Poor Abby

Poor Abby ... a thirty eight year old housewife with a husband whose shown little interest in her sexually for nearly ten years, and is now content with the all too occasional 'quickie' with a rollover in bed thereafter. So was it any surprise she found a lover at work, someone who would attend to her with the promise of fulfillment?

In fact, she got even more than she bargained for. Her lover, as she soon learned, had a taste for using her as a sub. And to her surprise, she learned she shared his taste. Regardless of what he did to her or had her do, she eagerly complied and wanted more. He commanded use of all her holes, and took pleasure in using her mouth to clean his cock after fucking her. She delighted in being tied and spanked, along with the 'humiliation' of being made to open her legs and spread the lips of her cunt for him. The light floggings he gave her, especially of her cunt, made her cum even without penetration. She understood, though, that she was anything but a 'good' sub. Too often she objected to what he required, such as crawling to him along the motel room floor, and she felt she was punished for her stubbornness far less than she deserved. Nevertheless, she always grew wet when he issued a command, and despite the memories of a full college sex life, had some of the most intense orgasms in memory whenever he played with and used her.

She also discovered that her taste for humiliation went beyond serving him in the privacy of a motel room. She thought they'd gone to a sex shop merely to buy a few toys for their private pleasure, and she was taken aback when his attention focused on a butt plug that she knew would fit into her ass only with some painful effort. But she too was curious as to what effect it might have on her. She soon found out. Taking her to a back room used for private screenings of video porno, he lifted her skirt and worked it into her ass. To say that it made her cunt throb and feeling like a slut is an understatement, but arousal soon turned to mortification when, upon leaving the room, he returned the empty package to the store clerk with a wink, asking that it be discard.

The real surprise for her, though, came not from his actions then but from her reaction: Embarrassed, shamed, but totally soaking wet with her juices running down her legs as the left the store. He kidded her, saying 'it could have been worse ... I could have made you return the empty package yourself.' And although it was impossible then for her to make eye contact with the clerk when they left, she wanted only one thing -- to be fucked as soon and as hard as possible. Indeed, if her lover had offered her to the clerk, she wasn't sure she would have wanted to or been able to say no.

She relished each and every one of their all too-infrequent liaisons and she hoped the affair could continue indefinitely, but alas it lasted only a half year -- until he was transferred to another part of the country and out of reach. She longed for what he'd done with her, the pleasure he gave her and the pleasures he introduced her to. And she knew she needed more. He'd changed her, and whether he intended to or not, he'd ignited the most extreme fantasies within her – being made a whore, being sent into bars and letting everyone fuck her, taken to parties and made the 'center of attention'. He had talked of bringing his brother into the relationship so they could share her as their slut. She willingly agreed to let it happen, but the affair ended too soon for any such plans to be implemented. That only left her with the fantasy of being 'forced' to serve two cocks at once ... a fantasy she had learned to crave.

She knew, though, that she was most likely merely frustrating herself with those fantasies, since she had no intention of jeopardizing her marriage to realize anything on her own -- aside from sex, the marriage was too comfortable to abandon. And so for a time, she simply let her mind take over. She tried to limit her thoughts to things such as finding another discrete lover who'd use her whenever he pleased. But as much as she tried to mute her cravings, her thoughts would return to just about every perverse form of humiliation and pleasure she'd ever read about. It seemed that no fantasy was so extreme that it didn't turn her on and didn't send her to the privacy of a bedroom or bathroom so she could bring herself off.

Her thoughts expanded in scope when she moved onto the sex chat sites, read stories of wives made into sluts, and chatted with men who, she found, could easily make her cum by painting the wildest sexual scenarios for her. She liked chatting with them, letting them make her wet, telling them some of her fantasies, letting them direct her in pleasuring herself until she came. It was safe if not wholly fulfilling.

Or was it safe? The fear persisted that someday she'd be unable to resist making arrangements to meet someone she chatted with. Her body literally ached sometimes to be used as her lover had used it, and with increasing frequency she found herself torn between her inner desires and her commitment to protecting the life she already had. The true realization of where she was capable of letting herself to be led came when one of her chat partners commanded her to wear her plug out of the house, when grocery shopping. She hadn't seriously played with the plug since the affair ended, but without much thought she jumped at the opportunity of being told to use it again. And she did, the very next time she went to the store.

As it had before, the plug made her wet and feeling like a slut. Her cunt began to throb the second she reached between her legs and slowly worked it into her ass – pushing it, turning it ever so gently until it suddenly slipped in and her muscles tightened to suck it into her. Standing up and walking around the house, she could feel it move inside her as she prepared to leave for the store ... a constant reminder that she had chosen to feel like a slut of her own free will. And once at the store she found it difficult to focus on the things she had to buy. Indeed, when at the vegetable section it was impossible for her to not look at the cucumbers and not imagine how one would feel in her.

But as hot as she got, it also scared her. When talking briefly to one of the store's employees, she realized that if he had tried to seduce her ... however unlikely that was ... she wasn't the least bit sure she be able to resist. One part of her tried to banish such perverse and unrealistic thoughts from her head, but another part craved the fantasy. It was impossible, it was absurd ... but she wanted that employee's cock in her.

She returned home in a state of panic, knowing how hot and nearly out of control she could become ... knowing she could so easily put herself in a situation she might not be able to control. Still, once home, she couldn't banish the fantasy of being taken to a storage room and fucked by whoever wanted her. 'I can't be like this, I can't do this' she thought. 'Everything I've worked for, everything in my marriage would go down the drain if I let my fantasies and cravings take over.' But still, the image of that employee's cock sliding into her kept resurfacing in her head.

Her fears were multiplied, moreover, by the feeling that people could tell that she was wearing her plug. She understood the utter irrationality of that idea, but it still was there. This was, after all, new to her. Her lover had made her his slut, but except for the one episode at the sex shop, everything was private and discrete. Now, though, she'd just returned from the grocery store, a butt plug lodged in her ass, her cunt soaking her pants, burning with lust and the thought that people were looking at her and knew she was a shameless wanton slut housewife.

She returned to the chat site and expressed her fears to her new-found 'internet Dom', and although he was sympathetic, he wasn't about to let her off the hook. What she wanted may have scared her, but it was evident that she knew she'd never experience sexual fulfillment unless she allowed herself to be used and treated as a slut again. And he sensed as well that with a firm but understanding hand, she could be led to letting herself experience it all. So after a series of perfunctory questions designed to probe her thinking, he told her to stuff her ass again with the plug if she wished to continue chatting with him.

"No, I can't do that ... my husband will be home any minute."

"Irrelevant -- insert the plug," he commanded. "He needn't know its in you any more than he knows you've been a whore to another man."

The word 'whore' always made her cunt pulse, and she readily admitted that one of her fantasies was to be made a whore – a real whore. Still, she objected: "No, I won't, I can't."

'The slut needs to know she's not allowed to object,' he thought. Taking the chance the she herself knew she needed to be controlled and punished, he suddenly closed her out by turning off the chat window, leaving her by herself at the computer.

For her part, she knew she wanted that plug in her ... she relished feeling like a secret slut with it. True or not, she always assumed that 'only a slut, only a wanton cheap fuck would plug her own ass and walk around wearing it.' But that's precisely why she did enjoy wearing it, she wanted to feel like a wanton cheap fuck. She'd simply panicked in her refusal to insert it, panicked that somehow her husband would know it was there. So as tempted as she might have been to throw the plug away and eliminate all temptation, she didn't do it. Instead, she'd occasionally look to see if her internet-Dom was online.

Alas he never seemed to be ... until that Sunday evening when she blindly messaged him and he replied. She, of course, apologized for not doing as she was told, and restated all her fears ... how her desires scared her, but how she also couldn't walk away from them. She understood that even the simple act of chatting with him was a case of the proverbial 'moth being attracted to the flame'.

He understood the emotions that were tearing at her: 'She'll eventually become a perfect sub slut ... a whore even if that's what I want,' he thought. Of course, it was relatively costless for him to operate with this assumption and costless as well to do what he could to encourage her fantasies. 'Who knows, I might even get to use her someday.'

They chatted for awhile, and his probing questions again made her wet ... a fact she unashamedly revealed to him. How could she not reveal that? Her husband was upstairs in the bedroom, fast asleep as usual. But she wanted to cum, wanted to be fucked and the internet at this point was her only release. So quite directly she told him "please ... I want you to make me cum." He was, of course, only to happy to comply, and so she did cum, doing all that she was told to do.

She knew she was trapped by her unquenchable desires. And those desires, never wholly gone, became especially intense and compelling a few days later. She'd had a meeting at work, held at a nearby bar/restaurant. She'd had a drink or two, enough to loosen her up ... but there was nothing she dared do there. Far too many people knew her, and being discrete remained a priority. But as soon as she got to her car, she checked her cell and noticed that her internet-Dom was online. Immediately the need to be fucked became nearly unbearable. She felt no shame, no embarrassment, no inhibition against messaging him and saying simply "can I call you? I want your cock! I want to hear your voice."

Giving her his office number, it wasn't long, in the darkness of the night and privacy of her car, before her pants were at her knees and her fingers in her cunt. "Tempted to return to the bar and get fucked, slut ... tempted to return and whore yourself?"

Between the deep breaths of her rising passion she told him "I can't ... they know me in there."

"Perhaps," he said, as he told her to continue pleasuring her cunt, "but you're tempted nevertheless, aren't you?"

"Yes ... yes I am," she admitted, the gasps of her voice telling him that she was on the edge of cumming.

"And if I told you to return to the bar, you would, wouldn't you ... return and whore yourself for a fuck?"

"Oh god ... no ... I can't ... ohhhh I ... I don't know ... I ..."

"Wouldn't you slut?"

Y ... yessssssssss," she moaned, struggling now not to cum until told to.

Admittedly, he was tempted to tell her, with her cunt throbbing and so desperately needing a cock, to return to the bar. 'I'm not sure she'd go, but if she did she'd probably get fucked.' And from his point of view, at this point in their 'relationship', such a directive was costless. After all, she wasn't his wife and not yet really his slut ... quite possibly, if not probably, they'd never even actually meet. Why not enjoy the vicarious pleasure of making this internet slut a whore at his command. Nevertheless he resisted the temptation. There was always the chance that some part of her would override her lust and find the means of resisting that command. Or even if she did return and get fucked, who could guess the ultimate consequences for her. No, it was simply irresponsible to tell her to do such a thing. So he settled for letting her cum, and then encouraging her to play with herself a bit longer until she came a few more times. 'They'll be other times, other contexts, in which I'll whore her.'

Whether she understood it at the time or not, a line had been crossed with that phone call. In his mind at least she was no longer merely letters appearing on a computer screen, but an unashamed married slut who quite possibly could be made available for him to use. And so, in his mind, he made a commitment to do whatever it took to eventually meet her and to make her the slut and whore she wanted to be.

There were, though, two problems. First, they didn't live close. He'd have to fly to see her. And he certainly couldn't simply jump on a plane until plans had been discussed and trust established. And therein lay the second problem. Her desires may have been ignited by that first phone call, but so were her fears. From one day to the next, she moved back and forth between wanting it all and not wanting anything, fearing everything. Indeed, that first phone call scared her more even than her trip to the supermarket with a plugged ass. Doing anything at the market was an impossibility. So her fears were simply about what was in her head. But in that parking lot she did let something happen ... she lowered her pants, she freed her tits from her bra, and she pushed her fingers into her open wet cunt to make herself cum. She'd reached the point of not caring if anyone walked past and looked in the car. She was consumed and oblivious to any danger. And what scared her most was knowing that if he'd told her to return to the bar, she'd just might have obeyed. In that car at least she was little more than a bitch in heat who, upon the slightest suggestion, would have let whoever was there fuck her.

So they continued as they had, off and on via the internet and the telephone for a few months longer. They might go days without chatting when she found the will power to resist her fantasies. But eventually, if not the next day then the day after that, she'd surrender and go to the computer or to the phone and reconnect with him.

He fed her more fantasies and she'd readily admit that they turned her on or that she indulged in them when she last masturbated. She became incredibly turned on, for example, imagining herself being given to a group of men and made to fuck herself and piss while they watched before they'd agree to fuck her. She wanted to think of him as her Daddy and of her as his little slut. And she told him she wished he was there to open her ass further and force ever larger plugs into her. But at every stage she also talked of being scared by these thoughts and frightened by what she might be made to do.

When chatting she might sometimes simply sign off without explanation or go silent for long periods of time ... and then suddenly reappear in a day or two. Some men might have given up on her and gone searching for another internet slut to play with. But patience is often a virtue, and patience was what he had. He was biding his time not only because he knew he couldn't fly out immediately to see her. He was determined to nurse her along, since she had the potential to become a wholly uninhibited and unashamed slut. Unlike so many other cases where a Dom has to make a slut want or accept what he wants, she already fantasized and wanted almost every extreme source of pleasure. Nor were inhibitions a roadblock ... once hot, she virtually had none. It was simply fear that stopped her ... fear of knowing what she could so easily become.

So instead he simply set out to calm her as best he could while leading her through more realistic fantasies, wetting her appetite for things she might otherwise not have thought she wanted. She was concerned, for example, as most women are, with her figure. She'd admittedly put on a few pounds she wished weren't there, and so when he talked of having her dress like a slut when they met and he took her to dinner, she initially resisted the idea. She acknowledged that a dress that displayed her ample 36D tits might be fun, but surely not something tight and short. Besides, it still was the case that everything in her head ... all the fantasies that swirled inside her ... had her as a private slut and fuck toy as opposed to something to be displayed publicly.

Privacy and discreetness had always been the one decidedly positive non-sexual element of her affair. Her lover had never put any demands on her with respect to revealing to anyone that she was his slut. And so whenever her online-Dom talked about some slutty dress or outfit for her she'd reply "I'd probably try to talk you out of having me wear that."

"Yes, no doubt you would ... but there's no guarantee I'd listen to you. I just might insist that you wear whatever I want you to wear."

His words here were carefully chosen. There were no explicit firm demands, only equivocal statements that included such terms as 'no guarantee' and 'I just might'. He wasn't expecting a definitive 'yes, I'll do as you say,' from her and he surely didn't want to push her and elicit a definitive no, 'I can't' or 'I won't'. Instead he got the indeterminate response he wanted: "I'd be so embarrassed, self-conscious."

"Yes, possibly," he acknowledged. "But perhaps that's precisely how I want you to feel." And then he added "don't forget those fuck me heels and a bondage collar with a chrome ring in front ... you are likely to be required to wear them too regardless of whatever else I have you wear."

Regardless of whether he was simply communicating with her via the internet, he could still almost hear her gasp whenever he told her such things. And although she'd protest and again beg for him to reconsider, she never suggested she wouldn't ultimately do as she was told. Yes, discreetness was essential, but the idea of being displayed as a slut, as a fuck toy, did turn her on. As she'd readily admitted, almost everything turned her on.

Internet messages and telephone calls proceeded in rapid succession. She'd grown accustomed to wearing her plug and feeling like a slut whenever she went shopping. She kept her plug with her so he could tell her to insert it whenever she called him for another session of phone sex, and walking around the house when alone wearing only her heels, dog collar and leash became almost second nature for her.

The two of them knew, however, that none of this was enough for either of them. He wanted to take her and treat her like the horny little slut that she was. And she for her part, wanted a real cock in her, a man's warm cum dripping down her legs, a man's voice commanding her to do what she couldn't bring herself to do. And so finally they made their arrangements. He would fly to the city near her for a few days and she'd make some excuse at home about an out of town professional meeting she had to attend.