by Isa Mazzei
Door_Open tipped 20 tokens: try it again
Empi0r tipped 20 tokens: yeah, it might help if you focus on your clit or something too
Empi0r: not to be lewd
__vegan_scare12: your ass is so red
I crawled back into position and raised the paddle. This time, as I sunk into the pain, I also tried to focus on my clit. An electric jolt rushed up my body. I thought only about the dull ache, the burning warmth, and as I did, I felt myself get suddenly, inexplicably, turned on.
“Holy shit, that’s crazy,” I whispered to myself.
Unas_bee: what’s crazy Una?
Empi0r tipped 50 tokens: you like that whore?
Door_Open tipped 200 tokens: good job. That’s what I meant by feeling it
Unas_bee: don’t call Una a whore! Bomb, ban him!
“No, no, no,” I called out quickly, shaking my head. “Don’t ban him. It’s okay. He can call me a whore. It’s a do anything show.”
Door_Open tipped 200 tokens
bombNo.20: fuck…
SketchyMyspace_Tom: magnificent
A feeling of euphoria flooded my body, from the top down, like a drug spilling from the sky. I felt elated, excited, aroused. “This is good. This is good, you guys.”
bombNo.20 tipped 20 tokens: more
I was suddenly inspired by a rage I didn’t know was inside of me. Twack, twack, twack! My arm was swift and fast. Twack, twack, twack! I moaned. Twack! For a moment, nothing existed except me and my body. I let the pain settle over me and breathed hard, tears running down my chin and dripping to the floor.
Door_Open: there we go
Tumbler12 tipped 50 tokens: cutest girl on MFC
Door_Open tipped 20 tokens: now your pussy…
I held the paddle, hesitating. I was sitting on my knees, naked, facing the camera. I moved my legs apart.
Door_Open: now, slut. Don’t make me hurt you more.
Twack. I hit myself right between my thighs. Twack.
Empi0r tipped 20 tokens: don’t fake it.
Empi0r: your not really trying.
Twack, twack, twack. Harder. I slammed the paddle down, my vulva, my clit, and my pubic bone taking a blunt hit that radiated deep inside my pelvis. I focused on the pain. I shivered. It was nice. This felt nice.
Empi0r tipped 100 tokens
Glitchezz22: idk why I find this hot but I do
Door_Open tipped 20 tokens: more. HARDER.
They had me add a collar. A leash. A ball gag. Nipple clamps. All the props I had purchased and half-used, the gifts that sat in boxes for weeks, the things I was scared of. They were stern. No pleases, no thank yous, just commands that I blindly followed as I worked myself into a frenzy. I blinked open my eyes and sat on my heels, breathing hard, waiting for the next message. The room kept tipping.
Door_Open: feel it…
Door_Open: hold it there…
Empi0r tipped 20 tokens: pinch your nipples. HARD. Feel it.
My jaw ached from being open around the gag. My nipples stung. My pubic bone throbbed. My clit ached. The blood had gone from my feet and my legs were prickly and painful.
Hmmmmmmmmmm: hmmmmmmmmmm
Hmmmmmmmmmm: is that drool?
Door_Open tipped 20 tokens: nipple spanks while you hold Hitachi
Door_Open tipped 20 tokens: On. High.
I grabbed my Hitachi magic wand, a powerful vibrator, and pressed it between my legs. I turned it on. I held it against me, the room tipping to turn it on, off, on, off, on, off. I was wild, feral. I was a snarling animal. The room disappeared. My viewers disappeared. There was only sensation, the need for release. I screamed, low, guttural. I came. It was like smashing into a wall, but instead of breaking apart I felt solidified. Whole.
Several moments passed before I noticed the dings of tips. I raised myself up, slowly. Dozens of messages swam into focus as I stared at the screen through my tears.
Door_Open tipped 200 tokens: well done. Such a pretty pain slut.
SketchyMyspace_Tom tipped 200 tokens: brava
Wild_West: Wild ;)
RomeoTurtle tipped 10 tokens
Door_Open: you okay?
I nodded. “Yeah.” My voice was shaky. Quiet.
Private Message From bombNo.20: You’re beautiful.
I smiled and cuddled up against some pillows. I felt soothed but electrified at the same time. Twitchy. My breaths were deep, full. I was aware of everything: the touch of the pillows on my back, the button on my duvet touching my thigh. The air in the room. The quiet hum from my computer’s fan. I was high. I ran my hands through my hair, feeling every follicle. I wanted someone to touch me, run their hands over my bare skin. Everything felt so good. I barely noticed the $900 I had made in the last hour.
My room hadn’t been this engaged for months. On screen, my viewers chatted away, talking excitedly about my show. About what had just happened. About what should happen next. I wondered too. I was exhilarated and inspired—thrilled, even. My room was getting a taste for violence, and so was I. Something was waking up inside me. Something that wanted me to listen.
21 Things I Want in a Lover
Slowly but surely, pain play and kink took over any other type of show. And as the months progressed, they morphed into something that was no longer even about my room, or the money, or the rank. The floodgates opened and I threw myself in. I bulk-ordered clamps, cuffs, gags, whips, and floggers. My ass went numb from being hit over and over and over again with a solid wooden paddle. I had permanent bruises on my knees. My nipples were chaffed and raw from the clamps I wore every night and the several times an hour someone would tip me to rip them off.
I was addicted; I craved it: the pain, the exhaustion. I didn’t have to think or smile, I just did what they asked: I put a metal clamp on my clit and hung high heels off the end. I sank spikes into my inner thighs, I bit my lips until they bled—and then I kept biting. I signed on every night and shut off my brain. I let my viewers dominate me. Hurt me. I let them control me. There was something so moving about not trying to have control. Giving it away. Consenting to give it away. The pain kept me grounded, and the lack of control made me feel free. Masturbation could feel good if I wasn’t choosing it. I was allowed to feel pleasure if I didn’t ask for it. Submission was freedom and pain kept me tethered.
My rank climbed. I passed fifty without even noticing. Forty-nine, then forty-two. The money poured in. I lost some viewers, but I replaced them twofold with new ones. Just like in high school, I was getting a reputation. The difference was now everyone wanted a piece of me. People stopped by my room knowing what they were looking for. They sought me out. I got message after message from girls asking to work with me. I ignored them. This was about me.
I was comparison-shopping ball gags when Queen Molly texted me.
Molly: Hey Una! It’s Molly. Hope you’re doing well. I was wondering if you wanted to meet up and do a show still?
I stared at her message. I hadn’t messaged her after the AVNs, but she hadn’t messaged me either. Of course she would text me now.
Una: Hey I’m kind of on a pain play kick rn. Not really doing g/g shows.
Molly: no painplay is what I want to do! It would be so fun
I thought about it. The rational part of my brain kicked in. She was pretty famous, she was cool, she was my inspiration for joining MFC. Would I regret passing a chance to work with my idol?
Una: I guess we could shoot some vids?
Molly: no that’s great I love it
Una: Ok, cool!
Una: It’s gonna have to be real though. My guys can tell if it’s not real
Molly: no my guys are gonna love watching me beat the shit out of you it’s gonna be great
I felt a shiver crawl up my back. Pain play was incredible solo. I knew that. But what about pain play
with another person? It would probably be next level. It might be the solution I had been looking for my whole life. I thought about Molly beating the shit out of me.
Una: I’m stoked. This’ll be really good.
Molly and I set a date. She had all the filming equipment and I had all the BDSM equipment. We were a perfect pair. I drove down to Denver early Saturday morning. The highway was wide and empty, and I was nervous. I missed my exit twice. I wondered if I should buy us coffees. That would probably be a nice move.
Queen Molly lived on the third story of a mid-rise apartment building. She met me in the lobby, all smiles. She was shorter than I remembered, but just as enthusiastic. She beckoned me up the stairs, and I followed, clutching our warm drinks, marveling at the light pouring in from the vintage-style windows.
Her apartment was a small one-bedroom, but super hip, with exposed brick and high ceilings with the pipes and vents showing. It was decorated with cacti, candles, faux sheepskin carpets, and little vials of essential oils. It was exactly as I imagined it: Instagram-worthy. The apartment had the deep, worn-in smell of a chainsmoker. And, sure enough, the second we were inside, Molly lit up, opening a small window and turning on a portable fan.
“We only smoke near the window,” she explained, blowing smoke vaguely in the direction of the opening. “It’s a non-smoking apartment.”
“Oh.” I nodded. I set her coffee down on the kitchen counter and took a sip of mine. At the AVNs, she had smelled nothing like tobacco. Now, it was all I could smell, and it coated my nose and throat like tar. I found it comforting.
“This is my husband, Ben. Ben, this is Una.” A tall, thin man with a soul patch and a lazy smile wandered out from the bathroom. He was wearing baggy pants and an oversized T-shirt. I moved to shake his hand.
“Oh. You’re married. Cool.”
“Hi, Una.” He saluted me, ignoring my outstretched hand.
“Hi.” I took a seat on a chair near the window, setting down my bag, which I had filled with several outfit choices and toys for the occasion.
“Ben’s just gonna make my bed and stuff so it’s ready to shoot the third part. Then he’ll give us our space.” She looked at him pointedly.
“Sure, no worries,” Ben said, exiting. I tried to smile gratefully at him but I was nervous. Molly was so sure of herself, and I was in her domain. We had decided on a three-part scene: the first would be her leading me into her apartment, the second would be her spanking me and flogging me in her living room, and the third would be her domming me in her bed.
Molly finished her cigarette, and I followed her into her living room/cam room, which sported a cloth couch, a white rug, and a small camming area in the corner that I recognized from her show.
“Do you want to make some pussy pops before we start shooting?”
“Some what?”
“Pussy pops. We can sell them,” she suggested casually.
“What’s a pussy pop?” I was embarrassed I didn’t know.
“Oh! They’re awesome.” Molly opened a small cabinet near her couch and pulled out a bag of assorted flavor blow-pops. The bag was half empty. “You just stick it up your vag, rub it around, then wrap it back up. That way guys can ‘taste’ your vagina.”
I stared at the bag. Molly held out a blue raspberry pop. “We can sell them in two-packs along with the videos… I can deal with mailing them and everything,” she added, noticing my hesitation.
“No, I don’t mind.” I took the blue pop from her and unwrapped it. Molly unwrapped a strawberry one, gave it a quick suck, squatted down, and stuck it straight into her vagina. She twirled it around for a few seconds, pulled it out, then put it inside a small plastic bag. I thought about Demon tasting me. FunnyGuy. I bit my lip. Oh well. I wasn’t going to say no and make her feel like I didn’t like her idea. I followed suit.
“Just be sure when you’re done to rinse out properly,” Molly instructed, pushing a green apple pop inside herself. “Otherwise you’ll get a yeast infection.”
We made a dozen pussy pops each, wrapped them, and set them in pairs of two. “This is a really cool idea,” I told Molly. It was clever. If dangerous. I washed myself out in her bathtub. I wondered how much we’d sell them for. I wondered how much tasting me was worth.
Back in her living room, Molly was getting everything ready for our videos. She had a camcorder and a tripod, and I had brought my riding crop, handcuffs, a spreader bar, paddles, a flogger, a harness, collar, and a ball gag. I draped my outfit choices over the back of her chair. She frowned at the dresses I had brought.
“I think I have something better.”
I glanced down at them. “Are we sure we want me to start clothed?”
“Yeah, for sure. Plus, I mean, we’ll be out in the hallway.” Molly ran into her bedroom and returned with a short dark dress. “Here try this.”
I tugged it over my head. It fit, barely. I glanced at myself in the mirror and looked back at Molly. She was shorter than me. I wondered how it would be with her domming me.
“Perfect.” Molly smiled. “Okay, now put on your collar and leash,” she said, grabbing the tripod and camera. “And let’s get started at the bottom of the stairs.”
I followed her out of her apartment and down the marble stairs to the lobby, nervously tugging the bottom of my dress. It was short, and the lace tops of my thigh highs were clearly visible.
“Don’t worry, no one’s in the building during the day.” Molly laughed and set up the camera at the top of the stairs. She hit record. “Start on the left, then walk into frame.”
I did as I was told. Molly met me in the middle and leaned up to kiss me. I tried to look submissive.
“Get on your knees, slave,” Molly commanded, clearly sensing the height thing wasn’t working. I dropped to my knees as she took the leash in her hand. The marble was cold and painful.
“Okay, I guess I should just, like, lead you upstairs?” Molly asked. I glanced at the camera. “Don’t worry, we’ll edit it,” she assured me.
I frowned. I wanted the video to look good. Professional. “Just lead me to your place.”
“And do what?”
“I don’t know. Make me kiss you, maybe? Or like, tug the leash so I choke a bit?”
Molly laughed. “Right, duh.” She stood up straight in her stilettos and gripped the leash. “Come with me, slave.”
I obeyed, crawling on all fours behind her up the stairs. She stopped me between flights and tugged the leash, pulling me up by the collar to kiss her and then shoving me back down. I took a breath and tried to center myself, leaning into the pain of my knees thudding against the step. Okay, Isa. Molly is your boss.
I crawled up two more flights of stairs. Molly is in control. Molly is going to hurt you. This is going to be good. Cleansing. I looked up at Molly’s legs. She was wearing sheer tights, and through them I could see the outline of her lace thong. She was kind of hot. Was I allowed to actually find her hot? Did she think I was hot? How much of this was supposed to be fake?
Molly glanced at me apologetically as my knees landed on the marble. “Does that hurt?”
I looked up at her, confused. Of course it hurt. I nodded.
“Should we just stop?” She continued, “I feel like we got enough.” She moved toward the camera to stop recording.
“No, no, it’s fine.” I snapped out of it, realizing suddenly we’d need to backtrack or the cut would look weird. “We should start from the bottom of the stairs again, though, so we can get a clean take.”
Molly sighed. “Yeah, okay…slave,” she added, laughing.
When we finally made it up the stairs and back into her apartment, Molly went to work setting up her lights and finding a new place for the camera. If this was going to work, I was going to have to take control. At least of the setup.
“Okay, so I’ll bend over this chair, here.
” I knelt on the wood floor and leaned my body over her velvet chair. I was wearing only a lace bra and black thong. Molly stood next to me in black high heels and a corset. She held my riding crop awkwardly. The professional lights radiated heat.
“So should I just…” Molly seemed uncertain.
“I think you should ask me if I want it, and I’ll say yes, and then you’ll tell me to shut up and put the gag in my mouth,” I explained.
She giggled nervously.
“Ready?” I prompted.
Molly nodded. Molly raised the crop. Molly laughed. “Okay, sorry. Sorry. It’s fine. We can make a blooper reel.”
“Just hit me already.”
“Okay. Okay.” Molly checked her hair in the window, then sidled up to me in her heels. She knelt next to where I was bent over the chair, grabbed a satin sash, and tied my wrists behind my back.
“Do you like being my little slave?” Molly ran her fingers down my hair, near my temple. I nodded.
“Yes, yes, mistress,” I whispered.
“What did I tell you about talking?” Her voice had an edge. Finally.
“Sorry, mistress.” I made my voice meek, scared. I stared at her feet. Molly’s toes were hanging over the front end of her heels.
“I guess I’ll have to gag you.” She giggled sexily this time, and slowly, gently, put a ball gag in my mouth and hooked it behind my head. Her fingers were small, soft. She was being so gentle. It was irritating. Molly stepped back and picked up the riding crop again. She ran it down my back. Get on with it already.
Finally, she held it up, and then gingerly slapped me on the butt cheeks. It barely made a sound.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, letting out a gasp.
I waited for her to do it again. She did, softly. Gently. A love tap from a riding crop. She laughed finally, unsure of where to go next.
I sat up and gestured for her to take the gag out.
Oh, well. We’d have to edit the video anyway.
She went to pull the ball out of my mouth, then stopped herself, seeing the spit. She instead reached and untied my wrists. I grabbed the ball and forced it out of my mouth, leaving it hanging around my neck.