tagBDSMHer Gift Of Love

Her Gift Of Love



This tale was written on the request of a couple that liked my stories for Literotica. I enjoyed writing it and if you also enjoyed reading it, please give it a good vote and let me know. I would very much like to correspond with my readers.

She had always loved being his little fucktoy. Ever since they met. And she had been acting like it for quite a while now. And Michael, always enjoying how she spread her legs for him, fucked her, and fucked her, and fucked her... He was a real man. She loved it.

But lately she had begun to feel it was not enough. Deep inside her a terrible longing had woken to be more to him, much more, to please him no end. She wanted to do anything for him. Anything he might possibly want from her.

The problem was he did not seem to want that much. Sure, he had quite an inexhaustible stamina. But apart from piercing her cunt again and again with his enormous rod, and filling her up as if wanting to plant scores of babies into her, he did not much more than make her sore between her legs.

So, one night, while Michael was again spurting his seed into his wife's lovely body, Valerie had suddenly begun to cry. And when he, concerned and taken aback, had wiped away her tears, she had finally dared to confess that what she needed was more than just playing fuck-puppy.

"But what more do you want, my love?" he had asked rather perplexed, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. She had not known what to answer. "Just something..." she had whispered, "I don't know...."

He had begun kissing her again "My lovely Valerie, I am so mightily pleased with you," he had said, "I am so happy with you. What is it you are missing?"

And she had suddenly whispered: "Mike... I need more... more serious things, something... I don't know... can't you think of something else to do with me? I mean... something bad..."

He had frowned and looked at her with uneasy questioning eyes, urging her to explain. "Something bad...? What do you mean?" She had looked back at him for a long time before she spoke. And when she did, she seemed to take great care in choosing her words. "I love you so much," she whispered. "It's not enough to just spread my legs and give you my slit to fuck into..." And then looking at him with a strange gleam in her eyes she had softly confessed: "I need you to be sadistic... I know you are cruel somewhere deep in your heart. I've always known it... I've always felt it. I want you to live it out, to enjoy it... to torment me. I want you to hurt me, not because I like pain, but because I know it would liberate you and fire your pleasures to infinite heights. That would be the ultimate token of my love, the most precious present I could give you."

It had both startled Michael and made him uncertain. That sweet wife of his, that lovely companion of so many years, was she right? Could he possibly want to hurt her for his own pleasure? In a strange reaction he was swamped first by guilt and then by an outpour of rage. But to his own surprise, within seconds that rage transformed itself into furious lust.

Without even warning himself, he slapped her in the face. His mind had taken its own course. He had let the beast out. Never had he felt such unrestrained sexual thirst.

That violent slap yielded a huge sense of arousal. His prick was hard as a rock again. Could his dear Valerie be right? Was he a sadist in the darkest caverns of his soul?

And again his mind took over. "Yes!" his brain shouted from the inside, and in a hoarse voice he heard that word literally escape from his mouth. In a sudden motion he grabbed his wife's body, clutched her violently by her hair, and before he knew what overcame him, he had pushed his newly hardened member into her mouth. Never had he dared to ask her for such a sickening thing. She struggled violently to dislodge him. But admittingly, her fighting gave him such an overwhelming pleasure that he came almost immediately, emptying himself in rapid pulsing gushes inside her mouth.

A sudden heavenly happiness descended on him. Not ever before had he experienced such liberation, such an elation of pleasure. Completely satisfied he withdrew from her sticky seed foaming mouth as she tried to spew out his cum, coughing wildly and almost crying. Watching her anguished face he asked: "Well, is that what you like?"

She looked at him with horror and managed to gasp out: "No! You're sickening. I think I must throw up! You're filthy, you're an animal!"

He watched her abused face, still pressed back into the pillows of their martial bed, and was surprised that he didn't feel even a trace of guilt.

"I liked it," he said with a smile.

Still in agony from her ordeal, she watched his face from below and, trying to regulate her breathing, she spoke, half stammering and barely understandable: "No Mike. It was disgusting. How can you think I might like it? I must wash my mouth. I don't want you to do that ever again. Promise me."

"No," he said with a surprising sense of daring, "I won't promise you that."

Valerie's eyes grew large and suddenly sparked with fear. But Michael, watching her in her sorry state, repeated again that he was serious. He would not make that promise.

His newly won confidence even made him get up on his knees and wipe his glistening flaccid dick off her maltreated face. "And I like this too," he said as he grabbed her hand, with which she tried to prevent his prick from further smearing her. Smiling maliciously he slowly added: "I'll fuck your mouth again... and again and again. It should teach you to be a real submissive girl."

"No Mike, Michael, please!"

"Yes Valerie!"

"I won't have it! I won't do it! You'll have to force me."

"Right, I will!"

She was quiet for a long moment. Tears began welling up in her eyes as she realized he was serious. A line had been crossed. She closed her eyes, then opened them again and finally tried to say something. But Michael couldn't make much of her broken words. He bent over and asked what she was saying.

And with tears now running silently down her cheeks, she tried again.

"Oh Mike..." she whispered, "My Mike..., I love you..."


"Get up," he said.


"You heard me, didn't you?"

"Why? What do you want?"

"As I said, get out of that chair."

It took a few seconds but then, with sudden anticipation in her eyes, Valerie put her book on the table and got up.

"Get out of your clothes."

Her face flushed "What... here in the living room?"

Yes here," he said, "in the living room. Get naked."

"No Mike, please, not here, let's go upstairs..."

He watched her intensely and slowly shook his head. "Who's playing the boss here? It's your task to pleasure me, remember, not the other way round." She looked back at him, her mouth suddenly trembling.

"Well?" he asked.

Valerie glanced at the windows, they had no curtains. It was dark outside. "You want me to undress here?"

"Didn't I say so...?"

"But Mike, people can see us."


Valerie tried to smile. This was a bit too much. "You're not serious!"

"You bet I am. You're afraid people can see you?"

"Of course I am!"

Michael smiled. "I like that," he said., "that's why I want you to do it," and he knew she was probably already becoming moist between her legs.

Valerie, blushing deeply, looked anxiously in the direction of the black night outside. From here within the room you couldn't see a thing. Maybe she should take the risk. If she were quick....

So, with her heart beating in overdrive she moved a hand to her side, felt for the zipper of her skirt and started to obey that weird wish of her husband. Her thinking stopped and, without daring to look towards the window, she bravely shed her coverings.

All of them.

When she was completely nude, she took another anxious peep at the window. Nothing. With a sigh of relief she got herself to stand erect before Michael, her back to the window, her splendid body shining in sexual appeal.

Eagerly Michael took in the beautiful landscape of his wife's body. This was a great turn on. He hoped someone would be watching them. The idea that, at this very moment, this naked wife of his might be glared at by someone outside that window, added to the humiliation he wanted to force on her. His lusting for her grew by the minute. So he took his time and slowly let his eyes caress Valerie's juicy hips, her proud breasts with their big suckable nipple-crowned areola's, her perfect round belly flowing softly away from that delicious little belly button, and her tempting thighs that closed together at the very focus of her body: the thin line of her folded womanhood, her secret entrance, painted beautifully, as with a Chinese single hair paintbrush, on her protruding love mound which she'd always kept soft and smoothly shaven for him, bald as a baby's buttock.

Knowing that she could be seen from outside, Valerie felt more naked than ever and tried to keep her back towards the window. But she kept throwing fearful glances at the blackness behind her.

Michael smiled cruelly. He was enjoying himself tremendously.

"Come over here."

She made a hesitating step toward him, again quickly checking the window over her shoulder.

"Open up my fly."

Panic grabbed Valerie's mind. "No....! Not here! We can be seen! It makes me sick. I can't."

Michael grabbed her by her hair, forced her on her knees, and pulled her head backwards. He looked sternly down upon her: "Open my pants!"

She did not give in. "No... not here!"

"Why not? You're a whore. That's what whores do. Everybody knows that. Anyone seeing you will think you are a whore." But she did not obey. Instead she just kept facing up to him, her eyes flaring with fear.


But the only thing that happened was that his wife tried to shuffle around on her knees, trembling and hoping that only her back would remain visible from outside.

He hit her straight across her face.

Valerie gave a surprised cry. Apart from that one incident in bed he had never beaten her like that before. It hurt. But it was too late now to make amends. She realized she had no choice. So finally she gave in and began to fumble at his belt, feeling like a whore indeed.

As his trousers fell to the floor, his briefs showed a promising bulge.

"My underpants!" he commanded.

Nobody rattled the window, so it too went down. And thus Michael's huge rigid member sprang to life.

"You don't like to be fucked in your mouth, eh..?" he asked, smiling cruelly.

"...no... no... please..." she whispered in a small voice, "not again..."

"Don't worry," he said, "we'll try something else."

And without any warning he fell upon her like a beast of prey.

She gave a bewildered cry as he put all his mighty weight upon her, turned her around on all fours and grabbed both her breasts from behind. A sudden heat wave of arousal coursed through her imprisoned body. This was great. She loved being mauled by his powerful body. She became wax in his hand and began to moan.

But then the lower half of her lover's body retreated. Momentarily she felt frustrated at becoming separated from him. But suddenly she realized and she screamed. With brutal force his haunches came back and his rod mercilessly attacked her, bayoneting her into her arse hole.

Valerie produced an ear shattering shriek. They had never done a thing like this. The pain was atrocious. Like a knife, like a hot burning iron. She was much too small there and she tried fiercely to fight him off. But Michael greatly enjoyed her impaled struggling body, squirming so delicately below him. Completely at his mercy she began to scream and scream and cry hot tears, thus whipping up Michael's lust to even greater heights. But whatever Valerie did, she could in no way dislodge his torturing member. Cruelly he mauled her breasts while ploughing deep inside her, now enormously enjoying her raw cries and the wild movements of her body. 'So this it, this is how it feels to drill into a woman,' he thought, and with even more pleasure he forced himself in deeper. And then out again. And in again. And again... and again! Valerie screamed like a pig being slaughtered, as each thrust caused her the most unimaginable pain. Tears streamed down her face. He was tearing her up, tearing her to threads.

Michael, continued to ride in heavenly pleasure inside the narrow grip of her twisting ass, until finally he came with huge spurts, filling his wife's warm bowels with his own warm seed. It was too much for Valerie. The painful hell became red before her eyes. She lost all strength and fell flat on the floor, squashed and impaled by her lover.

But then, as she was completely given to her pain, her crushed body suddenly exploded. In a huge convulsive spasm she was overtaken by the most fearful orgasm she had ever experienced. It coursed through her body like a hot blowing storm.

Fully satisfied Michael remained lying upon his wriggling victim until she did not anymore react. She was almost out, although her banged-up body still quivered slightly. She still felt nice and warm under him. So when finally Michael liberated his prick, it was with a sense of loss. When it came out it made a plopping sound. Amused he watched some of his seed leak out and form small foamy bubbles between his wife's little round buttocks.

Slowly he got up and helped her, half stumbling, to the bathroom. There he opened the taps and ran a steaming bath. Splashing in the warm water Valerie came back to her senses, but then immediately panicked. Only when she realized where she was, safe from further torture, she relaxed a little and let herself be soaped.

After a while she looked her husband hesitatingly in the eyes and asked: "Was I good enough? "

He smiled and nodded, helping her up with a big towel in his hand.

"Careful," he said, when she tried to stand up in the slippery tub. "Don't fall, I don't want you to hurt yourself."

She looked at him a little embarrassed and said, "I thought you liked to hurt me."

"I do," he answered, "but it should be my doing, not yours.

"Right... you just proved that" she agreed. "I feel terrible... it still hurts..." and with one hand she tried to massage her small pink anus to ease its rawness. "Did I bleed?"

"No, you didn't love. You're made beautifully elastic."

Valerie smiled at the remark. But suddenly her mind somersaulted and she exclaimed, "Oh my God! We could have been seen from the street!." She began to tremble and once more seemed to come close to tears.

But Michael enveloped her shivering body with his big warm towel, pressed her close to himself, and asked: "Didn't it please you to be so humiliated in public?"

She looked up at him with those moist and beautiful earnest eyes of hers. "It's not that Mike, it doesn't please me," she said, "it doesn't. Not at all. I want you to know that, to understand that I honestly hate such pain and humiliation, it makes me horribly afraid of you. But you know Mike, that is precisely the point." She was silent for a moment, looked up at him and then said: "I love you, you see... what pleases me is to know that you use me for your kicks...."


"Michael, who is speaking?"

"Me." A woman's voice.

He raised an eyebrow, keeping the phone close to his ear.

"Who is me?"

"Want to know?"

"I don't know. What makes you think I would?"

"Well.... maybe yesterday?"


Silence on the other end. Then suddenly her voice again. "You know what I mean."

"No I don't."

"I just happened to pass by."


Blood rose to his head.

Finally there was her voice again, almost whispering: "I saw your whore."

He didn't answer. Apprehension constricted his throat.

"It was quite a treat to watch the two of you. You like to hurt a girl, don't you?"

He could barely speak. "You saw us?" he asked, not recognizing his own raspy voice.

The woman did not answer. But he could make out her breathing. For minutes he just listened to it.

Suddenly her voice came back and what it said made his head swim.

"Want to meet?"


When he entered the little café he did not see her. No single woman was waiting. Only a couple who, interrupted by his entrance, had stopped talking. He looked at his watch. He was only a few minutes late. Apparently she was too.

So he sat down to wait and ordered a glass of wine.

After his first sip the woman from the couple stood up and approached him.



"We are expecting you. I'm Aliza... you know... from the phone. That over there is Alex, my husband and partner in crime. Why don't you come and sit with us."

Puzzled about the fact that she was not alone, he stood up and, bringing his glass with him, sat down at their table. They too were having drinks.

"Nice to meet you," Alex said in a low pleasant voice, and he extended his arm.

They shook hands and Michael appreciated the strength of his grip. The man seemed nice enough. Older by a few years than he was, and with a bit of a belly showing his age. He was also bigger and heavier than Michael but he looked quite vital, even strong, although both the wisps of chest hair as seen from his wide collared shirt and the curly hair on his head, began to show gray. But he had an open good-natured face and a kind smile. Michael smiled back and turned his attention to the woman.

She was a sight. Thick dark brown hair flowed down in wide waves to her slim shoulders. And the face it framed was very pretty. Eyes, as open as those of her husband, over a straight intelligent nose, and lips that seemed to be made for kissing. He could not help thinking what people always said: that such lips betray the way she's shaped between her legs. But he smiled politely and she smiled back, briefly shaking her head to liberate her view from a lock of her hair. She too was a bit older than he himself, but her figure seemed perfect. Beautifully breasted, but modestly dressed in a blue blouse with a cut out that remained decent. She was bigger than Valerie, about Michael's own size.

"So you're Michael." she said.

"Right, and it's you who wanted to meet me."

"Yes," she nodded, "I just had to, after I saw through that window of yours." She smiled again and Michael looked embarrassed. "Alex said I should call you," she continued. "I mean after I had told him what I'd seen. He wanted to meet you too."

Michael felt doubly embarrassed now. "What actually did you see?" he asked.

"You arse-fucking that whore." It was a blunt but honest answer.

He blushed at the remark, and remained silent.

Noticing his wedding band, she apologized: "Your wife?"

"Yes my wife."

"You do this often before a window without drawing the curtains?" Aliza looked at Michael, the question shining in her eyes.

He smiled hesitatingly. "We have no curtains," he said, but he knew it was a lame answer.

"Is this a game you play?" It was Alex who asked, taking a sip from his glass.

"You could call it that, Michael said, "but a very private game."

Aliza laughed. "Not very private, if you ask me."

"Well, to be honest..." Michael began...

Thus began a tripartite conversation, soft spoken and soon rather intimate as well.

Much later, after two bottles of wine and lots of olives and nuts, the three of them had become the best of friends.

When they parted, they shook hands and Aliza and Michael kissed. "It's agreed, then," Aliza said. "You two will come and have dinner with us the day after tomorrow. Try to be a bit early so we can have lots of time."

"OK," Michael said as he slipped into his coat. "I'll be there straight after work and I'll ask Valerie to come with me. Around five, OK?"

"That's fine," Aliza said. "I'm looking forward to it. You'll be surprised to see how we live. Who knows, you two might learn something from us. And I'm certainly looking forward to meet your wife...." Winking him an eye she added, "even clothed."

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