Absolute Perversity at its Worst

We started out as girlfriend and boyfriend. Then she tied me up one night, beat me with a riding crop, and fucked me in the ass with her strap-on. My anal virginity was gone. I couldn't get enough.

"You're such a perv," she winked at me the next day over coffee on her balcony. "Admit it."

My face turned red and I averted my eyes to look across Biscayne Bay at the Miami skyline. The view was so calming up here on the thirtieth floor, especially with the luxurious, ankle-length bathrobes we wore. Almost silently, I answered "Maybe just a little bit."

"You're as sick as they get," she teased loudly and tossed her red hair over her shoulders. "The way you wiggled your ass and begged for more. You squealed like a stuck pig in heat. Sick."

She then kicked off her slipper and stuck her right foot under the table and through my parted robe. Her cold foot nudged my balls and my cock rocketed to full extension. "Still thinking about it now?"

I nodded.

"What was your favorite part?" she asked, prying me for details.

"I don't know." The embarrassment shot through me and I made eye contact, but only briefly. I wanted to tell her, but I just couldn't do it face to face. "I kinda liked all of it."

"What humiliated you the most? C'mon, tell me. I'm not gonna bite, you sicko."

How could I tell her? I mean, she wanted to open up a can of worms that I'd locked in a box since puberty. Yet, this was the opportunity I'd craved for years; to serve and be humiliated by a dominant woman who loved me. I loved her, too.

"Your little cock's getting uppity."

In the business world, I overcame challenges and obstacles by being aggressive, more aggressive than anyone else. I'd built a nice little company by going face to face against the competition and just flat out beating them by being faster, smarter and working harder. That was the key for me: when confronted, I'd go all out and bust down any barriers.

Would it work here? In my personal life? With this?

Her playful voice pitched a high note, "I'm waiting."

"The way you made me beg. For everything."

"Ah! Tell me more."

She had placed me, naked, on all fours atop the wooden coffee table just after sunset the night before. Magazines had softened the contact between my knees and the distressed, wooden table below. I'd been hot for hours, but then she pulled out a riding crop. "Beg to kiss the crop," she had ordered me, and I did. Then I had to beg to be spanked on my ass with the crop. Then I had to beg to kiss the plastic phallus she tied around her waist. Then I begged to suck it. Then I begged her to rape me. To rape me good and hard.

"So you like the humiliation of it all," she noted almost clinically, as if my admission had confirmed some dark belief she held. Of course, then she added the almost obligatory, "You sick little perv."

"I guess so. Yeah."

"Say it. Say it aloud so I know that's what you want."

I'd gone past any embarrassment imaginable. I had to step back from myself, my emotions, lest I not be able to continue. I distanced myself from myself, in order to comply. "I love to be humiliated."

"Tell me more," she prodded, then began typing on her laptop.

"I want you to humiliate me," I spoke in a monotone. "To do sick, perverted things to me. To my mouth, my nipples, my cock, my balls, and my ass. In front of other people. To degrade and use me as if I were a roll of toilet paper."

The list went on and on. Many of my deepest, darkest, and sickest fantasies of perversion escaped my lips for the first time ever.

She just kept on typing, though I knew not what.

I finally finished. My only emotion at the end was one of relief. Relief that I had broken down my own internal barriers and bared my soul.

After a full five minutes of silence, she looked up from her keyboard and spoke to me. "Stand up."

I did, and looked over the baby blue waters of the bay and the beautiful homes beyond.

"Take off your robe."

So, we were back into the game, huh? The degradation would continue, now, out here in front of the world, 300 feet in the air on a piece of protruding concrete.

"Now!" she demanded, and I could not resist. I untied the belt, freed my arms, and laid the robe over the back of the chair. I stood before her and all of Miami, naked.

"Turn around and let me see the marks." I showed her the red welts where the crop bit into the skin of my ass, but she wasn't satisfied. "Bend over and pull the cheeks apart, pervert."

I did.

"Does it still hurt? Sore?"

I nodded, and immediately she called me a "perverted faggot".

I turned toward her in defiance, but that only lasted a second. I couldn't defy her.

She eyed my hard, erect cock and spoke, "Sick. Absolute perversity at its worst. You should be locked up somewhere."

But she didn't lock me up. She just kept looking at me, eyeing my sweating body from head to toe, then back up again, over and over. Long minutes passed and I wondered who else was out there, on the balcony of another building, enjoying my sweet humiliation.

"I've written a list of chores for you to accomplish today. Print it out and get hopping. Stay naked, with the curtains open, but don't play with that disgusting little tool. I'm going shopping. When I get home, I'll tell you how we're going to live the rest of our lives."

She showered, dressed, and went out. As she sashayed proudly through the door, I heard her mumbling, "Sick, sick, sick."