0 comments/ 117975 views/ 20 favorites Poor Abby By: dom_u_softly 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. Poor Abby To say she was nervous as their meeting date approached goes without question. He'd given every indication of being an unforgiving Dom ... and one who, if he could, would arrange for every and any perversion. She knew that the mere act of meeting him at his hotel was committing herself to the unknown, to things that had been largely fantasy. But whatever it was he was offering her, she wanted to experience it. Similarly, he was uncertain as to what their encounter would be like. 'She cums so unashamedly on the phone' he thought. But would she freeze up and be as submissive face to face as she appeared? Nevertheless, he knew that regardless of how events unfolded, she was going to be one well-fucked slut when the weekend ended. He told her how to dress for their first meeting ... tight jeans, a pair of fuck me 5" high heels that he had her buy beforehand, a white silky button up blouse and a black ¼ cup bra that left her nipples uncovered. The only other requirement was that the blouse be sheer enough (but not so much that she'd be refused entry to a restaurant) to let anyone know precisely the form of her tits, the size of her nipples and the fact that she was wearing a black bra beneath it. Finally, of course, she was to come with her ass plugged! He in turn brought a few "accessories" of his own: several extra neckties, a riding crop, and a one-ring bondage collar. They met in the lobby, a few hours after he checked in. And initially she was surprised that he showed none of the sternness she'd expected, none of the hard commanding presence. He took her to the hotel lobby bar for a rather perfunctory conversation. Indeed, it almost seemed as if she was meeting a business acquaintance or an old college friend. But suddenly, when she was most relaxed, he finished that last sip of wine from his glass and commanded "sit up straight, slut .. uncross your legs!" "Yes" she meekly replied, caught off guard, but delighted he said what he said. "Unbutton two more buttons of your blouse ... I want to see the heaving of your tits." She felt a twinge of embarrassment as she did as told ... but at the same time she felt her cunt growing moist. It had been dripping wet when she entered the hotel, but their conversation thereafter took her mind off sex and the plug in her ass. But now, suddenly, she could feel the plug pushing up in her. "The plug, I assume, is in your ass?" "Y ... yes ... yes Sir, it is." "And does your cunt want my cock now?" Silly question. Her cunt was dripping and she wouldn't have been surprised if she looked down and saw a moist spot at the crotch to her jeans "Yes Sir ... it does." "Unbutton another button, whore." "But .. but Sir ...," she protested. Her blouse only had six buttons above the waist, and with four unbuttoned the fabric easily slid aside to reveal the nipple of one tit or the other. "Unbutton it, slut." She had never displayed herself publicly. And although it would have been difficult, given where they sat, for anyone else to see her bra and tits, she felt like a shameless slut. She silently prayed the bartender wouldn't approach and ask if they wanted a refill. Surely anyone standing above her would have an unimpeded view of tits. In fact, he had no intention of sitting there for another drink. Her compliance, despite the weak initial objection, told him that she truly craved a good fucking. And his hardening cock needed release of its own. "We're going upstairs now so I can fuck you" he said, rising from his chair. "And don't rebutton the blouse." She almost did rebutton it but his words stopped her short. And then something else happened. At any other time she would have been mortified to walk thru the lobby with her blouse flapping open so as to reveal something more than a mere glimpse of her bra and tits. Moreover, the contrast of her black bra with her white blouse made it obvious to even those catching a quick glimpse, what they were catching a glimpse of. But now she simply walked straight ahead, eyes unbowed, wondering if others in the lobby would notice her ... and perhaps even hoping they would. His 7th floor room was a few steps from the elevator, and as soon as he closed the door he told her to sit on the bed. "You came here to be fucked and used as a slut, didn't you?" "Yes Sir, I did." "And if I make you a whore ... if I tell you to fuck anyone else, you will, won't you." She honestly wasn't sure what answer she wanted to give, but she knew what answer she had to give: "Y ... yes Sir ... I will." "Take off your shoes and jeans." She complied, and let out a little whimper as he ran a finger over her now exposed cunt. He then pushed her back onto the bed ... not hard, but forcefully enough that she knew what he wanted. "Grab your ankles and spread your legs." She'd done this before for her ex-lover, and exposing herself this way was one of her greatest pleasure. She knew that all he had to do was touch her again and she'd cum. But that wasn't his plan. Instead he turned from her, walked to the closet, and returned with his riding crop. For an instant she regretted having told him that she was often made to cum by having her cunt flogged. The loose fingers of a flogger were one thing, but the stiff leather of the crop threatened to be something else. He didn't whip her though. 'Maybe later' he thought to himself. 'Right now I need to show this slut that modesty has no role here.' Turning the crop around, he pushed the handle into her cunt. "Ohhhhhhh ..." she suddenly gasped, followed by a trembling that began deep within her. She came almost immediately. Not loudly, not with a scream ... but not silently either ... a soft subtle cry, a shiver, a moan, and then a gasping half muffled shriek. Holding the handle deep in her he asked in a rhetorical way "did the slut just cum?" "Y ... y ... yesssssss Sir, she did." "Did I say you could cum?" "N ... no Sir" she replied, suddenly humbled and feeling she'd displeased him. He knew that it would be virtually impossible for her not to cum. But he'd done what he wanted to do ... make her think she was a slut who warranted punishment. There was, though, not much time for that ... it was already late and they needed some dinner. And there too he had come prepared. "Stand up slut, and let me put this on you," he said, retrieving the leather collar from his suitcase. It was a whole simple collar and was certain to be noticed ...a one and an half inch wide thick black leather band with a visible buckle in back and a 2 inch diameter chrome ring in front. Any one who saw it on her would know it was definitely not a piece of jewelry or simple choker, but a bondage collar that would be worn only by an unashamed sub slut. And although he didn't ask her, the collar did indeed make her feel like a slut ... perhaps as much if not more than the plug did. It caressed her neck firmly and was wide and tight enough to make it impossible for her to forget she was wearing it and it sent a shiver of excitement thru her, beginning at her cunt, as he buckled it on. He allowed her to freshen up and told her that what she was wearing would be appropriate for where they were going ... the hotel's rooftop restaurant. "They'll know I'm a slut when they see this collar" she said, not so much as an objection as much as simply a comment on her appearance. "They'll know you're a slut from how you will wear your blouse." "What do you mean Sir?" "Button the blouse up fully now slut ... every button to your neck. It will hide the chrome ring of the collar initially, but once we are seated you will immediately undo the top button and every 15 minutes thereafter you will unbutton one additional button." She looked down ... six buttons total to her waist. 'Oh god,' she thought, 'if dinner takes more than an hour, I'll be sitting there with my blouse wholly open.' Indeed, after an hour it would be impossible for her to sit and not have the blouse's silky fabric open up enough to reveal her nipples, pushed up and out by her bra. Her surprise and shock at what he had just told her made her forget for an instant that as soon as she unbuttoned that top button the waiter would see her collar and know from the start she was a slut or perhaps simply a whore he'd hired for the night. Events had unfolded so quickly that it was only then that she suddenly realized he hadn't yet fucked her ... at least not with his cock. But that omission was soon rectified when they were about to leave the room: "Put your hands on the bed, slut," he harshly commanded. Bent over, her ass to him, she felt him reaching around, unzipping her jeans, and lowering them to her ankles. Closing her eyes and lowering her head, she knew what he was going to do ... and indeed, he did it. His cock slid effortlessly into her, and she let out a soft sensuous moan of pleasures as it slid in. "Feel good, whore?" "Yessssss ..." "Yes what, slut?" "Y .. yes Sir, it feels good .... Very good." Slowly, deliberately, he commenced fucking her, pressing the plug deeper into her every time he pushed his hips against her. "Tell me what you are, slut ..!" "I'm a slut Sir ... a whore." "What kind of a slut and a whore are you?" She knew what he wanted her to say ... she'd said it countless times on the phone: "I'm a married slut, a married whore Sir." "And does this married whore want her cunt filled with my seed ... the seed of someone other than her husband?" "Y ... Yes Sir, she does" she answered, her breathing heavy, her cunt craving release. And then she pleaded "Sir, please ... please, may I cum?" 'So this married whore likes fucking and cumming for men other than her husband?" he asked, all with the objective of driving home to her precisely what she was, what she had let herself become even before she met him. "Yssssssss ...ohhh ... ohhh, pleaseeee ... pleaseeeeee let me cum Sir ... may I cummmm?" "You may cum when I do, slut ... and I want the people in the rooms next to us to hear you when you do" he said before he began pounding her hard, then harder still ... and and out, in and out in hard driving thrusts. His cock and the plug drove themselves ever deeper into her until it seemed he was intent on ramming both clean thru her. Suddenly he stopped and she felt the warmness of his cum filling her. Her orgasm began with a gasping "ohhhhhhhhhh ..." but then almost immediately became a crying "YESSSSSSS ..." that almost surely would be heard in the adjoining rooms. "You're just a bitch in heat, aren't you slut?" She screamed again in pleasure, her head now on the bed, her cunt trembling, convulsing. And then, almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Pulling his cock out of her, he didn't offer it to her to clean. Instead he reached for a towel and cleaned it himself. Then, with her ass still in the air she felt him pulling up her pants, 'ohhhh ... he's taking me to dinner with his cum in me ... leaking out of me.' "Stand up slut, we're leaving now," he commanded, while she was still struggling to catch her breath and regain her composure. Dinner initially at least seemed uneventful. Yes, she did precisely as told, unbuttoning one button as soon as they were seated, and it seemed as if the waiter hesitated to focus his eyes on her collar as he handed then their menus. She felt a sense of relief that he came to take their order before it was time to undo the second button, but her reprieve was shortlived, since that button was unfastened before he brought them their salad. As at the hotel longer earlier, their conversation had almost no sexual overtones to it, but soon after their entre arrived he pointed to his watch and she dutifully unbuttoned the third button. The center of what there was to her bra along with her ample cleavage were now in full view, and it was then that she determined that he was deliberately engaging her in all manner of conversation ... about her work, her experiences in college, and whatever ... to slow down the pace of their meal. And indeed, as he had planned, it was time for that fourth button to be attended to shortly before their entre was finished. 'My blouse and whatever modesty I might have aren't going to make it thru dessert,' she thought. And already if she bent forward to eat, the fabric of the blouse slipped aside enough to uncover the nipples of her tits. She tried sitting upright, but it was improbable that their waiter wasn't noticing the change in her appearance. And with her collar so boldly in view, she was certain he was paying special attention to her. Nevertheless, whatever embarrassment she felt was accompanied by the increasing wetness at her cunt ... his seed mixed with her own juices now clearly wetting her jeans. "Go to the restroom, slut," he said suddenly. "I ... I don't have to do anything there yet, Sir," she mildly objected. "Go and powder your nose ... and nothing else," he commanded forcefully, leaving no room for further discussion. She knew what he was doing. Not only was he procrastinating on finishing their meal, he was compelling her to be fully displayed. 'By now the restaurant's staff has taken full note of her,' he thought to himself, 'and they're certain to watch her every step of the way. I wonder how many people eating here will notice too?' She walked as upright as she could, but while that had the effect of stretching the blouse over her tits, it also made her nipples more visible through its fabric. Nor could she hurry ... walking fast only opened her blouse further. So she had no choice but to allow everyone an opportunity to look at her as she slowly passed by, her collar now fully and plainly in view. She had never done anything like this before and had never imagined that she could do it. Yet she was. Raised up on her fuck me heels that by themselves announced her as a fuck toy or whore, her collar unambiguously labeled her as his sub, and the blouse unbuttoned to but a few inches of her waist marked her as a slut. But the primary effect of it all was to make her cunt wetter still. Just as she had been that first time she called him on the phone, she wanted his cock, she wanted him to fuck her, and se no longer cared what anyone else thought. She returned to the table, and with a slight smile on his face, he said simply "time for the fifth button, slut." The waiter hadn't yet taken their order for dessert and so she knew, if she did as told, he'd see what she didn't want him to see ... or rather, what would embarrass and humiliate her to have him see. But she hadn't been given a choice. She had to do as told or simply abandon whatever pleasures awaited her after the meal. And whatever those pleasures were, she craved them, needed them ... her cunt was literally crying out for them. And so she did it ... she undid the button and almost immediately her blouse parted enough to reveal the nipples of both tits. And no amount of straightening up, no movement of her arms changed anything. "Don't touch your blouse, slut" he commanded as the waiter approached them. The waiter doubtlessly enjoyed the eyeful he was getting. But what wasn't clear was who felt more embarrassed ... Abby or him. He knew then, of course, that she was being deliberately and unashamedly displayed to him. Was he supposed to stare and feast his eyes on her, was he expected to make a complementary comment? Was she being offered to him ... a slut for him to fuck when the restaurant closed and he got off from work? Should he slip her lover his cell phone number so that he can be contacted if that was the plan? He surely wouldn't mind fucking her. She looked like a delicious and well-fucked tart. And that wedding ring .... What did that mean? Was that her husband whoring her or her lover who was fucking her with or without her husband's approval? He answered none of these questions, and instead simply took their order for dessert ... though he surely looked forward to bringing it too them ... all the while imagining what it would be like to suck on those tits with his cock up in her. "I think our waiter would love to fuck you?" "Do you think so ... really think so?" she asked, already knowing the answer but not knowing what else to say. "Would you like to let him fuck you?" Her cunt twitched with that question. 'Is he going to whore me?' she thought, not honestly sure what she really wanted at that point. Embarrassment, lust, confusion all swirled in her head at the same time. Yes, she wanted to be fucked ... more than anything right then ... and yes, she'd long fantasized about being shared with several men at once. But this was reality, not fantasy. Still, her cunt continued to drip with a craving to be stuffed, filled, used ... abused even. "If you want me to, I will Sir" He knew that would be her answer: 'It wouldn't matter whose cock was shoved in her right now, the slut would cum and cum hard' he thought. "He's not unappealing, is he?" he asked ... a question that needn't be answered since the waiter was a young rather attractive man in his mid-20's. Clearly, he was someone who could give her a good fucking and she knew it. Nevertheless, he asked if only to make her admit to wanting things that might be embarrassing to admit to. "Yes ... yes he is ... young, but yes, I suppose he is," she answered, trying not to give a definitive answer. But he persisted. "You'd love to fuck him, wouldn't you?" "If you wanted me to, I would," she said, again trying to dance around an explicit and honest answer. "That doesn't answer my question, slut! Yes or no ... would you love to fuck him?" There was no escape, and so she gave the only answer she could "Yes ... I'd love to fuck him, Sir." If she could she would have pushed her fingers into her cunt and cum right then and there. Yes, she wanted it ... she wanted to have the waiter invited to their room, she wanted to spread her legs for him, have him ram his cock into her, have both men fuck her together. "Want me to whore you to him?" "If you want ...," and she stopped herself. No time now for hesitant answers. "Yes Sir, I do" she finally said, definitively. "Then when he returns to our table, if you want me to invite him to fuck you, open your blouse so that he can plainly see both nipples." As a part of his control and ownership of her, would could have simply ordered her to let him fuck her. But, in making her a true slut, he wanted her to be a part of the process ... if she whored herself, she'd be on a one way street to becoming precisely what he wanted her to become. 'Oh god, I can't believe I'm going to do this,' she thought. She knew precisely what he was doing ... he was having her whore herself almost as if she were standing on a street corner soliciting business. And even at that instant she wasn't sure she'd could it as much as she wanted to have two men fuck her. But decision time came when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw their waiter exiting the kitchen with their desserts in his hands. It was then that she stopped thinking because she knew that if she continued to debate things in her mind she'd only drive herself crazy. Letting herself operate simply on instinct she opened her blouse enough to leave her nipples in plain sight. Whatever uncertainty the waiter might have had before about whether she was deliberately exposing herself to him was now gone. Still, he was taken aback a bit when her Dom announced "her name is Abby, and she's my slut. What do you think of her?" This had never happened before. He'd served any number of women at the restaurant who were dressed sexy, slutty even. But he'd never been given the view he was enjoying then or asked the question he'd just been asked with all its potential implications. He hesitated for a moment, then answered forthrightly "she looks delicious." Poor Abby "Yes she does, and if you hadn't already guess, she has a very wet cunt right now." If she could have disappeared under the table then she would have. 'Oh my god, he's really whoring me, isn't he? I'm sitting here, not saying a word, and he's offering me to the waiter as if I were little more than a common street whore ... a cheap fuck.' She was shamed, humiliated, scared ... but so incredibly turned on. Yes, he was right ... she was a cheap whore. As humiliating as it all might have been, she did want to fuck the waiter. He was young, attractive, obviously virile. She wanted to ride his cock, She wanted to feel him shoot his seed into her. She wanted to feel his manhood shoved down her throat. She wanted him to come to their room and be allowed to fuck her in all the ways he might want to fuck her. "She's never had two men at once. Would you like to join me in fucking her later tonight in our room?" That too was an offer he never had from anyone at the restaurant, and he wasn't sure what to say. Of course he'd like to fuck her and he readily imagined having his cock squeezed between those delicious globes: 'I bet the whore loves having her tits sucked and bitten.' But did he dare say yes? Was this a setup of some sort? He hesitated ... then, deciding that if they were staying at the hotel there was nothing to lose, he let his hormones do his thinking: "I'd love to." "What time do you get off work?" "!0:30 ... in an hour." "Well, I'll surely have fucked her by then on my own, but feel free to come to our room when you get off." "Is she a whore?" "Not formally ... not yet. She's a married slut whose husband doesn't satisfy her. And she wants to experience everything ... everything! She's strictly sub and you can use her any way you wish." Emboldened now by the frank conversation, the waiter added "well, I've got a cock that should stuff her real good ... I'll give your slut, if you want me to, a fucking she'll remember." And then, as he was about to turn away, he asked "Do you want me to bring anyone else to fuck her?" "Not tonight ... perhaps another night ... but not tonight." And with that the waiter left to attend the other tables under his care. The words 'perhaps another night', though, stayed in her head. 'Oh god, what have I done? Is he going to whore me to everyone who works here? Who else is he going to have fuck me. How many will he have fuck me? I can't believe I'm doing this ... I can't believe I want this.' "How's your cunt now, slut?" "Its dripping, Sir. My pants are getting soaked Sir." There, she'd done it! Not only had she traveled to the hotel to be a fuck toy for the weekend, but by simply sitting there while he and the waiter talked, she'd made herself available to someone who was, in effect, a complete stranger. She'd sat there, motionless, while he whored her ... while he and the waiter talked about her almost as if she weren't there. And the primary effect it had on her was to make the wet spot at her crotch even more apparent. "This is what you want, slut. You know that and I know that." "I ... I think so ...," and then finally openly admitting the truth, "yes, yes Sir it is." "Well, let's hope he comes to the room. I'll show him how a sub should be treated ... how an obedient married slut should be used." She could only guess what he meant by that, but still ... despite her lingering sense of humiliation, and constant fear ... his words excited her. "Reach down and rub your cunt thru your pants." She hadn't planned on this, hadn't imagined that he'd make her cum there in the restaurant. She hesitated for a moment, but that only caused him to repeat his command. So she did it ... being as discrete as she could under the table. "Make yourself cum, slut ... sit there and cum for me now." She felt the wetness at her pants and knew it wouldn't take much for her to cum. She wanted to cum ... she needed to ... but there, in the restaurant? She pressed her fingers against herself, could feel the tension in her cunt rising, nearing its climax. 'Oh god, I hope I don't make any noise ... please, don't let me make any noise' she pleaded silently with herself. "Don't stop till you cum." She closed her eyes ... half out of pleasure and half out of fear that people could look into them and know what she was doing, know what was happening to her. But yes, she was ... she was going to cum ... she had to cum ... when suddenly her mouth opened just a bit and a soft nearly silent breathless moan of "oooooooooooo" came out of her. She sat there, trying to catch her breath, her fingers still at her crotch, her pants feeling like she had just pissed in them. Her eyes were still closed when she heard him say "feel good now, slut?" "Yes .. yes I do Sir" she answered, almost as an instinctual response. "OK, slut, finish your dessert slut and let me pay the bill ... I'm taking you upstairs to use that cunt and ass of yours for my own pleasure now." She couldn't believe that she had actually cum there in the restaurant, and she prayed that no one knew what she had just done. But another thought also crossed her mind: 'Do I really care if they know?' She had never imagined that she could be the public slut that he was making her, but the fact remained that he was making her one now. Nor was it any longer the case that she was allowing it to happen because, if she was to be a sub slut, she had to obey his instructions. She was allowing it because it turned her on ... embarrassment had given way to pure unadulterated lust. Attending to her dessert, she did precisely as told and when they left and walked the length of the restaurant, she made no attempt at covering her bra and bulging tits. No doubt the waiter had already informed everyone on the staff that she was a slut and had been offered to him. Perhaps he had already bragged to his friends there 'I'm going to fuck that little married bitch later tonight.' Now though, rather than embarrassment, she felt an erotic thrill at being displayed. No longer caring how much her blouse opened when she walked, she thought 'let whoever can see my tits.' She even went so far as to catch the waiter's eye as she left to give him a subtle, inviting smile. 'He already knows what I am.' When they arrived at his room, he checked his watch. A little past 10PM ... about a half hour before the waiter was supposed to arrive. Time enough for him to prepare her. "Take off your blouse and jeans slut, then on your knees on the bed." There were no niceties in that command, and she immediately did as instructed. Retrieving two ties from his suitcase, he tied each wrist to an ankle, rendering her nearly helpless with her head turned to the side, resting on the bed, her bare ass in the air, vulnerable and open. A shudder of panic when through her: 'I haven't known him that long ... I have no idea what he plans.' Unceremoniously pulling the plug out of her ass so that she let out a slight whimpering "ohhhhhh", he wiped it clean on a towel and tossed it aside. He of course planned to fuck her. But more than that, he planned to 'prepare her' for what might follow if the waiter did indeed show up as scheduled. Letting his finger slide over a deliciously wet cunt, he asked "still have my cum in there, whore?" "I ... I ... I think so Sir," she answered in a stuttering subservient voice. Pushing three fingers into her, twisting his hand as he did, he asked "like having your cunt played with, don't you?" "Y ... yessssssssss," she said, he breathing now growing heavy. "Ready for a nice hard fucking, whore?" "Yssssssss ..." Pulling his fingers out, he cleaned them on the entrance to her ass. Then climbing onto the bed, lowering his pants so that his hardened cock sprung free, he put its head against that tight inviting passage: "Want my cock in your ass, slut?" "Yssssssss ... p ... pleseeeeeee" Pushing it in, he felt her muscles tighten deliciously around him, her asshole now gripping his cock. But rather than pump her, he lifted his hand and brought it down hard on a cheek of her ass with a loud slap. She jerked, moaned, and nearly pulled herself away from him. But then he did it again, and this time she jerked and pushed herself back against him. "The little slut likes being fucked in her ass and spanked hard, doesn't she?" She tried to answer, she tried to say yes, but before she could his hand came down on her hard for a third time and all she could do was gasp "ohhhhhhhh." Slowly he let himself slide into her until his groin was pressed hard against her ass. Bending forward, he reached around with both hands and took hold of each nipple between his fingers. With his mouth now inches from her ear, his cock now in her fully, he began to pinch harder and asked in a soft firm voice "Are you a whore?" "Yesss." "Are you a whore who will fuck whoever I tell her to fuck?" "Yessssssss." "And does this little whore like having her ass fucked and tits pinched?" "Yessssssssss." "Lets see how much you like it," he said as his fingers squeezed harder still ... harder while they pulled on her nipples. Her tits throbbed, and yes, there was pain. But it was a delicious pain, and pain she wanted to feel, a pain she craved. It radiated out from her nipples and seemed to ignite her tits as much as the cock was igniting her down below. He pinched harder ... as hard as he could ... and she let out a guttural cry "ohhhhhh". But this time that cry was followed almost immediately by a scream ... the scream of a bitch in heat cumming. He was nearly ready to cum himself, but with remarkable restraint he held off. 'I'm not done heating up this whore yet,' he thought, and as soon as he felt her convulsions begin to subside he asked softly "does the bitch want to cum again?" "Yessssssssss," she moaned, not truly conscious of what she was agreeing to, what he was asking her. Straightening up, he grabbed her hips in both hands, and thrust his cock as hard and deep into her as he could. In and then out, in and then out until he himself was on the verge of cumming. Suddenly he stopped, holding his cock halfway in her. "Massage my cock with your ass muscles, slut!" She tried to do as he said as best as she could, tightening and loosening her ass muscles. She could feel him in her, feel her muscles gripping him. Without thinking she began pushing back against him, fucking herself on him. Until suddenly her cunt exploded again and all she could do was lay there, convulsing in orgasmic pleasure. "Did I tell you to cum, slut?" "N .. noooo Sir" she breathlessly replied. "Then you have disobeyed me, slut ... and need to be punished." Pulling out of her ass (which, in all honestly, he did more to keep himself from cumming than to torment her), he retrieved the riding crop he'd fucked her with earlier. But this time she wasn't going to be simply fucked by it ... she was going to have sex with it, fuck it. Stepping back, he brought it down with a crack against her ass, and she let out a scream ... not an orgasmic one this time, but one of surprise and pain. That slap had actually brought tears to her eyes, and she trembled in expectation of him hitting her again. But instead, he turned her over on the bed, onto her back, with her wrists still tied to her ankles. Her legs, of course, immediately parted so as to leave her cunt open and wholly vulnerable. And he was hardly one to ignore such vulnerability. He began by flicking her clit lightly with the crop's end and when he felt her on the edge of another orgasm, he pulled it back ... but only to bring it down with a crack against her cunt. Some women, of course, would simply scream and beg for such torment to end. But not this slut. She loved having her cunt abused, and that one single crack made her cum. He waited a minute until she calmed down a bit, whereupon, kneeling beside her, he took the handle and pushed it into her cunt. But rather than fuck her with it, he held it motionless, firmly in his hand "fuck it slut ... fuck the crop!" he commanded. She, of course, no longer cared what was in her cunt ... she'd fuck anything now. She raised her hips as best she could, trying to get the handle deeper into her, then lowered them, raised them, then lowered them. He egged her on: "Fuck it slut, fuck it faster." Her hips began to rise faster and faster, a grunt or a groan emanating out of her mouth every time she pushed up to have her cunt swallow more of the crop's handle. He commanded her to fuck it faster still, harder until her ass was literally bouncing off the bed, her hips pushing up with hardly a second between each thrust. Then suddenly she stiffened and screamed "arghhhhhh" as an orgasm ripped thru her. He pulled out the crop even before her orgasm ended but only so he could shove three of his fingers into her cunt. Her thrusts only paused for a second and then began anew as she did what she could to fuck his fingers. He pressed harder, then let a forth finger in. She was clearly in a state or orgasmic ecstasy then, hips rising and falling, pushing against him, uncontrollable moans and groans emanating from her mouth. His thumb slid in then, alongside his fingers and he began pressing harder still, now slowly twisting and turning his hand, working it in ever deeper into her. Her moans turned louder, and her whole body began to shake. He kept pushing, twisting, turning his hand as her moans turnd to cries and an occasional scream. But they were cries and screams of utter wanton abandonment and pleasure. He then gave his hand one final twist, one last push and suddenly it was in her, all of it up to his wrist. She was bucking and heaving now utterly out of control ... totally lost to the sensations raging thru her. She screamed, seemed to choke, then screamed again. He grabbed a tit with his free hand, squeezed it tight, and began pushing and pulling the fist inside her cunt. She kept cumming, screaming, bucking ... and if she wasn't in a state of continuous orgasm then her orgasms were occurring close enough for there to be little pause to her utter abandoned pleasure. Now however he needed his own release. Abruptly he pulled his fist out of her, although the convulsions never ceased even after he did. Moving between her legs, he pushed his swollen cock up into her. "Now bitch, time for you to fuck a real cock!" he said, though he knew that in her present state she didn't hear a word that he said. It was only a few seconds after he pushed into her that her hips thrust up again and, with a guttural moan, announced yet another orgasm. He held still while she came, and then slammed into her, driving his cock deep into her as hard as he could. "Uhgggggggg" she'd grunt with each thrust, until suddenly she screamed once again as before as her body continued with its orgasmic convulsions. He was, of course, only human, and as much as he would have like to keep pounding her, he had to cum himself. And her convulsions did it for him ... to the rhythm of her trembling cunt he shot his seed into her. He pulled out when he was done while she continued to lay there, eyes glazed, her breathing still heavy, the muscles across her abdomen and stomach still in spasam. Pulling up his pants, he looked at the clock: 10:45. 'Wonder what happened to the waiter ... did he chicken out?' he thought to himself. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door ... but then what followed is another chapter.