Her parents followed through, holding back not at all. They
had Naomi take off her underwear and bra, and unbutton her shirt, and sit on a
chair in the living room and spread her legs right in front of them. One
leg over each arm of the chair.
Seven hundred and twenty points. A single blow to her vagina
from the belt buckle would knock out six hundred of those points. She deeply
regretted her petulance in insisting they prove they really would do this—but
she was sure she could take the single hit to the crotch, leaving 120 points to
be spent on exactly two blows with the buckle to her nipples. She sharply
inhaled and squinted her eyes closed tight, determined not to give them the
satisfaction of a cry if she could help it.
Looking back at the moment that first blow from her father
hit her labia, Naomi almost appreciated the nearly psychedelic state of pain it
put her in. Her world in that moment became a different world. The experience, to
her later chagrin and reluctant delight, made her a better writer.
Before the blow, she was a scared daughter in disbelief and
struggling to maintain some dignity while spreading her legs wide open for her
dad to hurt her in the most intimate way possible.
After the blow, she was a mindless creature inhabiting a
realm of only fiery pain and regret. It was like with a single hit he had put
her in hell.
She didn’t even remember the actual moment the buckle fell
upon her. She was simply on the floor curled up begging for an end with no
consciousness of the words coming out of her mouth.
And her parents laughed.
She had no time to wonder what kind of people she was
learning they were, that they would do this and laugh, that they would
apparently anticipate no repercussions from what they were doing that day in
that moment.
She was too busy living on the intense burning afterblow her
father had gifted to her between her legs. That was for some amount of time the
only real thing.
That was the word she used later writing about the
experience but giving it to the protagonist of her story, the victim of Catch
and Release. And if “afterblow” isn’t a real word, what the fuck of it?
Shakespeare, right?
At some point her mom and dad were helping her somewhat
gently up by the arms, as she considered whether it was even possible to stand
without collapsing again. Her mom said, a smile still on her lips and in her
voice, “Kinda figured. Nay, you’re going to have to remember next time about
restraints.”
As the real world crept into her altered state, Naomi
considered these words, and compared them to the experience she knew someone
had just had—was it her?—of reading about restraint from some kind of contract
or something.
I, Naomi Ferguson, (she thought to herself, in exactly that
way,) can ask to be restrained in order not to move. Because if I move the
punishment might start over. If I move the punishment might start over. If I
move the punishment might start over.
No, walking was not an option. She collapsed.
Her mom caught her, and held her up for a few moments as her
father took her from behind and lifted her gently off the floor.
He turned her around and her father was now carrying her
over his shoulder like a young toddler, Naomi crying into his neck.
They took her to their bedroom and laid her down gently. Her
father asked her now, “Do you want to be restrained now?”
Rolling over onto her side, Naomi cried.
“We need an answer.”
“Mommy, Daddy, please, this is too much, can we just…” She
didn’t know what she wanted them to just…
“Sweetheart, I am going to spend my seven hundred twenty
points now, and if you move again it’s going to keep starting over. Or we can
tie you down, and it will be a thousand eighty, but it will be done. No
starting over.
“Daddy why are you doing this?”
He paused. Mom quietly murmured, “Are you saying this is
unfair?”
Naomi looked at her mom horrified. That would add fifty
points, but multiplied by three because she’d been insubordinate earlier.
“No!” she yelled quickly. “No! It’s… it’s fair.” She sobbed.
She knew they knew this was completely unbelievable. But she also knew the
point was to get her to go along with the game. That was part of the
punishment, taking her away from reality and into this pretend realm where pain
and only pain was real.
“I…”
It was so hard to say.
“You need to make it a request,” said her dad.
Naomi, still laying on her side, curled up, looked off at
the wall and nodded. “Daddy,” she said, “Will you please… t-t-t-tieee… mee….
Uuuhpph?” and she wept as her parents proceeded to comply with her request.
So, that night, her father hit her, seemingly as hard as he
could, once more on the vagina with his belt buckle, then once more with the
strap of his belt. With his hundred and eighty remaining points, he hit her
once on each nipple with his belt buckle, and then switched to the strap again
and hit her once with it on each nipple.
She of course was screaming the entire time, but as she
relaxed at his final blow, her mother stepped up. Naomi had fucking forgotten.
Both parents spend the points.
Her mother spent 1680 points—because dad started over, the
total punishment had equaled 1680 points and so that’s what mom got to spend.
She did exactly the same as her husband while her daughter begged and struggled
beneath her—twice with the buckle on the vulva, then once with the strap, then
once on each nipple with the buckle, and finally once on each nipple with the
strap.
There is no sense in which we could say Naomi was recovering
after all this while laying on the bed still tied up, as her mother rummaged
around in a drawer. She was simply holding pain in her body, not processing it
or getting past it in any way.
Her dad began untying one of her wrists. Finally she was to
be released. She planned to run immediately to her room and lock the door and
just die.
But instead of untying her other limbs, her dad stepped back
and her mom stepped forward, placing something within Naomi’s free hand’s
grasp.
Naomi’s head lolled over to see what was happening, and she
almost peed the bed when she saw—her mom had placed a vibrator in her hand.
They were going to make her masturbate.
Her nipples and vagina and probably even her clit were
hopelessly bruised, and they were still going to make her try to have an orgasm
on command.
She dropped the vibrator. “I can’t, how can you… How can you
think I would…”
Her mom replaced the vibrator in her hand. “We actually
think you can. We know pain excites you.”
Naomi screamed “NOT THIS PAIN”
Her mom paused, then calmly continued. “We’re giving you
twenty minutes to excite yourself, then you’ll have five minutes to orgasm. If
you orgasm before the twenty minutes are up, that’s irredeemable, and we’re
going to spend the next twenty four hours basically torturing you.”
Her dad interjected, “don’t think we won’t. You’re probably
noticing, we don’t mind doing this at all. When you deserve to be punished, we
enjoy punishing you.”
“And if you don’t orgasm in that final five minutes, then
that’s insubordinate and your punishment points earned tomorrow will be
tripled.”
Naomi just gaped her mouth open and closed like a fish. What
could she possibly say?
And so her mom started the timer. “Twenty minutes.
Masturbate starting now.”
Naomi couldn’t believe her arm was slowly, slowly moving
into position.
Her dad said quietly, “that’s an order.”
Naomi nodded, closed her eyes, and went fully into position.
It hurt.
It hurt very badly.
Yes, she learned, her clitoris was in fact bruised. And each
bit of vibration translated renewed pain, dozens of times a second she figured,
into that bruised clit.
The pain was insane.
And it worked.
She learned later she almost came in just five minutes. She
wiggled and writhed, in pain and seeking orgasm, right there in front of mommy
and daddy, and in short order almost blew it and made herself come fifteen
minutes early.
Her mom was kind enough, as a one time thing, to gently lift
the vibrator up. “You have a lot of time to go,” she said, a wink sitting on
her cheek like a crow laughing from an electric line.
“Haahaaaaaaha… haaaahhhaaahaaa” Naomi replied honestly. Not
a laugh, a helpless sound. Her pain and her desperate seeking of the ultimate
pleasure had turned her into some kind of orgasm zombie.
Her mom let go, and Naomi continued, carefully.
So in front of her parents, she edged herself while still
feeling the pain of torture to her vagina and breasts, until mom finally said
“okay, you have five minutes to orgasm.”
You’d think she would come immediately but the edging and
the stress conspired to make it a bit hard for her to get herself completely
over the hump. She made it, by the end, having the best fucking orgasm she
had ever had in her entire goddamn life, by far, right there in front of
her parents, tied down and in agony, at the very tail end of her five minutes.
Mom and dad both stroked her hair while she now, finally,
began to recover.
She should have hated them for what they did, and for
presuming to make comforting gestures afterwards. She should have hated them
and she did.
But looking back on that day months later, she had to admit
to herself, she never made even one motion towards trying to make it stop. She desperately
wanted it to stop. But she never raised a finger to actually bring that about.
Instead, she used it in her writing. Continuing to submit
stories to her Catch and Release series, she included the things her
parents were doing to her, as spank material for others to read. She took the
beatings, the cruel contracts, the sexual torment that her parents were now
imposing on her, and made these the actions of the cruel rapists named Catch
and Release. And she imagined far worse things her parents could do to her. And
had Catch and Release in her stories do these far worse things to their
fictional victims.
Some of her biggest fans started commenting her stories had
taken an unnervingly dark tone, which amused her to no end given they had been
reading and enjoying her stories about actual fucking rapists.
“Not even the real Catch and Release would think of doing
something like this to their victims. I’m getting really uncomfortable to be
honest. Not that I didn’t cum really, really fucking hard to your story.”
Just for that, in her next story Naomi tried to top herself.
She had Catch and Release lock a poor girl into a tiny cage for several days,
feeding her only Catch’s cum, basting her asshole and pussy constantly in various
hot sauces and acidic solutions while also gently slicing her flesh with
needles and blades. On releasing her from the cage they tied her down tightly
to a table. Catch proceeded to fuck the girl’s pussy while Release scratched
and poked the girl’s tits with needles and razors, then massaged the same hot
sauces and vinegars into her flesh until Catch finally came.
The abovementioned commenter replied to this story saying, “Nope,
sorry, I’m out.”
Another commenter named C&R, however, replied to the
story, “Nice idea, we will try it.” Naomi rolled her eyes at the obvious
imposter.
Meanwhile, her readership grew. She lost some readers. She
gained a wholly different set.