Would you like to read a story? It's not pure fiction. I'm sure many people reading this thread tried similar things in their youth, like
dommmu did, like I did too.
Dipswitch
Along time ago, when we were in our late teens perhaps, I remember finding what looked like the guts of some battery powered kid’s toy on Alison’s dressing table, in her bedroom.
I asked her what it was and she told me her nephew had broken it and left it there hoping she might be able to fix it. Apparently it was completely knackered and she picked it up to throw it in the bin in the corner of her room with a flourish. I felt she intended to demonstrate how worthless it was, but I sensed her willingness to hide it quickly demonstrated the opposite. Alison fix things? Her nephew would only have been disappointed.
I remember the incident because she seemed slightly confused by something like embarrassment for a while, as if she’d been caught out and forced to lie? Had she stolen it? At the time, even though I suspected she had, I let it go and why she might remained a mystery.
I wondered if Alison’s nephew’s wrecked toy, being electrical and in her bedroom, might be an insight into the depth of her depravity. Just for the sport in it, years later, I brought the subject up. “C’mon, we’re both adults now. I know you!” I said, meaning I wanted to know if she’d lied. I knew she’d been kinky all her life and further revelations would hardly be a surprise. “OK.” she said, smiling.
She couldn’t remember whether she’d invented a method of punishing herself first or whether the game she’d made up to lose came first. While I tell you the tale I’ll ask you to imagine how I felt as she told me, remembering as I did, how, at the time, we all thought she was normal, especially her parents and of course, her boyfriend!
Her story began with the hardware and the challenge of licking batteries all kids play with at some point. I’m sure not many think of transposing the sensations further south but Alison did. Those little square PP3 things were a bastard. “Weren’t you worried it would hurt?” I asked but I think she hoped it would.
At first she tried to tickle herself with some wires she found in her father’s shed by holding the bare ends against her and the other ends on an AA battery, discovered in one of the kitchen drawers. It worked on her tongue but trying to hold wires in the right place between her legs with one hand, while the other tried to hold loose wires on her battery, was such a fiddle the experiment ended in frustration.
This is when nephew lost his space ranger vehicle, or whatever it was. Alison fancied the plastic, clip in battery pack with proper contacts and four AA batteries. She trashed his pride and joy to extricate it. 6volts? Oooooh nasty!
By then she’d passed her driving test and her parents bought her a car, which she drove with due consideration of other road users. The necessity for this and been hammered into her fluffy little brain by her driving instructor. She said that when driving at night she always tried to dip her head lights as quickly as possible so as not to dazzle oncoming traffic. You’d think that was a very straight thing to do but the guilt Alison felt when she occasionally forgot to do this made her feel that perhaps she ought to be punished for it. Would 6volts be enough?
On her way home from work in winter, in the dark, Alison played her headlight dipping game. If for some reason she was a little slow with her dipswitch and she saw the actual headlights of an oncoming car rather than just the beam from them, before she’d dipped her own, it would count as a one second burst of 6volts.
So if for example she’d dazzled three motorists on her way home, she’d be obliged to switch her nephew’s battery pack on for three seconds, as punishment.
If you knew Alison you’d know that by the time she arrived home she’d be wildly excited by the thrill of punishment and the first thing she would have to do, once in the house, would be to rush upstairs to her room. Then she’d sit at her dressing table, disturb the necessary clothing to facilitate inserting the ends of her wires and press the button to make herself pay for her failure to dip her car’s headlights fast enough.
Now it gets really nuts. Punishment the first time hurt so much that Alison genuinely tried to avoid dazzling other motorists but sometimes of course, even though her mind was concentrated, it happened by mistake. Then she’d arrive home knowing exactly how much her punishment would cost her and the thrill of being so badly treated by the game pushed not just the power pack button but most of Alison’s kinky ones as well.
I asked her if she’d ever clocked up more punishment than she thought she could stand. “Yeah, sometimes.” she said, which begs the question did she take it? “Always.” she answered. You have to be true to the game or it’s no game at all.
Yes folks, she’s the bloody dipswitch!
