I scrolled through the messages I had gotten back on Craigslist one more time. I thought I had settled on the man I planned to meet and had almost replied back when the urge hit me to look through everything one last time. He seemed safe, but something was niggling in the back of my mind and I couldn’t place why. So, venturing through all the replies that had seemed promising, I pulled up what had been my backup.

“I am very interested in meeting young women like yourself who want to be used. I’m glad you are exploring yourself and want to find what you were truly born for. Msg me back and I’ll teach you exactly what you are.”

It was a simple message, but I was both attracted and nervous about the tone presented within. I had role-played online the past couple of years with multiple men who viewed women as objects to use, even hurt, and I had found in my limited experience they seemed to fall into two broad categories. Men who wanted ladies on the street and skanks in the sheet or those who felt, clearly deep down, that women were cumrags to be used. While the latter could be fun to roleplay with, they scared me as they did not see me as human. Both of my “finalists” gave a bit of that vibe, but I didn’t want anyone who felt too hardcore like that. And now I was having second thoughts about my initial pick. Listening to my gut, I deleted my message and instead sent a message to the backup.

Thus started a few weeks of cautious back and forth, usually one message a day, of “negotiation”. First and foremost was proving who I was. I did so, sending him a picture of my face along with my email and he returned the same. I made sure to delete our messages afterward because the last thing I needed was anyone finding out about my planned activities. I’d only had sex once before and it had been a disappointing affair that left me empty and unsatisfied. My stress level had been so bad that I had been having more panic attacks and just felt depressed all the time. The only time I could escape myself was online, and they weren’t enough anymore. I needed it for real. Maybe then I wouldn’t come home and just cry as more expectations were heaped upon me without end.

Eventually, he pushed me hard about my body and I sent him a picture and short video of me in my panties and bra. He then told me to write whore on my stomach to prove it was real and not just any old picture. I did, feeling my stomach twist in guilt and excitement. He seemed to enjoy that and wanted me to send more, but I was paranoid that any pics could get out. So I told him no and the reason why and surprisingly, he relented. I had prepared to be badgered but he quickly let it go. He did bring up our meeting and I told him I’d get back to him. I did the next day, asking him to meet me at a nearby Wal-Mart. He instead suggested a McDonalds a bit further away, but I said yes.

Excited, I masturbated myself to dirty fantasies of what would come, which would ultimately prove beyond unrealistic. I picked out my clothes for the meet, a nice short dress, low cut, no bra, but a thong and nice flats. I then constructed a cover story for where I would be and started to put everything in motion. Three days later, I did.

I found myself that Saturday, alone, hiking along the roadside down to that corner of town to meet him. Thankfully it wasn’t too hot as I was mortified at the idea of being soaked in sweat when I arrived. I hit the parking lot and as I headed into the building, I heard someone yell out behind me. I turned and recognized him, driving a nice crossover. He flashed an attractive smile and waved me over. I went to him and he asked if I wanted to chat first, just in the van. I hesitated but felt safe enough in the parking lot so I agreed and got in.

I was happy with his appearance, lean but muscular, dark from working heavily in the sun. We chatted a bit, and beyond kissing my cheek, undressing me with his eyes, and touching my knee, he wasn’t being very forward. I’d almost expected something else considering his tone online. Instead, he was very pleasant and we chatted with the windows down for easily thirty minutes in his car. We talked about life, education, the world, sex of course, and how I got to be where I was. Then, after a bit, he leaned in to kiss me, gently, but firmly. It was a kiss I happily returned. We didn’t break the kiss for nearly a minute and then parted, almost panting. He stroked my cheek and told me he really liked me and he thought it would be so dirty for me to give him a blowjob in the car. I thought about it nervously, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. I did like him already and it wasn’t like my mouth was virginal. Indeed, I had already given multiple blowjobs and found that I very much enjoyed the act.

He put the crossover into drive and unzipped and I leaned over, lapping at his cock. It had a strong, musky scent and tasted of salty sweat, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He slowly drove around as my head bobbed in his lap, feeling like the dirty little slut for doing this. This was some of the excitement I was missing and wanted. After a few minutes, I felt him begin to tense up. I prepared to swallow his cum when I felt a sharp pain in my butt cheek. I tried to pull up but he shoved my head down and the world grew dark as cum filled my throat.

The next thing I felt was sandpaper scraping my back. At least it felt that way. My body was moving, not of my own accord, and I felt like a great weight was on me. And my crotch hurt, bad. I started to focus and opened my eyes and nothing made sense. I was on my back, on concrete, in what looked like a half-finished house. A stranger, a large black man, was on top of me pounding away. I started to scream and he covered my mouth and started pounding harder, ramming against my cervix, making me sob. He held me down effortlessly until he grunted, ramming deeply in me as I screamed into his hand as he filled me with his seed. He pulled out and let me go, jerking me up and wiping his cock with my hair.