Date: Sun, 20 Dec 2020 20:38:51 +0100
From: Daniel Comnenus <daniel.comnenus@gmx.com>
Subject: Sex Cult Confessions (part 8)

SEX CULT CONFESSIONS (8)

By Dolphin Dan


After seven chapters of this I shouldn't have to tell you that I was in
this thing incredibly deep. When I answered Jeremy's message on OKCupid 9
months before I could never have dreamed of the course events would
take. It's amazing what desire will drive people to do. I won't say that I
didn't think pretty critically about the ultimatum Jeremy gave me at the
sushi restaurant: leave him and the group forever and get away scot free,
or stay at the price of terrible punishment. Part of me knew that I
should've taken him up on his offer to just fall silent and leave
quietly. But there was another part of me that had gone beyond all
reason. What was scary was not that my boyfriend told me he planned to whip
me in front of all my friends. What was scary was that I was so relieved
that he was giving me an option to stay with him.

It may sound strange but the thought of being whipped honestly didn't
bother me that much. The day it happened, January 22, 2006, was actually
more of a party than anything else. After all, Jeremy had to convene the
whole group, everyone who had been present to hear me trash his dreadful
movie script at the New Year's Eve party. It was a public spectacle and he
planned it that way. Everybody knew what was going to happen. Nobody tried
to talk him out of doing it or me out of submitting to it. It was on a
Sunday afternoon and we had a party at the same house with the pool where
Bryan had first shown up, playing guitar back in December; I think the
house belonged to a friend of Bryan's. It was a nice day, unseasonably warm
for L.A. in January. No one was swimming, but we had a party outside on the
pool deck. There was beer and mixed drinks and music. To be sure the crowd
was smaller than the New Year's Eve party where there had been friends of
friends; the whipping party was just the core group for obvious
reasons. Shawn was also there and that kind of surprised me; he hadn't been
at the New Year's gig. I actually got applause when I showed up. Dack said,
"You are one brave son of a bitch!" People were admiring me for being
willing to do it. I don't think it occurred to anybody how strange this
whole thing was.

Jeremy had made the whip himself specially for the occasion. It wasn't a
full Indiana Jones-type bullwhip, but it was a long tail of leather straps
he'd woven together by hand, ultimately about two and a half feet long. He
took me aside and showed it to me in the living room. I had a beer in my
hand. "You absolutely sure you want to go through with this? You can still
take the other option, you know. The other one we talked about." I smiled
and said I was sure. He patted me and said, "We'll get you good and
liquored up, okay? You won't even feel it!" He and Dack began gleefully
shoving shots of tequila in my face. I remember Billy Idol's "White
Wedding" playing on the stereo in the living room. The mood was merry. I
did get heavily buzzed.

Finally, though, Jeremy started gathering people to go out to the pool
deck. He and Bryan had constructed a sort of simple frame with a couple of
two-by-six boards and it stood, leaning slightly, next to the
pool. Ironically it almost looked like a cross. I wasn't scared until I saw
ropes protruding through holes drilled in two of the boards. Deidre and a
newer woman who had come into the circle, Jenny, were standing by with a
first aid kit. Jeremy asked me to take my shirt off and he gave me a
scrunchie to bind up my hair, which was longish at the time, and lay the
tail forward on my shoulder. Dack came up with a Solo cup full of scotch,
straight up, and demanded I drink it. Then I stepped up to the frame,
facing away from the crowd. I raised my arms and Jeremy and Bryan fastened
the ropes around my wrists. They put washcloths in the loops so the rope
wouldn't chafe against my skin. Deidre had a piece of surgical tubing about
seven inches long and she came up and told me to put it in my mouth,
between my teeth. I flashed back to those scenes you sometimes see in old
movies involving old-time sailing ships, like "Mutiny on the Bounty" and
such, where some sailor is invariably disciplined by a tyrannical
captain. Jeremy came up to me and whispered, close to my ear, "You're gonna
come through this fine. I love you, just remember that." Then he stood back
and Dack handed him the whip.

Jeremy gave a little speech. "I want to make clear," he said, "this isn't
about me and it's not about my pride. I can take criticism, even about
something as important as the movie script. This isn't about that. Dan
acted out of jealousy. The way between Dan and the object of his jealousy,
Bryan, is filled with bad drooie. We've got to get rid of it. That's what
this is about. You mark my words. In six weeks, Dan and Bryan will be the
best of friends. I absolutely know this for a fact." To my astonishment,
and frankly my horror, Jeremy handed Bryan the whip. "I'll count off, one
to twelve. But you will administer the lashes."

To his credit, Bryan was completely gobsmacked. He was always a little cool
towards me but I don't think he ever in a million years would've thought
he'd be asked to whip me on Jeremy's behalf. He tried to argue. "Jeremy,
I'm not sure I can do this, man. This whole thing was your idea."

Jeremy was not pleased with this answer. In a very low and ominously calm
voice he said, "Come inside with me a minute, please."

No one knows what Jeremy said to him. They were inside the house for
perhaps two minutes. I was up there on the cross, shaking. Now I was
starting to get scared. Only part of it was fear of the pain. Part of me
was scared for Bryan too. I hated him, or the animal part of me did, but I
also felt sorry for him.

They came out of the house. Bryan asked for the bottle of scotch that Dack
had poured me a drink from. He took a swig, then stripped off his shirt,
planted his feet on the deck behind me, and unfurled the whip.

I hope you'll forgive me but I'm not going to describe in detail the
process of what I experienced. The pain was far, far, far worse than
anything I expected. The really curious thing, though, was the emotions
that were going through me. With each lash I told myself that I loved
Jeremy, that he was the smartest and sexiest man I'd ever met, and that he
had changed my life. I felt sorry for myself, and ashamed for Bryan, but
I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a strange kind of exhilaration to
it. That's not to say I'm a masochist. I'm not. I got no sexual thrill from
it. It was more a sense of strength, like, I would look back on this
experience years later and say, "I endured that, and I did it voluntarily."
That's what I was thinking at the time.

There was blood. After it was over Dack and Deidre helped me stagger back
to the house with a wet towel clinging to my back. I was drunk, my head was
pounding and my knees were weak. They took me to a bedroom in the house and
I lay on my stomach while Jenny, who apparently had some kind of medical or
at least first aid training, did her best to patch me up. She put bandages
on the worst of the cuts and I put on a loose-fitting tank top T-shirt. I
sat on the sofa and the party continued, though it was considerably more
subdued.

After a while Bryan came up to me. He seemed afraid to approach at
first. Finally he sat down next to me. He was holding a can of beer. He
leaned forward, pinched the bridge of his nose and said softly, "Man, I am
so, so sorry. I had no idea that he, you know, was going to ask me." I told
him it was okay and that I had no hard feelings. It was curious because
what Jeremy said, that the punishment had cleared a way between us,
suddenly seemed like it was starting to happen. I really wasn't jealous of
him anymore, or not as jealous at least. I asked him to get me a drink. He
did. We bonded in that moment in very weird circumstances.

Shawn also came up to me. All he said was, "Dude, you are my hero." I had
no idea what he meant by this.

Toward the end of the party Jeremy took Bryan and me back out to the pool
deck. We sat around a small patio table, away from the others. I had to sit
leaning forward because it was too painful to have my back against the
metal patio chair.

"It's time for the second part of Dan's punishment," he said. "This is the
most important part." I was too exhausted and wrung-out even to dread what
he had to say. It wasn't at all what I expected. In fact it didn't even
sound that bad. Admittedly it was a little weird in how exacting his plans
were, but nothing Jeremy did surprised me anymore.

Jeremy said that the three of us, he, Bryan and me, were going to get a
hotel room in downtown L.A. and stay there together for a couple of days,
maybe even as long as a week. He specified that it would be a nice hotel
and it would be very comfortable. (My guess was that Bryan would pay for
it). He and Bryan would sleep together in the main bed, and he (Jeremy) had
originally thought I should sleep on the floor though he graciously
re-thought this and decided that one of those roll-away beds they use in
hotels would be fine. I would "service" them with whatever they
needed. Specifically, I would be their human cum rag. He actually used this
term.

I didn't question this, but Bryan was bewildered. "Uh, what?"

"We're going to cum on him. Ejaculating on someone's face is a powerful
statement of dominance, and it's completely harmless. I really like giving
facials. Dan needs to be in a subordinate position for a while until he
gets over his jealousy. Taking facials from us will help him do
that. Twelve is the right number. So it's pretty simple. Dan takes twelve
cums in the face from the two of us, and then he's done his penance. You
and I can come and go as we please throughout the time we're staying in the
hotel, but Dan will have to stay in the room until he finishes his
sentence. Oh, he can do other stuff for us too, like getting towels or
grabbing drinks for us or whatever. And you're perfectly free to use him
for whatever else you want, if you feel like a hand job or whatever. I
suggest you don't do anal with him, though, because he really likes that
and he's supposed to be getting punished, but if you really want that I
won't raise any objections. And part of the punishment is, Dan, that you
can't cum at all during the whole time. It needs to be about my pleasure
and Bryan's. Anyway, that's the plan. I'll look online for reservations and
text you both with dates."

As strange as the evening had been, it ended on a pretty positive note for
me, thinking about the second phase of the punishment. Though I'd never
been with a guy who made a big deal about facials, I'd taken a load or two
to the kisser in my time and I couldn't recall disliking it. It's not like
I would find it humiliating or anything. I wondered if that was his
intention; if it was, he'd failed, but I'm not sure he knew that.

When I got home that night I was still in pain and also drunk, and I didn't
have much in the way of sexual thoughts. The next day, though, I felt a
little better, though I had to go to work--it was a Monday--and sit in an
office chair with my sore back up against the back of the chair. The
muscles in my arms and shoulders were also sore from hanging spread-eagled
on the platform for so long. But the idea of the hotel junket, and getting
used as Jeremy's human cum rag, was surprisingly appealing. The fact that
Bryan would also be there and I'd have to take some of his wads too wasn't
as appealing, but it didn't seem especially bad to me. I did have to get
over my jealousy of him. Also, my obsessive love of Jeremy was starting to
kick in again. Take blasts of his semen full-on in my face repeatedly? Yes,
please!

Right as I got off work and before I headed to my car to go home I texted
Jeremy. I said, "Is it okay if I'm looking forward to the punishment and
getting a little turned on by it?" I immediately sent a second text: "A lot
turned on, actually?" He wrote back, IT IS OK. He too sent a second text:
BRYAN AND I ARE GOING TO FUCKING DEMOLISH YOUR FACE WITH OUR DICKS!!!! He
added a little laughing smiley, :-D.

This was too much for me to handle. I was so turned on that I couldn't even
wait to get home. I'd never masturbated before while driving, much less in
heavy traffic, but thinking about the upcoming punishment and especially
Jeremy's text I just couldn't help myself. I deliberately ruined the jeans
I was wearing by tearing out the lining of the pocket so I could reach
through it and stroke my throbbing dick through my underwear. Traffic was
bumper to bumper on the 110 and inching slowly along. With one hand on the
wheel I stroked myself awkwardly with my left hand while keeping my right
hand on the steering wheel. Imagining the hot jets of Jeremy's load landing
on my cheeks, my lips and my eyelids, and hearing him groan in pleasure,
sent me over the edge. My penis, constrained my my boxer briefs which were
pulled tight from the way I was sitting, had nowhere to go. I gasped and
bit my lip as I began erupting cum on the inside of my underwear. The warm
spot spread wetly through my groin as I came down from orgasm. It was
another 40 minutes to home and my lap was a cold wet mess by the time I
made it, but it was worth it. My back was still fiery with pain but for
several minutes I hadn't noticed it. I don't by any means keep track of the
top jack-offs of my life, but among the probably hundreds of thousands of
times I've masturbated since I turned 11 this is one of the handful of
specific instances I remember for the intensity of the orgasm.

I had no idea what I was in for.

More to come, obviously...


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