker. I thought
I had my life together, but the nightmares are coming back, encroaching on my
life. My past is fragmenting my life. Perhaps this is the action of a desper-
ate man, purging his thoughts and casting them in an electronic bottle upon a
sea of electrons. I simply want the dreams and pain to stop. My shrink sug-
gested a diary. Hated them in school. Maybe it's because I had to lie. My
diaries reflected the world I wanted. Who knows? Here it goes...
My name is Marc Alan Halbred. I'm a programmer. A very good programmer,
I like to think. Thirtysomething, married with a daughter and son. I'm quiet
and reserved. I do most of my talking inside my head. Mitz and I have been
married, happily, for fifteen years. It doesn't seem that long. She knows
very little about my past. My coworkers don't suspect. It's just me and my
therapist. I don't think I've even told her everything. I'm terrified but
need to expel the shame and guilt. My therapist is hung up on the symbolism
in my dreams. Oh yeah, I should tell you about them.
I'm stalking through the jungle. I hear rifle fire and drop down. I
crawl slowly coming up to a camp. I sneak about the tents. I see a large
net (?) with a guy dangling from it upside down. The scene shifts, I'm beside
the guy with an officer next to me. "I'll interrogate him," he says, and be-
gins thrusting his cock down the guy's throat while the guy struggles. I turn
back towards the tent and walk in. It becomes a school room. The teacher is
handing out tests. I didn't know I was taking classes. I don't know any of
this. I get up and leave and walk down the hallways. Most of the lights are
out. I push open one door entering the men's locker room. I strip naked and
take a piss. I walk out into the gymnasium where there's a meet going on.
It's my turn. I face my opponent on the wrestling mat, he's on top. The whis-
tle blows. [In different dreams, he's fucking my face or ass. In others, I'm
fucking his and enjoying it.] Afterwards, we have to climb across this rope.
As I work across, I see this rickety house below. Just bare house frame with
studs, rats crawling around on the floor. "Come on" I hear. Someone begins
shaking the rope. It grinds into the crack of my ass. [Usually I get a wet
dream here.] They keep shaking until I fall into the water. I try to stand,
but my feet are stuck in the mud. Worse, I'm sinking. I feel eels or leeches
swimming about my ass. The seaweed is wrapped about my hands. The water is
rising up to my mouth. [At this point, I usually wake up drenched in sweat.]
This is a composite summary. When I see it written, it doesn't seem so
terrifying. But at night, it's so vivid; I wake up drenched. In one dream,
I dreamt that two children were taken hostage. I grab them and we're running
to the squad cars. They start shooting at us. I lay over the kids. I feel
the bullets hit me. I wake up and the small patches still tingle on my back
and side. Some of the symbolism I can see directly. My past does live in my
dreams. To understand, I will try and provide some pseudo-chronological back-
ground.
My father was an alcoholic. I didn't know it when I was three. I do re-
member the last time I ever saw my father.
"What the fuck ya doin' Helen. Come here!" My father had just come home
from one of his drinking sprees. My mom was in the kitchen. His hands started
pulling at her shirt when I ventured in. "Why don't ya give me a kiss to wel-
come me home!"
"Come on, Hank. You're drunk." She said quietly.
"You're damn right I'm drunk!" He grabbed her roughly by the arm. "Come
here." He pulled her like a doll into his arms, fastening his lips to hers.
She tried to push away.
"Mama?" I asked. My father swung about to see me, then turned back to my
mother thumbing his finger at me.
"Why's he still up?" He turned to me. "Get your ass in bed!" I stood
frozen in terror. My mother started toward me, but he held her fast. "Go!"
he cried. We stood there staring at each other; my terror transfixed by his
rage. Then he advanced towards me.
"Mama?"
"No, Hank!" I heard her cry, grabbing his arm. I turned and ran. I hid
in my closet, clutching a stuffed animal. [My seal. Fred? Anyway] "Hank!" I
heard a slap.
"I work hard all day keeping you in clothes. When I come home at night, I
expect a little lovin'. Is that so much to ask?" he shouted. Things were
crashing to the ground. "Take off your clothes, damn it." There was a ripping
sound. I heard my mom scream. I remember screaming into the seal. The table
squeaked. "Damn it, it's your fuckin' fault!" There was another thud and my
mom was crying. "You use me, bitch. You and that fuckin' brat!"
"No, Hank, stop!" More scuffling.
"Stupid cunt," his voice said more hazily. Later I heard my parents' bed-
room door close. The next morning my mom took me and a few possessions and
left. I've never seen my father since.
We moved in with my mom's Aunt Lillian. The woman was bonkers ever since
her husband died back in the Korean War. It was there that my mother gave
birth to my sister Doreen. A horrible name, I think, but one of those passed
down in the family--a hapless heirloom.
My aunt never remarried. There were pictures of him everywhere; the liv-
ing room was more a shrine. My mother had to work to provide the necessities
for my sister and me. My aunt wasn't poor just very rigid in how we were to
fit into her environment. While mom worked, Aunt Lillian cared for us. She
was a strict disciplinarian.
Once I accidently knocked over a flower pot sitting on the windowsill. She
ushered me down to the basement, locking me in the coal cellar. I remember the
darkness clinging about me. When something brushed against me I realized that
there were mice or rats in there and began screaming. I was told to quiet
down or I'd be there until dinner. I told my mother that night, but she chided
me for lying and that we relied on Aunt Lillian's courtesy. Aunt Lillian had
told my mother how I had broken the pot and hid in the basement. It took my
aunt several agonizing hours to find me. I often was punished for my sister's
actions. As the boy, I had to do a number of chores. I guess I'll talk about
her tommorrow.
10/2/92 <---i
Yep, I'm *great* at writing in diaries. Let's see, I was going to talk
about my Aunt Lillian. Yeah, I had a number of chores. My least favorite was
helping my aunt bathe. I would wash her back and front. Her breasts hung
limply, like wrinkled old sacks. I would have to take off my clothes and join
her in the cold, white enameled tub. Once while washing her front, I got a
slight erection. My aunt's face grew red. "You horrid boy! You atrocious
child!" She grabbed her scrub brush and began beating me with it. I clammered
from the tub quickly unaware of my transgression. I ran down the hallway to
my bedroom. I sat on my bed, dripping wet, shaking. The door openned and she
entered, her silk robe draped about her. In her hand was a riding crop. "A
razor strap is a man's tool, but a nice crop is a woman's" she used to say.
"The devil's in you. We must get him out! Turn over." I remember beg-
ging her. She lashed at my arms and back until I complied. I can still recall
the burn and sting as the leather landed repeatedly on my wet ass and thighs.
My sister, maybe six, peeked about the doorframe with mixed horror and curio-
sity. I slowly realized that my aunt had stopped beating me and had risen.
The throb started to return. The ache caused me to cry. "Don't cry like that.
When you do something wrong, you should expect to be punished and take it like
a man." So saying, she left the room. In my mother's absence, I was the man
of the house--chopping firewood, shoveling coal. I suppose it made me grow up
early.
My aunt often sided with my sister who used that to her advantage. If my
aunt was concentrated evil, my sister is sociopathic. Though I can't really
blame her. I feel I sometimes encouraged it. Once my sister told Aunt Lillian
that I'd released her pet rabbit Harry and released him in the garden. I can't
say now if I did, though I might have. She always poked him and was rough.
Anyway, Aunt Lillian grabbed me by the hair and lead me to the cellar grabbing
her crop en route. I was made to pull down my pants and was given several
beatings. I was forced to crawl into the small hutch. The wooden frame with
the chickenwire mesh was maybe 18x30x24 inches. She locked it shut and went
back up stairs. My sister Reena remained to taunt me, poking my sides. The
wire was sharp, and my shorts and briefs still down about my legs. She took a
stick and began batting about my penis causing it to grow erect. I called to
her to stop. She rose. I couldn't shift my head about. She came walking
about to the front of me, unlatching a small door above me. My sister grabbed
my hair. "Ow! Hey!" I began to shout as she stuffed a rag into my mouth and
ran a strip of cloth or something about it, tying it through the chickenwire on
the outside. She laughed at my predicament. She disappeared behind me and
went over to the stairs.
"Shouldn't you be shovelling coal or something?" She got the coal shovel
and slid the shaft through the mesh and placed it against my asshole. I tried
to cry out. She turned and twisted it until it entered enough to be secure.
Then she started putting coal in it. The upward pressure was causing an in-
tense burning pain, a feeling of needing to void, and a desire for it to never
stop. I heard her laugh and dash up the stairs. The door closed and locked.
I don't remember how long I was like that. When finally released, I felt elec-
trified. I wanted it to happen again. I wouldn't ask my sister to do this.
But that winter, after shovelling, I found a beam I could dangle from and lower
myself down onto the shaft, looking over at the hutch highlighted by the fur-
nace flames. Later next year, Aunt Lillian died leaving the house and a size-
able sum to my mother. By now I was starting junior high.
Socially I was backwards. My aunt was very stern about coming straight
home after school. I wasn't an "egghead," but I was unsure what to do. I felt
more comfortable with girls than boys. I knew what girls expected, boys were
unpredictable. My mom that that being with other boys would help me, so she
enrolled me in boy scouts.
It was fun. Mr. Myers was our pack leader. I often wished he were my
father. I was one of five tenderfoot scouts. For one of our badges, we needed
to go on a campout. An informal camp out was organized by the eagle scouts. I
didn't know that this was part of their initiation ceremony designed to change
boys into men. Our initiation consisted of sleeping naked with just a blanket.
After everyone went off to sleep, the five of us were awakened and lead off to
separate areas. After settling down at my site, my guide had me strip and took
my clothes. I shivered and settled down for the night. The stars sparkled,
the crickets chirped, the new moon blanketed the meadow in darkness. Compared
to the coal room, this was easy to drift off to sleep.
I was awakened shortly thereafter by a pair of hands pressing down on each
limb and a hand cupped over my mouth. As I started to call out, a neckerchief
was stuffed into my mouth and another wrapped around tightly to secure it. My
kicking and turning was futile. They worked quickly, my wrists and ankles fas-
tened tautly to tent stakes with now familiar knots.
"Now for the magic trick. Hope you don't mind a few ants," laughed one of
the boys. They pulled the blanket out from under me and left. The dew from
the ground was cold on my back. I screamed but only a muffled sound came out.
They were gone for an hour when I heard a rustling behind me. I looked up. It
was Billy. He was older but never really hassled us.
"If you do as I say, I'll help you. You don't, you spend the night like
this." I nodded assent. He started taking off his clothes. It was dark, but
still I could see the silohuette of his body having reached manhood. He knelt
beside me. He bent close; his breath was warm against my cheek. His lips ran
over my earlobe. My breathing was erratic; I didn't know what he was going to
do. He must have just started shaving; his stubble was still soft. His tongue
and teeth were exploring my neck which I tried to pull away. He noticed my
cock was starting to grow. His tongue worked its way down towards my nipples,
biting then licking them. He straddled my head, his dick hitting my cheeks and
chin while his mouth worked along my side and stomach. My cock was rock hard.
He crawled forward; his legs pressing down on my shoulders while his tongue
danced around my dick and inner thigh. He stopped and flipped about, undoing
my gag. "I want you to lick my cock," he whispered. He repositioned himself
so that it dangled over my mouth. Hesitantly, I licked it. It was much bigger
than mine at the time. I watched fascinatedly as it grew. He leaned forward
and licked mine. Then he took my head into his mouth. Without much thought, I
did the same. His tongue flicked my cock back and forth. Then he turned back
to me.
"It's easier if you tip your head back," he said confidently. I nodded
and tipped my head back. He sat back and pushed his dick into my mouth slowly.
I nearly gagged. He withdrew partially. I caught my breath. He leaned for-
ward, this tongue flicking over my stomach sending ripples. His hand grasped
my dick and gave slow, smooth jerks. My mouth closed about his dick causing
him to rock back and forth gently. I felt it growing hard. His breathing was
growing faster as was his pace. I tried to disengage. He sat back, clamping
his knees beside my head. His dick managed to run down my throat. I panicked.
I felt my own cock spraying warm cum on my stomach, slowly dripping down my
sides. Suddenly something went shooting down the back of my throat. He with-
drew and sat back as I twisted my head and barfed. I heard him laughing as I
laid there panting. He wiped his cock on my face. "See ya later pup." He
rose and began to gather up his clothes.
"Hey!" I shouted, "You said you'd free me."
"I *said* I'd `help' you," he snorted down at me.
"Asshole!"
"Watch who you call an asshole, shithead!" he said giving me a sharp
kick in the side. Bending down, I took the neckerchief wiping up the vomit and
dirt and stuffed it back in my mouth, resecuring it. The taste and stench
nearly caused me to wretch again, but the gag suppressed it. He disappeared.
I hardly slept watching the darkness be dispelled by the dawn.
"Pee-ee-yoo! Looks like Halbred's a barf baby!" Two youths emerged, re-
leasing the ropes at the stakes. One of them tossed my clothes on my stomach,
then the bed roll over my face. "Breakfast is in half an hour," said one, and
both promptly stomped away. I sat up slowly. I let the blood flow back into
my hands slowly. My thighs ached having been outstretched for hours. I undid
the gag, spitting several times. I put on my clothes. While they had tried to
confuse us (the tenderfoots), orienteering was one of my few hobbies. I had
noted several landmarks and was quickly back in camp. I showered and washed
out my mouth. I saw Billy at breakfast and avoided him. The other tenderfeet
(?) didn't seem to have received the same treatment. Had he done the same to
them or just singled me out? I still wonder about that.
10/15/92
Another nightmare last night. I'm standing on the pier at Lake Shawmpat.
It's nighttime. I decided to go swimming. While I'm swimming, I see these
snakes slithering from the grass into the water and approaching me. I start
swimming to the shore as they approach. As I start climbing out of the water,
my feet are stuck in the black mud. They start biting my legs and slithering
up my trunks.
When I told my shrink, she asked me what I thought it symbolized. I joked
about the Freudian stuff, snakes = penises. I said it could be that. I think
Billy is the root of my problems. After that incident, things seemed to stop.
We avoided each other, except when forced by circumstance. He started hanging
around with another kid. Todd. Much older. Typical throwback, 14 or 15 with
a 5 o'clock shadow, smoked pot all the time. Somehow, I got on Todd's bad
side; the elbow jabs, tripped, and threats. At one of our campouts, Billy in-
vited Todd along. I was partnered with Dusty, a new tenderfoot. At the ap-
pointed time, he was escorted off for his initiation. Should I have warned
him; told him my experience? Would they do the same thing to him? Should I
go help him?
I waited until they had left then bundled up some of his clothes and went
into the woods. He was being lead blindfolded. They stripped him and left him
his blanket. I went up to him and gave him his clothes. I explained that if
he hid in a tree or something until morning, he'd be "safe." I told him how to
get back to camp. I returned to camp and bed.
I was sleeping when they broke in, roping my ankles. One of them sat on
my back pressing my face into the pillow, while the other bound my knees to-
gether. My wrists were pulled back and bound together, with a sock(s) being
stuffed in my mouth. I felt a pole being slid under the bonds, and I was
hoisted up like a deer carcass. My head hung down with my shoulders awkwardly
torqued. I struggled causing my captors to stagger. The branches and bramble
scratched my face. They said nothing except an occassional fuck. We came to
a small clearing where they dropped me, the pole striking me squarely between
the shoulder blades. The pole was pulled out and I was rolled over roughly.
"I don't like you, Halbred." I stared up angrily at Todd. "Bill tells me
you give good blowjobs." I glanced down at Billy. "Do you know how to breathe
under water?" I began to sweat. "Can ya crawl like a snake? We're gonna make
a wish." Fuck no! He grabbed a twig and began whipping me with it forcing me
to inch my way over to an old well. They stood me up against the well. Billy
untied my feet. As soon as they were loosed, I began hobbling off, but Todd
jumped me. He rolled me over while Billy tied ropes from my ankles to stakes
near the well. "Leaving so soon? Don't you want lesson two?" The two of them
picked me up and leaned me against the wall, tightening the anchor ropes. Todd
removed the strap about my knees. The ropes were drawn out further.
Billy slipped a diving mask over my head, covering my nose and eyes. The
gag was removed. "You'll need to breathe through this. Open up." I refused.
He pressed my stomach to the wall and pushed me over. The ropes tightened
about my ankles and my toes slid off the stone upward. My head went falling
into the water, cold and stagnant. I panicked as I grew desperate for air. I
felt Billy's hand grab my hair and hoist me back up as I coughed out water.
"It's a lot harder to breathe under water without a snorkel." I relented. He
inserted it and secured it. I was pushed back into the water. At first I
could barely breathe. The water was cold; the well's rim pressed into my
stomach. Old leaves would brush and cling to my face. Then I felt my briefs
being pulled down about my knees. I waited what seemed to be an eternity. The
twig began blistering my ass. I was getting a hardon. Billy's (?) hands began
milking me. Then stopped. Again the long wait. I struggled to raise my head,
but couldn't. I felt two thick hands on my ass. Thumbs began pressing into
my asshole. I twisted about vainly, my bound hands reaching out to grab onto
anything. Then I felt a thick, hard cock pressing into my ass. He began to
pound, each thrust ramming my hips into the side of the well. I felt him ex-
plode inside me, I shot my load too.
I can't describe the feeling adequately in words. Surrounded by cold.
Breathing through my mouth the cold wet night air. The hot air causing sweat
to form inside the mask. The pure pain of my hips and his thrusting. The
utter helplessness of my hands and legs. The scene was replay twice more. I
hung there for maybe a half hour (?) more, the come dripping down my ass and
legs. Afterwards, I was pulled up and tossed to the ground. Billy removed the
mask and snorkel. I laid there and coughed. Todd bent down, his cock dangling
by my face.
"Hey! I've yet to see your great blowjobs!"
"Come on, Todd," Billy said, "It's getting late. We've had enough fun
with shithead there." That really surprised me. Todd looked at me, snorted,
and rose, walking away. "Watch out Halbred or the boogeymen will get ya'!"
Then they left.
I remember laying there, sore and aching. The ropes had cut into my wrist
and were soaked with sweat. I tried working at the wet tangle of knots with no
success. The pine needles were sticking to my ass. After one last desperate
clawing, I managed to slide one hoop of rope over my wrist loosening the bonds.
I felt triumphant and rolled back. Renewed, I freed my hands then my ankles.
Ironically, I felt lost for the first time. I had started back but stopped,
deciding to wait by the well for more light. I then returned to camp, climbing
into my sack for a couple hours sleep. We left that day. Dusty had survived
his initiation. I dropped out of boy scouts. I saw Billy in school, but never
with incident. I can't say I respected him. Never understood him. Todd drop-
ped out of school; never saw him again. The bad thing about this is that it
gave me a new way to masturbate. That's all for tonight, dear Diary.
--
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