Captured Fuckpig: A Cautionary Tale

"Whose pussy is this?" he asked evenly.

"Yours, sir," I breathed.

He stopped patting my pussy and again placed the tip of the crop at the base of my slit. This time he pulled it upward toward my clit, dragging the tip slowly within the folds of my cunt.

He held the tip in front of my face. It was shiny with my juices.

"Clean," he said, pushing the thin square of leather in to my mouth.

He looked in to my eyes as I licked, then sucked the tip clean.

"What are you?" he asked.

"I'm your fuckpig, sir," I murmured around the square of leather in my mouth.

"Are you going to put a show on for me, fuckpig?"

I continued to suckle the tip of the crop. I realized I was moaning involuntarily.

I had never been more aroused. Being used in real-life was a thousand times better than playing online. This was real. I was surprised at the depth of my emotion. It was as if I had suddenly developed a new sense and perceived for the first time a new dimension of existence. I guessed this was what they called "sub-space." My legs were trembling.

Eventually, he pulled the tip out of my mouth. Then he reached out and cupped my chin with his right hand.

"I asked you a question, cunt," he said sharply.

I pulled myself together.

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir. This fuckpig would love to put on a show for you, sir."

He walked over to the cheap desk chair and pulled it toward the middle of the room.

"This should do," he said matter-of-factly. "Beg me to let you masturbate, please."

I remained in my inspection position as I spoke.

"Sir, please let this worthless cunt masturbate. I promise to put on a good show for you, sir."

"How are you going to masturbate, you stupid cow?" he asked harshly.

"I'm...I'm going to hump this chair for you sir."

"Then ask properly."

I paused.

"Please let this worthless fuckpig hump the chair for your amusement, sir," I said softly.

"Get to it, cunt."

He grabbed me by the collar and pulled me to the chair. I didn't have to be told twice. I was aching for release.

By this time, I was an expert at humping furniture. Sizing up the chair, I quickly realized the best approach for this particular piece of furniture would be to stand over the chair sideways and lower myself on to the wooden back rest. I would keep one foot on the floor and the other on the seat of the chair as I squatted. It looked to be just short enough that I could ride it like a wooden pony.

I carefully turned the chair and began to get in to position.

"Hold it," said my owner sternly. "I want to put these on first."

I looked over at my owner. He was holding up a pair of handcuffs.

"I think it would look hot to see you hump the chair with your hands cuffed behind your back."

I hesitated for a moment. This was not in the script.

He seemed to sense my disquiet.

"Or forget it. No big deal," he said casually, tossing the handcuffs on the bed.

I looked over at the cuffs and thought about it for a few more seconds.

"No, it's okay sir. If that's what you want, please do it. You own me. I will do as I'm told," I said softly.

Then I said the three words which will haunt me for the rest of my life.

"I trust you," I said meekly, picking up the handcuffs and giving them to my owner.

I positioned myself over the chair and placed my hands behind my back.

My owner quickly walked up behind me and expertly locked the handcuffs on my wrists. I winced involuntarily as I felt the cold steel encircle each wrist and heard the mechanism zip in to place.

Then everything changed.

My owner's smile disappeared. He stood in front of me as I held myself poised over the chair. My hands were cuffed securely behind my back, so my balance felt very precarious. He grabbed my under the chin and tilted my face up until our eyes met.

"Oh, dear. You just went down the wrong rabbit hole, my sweet little fuckpig," said my owner with a laugh.

Then he let go of my face and walked over to the closet door and opened it.

There was a naked woman on her knees inside. She had what appeared to be a burlap sack over her head. He pulled off the bag, revealing the face of a pretty thirty-something blond. He pulled her up roughly by the thick black collar she wore around her neck.

"You can come out, 2. Let's get started. This one was even easier than you were."

I stared at them both mutely. I was still squatting over the chair. The height was perfect. All I had to do was lower myself on to the wooden spine of the back and I could get started. I couldn't understand what was happening. Didn't he want to see my show? Who was that girl? Was she going to watch too?

I noticed that the woman had FUCKPIG written across her chest in big block letters with red lipstick.

My owner was standing over me. I opened my mouth to ask what was going on.

That was when I recognized the girl.

I had seen her this morning. On my owner's blog. She had been smiling at the camera with the words FUCKPIG emblazoned across her chest. I looked down at her pussy. There was the number "#2."

I was temporarily speechless.

"Welcome to your new life, fuckpig. I own you now. For real," said my owner.

As he spoke, the other woman was going through my pocket book. In a moment, she had my wallet in her hand. She pulled out my driver's license and handed it to my owner.

He read me my name.

I struggled against my bonds, trying to wiggle my hands out of the cuffs, but they wouldn't budge. This couldn't be happening I thought desperately. This must be a joke.

My owner roughly pulled me off the chair and stood me up straight. He had one hand holding the chain of the handcuffs and one palming the back of my head. I couldn't move.

"Let's get her labeled," said my owner brusquely to the other woman.

"Yes, sir," she said softly as she approached.

I noticed she was holding a tube of red lipstick and a black sharpie.

Without preamble, she began to write something across my chest using the red lipstick.

I couldn't look down to see the letters, but I didn't need to. I knew what she was writing.

F U C K P I G

Now I knew where he got those pictures for his blog. The implications exploded in my mind. My shoulders sagged.

I was caught. My life was ruined.

I began to sob quietly.

The blond slave squatted and I felt the cold tip of the sharpie writing something above my shaved cunt. My owner let go of my head. I looked down.

"#6" was written on my bare vulva in thick black magic marker.

My owner sat down beside me.

"This is what's going to happen," he said softly, almost kindly.

"I now own you. I am going to train you as a real-life fuckpig. You're the sixth fuckpig I have captured using this scam. I can't believe how dumb you cunts are."

I looked over at the other woman. She was on her knees, her eyes on the floor.

"I am going to take twelve pictures of you today. You will stand and smile at the camera for each one."

I looked over at him and sniffed loudly.

"Why would I smile?" I asked defiantly. "You're just going to post them on your blog and ruin my life."

He put his hand on my knee and smiled.

"Wrong, fuckpig. As long as you obey me, none of the pictures will be posted. Ever."

I felt a spark of hope. Maybe there was a way out.

"For how long?" I asked quietly, looking down at the floor.

"For each month of obedience, I will delete one of the pictures from my phone. I'll let you do the math," he said evenly.

"Then I'll be free?" I asked. A faint beacon of hope began to flicker in my mind. How bad could it be?

"Then you'll be free," he said softly, patting my knee.

My owner stood and looked down at me.

I looked up in to his eyes.

"What about my husband and my family? They can't find out," I said desperately.

My owner smiled. He could sense me wavering.

"Don't worry fuckpig, I will not interfere with your vanilla life. Nobody will ever know you served me. You will be kept hooded when you are used by others. People don't want to see your face anyway. You're just a fuckpig now."

Used by others? Incredibly, I felt a quickening in my loins as he described using me as some kind of anonymous fuck puppet.

"Think of it as penance," he said softly. "After all, you're the one who thought it would be a good idea to meet a stranger in a motel room and have sex with a piece of furniture behind your husband's back. Don't you think it's fair that you should suffer the consequences for your own behavior?"

I felt my face burning.

I sat quietly for a few seconds. Then I looked over at the woman on her knees. Something occurred to me.

I had seen her picture on the blog that day.

"Wait a minute," I said. "I saw her picture on the blog this morning. I'm sure of it. If you don't post the pictures, how did it get there?"

My owner rubbed his hands together.

"Ah. Now the details. I said I would not post any of the pictures as long as you obey me. This is true."

He stood and walked over to the kneeling slave.

He reached down and looped a finger through the large D-ring on her collar.

"Fuckpig #2 is a school teacher from New Jersey. Married with kids, just like you."

He patted the slave on the head lightly.

"I caught her the same way I got you. She was bored and frustrated. She wanted to add a little spice to her life. She contacted me through my blog. You know the rest. I have owned her for almost a year. She has been a wonderful slave."

I looked over at the woman. She remained kneeling with her head bowed.

"Then why did you post her picture?" I asked reasonably.

"She was disobedient. Her old college roommate was visiting last weekend. I know this slave is straight and does not like to eat pussy, so naturally I ordered her to seduce her old friend and take pictures for my amusement. She failed. To me, this means she didn't try hard enough. She was disobedient, so I posted one of her pictures."

He continued to pet the slave absently as he spoke.

"It's actually the last one I have of her. She has been quite an obedient slave for eleven months. Only one month to go and she will be free."

At that the slave leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her owner's legs.

"No sir, never!" she wailed. "I will serve you always."

My owner pushed her gently away. He smiled down at the beautiful blond.

"They all say that," he said softly as he gently smoothed out her hair. "Some stay, some go."

He walked back over and sat next to me on the bed.

Something still wasn't right. It didn't add up.

"I don't get it," I said. "If you've already put her up on your blog, what is her incentive to stay? Isn't her life already ruined now? What if someone from work sees her picture?"

My owner smiled.

"The picture will only be posted for a short while, until she atones for her disobedience. There is an excellent chance it will not be re-blogged during that time. Even if it is, she can track the blogger and ask that the image be removed. The key is to get the picture down as quickly as possible, so the numbers stay manageable."

He stopped patting the slaves head and began to stroke her left cheek.

"All she has to do is perform one simple task and I will take the picture down immediately. Her reputation will remain intact," he said gently.

I thought about it for a moment. Things were beginning to make sense. This is why those pictures came and went on his blog with such regularity. The women were his slaves. When they were disobedient, their picture got posted until they made things right.

I looked over at the slave on her knees.

"What does she have to do?" I asked. I was curious, despite myself.

My owner stood up straight. He snapped his fingers and pointed to me. The slave crawled over and sat back on her haunches at my feet.

She looked up at me, her eyes pleading.

"All I have to do is make you cum with my mouth and the picture will be taken down," she said softly. "Please say you'll let me."

I looked down at the woman kneeling at my feet. For a long time, nobody spoke.

"I'm very good," she said desperately. "I've been extremely well-trained. I promise you'll like it. I'll do your ass too if you want."

She was close to babbling now. It was clear that she was on the verge of panic. I thought about how I would feel if I were in her position. I would do anything the get that picture taken down.

I looked up at my owner.

"Are you ordering me to let her do it?" I asked.

His smile widened and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nope. It's your decision, fuckpig," he said as he walked over to the chair and sat down.

I sat there on the bed with the woman at my feet. She was staring up at me longingly, hoping I would give her a signal, anything to indicate my assent.

"Please, ma'am. As one woman to another, I'm begging you. If that picture gets out, I'll lose everything. We don't have much time!"

She straightened herself on her knees, putting a hand on each of my thighs. I felt my pussy start to tingle.

"Look, if you like it, I'll do you whenever you like. You live in Connecticut, right? I'll come over to your house or you can meet me wherever you want. I'll do your friends, too. Male and female. Anytime, anywhere. Just please let me eat you."

I paused for only a few more seconds. What choice did I really have? The poor slave was so desperate.

I was acutely aware that a threshold was about to be crossed.

I was even more aware that I didn't give a shit.

I spread my legs slowly.

That was when I officially became an owned fuckpig.

I know what you're thinking. I was raped, forced to engage in sexual activities against my will. At the very least, I was coerced.

That's bullshit.

From the moment I felt the tip of his crop against my clit during my inspection, I knew I wanted to give myself completely to my owner. It was thoughtful of him to allow me the pretense of blackmail, but it was completely unnecessary.

The only reason I had been upset initially was that I thought he was going to post the pictures online and ruin my life.

He didn't ruin my life. He saved it.

The fact is, I enjoyed having that slave eat my pussy. Almost as much as I enjoyed eating hers a few minutes later as my new owner fucked me up the ass.

The pictures were a joke, a formality. I smiled in to the camera like a lunatic for each one. I didn't care. I knew they would never be posted. I would never be disobedient.

I was a fuckpig.

I was trained to please men and women in all possible ways. I became a serviceable piss slave. I was conditioned to equate sexual pleasure with pain and debasement.

I can't cum anymore, unless someone is hurting, degrading or humiliating me. Sometimes, I can cum from a cunt whipping alone, especially if a woman is doing it.

I had the #6 tattooed above my cunt. My owner didn't ask me to do this, I did it on my own. When he saw it, he called me a stupid cow and laughed. I told my husband it was my lucky number. I didn't give a shit what he thought, anyway.

My owner was right. My husband never did find out. My duties never interfered with my vanilla life.

At home, I remained the prototypical suburban mom. But at least once a week, I was used like the fuckpig I am. I would get a text or an email with a name and address and I would show up at the appointed time. Sometimes it was a man, sometimes it was a woman. Sometimes it was a couple or a group of people. I didn't care. I did as I was told.

I was a fuckpig.

My incriminating pictures are long gone, of course. My one-year term of service ended over a year ago. I serve now because I want to, because I like being a fuckpig.

Throughout my term of service, my owner continued to ensnare more women in his trap. He has ten fuckpigs in his harem now, but I'm pretty sure I'm his favorite.

That's why I find it so puzzling that he hasn't called me in over two weeks. He's never gone that long without calling or texting before.

He always had a friend or an acquaintance in town who could use me for an hour or two, a quick fuck or blow job in a motel room or back alley. And he loves sharing me with his female friends. I've gotten very good at licking pussy. He also uses me as entertainment at parties. It's always a big hit when I hump the furniture.

I don't get it. I wonder what's going on.

He hasn't responded to any of my texts.

Can it be he has finally carried out one of his many threats?

My owner works in the city. His office is close to mine. When he first acquired me, he made me come over during the noon hour so I could suck his cock while he ate lunch at his desk. Back then, I had no deepthroat skills, so I needed daily training.

Whenever I was called to serve him like this I would crawl under his desk, fully clothed in my conservative business suit and sensible two-inch heels. I would unbuckle his belt and start to worship his cock and balls while he ate or made phone calls.

Between calls, he always liked to toy with me as I sucked and licked, threatening what he would do to me in the future. It amused him to watch me squirm, knowing I would comply with any command, no matter how outlandish.

He threatened to order me to have "worthless cunt" tattooed above the #6 on my vulva. I would have done it. I would have made up some bullshit story to tell my husband about why I did it. I didn't care.

He threatened to have my udders and labia pierced. I would have helped him pick out the jewelry. I don't think my husband would even have noticed.

He threatened to make me seduce my own sister and lure her in to slavery beside me. He said it would be fun to watch us sixty-nine. I would have done it gladly. I even came up with a few ways we could trap her.

He threatened to give me to his dog. God help me, I get so wet when I think about that.

He threatened to make me beg my young secretary if I could pay her money to let me serve as her pussy slave. I've been thinking a lot about that lately.

Then there was the worst threat of all.

He threatened to toss me aside without warning when he got tired of using me.

He said he would just melt away and leave me marooned back in my vanilla life, like a genie trapped in a bottle. I would never see him again. This would be my final degradation.

No, that can't be it.

I think I know what the problem is. He owns too many fuckpigs. Ten is too many. Some of them are a lot younger than me.

Fuckpig #9 is only twenty seven. She's always making snide comments about me whenever we are used together. She says my udders are starting to sag and I'm not as good as she is at eating pussy and sucking cock. I've seen her whispering to my owner.

That cunt.

I know my owner will call eventually. I just need to tip the scale in my favor.

This means I have to stop him from capturing more fuckpigs. So, that's why I'm writing this story, to educate women about this scam. You need to stop falling for his tricks! Don't look at pornographic blogs. Don't apply for online training. Don't meet strangers in seedy motel rooms! Stay away.

I don't need the competition.

Once the pool of talent starts to shrink, I know I will hear from him again. I'm a good little fuckpig. I'll wait.

But I have to be realistic. After all, it has been over two weeks. It's time to activate Plan B. I'm not going back to my vanilla life. Fuck that shit. I need to be used. Tonight's the night.

It's ironic that it was my owner's idea in the first place.

I asked my secretary to stay late at work today to work on reports. Everyone else is gone now.

There are no reports, obviously.

She's only twenty-five years old. I've been watching her a lot lately. She'd be perfect. She's bisexual and has a very active social life, with plenty of boyfriends and girlfriends.

I heard her break up with a girlfriend over the phone the other day, and not in a nice way, so I'm pretty sure she's got a mean streak. In fact, I'm counting on it.