The Beginning

“I've already told you: the only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. I know none other as sure.” Count Oxtiern, Oxteirn or The Misfortunes of Libertinage

--Marquis de Sade, Grove Press 1987 Translation

I am bound. I am on my back. My hands are at crotch level. They clutch a vibrator, which is pressed against my clit. The black bondage tape is stretched over my chest just above my breasts, crosses down over my body, making an x. My legs are closed. The tape loops around each leg. I have my eyes shut. I can move a little, but not much. My body is covered in cum and red marks. The stranger tells me to open my eyes. He takes a picture.

When I get home, I send a text with the photograph to a California number. I sit on a kitchen chair and wait. I receive a smiley face in return. I can wash now, make myself come, then go to sleep. In the morning, I’m expected to make a full report via e-mail.

The man I sent the photo to is Toppy. I am Bee, or Bitch or Bottom. Call me whatever you like and I’ll answer. Toppy found me on line on one of those hook up sites I was drawn to him because he didn’t live in my city. I wanted safe cybersex with a stranger. Because there was no way I could enact my fantasies with anyone in person. I knew that.

It didn’t take him long to discover my desperate need to be humiliated. He ordered me to put a finger inside my cunt, to slide my wetness over my face. He told me I was a good girl when I did so.  I knew I wasn’t. He had me stick a finger in my ass, then lick it. Asked me to describe the taste. Wouldn’t let me come until he said I could. I came hard. In the morning, I felt embarrassed when I remembered the secrets I’d told him about my sex fantasies, stuff I’d never told a single soul.

I disappeared for a while, deactivated my account. I couldn’t face the extent of my depravities. Toppy said it was clear how desperate I was to be degraded. At first I was angry with him. I didn’t want to admit this to  myself. It was too shameful. What kind of sicko wants to be degraded? To be treated contemptuously, the dictionary says. Or to be broken down, as in a chemical reaction.

Instead I dated pretty boys half my age. I loved their youth and beauty. We had vanilla sex. I gave them good head, they diddled my clit for a few minutes. They fucked me in various positions. I never heard from them again. It was unsatisfying.

I reactivated my account.  Sought him out again. He made me come with his orders, called me names, invented twisted scenarios where I was beaten and bound. Taboo stories involving strangers, groups of men, bus drivers, pizza delivery guys.

He made me confess my most depraved fantasies to him. I lay on my back, whispering into the speaker phone, while I fucked myself with a dildo.

Finally he told me to send him photos. I sent him pictures of my tits, close up views of my cunt and my asshole. He made me crawl with a carrot up  my ass. If I dropped it, I had to slap my own face, hard enough to leave a mark. He had me bark for him. I felt ridiculous, stupid. Turned on. All of this in the privacy of my own home. I was in a frenzy, constantly fucking myself, always wanting more. He didn’t care if I had sex with other men. He was bored by the vanilla details. But he told me it wasn’t enough for me and I knew he was right.

One day he texted me the address of a man here in my city, across town. I stared at the address. We’d fantasized about his giving me to a stranger. Hell, it had been my fantasy for as long as I could remember, even as a teenager. But I could never bring myself to go that far. Whenever I met a new man, I always met him in public first.

But in my heart of hearts, what I wanted was not to care about who fucked me, to let men use me in any way they wanted. I don’t know why. Clearly I wasn’t normal. I was a perverted little fuck, from an early age. My copy of the Story of O was cum-stained and dog-eared. I didn’t crave a D/s relationship with some guy who would give me a contract, like in the dumb BDSM novels that had gone mainstream. I didn’t want to have to use a safe word. I wanted to not be safe. I needed something more. I knew it was wrong and dangerous.

How could I do something so risky? My friends would think I was seriously deranged if they knew. I would probably even lose my job with the bank if the photos Toppy had made me take ever got out. But he wasn’t blackmailing me. He was just orchestrating something that he knew I needed.

“Wear a dress, no panties, no bra,” he wrote. “You will do as you’re told.”

A thrill ran through my body. My cunt was soaked with the thought of obeying his command, but…

The phone was silent.

I ran into my bedroom and threw myself on the bed, my body shook with fear, with need. I was so fucked up. A civilized woman wouldn’t acquiesce, wouldn’t do what I was about to do. I couldn’t imagine my friends with their orderly lifestyles, picket fences, 2.whatever kids, a doghouse in the back yard, barbecues every weekend, ever doing anything like this. Heck, even when I told them about my encounters with younger men they were shocked. Treated me as if I was a bit of a twit, in fact. I was single, why wasn’t I trying to find a man to marry? Because I knew that I could never be the right kind of woman for such a man. He would expect fidelity. Not a wild, restless woman who craved men like a drug. I would never be good enough because I wasn’t good. I hated myself for the way I was. A freak of nature. I didn’t fit anywhere.

With trembling hands, I removed jeans, t-shirt and underwear. I didn’t even bother to shower. The text hadn’t said I should. I could smell the sweat from my underarms. My cunt was hairy and my legs were unshaven. I felt like a skank, some useless whore who deserved everything she got. I imagined my father, how angry he’d be. He would threaten to use his belt on me. Yeah, I was one twisted fuck.

I put on a dress with buttons in front. I left three top buttons undone so that my cleavage was on display. I grabbed my purse, walked out the door, caught a cab and went to the address on the text, a nondescript detached house in the middle of the suburbs.

I took a deep breath and I knocked at the door. The man who answered was middle-aged, average looking. Hair thinning on top. Probably in some mindless government job, just killing time until retirement. To be honest, I was so nervous I barely took in his appearance. He looked me over and told me to come in.

I walked down the narrow hallway. He followed me. He told me to stop when I was in the middle of the living room. He ordered me to strip. I was turned on but freaked out by this. What was Toppy thinking? I didn’t know what his relationship was to this guy. Did he even know him? Or was he just another person he’d met on line? I thought of running, but I knew it was too late. The guy was bigger than me. I wasn’t a particularly strong woman and I didn’t know self-defence.

When he said the word, “Strip,” my heart beat quickened. I could feel the tingling of my cunt at that word. Fuck, I wanted this.

I slowly took off my shoes, then my dress, not facing him. My face burning with shame.

He slapped my ass, hard. I cried out in surprise and pain. He had a strong hand. Why was that such a fucking turn on?

“Turn around.”

I turned to give him a view of my tits and cunt.

He stroked the bulge at his crotch.

“Lie down on the floor.”

I paused. He unbuckled his belt, removed his pants.

His cock was hard. I wanted it in my mouth, down my throat.

“Lie the fuck down, bitch or I’ll use this belt on you.”

I stared at the thick, black leather belt, wondered what it would feel like to have him use it on me, whipping me hard, striping my ass red. My nipples hardened and my cunt was soaking wet.

I did as I was told.

He squatted over me.

He rubbed his cock over my face. It was slimy with precum and stank of urine.

I was so fucking turned on. I knew what to do. No preamble. He shoved his cock in my mouth, humped against me, his balls slapping my chin. I drooled as I took his cock as deep as I could down my throat. He pinched my nipples. He started to grunt.

“I’m going to come,” he said, and pulled out, unloading his cum all over my face.

He dismounted. Told me not to move.

Thick gobs of cold cum ran down over my face, spilling down onto my neck and tits.

He reached into my purse and took out my phone. He took a photo.

“Clean yourself up and get the fuck out of here.”

I grabbed my clothes, went to the bathroom, washed my face, trying to avoid looking at the mirror because I didn’t want to look myself in the eye. What a fucking slag. I left as fast as I could.

The cab driver gave me a glance. I wondered if he knew what a slut I was. Used by a stranger at someone’s command.

I tipped him more than I should have, just to get out of there fast. I arrived back at my apartment and checked my phone.

Stared at the photo of a cum dump, a slut. Of myself. I hung my head in shame. I vowed I would never, ever do anything like that again.

My phone buzzed. A text from Toppy.

“Send me the photo.”

I didn’t send it to him right away. I paced the floor. I wondered if he received money from the guy for my services.

The idea turned me on even more. What kind of a woman is aroused at the thought of being used as a prostitute?

I sat down, pressing my cunt against the chair. I was so fucking excited. So hot. I reached up to undo the buttons on my dress. My  nipples were swollen and sore.

I knew if I sent Toppy the pic I would have crossed a line, reached the point of no return. There was no going back from this. Toppy would expect me to serve any man he chose. And I realized, I fucking wanted this so badly. I couldn’t turn back now.

I texted Toppy the photo.

He sent me a smiley face and told me to go to bed.

Not before I fucked myself first. Reenacting the whole thing in my head. Even the idea of Toppy getting paid by this guy was arousing to me.

I lay on the bed on my stomach with my fingers between my legs. I humped the bed, shoved a finger inside my cunt to gather its wetness, then over my clit, gently over my swollen clit. I moved against it. I came and cried out. Tears running down my face because I fully understood that this wouldn’t be the last time I would let Toppy use me, let him give me to strangers. Let them do anything they wanted to me.

No, this wasn’t safe and I knew it. And I fucking needed it so badly.

So why am I writing it here, telling you? I need to get this shit out of my system. I guess you get to be my fucking outlet. I’m writing all the stuff I don’t tell Toppy in my e-mails.

I have so much more to tell you. And it gets so much darker than this…