Adventures in the Pain Trade

Adventures in the Pain Trade

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Shortly after leaving her home in West VA for the sinful cities of the Midwest, Mistress Alma discovered her special talent for devising ways of inflicting pain and degradation on her willing male victims. After spending a year developing her own methods of domination, Alma moved to California, where she lives today and practices her own unique arts on some of the most famous people in the world.

Mistress Alma's descriptions of three-way pain shows, domination and other special and exotic sensual techniques leave nothing to the imagination. As one of the most thrilling tales of the Mistress of Exquisite Pain, you won't want to miss Adventures in the Pain Trade.

Illustrated.


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Publié par
Date de parution 12 juillet 2013
Nombre de lectures 14
EAN13 9781626573376
Licence : Tous droits réservés
Langue English

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Adventures in the Pain Trade
Mistress Alma
This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press.
CHAPTER ONE
Let's make it perfectly clear up front that I owe n o one any apologies for my background or lack of culture, especially you assho le pain-freaks and shit-eaters who are reading these words. I've always operated on th e principle that “what you see is what you get” as far as I'm concerned. If it bother s anyone that I dropped out of school at the age of twelve, that I could barely read and write until I was well into my twenties, that I don't give a fuck about any of the so-called “finer” things of life — well, if it turns you off, stop masturbating over this book and find yourself some other way to get your kicks. If, on the other hand, you want to know what it's like to be arealwoman in a world of lily-livered cunts, then read on. The only thing I promise you is the absolute truth about myself and my slaves, creeps pretty much like yours elf,assholes who can't get it on unless they're being dominated by a gal like me! Stupid jerks like you love to be humiliated and ins ulted, so I'm not going to spare your feelings or give you a lot of shit about how m uch I respect the cretins who accept my discipline. I don't respect them at all! To me they're all neurotic morons who deserve whatever degradation and abuse they get from my fer tile mind and instruments of exquisite torture. Just so there isn't any mistakes, that's what I thi nk ofyouIf I had you here in too! front of me right now you'd be on your knees lickin g my shiny leather boots or sucking my cunt or asshole for me. That's all most of you a re good for, amusing me and giving me what erotic pleasure I demand. Sometimes I let s ome of my more favored and servile slaves fuck me, but they really have to ear n that kind of a reward, pay for it with their “pound of flesh” in ways that most of them ca n't handle. In the majority of my Mistress-Slave relationships, sexual gratification is reserved exclusively for me. Oh, my slaves get their kicks, alright, but those kicks ar e accompanied by humiliation and the most exquisite pain I can devise for them. Now that we've gotthat straight, his littlelet's get on with the main business of t memoir — how I got this way and what it means to th e hundreds of men who've turned into cringing creeps begging me to beat and abuse them. I was born and grew up in a dingly little mining to wn on the West Virginia-Ohio border. By the time I was twelve years old, most of the men in the town had fucked me — including my Uncle Bob and my two older brothers. My father probably would have been humping me, too, only he died in a mine cave-i n when I was eight. Drinking and fighting and fucking were about the on ly amusements in Burton's Ridge. After the bars closed every night you could almost hear all the bedsprings start creaking loudly, and the sound of cocks being drive n into every female Hole possible. It was like some goddamned horny symphony of out-of-co ntrol lust. The only chicks in town safe were those too young or too old to screw, but even they weren't safe all the time. If they didn't lock themselves inside their b edrooms with a gun or a two-by-four for protection, some drunken hillbilly with a raging ha rd-on was likely enough to try and
fuck them, too. I didn't mind getting screwed, or even having to su ck cock all the time. What did bother me was getting knocked around afterwards. Th e so-called men in our town had a habit of using their fists on their lovers just to show their friends how “tough” they were. It was like some stupid joke to them, laughing and pointing out the black eyes and bruises they had inflicted the night before. Like I said, by the time I was twelve years old I k new more about sex and pain than most thirty year-old women. And my body didn't help , either. I was tall for my age, with huge firm tits and the highest, sexiest ass and lon gest legs around. Even then everyone knew I was going to be beautiful. My hair was long and black, my flesh as white as marble. And my cunt, despite the continual fucking, was as fresh and tight as a young virgin's. I really new how to use that pussy and th ose pelvic muscles. I could take the biggest cock or the smallest one and tighten that j uicy cunt around it and send a man to heaven. Not that most of my lovers cared about anyt hing like that. They wanted to stuff their cocks in and fuck like crazy until they blew their nuts. That was all. No tenderness or caring aboutmyl my jaws wereOr they'd make me suck their pricks unti  pleasure. sore and my pussy was burning up with desire and I wanted to scream for them to fuck me. But once they'd come in my mouth it was all ove r. God knows how many dozens of times I had to masturbate to get any pleasure while my beer-soaked lover pumped away in my mouth. Anyway, I promised myself I'd get the fuck away fro m Burton's Ridge at the first opportunity. That wasn't as easy as it sounds, beca use we were way up in the hills, about twenty-five miles from the main highway. The only strangers we ever saw were salesmen and mining officials com up to inspect the ir property. The local men would have lynched them if they'd fucked with any of us g irls. Once in a while, one of the people who'd left Burton's Ridge for one of the big northern cities would come home for a visit. They'd come roaring into town in their fla shy second-hand cars, buying drinks for everybody in sight, brag about what big-shots they were in Cleveland or Detroit or Chicago, or wherever. Then they'd fight and drink a nd fuck until their money ran out and then leave. I hated them as much as I envied them, and I slowly began to see that leaving with one of these creeps was going to be my only salvation from a life of drudgery in Burton's Ridge. So, when Homer Galway asked me to go back to Cleveland with him, I jumped at the chance. Homer was as much an asshole as the rest of the men I knew, but that didn't matter to me — he was a way out of Burton's Ridge. He was about thirty, a tall, stupid man with a pot belly and a balding head. I'd let hi m fuck me a couple of times on his weekend visit to the old homestead, and he was rari ng for more, even if he had to take me back to Cleveland to get it.
I didn't even say goodbye to my mother before I lef t. By six-thirty one Monday morning I was scrunched down in the back seat of Ho mer's beat-,up Ford sedan, my clothes in a cardboard box on the seat beside me. And I've never been back. Three hours later we were halfway to Cleveland, a t own I'd heard about for years. I know how stupid it sounds now, but in those days it seemed like the most exciting place in the whole world. And I didn't have any intention of staying with Homer once we reached that wondrous city. He could fuck himself f or all I cared, all I wanted was transportation. I didn't even mind scrunching over his steaming loins on the front seat and sucking his cock while he guzzled beer and weav ed down the highway with the radio blaring hillbilly music. I would have sucked every prick in the state of Ohio just for the chance to be free. When we finally pulled into Cleveland that night, I was as happy as I'd ever been in my life. I had even believed all that shit Homer ha d told me about the big house and good job he had there. It was a big house, alright, but he had three cramped rooms in the basement of it, and a moronic young wife and fo ur runny-nosed kids to fill them up. As for his great job, well, he was a fucking janito r in some damned machine shop. He was lucky to bring home a hundred dollars a week. Homer's wife knew I wasn't the “first cousin” he'd told her I was, but she didn't care
about me moving in with them. The poor girl was so sick of Homer wanting to screw her every night that she welcomed another hot cunt to g ive her a little relief from his gigantic cock. It goes without saying that I got the fuck away fro m Homer and his family as quick as I could. A week later I was living with an old Hung arian that I'd met in the restaurant where I'd gotten a job as a waitress. The dude was forty years older than me, and he could hardly speak English, but he was generous to me and could only get it up about once a month. Old Karl had a dump of an apartment n ear Hough Avenue, but he made good money as a foreman in a paint shop, so I could save every cent of my wages and tips. He was jealous as hell of me, of course, but I didn't care. I figured he was getting his monies worth once a month when I let him fuck m e. Who I screwed in the meantime was none of his fucking business! I knew it was time to move on when Karl had a strok e and went into the hospital. His relatives had never liked the idea of him taking up with a sexy young hillbilly like me, and they took the opportunity to try and run me out of his apartment. I left, alright, but not before taking the almost four thousand dollars that Karl had hidden around the place. The stupid old bastard had never trusted ban ks, and I figuredwhat the hell, he owed it to me, didn't he? I didn't even stop to pack my clothes. His fucking relatives could have all my rags in exchange for the money. I caught the first bus out of Cleveland. A day later I was renting my own small apartment in Detroit. The plac e I rented was nothing fancy, just a one-bedroom dump near the bus terminal downtown. So , there I was, sixteen years old, a dumb hillbilly cunt, with Karl's four thousand an d three hundred dollars of my own. All alone in a strange city. Talk about depressed? Shit , I was ready to climb the walls wondering what to do, and if the Cleveland Police were after me for taking Karl's stash. One of the first things I did was hide all the mone y except for a few hundred dollars. Then I went out and bought myself some new clothes and had my hair dyed blonde. Suddenly I didn't look like myself anymore. I looke d like half the hookers and barmaids in Detroit. I considered peddling my ass, but that didn't reall y appeal to me. It would have been too much hassle without a pimp, and I was in no moo d to work my cunt off and then turn over all my money to some dude in return for an occ asional piece of ass and a regular beating. So I got a job as a barmaid in a little place off W oodward Avenue. It wasn't much, just a dingy little bar frequented by a lot of gays and other losers. The queers were mostly older men, limp-wristed creeps who looked li ke they wanted to cry if anyone looked at them cross-eyed. I didn't take any shit f rom any of the customers, or from the sleazy Greek who owned the place. Nor did I let any of them screw me. When I got too horny to stand another hand-job, I'd get dressed up in my sexiest clothes and hang around the lobby of one of the better hotels in tow n. It never took more than an hour or so to find some handsome stud who wanted to fuck. It wasn't much of a life for a hot-blooded girl, bu t I was too stupid to know any better at the time. And I was still half-afraid that some cop was going to find me and arrest me for stealing Karl's money. Anyway, I'd been in Detroit for about three months when I met Harry Stevens in the lobby of the Starler Hotel. I was so horny my cunt was dripping and throbbing with desire. It was all I could do to keep my hands off that gooey gap down between my creamy thighs. Finally, after I'd been sitting ther e for about fifteen minutes, a well-dressed dude who'd been giving me the eye came over and sat down in the next chair,
smiling at me in a strange way. I figured him for a delegate to the convention that was being held in the hotel because he had one of those stupid plastic name-tag s on his lapel. He wasn't a bad looking dude. About forty, he was heavy set and kin d of handsome in a rough sort of way. As soon as he sat down he started a conversati on, asking me if I was staying at the hotel and things like that. I could see his prick getting stiff under his expen sive suit, and that only made me hornier. From the look of the thing, the guy would half-kill a girl with that massive cock. It was just what I needed, a fucking that would dri ve me right into the goddamned bed. I could feel my pussy starting to throb and ache and start juicing enough to wet the crotch of my panties. It took about three minutes to get things arranged. He gave me his room number and told me to meet him there as soon as he'd gone up. When he asked me how much it was going to cost him, I just laughed and said w e'd settle that later. I knew he was good for fifty or so, but I wasn't worried even if he stiffed me altogether. It was his prick I needed most, not his money, anyway. When I rapped on his door a few minutes later, he o pened it quickly and pulled me inside. My eyes popped out at the sight of him stan ding there stark naked, his ten inch cock jerking out in front of him, the head all shin y, the thick veins that ran along the shaft pumping blood through it. “Hurry and get undressed, honey,” he urged me, starting to tear at the buttons of my tight dress. “Oh, Jesus, I can hardly wait!” I didn't need any encouragement, especially after s eeing that magnificent cock of his. In a minute my clothes were on a chair and I w as standing stark naked in front of him, rubbing my trembling fingers up and down my hu ge tits while he almost drooled in rapture. He picked up his wallet from the dresser and handed me two fifty dollar bills, telling me that he wanted something “special.” I thought he meant a blow-job, or that he wanted to corn-hole me. I wasn't into ass-fucking, and I told him so, agreeing to go down on him if he wanted, but only if he screwed me first. He looked a little embarrassed, s haking his head. “No,” he said, his body trembling, “you don't under stand. I don't want you to suck me, and I sure as hell don't want to fuck you in th e ass, honey!” “Then what the helldoyou want?” Instead of answering, he moved over to the bed wher e he had laid out some sort of dark leather garment. He picked it up, holding it o ut to me. I gasped, seeing that it was a shiny leather corselet. Under the garment I could s ee a menacing black whip. I didn't know it at the time, but it was a cat-o-nine-tails. “I want you to put this on and whip me,” he whisper ed in a lust-charged voice. He held the thing out to me, his eyes pleading silentl y with me to take the leather garment. “Please,” he went on, little strings of spittle run ning out of the corners of his mouth. “I want you to get all dressed up in this, then to put your high heels on again. Then I want you to beat my ass as hard as you can!” I was dumbfounded, never having heard of anything l ike this before. I knew that plenty of men like to beat the shit out of their fe males, but I'd never met a man who wanted to be whipped. “You're crazy,” I told him, believing my words. “I came up here to get fucked, not to play any stupid games with you!” God, the look in the poor bastard's eyes. Tears sta rted to well up in his eyes and
spill down over his flushed cheeks as he continued to try and press the leather corselet into my hands. “Please, you've got to help me,” he whined piteousl y. “What is it, do you want more money? I'll give you another fifty if you beat me! Please, I'm going crazy.” All I wanted was to have him split my cunt lips wit h that huge cock of his. My pussy was pulsating and steaming from the hot juices that were dribbling down, past the hairy lips and oozing onto my thighs. “I don't know what kind of game you're playing, you creep,” I told him scornfully, “but I want fucked! You screw me first and I might paddl e your ass with that whip, but that's the only way!” He paused for a moment, his eyes almost rolling aro und in his head. Sweat was pouring off his forehead now, and I could see his w hole body shaking and trembling out of control as he looked at me, then over toward the whip on the bed. Finally, with a gasp of surrender, he nodded. “But, please, put this thing on, will you?” he plea ded, thrusting the leather corselet at me. “I won't be able to fuck otherwise.” I was tempted to tell him to stuff his money and hi s leather corselet up his ass and leave, but something held me there. Maybe it was th e fact that I needed fucking so badly, maybe it was the look in his eyes — like an animal praying for attention. At any rate, I shrugged and took the thing from him, slipp ing it on and tightening it around my waist. It was cut so low that it didn't cover my hu ge breasts, only thrust up on them. The bottom ended a few inches down on my flaring hips, completely exposing my succulent, throbbing pussy. Four thin leather straps were atta ched to the bottom for stockings. “Now these,” he pleaded, handing me a pair of sheer , thigh-length black hose, “put these on, too.” What the fuck, I thought to myself, my cunt burning up now. I took them and slipped my long legs into the silk hose, attaching them to the garter straps. By that time he was down on his hands and knees in front of me, holding out one of my shoes. I always wore incredibly high spike-heels , even then, and these were of shiny black patent leather. He lifted one of my fee t gently, almost worshipfully, slipping on one shoe, then the other. I saw his trembling fi ngers running adoringly up and down the shiny leather as he bent his face toward them. Before I knew what was happening, he had bent all the way forward and was lapping frantically at my instep, leaving a wet trail of steaming saliva over the shiny surface. Not understanding what was going on, I didn't move. Soo n he had run his tongue all over one shoe and was starting to work on the other. I d on't know why, but his disgusting actions made me even hotter than before. I pulled m y legs apart so that my cunt gaped open, all hairy and pink, with jelly curds of my sp icy juices flowing freely out now. It was the most incredible sensation in the world to tower above the handsome man and have him lick my feet like some slave.
And he was obviously enjoying every moment of it. E very few seconds he glanced up into the turbulent depths of my gaping cunt, lic king his lips in ecstasy, then bending his head and running his tongue over my shoes again . I think he could have stayed down there on the floo r for hours, but I was too far gone now to be able to wait. Cursing him, I reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling him painfully up from the floor until he wa s kneeling with his face level with my steaming pussy. “I want you to fuck me, you stupid creep!” I snarle d, feeling strangely embarrassed by all this. “Come on, you bastard, let's get on th at bed and screw!” He shook his head weakly, pressing his face forward until his fiery cheeks were pressing against my crotch. I could feel his nose s nuggling between my pussy-lips, his sweating forehead grinding against my hairy pubic m ound.And I suddenly felt even stranger than before! “Let me suck you,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, his voice weak with lust. “Let me suck your beautiful cunt.” I think I was more shocked at that moment...

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