He told me to meet him in the park, wearing only a flimsy top and skirt, no underwear, no bra.
I walked from my apartment to the park across the street from the beer store, passing the old drunks, who leered at my nipples stiffening in the cool breeze of an early autumn morning. He told me if men looked at me while I was walking, I should look them in the eye, lick my lips, walk on and wiggle my hips so they could see my full and sexy ass as I walked. As if I were offering it to them. But not to dawdle. I had an appointment to keep. He would make me suffer if I was late. A homeless guy in ragged clothes, stinking of beer and god knows what else, his beard grey and grizzled, covered with drool, copped a feel as his eyes roved over my body. I felt his trembling hand on my ass and let him pinch it hard before walking on to meet Sir North.
I found the bench he’d described to me, the third one from the south side of the park entrance, in front of an old maple tree with the symbol of two halves of a heart split open. As Sir North had commanded, I didn’t sit down, but stood behind the bench, ass out, spine straightened and breasts forward.
The wind blew against my naked legs. I spread them as Sir North had directed. The park at seven in the morning was empty. Even the Tai Chi ladies weren’t out yet. It was a small open space with a few chess tables, a well-tended garden, several aging maples, a coterie of pigeons, and some benches along the path. People mostly used it as a short cut to cross the busy downtown streets.
The sun was just starting to rise. It was a dim, grey cool early autumn morning. I heard footsteps approaching. A chill crawled down the back of my neck along my spine. I felt a hand at my waist.
“Good little slut,” Sir North said. We had spoken on the phone. I recognized his voice. It was low, gravelly, sinister sounding.
He reached around and tweaked a nipple through my thin top. I cried out.
“That’s the last time you’re going to make a sound unless I tell you to, bitch. Nod if you understand.”
I nodded.
He cuffed my right hand with a metal cuff attached to a chain and then led me along the path. I stumbled as we walked. I was so nervous and afraid. I could feel the sweat above my upper lip, on my forehead, trickling from my armpits. My cunt was already wet. I blushed at how I must have smelled.
I knew where we were going. He told me if he found me satisfactory, he would take me back to his cabin where he would abuse me in as many nasty ways that he could think of and fuck the living daylights out of me.
I had fucked myself over and over dreaming of the moment when this would come true. All my fantasies. A man to truly use me, hurt me, make me his worthless cum dump. This sounds wrong and odd to anyone who isn’t a masochist and a submissive, I know. How can I explain how much I’ve been wanting this. How much I know that what I want isn’t proper or acceptable. Isn’t right.
My cunt clenched tightly as he uncuffed me, then bundled me into his car and snapped the seatbelt around me, letting his fingers brush against my nipples, which grew erect at his touch. He leaned in to the car.
“Slut, I am going to clamp these tits so hard…” He slapped my right breast, then my left.
My breathing came in short gasps. My cunt was dripping. I was worried I was going to make a mess of the seat. It was a bench seat, cheap, cracked red vinyl. The car was a jalopy, an old Chevy Nova. He put on his seat belt and started the car.
“Your cunt had better be good and wet for me, girlie.”
He reached beneath my short skirt and shoved his finger up my slit. I moaned quietly as he slid his finger in and out.
“Remember what I said, bitch. Shut the fuck up. What a slut you are. Your cunt is soaked.”
He slipped the finger that had been inside me in his mouth. I looked down and noticed the erection bulging from his pants. He reached over and grabbed my hand, then placed it on his hard cock.
“You’re going to stroke this cock until we reach our destination, bitch. Now!”
I kept stroking. He undid his belt, which I couldn’t help but notice was thick, black leather. He unzipped his pants and showed me his fat stiff dick.
“This is for you, girlie. You’re going to do what you were made to do, fucking worship this cock,” he said. He ordered me to remove my seat belt. We were in full morning commuter traffic now. My face flared with shame.
“Suck it, you little whore,” he said.
I turned in my seat, leaned over. He yanked my hair with one hand while he held the steering wheel with the other and pushed my head down until my face was rammed against his dick.
“Open your mouth, little girl. Take my cock.”
I opened and he yanked my hair up and pushed my head down over and over until I was choking on his stiff cock, the tears running down my face.
“Now keep up that pace,” he said as he let go of my head. I kept going. The traffic moved around us. A truck slowed down. The driver blew his horn.
I thought about what a fucking whore I was, what a skank, what a little deviant bitch. I knew what I was doing was wrong. I shouldn’t be meeting a strange man. I shouldn’t let him fuck me. I shouldn’t be desperate for the pain he was going to inflict on me with his canes, crops and clamps. I shouldn’t but I desperately wanted this. I had wanted it since I first started to fantasize about sex. My fantasies always included torture of my nipples, men setting them on fire, taking me, using me. My horny cunt puddled the seat.
At a traffic light, while we were stopped, he reached to the floor of the back seat.
“Sit up, bitch,” he said.
Can anyone explain why being commanded and called a bitch turns some people on? I know it’s horrible. It’s so degrading. Yeah, exactly, it’s degrading. It puts me in the place I so desperately want to be in. It’s telling me that I am not the one in charge, that I am just a worthless little bitch. All I know is that when he calls me a bitch, I feel exactly right. I feel like I want to do everything he asks. I feel free. It satisfies something deep within my core. Damn, I can’t explain it. It’s twisted and I know it.
I sat up, wiped my tear-stained face. He pulled out a tool box. He held up a long screwdriver with a thick handle.
He pressed the handle against my mouth.
“Open,” he said.
I shook my head. He slapped my face, sending waves of lust to my cunt.
I opened my mouth and he slid the screwdriver handle inside.
He whispered, “You’re going to fuck yourself with the handle of this screwdriver, girlie. And if you don’t coat it with your cum, I’ll shove the working end up your ass. Spread your slut legs. Get busy.”
This is what I wanted. A man to do things to me I’d only ever dreamed of, or hadn’t even thought of. A man to torture me and use my pain and humiliation for his pleasure, his arousal. If my submitting to his cane or belt would give this man pleasure, I would feel like I was doing my duty. And fuck it felt so good, but at the same time, it felt shameful. There was something so depraved in wanting this. From this man, Sir North, a man I’d started to chat with online. I saw his profile and sent him a message. I told him I was a sub and a masochist just like he was looking for, but I was too chicken shit to meet. After all, there are so many crazies out there. I wanted to submit, but I couldn’t trust just anyone to use me the way I needed to be used. But it felt powerful just admitting to someone finally about who I was. Who I am. What I wanted to be so badly.
I spread my legs wide and pressed the handle of the screwdriver against my cunt. I was so wet it went in easily. So fucking wet as it slid inside me. He slapped my face.
“Fucking hump that tool,” he said.
We drove along until we reached a dirt road surrounded by forest. I humped and humped the screwdriver handle, so close to coming. It looked so wrong and obscene: this tool, its silvery metal shaft sticking out of me as I spread my legs wide to fuck the rubber handle. Trying hard to hang on to the thin metal.
We’d been driving for about twenty minutes. His place wasn’t too far from the city.
“Ask my permission to come, slut.”
“Please Sir North, may I come…?”
“Not yet,” he said and stopped the car in front of a ramshackle old cabin.
He got out and walked over to my door.
Slowly he had worn me down. We chatted online about why he was a sadist. He discovered that he liked to inflict pain, liked the way it aroused women beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. He told me that some people feel like when they are being cut or beaten that the world is finally real. I totally related to that. I’d been numb for years. I often floated out of my body in work meetings or in conversations with friends. It was hard to concentrate. I learned to go to work with nipple clamps on. Pain helped me focus.
“I want you to leave the screwdriver in and walk, slut. Do it now.”
I awkwardly clambered up from the seat.
“And don’t fucking drop it in the dirt or you’ll have to lick that off too.”
I did my best to obey him. The handle felt snug and tight in my cunt. I clenched my kegels to keep it inside me. My walk was a kind of hunch. I felt awkward and ashamed and, yes, I felt aroused. I felt the friction of my naked nipples rubbing against my tight top. I felt the snugness of the handle inside my cunt.
I managed to get up the small set of stairs at the front of the house. He opened the door, put his hand on my back and pushed me into the cabin.
“Crawl forward to the bench and keep your eyes down.”
I kneeled down, feeling the cold hardwood floor against my knees. My skirt rode up in the back. I felt a coolness on my ass.
“Hold it right there, girlie.”
I stopped. I felt his hand moving along the backs of my legs and then up along my ass.
“Press your head down onto the floor and present that ass for me. Do it now!”
I bowed my head and pressed my face against the dark wood. I offered him my ass.
The screwdriver clattered as it fell out of my cunt. I quaked with fear, wondering how he was going to punish me.
I heard the sound of the belt being removed from his pants. I heard the air whistling as he snapped it up and brought it down hard against my naked ass.
I screamed.
“What did I tell you about making sounds, girlie?”
I pressed my face harder against the floor.
“Open your mouth. Lick the floor, you worthless little cunt. Get it nice and clean for me.”
I licked the floor as he used his belt on my ass. My cunt leaked onto the hardwood. He put his hand around my neck and pulled me back.
“Lick up that cunt juice, you worthless little mop.”
He came around to the front and sat on the floor, turning my head toward him.
“Lick it up and open your mouth so I can see.”
My nipples were tight and hard against the floor. I breathed heavily. Drool dripped down my chin. I opened my mouth.
Sir North put a finger on my tongue, grabbing my lips as if I were a horse.
I could see his erection, obscene and huge, sticking out of his pants. My ass was sore from the belt strokes he’d inflicted on me.
He pulled me into his lap and raised my skirt.
I sent him photos of myself in various compromising positions. My hand holding open my cunt, all creamy after I’d fucked myself thinking of what he would do to me. My nipples stiff and sore after I’d beaten them with a yardstick for him. One day he simply told me he’d had enough of my cockteasing bullshit. Told me to meet him at the park. Told me what to wear. I said yes. It was as simple as that. All my fears were still there, but the need was greater than anything I’ve ever experienced.
“Climb on this cock, slut. Fuck it hard.”
My cunt was so wet and hungry for his cock, I took it deep.
“That’s right, girl,” he said, his breathing laboured as I bounced on top of him. His blue eyes flashed as I writhed on his lap. He moved me back a little.
“I need access to those tits, girl.”
My nipples were hard and stiff. He flicked one with his fingers and then the other before taking one of my nipples in his mouth and sucking hard on it, then biting it with his teeth.
I screamed and flooded his cock with my cunt.
“You little bitch,” he said. “All that screaming. I’m going to have to gag you.”
He got up and summarily dumped me on my ass as his cock left my cunt. I was on the floor with my legs spread. He grabbed my neck and pulled me up.
“Stand there and don’t move,” he said, his hands roving over my breasts and down to my stomach, then glancing lightly over my shaved cunt.
He opened a metal chest that was against one of the walls. He pulled out a long thick dildo in the shape of a cock.
“Open your mouth, slut,” he said.
I opened and took the cock into my mouth, choked as he slid it further and fucked my mouth with it, in and out. I felt his erection brush up against me.
He pushed me against the wall, my breasts and belly touching the cold log walls.
“Keep sucking on that cock, girl.”
I heard the metal trunk creak as he opened it again.
He walked over to me and turned my head roughly to the side so I could see what was in his hand, a thin cane, about four feet long. I could smell the bamboo as he brought it closer.
“This is my favourite cane, bitch. I’m going to whip your ass with it.”
He pushed me back against the wall.
The first lash of the cane hit its target. It hurt like hell. I took the pain. I was proud of myself for standing there and taking it. I closed my eyes as the lashes rained down on my ass. Whistle, snap, whistle snap. I was aware of every sound, every smell, the rough logs digging into my tits, my soaking cunt, tightening, its juices dripping down my thighs. Whistle, snap. Whistle, snap. Over and over again until tears ran down my eyes.
He turned me around and laughed at me.
“What a cry baby,” he taunted. “Cry baby, cry baby. Your ass is covered in red stripes baby. Get over to the mirror.”
I saw a floor length mirror against another wall and walked over there.
“Get on your knees and crawl on that belly, bitch, unless I tell you otherwise.”
I knelt down once more. Lowered my body to the ground like some defenceless animal and crawled, slid along the floor. My body ached. My cunt ached. My tits ached.
He removed the cock gag from my mouth.
“Now stand up and look at those stripes of pain, I gave you, slut.”
I stood up and turned my ass toward the mirror. Fuck, it was beautiful, all those red stripes.
He stuck the dildo into my cunt, which was wet and ready to be used, then he pulled it out. It was coated in my juices.
“Look at how fucking wet you are, girlie. Such a whore.” He handed me the cock.
“Open that slut mouth of yours and start eating. Make it porny for me. Get me hard. I’m going to fuck that tight asshole of yours.”
I looked into his cruel blue eyes and down to his hard on, the cock so thick and long. I wondered if it would hurt when he took my ass. I’d had anal sex with a few lovers before, but it was gentle and somewhat dissatisfying.
I licked along the rubber shaft, let my tongue dance around the rim and up the head of the cock. He took my chin in his hands. He didn’t kiss me. It wasn’t like that. I knew it. I wasn’t looking for romance, I wanted to be used by someone I couldn’t fool into stopping, someone who was cruel and got off on my suffering. Because I needed to suffer. I needed to hurt. I needed to feel.
He turned me around and slapped my ass.
“Get yourself over the couch, girlie. I’m ready to own you now.”
I draped my body over a beaten up couch facing the fireplace. I felt as if everything was in slow motion. I noticed every detail. The wood frame and plaid cushions, the stuffing coming out.
I heard Sir North in the background. I didn’t know what he was doing, but soon I heard the crackle of the fire and felt its heat on my naked ass.
“Raise that ass, little girl. Offer yourself to me, like the slut you are.”
My tits were hard against the prickly plaid and my legs quivered as I tried to obey him.
I heard the clank of metal. I had no idea what he was doing.
He walked to the back of the couch and showed me what he held in his hand, a long iron poker with a smoking glowing end.
I looked at it in horror. I hadn’t contemplated this act. He was going to brand me. I had a safe word. We’d decided on “overboard.” I could use it. But if I used it, that would be it. I wouldn’t be invited back to his cabin. He wouldn’t greet me every morning telling me I was his favourite slut and cum dump. He wouldn’t use his cane on me.
“This is going to hurt, bitch. You ready?”
I thought about it. Was I ready, was I ready to do everything this stranger asked? To the point of letting my ass be burned raw by his brand? To let him own me? Was I ready to be used and degraded in every possible way? Could I trust him to use me but not destroy me? My legs quaked. Tears ran down my eyes. My cunt was no longer dripping. I felt scared. Scared out of my mind.
I shook my head.
“You know what to say then, girlie. Say it if you need to.”
“Overboard,” I whispered.
“Get up, slut.”
I rose from the couch. I could see the look of disapproval in his eyes.
“Get your fucking clothes on and get out of here.”
I felt awful. Ashamed, angry with myself. I took a deep breath. I saw the way he looked at me as I walked by. I wasn’t really anything to this man but a cum dump, a pain slut. I thought that’s what I wanted, and maybe it was, but he was a stranger. And I was still a stranger to myself in many ways. I needed to explore more. I needed to make sure I would be safe. He slammed the door as I left. It was raining. I walked in my flimsy outfit out to the main road. Probably looked a mess. Fortunately a woman took pity on me. I hitched a ride with her back to the city. I never saw Sir North again.
© 2013 Amanda Earl. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Bio: Amanda Earl’s erotic fiction has been published in several Cleis Press anthologies edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and also appears in the Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica and numerous other anthologies. Earl is a member of the Erotica Readers and Writers Association. For more information, please visit AmandaEarl.com.