Posts Tagged ‘Sex and Pain’

“Diary of a Changeling”……6 NON-flashers….

October 13, 2008

WARNING: These are NOT flashers for the above (much above) reasons..they are scenes that just happen to be 200 words long each.  They will stretch themselves in the newest episodes.  Don’t want any more mackerals flying around..

I’m going to post all 6 of these  non-flashers (200 word scenes) I have very recently written. I am doing so because people have asked to read them in sum…and I thought…why the hell not?

I post these one at a time on ERWA, but that is too slow for some readers..and i can understand their feelings. This was something I wanted to write to answer some of the pain/pleasures issues that I was discovering for myself recently, and I have set them in Germany, summer of 1940 when the Nazis entered and occupied France in general, and here, Paris.

Nazis, a Sadist, woman exploring these pain/sexual issues, the French Resistance, Jews in the Resistance, etc. The juxtaposition of all this makes me queasy because the formation is …..tricky.

But if we can’t take risks with history and our writings…we don’t grow.

Lady Nyo

“Diary of a Changeling” in Six episodes so far… (3 today, 3 tomorrow)

DIARY OF A CHANGLING (#1)

I have started a series of flashers in an epistolary form. This follows the development of a woman who begins to understand the issues of pain and its application to arousal and sex.


Diary Entry 1

It finally happened last night. This morning I feel a stranger in my skin. The welts from his whip will disappear soon.

I never thought it could be so! How could I crave this—torture? How could pain do this to me? Am I normal?

S___ was the one who set it up. She didn’t tell me much, just that it was ‘time’. All those conversations over tea, those events I thought she was making up. They were just lascivious stories, something a friend would tell another to wile the afternoon away. Besides, S___ was a writer, a novelist. She cultivated her imagination.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s time’?” I asked.

I remember her laughing, placing her cup on the tea table.

I quote her:

“I can smell your excitement. It gets stronger with each visit. You must not deny anything, ma cherie. You are wet now, yes?”

S__ had smiled and said: “Your responses are obvious. You crave it.”

Ah! I can’t write anymore. My hands shake. Even now my face burns with blushes!
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

DIARY OF A CHANGELING

Diary Entry 2.

I saw S. today. She smoking a stinky Gauloises and looking so chic. French women are born this way, with no efforts to be so.

She asked me how it went with MN. I struggled to answer, my hands shaking, my teacup rattling in the saucer.

I told her ‘it went well.’ How could I explain??

We made small talk for she was expecting a guest and I was leaving anyway.

But my mind recalled when MN. traced the whip handle down my back, making me shiver. I remembered his breath in my ear, the scent of him close to my skin, the cuffs on my wrists, how he stroked my flesh, warming it with his hand, cupping my breast and my ass. Dipping his hand in my wetness.

Nothing could have prepared me for that first strike. The sting was like a hornet, the pain radiating outward, making me gasp. His whip owned me with the first blow. What had I done? I wanted to scream.

Rising to leave, MN. walked in. I froze. I saw S. smile. MN. kissed her hand, and turned. I must have looked the fool.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008

Diary: June 14th, 1940 (#3)

I was looking out the window with S. and watching the Germans march past. They passed forever, seemingly endless supply of men in black boots.

S. is very nervous and puffed on her terrible Gauloises. I could have screamed but we are all bundles of nerves. She said things would radically change and we will have to ‘make do.’

I don’t know about S. though. She is well placed and has lovers in the government. She has the best brie and wine.

I can’t get back to England now, am dependent upon S. MN.disappeared this last week, but S. tells me he will be back, he is on ‘business’. What kind she doesn’t say.

He was a bit too lavish with the whip this last time, and my back and buttocks are still bruised. It is strange how these bruises have become something different to me than just examples of pain. His whip stings me, but he knows to wait and in the waiting something happens. I am resolved to find out more. Of course, this is rather outre considering what is happening outside the windows now.

I have become obsessed. Pain is the portal.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008


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