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August 5, 2010
Posted at 1:14 pm

Deliver Us From Evil

I wrote this story some years ago. It had two proximate causes. The first was a short video I saw of a woman's breasts being tortured with whips, slaps, and needles. (The torturer was a woman, not nude but dressed in one of those leather dominatrix outfits.) The second was a story posted on a bondage site where a woman was tied as described in my story and then gang-raped as part of an initiation ceremony. I found myself horrified by both pieces, but also aroused, and I wondered why. So I wrote the story to try to sort out my feelings.

There was a deeper cause, too. I had been abused as a child, and this was one of my first attempts to put that experience of abuse on paper. At first, I identified with the victim, and put her through a greatly exaggerated version of the experiences of vulnerability and pain and shame and humiliation that I felt. In the first version, only the "Kommandant" was doing the torturing.

Then I added the character of Hilda. She represented another side of me: the one in control, answerable to nobody, remorseless, without a shred of compassion or conscience. She was the persona I developed to counter the psychological stress of my abuse. Unlike me, she could climax, but only by causing pain and humiliation. If I could be that person, my abusers would fear me, not dominate me. (In my twenties, I actually became that persona in many ways. It took a lot of counseling to wean me away from it. It still comes back now and then.)

Finally, I added the character of the old nun/young slave. It was a third part of me, for reasons that are obvious. So I was the young woman being tortured, the hell-cat doing the torturing, and the little girl observing the whole thing in horror.

I don't know if this story even qualifies as erotica. All the devices of erotica -- sucking and drinking from breasts, phallic penetration, exhibitionism -- are perverted and stripped of erotic context. The only ones experiencing orgasms are heartless beasts who probably have no idea of what good sex is supposed to be like. As I said in the afterward, this story came from a dark place inside me, and I scared myself when I wrote it. I might visit that place again, but I certainly do not wish to live there.

I kept this story around for a long time, but was afraid to publish it. I finally gave it to my dear friend Jehoram to read. Although BDSM isn't his cup of tea, he said that it was a powerful, well-written story and that I should publish it. So here it is. I'd appreciate your thoughts on it. Did it work for you? Which character did you most identify with? If you were abused as a child, did you have similar thoughts and fantasies? I'd like to know.