Subject: CODY: ONLY SADISTS NEED APPLY From: email@example.com (Mithryl) Date: 1996/04/20 Message-Id: <firstname.lastname@example.org> Newsgroups: alt.personals.bondage,alt.sex.bondage ONLY SADISTS NEED APPLY I guess I like being scared. That's the main criteria. Shitless. When I first started placing these ads, asking guys to beat me up, what I was looking for were guys who weren't afraid to test their limits, to see how far they were willing to go into the world of sick, psycho sadistic behavior. You can understand that , can't you? After all, how many ways are there to say you fucked a girl? Six? Seven? Ten? After awhile -- very quickly, in fact, as anyone who has spent a little time in the dregs of alt.sex.stories knows -- bump and squirt can get pretty boring. But the world of splatter and gore is limitless. What I mean is, sex is for doing; sadism is virtual. (Don't bother me about b&d.) My friend, Kelly, was the one who suggested I post the ads. She's a stripper who looks a little like me. Red hair, green eyes. Some people say we look like twins. She's set me up with some brutal dates. Guys who were really serious about slapping a woman around. Liz, my shrink, thought the internet might be a wise alternative, especially if I wanted to see my twentieth birthday. She said when a girl looks like me, she has to learn to handle it. I admit I'm sort of ashamed of my looks. I have a n ice body. 39DD-25-36. Long legs. 118 pounds. Five eight in heels. I look like Kelly and she's stunningly beautiful. For some reason though, I've always thought I ought to be punished. No. That's not exactly right. I want to be totally destroyed. In real life, I work for a famous fashion magazine. But inside, I know I'm a whore. What I'm looking for, as I've tried to explain, are guys who make me feel totally depraved, and inspire me to write that way. If they can write good, too, that's even better. Oh yeah, Kelly's taking me out tonight, to a club where she dances. She said to describe myself. I'm wearing a black turtleneck body stocking, very sheer -- you can see right through it -- and pulled up into my crack, black stockings, high heels, a col lar and a leash. She's going to make me dance on stage with her, and then she says she's got a guy who's going to trash me. Kelly likes to see me get beat up because we look so much alike, watching it makes her think it's happening to her. Afterward, s he likes to touch my bruises and cuts. She has long, sharp fingernails. When she touches my breasts, I go off like a rocket, especially if they've been hurt real bad. Just thinking about it gets me wet. Anyone else want to do it? Or do I have to get on my knees and beg? Cody Ann Michaels This is Kelly: Cody Ann is such a liar. She makes it sound like I set her up, but the truth is she treats men like dirt and then acts surprised when they beat her up. Right now, she's sitting on the bed with her hands tied behind her back with the blue leash. It's a lso fastened to her collar and pulls her head back. This arches her back, and makes her tits stick out. That's another thing she lies about. Cody is in denial about her knockers. They're a complete contradiction to her sleek fashion magazine editor im age -- she's just a go-for, but she can dream, can't she? She said she looked like me? Well, I'm a 48 EEEE. Can you imagine what those bimbos at xxxxxxx think of her? Her boss, Diane, is a lez. Now there's a sadist. You guys are going to have to go an extra mile if you want to top Di. She loves to trash Cody. Why do you think Cody wants to get beat up? Because Di makes her feel sub-human. Cody comes home crying, wanting to die. I've seen her. You wouldn't think someone as pretty as Cody would have a care in the world. But really, she's a mess inside. She knows she's a pig. Then she goes looking for trouble. Her shrink, Liz, tries to stop her. But it doesn't do any good. Cody is very insecure. I'm not going to say anything that would get her in trouble, but she's a junkie. Ups. Downs. Elevator rides to the stars. Ecstacy. It's all legal. She has a p erscription. Zappers. Flat Irons. Cue Balls. You name it. Then there's the stuff from the hard line. Imports. Home grown. Weed. Speed. If looks could kill. She gave him one. He was a cop. They busted her. When she got out, you should have se en her. I think she had fucked every nightstick in the x precinct. Don't want to get in trouble. Her hands were shaking as she tried to light a joint. So you see, I have nothing to do with it. I know Cody looks up to me. I've been around. But at the same time, she's ashamed to be around me. Like she'd never take me to the office. Once, when I turned up there, she almost died. You'd have thought s he'd just been stripped naked. I sat on the edge of her desk, with my legs crossed, filing my nails. Cody cringed in front of her word processor. She's such a double personality. At night, she walks around in a red spandex dress stretched between her nipples and her crotch, and at work she wears these starchy little Calvin Klein numbers or Armani suits. Di walked up to me. "Are you Buscemi's model?" Sure. Why not? He does these hard edged photographs of women masturbating. Cody just about shit. They'll be in the November issue. Well, that has nothing to do with what I was talking about. Which is that Cody is a liar. She's scared shitless of pain. A real coward. So the more you hurt her, the better. I guess it's true. I do like to see her hurt. She carries on so. Screami ng. Begging. Afterwards, I like to feel her cuts, tearing them with my fingernails as we make love. She's such a pathetic little fuck bunny. I have a two-way dildo I impale her on. From there, she's easy to control. You can almost fly her. I like t o drive her against the floor. Watching her bash and pound her head on the boards to make me stop. She has long curly red hair and it spreads out around her head; several tangled strands cling to her face. She's bitten nearly through her lip. The chil d is so desperate to escape. Did you know that Kelly is a derivation of Kali? Cody told me once. Kali is a goddess in India somewhere who eats souls. It's almost as if she thought I was her. Trying to devour her soul. Poor baby. I've already taken it. She has no hope of getting it back. All she has left is herself to fall back on. That's why she gropes around, trying to read about herself in the papers. Or the magazine. Or in these stories she keeps soliciting. You do understand she wants it? It's not as if you were really raping her. Cody is a whore. She asked for it. She feels trapped. She doesn't know how to get out of here. She keeps setting herself up. Please. Give it to me. It's about that plain. "No. Fuck off." Another possibility. "I don't want to." A real come on. No. Please. Don't! An open invitation. What more do you want? A blowjob? Get down on your knees. What a tramp. Afterward, I curled up in a fetal position and tried to s top existing. Afterwards, all I could think of was I wanted to kill. Afterward, he stuck a 20 dollar bill in my cunt and left. I sat up. I was fifteen again. No. That wasn't the first time it happened. It's just I was trying to stop being the schoo l punch board. To say no. That lasted about a day. Then some guys took me in the alley and explained. WHAM! I wanted to be someone else. But they wouldn't let me. I think that's when Cody was born. My first kid. I was thirteen. I wanted to be pr etty and a virgin. Cody was a born-again virgin. Cody's been reborn so many times you'd think she was Jesus's yo-yo. In a yellow dress. At Sunday school. Like when I was eleven. I was getting near the big bang. When it all went off the first time. Parson Weems. He was my first. No. There was someone before that. Who was it? Oh, my God, it was James. I was only nine. And he was what, 13. We were playing in the attic, and he showed me the picture books his Dad had up there. They were of you ng guys in jock straps. I just looked at them. Then James made me lie on the floor and he did it to me. Yeah. That was the first. It wasn't very interesting. None of it was until the Weems boys beat me up. That was exciting. I loved it. They knocked me all over the yard. I was already big like a woman, and they hit me in the tits. Their sister, Gladys, watched. She was a pre tty blonde. A little older than me. They lived next door. No. I didn't. I hated it. Sometimes I think she put them up to it. It wasn't sex. It was being treated like dirt for having it. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that everyone in the neigh borhood had had me. I felt trapped. I equated sex with pain. I wanted it and I didn't want it. I would set men up and then beg them to hit me. I would get down on my knees and beg if I thought it would help. Some guys it took a long time to get them started. And then, WHAM! Oh God yes, hurt me. The Weems boys were the first. And then there was Alex. My half brother. He was sick. There were more ways to hurt a girl than just punch her. Alex liked knives. And electric probes. He also got the idea I should be in the military. A sort of sex colonel in charge of lieutenants. Who loses control and ends up being gang raped by the regiment. I wore a sheer black nylon leotard with epaulets and long sleeves. High heeled black boots, seamed stock ings, a garter belt. The leotard pulled up tight into my crack,exposing my butt and labia. And a hard hat. They walked me out onto a narrow ledge to take the picture. What are you saying? That I'm Kelly? No way. I'm not at all like her. I would never do those things. Not in a million years. Of course, I knew we were twins. I didn't want to admit it. Kelly was nice, but face it, she was a whore. I didn't wan t to be seen like her. In her short skirts and little girl smile. I cringed. She asked for it. I don't care what they say. She wanted it so bad. But I was the one who was raped. I fought like a demon. But he was too strong. They held me down. I had to give in. They tore my stockings. I was trying to get free. He unbuttoned my shirt. mmm Nice. I stayed still. Watching. He lifted it away from my chest. Oooooo. Pulling on it. I started to scream. And then he dropped it. oaah He did th e same thing to the other except he pulled it up by the nipple. Shook it around. And then let got. plop. I was breathing so hard. oh, God, please. I forgot who I was. What did I want? Sex? Or pain? Multilation. Please!!!!! oh no where am I? hurt me please. crawling. up the floor to where she was sitting. waiting mother I know I might still escape what was going to happen. But I didn't know who as. I would not give her anything. She brought it on herself. I will give her everything she deserves. And that is this. The child howled. The child laughed. Elizabeth kept swinging. Again and again and again. She came dangerously close to the edge. But she did not fall in. Then someone pushed her. Maybe it was you. 8:30. I have to go out on a date. Come on Cody. Time to go. You look so cute. And so afraid. Like tonight. Will tonight be the night? Don't hold out on me, bitch, or you'll get a good whipping. That guy down the hall will do it free. He told me . You want me to get him? He loves to trash socialites like you. Make them crawl. Little pre-debs like you. Just before you come out. It's sort of like forcing a flower to bloom before its time. You get that look. Like you want it so bad you can t aste it. You'll even beg. I took her around the different bars where I dance. Then I made her get up on the stage and dance with me. While I undressed her. That was before I made her wear a collar. Later, I would make her whip herself until she bled , and then peal skin from her welts. Even when she was at work. Soon she had to be restrained. Her arms were inserted into a long spandex sheath all the way to the armpits. Lacing drew it together along with her arms. Her tits stuck out. She was pla yed with. Her panties were pulled down and something was pushed up inside her. Her legs were separated by a spreader bar. A rope round her neck kept her standing up. It was pulled up tight. A leash attached to her collar pulled her head back and was fastened to the bar. The bar was positioned on a falcrum. A little higher than her high heels. So one side of the bar or the other was always a little higher. And her foot was off the floor. She had to balance to keep from falling. Her toes stretched towards the ground. She could not use her arms to hold herself erect. The rope did that. And her back bone. She tried to stand as straight as possible. Then I punched her.