For those who might not be familiar, The Story of O is a very famous BDSM novel, widely considered the classic of BDSM, similar to Marquis de Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom and his most famous novel Justine. It’s the story of a submissive French woman who voluntarily relinquishes her freedom, her dignity as a woman, and her rights as a human being, to be made into an object and a slave, as she endures through many, many very perverted BDSM practices for her lovers, such as gangbangs, golden shower, public humiliation, branding, nipple-piercing, pussy-piercing, daily whippings, beatings.
My son discovered that I’ve been reading the Story of O as I kept a copy of the novel in my night drawer along with a vibrator, and a set of collar and leash.
Naturally, he was very excited, and he has been asking me questions about the novel almost non-stop. What was my favorite passage in the novel, how I’ve been identifying myself with the heroine of the novel, if I have ever wanted to become a submissive slut-slave just like O, and did his dad know about my sexual desires, etc.
I had always promised my son that mommy would never keep any secret from him, and so I told him, so naturally, I answered all his questions as honestly as possible.
Yes, it’s always been my dream to be turned into a sex slave just like in the novel. Unfortunately, I’ve been unlucky. I’ve never been able to find a man who can satisfy me in the bedroom in the ways described in the novel.
I’d love meet my Rene, the man who was the first master of O, the master who strips her completely naked, takes her into a car, and drives her into a secluded chateau on the outskirt of Paris, where she was inducted into a secret society of rugged, devious, evil white men, who beats her, whips her, and regularly ties her up in the most humiliating and degrading manners, and takes her in all her holes.
Is it paradoxical that the more a man brutalizes me, the more I think he truly loves me? I think so, because this is how it was described in the novel. Rene loved her so much so he brought her into the dungeon to be trained as a sex slave. And O, the heroine of the story, accepts the torture and the humiliation because of her profound devotion to Rene, and through her slavery, she finds her freedom and sexual ecstasy in total obedience to the men around her.
But Rene is not actually the ultimate master of O, because after O was trained properly as a sex slave, Rene sold her to Sir Stephen, who became her permanent master, and who subjected her to even more brutal and more perverted sexual practices, all of which were very cruel, graphic, and scary. It was under Sir Stephen that she was branded and then publicly displayed as a living, breathing piece of property, to be used by as many men as Sir Stephen allowed.
I explained to my son that if you are a really successful man, like your dad, whom I had divorced, unfortunately, there will be many many women who will want to be your sex slave, and right now you just have to focus on studying, and then focus on making money, not be distracted by girls or video games or sex, and someday, you will find yourself being surrounded by women.
And, of course, I also told my son that, if he ever wanted, he can use me for anything he wants, and mommy will never say no to him, as long as he maintains a 4.0 GPA and graduates summa cum laude from Harvard.
Use mommy for whatever you want as long was you have 4.0 might be the most stereotypical Asian mother sentence I’ve read on this entire blog! Genuinely made me laugh.
🥺
Always loved The Story of O – great educational reading for your boy 😉
Some of my favorite passages from The Story of O:
“As a matter of fact,” the other voice went on, “if you tie her up from time to time, or whip her just a little, and she begins to like it, that’s no good either. You have to get past the pleasure stage, until you reach the stage of tears.”
I feel a lot of times men do not truly know what women want, and that all the BDSM stuffs nowadays are just so fake and tasteless, because most men are too scared, too pussy-whipped to push my boundaries, they are scared of truly forcing me, subjecting me to the point of tears, to the point where I become scared, afraid, and terrified.
“On the contrary, they wanted to hear her scream; and the sooner the better. The pride she mustered to resist and remain silent did not long endure; they even heard her beg them to untie her, to stop for a second, just for a second. So frantically did she writhe, trying to escape the bite of the leashes, that she turned almost completely around, on the near side of the pole, for the chain which held her was long and although quite solid, was fairly slack.”
And in fact, that is why I prefer to read novels, because it’s more real, more authentic in novels, where there is real terror, real pain, and real torture. Whereas in porn, it’s all so fake, it’s all staged, it’s not even fun for me. Where can I find real masters and become their REAL slaves???
I agree there’s nothing like true agony and abject terror in a slut to really get a sense of real power and domination. It’s the only thing that instantly sets my senses alive, gets me hard… Bdsm porn is largely just insipid simulation…
Some of my favorite passages from The Story of O PART II
O repeated “I love you,” with such delight that her lips hardly dared brush the tip of his sex, which was still protected by its sheath of soft flesh. The three men, who were smoking, commented on her gestures, on the movement of her mouth closed and locked on the sex she had seized, as it worked its way up and down, on the way tears streamed down her ravaged face each time the swollen member struck the back of her throat and made her gag, depressing her tongue and causing her to feel nauseous. It was this same mouth which, half gagging on the hardened flesh which filled it, murmured again: “I love you.”
I feel I can only be tortured and humiliated by and for someone I truly love. I feel the physical pain and torment are nothing but the manifestation of emotional pain and torture.
In the music room, into which Sir Stephen carried rather than led O, Colette and Claire were seated at the foot of the stage. When the others came in, they both got to their feet. On the stage was a big, round single-burner stove. Anne-Marie took the straps from the closet and had them tie O tightly around the waist and knees, her belly hard against one of the columns. They also bound her hands and feet. Consumed by fear and terror, O felt one of Anne-Marie’s hands on her buttocks, indicating the exact spot for the irons, she heard the hiss of a flame and, in total silence, heard the windows being closed. She could not have turned her head and looked, but she did not have the strength to. One single, frightful stab of pain coursed through her, made her go rigid in the bonds and wrenched a scream from her lips, and she never knew who it was who had, with both branding irons at once, seared the flesh of her buttocks, nor whose voice had counted slowly up to five, nor whose hand had given the signal to withdraw the irons.
When they unfastened her, she collapsed into Anne-Marie’s arms and had time, before everything turned black around her and she completely lost consciousness, to catch a glimpse, between two waves of darkness, of Sir Stephen’s ghastly pale face.
Ten days before the end of July, Sir Stephen drove O back to Paris. The irons attached to the left lobe of her belly cleft, proclaiming in bold letters that she was Sir Stephen’s personal property, came about a third of the way down her thigh and, at every step, swung back and forth between her legs like the clapper of a bell, the inscribed disk being heavier and longer than the ring to which it was attached. The marks made by the branding iron, about three inches in height and half that in width, had been burned into the flesh as though by a gouging tool, and were almost half an inch deep: the lightest stroke of the finger revealed them. From these irons and these marks, O derived a feeling of inordinate pride.
Had Jacqueline been there, instead of trying to conceal from her the fact that she bore them, as she had tried to hide the traces of the welts raised by the riding crop which Sir Stephen had wielded during those last days before her departure, she would have gone running in search of Jacqueline, to show them to her. But Jacqueline was not due back for another week. Rene wasn’t there. During that week, O, at Sir Stephen’s behest, had several summer dresses made, and a number of evening gowns of a very light material. He allowed her only two models, but let her order variations on both: one with a zipper all the way down the front (O already had several like it), the other a full skirt, easy to lift, always with a corselet above, which came up to below the breasts and was worn with a high-necked bolero. All one had to do was remove the bolero and the shoulders and breasts were bare, or simply to open it if one desired to see the breasts. Bathing suits, of course, were out of the question; the nether irons would hang below the suit. Sir Stephen had told her that this summer she would have to swim naked whenever she went swimming. Beach slacks were also out.
However, Anne-Marie, who was responsible for the two basic models of dresses, knowing where Sir Stephen’s preference lay in using O, had proposed a type of slacks which would be supported in front by the blouse and, on both sides, have long zippers, thus allowing the back flap to be lowered without taking off the slacks. But Sir Stephen refused. It was true that he used O, when he did not have recourse to her mouth, almost invariably as he would have a boy. But O had had ample opportunity to notice that when she was near him, even when he did not particularly desire her, he loved to take hold of and tug at her fleece with his hand, to pry her open and burrow at length within. The pleasure O derived from holding Jacqueline in much the same way, moist and burning between her locked fingers, was ample evidence and a guarantee of Sir Stephen’s pleasure. She understood why he did not want any extraneous obstacles set in the path of that pleasure.
The above passage is where O was branded. I love the sentence where O feels so proud to be branded, knowing that now she is property.
“Eric has fallen head over heels in love with you, O,” he told her. “This morning he called on me and begged me to grant you your freedom. He told me he wants to marry you. He wants to save you. You see how I treat you if you’re mind, O, and if you are mine you have no right to refuse my commands; but you also know that you are always free to choose not to be mine. I told him so. He’s coming back here at three.”
Even though has become the slave to Sir Stephen, there are still many suitors to O, men who want to marry her and men who have fallen in love with her. I feel the novel is so deep, so full of emotion, and so real. So the above passage is Sir Stephen telling O that Eric, one of her suitors, is madly in love with her, not knowing that she is now the owned property of Sir Stephen.
Oh this novel is so full of quirks and twists and subtleties! I love it so so much!
yess – I love her complete and utter devotion to the path of ownership and submission.. So well written!
Some of my favorite passages from The Story of O PART III
“It’s Sir Stephen,” O replied. And she added, as thought it were something to be taken completely for granted: “Rene gave me to him, and he’s had me pierced with his rings. Look.” And as she dried herself with the bath towel she came over to Jacqueline, who was so staggered she had slumped onto the lacquered bathroom stool, close enough so that Jacqueline could take the disk in her hand and read the inscription; then, slipping down her bathrobe she turned around and pointed to the initials S and H engraved in her buttocks and said: “He also had me branded with his monogram. As for the rest, that’s where I was flogged with a riding crop. He generally whips me himself, but he also has a Negro maid whip me.”
O is constantly showing off to other women that she is owned and she is so proud of being owned by Sir Stephen, and other women are jealous of her status. In fact, Natalie would be begging O to introduce her to her master.
Natalie, without shifting position, raised her head to O, and O’s eyes encountered her adoring gaze.
“Teach me, O, please teach me,” she started in again, “I want to be like you. I’ll do anything you tell me. Promise me you’ll take me with you when you go back to that place Jacqueline told me about.”
“You’re too young,” O said.
“No, I’m not too young,” she cried out angrily. “I’m not too young. Ask Sir Stephen,” she said, for he had just entered the room.
I just feel this book is not such about sex, it’s so full of romance!
Without uttering a word, without so much as a glance at Jacqueline, Sir Stephen made a sign to Rene to let O go, and to O to go into the other room. But on the other side of the door O, who was immediately wedged against the wall, her belly and breasts seized, her lips forced apart by Sir Stephen’s insistent tongue, moaned with happiness and deliverance. The points of her breasts stiffened beneath his hand’s caress, and with his other hand Sir Stephen probed her loins so roughly she thought she would faint. Would she ever dare to tell him that no pleasure, no joy, no figment of her imagination could ever compete with the happiness she felt at the way he used her with such utter freedom, at the notion that he could do anything with her, that there was no limit, no restriction in the manner with which, on her body, he might search for pleasure. Her absolute certainty that when he touched her, whether it was to fondle or flog her, when he ordered her to do something it was solely because he wanted to, her certainty that all he cared about was his own desire, so overwhelmed and gratified O that each time she saw new proof of it, and often even when it merely occurred to her in thought, a cape of fire, a burning breastplate extending from the shoulders to the knees, descended upon her. As she was there, pinned against the wall, her eyes closed, her lips murmuring “I love you” when she could find the breath to say them, Sir Stephen’s hands, though they were as cool as the waters of a bubbling spring on the fire coursing through her from head to toe, made her burn even hotter. Gently he released her, dropping her skirt down over her moist thighs, closing her bolero over her quivering breasts.
it’s the emotional commitment more than any physical, psychological bonding that is the hallmark of true submission – the novel captures this perfectly
Some of my favorite passages from The Story of O PART IV
O was infinitely more moving when her body was covered with marks, of whatever kind, if only because these marks made it impossible for her to cheat and immediately proclaimed, the moment they were seen, that anything went as far as she was concerned. For to know this was one thing, but to see the proof of it, and to see the proof constantly renewed, was quite another.
~~~
Keep me rather in this cage, and feed me sparingly, if you dare. Anything that brings me closer to illness and the edge of death makes me more faithful. It is only when you make me suffer that I feel safe and secure. You should never have agreed to be a god for me if you were afraid to assume the duties of a god, and we know that they are not as tender as all that. You have already seen me cry. Now you must learn to relish my tears.
~~~
The chains and the silence, which should have bound her deep within herself, which should have smothered her, strangled her, on the contrary freed her from herself.
~~~
Natalie came back with the chain and pliers, which Sir Stephen used to force open the last link, fastened it to the second ring that O was wearing in her loins, then forced it closed again. The chain, similar to those used for dogs – in fact that was what it was – was between four and five feet long, with a leather strap on one end. After O had donned the mask, Sir Stephen told Natalie to take the end of the chain and walk around the room, ahead of O. Three times Natalie paraded around the room, trailing O behind her by the rings, O being naked and masked.
~~~
When O was seated, her back against the wall, her hands lying on her knees, with Natalie on the ground to the left of her feet, still holding onto the chain, he turned around to them. O’s eyes searched for Sir Stephen, and at first could not find him. Then she sensed his presence, reclining on a chaise lounge at the other corner of the terrace. He was able to see her, she was reassured. The music had begun again, the dancers were dancing again. As they danced, one or two couples moved over in her direction, as though by accident at first, then one of the couples dropped the pretense and, with the woman leading the way, marched boldly over. O stared at them with eyes that, beneath her plumage, were darkened with bister, eyes opened wide like the eyes of the nocturnal bird she was impersonating, and the illusion was so extraordinary that no one thought of questioning her, which would have been the most natural thing to do, as though she were a real owl, deaf to human language, and dumb.
From midnight to dawn, which began to lighten the eastern sky at about five, as the moon waned and descended toward the west, people came up to her several times and some even touched her, they formed a circle around her several times and several times they parted her knees and lifted the chain, bringing with them on of those two-branched candlesticks of Provencal earthenware — and she could feel the flames from the candles warming the inside of her thighs — to see how she was attached.
There was even one drunken American who, laughing, grabbed her, but when he realized that he had seized a fistful of flesh and the chain which pierced her, he suddenly sobered up, and O saw his face fill with the same expression of horror and contempt that she had seen on the face of the girl who had given her a depilatory; he turned and fled.
A very good book to read. This is for sure and provides a good prospective of the world.
for sure! makes a great owners manual too 😉