I used to think that there must be something wrong with me that I liked being spoken to roughly and crudely, not to mention having the wild fantasies that I often indulge in. I've since though, come across other women who have the same desires, so I now accept it as being quite normal after all. Anyhow, on with my new story...
Once in a while I'd received messages from men who had read my stories; some just expressed their enjoyment, while others proposed chatting in one way or another.
These men were always quite polite, and I, being equally polite, put them off in a nice manner. I am after all, in spite of my sex life being somewhat dull, more or less happily married.
Well one day, I saw that there was a message for me, and on opening it, I was somewhat taken aback.
"Hi slut," the message began, "I can tell from your filthy and perverted mind, that you are my kind of dirty, fucking, whore."
He went on to say, in the same crude and abusive language, how he enjoyed my stories, and he selected certain aspects to comment on.
Far from being hurt or turned off by his manner of expressing himself, I found myself getting so excited, and I read his message several times over.
Needing to get the children up, breakfasted, and off to school, I was then too busy to think further about it, and it was only later on when I was at work, that I had time to reflect on what the guy had written to me. In fact, for the rest of the day, that message was in my mind.
It wasn't until later that night that I once more opened the sex site and reread the message.
I clicked on "reply" but then sat there pondering over just what to write in reply. I've almost always made a point of saying at least something in reply to any messages, and such a message as this one definitely deserved a response.
"Hello Mike, Thank you for your message," I typed, but then once more sat wondering just what to write.
"I'm so glad to hear that you enjoy my stories."
These two lines took me some five or six minutes of thought and wondering, but then I suddenly took it into my mind to delete what I'd written, and to start again.
Thank you for your lovely message; I must say that never before have I received anything so forthright and dirty, but I must admit that I found it most exciting to read what you had to say.
I suppose that you are quite justified in speaking in that way, given what I've written in my stories.
My very best wishes to you."
I signed off and then briefly wondered whether I should actually send it, however send it I did.
What followed over the next months was a wonderfully exciting exchange of messages.
One day though, I received the following message.
"Yvonne, you shit brained cunt, it's time for us to meet up so that I can use you like the dirty, depraved, fucking harlot that you are."
I replied giving all sorts of excuses why we shouldn't and couldn't meet.
There was no putting him off though. He wrote: "If you want to keep getting my messages you fucking moll, you'll do whatever is needed for me to have you. When you are ready, let me know."
After that, no matter what I wrote and no matter how many messages I sent, I didn't hear a word from Mike.
I missed his disgusting and abusive messages so very much, but not a word from him did I receive.
It was some couple of months later that my husband and I arranged to take our children and visit my parents in law for a week of the school holidays.
Everything was arranged when my boss approached me and asked whether I could put my short holiday off. One of the men in the Contracts Department had unexpectedly resigned just when the other was off ill. The boss was desperate and asked if I could try and fill the gap for a short time as I was well up with what contracts were under way, and how the system worked.
Suddenly, my mind began to be filled with bad thoughts as I realized that this was perhaps the opportunity that I'd subconsciously been looking for.
I explained everything to my husband, and made the suggestion that he take the children while I remained at home. He was a bit reluctant at first, and talked of cancelling our holiday until another time, but luckily the children were so excited about going, that he agreed that I should remain at home.
My heart was beating fast and I felt flushed and excited as, later on, I typed the message to Mike. Would he get this message and reply, or had he given me away and was no longer interested.
I had no reason to wonder; in just a half hour after sending my message, I received the following from him"
"Whore, I knew that you were such a filthy bit of gutter filth that you'd come good about meeting." He went on to discuss how and where we'd meet, and he made several suggestions, and so it was soon all arranged.
At the end of the week, I was standing waving goodbye to my husband and children as they drove away on their holiday.
I'd explained to Mike that it would have to be no more than a flying visit over the weekend, but he was happy with whatever he could get, and arranged everything.
My husband had left with the children, just an hour earlier when I was at the airport picking up my ticket. I walked towards the departure lounge, my mind a confusion of varying emotions.
I seemed to be in a daze and doing things mechanically. I was on the plane and the engines were roaring preparatory to take off.
It was only an hour's flight, and the plane seemed to be descending to land in no time.
Most of the passengers had made their way off the plane, but I still sat there, my mind alternately thrilling at what I was about, but then filled with doubts and shame.
Mike had asked what I would be wearing. A tight black skirt with pink blouse, and over my arm a black cardigan. I was dressed in a tight black skirt and a pink blouse. Over my shoulders I had a black cardigan slung loosely - I took it off and put it over my arm. I stood up and began to make my way out.
Reaching the arrivals lounge, I glanced across the crowd. Being almost the last passenger to leave the plane, most of the people had met those that they were meeting, and they stood talking, laughing, weeping, and displaying every other emotion. My eyes alighted on a single man, frowning, a look of annoyance upon his face. There was nothing exceptional about him; probably in his late 50's, slightly balding, solid build but a little overweight. Our eyes met. His face cleared and a smile appeared. He moved towards me. "Yvonne?" a question in his tone. "Yes," I said in a barely audible voice. He put an arm around me and guided me out of the crowd and towards the concourse leading towards the main buildings. It was busy. "You look beautiful," he said, his arm tightening about my waist.
There were rest rooms half way along the passageway; he guided me out of the crowd and towards the area in front of these rooms where it was quiet. "Go and take your bra off and undo those buttons right down so that your naked tits can be seen," he said quietly. I looked up at him in surprise. I said nothing, but turned towards the toilets and entered.
I'd rolled my bra into a tight wad and stuffed it into my handbag. Mike grinned a lascivious leer as he cast his eyes over me. I'd undone the top three buttons so that the light cloth fell away, semi-exposing my small breasts. "Undo another button," Mike told me. I hesitated, I was already on show and another button undone would really put me on display. Seeing my hesitance, he leaned towards me, "at home you're a nice little housewife," he said with a grin, "here you're a filthy, fucking, whore." I lifted my hands and undid another button.
All of the way, until we were in the car park and had reached Mike's car, I was leered at and gawked at by lecherously grinning guys.
Mike opened the door for me. I got in. "Pull your skirt up and take your panties off bitch," Mike ordered. I was so excited that I didn't hesitate, but immediately lifted myself off the seat, and did as I was ordered. There were a few people coming and going in the car park, and I took no heed as to whether I was seen or not. I had thrilled at Mike's words that while away from home I was a filthy, fucking, whore. "Spread your legs slut," Mike said in a snappy voice; he was obviously hugely turned on by what we were doing, and began to play the part of treating me like dirt. I spread my legs wide apart.
Mike went to the boot of the car for a moment, leaving me sitting there almost naked and with legs wide apart as he had ordered. It was only then that I had a glance around about. Some people walked quite closely to the car, but on the driver's side, and so couldn't see what I was about.
Mike came back an tossed a tube of lubricant at me. "Grease up your cunt bitch," he commanded me roughly. I saw in his hand a large, thick, black, cock-shaped dildo, so I didn't hesitate in squeezing out an amount of the gel onto my fingers and then apply it to my pussy. "Get that up your fucking cunt, you filthy fucking sewer-pig," he snarled. "Gosh! it was so big and thick that it took a little bit of working into myself. "Feel good pig?" Mike laughingly asked, dropping his nasty demeanor for a moment. I looked up at him and beamed, "yes," I answered with a giggle. "Glad you decided to come?" he asked with a grin. "Oh yes!" I replied.
We drove to Mike's house, and spoke quite normally on the way. Mike told me that he'd only been half confident that I might come, and that when I hadn't immediately appeared when the passengers came off the plane, he'd convinced himself that I wasn't coming. In turn I told him of my own demons about whether or not to come. "You really want to be treated badly though, don't you?" Mike asked, seemingly still not convinced that it was what I wanted. "Yes," I answered, "it all makes me feel so incredibly sexy," I assured him.