At first I’d been horrified. How awful. How cruel and sadistic. This author was twisted and misogynistic. Why I kept reading them, I don’t know. They were all the same; treating women like no more that consumables to be used and physically abused.

I’d stumbled on the site quite by accident; who hasn’t done that? An innocent Googling of some innocuous topic, and shock, horror, photos of fucking and sucking - well, if that’s all it is, it’s quite a pleasant surprise, but this site that I’d just come across was something else.

I shut the computer and went about my business for the day. The strange thing was, I couldn’t get the thoughts of those awful stories out of my mind.

I work in the office of a small engineering company, and have lots of men coming in for one thing and another, most of them business like, but there’s always the few that you feel are ogling your breasts, or legs, or backside. I usually take this sort of thing as a compliment, but this day I kept wondering if they were really thinking of torturing me as I’d been reading in those stories. I found that I experienced a certain sexiness at this idea, but then was disgusted at myself for such thoughts, and put that out of my mind.

After dinner that night, with my husband busy watching football on the T.V., I sat at the table with my laptop, and Googled the search that I’d done in the morning, and there it was again, that same amateur story site.” I glanced across at my husband, and I felt a pang of guilt as I opened yet another of those same twisted and depraved stories.

I couldn’t help myself. It was several weeks ago that I’d first stumbled on that BDSM site, and ever since then I’d not stopped looking at it. Again and again I’d half thought of registering and leaving some sort of message on the Forum pages, but goodness, I was a married woman, respectable, and not at all like that.

I felt so lustful. Yes, I’ll do it.

My finger hesitated over the ‘submit’ link, but then I clicked it.

I sat there for a brief moment before then leaving a single line on the forum page.

It was the next day before I received any message. Having only written such a brief message myself, I was lucky to get anything, but there it was, from some unknown guy - “Hi, slut. Welcome to the site.”

I wasn’t really a slut, I thought to myself; but then a voice in my head told me that of course I was a slut, decent women don’t come to these sorts of sites.

I typed a reply: “Thanks. Now that I’m here I don’t quite know what to do.”

I knew that by typing this answer, the implication was that I accepted the title of “slut.”

I felt sexy and a vague feeling of self pride in being seen as a slut.

Things had rapidly escalated since that first tentative foray onto the Forum. Several men were now conversing with me, and their dialogue was crude and degrading. I loved it and felt so sexy and lustful. Thank God that my husband had no idea that his wife was doing this sort of thing.

I’d felt quite safe, all of these men lived miles away and they had no idea of who I was. That all changed after some weeks, when a guy contacted me, and I found that he lived relatively nearby.

I found the address that he’d given. It was a house in a good neighbourhood, the garden was flourishing, and there was a new car in the driveway, all of which, for some reason, gave me a little more confidence and made me feel safer.

The door opened. He grinned broadly, simply said hello, and then enclosed me in his arms and kissed me passionately. For my part, I probably looked terrified and couldn’t even bring myself to utter a word.

His kiss relaxed me. It was long and loving. Our lips were parted, our tongues slid together. My arms embraced him as his did to me. Eventually our kiss finished, though he still held me tight. “Do you, um ... want to talk first or ... um just get to it?” he asked.

I felt so embarrassed. I couldn’t look him in the eye. “Let’s just do it,” I shamefully whispered.

He led the way to the bedroom. I gasped. Across the head of the bed he’d arranged a timber device consisting of an A frame on either side, with a sturdy cross piece supporting ropes and shackles running across and above the bed. Arranged on the carpet to one side of the bed was a formidable array of whips, lashes, dildos, vibrators, some sort of electrical device and a camera. To one side of this equipment, a tripod supported video equipment.

I stood there, eyes downcast as he stripped me off. I knelt, naked on the bed as he quickly stripped. His cock was a thing of beauty, hard, red, giving little twitches as his lust engorged it. The head looked ready to explode, so hard and tight was it. He turned towards me and placed his hands on my head as a priest might in giving a blessing. I eagerly opened my mouth and took the sacrament of his cock with its dribbling precum. I sucked lovingly and expertly, keeping my teeth well out of the way and using my tongue to good effect. “You filthy, fucking bitch,” he groaned in delight, and gave my cheek a stinging slap. I loved him for the gift, and sucked more vigorously.

Another moment and his cum would have filled my mouth, but he pulled away and grabbed up a handful of my hair, twisting it so that I gave a squeal of pain. I was whimpering and holding myself so as to minimize the pulling of my hair. He let go and ordered me, in a sneering voice, to lay back on the bed.

I quickly wriggled up to where the pillows where at the head end of the bed, and lay back with my head propped on the pillows. Peter then pulled in leather straps that attached to the A frames at the side of the bed. In moments my wrists were secured with my arms outstretched to either side.

He bent down and selected a flat, leather strap. I felt a shudder run through my body.

“I suppose, you stupid cunt,” (I flinched at his use of that crude word, ) “that you promised your husband that you’d be true and faithful to him,” he said with a look of amusement on his face. I saw his mocking humour, and a smile came to my face. “Yes,” I answered with a smirk. His face broke out into an open laugh seeing that I shared the deprecation of my marriage vows. “Well I’d best not mark you too much, or he’ll be carrying on about you being a dirty, fucking whore and a slut.” We grinned broadly at each other, enjoying his mockery of my husband.

The smile left my face in a moment, as the wide, flat leather came thrashing down across my breasts. “Arrrgh!” I shrieked, my face twisting into a grimace of pain.

“This is what harlots such as yourself like to get,” Peter sneered spitefully.

“Oh God!” I thought to myself, “I read about this sort of thing and now I’m getting it. I was scared, but I was thrilled and felt so incredibly sexy and worked up. My pussy dribbled slightly so that I felt a trickle of juice run down between the cheeks of my ass.

The strap came thrashing down again, on a different angle this time so that it lashed at the side of one breast. I screamed. I couldn’t help it. I lay there half gasping, half sobbing.

I watched as the belt was wielded back behind Peter’s shoulder and then sizzled through the air with a whizzing sound which stopped abruptly as the leather bit into my soft flesh. I screamed uncontrollably.

The belt now began flashing through the air, striking me and then being rapidly raised ready for the next onslaught against the tenderness of my breasts. Again and again and again, the blows came raining down in quick succession. I was screaming continually. My body was bucking about on the bed, my legs kicking wildly and my shoulders heaving from side to side but unable to move but a few inches, held securely by the leather straps securing my wrists. The tears were pouring from my eyes. My chest was heaving as I gasped for shallow breaths in between my frantic screams of pain.

Maybe forty or fifty lashes struck my poor, brutalized breasts before Peter relinquished his hold on the strap. He was panting himself, so vigorous had been his exercising of the leather strap. I lay there blubbering, my eyes red and puffy, with my face and neck wet with tears.

Peter was inspecting his handiwork, lightly fondling my battered breasts. I lifted my head and looked down. My breasts and all of the area around them was bright red, overlaid with raised, fiery red welts covering my small breasts which were already beginning to puff up in a swelling that was to last for the best part of the week to come.

My bonds were undone and Peter sat watching me as I regained my sanity and ruefully rubbed my sore and tender breasts. After a minute he shoved me aside and lay out on the bed, holding his hard, lusting cock erect. “O.K. bitch,” he snapped, “get on top and fuck me.”

I needed no urging. I quickly got into position, kneeling astride his hips. I raised myself slightly, then adjusting my position, I eased down so that my pussy engulfed his lovely cock. I sighed with delight as I let myself sit right down hard on him, feeling his cock deep inside my body. I was so wet and slippery that his cock made slight slurping sounds as my body rose and fell, pumping myself lustfully onto his hard, erect cock.

“Fuck! you look beautiful,” he said meaningfully as he gazed at me. “Oh sure,” I responded, aware that my face must look a mess after all of my howling. “No, true!” he exclaimed, “you look really fucked up after your bawling. “Oh,” I laughed, coming to grips with what he meant by beautiful. “Next time though,” he said, “don’t wear waterproof make up; I like to see it streaming down over your cheeks so that you look a real fucking mess.”