And then they were setting me down on the tacks. There must have been a sharp point every half an inch, and each one pierced my skin. Twenty or thirty alone for my vulva and crotch; more for each butt cheek, and myriads of others poking every which way, into my belly and thighs. And the men cuffed me to the bull, my wrists to the horns so that I would be forced to lean forward for the entire ride, most of my weight balanced on my poor pussy, making it the primary point of contact for each slamming return; my ankles cuffed with leg-irons around the bull’s belly, so that my thighs would remain clutched to the sides, repeatedly impaling themselves on tacks specially positioned for them.

And then it started.

The bull lurched into action, and I immediately knew I was in trouble. This was one of those authentic, old-fashioned mechanical bulls, intended to throw full-grown cowboys off their saddles with a few wild lurches. The tack-covered wooden saddle immediately thrust up between my spread legs with explosive force, jamming probably twenty or more oversized thumbtacks directly into my engorged, leaking twat, along with dozens of others piercing my thighs and ass. I could feel a few even penetrating my ass-crack. 

But this was not the worst of it: this bull was designed to throw the rider, and, being cuffed in place, I could not be thrown. And the way that it was designed to throw the rider was to thrust vehemently not only up and down, which it did quite fiercely, but also front to back, back to front, and side to side, each with the same insane force. In fact, its signature move was to thrust directly up, into my crotch, and then, at the peak of its thrust, while my poor defenseless pussy was fully embedded with freshly stabbing tacks, it would lurch forward, or backward, or to one side or the other, consequently ripping the half-inch tacks horizontally, right through my delicate girl-flesh. 

Oh god and my legs were spread so wide! And the upward thrusts of the bull were so savage! Each thrust would certainly spear my outer labia in multiple places, dragging it along as it shot out forward or to the side. My outer lips were torn and mangled within the first minutes of the ride, the sadist in me reveling in the absolute horror of what was happening to me; the masochist knowing in her heart of hearts that this excruciating experience was exactly what she deserved; and the crazy, confused libidinal forces starting to respond to the pain as if it were incredible, unworldly pleasure. But another part of me knew I was being damaged. And my outer labial lips were not the only part of me that was being speared and dragged and ripped to shreds by these tacks. 

The upwards thrusts were so savage and my legs were spread so wide that often two or three tacks would catch me right between my spread pussy-lips and jam their way up to catch my inner labia, which had been fried like bacon this very morning, and were essentially twin blisters waiting to be punctured and popped. And popped they were, and the pain sent me into paroxysms of insane pleasure. I was convulsing, experiencing tremors deep enough to trigger the release of both my bladder and my bowels, which I did. I was screaming at the top of my lungs, honking like a car horn in one convulsive scream after another, but the men could see I was now thrusting my distended, bloody vulva in towards the tacks. 

Because I was coming. Just as I had anticipated, the pain of having my damaged inner lips speared and pierced and dragged back to front and front to back was enough to immolate the wall between pain and pleasure, and I could genuinely not tell which was which, I could not distinguish injury from orgasm. Injury was just a more intense kind of orgasm, so far as my nervous system was concerned. 

And just as I was experiencing this terrible, sickening, amazing, perverse and disgusting physical phenomenon erupt from within my spasming belly, the bull slammed up into my crotch once again, right while I was slamming down, and that was when the first tack speared my clit. 

Everything went silent for me, and time slowed to a standstill. My clit had been pierced right through the middle by this thick, raspy-edged tack, the entire shape of which I could feel with amazing precision. It penetrated right at the exact tip, the place on my clit that I actually avoid rubbing directly because it is too sensitive, generally preferring to stroke along the less-sensitive underside. And this particular tack was not actually that sharp: in fact, I could feel a tiny jagged irregularity on its point, almost like a barb, but not bent backwards like the one that keeps a fish hook stuck in the mouth of a fish. This barb went decidedly to the left, or to my left actually, from the barb’s point of view it actually protruded to the right. And that barb made all the difference.

I don’t know whether I was screaming or not, I don’t know what my body was dong, other than orgasming treacherously. Every nerve in my body must have fired at once, every hair on my head must have stood on end. I’m sure a jolt of electricity shot through me and lit me up like a lightbulb, and I’m sure I looked like a cartoon depiction of such, so that everyone in the room could have seen through my suddenly transparent skin and caught a glimpse of my bones. The whole universe had become a predator and I was its ultimate victim. And finally the universe had me exactly where it wanted me, where it had been stalking me for years, and it was biting down like an alligator devouring its willing prey.

And as the bull lurched forward, the tack ripped out of me, scraping the inside of my clitoris with its treacherous, left-facing barb. It scraped me, but it did not rip my clit off, and although every single part of my vulva, my thighs and ass-cheeks, and even my tender anus was punctured and torn and bruised beyond recognition, I was not terribly damaged down there. Or, as one might say, my wounds were only skin deep. The men finally pulled the plug on the bull and splashed my bloody pudenda with isopropyl alcohol, relishing in the way it made me scream, a few of them holding my legs open just to spank my shredded cunt while I screamed at the stinging pleasure.

That's when they hoisted me once again, ass over shoulder, and carried me, still in my bloodied silver miniskirt and heels, into the main room of the bar where there was room enough for all my lust-crazed suitors to gather round, and a table just the right height so they could strap me tightly on my back, knees pulled up and wide asunder, my poor shredded vulva and burn-blistered cunt-hole exposed helplessly to receive the merciless, unrestrained pounding it so richly deserved... The pounding and raping which I, Bethany Jane Cranston of San Carlos, California, so desparately and woefully craved.

I am not fast enough getting out of the car so Jarvis laughs and pulls me by my ankles; the result is that I plop down, ass first in the dusty gravel of the Tito’s parking lot. A few guys are standing around, and as my skirt rides up they catch a glimpse of my red, swollen pussy. Of course none of them could guess what it’s been through this morning. Jarvis and Ben smile at the other men, inviting them over. 

“Get up, Beth!” I am sitting in the dirt by the car on my relatively fat ass, the same masochistic shit-eating grin on my face, the taste of both men’s piss still in my mouth. I can feel the gravel working it’s way into my ass crack. Everyone can see my pussy slit, so I flinchingly reach to cover myself.

“Are you trying to be disobedient, Beth?”

“No” I say, whining like a teenager.

“Then take your hands away.” I do as I’m told, as the men outside the bar, about six or eight of them, gather around. The shit-eating grin returns to my face, and I look up at the men and blush crimson as I slowly remove my hands and uncover my red, wet pussy. They can see that a whip has landed there and left stripes, but they cannot see the real harm hidden on the inside.

“Give us a show, Beth” commands Ben. I spread my legs sheepishly.

“Are you a dirty little whore, Beth?”

“Yes.”

“And what happens to dirty little whores like you, Beth?” 

And all of a sudden it dawned on me what Ben and Jarvis had in mind for me, and the thought made me freeze up, choking for a second. I started to cry a little, but then my sadistic side became interested: I wanted to punish this slut as much as they did!

“Dirty little whores like me?” I asked, catching my breath. I wanted it, but I knew it would hurt beyond my wildest imaginings.

“Yes Bethany, that’s what I asked. WHAT ALWAYS HAPPENS TO DIRTY LITTLE WHORES LIKE YOU?”

Jarvis knelt down, and whispered something in my ear. He said “why don’t you rub your clit a bit Bethy, see if it makes you feel more like letting it all go, letting it all just happen…?”

So I reached down and started to pinch my clit. I couldn’t be tender with it at this moment, I was too emotional, too mad at myself. But at the same time I was smiling through my tears, and the sadistic side of me was in control, and I wanted a pussy to torture. I looked down between my own spread legs, and low and behold, there was just what I wanted, a poor defenseless pussy, easily within reach and utterly trapped with no possible means of escape. There it was: my own dirty, nasty, smelly, needy little pussy. All the men were looking at it. I looked too, and gave it a cruel pinch, digging my fingernails in and really squeezing, which felt intoxicatingly good. 

I started breathing harder, and I started grinding my crotch up towards the men, who were gawking at the spectacle, unsure what was going on or how to feel about it. Everything was intensely awkward. My humiliation felt like a sunburn on my face and chest, and I could feel my armpits sweating. I could smell myself. I pinched again, 

“What are you, Bethany Cranston?” Ben asked, using my real name so these people would all know it. And using my given surname, reminding me that he no longer wanted me to use his. I felt so alone, but it only made it better, because I could fully experience how vulnerable and helpless my disgusting little victim was. Our victim, who would never be able to escape this, never have any control over any of it, ever again. Our helpless, hopeless victim, who was me. Me: My body, my mind, my soul: my wet and needy, red and swollen, fat and disgusting, piggy little pussy. I pinched my distended clit again, and ground my pussy skyward, moaning feverishly for my audience.

“Say it” ordered Ben quietly.

“I’m a pig,” I whispered.

“What kind of pig?”

“A nasty pig.”

“A nasty little pig who’s breath smells like what?”

“Like pee pee” I said in my little girl voice.

“Why does your breath smell like pee pee, Bethany Jane Cranston?”

“Because I am a whore who drinks men’s pee pee.”

“Do you like to drink men’s pee pee?” Ben asked. 

“Yeth” I said, pinching and up-thrusting as the men pulled in closer. The men were staring, aghast, but more than one was starting to chuckle, maliciously. “Men’th pee pee is an aphrodethiac, to me.”

“What a whore,” I heard one of them say, another acknowledging agreement under his breath. 

I was tingling from head to toe with a shame that felt like electricity. I was shivering a little bit, and everything about me that could get wet was getting wetter: I was pouring smelly sweat from my armpits, I was drooling, and of course my pussy was fully lubricating, making it harder to get a grip on my clitoris in order to pinch effectively.

“Does men’s pee pee actually taste good to you, little Bethy? Do you actually like the taste of it?”

“Yeth. I do. I like the tathed of men’th th-trong, thalty pee pee. I like it in my mouth.”

“What else do you like, Bethy. What were you telling me this morning?”

I couldn’t remember, and I just stared at Ben stupidly for a second. 

“You like to be…?” Prompted Ben.

“I like to be thlapped,” I whispered. I whispered quietly, But the men could all hear me. They were leaning in.

“Of course. You like to be slapped in the face. You actually like the feeling of being slapped in the face. The sensation feels good to you.” I nodded slowly, digging my fingernail into my clit, pushing the little nub into my pelvis bone for lack of a good grip.

“You like to be slapped in the face. But that’s not all you told me this morning, is it, Beth? What else do you like?”

Now I remembered. Yes, and this is what I thought he was driving at, and this was scary, because in my present condition, with my vagina full of fresh burn-blisters, this was going to really, really hurt. I couldn’t even fathom how much it would hurt, I could barely think of it without bursting into tears. But I too, wanted this disgusting little pig-slut — who just happened to be me — I too wanted her to experience the worst pain imaginable. I wanted to victimize her! I wanted to pulverize her nasty little twat! I too, was the sadist who wanted — no, needed — to force my helpless, hopeless victim to endure unimaginable tortures! 

“I like…” I said hesitantly… “I like… to be… r a p e d.” I finally got the words out of my mouth. I looked up at the men. Their numbers had grown to at least twelve, and they were all listening intently.

“You like what?” Asked Jarvis, in his Carolina drawl. “What do you like, Bethany?”

“I… Like… to be… r a p e d.” I whispered breathily. I started slamming the middle two fingers in and out of my drenched, steamy pussy. I could feel my tender labia minora, my inner pussy lips which had recently been fried like twin strips of bacon as the boiling vegetable oil poured past them on its way into my upturned cunt-hole, I could feel them screaming for mercy as my fingers violated my opening. I felt like I was being fucked by a cheese grater! But I didn’t want it to stop!

“Do you really like it, Beth Cranston?” Asked Jarvis. “Do you really want all these men to rape you?”

“Yesssssss” I moaned, jamming my fingers in as deep and as painfully as possible.

“You want them all to rape you, one after the other?”

“Ooooh yesssss. Pleathe, oh pleathe yeth, rape my poor little puthy, rape it now oh god…”

“What if they call their friends? Can all their friends come and rape you too?”

“Yeth pleathe, yeth pleathe everyone, pleathe call all your friendth, pleathe tell everyone to come and rape my poor little puthy, oh yeth pleathe just do it! Do it!”

“Oh you little whore” said my ex-husband, Ben. “I think they should rape you with their fists, too, shouldn’t they Bethany? You’d like that, Wouldn’t you, Bethany Jane Cranston?” He was fully erect, and the lust in his voice melded seamlessly with his disgust and anger.

And using my full name was like twisting the knife. This was not a small enough town that these particular men would necessarily know me, but it was a small town, and it happened to be the small town in which I grew up. This is where I went to high school, worked for years at the soda fountain on the main drag. My parents and brothers all still lived here, all their friends lived here. Our church was here, and all my mother’s church friends. Our pastor lived here. My old boss who used to gawk at me when I was 16 years old. My father’s poker friends, who would give me the same looks when he’d call me in to serve them drinks on poker night. This was a small town, and word would get around.

I just moaned. Ben said, “What if they want to rape you with baseball bats, Bethany Jane Cranston? Should they? Should these guys bend you over and roughly rape your poor sweet pussy with something as big and thick and hard as a baseball bat? Would you want them to do that, Bethany Jane Cranston?”

“Yeth.”

I looked at Ben, and I could see the delighted, sadistic, evil expression on his face. And his tone was different too, less angry and more openly sadistic. And this made me happy! Ben wanted me to feel it all, the burn blisters popping and being roughly stretched and scraped and rubbed harshly back and forth by not only penises but fists and baseball bats, the walls of my vaginal canal being scraped raw and bleeding, my little doughnut-shaped cervix being pummeled, the place way up inside me, past my cervix, where only a donkey-dick (or giant dildo) could even reach, the place where I “bottom out” and would feel the stomach-punch from the inside, it too scorched from boiling oil, it would also be slammed and hammered again and again. That’s what he wanted for me, that’s what he needed to make me feel. But there was no anger in it, just insane lust, and I was providing its ultimate fulfillment, and it made me happy! Yes, squirming responsively as I lay there in the gravel, imagining the insane agony I would soon be experiencing, my fingers punishing the opening of my burned, blistery cunt-flesh, staring at Ben’s erection through his pants, I was happy, and what is more I knew I was still in love with him. I wanted to suffer for him, wildly, and to make him come from my ultimate degradation and destruction.

I looked him in the eyes for the first time since before he raped me, I had not been able to meet his gaze since then. And he looked back, unflinchingly. He was fearless, unashamed, absolutely selfish, and perfectly masculine. And something in him caused something in me to respond with everything I had, to offer him everything I had. I was trapped in his gaze, I could not break it, and my mind was gone. But something strange happened, something welled up from deep within me, a demonic urge took hold of my face and twisted my lips into a perverse smile, and I could feel a fire deep in my belly, forcing me to grind my pelvis higher into the air, thrusting my cunt back into my hand as I pinched and scraped at my bleeding clit with my thumb and fingernails. As Ben held my eyes, and as the other men stared from all sides, and as Mr. Jarvis held me by the shoulders massaging my neck, the demonic little girl’s voice rose from my belly to the surface and enunciated the words, in her high-pitched, breathy lisp:

“Ooooh, yeth Daddy. Ooooh yeth, I really do need all these men to rape me. Tell them they can use their fists, too. Tell them they can use their baseball bats. Tell them they can rape my nathty puthy with anything they want.”

“Even if it bleeds?” Asked Ben.

“Yeth. Yeth. Oh, I like it better when it thtarts to bleed. Oh they should just fuck me harder, the more it bleedth. Oh yeth pleathe. Oooh pleathe, I need it to bleed!”

Ben looked up, breaking my gaze and addressing the crowd, which had now grown to about 16 men. “She won’t cum unless you fuck her hard enough. That’s why she is so eager for this. She may scream and cry, but don’t stop until you hear her screaming in orgasm.”

Ben got up and walked out among the men. I could see some money change hands. Jarvis also rose, lowering my head gently into the gravel and dirt. He was somehow involved in the financial transaction. And suddenly both Ben and Mr. Jarvis hopped in our car and drove off! I was there on the dirty ground, my ass-crack full of gravel, and my husband, or rather my ex-husband, had disappeared! 

I was so confused my head hurt, but things did not stop or even slow down. Immediately two huge, burly men stepped towards me and grabbed me, each man pulling one of my feet. My silver heels matched my skirt and top, but I was covered with black dust and tarry gravel, which was hot and sharp to the touch, and a lot of it had worked its way into my butt crack already. But when the men started dragging me by the ankles, one holding each leg and keeping them spread as they pulled me along towards the rear entrance of Tito’s Bar, my poor ass was becoming scraped raw, both of my butt cheeks and the whole area between my two cheeks. And the sharp, tarry gravel was building up in my crack, started to rasp and tear from the scraping. Some of the sharp rocks were finding their way into my anus, and of course some were getting pushed into my vagina, which hurt even more because of the fresh burn blisters.

At first I waved my arms around and tried to get the men to stop, but suddenly as the pain and humiliation sunk in I noticed myself responding, and that perverse, shit-eating grin returned to my face. A fresh-faced college kid was walking beside me and witnessing my predicament, and I just grinned at him and said “my ass is getting scraped up pretty bad… even my butthole.” He looked at me strangely and said, “But you like it, don’t you whore?” And I could not deny this. I felt very worthless, and the thought of how worthless I was made tears well up in my eyes, but I knew that the disgusting, perverted, masochistic whore who just happened to be ‘me’ really did deserve this, and a thousand more horrific punishments besides. From the punisher’s point of view, I absolutely loved it, just like he did, just like everyone present did. There is something absolutely primal about watching a whore get punished, physically hurt and humiliated, that is very satisfying if you are lucky enough to witness it first hand. 

But suddenly a light popped on in my head and I felt a kind of rush of excitement as I realized, not for the first time, that I was lucky to be the whore, the only one there with the female body to punish, because that’s the only way to really know the incalculable affect of this lustful maliciousness. Everyone else was groping in the dark, trying to imagine what all this felt like to me. But I knew both sides, I knew how rough they were being on me, I knew why, I could feel every ounce of their sadistic glee; But also I could feel the results. I could feel the damage to my nerves, to my skin, to my body, and ultimately to my soul and psyche. And that was hard to bare, but it made the sadism even more fulfilling!

Even this crazy schizoid reaction of mine, of dividing into two selves, was part of the damage. The pain and degradation was twisting my psyche into two halves: part of me identifying with the sadists and gleefully embracing the harshest and severest punishments as if they were happening to someone else, while the victim part of me, wracked and twisted in excruciating pain, takes solace only in the narrative that it’s really all my fault, my sin, my just desserts for opening my slutty legs to anyone and everyone who will have me. 

Because of course it is I who invited this, because I am naturally subhuman, an animal, an out of control slut-whore, existing in a realm utterly beyond the reach of forgiveness or mercy. I am disgusting, beyond redemption, and should be treated accordingly.

The sadist in me is wildly enthusiastic, bonding with the men and acting in camaraderie alongside them, our joint goal being the utter destruction of my female parts, and anything else attractive or feminine about me. Destroy anything that provokes our insane lust!

And the masochist in me blames herself, utterly, and offers up her slutty vagina, her ass, her breasts, her soft mouth and every inch of her luscious female body because she believes it is the right thing to do: she absolutely deserves it, for being such a worthless, disgusting slut.

But there is a form of pleasure-seeking here as well, as the ungodly sensations, in a hormonal delirium unfamiliar to most, readily confuse pain with pleasure, and the initiated come to crave, and ultimately need and throw themselves wrecklessly towards any opportunity to experience the insane, irresistible pyrotechnics that can occur when pain and pleasure butt up against each other and combine.

And the physical need, the craving, has become immensely strong in me. Overnight, I have become an addict, totally out of control. 

“You like it because it hurts you,” said the college student, as he walked beside me. I looked up from my position, smiling perversely while being dragged along the ground, scraping my ass cheeks raw.

“Yeth,” I said, my ultra-honest little girls voice popping up again out of nowhere. “I need it becauthe it hurt-th me.”

“You’re so sick!!” He shouted into the crowd, clapping his hands together sharply. “Do you know what they’re going to do to you in there?”

“Um… Aren’t they going to fuck my puthy?”

“Sure, but first…? Don’t you know? Nobody told you?”

But now we were at the back entrance of the bar, and the bigger of the two guys grabbed me by my armpits and stood me up. Then we were in the back room, a sort of storage area, with boxes, equipment, and perhaps a few “entertainment” items that must have had a place in the bar in years long gone. There were pinball and video machines, a pool table on its side, but front and center was a large mechanical bull, looking like it had been pulled out this very morning and dusted off, the power cord stretching across several boxes and plugged, awkwardly, into the wall. It occurred to me that all this had been done solely for my benefit.

And two guys were working on it, standing on either side of the bull’s haunches, gluing something to the wide, wooden saddle, squirting tiny droplets of something onto some sort of small objects. And as the men walked me closer to the bull, I recognized that they were using crazy clue, and that the small objects were actually over-sized thumbtacks and they were gluing them, sharp points facing skyward, all over the saddle of the bull!

“Oh my God!” I said in shocked surprise when I realized what they were gluing. The blond college kid caught my eye and snickered at me. He mouthed the words “But You Like Pain…” and shrugged. I could see he was erect. I looked around and noticed that if he was erect, so was every man in here. I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, but also, as my “victim” side burst into tears, my “sadist” side grinned like an idiot. And my sore, gravelly pussy started copiously juicing.

One after another, the two bearded men were gluing large thumbtacks onto the bull’s saddle, and there was no need for guesswork as to who was expected to ride the bull. I watched in awe as they slowly and methodically accomplished their task, the crazy glue drying swiftly as they secured each tack. There must have been one hundred large, pointy tacks glued to that wooden approximation of a bull’s saddle, most of them pointing straight up, right in the middle where the gusset region of a lady’s drawers might come to rest as she straddled the saddle. But many as well were located where a lady’s buns may come into contact with them, as she was bounced around wildly, repeatedly lifted from her saddle and slammed back into it as the mechanical bull lurched furiously and unpredictably in its wild ride. And many along the sides too, where a ladie’s inner thighs might make contact with them.

But I had no underwear on. I had no gusset, nor any other material, to protect me from the terrible, extra-large thumbtacks! They would certainly pierce my delicate skin every time the bull lurched, slamming my crotch and backside repeatedly into the tack-covered saddle!

I panicked, and I would have run if I could. I was scared to death, and for a moment I could barely breathe. The two bearded guys announced the completion of their task and stepped away from the bull. And saddle, and thumbtacks. I stared at the results of their work, horrified. The tacks were oversized, decorative, perhaps a full half-inch from base to point. They looked sharp enough to pierce my soft skin, but also much thicker than needles.

But as the other two men, the ones who moments before had been dragging me on my raw ass across the parking lot, lifted me back up, shoulder hight, in an effort to place me butt-first upon the tack-studded saddle, one of their hands happened to brush against my poor, leaking vulva, and it was immediately made apparent to both him, me, and everyone else in the room that this situation excited me immensely. As much as it was bound to hurt, both sadist and victim in me agreed that this was something I desperately wanted. Craved, Needed.

“Guys! Ha Ha! Guys, check this out! She’s sopping wet!” He held up his hand to show the other men, who were streaming into the room to watch the show, his wet hand. But then he and the other guy lifted my ass up and paraded me around, held aloft with my legs splayed and my dirty pussy on show, so that everyone could see exactly how wet I was, which was possibly wetter than I had ever been, for I could literally feel myself dripping. Everyone started laughing at me, and then the blond college kid stood up on the chair and announced “her name is Bethany Jane Cranston, and she likes this!” And he reached up and started gently pinching my nipple. The crowd was hooting and hollering, and I was blushing over my entire body, so deeply humiliated was I at that moment. The college kid said “Don’t you like it, Bethany? Tell the men you like it!” And he gave my nipple a little squeeze, which sent sparks through my entire body.

“Tell them,” he said, smiling at me.

“I like it,” I said. I could barely get the words out, I was so ashamed.

“No, tell them, tell them for real, so they can really hear you, you dumb slut!” 

Oh god I was a dumb slut, I was so dumb. Everyone knew how dumb I was, and how sick and depraved I was to want something like this.

“Tell us!” He shouted, and then he started the whole crowd chanting, as he moved his hands like an orchestra conductor and shouted “TELL US, TELL US, TELL US,” The crowd joining in as the two burly men holding me ass up slapped and squeezed my inflamed pussy, showing everyone the obscene, viscous fluid that rubbed off on their hands. The college boy grabbed me by the hair and turned my face towards the crowd and whispered in my ear “You have to tell them now.”

Even though the two men were not rubbing my twat with enough force nor consistency to urge an orgasm out of me, instead just grabbing at my labia now and again to demonstrate my copious secretions, I felt like I was about to come. The humiliation was insidious, and it was making me burst into a sweat, and blush like a turnip. I suddenly remembered a time when I was a little girl when I felt I had been so naughty I wanted to be spanked. And it was so hard to tell my dad. Both what I had done, and what I thought should happen to me as the consequence of my actions, it was almost impossible to open my mouth to tell him. 

I had blocked this memory out until this exact moment, but as it suddenly came rushing back to me I realized that it had happened more than once, that in fact it had happened a lot of times. I was dizzy with this realization, but it freed my tongue, or, to be more precise, it freed the little girl’s tongue, who spoke up, with her whiny little girl’s voice, and with her lisp: 

“My name is Bethany Jane Cranston.” The crowd immediately stifled their murmurings, so they could hear me. “My name is Bethany Jane Cranston, and I grew up in thith town, tho there are people who know me, and who know my parenth. And they will find out about this. They will find out what a dithguthting, depraved little thlut their daughter has become, and so will all their friendth. Everyone will find out. I looked around at the crowd, grinning my depraved grin through genuine tears. 

“And tho will my parenth pastor. And tho will my school principle, and all my teachers from high school, and all my friendth, and my brother’s friendth, and my old boss from Bob’s Ithe Cream. Do any of you recognize me from Bob’s Ithe Cream? I worked there for years… Does anyone recognize me?” There was a gasp from the back of the crowd, but no one spoke. “Yeth, it’s me, Beth, from the thoda fountain. And I have always been a naughty little girl. If you know me, you know that’s true. I have always been a naughty, nath-ty, thlutty little girl. If you knew me in high school, you knew my reputation, and I confeth that every word of it was true. Yeth, the whole football team, many of them up my ath. Anyone who wanted, up my ath. But what you didn’t know was that I wanted to be punished for it. I craved punishment, and not just thpankings like the ones my daddy gave me but thevere punishments, the kinds of things they may have done to adulterers and whores in the Middle Ages or in cowboy times, or the kinds of things you can only find on the internet. I need to be punithed right where it hurts the most: I crave it. I am addicted to it. Even though it hurts so much that that I can’t thtand it, that it makes me cry and thcream and beg for merthy, it is not merthy that I want. I just want more punishment. And if you hurt me hard enough, the strange thing is that it starts to feel good. I mean really good. You’ll see, you will be able to tell from the way I move and the sounds I make: Hurt me hard enough, and I will thtart coming for you. Yeth it’s because I am thuch a whore, even the most wicked, evil, thevere and devilish punishments make me come. They make me come and come and come, and I will not stop coming until the punishment stops. So pleathe, make it last. Hurt me hard, and make it last and last.” I looked around at the crowd, who glared at me, disapprovingly. “I know, I’m sick,” I admitted to them. “I’m disgusting.”

“You got that right!” Shouted someone in the back, followed by murmuring assent. “Give the lady what she fuckin’ wants!” Shouted someone else. They were angry at me for wanting it, I realized, but I could also see their erections threatening to burst out of their pants.

hi everybody❤️

this story i've been working on, "Beth Likes It" is all fiction. below you will find chapter five. the first chapter of "Beth Likes It" is listed as "i've been working on another story" -- in case you can't find it... scroll down in the blog.

i know i'm a sick, sick lady, and i am very embarassed to be fantasizing about stuff this crazy. if you want background information on me (how in hell did i get this fucked up?!), you should scroll down to a blog entry called "my origin story".

also you may want to read "this is a story based on a true experience. it's about half true." that one is about an experience i had as a teenager, and everything in it is true except the violence. the violence is my own fantasy. the Truth or Dare game, and my confessions, and masturbation, is all true, as close as i can remember (which i think is pretty close).

also, feel free to ask me questions... and please, i love your comments and i love all correspondence from other people who seem to have my particular "issues" or who like women who do. i have been incredibly lonesome for years, until just recently i have been behaving very recklessly and getting a lot of attention for it! ❤️

Beth Likes It

(chapter 5) 

Then, with the camera still following me, I signed the papers. With the first signature, I signed my freedom over to my ex-husband, so from now on I would have no more rights than a child or a pet. And with the second signature, I signed away any chance of claiming, ever, that I was not a fully willing participant in any sexual abuse, rape, torture, or injury he may ever, for the rest of my natural life, want to put me through. Even changing my body surgically was entirely his choice, or injecting me with strange drugs to increase my libidinal drive or my sensitivity to the pain or sexual stimulation. Or even giving me to someone else, or to a group of perverted men! Or just selling me! 

I could not breathe, but I lifted my pen, and as I did it I knew I was falling into a trap. I was stepping deliberately into a trap! And I knew I would suffer, continuously, forever. But I signed it, and I smiled viciously as I did it, as I raised my pen and did that horrible thing to myself. I wanted my disgusting, needy, leaky vagina and the rest of my insane, sex-addicted body, along with my stupid, idiotic, depraved mind, to suffer as much as humanly possible. Even more than humanly possible, I wanted my humanity stripped away from me, to be reduced to nothing, lower than an animal, lower than a whore. I would be nothing more than Ben’s ultimate fantasy pussy-slave, his willing victim, his rape-slut, his torture-slut, his sickening, perverted fuck-doll that he could brutalize and destroy every night, just to patch me up and start all over the next morning. And at the end, he could pass me along to the next guy, or group of guys.

“Oh my god,” I thought and I gulped air and squeezed my eyes shut. “Am I really doing this?” But the answer came with an excruciating, crazy tingle, like electricity shooting down my spine. My nipples and my dirty, still pissy twat were on fire, and the shit-eating grin returned to my face, an evil grin, a sadistic grin. I was thrilled to sign this, to lock myself, irrevocably, into the ultimate horror story. I lowered my pen to the page, and although a tiny voice in the back of my mind was still pleading with me not to do it, I signed my full name to the document, my full name, which as Lawyer Jarvis pointed out had recently changed. Ben didn’t want me to continue to use his surname now that we were divorced, so I lifted Jarvis’s fancy fountain pen once again to sign “Bethany Jane Cranston.”  Then I handed the pen, gingerly, back to the strange lawyer with the southern drawl.

Both men were wearing evil grins similar to my own. “How do you feel?” Asked Mr. Jarvis. Ben was still pointing his phone cameral at me. I felt a strange bond with both of them: we were all demonically pleased that we had a slut to punish. Even though I was the slut, I was just as anxious to get started as they were. I had to think for a moment what to say, how to answer the question.

It was my little girl’s voice that came out. “I feel like a very naughty, nasty little girl, who is finally going to get what she deserves.” I was pleased that it was so easy for me to be honest, because even though I was more articulate and sophisticated on the inside, when the little girl voice came out, she always told the truth, and told it in a very direct way. I realized I wanted to speak like that always, from now on, but I knew I didn’t really have any control over it. 

“Well Bethany, what do you suppose it is that you deserve?” Asked the lawyer.

“I am going to be punithed,” I said, lisping a bit on the word “punished.” Ben just stared at me, grinning. I grinned back.

“Why do you need to be punished?” 

“For… touching mythelf.” I admitted. 

“With the corncob?”

“Yeth,” I lisped.

“Hmm,” said Mr. Jarvis, rubbing his chin. “You are not supposed to shove vegetables inside your vagina, are you, Bethany?”

“No. No Mithter, I am not.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Becauthe I’m a very bad girl, Thur. I can’t control it.”

“Can’t control what?”

“I can’t control my puthy, thur. I needed to put thomething into it. I needed to fuck mythelf with thomething, thomething rough and hard…” I broke into a little moan, and I lifted my ass off the back of my chair and started humping the air, shoving my uncontrollable twat right at the two men, as if to demonstrate.

“You need something in there now, don’t you, Beth?”

“Yeth,” I said, and continued grinding.

“I think your naughty pussy is what deserves punishment most of all. The needy inside of your nasty little pussy. Isn’t that right, Beth?”

“Yeth,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Show us how big it is. Spread your legs and pry your pussy apart, as wide as you can.”

With Ben continuing to point his camera, I did as I was told.

“You are very wet,” said Mr. Jarvis. ‘You are a very disgusting, sick little girl to be aroused by this. I think your little pussy needs to be hurt very badly, deep inside, as a punishment for being such a nasty, perverted little girl. Am I right, Beth? Should we punish the naughty, wet, inside of your pussy? Do you need to be hurt way deep inside, right now?”

“Yeth thur,” I lisped. My voice was high and squeaky, I had no control over it at all. “Yeth thir, pleathe hurt my vewy naughty puthy deep inthide.” I thrust my twat right up at them in a grinding motion, an absurd grin on my face. My craving for punishment, right in the core of my aching need, right where it would hurt the most, was insane. I grinned at them like a clown, and started to cry again, tears streaming out of my eyes. “Pleathe… Pleathe… no merthy. I am a vewy vewy bad girl. I need it, I need it tho bad…” I started sobbing and laughing at the same time.

The men each took an ankle and pulled my legs up behind my shoulders as I slouched down in my chair, pushing my sopping, wet, red vulva up at them. I could smell my own odor, mixed with the piss. Somehow there was rope handy, and my ankles were tied to the top of the chair, above my shoulders on either side of my head.

Ben started heating something up on the stove. Jarvis the lawyer started gently, teasingly rubbing my tender clitoris between his spit-lubed thumb and forefinger. I was already wildly aroused, but Jarvis wanted me teetering on the brink of orgasm, and he knew just how to touch me, just how stiffly and just how gently, and just exactly when to pause for a few seconds to keep me from toppling over the edge. He built me up again and again, getting me closer and closer each time, until I was in near hysterics.

“Are you ready, Bethany?” Asked Ben.

“Oh yeth, yeth pleathe Daddy, I am ready.” I couldn’t seem to speak like a normal person anymore. 

“I am not your fucking Daddy, you little twat.” Ben walked over from the stove, carefully holding a tablespoon full of some liquid. “Hold her open.”

Jarvis spread my pussy lips as wide as they would go, which was pretty wide after my session with the corncob. “Just a sec,” Jarvis said, reaching with his other thumb to ever-so-gently rub my clit, once again. In about eighteen agonizing seconds, he had me again on the absolute brink, teetering over the abyss, gasping and thrusting upwards. Ben held the spoon over my wide open hole. 

“Oh…kay…” said Jarvis. I thrust up at them, starting to uncontrollably squeal through clenched teeth. Jarvis squeezed my clit firmly between thumb and forefinger, sending me into spastic, breathless convulsions, and shouted “Now!”, and right at that very moment, as I toppled into blinding orgasm, Ben delicately emptied his tablespoon of boiling vegetable oil into my upturned vaginal opening.

Nothing touched my clit, or my outer labia, but my inner lips, along with my vaginal canal, my puffy little cervix, and right back past my cervix to the depths of my cunt, were instantly fried. I could feel the blisters forming, I could feel the viscosity spreading to every recess and charring every nerve, I could feel my screams catch in my spasming throat, and I could feel the orgasm reach my fingertips and nipples and make the hair stand up on my head. The pain was beyond measure, it was intense beyond anyone’s power to comprehend. But it did not quash the orgasm, it ignited it!

And oh, it was a terrible sensation!  This was hellfire! I was immersed in flame, in incomprehensible burning explosions of demonically sinful pleasure-pain! 

Suddenly every nerve in my body is erupting, my throat clenching, my screams bursting through my nose, spurts of vomit reaching my mouth and lips, diarrhea and piss soaking the chair I am propped up on. My whole brain goes cross-eyed as my chest heaves with choking, churning sobs. I can’t see, I have no idea where I am, or what I am: for minutes on end I am nothing, I am non-human, consumed by brutal, ecstatic sensation, so exquisite as to be unbearable, so excruciating as to be indistinguishable from orgasmic convulsion! 

Except that it is too much, too intense: as my nerve-endings frizzle out and my fingers and toes droop, I realize this was indeed a punishment. This was murderous punishment, and as Ben and Jarvis pack my cunt with ice, I realized that this was the kind of punishment, the level of severe punishment, that could only be appropriate for a girl like me, for a BAD GIRL who REALLY DESERVES IT. My whole vaginal cavity is aflame with continuous burning sensation, and my head spins with the implications of everything I have experienced, everything I have committed to, everything I have signed. There is truly no way out.

And yet, that very thought, that there is no way out of this, that from now on the deepest and most degrading of humiliations will define my place in the world, the most disturbing and agonizing physical sensations will define my experience of being alive, that this very reality, and the utter inescapability of it, ignites a strange itch within me, that grows as the two men stand me up, walk me over to the bathtub and flush out my vagina with cold water. I am no longer crying, and while the burning is still there, and still incredibly unpleasant, I strangely enjoy being manhandled by these two mean-spirited men. I feel a strange delight in knowing that they get off on torturing me, and that before long other men will have the same opportunity. And as the icy water shoots up my damaged pussy-pipe, splashing the blistery surfaces of my vaginal canal and cervix, my itch becomes more powerful, indeed welling up uncontrollably from within and becoming an intense, irrepressible craving. 

And when Jarvis sits me up in the bathtub so he can more easily reach my mouth with his cock, just so he can urinate into my mouth as if it were a toilet, expecting me to swallow every drop, I actually smile up at him, and at Ben, the same uncontrollable shit-eating grin spreading across my face that had been there when I signed the papers, signed my life away, committing permanently to this new, sub-human life of torture and degradation. There are actually three misogynists, three sadists in this room, I realize; I am just the one blessed with the female body. I too need a pair of titties and a pussy to punish mercilessly. My pleasure too is sadistic, and requires a victim. 

Sure, it will be difficult to sleep with my twat full of blisters, but I could not be more deserving. Oh yes, that is the final truth of it. And as I open my mouth, grinning like a toilet, to receive Ben’s pee pee as well as Jarvis’s, I realize that I am lucky to be in this position, lucky to be on the receiving end of all this, because I am the only one who can truly know the effect of our mercilessness, who can experience first hand the impact of our cruel and sadistic acts!

I choke on my final gulps of tart and salty man-pee as they pull me out of the bathtub and dress me in a silver miniskirt so short it barely covers my shaven, red vulva. You can see the scars from my whipping earlier, all over my ass, legs, and inner thighs, the most severe welts disappearing under my skirt. But the real damage, the blistering oil-burns, are hidden inside me, and although I am stumbling in an exhausted stupor and barely able to walk at all due to the pain between my legs, Ben and Jarvis somehow stretch a matching silver bikini top over my melon-sized breasts and throw me into the car, matching silver heels somehow buckled onto my feet. No panties. We are on our way to Tito’s bar!

The bar, full of rough men! Where people know me, or at least know me as “the bar slut”!

And although I am in so much pain between my legs I can barely breathe, somehow the thought of people seeing me like this makes me blush anew. And makes me want to be touched “down there”, even though I know it will hurt! 

part 4 of my long, not yet finished, story. this is all fiction, not to be confused with much of my autobiographical writing in here. also, the first chapter of this has the header "i've been working on another story" in case you're having trouble finding it. thank you for reading, and comments are greatly appreciated!

 Beth Likes It

(chapter 4) 

The man wore a suit and held a briefcase, which he set on the kitchen table and opened. The two men were talking… I could hear them but I couldn’t understand them. It was as if they were adults and I actually was a little girl, a toddler incapable of understanding adult conversation. The two men were talking seriously, looking at papers. And then they were looking up at me. Ben must have made a joke, because the two men suddenly began laughing. I smiled too, even though I knew they were laughing at me. Then Ben motioned me over.

I slowly toddled over to them where they were sitting at the kitchen table, trying to hold in my pee as best I could. I was obviously squirming a bit, dancing from one foot to the other. I thought I understood Ben to say, “let’s see how long she can hold it,” but I wasn’t sure, it was as though I was in a dream, all I really knew was that they were laughing at me again, and that the weirdness of the situation, the humiliation and the infantile reaction of having my feelings hurt, my face involuntarily pouting behind my pacifier, made me desperately want to grind my pussy against something. I could not contain my sexual need, I could not still it. And at the same time, despite my best efforts to clutch and clench the gateway closed, perhaps just the first thimbleful of pee began to leak out. 

And as I stood there grinding my diapered pelvis up at the two, formally dressed men, Ben interrupted his own derisive chuckling to say “Beth, this is my attorney, Stanley Jarvis. He is here to take care of our divorce settlement, and any other papers we may wish to write up.” He looked me squarely in the eye, as if he was talking to a fellow adult. But he wasn’t.” I looked down at the table, where Mr. Jarvis was shoving a stack of papers towards me, indicating where I was supposed to sign. Suddenly, the reality hit me like a bomb going off in my stomach, and I burst into tears. The pacifier flew out of my mouth and I clutched at it with both hands but I missed, and it bounced down on the table, getting ruby-red lipstick right on the legal papers I was supposed to sign! The men just stood there staring at me… I was sobbing, and blushing from head to toe: I must have been red as a beet. And my nipples were hard as twin diamonds.

It was insane: The two men stared at me as I sobbed through a shit-eating grin that I could also not suppress, because the embarrassment was causing me to grin uncontrollably, even as the word “divorce” made me sob hysterically. I wished I were dead, but at the same time I was overloaded with pleasure: the shame of it all, the extreme shameful dirtiness of what I was irreversibly becoming, triggered a demonic lust in me that I had no control over. I stood there grinding my depraved, diapered cunt up at the lawyer while he sneered at me, his utter derision triggering even deeper feelings of insane sexual need… And it was not exactly a need for fucking, I suddenly realized: it was a need for punishment! 

I could recognize, in that instant, that what I desperately wanted was not sex… but injury! My pussy craved more than friction, it craved destruction! My whole body was tingling with insane, self-directed wrathful neediness! My nipples, my anus, even the bottoms of my feet were tingling, as if they were being tickled by electricity! 

And right there, in front of the two men, I peed on myself. I had my diaper-covered vulva thrust forward towards the disgusted lawyer, as I had been grinding my pelvis towards him, but I stopped mid-grind and my pee came out, uncontrollably, soaking through my diaper. The two men watched as the yellow spot grew from the size of a dime to a silver dollar to the whole sopping gusset, and then trickled down my legs onto the floor. 

I stopped crying. As the men watched, I picked up the pacifier and put it back in my mouth. Then I picked up the pen and signed the papers.

“You just signed every dime you had over to me,” said Ben. I sobbed. “Even my inheritance?” I asked.

“Yes, dumbshit. Every penny.” A flood of fresh tears trickled down my cheeks and soaked my teddy bear t-shirt. But I couldn’t stop grinning, and I again started grinding my needy twat at the two fully dressed men. My panting was shallow, like a dog in heat. I thought about the dunce cap that lay waiting for me in the other room, how appropriate it was that I should wear something like that.

“I think we need to get you changed,” said Ben. The lawyer moved the papers - I was now no longer Ben’s wife - and Big Ben picked my relatively tiny body up off the floor and set me onto my back on the kitchen table. “We’ll have to wash this later.”

“See why she can’t be my wife?” Said Ben to the lawyer as they spread my legs and removed my diaper. “I get it,” said Mr. Jarvis. “She’s a whore, not a wife. And she’s a depraved one at that. There was a girl like this in my high school in Minnesota. We called her Anal Annie because everyone used to fuck her up the ass. Then she’d clean the shit off our dicks with her tongue, and say “yummy yum.” But really she’d do anything. One night we hung her out of her brother’s bedroom window, by her ankles, just for a lark. And we only let her up when she agreed to sit on a cactus. I mean sit down on it, with it going up into her skanky hoo ha. That was a big fat cactus, with scary little clusters of spines. And we made her do it. And she was shivering and quaking and burbling, with snot running down her face… but she was smiling too, like this girl. We pushed her all the way down onto it. It must have hurt like hell, tearing up the insides of her vagina. But then she looked up at all us guys, and her two brothers Marty and Brian, and she got the glassy look in her eyes… HA! Same as your girl! Same exact look, I’ll be damned… And she stared up at us, and she started fucking it! 

“No way” said Ben. 

“Yes she did!” Said the lawyer. “She started fucking it, right in front of us. Spines and all. And she was really grinding herself down on it, too… and she started moaning and groaning… she was having an orgasm, right there in front of us. Right there, fucking the cactus, blood everywhere. It was insane.” The lawyer looked right at me. “And she was in school the very next day, too. Nope, you really don’t have to be too gentle with these things,” and he gave my pussy a little swat. “Don’t have to be too gentle. No honey. We don’t need us to be too gentle with gals like you, do we, honey bunch?”

Ben looked at me and said “Do we?”

I really didn’t know what was happening to me. I was no longer Ben’s wife. I could not get my mind around that, and everything else was deeply confusing, I was too confused, I could not answer the question. So I said nothing. They laughed at me. Then I had a question for them: “What am I?”

They both burst out laughing. “You’re a whore, Beth!” The lawyer stuck two fingers up my piss-soaked twat, digging them up and pressing hard into my g-spot, which was literally about to burst with pent-up need. I moaned, deeply, in response. “You’re a fuck-pig” said my now ex-husband. Your a dirty, disgusting fuck-pig who loves to be raped!” He stepped up beside me and slapped me across the face, hard. “Now let me ask you something, Beth?” I looked up at him. “Does getting slapped in the face feel good?” I was shocked to admit it, even to myself, but the answer was yes. It felt totally appropriate, given my new social status as a sub-human fuck-pig whore, but it also felt physically good. It tingled in a deliciously sexy way. I felt very strange and queasy about that… the implications were dizzying… but it was true.

Ben slapped me again. “Doesn’t that feel good, Beth?” It was a hard blow to even realize this fact about myself, it was almost too much. But telling Ben, who didn’t love me anymore, at all, and was not bound to take care of me or anything by marital ties… This was all too much. But he slapped me again, harder, and on the other cheek, backhanded. “I just want to know Beth, how does it feel, physically? Does it feel good to you to be slapped?” Then he slapped me again, front handed, but REALLY HARD!

And it was a little hard on my jaw, but the stinging, flaming hot sensation on my left cheek felt incredibly good. It was breathtaking. I wanted more! 

“Yes, Daddy,” I managed to croak between gasps. “My face… really… likes it when you slap me. Especially when you slap me very hard,” I whispered. 

“AH HO HO HO!!” Laughed Mr. Jarvis, lurching back, nearly falling over with laughter. “SHE’S a ONE! She’s a one of them, one of the Whore Fuck-bags, one of the gals like ol’ Anal Annie! HA HA! You got a live one here, pard’ner!” Mr. Jarvis was beside himself with glee…

“Yeah, obviously, yes,” said Ben, not laughing. “Now maybe we should think about those other papers you were telling me about.”

Mr. Jarvis got a serious look on his face, and reopened his briefcase. “Yes, good idea. You are probably right about that. Let’s see.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers, setting them down on the table, right beside my leg. He was still standing between my spread legs, which were still wet with terrible smelling pee, not to mention my copious, pheromone-infused “natural lubricant”.

“Okay. Here we are. I would recommend you have her sign this. This makes her your ward. She will no longer have any legal power over her own decisions, she will be declared “Unfit by reason of mental deficiency,” which is pretty much the case, right? Basically, you both just have to sign this once, and then your little whore no longer has the right to make any decisions for herself, ever. She can’t enter into a contract, she can’t rent an apartment, she can’t get a driver’s license without your say-so. You’ll have to sign for any medical work she needs… and any medical work you want her to have, including plastic surgery, is up to you: you don’t need her consent for that. It’s a lot like the relationship between parent and child, except that since you were married up until now, it’s understood that you have a sexual relationship. In Beth’s case, you can think of her more like a “pet”, if you don’t prefer the word “Child”. I mean, I imagine she will be wearing a leash, at least sometimes… Am I right?! Jarvis chuckled.

“You bet she will” said Ben matter-of-factly.

“Hmm… But if I hurt her… I mean really hurt her… or if she gets damaged by others under my watch (or even while I am watching)…?”

“Oh, are you worried you might be charged with child abuse or some equivalent?” 

“Or animal cruelty,” said Ben, and they both sniggered.

“Right. Well, no. But we have to do that with a separate document, and we should actually do that part of it before she signs her rights away.” Ben nodded his head slowly. I was terrified by all of this, but it was turning me on so much I was hyperventilating. The thought of giving my life away, all my rights, so there was no turning back… OH MY GOD. I could not stop lifting my pussy off the table and humping the air, even though the thrusts were totally humiliating and unsatisfying. I was so on edge, so needful… I knew I would sign anything… I wanted to sign it, I wanted to put myself, permanently, in the hands of this man, this man whose only concern was whether he’d be held responsible if he damaged me, or if he willingly allowed others to damage me… Finally I burst out with a question… it actually came out like an embarrassed little squeak, but I asked “Can I please touch myself?”

“HAHAHA HA HA HA HA HO HO HO oh my god of course you would ask that, you ridiculous peice of filth!!!!” Jarvis was doubled over laughing. Ben just said “no you may not,” but Jarvis actually corrected him and said, “Well, just a minute. As it so happens, there is a good reason why it might be appropriate for her to touch herself in a couple of minutes. Ben, do you have a camcorder, or some sort of video recorder?”

“I have my phone,” said Ben.

“Oh right, of course… maybe we should move her over to the couch.”

“But you haven’t changed me yet,” I whined.

“That’s okay. Bring a towel.”

I grabbed a kitchen towel and they sat me down on the couch, on the towel. They wanted me to read the document out loud, on camera. They wanted me to keep my legs spread while I read the document. I was allowed to play with myself, but I had to wait to cum until they said so. They held the words up for me, which were printed large so I could see from a few feet away, but I had to wear my glasses. It felt so good to play with myself, but I wanted something to put inside me, so Ben grabbed a cob of corn from the fridge. What I really wanted was for someone to hurt me, but still, this was a very interesting situation, and as I read the document to the camera and realized all the implications, I got extremely excited and started bouncing up and down on the corn cob, over the towel of course so as not to mess up Ben’s beautiful couch.

The Document read as follows:

“I am Bethany Jane Cranston, former wife of Benjamin Bradley. I live with my former husband in his home at 327 Alvarez Way, San Carlos, CA 95807. Although I am no longer Ben’s wife, we are still sexual partners, and I am making this statement, and signing this document, for the purpose of making it clear to anyone who may at any point be concerned, that I am a consenting partner in all sexual and sex-adjacent acts that I may engage in with Ben, or engage in with others at Ben’s instruction. 

The two of us have a consensual Dominant/submissive relationship when it comes to sex, and I like to play the submissive role. At times, Ben may appear to be bossing me around or forcing me to do things that I am unwilling or reluctant to do, but I am just play-acting, my reluctance or unwillingness is feigned, and in truth I am very excited and eager to participate in any and all of the sexual and sexually adjacent activities Ben prescribes for me. I am happily committed to following Ben’s instructions to the letter.”

As I read the document to the camera, and thought about what the existence of such a document might mean to me, and to the way my life was likely to go from this point forward, I could not restrain myself but to lean back enough to get a good angle to shove that fat corn cob well up into my swollen, dripping red cunt-hole and give it a thorough pounding. The camera caught me shoving the cob deeply, in and out, in and out, fiercely and rigorously as I stumbled my way through the document.

“I further want it to be understood that Ben likes to cause me physical discomfort, as well as pain. I know that it is unusual, but I find the experience of pain and physical torture, in a sexual context, to be extremely exciting, and I should also be considered a willing and enthusiastic participant in any sort of physical punishments or tortures Ben inflicts upon me, or any sort of uncomfortable, or even agonizing situations Ben forces me to endure. So far as I am concerned, it is even better if I am tied up or otherwise bound during my torture sessions, and it is best of all if the pain is so intense that I cannot help but scream and cry and beg for the punishment to stop. Such begging should be taken to mean just the opposite of what I am actually saying: for instance, if I beg for my torturer to stop whipping me, it should be understood that what I really want is for my torturer to whip me much harder, or in a more sensitive place. If I beg for my torturer to stop burning me with candle wax, I am certainly hoping that I will be burned directly with the candle flames instead.”

Lawyer Jarvis held up a new page for me to read to the camera, and I took a moment to glance down at the next words I was expected to say, words that would erase forever any claim I might make that what Ben decided to do to me was non-consensual. I felt very dizzy, deep within. I felt an empty space inside my head where a cautious, intelligent, self-preservational brain should be. I was hyperventilating just enough to keep me dizzy and vacant, and I could not stop, and I could not turn back from this precarious ledge: instead I dove right into the abyss.

“In fact, this document which I am about to sign, and this video which I am having our lawyer make to reinforce and prove my enthusiastic willingness to enter into this arrangement with my ex husband, should now and forever be considered the last word in the matter. I am hereby relinquishing any future right to modify this arrangement in any way, ever, and anything I say or write to the contrary at any future date should be considered play-acting on my part, and count for absolutely nothing, legally. In fact, If I do not continuously cry, beg, rage and plead for Ben and/or his authorized proxies to stop torturing and humiliating me, then they are probably not punishing me with the level of severity that I both need and truly desire, and they should certainly be encouraged to ramp up the viciousness of their treatment of me.”

I was forcing the end of the corncob as deep as it would go, and pounding my cervix with every fierce thrust as I grunted each line of the contract around my irrepressible little squeals. I was about to cum, but there was one more paragraph, and as I glanced down at it a wave of terror swept through me, making me sweat from every pore. But somehow, this only amplified my lust-fueled, masochistic frenzy, and even as a strange, electric, and weirdly painful orgasm began to make me shudder deeply,  I was still able to croak the words clearly enough that they would be understandable in the video:

“To be clear, it is my deepest wish that Ben, along with anyone he authorizes at any time, feel absolutely free to do anything at all to me that they choose. This would of course include bodily injury, both accidental and purposeful, and I will be disappointed if some of Ben and his cohorts’ tortures and punishments do not occasionally put me in the hospital. Furthermore, if Ben (or proxy) chooses to inject me with drugs to modify my behaviors and/or increase the intensity of my experiences, I should be considered a willing subject for such experiments. And if Ben, or anyone acting upon his permission, wishes to modify my body in any way medically possible, either through the various standard enhancements available through plastic surgery or by any other means, either medically approved, experimental, or DIY, it should be understood that despite any objections I may articulate at any future date, that I should nevertheless be considered an enthusiastic participant, a willing victim, and that this document should be considered the final word on the matter, as it should be for anything and everything Ben ever wants or needs to put me through. Forever.” 

My brain was exploding, and I began openly sobbing as I read these words, but now I was fucking my gushing twat up towards the thick, buttery corn-cob, as I slammed it repeatedly into myself, trying to jam it up into the swollen doughnut of my cervix. I didn’t know what to make of any of it, but I could absolutely not stop myself.

“And if Ben should someday grow tired of me and chose to transfer possession of my disgusting and needy female body to anyone, or to any group of individuals he may deem sadistic enough to make proper use of me, or to simply sell me randomly to the highest bidder, I hereby declare that I will happily abide by Ben’s wishes, and thenceforth regard my new Dominant partner or partners as permanent, authorized stand-ins for Ben. And I will therefore, with my full and enthusiastic consent, and despite anything I may say or write to the contrary, comply wholly with everything and anything my new Dominants wish to do to me or demand of me. Forever, or until this arrangement is once again transferred to another party or group, or until the day that I die.”

The phone-camera continued pointing at me, and I looked directly into it as the slow, shuddering orgasm begin to take over my abdomen, as if the low smoldering was finally bursting into flame. With no words left to try and utter, I began to emit a quavering moan, which rose into a series of grunts which sounded like a pig being roasted alive. And the grunts became sobs, and the sobs became screams which echoed off the walls, but still I did not break my gaze into the eye of the camera. I was shoving that cob of corn into my poor twat as hard and as fast as I could, pounding the pointy edge of it into the swollen doughnut-hole of my cervix as my whole body quaked and spasmed around it. And as I masturbated violently in front of these two disgusted, angry, and wickedly delighted men, my head exploded with a million horrible and detailed images of what my new life would become. And I realized that this strange series of events, along with my desperately needy cunt and my clearly psychologically sick, insane responsiveness to sexual abuse, had led me into a trap. And I would never be able to escape from this trap. I was doomed. And as this realization hit me, that I had somehow stumbled or been lured into this irreversible, inescapable situation, and that I was to be permanently stripped of all humanity and turned into some craven cartoon-version of the worst elements of mens’ sickest and most misogynistic sexual fantasies, and that my own craven responsiveness to it, my undeniable physical responsiveness to it, was to be documented and made public for all to see, struck me with a profound clarity that took my breath away. And for a moment, I actually stopped breathing, but I never took my eyes away from the camera lens on the back of Ben’s phone. I could see all the men who would witness me, witness my willing commitment to utter subjugation and debasement, witness my enthusiastic embrace of limitless physical torture. I could see them seeing me. And in my breathless moment of clarity, I realized that it was indeed the real me they were seeing. It was the “me” that I had been forced to suppress all my life, and that my own self-hatred was more than a little distraction that I had picked up along the way, it was my true nature. I hated myself, I hated myself with a fury and wrath that knew no bounds, and that my insane masochism was actually a gleeful sadism, the perfect satisfaction of which could only be realized by directing this pulverizing, rapacious fire towards myself, to make of my own female body the ultimate, dehumanized victim. I smiled at the camera as my orgasm bloomed from within, my whole body shivering as if I were freezing cold. And as I fucked myself mercilessly with the cob of corn, I wished it were a cactus. 

same... this is the longer story i've been working on, and it's pure fiction. i really, really appreciate the support i've been getting for this stuff! i get very worked up while writing this, and i edge and stuff, even in public (at the cafe) but very subtly...

 Beth Likes It

(chapter 3) 

They were all whore’s clothes: miniskirts, garter belts, fishnet stockings, push-up brassieres and the rest, but they were excruciatingly tacky. They were combined with little girl’s clothes somehow, and each outfit was truly cringe-worthy. He made me try them on, one at a time, and parade around for him.

A teddy bear t-shirt way too small to stuff my breasts into, paired with a yellow stretch skirt that didn’t cover my big ass, worn with Mary Jane’s and socks with little hearts sewn into them, panties with the phrase “Daddy’s li’l girl” printed across my swollen pookie. 

Ultra-tight lycra shorts that gave me ridiculous camel-toe and had the words “Spank-a-Holic” printed in fire-engine red across my behind.

A tube top with an iron-on print of hands groping my breasts. Another with the word “Slut” in bold letters across my titties. Another with little holes for my nipples to poke through.

There were schoolgirl uniforms, a “Dunce” cap, bunny ears and tail, a pair of plastic lips that I held in my mouth to make me look like a blow-up sex doll ready to be mouth-fucked.

There were hand-cuffs and shackles, a striped prisoners’ uniform, bikini tops and bottoms that were too skimpy and too tight to fit without creasing my breasts or digging way up into my crack, front and back. 

Even the colors were ridiculous: hot pinks, nasty yellows, shiny blacks and ruby reds. 

Most outfits showed more of me than was appropriate or even legal. If my “little girl” panties weren’t showing, my bare bottom was. If my nipples weren’t peeking through, there were targets printed on my breasts. If my legs weren’t bare from ankle to kooch, they were covered in fetish stockings or leather straps, or shackled with a clanking metal chain.

I knew Ben was going to take me out dressed in these clothes, because I now had no others. I knew I was going to look insane, like the disturbing male sex fantasy of some perverted loner… Or were these fantasies more common than I thought? Would men be sickened by these suggestive costumes, implying underage girls, captive sex-slaves, bimbo whores and degraded, filthy prostitutes… or would they be aroused by them? Would they take one look at me and stiffen in their jeans, unable to contain the rabid, unbridled lusts that my disturbing get-up provoked in them?

Would they understand that these were costumes? Or would they believe that before them stood a leashed and collared sex-slave, or a Catholic schoolgirl who’s skirt was so short she could not hide the fact that she’d lost her panties? Or a hooker so retarded she couldn’t color-coordinate her slut-wear? Or a crazy lady, high on some terrible hormonal imbalance, looking desperately to be abused, molested, and raped?

Because that is what I was going to look like in these clothes when Ben decided to parade me around in public. Would we go back to Tito’s bar? Would he parade me down Main Street in broad daylight? And as this terrible thought dawned on me, the realization struck, like a punch in the gut, that this was now going to be who I am, publicly, from now until eternity. There would be no escape. There would be no living this down. And the thought that this is what Ben wanted for me, this is how much he hates me, and that this is ALL he wants for me, my utter wreckage and sexual dehumanization, began to ring in my head like a fire alarm. I was in danger! But deep inside, I wanted to be burned alive by this fire… deep inside, I hated me, too. If I could not be the object of Ben’s love, I would instead become the object of his lust-infused rage.

I could feel his disgusted, condescending gaze on me as he made me put on a pair of diapers. Next, a pink child-size t-shirt that did not reach my belly-button. It stretched obscenely to accommodate my oversized breasts. This followed by a pair of shiny pink Crocs. 

My fresh whip-marks were plainly visible, red stripes down the backs of my thighs, the fiercer, redder lashes disappearing beneath the folds of my diaper. An obscene, adult-sized pacifier was the coupe-de-gras, it’s dangling baby-blue handle protruding from my mouth, smeared with just enough cherry-red lipstick to suggest blood.

He had me put my blonde hair in pig-tails, and the slightly out-of-proportion plumpness of my “booty” and breasts, embarrassing in the best of settings, made me look utterly indecent in this horrifying, sexualized baby costume.

Was he going to make me go out in this? The thought sent shudders down my spine, and yet, although I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, I also knew I would silently, voicelessly submit to it. As I would to all my costumes, to any humiliating situations Ben forced me into. I would not be able to resist his calm command, even knowing that I could never win his approval, that everything I did to please and obey him just made him think the worse of me, just convinced him more certainly that I was creepy beyond measure, sick beyond repair, and not worth saving.

Especially as he knew, just from looking at me, that I enjoyed this. I could feel his stare as my blush descended from my cheeks to my neck to my breasts, and my nipples hardened like miniature corks about to pop out of their obscene Champaign bottles, cutting holes in the fabric of my little-girls’ stretchy t-shirt. He could just as well sense how I was leaking like a spigot down below: good thing I was wearing diapers! And even as this very thought popped into my head, I could hear Ben chuckle. He had had the same thought at the same time! He could read my mind, I believed for one second.

But no: more accurately, we were linked. Locked together in a psychic battle, with me forever loosing to his mastery, ever yielding to him, offering everything, my body, my sexuality, my dignity, my sanity, my physical well-being, my free agency, my very status as a human being. I had become an animal for him, and it wasn’t enough: it would never be enough, he would always want more ravishment from me, a deeper raping, a further level of despoilment. And I would always yield it to him, and what is more I’d demonstrate, for him and others, the putrid evidence of my needy, perverse responsiveness. I’d show him openly, along with any others he might care to show, my own orgasmic thrill in the act of being ravished and destroyed!

And right at that moment, I realized I desperately had to pee. I could not contain it; I was about to burst. Again, it was a good thing I was wearing diapers.

But then, to my utter surprise and horror, the doorbell rang, and Ben, ever so casually, got up to answer it. I was standing in the living room in my whore-diapers, teetering on the brink of orgasm but truly on the edge of wetting myself, and suddenly there was a man at the door, and Ben was letting him in! 

this is the longish story i've been working on. i posted the first part of this earlier in this blog, under the heading "i've been working on another story". that was chapter one, this is chapter two. this is all pure fiction! unlike some of my best stuff, none of this has anything to do with my real life... but i'm a wanna be writer, so... i hope you guys like it❤️

 Beth Likes It

(chapter 2) 

When I awoke, it was early in the morning, but Ben was already up, and he had a fire burning in the fireplace downstairs. “Get your clothes out of the closet,” he said. “And get ‘em out of the drawers too. Get everything.”

I was still in my lingerie nighty, which was torn from the rough fucking and whipping he had given me last night, so I just decided not to change, and just to do what he told me to do. So I ran back upstairs and grabbed everything I owned off the hangars in the closet. There were a lot of clothes, and I just threw them on the bed, and I was able to carry about half of them downstairs in one load. I could see what Ben was doing, he was preparing the fireplace to burn my clothes. But I at least expected him to go through them first!

Instead, Ben just looked at me and said “Well, put ‘em in there. Throw ‘em in the fire. All of ‘em. Do it!” He stood there pointing with his little black shovel. I could barely believe it. 

“Um… Are you sure?” I asked him. Ben made pretty good money as a heating and ventilation specialist, but it wasn’t going to be easy to replace my entire wardrobe. 

“Start with those” he said, and pointed at my most expensive jackets. I started to cry.

“Do it,” said Ben, and I bent over to pick up my nicest, fur-lined coat. It was mostly soft, brushed leather on the outside, and I think we had spent close to four hundred dollars on it last Christmas. He stared at me as I picked it up, crying softly, and put it in the fire. 

“Now that one,” he said, pointing at my favorite long green silk dress. I did not have occasion to wear it regularly, as it was too fancy to wear even to an upscale restaurant… It was basically only for special occasions. But I knew I looked great in it, and I knew he liked me in it. But as I picked it up, I cast a glance back at him and I could see a strange and sadistic grin on his face, and his eyes were intense and glowing, drilling holes in me as I moved. All I had on was a ripped, translucent frilly teddy, originally from Victoria’s Secret, but it was no longer new since I wore it almost every night to bed, and especially since last night when he ripped it as he fucked and whipped my poor tender bottom from behind. 

“Ben…?” I looked at him pleadingly, hoping he would relent. “Can we talk about this?”

“Beth. You stupid, nasty slut. Do you think everything is just going to be the same? Is that what you think?”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry, Ben.” I started to cry openly as I continued to throw one item after another into the flames.

“The thing is, what are you, Beth? What are you? Are you my wife?”

I wanted to say “Yes”, or “I want to be”, or “I hope so”, but none of those answers seemed right. They seemed dishonest, and although I desperately wanted some sort of answer like that to be true, for there to be some way, or something I could say, some right answer that could make things go back to normal, I just couldn’t think of anything. Nothing that was at all true, even to me. I couldn’t even look at him, and I couldn’t seem to swallow the huge lump in my throat.

“You can’t be my wife anymore, Beth. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” I sobbed. “I know.”

“I cannot have a whore for a wife.”

“I know. I am too… too…” I broke off, unable to say it.

“You are too disgusting, Beth. You are too depraved.”

He was so right, it felt like a punch in the stomach. 

And I wanted to be punched in the stomach, all of a sudden. I wanted to be hurt. I picked up three more dresses from the floor where I had dumped them, three of my favorites, and I threw all three of them into the fire at once. Then I turned towards him, and lifted the front of my nighty.

“You are right, Ben.” My pussy was wet as a mop, red and drooling “See?” 

I thrust it out for him. I wanted him to know how this whole situation really made me feel. I couldn’t find the words, but I wanted him to know. My clitoris was peeking through the folds at the top of my vulva, all swollen red, glistening with moisture. He stared at me as I gyrated, grinding my pelvis up at him uncontrollably. I was smiling through my tears. “See Daddy?”

He stared at me for a long time. Then he asked, “Do you like being raped?”

My face instantly flamed hot with insane shame. I felt like I was sinking into a hole. But also, I was tingling all over, my skin felt like it was aflame with need. “Yes,” I said. “I like it.” I could hear the sound of the words coming out of my mouth, and they sounded a little funny. They felt true, absolutely true, and that was important to me, that was the most important thing. I could not stand to lie to Ben. But the way I was talking was a bit funny. I realized I was lisping just a little bit, and my voice was just a little more breathy and high-pitched than usual. It struck me suddenly that I sounded like a little girl. “Yes sir,” I said, unable to look at him. “Yes sir, I very much like it. My little pussy… likes… (I I started panting)… to be raped.”

“Go get the rest of your clothes,” said Ben. And I found myself bounding up the stairs giddily, and emptying my drawers in a heap onto the floor, throwing myself onto the pile and grabbing an enormous load, too many to carry, but trying anyway, bounding down the stairs with them, dropping underwear and socks along the way. I ran up to Ben and said “Is this good?” And when he nodded I wheeled around and heaved a tremendous armful into the fire. My pussy was throbbing, and I was filled with embarrassing glee. I had to pee, but I felt like I didn’t have time, and as I bounded back up the stairs I worried a little about what would happen if I peed on myself right in front of Ben. Then I had a strange thought: what if my needing to be fucked so hard, to be raped so hard, to be punished so hard, what if all this was really just a need to go to the bathroom? It was a crazy thought, and followed by another one: did I want to go pee in front of the guys at the bar? My mind was racing: did I want to be punched in the bladder, so that my pee would squirt out everywhere? Did I want to be punched in the pussy? Would I cum from being punched there? What if Ben could get his whole huge fist up into my pussy, and punch me inside? Would I be damaged? Would I cum? Would I have a squirting orgasm? 

I thought I would, maybe. I had squirted only once, ever, but I knew that if Ben fist-fucked me roughly, if he held me down and punch-fucked me with his huge balled-up fist, that I would squirt again. The thought made me very excited, overwhelmingly so. I couldn’t think straight.

I was back downstairs, and throwing all my bras and panties into the fire. I could feel Ben’s disgusted eyes on my ass as I excitedly destroyed my entire wardrobe. I ran back upstairs to grab the last of my clothes, and a thought struck me like a lightening bolt: I should burn my nighty too! I should burn everything for him. I should have nothing left to wear!

And that’s what I did. I threw in my shoes, every pair, along with the last few items, my last fuzzy sweater, my last pair of panties. I ran up to the mouth of the fire and peered into it. It was like the pit of hell, and I was excited by it, I briefly thought of jumping into it along with my last garments. I turned towards Ben and slithered out of my nighty, and wiggled my hips like a stripper as I tossed it into the flames. Then the strangest words came out of my mouth. I looked at Ben’s knees ( I still could not meet his eyes), and once again, in my strange new little girl’s voice, I said “Thank you Daddy.”

Then I suddenly felt so small, and so ashamed I could barely breathe. I could feel Ben stare at me in utter disgust. 

“I am not your ‘Daddy,’ you perverted little twat.” His words were like a punch in the face. I didn’t know what to do, how to escape this horrible shame. It was too much for me. I started to cry and hyperventilate at the same time, and I choked and couldn’t stop coughing. I fell on the floor, and I suddenly realized I needed to pee so bad that I probably would be unable to make it to the bathroom, I was probably about to have an accident, right in front of Ben.

“I really have to pee!” I yelped, groaning and clutching my crotch with both hands as I squirmed, naked, in front of the fireplace. 

“You are sick” said Ben. I watched him as he stood up, removing his leather belt from the loops of his jeans. He walked over to me, towering above me. I watched him lift his arm above his head, holding the belt so it dangled behind him. I was in a fetal position with my hands between my legs. A disjointed thought flashed through my mind, a realization that I now did not own any clothes. What kind a woman does not own any clothes? Then the belt came down. 

Ben didn’t care where it landed. He was repulsed by me, he was angry, he wanted to hurt me, and he did not hold back.

But to me, the lashes felt like kisses from God. I don’t know how else to explain it. They felt cleansing. They felt horribly painful, but also deeply satisfying, like scratching an insane itch. And the strokes that bit especially deep were like orgasms in and of themselves. Yes, I am sure I orgasmed, repeatedly, from the whipping. At a certain point I had peed all over myself, I was rolling around in it, and I remember splaying my thighs for the whip, thrusting up for it, and as Ben slashed my wide-open vulva with stroke after vicious downstroke, I believe he tore right into the flesh of my inner lips. I believe something blistered and split, layers of skin were torn and shredded, and that somehow the injurious depth of those insane, angry strikes threw me into a state of orgasmic overload so intense that I eventually went into convulsions, and he had to stop for fear of causing a seizure.

But when Ben realized that I had not bitten my tongue off, and that my heart was still beating and I was still breathing, he left me in my own pool of piss and blood. And when he came home, he had picked out a whole new wardrobe for me. 

okay guys, i am going to admit up front that this is a somewhat fictionalized account of what happened to me friday afternoon, even though it is basically true with only slight embellishments. what happened is true, but the way it happened is compacted here, with some scenes dropped and others combined to keep it from being way too long. sorry if i am being too selective, but i recently heard that truman capote said “never let the truth get in the way of a good story” and from a writer’s point of view that makes perfect sense. and i am trying to be a better writer.

Back to Work

(Part 2)

on the top floor the carpet was different and the trim on the doors and stuff was polished wood and it looked expensive. the halls were wider too. i walked to the left, turned a corner, and as per instruction let myself into a large conference room with a polished wooden table in the middle. there were six men sitting around the table, and when i entered they all looked up at me and stopped talking.

i stood there in my whore outfit and blushed… then i recognized one of the men. it was mickey, the guy who sits directly across from me on the opposite side of the partition, next to kung foo panda. he is also the guy who takes me into the men’t bathroom. he is also a sadist, and he knee’d me between my legs as hard as he could, again and again… that was a very special experience for me. and yesterday he and some of his friends tied me to a toilet and peed all over me, then one guy after another fucked me for a long time, and they all peed on me, even in my mouth. i had to take the bus home absolutely saturated with piss (i was pretty sure i’d have been kicked off bart).

there was mickey, sitting directly to the left of the big boss. I knew who the big boss was, because he was wearing an italian suit and he was older than everyone else, and he was smoking cigarettes inside! mickey bore a striking resemblance to him… they both had distinctly sunken chins, with little dimples in the middle.

everyone was sitting, so i took one step towards a chair and pulled it out from the table to take a seat.

“no jan.” said a tall lanky guy with glasses and curly hair. “you may not sit on these chairs.” i glanced down and noticed that the seats were brushed suede, and I realized that the men could all smell my pussy. they didn’t want me to leak pussy juice all over their office furniture. i couldn’t blame them, but if i was already blushing i’m sure i turned two shades darker red. i didn’t do or say anything.

the big boss, with his gray hair and fancy brown cigarettes, took a look at a sheet of paper before him, adjusting his glasses. “january josephine cunis” he said slowly and looked up at me. “but people call you jj for short… is that right?”

“yes sir,” i squeaked.

“january, i know not everyone would, but i have to agree with my son here: i think you are quite pretty.” i felt embarrassed, but also a little excited that he thought so. “in fact, i can see why mickey and his friends like to take you into the men’s toilets and fuck your ass.”

somebody dropped his coffee cup and made a loud clacking on the table, and there was a bit of other shuffling around for a second, but things quieted right down when the boss cleared his throat. “do you like being ass-fucked, january?”

i stumbled verbally, and choked a little bit.

“it’s a simple question, ms. cunis. answer it. i want to know if you enjoy being ass-fucked by my son here, and by his friends…?”

my embarrassment started to turn into a deeper form of humiliation, and i could feel my pussy start to respond. “yes sir. yes i like it.”

“there now, was that so hard, jan?”

“no sir.”

“and tell me, do you like being tied to a toilet and peed on?”

i began to feel dizzy, and i could barely speak out loud, but this man had a kind of authority about him that everyone respected, and he was asking me a direct question. i didn’t know how to lie to him. i felt so naked and so vulnerable, and everyone was staring at me, and i had to say something. “yes sir,” i said. i like being tied to a toilet and peed on.”

Iiwas as red as a beet now. and of course i was fully lubricating, and you could probably have used my nipples to cut glass, but i held myself upright and did not shy away from the boss. i didn’t know why i thought this was possible, but i wanted him to like me.

“jan, aside from your comumbulating in the men’t toilets, you also are in the habit of looking at pornography at you desk. is that not true?

“yes sir” I had to admit.

“and you realize this is specifically against the rules?”

“yes sir, i do. i can’t help it…”

jan, it’s not just that you browse porno at you desktop and rub off to it, it’s also the kind of porno you have been looking at.” his voice got very quiet, and he stared right at me. “eric!” the boss snapped his finger and eric, the lanky curly haired guy with glasses, jumped to attention. “do you have the remote?”

eric responded a little too quickly, but when he spoke it was in a casual tone of voice. eric knew it was not him that was in trouble. “i have it right here, sir.”

“cue up the pictures.” 

eric pressed a button on the remote and a screen automatically lowered behind mickey and the big boss. they moved over to make way for it, and the other men scrambled to make room for them. in a moment everyone was situated in front of the screen.

“ms. cunis, eric and josh seem to have come across some extraordinary pictures on line. are you familiar with this picture?”

eric clicked a button and a full size version of this picture appeared on the screen:

https://www.imagefap.com/photo/1828833102/?pgid=&gid=12039168&page=0

“do you recognize this drawing, ms. cunis?”

this was a nightmare. but of course my telltale pussy began throbbing beneath my tiny red skirt.  “yes sir,” i had to admit.

“in what context do you recognize it, ms. cunis?”

i choked, unable to answer the question for the overpowering shame of it.

“tell us, january. i am an impatient man.”

“sorry sir. i r... recognize the drawing because i found it on line… and i downloaded it… and i decided to include it in one of my imagefap galleries.”

“and you did this so that you cold look at it again later?”

“yes sir.”

“and so that other people could look at it?”

“yes sir. so the other people could look at it too.”

“were you hoping the people who looked at it would masturbate while they looked?”

“yessss sir. i did. i was hoping men would masturbate while they looked at the drawings in my collection.”

“Do you masturbate while you look at these drawings?”

“yesssss. yessss i do. i masturbate while looking at these….”

“get up on the table, jan.”

i was terrified, but i climbed up on the table just like the big boss told me to do. 

“just kneel, jan. kneel and face the screen, so you can view the photos too. that’s perfect, almost. just spread your legs a little. that’s right, you’re absolutely perfect, january josephine cunis.”

i could feel my pussy cream starting to drip onto the surface of the table. i wanted to grind my pelvis into the flat surface, but i wasn’t limber enough to do that.

“do you recognize this drawing, jan?” eric clicked the remote, and the image disappeared and was replaced by this:

https://www.imagefap.com/photo/1828833102/?pgid=&gid=12039168&page=0#1

the room was silent. the men took a moment to take in the picture on the screen, and then one by one they began turning their eyes towards me, a disturbing, hungry gleam beginning to appear on their faces.

“this is your rub picture, isn’t it jan?”

“yessss… oooh it is. yes it is, it’s my rub picture.”

“would you like to rub yourself now, january josephine? are you yearning to touch your dripping wet pussy?”

oooh yessss sirrrr. oooh yes I am.”

“go ahead, jan. no one is stopping you.”

so i reached up and underneath my skirt, and began pushing my fingers into my vagina. i could fit two in easily while using my thumb to pinch my clit. i could smell myself, and of course so could all the men. i began to grind my pussy into my hand.

“next, eric,” said the big boss. and eric clicked his clicker, advancing the series to the next pic:

https://www.imagefap.com/photo/1828833102/?pgid=&gid=12039168&page=0#2

“do you want to be whipped like this, jan? whipped so brutally on your breasts…?”

“yesssss. oooh yessss, i do. i.. i want to be whipped on my breasts…” i was hyperventilating, and panting, and shoving my fingers in and out quickly and with force while the men looked up at the screen and then back at me.

“next.” eric knew what to do. i knew what was coming, and i couldn’t wait:

https://www.imagefap.com/photo/1828833102/?pgid=&gid=12039168&page=0#3

i could hear the men in the room starting to pant and squirm in their seats. i loved this particular picture, the way the whip bites into the fatty meet of her helpless ass, squishing it into little ridges of ass-fat, like rolling hills. i have ass-fat too, and i could almost feel the bite of that whip on my own ass. i let out a moan and started to rub my clit between both syrupy fingers, just using my thumb to dig into the nub and squeeze.

“you like to masturbate while you look at pictures like this, don’t you jan?”

“yes i do. oooh god, oh god yes, yes i do.”

“how about this one?” eric took his cue and advanced to the next picture:

https://www.imagefap.com/photo/1828833102/?pgid=&gid=12039168&page=0#3

i let out a little yelp when i saw it. this one was my personal favorite, at least of the whipping drawings. i dug my fingers back into myself, sinking them to the knuckle.

“you really like this one, don’t you jan.”

“ooooh yessss. ooooh yes, yes sir. i really like it… god help me!”

“how about this?” eric clicked:

https://www.imagefap.com/photo/1828833102/?pgid=&gid=12039168&page=0#5

i was starting to cum. i was right on the edge of the precipice…

“JAN! STOP!!” shouted the boss. “take your hand out from beneath your skirt and put it behind your back.” 

surprised and shocked, i reflexively followed his directions. i put both of my hands behind my back, and crossed them as if someone were about to tie them together.

but instead of bondage, someone switched the lights on and the guys helped me down from the table.

i’m sorry jan, i don’t think you are the right kind of girl for this job.  But it would be a shame to fire you, wouldn’t it, jan?

i was not able to follow this turn of the conversation. i was still out of breath, still yearning for orgasm, still hyperventilating. 

everyone looked at me. i was unsteady on my feet. both of my hands were dripping wet with my secretions, and i didn’t have anywhere to wipe them. the lights were bright, and everyone looked exactly like they did before my little show, except me. 

“earth to jan? can you hear me, jan?” i looked up and nodded, trying to pull things back together.

“jan, you are not going to be able to work in the main office anymore. i don’t want you to distract the other workers… at least not while they are trying to work.”

“am i fired?” i asked, looking up at this man, this boss man with his fancy brown cigarettes which he was apparently allowed to smoke in the board room. he was old, but i realized i was immensely attracted to him, i couldn’t help it. i wanted him to fuck me and whip me at the same time.  god i was still so excited but i needed to calm myself down, at least enough to understand what was going on… what was he talking about?

“you don’t want to be fired, do you, jan?”

no sir! please don’t fire me, sir!” i looked up at him and started to cry.

“jan jan jan. i can’t have you working in the room with all the normal people. you are not a normal person, are you, jan?”

“no sir” i answered instinctively. 

“no you are not normal. far from it. i don’t think you could be normal if you took lessons!” everyone chuckled at this, but then shut up when the boss cleared his throat. “jan, you need an appropriate job. and i’d like it if you could keep working here, on the premises… i think many of my employees might like having you around.” he turned towards mickey. “you like having jj around, don’t you son?”

“yep” said mickey simply. young as he was, there was an air of authority around mickey, too.

“and you guys might like having a girl like jan thrown into the mix, wouldn’t you?” he looked around, and everyone murmured their agreement. “a girl like this might lighten the mood occasionally, don’t you think?” 

eric responded, “oh yeah, I do think she’d lighten the mood.”

“there you go. so you see, jan stays. but not in her present job. that’s where you come in!” and he pointed at a middle aged fat guy with thick black eyebrows and a combover. “jan, meet your new boss. jan, this is charlie… he works for the owner of this building. charlie handles maintenance and janitorial services for the entire place. you will be working for him.”

charlie smiled, and i was happy i was not going to lose my job, but i was confused.

“what kind of job would be right for a girl like you?” pondered the big boss. “hmm…” he shook his head for a moment. “oh, i know!” he said, as if a light bulb had just sparked for him.  “jan, you like toilets, don’t you? especially men’s toilets?”

i didn’t know what to say…i was suddenly getting an uneasy feeling about this, but at the same time my pussy started lubing up again.

“jan… you really like toilets, don’t you?” i couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing to have to admit, but somehow i was responding very sexually to this line of inquiry, and as my face started to redden, my naughty little pussy started to drip again. “don’t you like toilets?”

“yes sir,” i admitted sheepishly.

“especially men’t toilets?”

“oh yes. men’t toilets. i like men’t toilets,” i said, beginning to blush in earnest now. this was a humiliation of another flavor, but i liked it as well.

“wonderful. it’s settled then. charlie, i want you to hire jan here as a sort of a janitor… or, i guess they call them sanitary engineers nowadays, or something like that. anyway, i think jan is going to specialize: she is going to be your men’s bathroom specialist. she will be cleaning every toilet on each and every floor our company inhabits in this building, charlie. from the main bathroom on the office floor, to the engineers hub with their — ugh — unusually disgusting bathroom, to the nice little private toilets up here on the executive suite. jan will clean them all, daily!”

“doesn’t that sound perfect for you, jan?”

i couldn’t speak. i had never felt so low, so subhuman… and right in front of a group of intelligent, important men! i could feel my stomach sink to the floor, and suddenly i realized i desperately had to go to the bathroom myself! i started to sweat.

“don’t worry jan, we’ve already had the lawyers prepare papers for you. just a few nondisclosure agreements, a few waivers, and a bulletproof binding contract, renewable at our discretion (not yours). since you’ll be working for charlie and not the company, we won’t have to bother human resources about any of this! you’re not our responsibility, because you won’t be part of our company!” 

“and don’t worry charlie. if jan doesn’t carry out her job to your satisfaction, she can always be punished. I mean, think of it… if you run low on cleaning supplies, jan is the kind of girl who can, if need be, clean out the men’s urinals with her mouth, couldn’t she. couldn’t you, january josephine?”

i was devastated, mortified, humiliated beyond words. i couldn’t believe this was even happening. but my whole body was tingling, my nerves lighting up like a christmas tree… i felt like one raw, quivering, exposed hormone. i couldn’t differentiate having to pee from desperately needing to cum, and i was pretty sure i was about to do both, right where i stood. i realized i was bouncing from one knee to the other rapidly, letting everyone know that i had to go to the bathroom.

“JAN! get it together, christ. i asked you a question.”

“i’m sorry sir… could you, um, say it again?”

“yes, january josephine cunis. charlie needs to know if you would be willing to clean out the men’s urinals with your mouth. is that something you’d be willing to do?”

i couldn’t help it. i reached both of my hands under my skirt and between my legs, and i grasped my pussy with them as tight as i could, trying desperately to keep from wetting myself all over the fancy carpet. but as i began to leak, i realized that this was not just pee that needed to explode out of me, this was worse. so as the pee splashed all over my stockings, my shoes, and the fancy patch of carpet between my legs, i furiously began to rub and whack my frantically inflamed vulva as hard as i could. and as my vulva, g-spot, vaginal canal, urethra and bladder exploded into one depraved, blood-curdling orgasm, i fell on my knees and looked up at the old boss with his fancy cigarettes, and at my new boss with his thick black eyebrows and combover, and i said, “thank you sir. of course i will clean the men’s urinals with my mouth as part of my new job. that would be perfect for me.”

this is what happened yesterday or at least the first part of it. as i told a lot of you guys, i had a very exhausting day yesterday, but it turns out they want me to keep my job... sort of!

i got back from lunch a little after 1pm yesterday, and just as i thought, the boss wanted to see me in his office. i was terrified… i was certain I was about to be fired, because word had quickly spread about how i’d been conducting myself around the office lately, not to mention the reoccurring events in the men’s bathroom, which seemed to be attracting more and more participants every day. 

not to mention my newly exposed imagefap galleries, and the identifying pictures of me in the topmost gallery, and the fact that i am not supposed to be on line during work hours (unless it’s work related), and the fact that I am definitely not supposed to be visiting porn sites on my work computer at all, and that my face can be clearly seen on my imagefap site, and my pseudonym *wetapril* has been “corrected” to reveal my real name *jan cunis*. 

so I walked into dave’s office expecting to be read the riot act and fired on the spot. and just to humiliate me further, one of my Masters from imagefap had instructed me to dress like a street prostitute this morning. and yes, although i was vey worried about losing my job, the dread and humiliation of this situation was affecting me exactly as it usually does, and i was fully lubricating. which as you know produces a very recognizable odor of dirty sex. i mean, my wet vagina smells exactly like anyone else’s wet vagina, only more so… maybe much more so… and when I am not wearing panties you can definitely smell me from across the room.

and dave’s nose did visibly crinkle as I stepped into the interrogation chamber, and he stared at me for a long minute. maybe three minutes, as I stood right inside his doorway, hoping to to be asked to be seated or something.

“come over here,” Dave said. so I walked over and stood in front of his desk. 

and I stood there, dressed in my whore outfit, blushing harder with every breath I took. I could definitely smell myself, and I was wearing a totally “not safe for work” outfit: cherry red patent leather stilettos, matching tiny leather mini (no panties), black gartered stockings, and a black bra with huge holes cut out for the nipples, covered by a whispy, transparent shawl/wrap which did almost nothing to make my nipples, which were painted cherry red with lipstick to match my shoes and mini, look anything less than obscene.

dave stared at me uncomfortably, until he asked, “what the hell is going on, jan?”

and I was tongue-tied for another few minutes, as I sputtered and teared up a little bit, and my nipples hardened as my boss dave, who had trained me and explained to me all the protocols of this office, and had been a mentor figure to me for a long time, sat there and watched me turn red as a beet, as my nipples hardened into stiff little points and my copious secretions started dripping down my legs.

“never mind jan, i already know what’s going on. i just wanted to know if you had a better explanation of it all than the explanations i keep hearing from your colleagues.”

“umm…” i said, finally trailing off with a half-hearted shrug. I literally had no idea what to say… what could I say?

“well jan, whatever it is you think you are going through, or whatever game you are playing with your online buddies or whatever, at the end of the day you are disrupting the workplace.” He looked at me with his aristocratic cheeks and strong jaw line, and I missed the days when we had been friendlier with each other. “and if it were up to me I would fire you.”

I struggled to take it all in for a moment, and i wasn’t quite understanding something about the sentence he had just uttered… wasn’t it his decision whether to fire me? I started to articulate a question to that effect, but he stopped me.

“turn around,” he commanded. “that’s right, full circle.” dizzy with embarrassment, i did what Dave told me to do. “jan, are you wearing any panties?”

“no Sir.”

“have you been masturbating at your workstation?”

“Yes. Yes Sir”

“wow. right at your workstation.” dave leaned over the desk and wrote something down. jan, have you been looking at bondage porn there too…? have you been looking at bondage pornography and masturbaing at your desk, while everyone else is working…?

“yes sir. I’m sorry, Sir”

“APOLOGY NOT ACCEPTED!!!” he suddenly screamed, slapping his palm to his desk to make a loud crack, not unlike a judge’s gavel. another awkward silence followed. dave looked back at his stack of papers.

“and what exactly has been happening in the men’s bathroom these last few days… huh? tell me, jan… please, please… please just try to make me understand…”

“well… ummm…” and suddenly i burst into tears. “I’m sorry dave. i’m so sorry, i can’t help it… i can’t resist, it’s… it’s too good, i just can’t… i can’t say “no” anymore. I try but i just can’t help it…” i tried to look up at him but i couldn’t take the severity of his gaze, I just ended up staring back at the floor, quietly weeping and sniveling, until dave said, “bullshit. of course you can help it.”

finally i braced myself and looked deliberately up at dave's face, just to hopefully beg him with my eyes to give me a second chance, or to at least forgive me on some level, or something. actually i’m not sure what i wanted from him… my ass felt huge and my breasts felt swollen with milk, and for one strange moment I felt like i was in a mother goose rhyme. i felt like a waddling duck standing there in front of him, and i couldn’t hide anywhere, there was nowhere to hide, nothing to hide behind. and at that moment i remembered the way God had seen me, seeing into my mind, right through all the nonsense i had been feeding myself about sex addiction and the whole bit, knowing that of course, of course i had all the strength i needed to get myself under control, to pay penance and repent… god had given me all the strength I needed to stop this at any time…  the only problem was that, well, I really didn’t want to, i selfishly preffered not to, i was too deliciously fixated on the guilty pleasures of the flesh, on the shameful transgressions of sin. or was it really just transgression for transgression’s sake? it was apparent to me that dave could see through me just like God could. And for some reason, that very fact made it all the more thrilling to be shamed by him.

“you are so disgusting” said dave, pushing my nose into it. His tone was unforgiving, his masculine face stern and unrelenting. i was so devastated by this situation… dave, my former mentor and the guy who had hired and trained me here at my first real job, a man who i admired and genuinely looked up to, was now cornering me, making me admit that i was choosing all this, that i was much more than just a weak-willed slut giving into the desires of a few rowdy guys. instead, i was the cause of all this, that if anything, the guys were giving in to my depraved and masochistic fantasies. and as i stood before him, fully realizing the implications of all of this, realizing in full illumination what a person like dave must think about a person like me, some kind of damm broke inside my body and a torrent of smelly fluid gushed down my legs, bathing my inner thighs. had i just squirted, for the first time ever? 

whatever it was that happened, i was sure dave noticed. he could not help but to have noticed the smell, and as the pussy cream saturated and dampened the tops of my gartered stockings, i could see his eyes focus right on that area of my anatomy and grow wide.

and that is when i finally thought of something to say. “shouldn’t i be punished?” i suggested meekly.

“yes wet april,” snarled dave, revealing that he’d been looking at my imagefap profile. “BUT I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PUNISH A GIRL WHO LIKES IT!!” again he slammed his hand down on the table with a gavel’s crack. “i mean jan, how are you supposed to punish someone who likes to be punished, huh?  what am I supposed to do, shove a lit torch up your pussy?” that last part he whispered, as if he couldn’t bare saying it out loud, even if it it bore no reflection on him.

and that’s when my face turned crimson red, and I could feel something strange take ahold of me, something i hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. and without my even controlling it, a strange heat blossomed from within my belly, and my voice said “yes dave. you should punish me by shoving a lit torch into my vagina. do you want me to spread my legs wide open, so you can do that?”

and the scariest thing was that in that moment, in that room, i truly meant it. i was ready. 

but dave broke the spell, slamming his hand down on his desk one more time, and said, “no you sickening, perverted bimbo! If it were up to me, i’d fire you immediately. IMMEDIATELY! but unfortunately it’s not up to me. this one’s totally out of my hands.”

and with that, he gave me a suite number that anyone could recognize as on the top floor of our building, and he said “they’re waiting for you already. Better get your nasty ass up there before they change their minds.” 

and he shooed me out of the room, not waiting until after the door closed to dial his phone. “she’s coming,” i heard him say right as i slipped out. and i was on my way to the elevators, but beyond that i had no idea what to expect.

Part Two coming soon!

i am also wearing no bra or panties. i am allowed to wear any top i want, but i am only allowed to wear short skirts to work from now on, with no panties. i am wearing my black mini today. i have been instructed to wear only skirts that are short enough that they will expose my pussy and ass if i bend at the waste, and that will ride up exposing my pussy if i crouch. in the black miniskirt i am wearing today, i cold potentially get something off a low shelf if i bent carefully from the knees, but if i drop something on the floor, i am screwed. today i have also been forced to wear big binder clamps on my pussy lips, so if somebody did ctch a glimpse of my pussy thay would really wonder! i am foced to sit with my legs as wide as possible when i am at m desk. right now, i have just shoved a mechanical pencil into my urethra. it hurts a lot, and i know i will get a UTI from this, but that doesn't mean i don't like it!

i officially don't care if i lose my job. i have no plan except to a) seduce my landlord so he won't kick me out, and b) go to international blvd and sell my body on the street.

 i will only do this if i have to, but i want to have no choice.

so i will continue to look at imagefap at work, and if the comp=uter or network guys are spying on my search history or whatever, so be it. 

 i can't stop anyway, quite frankly. i can't. i am such an idiot. 

i think it is like this... you can sink down into the gutter of sexual shame, and you have to fuck anyone who asks, and be passed around from lap to lap, because you're a total slut. and that's very shameful, and you can be humiliated for it, for how much of a total slut you are... but once you are basically a party pass-around whore, and you can be roughly handled, slapped in the face as a joke, and you always dress like a whore, and it is normal for you to be gangbanged, or be brutally butt-fucked, and nobody has to ask your permission anymore, they can just grab you and fuck you, anyone can, anywhere, any time...

well that's wonderful, but that's just wonderful, but if they want to push you lower, where is the lower place, what does it feel like, what are the rules.

i think  when you are just a whore, you can always make the excuse that it's not your fault, you just are easy to manipulate and use... you are essentially a passive participant.

but then down below that is the level where you have to admit that you want it. then you are seen as a true skank, a disgusting and needy female animal, a sick girl who gets fucked brutally, sluts around constantly, just looking for compromised situations, because she likes it, she needs it. then yo are treated much worse, because you are really gross... this is where being humiliated becomes a natural part of it. because look at you, look how you dress, look how you start cumming in humiliating situations, responding to being bullied or mocked, getting obviously aroused by derision, moaning and vocalizing in response to being called names, being treated like trash. this is where the nost orgasms are, i think, but it's dangerous, because some men will hit you, some will deliberately hurt you. fucking yor ass without lubrication and laughing about it, parading you around in public situations and making you demonstrate your submission inappropriately. "see, she loves every minute of this".

but what if they push you lower? what if you want to go lower? where is the "lower" place, and what does it look like, what does it feel like to be lower than a needy skank?

you become attracted to the ones that push you around. you start responding to being slapped, showing the meaner men that you want it. that you want their derision, their abuse. now word gets around that you like being spanked, you like being tied up, being whipped. men seek you out, corner you at parties, flirt with you by aggressively mocking you even if they don't know you, but they know your reputation. everyone knows. that's a big part of it, there is no reason for the men to be subtle about it, or covert... you have no right to privacy. you're not really a person anymore, your a sicko. everyone now assumes you like everything, anything they like... you exist to fulfill their sadistic needs: you are expected to be a bottomless pit. five guys might take you into a back room and rape you with baseball bats. they might steal your clothes, or burn them in front of you, and write disturbing things all over you: "punch my tits" "fucks dogs" "i drink piss" "rape me". and they will photograph you, post you on the internet, make sure your pictures are spread around, dowloaded and posted on other sites, your face in the pictures, your name and address. they will make sure your public reputation is permenant, that the whole world knows you are subhuman. you will never be able to hold a job, no one will ever marry you, you have no future. 

now you just have to live in the moment, you are a drug addict.

this is something i wrote in a letter just now, but then i realized, i want eveyone to know this about me.. oh my god!

i dide not write this. a person named Danielle wrote this. but i love it so much, i read it again and again.

from Lynsey's Game

by Danielle 

Lynsey stepped out of her apartment for the first time in days to buy a few groceries and a newspaper. She pored over job listings. Turned on the television and watched it. Finally, she went to her computer and updated her resume. After doing that, she closed down at the program and stared at her screensaver, almost losing herself in its placid evolution, like watching goldfish.

She knew what she had to do.

She had to stop it, end it, bring it to a close.

And then she could go on with her life, put it all back together, find a new job, a new apartment, get back on the rails.

She signed into the chatroom.

There were all there, waiting for her.

Hey bitch, Mike said, took you long enough. How's your ass?

One by one, the others greeted her, with little references that told her that each one of them had had her, had used her and brutalized her and made her body love it. She was frightened, despite herself, but soldiered on.

It's over, she typed.

Really? Mike wrote, his sarcasm blinking quietly on her screen.

It was a stupid thing I did, I paid for it. You all had your fun. Fine, she wrote, with more confidence than she felt. But it's finished now. No more. If it happens again I will go to the police.

And she would, she knew instinctively. It wasn't an idle threat. She would risk the police, she'd risk humiliation and disgrace to bring it all crashing down, as long as she stopped them.

I mean it.

Oh yeah, Mike wrote, did you mean this?

A window appeared on her screen, she glanced at it. It was a transcript of her original invitation to be raped.

Or these?

The window disappeared, more flickered on, lasting a few seconds and vanishing. Lynsey could only catch the gist, her sickest fantasies appeared before her eyes, a succession of rapes and tortures, animals, children, private awful things shared with no one. How was he doing this? How did he have these.

Her bookmarks abruptly pulled down, making her jump. Windows opened and then closed on her sickest and nastiest pornographic sites. Oh my god, she thought, they know, they know everything, and they have it.

How do you think the cops will act, when they read this stuff, Mike challenged, when they find out what you like to play with yourself over?

Lynsey felt her confidence rock. A complaint to the cops was one thing, she could risk embarrassment. But this... Would the cops just see it all as some sick kinky game, one that she was playing, perhaps even running? She might become a suspect herself, what would they think, what would they do?

Or maybe you can show them some pictures? Mike typed.

An image popped on her screen, she jumped again. It was her in the red knit dress and fishnets, a particularly provocative picture that made it clear she wore no bra. Another picture of her in the dress, this one creeping up her thighs hinting at no panties. Others appeared in her slut outfits. A picture of her at the peep show, dressed like a whore. Another on the skytrain in that outrageously slutty outfit of bikini top and microskirt. Pictures of her made up outrageously.

Oh god, she thought, they've been watching me all along, taking pictures.

She was almost prepared for the pictures of her in the alley, taking two of her rapists on at once, the expression on her face almost one of bliss as a large cock sawed into her mouth, while one plunged her from behind.

But she wasn't at all prepared for the next pictures of her in her own apartment, nude and slutty, dressed in different kinds of lingerie, playing with dildos. In many, her eyes were closed in apparent ecstasy, her face slack with implicit bliss. Cocks hovered over her, their owners out of camera range, semen dripped on her breasts and face. In some, her lips closed around. The pictures kept coming, getting worse. Was that her in sixty nine with a ... Child? Oh my god, was she sucking a dog's cock? An aching feeling grew in her stomach as her guts knotted.

These can't be real, she thought. They can't, can't possibly be real. But they were all taken in her apartment, if they were fakes, then they were well done. The backgrounds, the familiarity of her home made them terrifyingly real to her.

You drugged me! She typed with a sudden burst of insight.

Whatever you say, bitch, Mike replied, neither confirming or denying. But that's really you sucking that dogs cock, and licking thirteen year old pussy.

No! No! I don't remember that!

So? Do you remember the other pictures? Slutting out? Going to peep shows? Getting double teamed? I suppose you don't remember those? You weren't there for those.

STOP!!! Lynsey hammered the keys.

She stared at the screen, trying to control her heartrate.

Look, she wrote, I'm not going to the police, okay.

The others noted this surrender.

But it's over, okay. It has to be over. The game is finished, and I don't want to play any more.

For a few seconds, the screens were silent. Then Mike's response came back.

You stupid bitch.... he wrote. Of course the game is over. Let me tell you about the game. We won, you lost. You made the rules, you lost, and now you live with it.

Lynsey stared at the screen with numb horror.

And hey, when you were making the rules, you set the prize. You remember what the prize was? You were the prize. We got you. You lost, we won. Now we own you. Do you understand that, you stupid fucking cunt. The game is over and we own your ass, and we get to keep it, it's not yours any more.

The words sank into her, filling her.

Do you understand? You stupid bitch?

The screen stared at her, the letters blinking mutely. She stared, a sinking, surrendering feeling suffusing her. Desperately, some small part of her searched for a way out.

I said, do you fucking understand, you stupid ignorant, self absorbed bitch?

She stared. Six men held their breaths, waiting....

Yes. She typed finally.

Yes, Sir, you stupid cunt. Mike answered.

Yes, Sir. She typed.

All over Vancouver on a handful of men celebrated at their computer screens, phoning and congratulating each other. It was over, the long struggle with the bitch, the war against her was over. She had surrendered, they owned her now, body and soul.

Finally. Goddamn, but you're slow and stupid. We'll have to fix that. Right now, we're going to play... Here is how we want you to get dressed. You understand.

Yes, Sir, she typed dully.

Instructions flashed on the screen, vividly detailed instructions on lingerie, dress, makeup. They knew every article of clothing that she owned, she realized. They knew everything about her. She was trapped. There was no way out...

Got that?

Yes, Sir.

Then get started you stupid cunt!

There was no resistance left in her. Yes Sir' she typed, and then went to obey her masters. 

i have to pee soooo bad!

i always hold it in whan i'm masterbating... sometimes i pee on myself right when i cum

 one time i was so worked up i decided to go outside and get on a bus when i had to pee terribly. i had been playing with myself furiously, and i didn't even wash my hands... i smelled like pussy, and i didn't brush my hair either, i just stood up like a robot and walked outside and sat at a bus stop trying not to pee, and then the bus came and i got on. the end of the story is yes, i peed all over myself on the bus. i can still feel the sting of the humiliation! i got off through the back door, and i found a sort of an alley,  but it wasn't fully hidden from the street, and i squatted down and just swatted my bare pussy with my hand until i exploded!

this was sent to me by a man, or actually a group of men, who seem to be stalking me. they have found out some things i didn't tell them, so i'm pretty sure they hacked my email, not my regular email or my work email (thank god), but the one i use to write sexy letters. yes, i am terrified, and yes, this excites me no end!

(no title)

We noticed that with April, who had been deeply masochistic from the start and even, we believe, had in a sense sought us out, not literally but it could be honestly asserted that she needed little encouragement to submit, and made herself more available than most, and in her case it was definitely not a matter of financial need. No with April it was, from very early on, well it would have been difficult to push her away, and once the process started she fell deeper into the addiction, and more obviously craving the more humiliating (and more agonizing) treatments, in short she put up so little resistance that it seemed to be us, at times, almost trying to slow her down a bit. And we began the process of paying her less and less much earlier than the other girls; and to punish her more, more often and more publicly and in harsher and more humiliating ways than any of them would have been ready for. And in fact it became known among them, we are sure, very early that we had stopped giving her any pay, nor gifts even, excepting the most outlandish and ridiculous of whore outfits, that in truth weren’t even hers but rather she was tasked with keeping them together and clean enough to be used… although I’m not sure if any of the other girls knew that at the time, that April did not actually receive any pay nor gifts, and that it had been made clear, to her at least, that she did not actually own anything, and that she — and I’m sure the other girls noticed this — was required to beg and efface herself each time she wanted food. Although I suppose the pretense was that she was fat, which of course she was not, but that was the narrative: she wasn’t allowed to eat anything but a few saltines, nor drink but for a little pee, until she could reach her goal weight. Of course she was already frightfully skinny. But — ah, and here is the construct — we could “pinch an inch”! We could. If we dug in with our strong male fingers and thumbs vigorously enough, we could determine that there was still an inch of disgusting, female body-fat to be viciously pinched! Oh and the pinching was such delight to us! And it left such copious bruises across her (actually rather petite) belly, and along the insides of her thighs… You see, we were being kind, that is it was a kindness to pinch so hard as we reminded her, because of course at the very moment we found that there was no longer a full inch left to pinch, or so the saying goes, her terrible dieting would be over. Of course there never would be less than an inch to pinch on her fat little bottom, and as her mewling became more desperate from the soreness we would never fail to point that out to her and make her thank us for our vigilance and honesty. And as our ministrations became more devious and we began to make the most of her naturally plentiful feminine lubrication, to push her towards edging even as we dug in more boldly with thumbs and forefingers to her nether regions, and even hooking stronger and longer digits right into her bottom hole, so as to really grab it, and really bear down hard with the pinching, we would of course remind her that, due to her disturbingly fat and whorish ass, the dieting, the pee drinking, and the pinching would never actually stop. And as she approached orgasm, or as she was sucked into that vortex in which she was maddeningly compelled to chase its shadow, thrusting mightily at fingers which were now evading her, slapping uselessly against what by now had become no more than an open palm, slapping gently back against the wet but cleanly shaven vulva, delighting in its soreness but unwilling to provide more than a fairly subtle stinging sensation, spread all too evenly across the full girth of her swollen vulva, and even as the hands of our partners continued to grip and penetrate poor April’s ass and cheeks tirelessly and even with a renewed vigor, at these times it became fairly obvious to all watching that here was a girl that could certainly be trained to orgasm under the whip. And at these times too we made her admit, even as with every thrust she was admitting non-verbally, that she would probably never outgrow her baby fat, that she was just too much of a disgusting little piglet, that even her pleas and abjectly wailed apologies sounded more and more like a sow’s squealing, and that it was becoming all too obvious to us that she enjoyed these punishments, that she enjoyed them greatly, and that even to us, much as we enjoyed giving them, found her wetly and grindingly responsive reaction to our attempts at discipline, her obvious and craven enjoyment of this treatment, quite frankly, as we always told her at these moments, that she is repugnant beyond compare, that we do not even believe she should be considered human anymore she is so far gone. She is less than a beast, for even a beast will protect its own body from ravenous attack, and surely does not relish its own brutal rape, nor orgasm in response to torture. “You are beyond repulsive, you leaky-twatted skank-hole: You are more than sick, you are criminally insane!” At these times we would stop manipulating her limbs with our hands and let her hold herself open for us, as we removed our belts and grimaced. 

okay, this is not Chapter 2 of "Beth Likes It", this is a separate blog entry, and i will resome posting the very long story "Beth Likes It" later.

 this funny episode from my life, which i will call "My Origin Story", just popped out of me a few hours ago, while i was writing a letter to a very dear friend. this is, by the way, pretty much true, and the memories are flooding back to me as i write them down, and i am trying to capture every horrific detail, but i am a little fuzzy on certain things, and i'm not sure whether i might be leaving things out, or even possibly embellishing the story inadvertantly. i'm actually a little confused by all this!

My Origin Story 

for my only male friend,"Furdegree"

> Why do you think you need to be mistreated so badly? I don’t want to get all psychoanalytical, but what happened to you?

i know exactly what happened to me, and it might be a bit psychoanalytical, but i'd actually love to write it down, which i never have.  

i remember that i felt extremely guilty sometimes as a child, and i wanted to be spanked, and it was incredibly embarrassing. i felt i really needed to be spanked, because i had done something really rotten, like cheating in a game or telling a lie. and the only thing that would make me feel less guilty was getting a spanking, but it was almost impossible to get the words out, both to admit what i had done but even more to admit what i thought should happen, that i should be punished with a spanking. 

when i first remembered this, i thought it had happened only once, but now i realize that it happened a lot of times. i really can't remember how often, or exactly what age i was when it started, but i remember my daddy spanking me right through high school, which was a family policy, and it was the same for my brothers (although of course none of them ever asked for a spanking!). and because it was so embarrassing, i couldn't bare the idea of my brothers finding out about it, and so my daddy, trying to protect my dignity, would keep it private... it became a thing we did privately, when no one else was around. i think part of it was that i liked the attention, and the intimacy of it. but he would really make it hurt! he spanked me harder than he spanked any of the boys!

i really, really, cannot blame him, even to this day. i don't want to explain why i feel this way, but i do. he was old fashioned, and he was very Christian, and he genuinely believed he was doing the right thing. he thought i was brave, for admitting my "sins" to him, and for requesting what he felt was an appropriate punishment, which he called a "penance".

but things became more crazy as i grew older, and i started to develop and got my period and everything.

you see, i had three older brothers, and they shared a bedroom, with bunk beds. and this was a very Christian household, and there was a lot of tattling, and Benjamin, my middle brother, apparently had a masturbation problem. and the others would tell on him if they heard him do it at night, in his bunk. no one ever discussed this with me, or even in front of me, but i overheard, or maybe one of my brothers explained it to me, or both. i can't remember exactly, but by the time i was twelve i knew that touching yourself was a sin, and that it was punishable by a spanking, and that it could also result in a life of debauchery, and the possibility of going to hell, or "eternal separation from God" as my daddy put it. 

so from the age of twelve on, i tried really hard not to masturbate, even though i had my own room and could get away with it easily, and no one suspected me of it. but i was obsessed with it! it felt soooo good, and i felt soooo guilty about it! it was way worse in my mind than lying, or cheating in a game, or cheating in school even. it was more on par with getting an abortion or something... you know, murdering a baby! so i was really, truly against it... i really wanted to be a good girl. but i just couldn't help it... instead of stopping, i started masturbating all the time, even sometimes at school, hidden behind the bungalows where nobody went.

so... and i remember this clearly now... i think i had just turned thirteen, and i did something that was so shameful and difficult i remember being so nervous about it that i couldn't talk for three days. I told my dad about it. 

and my dad had a very peculiar reaction, one that baffled and worried me to the extreme. he just became very quiet, and i couldn't read his expression at all, which made me think he was incredibly mad at me. he stood up, as if he was about to yell at me, and then he sat back down. but i don't think he was, i don't think he was mad at me at all, just terribly embarrassed, and tongue-tied just like i was.

and both him and mom were committed to treating me just like the boys, especially where punishments were concerned. they felt they should be very consistent about punishments, it was only fair. so without saying a word, and with a very stern expression on his face, my daddy led me immediately to his (and mom's) bedroom, and sat down on the bed, and looked at me with an awful, unreadable expression which caused me to shiver and shake, it worried me so. would he ever forgive me? but i knew what i was supposed to do... i just removed my skirt and panties as usual, and i lay myself across daddy's lap. and he spanked me very hard that day, harder than ever, and for way longer, until i was in so much pain it actually started to feel good. (i know this is strange but that's how my body reacts). and when it was over, he told me in a raspy, severe whisper, that i must never, ever "rub myself" in that way again. and i promised i wouldn't.

but i broke that promise immediately! i just couldn't stop myself. in fact, right after he spanked me, i ran into my room and masturbated, and i remember lowering myself onto the big, knobby bedpost so there would be something inside me, and whacking my tiny clit with my hairbrush as hard as i could, because i wanted it to hurt, i felt soooo guilty and ashamed. but those orgasms! they were like intricate explosions, they were insane. it was all i could do to keep from screaming in ecstasy. but of course i could not risk being heard, because this was by far the worst, most sinful, and most embarrassing thing i had ever done.

and at that very moment, that very afternoon as i slowly pushed myself up and down on the hard, wooden bedpost, who's bulbous, ornamental head-piece barely fit into my virgin, 13 year old vagina... that was when i started fantasizing about worse things happening to me than a spanking. i realized then that of course a spanking wasn't enough for a sinner like me, that i should be punished in other, more severe and painful ways. because obviously a mere spanking was not nearly enough to deter me, i was just such a filthy, disgusting whore. 

and i wanted so much just to be a good girl! i knew God was watching me, i could feel his eyes on me, judging me, and i knew i would have to tell my dad i did this, and that i did it right after he spanked me. and the thought of that was so embarrassing, and so degrading i started to cry, but that didn't stop the pleasure. in fact it only served to fuel my crazy fire, and i started humping the bedpost harder and harder, so that i'm sure i was bruising myself on the inside. all while thinking obsessively about the inevitability of having to tell my daddy exactly what i had done, what i was doing right now, right after today's spanking, right after i promised daddy i would never rub myself in "that way" again.

and that was when i looked down between my legs, and the bedpost was bloody, because my hymen was of course ripped to shreds. and i didn't really know what had happened, because nobody had ever explained to me about the bleeding that happens when you lose your verginity. i thought i had really hurt myself! but i didn't care, i only rammed my poor little pussy down harder on the huge wooden bulb, pushing right down until the square post itself started to enter me, which really hurt. but i didn't stop, and i didn't stop whacking my sensitive little clit either, in fact i redoubled my efforts.

because i still thought it was possible to redeem myself, and somehow i thought that if i hurt myself "down there" and imagined scary enough punishments, and if i promised God that i would someday, somehow make all the nightmare scenes that were running through my head come true, and that if somehow i could get someone (or someones, plural) to punish me in all the horrible ways that i could imagine, i would somehow, still have a chance to be saved, to redeem myself in the eyes of God.

so i started thinking of things that were severe enough that God would be impressed, and understand that i felt true remorse and contrition. and yes, later, just as i knew i should, i told my daddy exactly what i had done after he spanked me, and that i didn't think an ordinary spanking was punishment enough.

and he did not understand what i was saying, that i wanted other kinds of painful punishments, but he took me seriously alright, and i could see his face turn red, and he clled me a whore.

so from that moment forward he stopped giving me hand spankings and used his belt. instead of crawling across his lap like i always had done, he would take me downstairs to his shop and drape me over his workbench, speading my legs out on either side of it. and now he really swung that belt hard, as hard as he possibly could. because he was, in fact, very disappointed in me, and as he explained again and again in raspy, breathless whispers, he was without doubt that i would become a whore and probably be fucked by whole rooms full of dirty, brutal men. and he would ask me, directly in my ear, "wouldn't you like that?" and then he's lay into me passionately, spreading blows all over my my ass and thighs, sometimes even hitting me right in between my legs or vertically right in the crack of my ass. and he's ask, "wouldn't you like to have your nasty vagina and anus fucked by so many men?" and of course i had to admit that i would, because it was true and i just had to tell him, i just had to be totally honest with him, even though i knew he thought i was utterly disgusting. and sometimes he became so angry that he put down the belt and used something else to hit me with, like a length of threaded rod or a loop of bare wire. so now my daily "whippings" raised severe welts, and i could barely sit down all through high school, or i could but it really hurt to sit dawn, and i couldn't concentrate at all. so i got the reputation of not only being slutty, but dumb as well. and at some point some of the rowdier guys figured out that i would jump out of my my fuzzy socks if they were to pinch my ass, and this too became a daily routine for them. and for me of course, and i didn't even resist, in fact every time it happened my little pussy would juice up, and sometimes, when the guys lifted the back of my skirt, they could see the wetness between my legs. and they could also see the welts from my daily whippings, and that became the subject of many a cruel joke at my expense.

but i knew that none of this was enough to appease God, not by a long shot. so as i sat in class, my panties a wet mess between my legs and my buns burning like they were on fire, i'd imagine punishments even more terrible and severe than anything that had so far happened to me, and i would devise ways that i could hopefully, actually make them happen someday if i set my mind to it.

one of my best ideas revolved around going to foreign countries and deliberately getting in trouble with the police there. i thought of going to arab nations where the ladies were supposed to wear veils, and getting arrested as a foreign whore, wearing disgusting whore clothes. and i would not tell them i was from the united states, i would not contact the embassy, and i would not have a lawyer to protect me from their primitive and corrupt prison system. instead i would deliberately put myself in the most helpless position possible. and i would continue to tempt and provoke each of them, all the police, the judges, and the guards, until finally they would haul me off to their prison camp and throw away the key. i had somehow read about the tortures the sultans enacted upon the women in their harems, such as setting them on iron stoves shaped as  peaked rooftops, with their legs dangling on either side and their vulvas straddling the wedge shaped apex, labia split with their full weight pressing down upon the sharp iron, dildoes like fat chimneys, also made of iron, protruding up into their aching, gaping vaginas. then the "stoves" would be stoked with coal, the iron would heat until it turned a glowing orange hue, and the unlucky ladies would have their pussies cooked like ham as they wailed in unimaginable agony.

i imagined such things vividly as i sat at my desk, failing algebra for the third time. and i hoped that some of those arabian traditions were still alive, and put into practice on deserving, foreign whores who would never see freedom again, and therefore present zero risk of exposing their barbaric practices. 

and when i arose to scrmble between classes my panties would be drenched, and the boys could easily smell me. and their pinching fingers would grab at my labia through my drenched panties, and they would whoop and holler at my expense, showing each other their slick fingers, wet with my copious secretions. and they would corner me against the wall and force me to show off my welts from the night before, and tell them all about how my daddy whipped me with a length of barbed wire because i am such a bad, bad girl. 

 "and what did you do to make your daddy punish you like that?" the boys would ask me. "I couldn't stop rubbing my pussy" I would admit, because i had to tell them the truth, i just had to, if i were ever to make it right with God. and the boys would swarm me, their pinching fingers and swatting hands dispensing quickly with my skirt and soiled panties, relentlessly shoving and scratching their brutal way into every fold of my exposed, dripping vagina.

i've been working on another story, and it's turning out to be really long. it's not as realistic as the other one, probably because none of it has anything to do with my life, unfortunately. for one thing, i have never been married, and actually i have never been in love, so i don't know what i'm talking about! but this fantasy, of being a wife who submits to her husband's kinks so enthusiastically that it disgusts him, has been part of my fantasy life since high school. i guess the couple is based on my parents, but all the sex has nothing to do with reality. it's so long i've decided to divide it into chapters. it's also not finished, but just maybe i'll finish it as i go. it also has hints about my real identity and whereabouts.

Beth Likes It 

(chapter one) 

 I really thought my new husband would like me more if I did what he said. I knew he wanted some kinky sex, I knew that would be part of being married to him, and I thought I was prepared for it, I thought it might make things more exciting even, maybe I would like it and even if I didn’t it would be fun pleasing him. I thought of it as a challenge, and an opportunity for some spicy adventure… and honestly I thought it would foster intimacy between us. I guess I had read that somewhere, and I really expected it, I expected him to become very attached to me, I expected him to fall in love with me all over again, really, if it turned out I was the one who could meet his sexual needs so fully and without judgement. But this isn’t the way things worked out.

Ben had begun by wanting me to expose myself in public, or to risk exposure, like going out with him “commando” in a short skirt and no panties. We’d usually go to a bar, frequently on the less appealing side of town, and after awhile we settled on one bar in particular, a place called “Tito’s” which, while there were sometimes a few college kids hanging around,  was actually a pretty rough place. Their clientele consisted mostly of working men who were pretty hard drinkers, and pretty obnoxious, and we’d almost never see other women. It was not a place I would have ever set foot in if I were alone, but this was okay, because although I was small and somewhat of a bully-target, my husband Ben was a huge guy, and genuinely strong; just the sight of his frown would be enough to make almost any trouble-maker back away slowly. And of course he had a certain authority about him, he wasn’t a pushover. So I felt safe enough, at least inasmuch as I trusted him to protect me. And I did… well, I mean… Let me put it this way: I trusted Ben to not let anything happen to me that he didn’t want to have happen. Which was more than enough, at first.

But what was just “risking exposure” at first, quickly became frequent, full exposure. We went from just hubby and wifey playing in public, keeping our little secret that I had nothing on under my skirt, to flashing half the guys in the bar until everyone knew what was going on, and pretty soon we were sitting at tables full of rough, rowdy men who knew perfectly well I had nothing on under my skirt, or my top for that matter, and who passed me from lap to lap, continuously trying to grab, pinch, and very aggressively grope my ass, breasts, and pussy! And at first, hubby would stare them down if things got too intense, and they’d stop the moment he cleared his throat. But things changed.

Gosh, I just wanted to please my man. Honestly, that’s all it was, at first. But I must admit that so long as it was safe, I liked the attention. I did not stare, of course, but I was aware that these rough guys were erect under their jeans, and I knew why: because as per Ben’s instructions I was dressed like a street whore, and these drunken, horny guys were getting frequent glimpses of everything a lady was expected to keep private! 

I wanted to do everything my husband said, I wanted to make him happy with me. I wanted to be the woman who could fulfill his every sexual fantasy, and to help him discover a few he didn’t even know he had. And I wanted to be loved for it, adored and cherished by him for it. So when Ben dropped his half-empty basket of fries on the floor in front of our table and said “Beth, be a good girl and pick up those spilled fries” I did what he said. Even though we had joined a table with a group of strange, drunken men who were obviously trying to grope me. I knew he wanted a show, and I knew he wanted me to give the men a show as well.

So, gingerly at first, I knelt down to scoop the fries back into the plastic basket, which he had handed me. My skirt was so short that I could not squat without exposing my pussy to the whole snickering gang. I wasn’t sure what to do. Ben looked at me and I could read his mind. I faced away from the table so my back was to the guys and knelt down on the floor. The floor was sticky with spilled beer and my bare knees were touching it. I felt so dirty, but honestly, I was very excited, so excited that I could feel myself getting wet as a mop, which made it more shameful, because I get very wet when I’m aroused, wet enough that you can tell from a distance, if you look. 

It was a predicament, and sort of a puzzle. I had to reach down and pick up the fries with one hand while holding the basket with the other. I really had no choice but to balance on my elbows, there was no other way to get all the fries without tipping the basket. I was already on my knees, and now my bare naked bottom was sticking up behind me as I bent from the waist, and my skirt rode high enough so the guys at our table could see everything I had. I knew this was what Ben wanted, so I spread my thighs a few inches and tilted my ass as high as I could, arching my back and lowering my tummy towards the dirty floor. I could feel the open air against my wetness. I knew they were seeing my vulva from top to bottom, as well as my winking little anus. One of them gave a long, slow wolf-whistle, while others chuckled. As the moment lasted, I realized the chuckles were derisive… They were feasting their eyes on me, sure, but they were also mocking me for being such a whore. There was a meanness to it, and all of a sudden I felt unsafe. But also, as adrenaline coursed through my blood and made my heart pump faster and faster, also I noticed that my pussy was responding too. It felt hot, and swollen. And certainly wet, maybe dripping. I wondered if the men could notice this… I wondered if they could smell me.

“Pick ‘em all up, Beth,” said my husband. His tone had meanness in it too, which was disconcerting. “Beth, I don’t want you to waste a single fry.” He must have seen me flinch, as the humiliation sent a chill up my spine.

See, this was the thing: I was trying my best to be perfect for him, but instead of loving me for it he seemed more and more disgusted with me. I knelt up and turned around with the basket. “I got them all, Ben.” I looked around innocently and could see a wall of wicked grins and hungry, glaring eyes. “Are they still good?” Asked Ben. I didn’t say anything. 

“Try them,” said Ben. I put a fry into my mouth. “Good girl,” said Ben. He wanted all the guys to see me eating off the floor. “Are you hungry?” He asked. I nodded. “Then eat them all, Beth. Eat all your dirty fries off the dirty barroom floor.”

This was not the first time he embarrassed me, but it was a whole new level of humiliation. I didn’t just feel like a slut, I felt like my status as a human being was being put into question. And I went along with it, just like I knew he wanted me to. And I responded to it, and when I rejoined the men in our booth I could muster almost zero resistance to their assaultive groping and pinching. And even without the steady friction I usually need, I almost came a few times, and my breathing and squirming made it obvious, not only to Ben, who did absolutely nothing to stop it, but to the whole group. And the funny thing was, the astonishing thing to me, was that it was the pinching, and particularly the very hard pinching, which had me on the edge of orgasm, and not so much the fingering and penetration. 

But on the drive home Ben didn’t talk to me, and back in our bedroom he called me a “disgusting slut”. 

“But I thought you wanted me to be slutty for you?” I whined sheepishly, embarrassed by the conversation despite the fact that I should have been miffed, because he was being so blatantly unfair. 

“Sure, slut,” he said meanly. “You say you do it for me, but you’re not supposed to like it quite so much.” Ben still had a judgmental, scathing tone to his voice, and I didn’t know what to say to this: he had obviously seen my dripping red pussy as I showed it off to all the guys, and yes I was still very embarrassed about that, and of the events that followed. And now I was feeling genuinely guilty, even though it didn’t make much sense for me to feel so. 

But Ben just looked at me disapprovingly, making me feel like I was somehow the one who started everything, I was the one who dragged him down this strange rabbit hole. And as I stood there half dressed, questioning my hold on reality and feeling maybe he was right even if it made no sense at all, feeling as if I was about to burst into tears and beg his forgiveness. I needed his forgiveness, even if it meant betraying myself, lying to agree with him that it was all my idea, that everything he made me do was my fault and he was right to be mad at me for it. 

But that made even less sense. Yes I felt guilty, and I would have gladly taken the blame. He was probably right that I was a slut, I mean I did get sopping wet, didn’t I? I did enjoy being groped and pinched by all those dirty drunks, didn’t I? I did let them pass me from lap to lap, giggling as they pinched my nipples and ass, sticking fingers and dirty thumbs right up my pedunda, sticking hot French fries right up my nasty vagina and making me eat them! Yes, it was me who did this stuff, right? And right in view of my husband? 

And I almost broke down in tears, almost let the guilt swallow me up, almost fell down in front of him, begging Ben to forgive me, promising him that I would never do it again. But something stopped me. In my heart of hearts, I knew that this was not the right interpretation. It was not honest. I did not want this to be the end of our adventures… And I knew, the truth was that neither did Ben. He did not want our adventures to end. No, he was conflicted, just like I was… but Ben loved this. Even now, angry as he was, he was fully erect under the sheets. Ben did not want me to stop trying to be a sexy slut for him… I knew in my heart he loved this. He loved my blind obedience, and my willingness to embarrass myself, to shame myself, to take whatever he could dish out, whatever the other men could dish out. Yes, he was mad at me for liking it too much, he didn’t want me to like it, he wanted me to hate it, but he still wanted me to do it. Yes, he wanted me to hate it, and still do it, unquestioningly, for him alone. That’s what Ben wanted. And the sudden realization that he wanted me to be mortified by all this, to be deeply shamed and sickened by it… Wow, it was a lot to think of. 

Was my husband really that sadistic? Did he really want to make me hate myself? Did he really want me to feel like a worthless whore? I was realizing, all at once, that this was what he wanted. It was very strange, very scary to me. But at the same time I felt intensely attracted to it. I felt intensely, insanely attracted to Ben’s sadistic streak. I think I had always known he had this in him, and on some subconscious level it had always thrilled me. Ben was a big man, an authoritative man who was used to having his way. I was a small, weak-willed woman, and I was his wife, his “little wifey”, as he sometimes called me. He supported me, I had no money of my own, no income besides what he gave me for groceries and expenses, no education to speak of, no skills or work experience. I was entirely dependent on this big brute, my husband. And I liked it. And I liked it better now, maybe. Suddenly I was very aroused, sweating, getting wet down there, weak in the knees, blushing and hyperventilating. My heart was pounding in my chest… Ben was staring at me, and I felt like he could see right through me!

Then suddenly an idea struck me.  Suddenly I realized how I might be able to turn this all around, save my marriage, make Ben happy with me beyond his wildest dreams, and perhaps even salvage the evening! Or at least lighten the mood, and keep everything fun and sexy between me and my Big Ben!

So I somehow broke the grip of his eyes on me, I turned away, and I smiled coyly and said, “Well…” and I paused, trying to get the words right. “Well Ben, I guess I must be a bad girl, huh?” I blushed and winked at him. He just looked at me, puzzled. 

“I mean… You are right. We both know it. So…” I batted my eyelashes at him. “So don’t you think I’m just a very, very bad girl?” He still just stared. He didn’t seem to get it.

“I mean… Please, Ben. Don’t you agree?” I started to move my hips in a sexy, grinding sort of dance, like a strip tease, though I was already nude under my nighty. “Can’t you see I’m just a very naughty, nasty… slutty… little girl…?”

Ben shrugged, still pissed off at me.

“And what happens to bad girls?” I asked, flipping my hips around as if to indicate my imaginary bunny tail.

Finally Ben got it. “They get punished,” he said, starting to smile. 

But the smile quickly disappeared, replaced by a serious expression. “Bad girls… like you… SHOULD get punished!” He was a little over-enthusiastic all of a sudden, and as he started moving towards me to grab me with his huge, muscular arms, I fought an urge to run.

But I let him grab me. And I let him hold me down. He positioned me with my ass in the air, just like I had been in the bar, with all the strangers witnessing my sopping wet vulva. And it was sopping wet again.

I thought he was going to spank me, but instead he managed to pull his belt swiftly through his belt-loops, doubling it over. And suddenly he was whipping my bare behind, harshly and savagely! Oh god and it hurt like he had soaked my ass in kerosene and lit it on fire! Each terrible lash felt like it was cutting through my delicate skin, but it wasn’t, although he did leave me with some serious welts. And afterward he threw me on the bed and fucked me senseless. I started cumming the moment he entered me, exploding continuously to his violent thrusts until he had finished raping me. Because it was rape; it was the first time I had been raped by him or by any other man; I know this now because rape is different than sex, it’s a very different experience whether you have technically consented to it or not. Ben rapes me all the time now, and he lets other men rape me as well, and I like it; but this was the first time, and I believe it changed every aspect of our relationship, permanently.

Because Ben knew he was hurting me. And he knew he was raping me. Not just “technically” raping me, since I did in fact struggle and plead for him to stop, and he DID NOT stop. Quite the contrary, my struggling and pleading resulted in a firmer grip around my skinny wrists, more weight locking me into place on the bed as he rammed his huge cock deep into me. But that’s not all. Even when I cried, he could hear that my cries were mixed with moans, my choking and sobbing escalated seamlessly into convulsive gasping and grunting, partly born of pain but tipping quickly into out-of-control pleasure, a pleasure inseparable from the pain and humiliation, rendering me helpless to protect my dignity, rapidly pushing me beyond any limits I had ever known, igniting a fire I had never before felt except in hints and traces, a fire which rose from deep within my belly and boiled over, exploding, repeatedly, into one loud, screeching climax after another!

And usually, after intense sex, Ben kisses me softly and rolls over on the bed to sleep. But tonight was different, tonight he stood up, bolt upright, his face red and his muscles seeming to pulse beneath his skin. He looked down on me with contempt, and I could not look at him for more than a second, because we both knew everything had changed. Then he reached down and grabbed me by the hair. And with a mighty heave he lifted me from the bed, and he spit at me, right in my face. He had never done anything like that before.

And although I was surprised by that contemptuous and degrading gesture, something deep within me resonated with it, I felt as though there could have been nothing more fitting and appropriate under the circumstances. He was a normal, lustful, red-blooded, and proud man. I was, as we both suddenly realized, a disgusting, perverted whore. I had already destroyed our marriage, and there was nothing Ben could do now but punish me for it, punish me with all his might for disappointing him. And my punishment had now officially begun. But it was far from over, and in my heart of hearts I hoped that it would last us for the rest of our lives.

 This is a story based on a real experience i had when i was young. It's about half true and half fantasy. It also has hints in it about my true identity and real wherabouts, if you are interested in abducting me or blackmailing me, but don't think it tells you everything, because it doesn't. The hints are only half true too, just like the story. if you read it, let me know what you think... i worked really hard on this!

 The T or D Version

I went with my older brother’s friends, to a big, old house on a busy street. It was a party. My brother left with his friends. I stayed. I went up to the attic with a few guys to smoke pot. I was still in high school, they were a little older. Someone had a deck of cards. I made a joke we should play strip poker. I was the only girl. Also, it was summer and I was barefoot, and I only had some baby blue shorts and a t-shirt on, along with my bra and panties. So four things on. Of course they wanted to play, and were pretty persistent about it. I kept joking that I wanted to play too. I was pretending that I wanted to see them naked as much as they wanted to see me naked. That wasn't really true, but I really wanted, even then, for them all to see me naked. 

So we started playing. It was a real game, and I didn't loose anything for the first few rounds. One guy lost his shirt before I lost anything. Then someone said, do we want to play stock rules or T or D version. I said what's T or D version? They explained that if you loose all your clothes you have to keep playing, and you have to do a mandatory truth or dare if you loose a hand while naked. But if you don't want to do the dare you have to give up an item of clothing permanently... they slice it up so you can't wear it.

Well I didn't think I was gonna loose, and I was very high. Anyway I said I wanted to play that version, the T or D version. But what I didn't realize was that that meant the game wouldn't end when somebody got naked, like in the normal version. In the T or D version, there's no real place to end, and you’re not really allowed to quit.

So basically, that’s how I got trapped. 

So this all happened first to one of the guys, so as they explained the other rules as we went, it wasn't happening to me, and everybody was just laughing, nobody really cared that the guy got naked and his clothes were ruined, I think it was his house anyway. They had a lie detector thing. I know now that it was just a toy and it didn't really work, but nobody brought that up, they all treated it like it worked when they did the “truth” parts.

well I lost my clothes, eventually, and the guy who lost his clothes first had some other clothes to put on, but I did not. I was naked, and they wouldn't give me back my clothes, even though everyone else was dressed.

And it was fair, too, I mean it seemed fair at the time, because it had happened the same to the other person, and I hadn't objected when it happened to him, I had agreed to it when it wasn't happening to me, so now I had to do it too. Anyway I started drawing a lot of low cards, almost in a row but not quite, but I started loosing more rounds than I was winning.

Oh by the way one of the rules was you could only choose three Truths in a row before you had to choose a Dare. That was the same as normal Truth or Dare, the way we played it in my home town.

For my first truth they asked me if I masturbate, to which I shyly admitted that yes, I do masturbate. I did want to fit in and make them think I was grown up, and it was the truth. But I still remember wanting to say it… I had an urge to tell them, and I thought they would tease me about it, and I remember I wanted them to tease me. 

But that first truth was the only one that did not set off the lie detector. The next one did. They asked me this: 

“When you are masturbating, do you ever fantasize about being raped?” 

To which I said no. That's when they made me put my fingers in the little clips with the sensors, to see if I was telling a lie. So then the guy, Mark Hassler, who originally asked the question, turned to face me and asked again: 

“When you are masturbating, do you ever fantasize about being raped?"

Mark was older than the rest of the guys, and he was in college, and had a clean shaven face. He looked like a scientist from an old movie. His voice was very matter-of-fact, like it was the most normal thing in the world to ask a girl this sort of a question. I tried to look him in the eyes while I said “no” again, but when I did, the "lie detector" thing made a beeping sound, and Mark picked it carefully up off the coffee table and turned it to show me that the dial was in the red, which meant I was lying.

They all started to get kind of more serious and a little mad at me, and they were all staring at me. I was very conscious of the fact that I was lying, and I felt like they could read my mind like a book, and that the fact that I was blushing so hard made it obvious to everyone there I was lying.

“It’s actually not uncommon,” Mark said in his matter-of-fact tone. “Thirty percent of women fantasize about being raped, according to studies.” He had a very educated, authoritative way about him.

I was pleading to them that I wasn't lying, and Mark suggested “How about we test the machine and then ask the question again, so everyone can see how it works?” I said okay, so they asked me my name. "April Cunis" and I could see the dial barely move at all. Then they asked me my address to which I said "I live a 2395 Grove street" and I noticed one of the guys typing my address into his phone, but at the same time I was looking at the dial, which barely moved. Then they said “Have you ever been to France?" and I said no. So they explained that they were going to ask the same question again, but now I'm supposed to say that I have been to France. So again they asked, “Have you ever been to France?" to which I said “Yes" and the dial jolted up into the red section, and it made the beeping noise again.

That was proof I was lying, and that the machine worked. It recognized my lie.

Everyone was staring at me. And at that moment I realized there was no way out of this, and I began to feel very weak at the pit of my stomach, but also I felt very tingly down there... in my stomach but also down lower. I was feeling extremely helpless, and hopelessly in trouble, with no way out. And it was making me feel sick. But also, the terrible feeling had a thrilling feeling too, which was like a very warm feeling, almost a fun feeling, like when you are on a roller coaster at the top of the turn-around, just about to teeter into the steepest and deepest downhill plunge. You are terrified, but you can't stop the ride, and although you can't stand it you also know you really want this to happen. You’ve put yourself there on purpose, just for this to happen.

The truth was, at that point in my life, I did fantasize about being raped all the time, and tied up and whipped and all kinds of insane things, much worse things, things that I did not want to admit to anybody. And I was pretty sure that these were only fantasies and I had no intention of making any of them come true in real life, ever. But now, all of a sudden, although I was frightened to death, still another feeling was waking up inside of me. Something terrible was about to happen to me, and I was very curious about it, and excited. My stomach was upset, but also my nipples were becoming hypersensitive and I could feel them puckering up and hardening, right in front of all these guys, who were staring at me with evil grins on their faces. And although I was squeezing my legs closed so no one could see it or smell it, my vagina was definitely lubricating, enough that the insides of my thighs were already slippery.

So they returned to the questioning, and Bruce, the original questioner, asked me again if I masturbated to rape fantasies. I said "No, I don't, really guys I don't!" But the dial went straight up into the red area and almost to the very top, and they turned the machine around so everyone could see it. Someone said "there are consequences for cheating in this game" but someone else said "no no, quiet about that." That’s when Mark looked at me and said,

“Okay April, stand up. “We will try this one more time.”

I stood up.

"Okay, stand in the middle of the circle,” which I did. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, on my stiff nipples, on my blushing, lying face, and somehow I felt they could see or somehow smell my dripping pussy in its little nest of newly grown pubic hairs, although I was clamping my legs together as tight as possible, even to the point where my knees were wobbling and I might have fallen down.

Mark looked directly at my eyes and asked, very calmly: “April… when you are alone in your room playing with your… your swampy little twat… do you ever fantasize about being raped, fucked, or sexually used without your consent?"

I didn't say anything at first. “Yes or No?” demanded Mark.

“Um… yes” I said in a very small voice. 

Everyone stared at me as I blushed and quivered. The terrible feeling in my stomach was gone, replaced by the rush of adrenaline and the insane, yearning, crazy feeling of needing, desperately, to let someone have me. To let all of them have me, maybe.

One of the other guys said "I can’t hear you, April. Can you please speak up, and speak in full sentences?" There was a murmur of consent from the other guys. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a phone pointing at me, recording this, my nudity, my confession, but I did nothing to stop it. The momentum was too great.

"Yes,” I said clearly.

"Yes what?” asked Mark. I knew what he wanted. I couldn't keep my ass from jiggling as I shivered, even though it was not cold in the attic room with those nine guys. I could feel their eyes all over me, like little joy buzzers tickling me all over. I just didn't want them to notice I was wet. I could feel my "swampy little twat" dripping, and as strange as it may sound, I did feel very ashamed of how wet it was, and I felt very ashamed for lying.  When I was a little girl, I had been spanked very hard for lying, and in my confusion I kept thinking these guys were going to spank me. I also felt terribly ashamed for getting myself into this degrading, slutty situation: I could practically hear my classmates and older sisters say “she’s asking for it”, and in my mind I agreed with them that I was… oh god I should be ashamed of myself! I truly was asking for it. 

I couldn’t stop my ass from jiggling, but also I wanted it to jiggle, and my titties were jiggling too, and everyone was staring. And it wasn’t cold, I guess it was just nerves, but I realized I was hamming it up a little, putting on a show for them, just a little. I suddenly felt very mad at myself and almost as if to punish myself I blurted out "Yes Mark, I like to sit alone in my room rubbing my vagina… and fantasizing about being brutally raped!” I said it in an exaggerated, hammy tone of voice, and way too loud. 

There was silence as they all looked at me in shock. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I could feel my pulse in my blushing red cheeks. Obviously I had over spoken, over-shared. Even in this unbelievable situation, I had somehow made it worse. I was newly mortified.”Who said anything about 'brutally'?" quipped one of the guys. They all laughed nervously. "Do we keep playing?" asked another, rhetorically. “Hells yeah!" said someone and others made assenting noises. Mark said, “Okay April, have a seat now,” and motioned to my place on the floor. 

I sat down, and another hand was dealt, a 22 year old college guy took off a shoe, and as I remember it I lost the next hand. I wasn't ready to face revealing anything else about myself right at that moment, so I chose "dare".

"Oh good, said Mark. I was hoping you'd choose dare. He turned to the other players. “Can I take this one, guys?”

“Go for it,” said a lanky ginger-haired guy next to him, as the others murmured their approval.

Okay April, this is your dare. I want you to lean back against the couch. Here let me make this more comfortable.” He grabbed a cushion and propped it against the front of the couch, giving it a pat. Go ahead, do it.” 

I did. “Good. That’s not the whole dare though, of course. Lean back.”

I followed his instructions.”

“Good girl,” said Mark. “Are you comfortable?” I nodded. “Good. Now April, and this is not the dare yet. I just want to point something out to you.” His voice was still utterly calm and matter-of-fact. The rest of the boys were silent. “April Cunis, you are a slut. No, you don’t have to admit to it or anything, it doesn’t matter. This is just a statement of fact. I mean seriously, look at what you are doing right now, April. This game you are willingly playing, this situation you have put yourself in. And now you are willingly telling a room full of guys that you masturbate, that you rub your own pussy for pleasure. I mean here you are, totally naked, sitting on the floor boards of an unfinished attic in an unfamiliar house, with a bunch of guys you’ve never met before, who are all staring at you.” Mark gestured towards the guys and some of them in the back maybe couldn’t see very well so he gestured them in closer. Everyone came in close. I could feel all nine pairs of eyes boring holes into me.

“April, you don’t have to answer this, because this is not part of the dare. April what do you think these guys most want to see right now?” He smiled at me, and then glanced down at my lap. I still had my legs clenched tight. “They’ve seen your tits, right? What else do they want to see?”

I blushed and swallowed. Somehow I felt guilty for not answering, but I didn’t dare.

“They want to see your pussy April”. “Am I right?” The guys laughed nervously, but affirmatively. “But you don’t want to show it, April, do you? And here you are, the biggest slut anyone has every seen, totally naked in front of all your new boyfriends, but you won’t show us the goods. Hmm… April, you know, that doesn’t make any sense, when you think about it. Why are your legs clamped closed so tightly? He tapped the side of his forehead thoughtfully. I began to realize what he was about to say. Even at this moment, my face blushed two shades redder. He turned to the guys..

“Boys, I think April might be enjoying this whole situation just a little too much, maybe. Yep… Oh April, I think I’ve got your number. Oh man, I think all these guys are wise to what’s happening here, yes I think they know… Don’t they? April? Oh my slutty little tart April Cunis… why don’t you want to open your legs… huh? Am I right boys? Does naughty, slutty little April Cunis maybe, ah-hem, like this whole scenario just a wee bit too much? Is that what it is, April?”

At this point, of course, I was sopping wet. I could feel a growing wet spot on the floorboards beneath my ass, and somehow I could feel how my pubic hair too was sopping wet, which didn’t even make sense because moisture doesn’t flow uphill, but somehow I was a mop down there, from top to bottom. I was slippery, I was slimy, and I knew I smelled enough to stink up the whole large attic room. But the guys had all muscled in close, at this point. I was sure they could all smell me.

Mark took out his iPhone, and motioned to the other guys to do the same. Now I could feel nine pairs of eyes and nine phones all staring at me, boring holes into my naked skin. I let out a little whimper, which sounded like a sexual moan and maybe it was, a little, and everyone snickered. They were all grinning feverishly.

“Here’s your dare, April. I want you to open your legs for my camera. For all the cameras. Hold them wide open, so that everyone can see how much you’ve been enjoying this evening, enjoying this little game. Open your legs and show us what a slut you are, April, what a disgusting, perverted rape-slut you truly are. Oh April. Your parents would be so disappointed in you. Oh my god, you are so filthy. Okay, so spread them for us, and then, April, I want you to touch it for us. Touch it exactly as you like, April, exactly as you do at home, in your own bed. We all want to see exactly what you do to your filthy, needy little pussy, while you are under your covers fantasizing about being raped, April.  Correction: Fantasizing about being brutally raped. Yes little rape-whore, please rub yourself for us, and please, while you are fingering your dirty little twat, please explain to me, and to the boys, and to my camera, exactly what you meant by saying you fantasize about being brutally raped? Isn’t rape already brutal? how is being raped 'brutally' different from being raped normally? Do you have to be tied up? do the guys beat you, whip you, or hurt you in other ways as they rape you? are the rapists rougher, stronger, or unusually well-endowed? Do they fuck your asshole too? Do they fuck you with their fists? With bottles and baseball bats or something? I want you to explain this to us. And to my camera. To everyone’s camera. The whole world wants to know, April Cunis. Use details from your real fantasies. We’re gonna put the lie detector on you so you don’t dare cheat.” 

I was in the zone now. 

I felt like I was on drugs, serious drugs that are very scary and very dangerous, but people still do them because they feel too good to stop. I knew these boys were going to hurt me, but I didn’t care, I wanted it. My stomach was fluttering and I thought maybe I was about to cum without any rubbing, or maybe I was about to wet myself, I wasn’t sure which. Whatever happens these boys were going to see it. Bruce fastened the lie detector clips to my left-hand fingers. I looked up at Mark…

And I slowly spread my legs.

I wasn’t just showing them, I was giving myself to them. Everyone looked at me with hunger, and I was their feast, or no, I was their prey. My pussy smelled like ripe ham, and yes, it was glistening, my whole pubic area was glistening with my personal juices, some running between my legs and up my buttcrack, some more viscous, sticking to my labia and pubic mound. I was messy and red, and wide open for them, a willing victim. I raised my pussy up to show them I was theirs. My nipples were extended strangely too, and I could see my tiny clitty poking up, even from above. I closed my eyes and without trying to, found myself grinding my pussy up into the air. 

One of the boys, his face a bit pale, said, “you whore.” 

Mark was getting it all on his phone camera, as were the others, and it was only slowly beginning to dawn on me that he could, and probably would, show the whole town. The whole school. The whole world. The only reason I didn’t freak out at this thought was that it blended with all the others… I was having a million little fears and humiliations sticking into me like a million fiery needles, but together they were turning into one great rush of perverted need. I could feel my need to be violated in every nerve, and as I pushed the palm of my hand up against the top of my vagina, trapping my swollen clit between the hard part of my wrist and my pubic bone, and tried to squish the life out of it, I could hear Mark saying “Tell us, April. “Tell us what happens to a girl when she is raped brutally.? What happens to her?”

I didn’t realize at first that I had been moaning, and when I tried to get the first words out they were gummed up with my moans. So I opened my eyes. Mark was gently pinching my left nipple, but none of the other guys were touching me. But I could see how stiff their cocks were through their pants. What happens to her?” I asked rhetorically. Mark nodded.

“She gets… um… she gets hurt.”

“Hurt how?”

“Hurt hard. Hurt really bad. Oh they hurt her really bad! Mmm… oooh. Yeah they hurt her everywhere. Oh gosh she feels it, she feels them hurting her…. Oooh yessss….”

“Good girl April. Keep telling us.” Mark shifted positions so that he could reach both of my nipples, but still his touch was extremely light. “Why are they hurting her, April?”

“Oh because she deserves it!” I blurted out. “She fucking deserves it!” I spontaneously started to whap my pussy with my hand, as hard as I could, aiming for my clit with my palm, to slam it against my pubic bone.

“Is that how you do it?” Asked Mark.

“Not really”

“Just do what you usually do” he instructed. “April, why does she deserve it?” I started digging into my vagina with my middle finger, and then quickly stroking the underside of my clit. 

“Because she’s a whore. Oooh she’s a disgusting pig. She’s a pig and she fucks her dog.”

“She fucks her dog?” Asked Mark.

“Yes she fucks it, she does it, she lets her dog fuck her!” I bent up so I could reach and started really slamming my finger in. I could feel more juice splashing around down there, and realized I was maybe going to squirt, which is even more embarrassing, but I wanted it.

“You’re a very bad girl, April. I bet you fuck your dog, don’t you. April, admit it. You fuck your dog Ralphie, don’t you?” He knew the name of my dog.

“Oh yessss yessss yes oh my god. Mmmmm yessss. I do it. I let him do it. Oh my god!” I started slamming my pussy, slapping it with my whole hand.

“NO April. Bad Girl! Bad GIRL!” Mark grabbed my wrist and held it behind my back. “The punishment is for the men to decide.” 

“Ooooh god I’m so disgusting!”

“Yes you are, April. You are a dog-fucking whore. What happens to girls who fuck their dogs, April. What should happen to them?”

“They should be hurt. They should really be hurt. They should be fucked, deep inside their little pussies, they should be brutally, brutally raped… raped with something hard HARD! And it has to hurt… it’s a bad shape, it should hurt, it should be splintery! They should be held down and raped up their tiny little twats with a broken splintery… a BRANCH!! Fuck them with a branch… ooooh… yeah yeah yeah… yesss so much…. You fuck it in so deep, fuck it in so hard… oh it hurtsssss.”

“Is this a thick branch?”

Yes yes thick… so thick!”

“How thick? Thick like a big cock?”

“Nonono thicker! Much thicker! Thicker and rougher!”

“Thick like a chair leg?”

“Way thicker! And rougher… it has to rip her pussy, rip it on the inside! Ooh yeah yesyesyes! Oh my god! And they gotta fuck her deep with it. Really hit the back, and all the splintery edges poking her, ramming right on her cervix!”

“Is this what you deserve, April Cunis the dogfucker?”

I was suddenly a little shocked at myself, at what I was saying, and I couldn’t speak for a second, I sort of lost my breath. I remembered that everybody was watching, and that they might do anything to me, and that what I said might become my reality. I choked up.

“Answer me April. Is that what you deserve? You are a dogfucker, right”

I had to answer him. “Yesssss” I gasped as I resumed finger-fucking myself, although more slowly. 

“Say it, April. What are you?”

“I’m a… a… a dogfucker.” I felt so humiliated, so small, so filthy. I felt subhuman. My cheeks were burning, but it also felt good… sooo good. I didn’t barely have to move my finger, I could feel the heat of the shame and humiliation churning in my tummy, pulsing from within, making my “swampy little twat” begin to spasm from within… almost. I had to keep my fingers utterly still now, or I would cum.

“And April, how should dogfuckers, like you, be punished? Say it.”

“I should be fucked with a branch. Oh god… oh my god” I gasped. I had to concentrate with all my might not to cum. “I should be fucked so hard, I should be fucked. I should be… Brutally. Raped. with a… with a… a Big. Thick.  Splintery…” my panting snd moaning took my breath away and I could not finish saying the words. But I didn’t cum.

Now Mark resumed stroking my nipples, very lightly and slowly. And it suddenly dawned on me that I was being manipulated by an expert, but I didn’t care. “April, what else do you fantasize about? How else do dogfuckers like you need to be punished?” He was talking very quietly and intimately, but everyone could hear. He caressed my nipples maddeningly slowly, right on the hardening tips. I could feel my pulse beating in them, right in the tips. And I knew exactly what I was supposed to tell them now, but it was so personal, and so weird, so sick…

“Um… Oh god… I’m sorry… it’s too embarrassing…” I was as red as a beet, I could feel the flush from my beet-red face right down my chest and it seemed like my titties were blushing too. I was hyperventilating too. It was like a panic attack but also I was breathing hard like a person panting, like you pant when you are “doing it”. It was all one thing, for me. Mark kept stroking my nipples, getting a little rougher with them, which felt like terrible tickling, the kind you might remember if you have ever been held down, as a child, and tickled relentlessly by an older brother or sister. It was terrible… but I did not want it to stop.

“April. You know the rules. You have to tell us.”

“I… I… Because I fuck my dog. It’s because I fuck my dog, and, and um… this is why I have to be punished… um…” my heart was almost too weak…

“Punished how, April?”

“I have to, um, I have to be made to… Outside. At the picnic spot. You guys would bring a Hibachi. You guys would have the Hibachi and you would put in the coals. The coals would be all ready and red and glowing hot…” 

I couldn’t believe I was telling them this. I had stroked myself to orgasm many times with this exact fantasy, but never in a million years had I ever imagined I would admit it to anyone. Admit that I really wanted it. But at that moment, I did. I craved it, I craved the real experience, with every nerve in my poor hyper-aroused body. And the shame felt like fire. It fed the fire. 

I could feel it all over. My face, my lips, and very much in my achingly hard nipples, which were on fire with the horrible shame of this, of telling these boys this. I didn’t want them to know. This was supposed to be private. I wanted it to be private. My tummy churned, and below it my weeping pussy ached with the horror of what was happening, of the thought of them knowing, of the thought of the cameras recording every word, recording me finger-fucking myself as I confessed to this sickening fantasy… but here I was. What could I do?

“You have to say it, April. You have to tell us everything.” Mark said this, right in my ear, and I knew he was right.

I started to cry a little. “Okay.”

“Okay. Okay so what happens? How must you be punished?”

“Yessss. Okay, okay… so… So you guys have to make me take off my pants. Take off all my clothes. And… You burn them. In the Hibachi. You guys… I have to watch you do it, watch you burn every last stitch of my clothing, just laughing about it. And we are outdoors, you know at the picnic spot, you know the one near the school. Not too private. At all. And with just you guys to give me a ride home, maybe. Or maybe not home, probably not. Probably not home, whatever you want, take me wherever you want, not necessarily home. Maybe leave me there. My clothes are burned.  And then… Oh god, this is so embarrassing. Oh god I ca’t, I can’t…” I begin to sob, but Mark gives my nipples a quick twist and I stop.

“April?”

“Yes I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Keep going.” Mark resumed stroking the tips of my nipples, slowly, maddeningly, while I played with my twat in front of the room full of boys. All of them were hard, and staring at me. “You are doing fine April, you are following the rules. But you have to say it. Now.”

 “You have to hurt my ass…” I am weeping while I say it, and the shame is pulsing in my nipples, making my pussy yearn for the deep and horrible fucking, the raping it needs, “my ass has to be… you have to grab me by my arms and… my legs. To keep me from kicking. But you guys would spread my legs too… because I’m a dirty dogfucker and I deserve it I deserve it I deserve it. I deserve to be lowered onto the Hibachi.” I could hear one of the guys in the room gasp, and everyone was breathing harder, listening intently as I whispered my horrifying confession. “I need to have my big fat naked bottom… lowered… pressed down onto… it. Onto the Hibachi. The grill. And burned. Burned. You have to burn it, force me down on it, make me burn my ass. Burn my dog-fucking assssss. You have to leave grill-marks on my ass, so everybody can see that, permanently. You have to hurt my big fat bottom and mark it so everyone knows. So everyone knows what a whore I am. What a dogfucking whore. Everyone knows. Forever.”

There was silence from the group. Mark started to pinch down on my nipples, slowly, harder and harder. “April, do you let your dog fuck you in the ass?”

I could not speak for a long moment, but I rubbed myself faster and made some sort of utterance.

Finally I said “Yes.”

I was so ashamed. But it was true. And I was supposed to tell them. Those were the rules.

“You are disgusting, April. And this is who you really are, who you really are. You are a depraved slut, April. A depraved, subhuman slut. A rape slut. And a pain slut — no, a torture slut. Is that what you are April, a torture slut?”

“Yes.”

Oh April. You must hate yourself so much. I think you are right that you need to be punished like this, like you are describing. I think you really need this. Guys, do you think she needs it, for real?”

Every boy in the room murmured their assent, and my little clit stood up harder, poking right out of its little hood. It too, was on fire with horrible shame. Mark began, slowly, to dig his fingernails into the tips of my nipples. And that did not tickle. Not only did it feel good, it felt insanely good. It was pain, but I needed it, every nerve ending in my body craved it. I needed it so much, I was so desperate for this sensation, it was just pure crazy pleasure. He dug his fingernails in deep, right into the tips, as hard as he could. Everyone was watching. And I started to moan.

“What else happens to disgusting dogfuckers like you, April. We need to know everything. What happens next?”

“Oh god.” I start to grind my pussy into the air at them, needing so much to be touched, to be hurt by someone there. “You guys turn me around. With the grill. You turn my body around, so I am facing the grill. You are laughing at me. At the marks you have made on my stupid fat bottom, at the grill marks, which will stay with me forever. You are laughing, and I am crying. And then you grab my hips, hold them up, hold my ass up, and some of you begin spanking my burned ass, for a laugh. But really, you are positioning me in front of the grill. I have to be in the right spot. And then you are holding my arms behind my back, and holding my ass high in the air, and then you stop spanking and someone grabs from each side of me and then you guys are pushing on my back, pushing me down towards the grill. You guys are pushing my titties, my big fat titties, right into the grill! Ohhh… yesss… that’s what you do, that’s what you have to do to me, you have to burn me oh my god! Oh god shit.” Mark is grinding my nipples between his thumbs and his middle fingers, and digging his pointer fingers, with his fingernails, right into the tips of my nipples very hard    ‘“…you guys are laughing at me, because I’m just a disgusting dogfucker and I deserve it all, I deserve it all so much…” I am panting now and gasping “you guys need to push my titties right down onto the grill, right down on the grill. And burn them. Oh you guys are going to grill my ass and titties. Because I’m a dogfucking slut, I’m your subhuman piggy painslut. Oh you should. Oh you should take me and do that to me, you should do all that to me. I admit it! I deserve it! Oh god oh god oh god” I start openly crying now, as I fingerfuck myself very hard.

“I think someone should give her a kick right in the twat,” said one of the guys. “Who’s got the biggest boots?” Asked another, and everyone snickered. My whole body was on fire with lust and shame. I felt like the Devil had control of me. Mark reached up and tore my hand away from my twat, one split second before I wold have cummed.. Then Mark said something surprising. And with a tone that was surprising, because it was aimed at the boys, not at me. 

“I think we should all kick her twat.” He gave my nipples a vicious little twist. “Would you like that, freak?” 

Now I was a freak. That seemed somehow worse, in a way, than being all the other things. I realized that possibly I had convinced Mark I was too weird for a girl, I was somehow not feminine because I was too different, too weird and perverted, too much of a freak.… I was beyond being a “nasty whore” and now I was a pig. A pig who wanted to be roasted. I suddenly felt ugly and fat… but somehow I liked that too… I wanted them to hate me, and not feel sorry for me. They were going to destroy me, and that thought made my body shiver from head to toe with insane need.

“Would you, April? Be honest. Would you like that? Do you want us to take turns kicking you, hard, as hard as we can… April, should we do it? Right. Between. Your spread. Open. Legs… April Cunis? Is that what you want to have happen to you, right now, April? You have to tell the truth.”

There I was, on the edge of the precipice, right where Mark had put me. Right where I had put myself, with Mark’s help. I knew, absolutely, that I should not do this. I knew I would never come back from this, that things would never be the same. It was already too late, really, but this was category one insane, to invite this. But I could not control the insane yearning… 

“Uh Huh,” I whispered, just to him. 

“You have to say it”, reminded Mark.

“Um… yes. I do. I am saying it.”

“Full sentences, loud enough so everyone can hear. And so the phone recordings will pick it up. We want everyone to hear this, everyone you know to hear this. We are going to show them all the videos, April. Of course we are. Everyone at school. Your Mom and Dad. Your friend’s weird dad. You dad’s weird friends. We’ll make sure they all see it. The whole town, the whole school, the whole internet… everyone you know or will ever meet.” The shame welled up in me so high I was floating on flames. One tiny touch to my clit and I would have cum, screaming. I felt like a crazy person… I was a crazy person. And I could not keep it in:

“Yes please. Yes. I want you guys to do it. Please kick me between my legs. Please hold my legs open so I can’t close them, and don’t let me close them until everyone is finished and ready to stop. I deserve this because I fuck my dog, and dog-fucking whores like me need to be punished very, very severely. They do. You guys should do this and everything else to me, anything you want, from now on, forever. And you should show everyone. Oh god. Yes Mark. Yes please. Don’t ask me again, I might be screaming and begging you to stop, but don’t listen.”

“Wow” said Mark. “You certainly don’t mince words.” The boys laughed.

“But, you know, since you said all that, to us and to, you know, everyone who might see these videos, I think you might want to tell everyone who you are and where to find you. Yes. That’s what a public dogfucking slut would need, if she were to be properly punished, forever. Forever, like you say. And I agree. If you want to be punished forever, like you say, April Cunis, you should speak to our cameras, right now. You should invite anyone and everyone seeing these videos to look you up maybe find you, maybe feel free to take a turn with you, right?” He started yanking on my nipples mercilessly, and rhythmically. I realized I was now a thing, to him, and to all these guys. To everyone. “Tell the cameras your name, your full name. And where to find you.”

I looked right into Mark’s camera. “I am April Joy Cunis. I live in Charlesburgh, Oregon, at 2824 Prosperity Lane. I go to school at Charlesburgh High, and I work Tuesdays and Fridays at the Target in Charlesburgh. Now you know where to find me, if you want to rape me and hurt me.” A huge sinking feeling swept over me. I was in freefall, but I was so insanely excited! It was the sensation, once again, of floating on flames.

At Mark’s urging, two guys got up, each grabbing one of my legs. Mark didn’t want them to stamp-kick me, for fear of breaking my pelvic bone, so they turned me over so I was on my knees with my legs spread as wide as possible and my butt pushed high in the air, my tummy pushed down so my vulva was sticking straight out and up where it could be reached most easily by a swinging foot or boot. My head was in Mark’s lap and he was holding me firmly by my breasts, and tweaking my nipples roughly but wonderfully. Then they started kicking.

There was no queue or line, no pause in between kicks. Some of them swung from the side, some came right up the middle, impacting hard with the bridge of their foot. Some jamming the toes of their boots right up inside a little ways, others karate-kicking with the heels of their cowboy boots. Each kick made me higher. I was in the stratosphere, I was ‘round the bend’ with overstimulation. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt me before, but I was cumming. My damaged pussy was orgasming, not completely all at once, because the friction was not right, but in spurts, with each kick, each explosion of pain in my ruined, bleeding twat. I knew I was squirting for them, I could hear them laughing at me for it, peels of derisive, joyful laughter. I was the ultimate whore-toy, a Barbie doll they could break and ruin. I was so worked up I was multiply orgasmic and even though the sensations were all wrong, it was as though I could not finish an orgasm, I just kept spasming with each clumsy kick, with each excruciating, thunderous blow to what was now my deeply bruised, hugely swollen, spread open pussy lips. I could feel myself still squirting, in little bursts, I could feel the wetness I was making. Some of it was surely blood, I knew, but most of it was cum. 

Until it wasn’t. Suddenly I peed. My bladder had somehow received the impact of a deep blow aimed at my clit, and I released my urine all over the floor.

“Oh god she’s so gross!” I heard someone shout. “Eww.. Ick and it smells too. I can smell it. Can you?” It turned out they could all smell it. I could smell it too… I must not have been drinking enough water lately, or maybe it had something to do with my hormones… It smelled funny, not like my normal pee. Suddenly I realized that I had been drugged! Adrenaline coursed through my body anew at the thought that they — that Mark — had manipulated me in this way. What a scam! My inhibitions had been loosened chemically… but of course, this was still certainly me. These were my dreams they were realizing, my fantasies. It was all still my fault, their derision was well-earned, well deserved. I realized just as suddenly that they had drugged me just to get me out of my clothes, to get me to strip and take a couple of dares. I would have done that anyway, and these “bonus rounds” were about me. They had stripped me bare and revealed, to everyone, what I am. I later found out that they had given me truth serum.

“Okay get her over here.” They pulled me away from Mark and turned me around. “BAD GIRL!” An overweight frat-boy type shouted in my face. “Rub her face in it” Someone said, and that’s what they did, the frat boy grabbed me by the hair and pushed my face down into the mess. It was not just pee — very yellow, stinky pee — but also a little blood, and of course quite a bit of my slick, slimy pussy juice, which had it’s own distinct smell. I looked up at the frat boy, knowing he had every right to feel exactly what he felt about me, that I was a subhuman, creepy, stupid, slutty little whore and I deserved whatever I got. He was right, he knew it, I knew he knew it, and I wanted him to know I knew we both knew it, so I looked him in the eye and took a big sloppy lick of the stinky urine and other personal fluids off the floor, I gobbled and slurped as best I could without breaking eye contact. “Oh my god you are so gross” he said, and I felt a disturbing but intense  sense of pride well up inside me. I smiled through my tear and mascara-stained face. “Do you like me this way?”

“Nope. I hate you.” It was a simple statement of fact. “I want to punch you in your stupid whore face.”

“You should then” I said. 

i have been trying to follow my slut rules, and i can't do it always, but i'm getting better at it, and i had an experience i'd like to share, although to be honest it put me into a wierd state which is why i've been sorta absent the lat little bit.

okay so i finally figured out that all the bars in this area are not "rough" anymore, in any real sense. so someone gave me the idea that i might have to drive out of town and go to a more of a "hick" bar in a smaller town where at least my "unladylike" appearence and behavior would at least be more noticeable.

well, i heard a long time ago that there was a meth lab in a certain area, and it was a pretty big deal, and it was near enough to a certain small town. so even though i didn't know any of the bars there, and it was a three hour drive, i decided to go there, actually i googled the area and found a bar that was not even in the town but along a highway very near town but not in it. one of the yelp reviews implied that it was "very sketchy" and said "don't go there at night". so i went!

i decided that i would go late at night so i ended up not leaving my house until 8pm and i didn't get there until after 11. i might have gone on a Friday or Saturday, but i couldn't wait, i was too excited, but it worked out, and by that i mean i had a very intense experience, one that i have been wanting for a long, long time... i am still lort of shell shocked, and i had to go to the doctors because i was worried i had maybe really been injured, but i am okay. i am not injured, and i am very spacey but very happy... i feel like an insane person saying this but i am definitely going to go back!

when i got there, there were a few guys at the bar close to the entrance, but there were a few guys who were more loud and drunk at a table in the back. the table was pretty close to the bar, and i decided that if i sat at the very back of the bar i would be only a bout six feet from their table, and that's where i wanted to be. 

i had a shot of jameson's for courage, and then another because i needed a little more courage, and also i had a plan to get drunk and to stay until closing if i needed to. i wore a clingy, strappy red dress which barely covered my ass, but i had on black garters which could be seen, plainly, below the hemline. so even when i was standing you could see a sliver of my very pale thighs between my hem and stockings, and of course the garters themselves clipped onto the stockings, and when i walked on my red 3" heels, or when i sat on the bar stool, of course a lot more was visible, and of course according to my slut rules i am mot allowed to wear panties. my pussy would be on full display if i spread my legs. the dress would not cover it. and that is what my slut rules required me to do.

so that's what i did. after my two shots, i swiveled around in my seat, faced the guys at the table, shut my eyes, and opened my legs.

i was afraid to open my eyes for a few minutes. but i could hear them talking... not every word, but most of the louder words. "check out that fuckin' whore" is the first thing i heard. some laughing and some whispering, and then i think i heard one of them say "i can see her pee hole" and then a burst of laughter, and i definitely felt my face turning a darker shade of red with the pure humiliation of it, but then i heard one guy scoot his chair back and stand up, and i knew he was approaching me, so i opened my eyes. according to my slut rules i am supposed to look him straigt in the eyes and open my legs wider. even though i was almost paralized with humiliation, something inside of me was there, and i knew i had to follow all the rules. i had driven three miles for this.

so it was a tall red haired, lanky guy with a mustache, no beard but whiskery. i looked him right in his eyes, which were blue. he had a big, sarcastic smile, and he glanced down at my pussy as i spread wider and scooted forward on the stool. i tried to smile but i couldn't. i'm sure he could see how scared i was. but also, it was more than obvious he didn't care how i felt. 

"lady," he said. "did you know that we can smell your pussy from all the way over at our table?"  

i sat there silently, unnable to respond. i was red as a beet. of all the things he could have said, this was the last thing i would have expected. i started to close my legs.

"nope," he said, motioning with his hands to leave my legs open.  he took a step closer to me, standing in between my legs so i couldn't close them. i looked up and noticed everyone in the bar was staring at us... not that many people, but maybe six others plus the five from his group. "barkeep! bring me a bottle of peppermint schnapps!" he raised his right hand above his head and snapped his fingers. "and grab that bar towl for me!"

i was looking at his whiskery face with his sarcastic smile. his expression was one of pure amusement, and an unquestioning self-confidence. i felt like i was in a movie. i could tell he was some kind of criminal, or something. everyone was looking at us, and it didn't bother us a bit. i felt like i better do what he said. i was too scared and too embarassed to think about anything, even sex. it was just all, all of a sudden happening, and happening very fast. this was what i have fantasized about for years, but it didn't feel like a dream come true, it didn't feel fun. it felt very scary, but i could also feel my pussy flooding, and i was worried he could actually smell it.

and in fact, as the bartender quickly grabbed the bottle and towl, he put his hand between my legs and shoved his middle finger up inside me.

he didn't finger fuck me at all, he just swiped it around a bit and kinda scooped some of my wetness. ""you are wet as fuck, you pervert" he said, then he held his finger to his nose. "Oh My God!" he yelled. everyone in the bar could hear him. "your fuckin' twat smells like bad cheese! don't you ever wash yourself, you skanky sewer slut?!

as the bar tender set the bottle of peppermint schnapps and the bar towel down on the bar near my shoulder, everyone seemed to be moving closer. i was so wet. i'm generally wet whenever i'm even thinking about sex, but i was really soaking. i think my whole bush was soaked, which doesn't even make sense, but i swear that's how it felt. and i really believed he could smell it.

he looked at me, and said sort of quietly, just to me "you really want to get fucked, don't you?" he said it just to me but by now people were circling in close and probably many of them could hear. "don't you?" i whispered "yes."

"speak up!" he yelled in my face, grabbing me by the hair. he turned my face towards my audience. "if you really wanna get fucked, you gotta say so!"

facing the small, all male crowd, i said "i want to be fucked." but i said it way too quietly.

"I can't hear you!" my red-haired tormentor intoned loudly and sarcastically. "If you want everyone here to fuck you, you gotta say it so everyone here can hear you!"

"wait!" he said. then he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "say it loud and clear, but only say it if you really mean it. do you really mean it?" he asked. "uh-huh," i affirmed, shyly. "I knew it, you dirty little pig." Then he looked back up at our audience:

"This slut wandered in here dressed like this, sat down with her naked ass on our barstool, then wheeled around and spread her legs for all the guys at my table to see her ugly, stank-twat. She's the fuckin' whore of Babylon, and she smells like the's been fucking dogs all day! oh good, that's right, let's get this action on our phones."  some of the guys had their phone cameras pointed at me. "This bitch obviously deserves whatever she gets. But! But, my friends, it gets worse. he leaned down to me and asked quietly "what's your name?" "april" i said.

"april here fuckin' wants it. i think she seriously wants this. april here fuckin' wants whatever the fuck happens to her tonight. Don't you, april?"

this was a terrible, amazing moment for me. i was suddenly pretty sure that i could stop this if i said no and started crying and struggling. i don't think everyone in this bar would have raped me, and now it was too public for it to be safe for them to do it anyway. rape is a crime, and i didn't think all these people knew each other. so it was really a strange moment, and i was stuck in my head for a moment, with everybody staring at me.

"wat do you want, april?" my red-haired abuser asked me matter of factly? "do you want this?"

"yes" i said meekly.

"it would be better if you spoke up a bit, april. and please speak in complete sentances>"

"yes i want this" i said just loud enough for everyone to hear.

 "what do you want, april?"

"i want to be fucked!"

"where do you want to be fucked, april?"

"anywhere you want." i started to get a little more able to speak. i started to like being asked these questions. "anywhere you want to fucking drag me!"

"oh you want us to drag you around?"

"sure" i said.

"like in the parking lot?"

"yes in the parking lot!"

"wouldn't that hurt, if we dragged you around in the parking lot? you basically have nothing covering your tush!" my red-haired abuser seemed to be enjoying himself. our audience was laughing too, although some were pretty visibly disgusted. i still had my legs spread wide, and everyone was staring, and i was soaking wet.

"so you don't mind if you get hurt? you would surely get hurt being dragged around the parking lot by your hair, scraping your ass against all the jagged concrete and gravel and so on, right? wouldn't that hurt?

"yes"

"but you don't mind it?"

"i don't care?

"you don't care, or you want it, april. be honest." 

"i want it."

"you want to be hurt?"

i was quiet for a few beats. i wanted to say yes... of course i did, i've been waiting my whole life for this, but also it was very scary, although somehow i was not halted entirely by the fear or the humiliation, although i felt them both intensely. but the blushing, and also the mortal fear, were also somehow adding to the crazy thrill for me, and the thrill was definitely, and dizzyingly, sexual. not only was my whole vulva and pubic area sopping wet like a mop, but i noticed myself involuntarily grinding my hips a little, lifting my exposed pussy up off the stool. i was fully leaning back on the bar with my weight on my elbows, by ass crack on the edge of the round, padded stool (which was soaking wet and probably glistening), my red pumps locked in the cross-bar of the stool, and lifting my ass off the seat slightly as i made involuntary grinding motions, pushing my dirty nasty pussy up towards everybody who could see it, who were taking videos of it, videos that had my face in them too and were almost surely be posted on the internet. I was becoming very fond of the idea of letting them all fuck me. but i wanted more then fucking. if you've looked much at my uploaded pictures, you must have an idea of where my mind goes when i am this worked up.

so i was hesitating, terrified to admit to this crowd of strange men that i not only wanted a good gang-fucking, but that i also wanted, desperately, to be hurt. i could barely say it. but then i remembered the slut rule that i always have to be honest. and that decided it. i have always been a rule-follower.

at first all i could say was "yes".

"yes what?" asked my red-haired devil.

"yes i want to be hurt." my heart sank into my stomach, my whole body blushed crimson, my nipples stiffened into hard little nubs, and of course, my pussy flooded freshly and copiously, so that i believe i could feel it dripping onto the floor in front of the bar stool. and my upwords thrusting grinding motions went into a kind of hyperdrive.

a huge smile came over my red-haired devil's face, and he looked right at me, right at my eyes. i could feel him looking right into me, but he spoke loudly, so that everyone in the bar could hear it. "you are the most disgusting little pig, and i bet you want us to hurt your your disgusting little piggy body, don't you?"

"yes"

"say it! say it so that everyone can hear you!"

"i am a disgusting pig. a piggy slut, that's what i am. that's all i am.  and what i want, all i really want, is for you guys to, um... what i really want, is, um, if you want to, is to hurt my body. i just want you guys to fuck me and rape me, brutally, and to really, if you want i mean really to hurt me, everywhere. really hurt me, if you want.

red haired devil laughed fiendishly as he pulled my shoulder straps down and flipped the cups of my bra and dress down, uncovering my small breasts. "you want us to hurt these nubbins, right?"

"yes"

he slapped my face, which felt like an electric explosion, the sting just radiating the erotic sensations towards my nerve endings, while the shame of being treated like a subhuman whore hit me in the core of me being. i wanted to be slapped again.

 "yes what?!" he demanded.

"yes i want you to hurt. um, i want all of you to hurt my breasts. please hurt my breasts." I could barely breathe.

then he grabbed my legs up off the stool, both with one arm, and he used the other arm to slam his palm into my nude fanny. it was just a spank, but again it felt like electricity exploding and i could feel an awakening of the whole area, including the little vortex of my anus, and all i wanted was to be spanked and whipped there so brutally that the skin of my pedunda peeled right off.

"where else do you want us to hurt you?"

"my ass. Please hurt my ass, everybody, please please please hurt my fat piggy ass so hard!' I was squirming aroung in his arms, but i let him put me back down on the stool to get some balance. but then, with my legs still pulled up high and the small of my back resting against the barstool, he reached down with his free hand, the one that he had spanked me with a moment before, and spread my ass cheeks to reveal my dirty, stinky asshole to the crowd. i don't know how dirty and stinky it actually was, but it was certainly sloppy and wet from all the pussy juice that had leaked into it. well, now it was on view.

"i bet you like being fucked up the ass, april. right?" "yes" i said.  "but does fucking your anus reall count as hurting it, techically?" be honest, april.

no no no... please fuck it, fuck my ass, but yes, dont just fuck it. please, as he says, fucking it doesn't count... please hurt it hurt it! HURT MY FUCKING ASSHOLE! REALLY HURT IT!"

"oh, i think we might have hit a live wire!" said my red Devil. "april, you are obviously a depraved little piggy, who never washes and by the smell of it fucks dogs all day and doesn't ever shower or douche afterwards, but honestly, are you hoping that these guys will hold your ass cheeks apart just to do terrible, painful things to the outside, and maybe even deep inside, your stinky little asshole? 

i was somewhat taken aback by this, and brought back to the reality of how much this was likely to hurt. having the eleven men rape me would, i think, be fun, even if it might leave me a little banged up. But i had no idea what they would do to my asshole. would they punch-fuck it? would they shove rocks in it? would they burn it with cigarettes? but all these thoughts made me more excited, not less, and i thought of a scene from one of my posted drawings, one i really like, in which someone gets a glowing hot metal rod forced up her ass. i have fantasized about such a thing happening to me so many times i can't count. i'm not sure that i'd ever want th really realize that fantasy, but right then the thought of giving ny ass up for whatever painful things the worst of them dared to do to me, and to tell them so, to put my "most private place" on offer not only for gentle penetration but for rough fucking and deliberate hurting, was really exactly what i was wanting right then. it felt like the ultimate surrender, and just the anticipation of explicitly offering myself to these men in that way was making me grind relentlessly at the emply air. and they were all witnessing this.

 "hurt it, yes, yes. please, please, my anus is for hurting, hurting, please. i want it so much!!"

the room fell silent, but only for a few seconds. "i see" said my red-haired devil. "and i can smell by the stench of your smoking twat. which reminds me. you probably like your twat to be roughed up too i imagine. you are a nasty little pig, and i bet your insatiable little stink-twat is what drives you to these depths, isn't it. so if i were you, i guess i'd be pretty darn mad at my own vagina: firstly that it stinks, secondly that it leaks like a broken faucet, and thirdly that it must be the very exact part of your pathetic anatomy which drives you to do all this. Am i right?"

"yes," i admitted meekly.

"come on, say it loud enough for everyone to hear!"

"yes, it's my disgusting, smelly wet pussy. it's my pussy that drives me to want these things, want them so much that here i am. here i am, asking for it. i am a slave of my evil, evil pussy."

"yes, i thought as much. hmm. so, i suppose you will want us to punish your disgusting, leaky, smelly, evil pussy. you would like that, wouldn't you?"

"yes please, yesssss." i started hyperventilating.

"we should really just do anything we want to this evil pussy of yours, right? we should really teach it a lesson. am i right?

yessss, teach it a lesson." i was so excited by this thought that i couldn't get my breathe back.

"go ahead bitch. hyperventilate until you pass out. we don't care. this sounds like a "no limits" agreement on pussy torture, isn't it?

again, this felt like a crossroads that i did not have to pass. i could have said no. i waited until i got my breath back, as my red haired Devil hovered above me, snickering.

"no limits" i said.

-------------

guys, this is taking forever to write. i might not be getting it all word for word, but yes, after many disappointing attempts, this is pretty much what really just happened to me the other night. i must have gone to the right place, and met someone who knew how to "read" me, and further he knew exactly what to do with me. i have never actually had an experience like this. apparently he is a part of a biker gang and they have woment who the "own" and who get banged up all the time, and "shared" with both the less abusive gang members and the more. I have been invited to become  one of their "bitches" and maybe i will, but maybe not. But i'll try to get tyhe rest of this down asap. but if i don't, i bet you can guess where i am!