I was told to endure and come, but no one said anything about not fighting back.
Within seconds, I’m stripped of my clothes, and then the women are gone. I think they are still in the room, but they are no longer touching me now that my clothes are off.
I focus in on the guys. They are boxing me in on each side. I could take the two of them.
No.
Let them come.
Let them hurt me.
That’s what has to happen for this to be over, in order for me to win.
I let them attack.
They run at me like they are afraid I’ll put up a fight. It takes everything in me to not knock them both out, to not resist.
I close my eyes, but that only intensifies their movements in my head. I try meditating as they come for me. I think they are going to tie me up, but they stop just short. That’s when I feel the cracking of belts on my back.
The familiar feeling of m
y dad’s belt on me creeps back into my muscle memory. I feel everything just like I did as a child.
They aren’t hitting me that hard. The pain is doable. The problem is the haunting memories playing in my head like a movie.
My dad’s voice.
His hand grabbing me.
His belt hitting me.
I open my eyes, hoping the memories will fade.
I jolt forward as a belt hits my back. This one was harder than the previous ones, but still not enough to make my eyes water, my pulse to race, or my body to send signals to my brain to fight back.
The two women start approaching me, and I remember the other part of my challenge.
I have to come.
I glance down, but I don’t have to to know that I am zero percent turned on. Coming right now seems almost impossible. Even if both women start sucking and licking and giving me the best strip show of my life, it won’t be enough.
I should give up now, rather than be tortured like this.
But his voice.
Knowing who he is…
I have to win. I don’t have a choice.
I welcome the women in as I collapse to my knees with my cock in my hand. I try to stroke my cock like I did only hours ago in Liesel’s bathroom.
My body doesn’t respond. My cock is limp in my hands.
“We can help you out there,” one of the women says as they reach me. They are wearing lingerie. One has a black, lace bra and thong complete with a garter. The other woman is wearing a white flowy number.
I suppose they are supposed to fulfill whatever my fantasies are. Whether I like a bad girl or an angel—I have both.
Their hands start roaming over my chest as the men continue to hit my back over and over with the belts. Not exactly inflicting pain, but delivering a constant thread of nightmares.