I had been lurking in the alt.torture newsgroup for years. I had always had a fascination with BDSM, but most of my edge play had been in my own imagination. While my husband would sometimes play along with my tamer fantasies, I knew that he'd freak if he knew my deeper, darker fantasies.

As I was sitting on the sofa one evening sorting through the day's mail while watching television with my husband, I flipped through the semi-annual flyer from the local community college.

"Honey," I asked, "what would you think if I took this writers' workshop?"

"Oh? I didn't know you had an interest in writing, Eve."

"There's this guy in the newsgroups who's been posting amateur BDSM stories. I won't tell the class that's why I'm taking the course, but I'd like to learn to write my own stories that I can post too."

"Then go ahead, Eve. Have fun!"

I drove to the campus after work the following Thursday for the first session of my writing class. It was almost 7:30 as I entered Warren Hall and took the elevator to the third floor. It was a short walk down to room 305.

I entered the classroom and was relieved that it was a small class. There were only six other students present. I took a seat at the small conference table at which they all sat and nodded a friendly smile to the others.

The clock on the wall clicked 7:30 and the instructor walked in half a second later.

Holding a half-eaten Dunkin' Donut, he swallowed and said, "Good evening, class," in a thick British accent.

He took another bite of his doughnut, swallowed, and then continued, "Let's get started, shall we? This is the writer's workshop for anyone who might be in the wrong room."

He took another bite as one student jumped up out of his seat and rushed off apologetically, "Sorry, wrong class."

The instructor swallowed that bite and continued speaking, "Let's start by introducing ourselves, and revealing why each of us is here. I shall go first. I'm Henry, your instructor."

He pointed to the student to his left a young man in his mid-twenties, and then took the last bite of his doughnut.

"I'm Carl. I want to learn to write Science Fiction. I've submitted a number of stories to Analog and Asimov's and others, but have never made a sale."

The instructor nodded to the next student.

"I'm Lucy. I love to read Harlequin Romances, and I'd love to try writing one someday."

The remaining students each introduced themselves. Their objectives were all pretty much the same.

In a flash it was my turn and all eyes were on my. I hoped that I made a good impression. My thirty-something figure was a little plump, but my 40D bra size still gave my that hourglass figure that gals try to achieve. I brushed my long brunette hair back over a shoulder and introduced myself, "I'm Eve." I paused, not wanting to reveal my true motives for taking this writing class. "I'm married to a wonderful man who is very supportive, but I want more out of life than work and family. That's why I want to write."

The class had all introduced themselves, but during the introductions, Henry, the instructor, had opened up a Twinkie and was in the middle of a swallow.

One of the student's spoke up to the instructor, "Hey Hungry, you really got to stop choking those things down, man!"

The instructor laughed, "I know. But I just don't have the willpower to resist their chocolate charms my good chap. Say, didn't I see you in my Literature class yesterday morning?"

"Yes, sir. You have a good memory to remember me from that huge lecture hall."

"Yes these night classes are much more pleasant. I enjoy getting to really know my students one-on-one. Now, let's get to work, shall we? Who brought a manuscript to class with them today?"

The rest of the class was spent reading one student's manuscript and then critiquing it, and then the same with another. Henry told the class that we are required to write one short story per week to be critiqued by the class each Thursday, and to bring enough copies to hand out to the class.

I was excited at how well my first class went. And there was something hauntingly familiar about that professor, even though I had never met him before.

The prof had left the room by the time I collected my purse and folder and I walked out of the room in a huddle of other students. We rode the elevator down and out the building. I noticed the prof entering the cafeteria and I headed for my car to go home.

I spent the weekend writing a short story to bring to class.

The following week, I met up with Lucy walking through the parking lot, and we walked toward Warren Hall together.

"What do you think of Hungry Guy?" she asked me.

What the hell? "What are you talking about, Lucy?"

"Hey, what'd I say, Eve? I was just asking what you though of the prof? I had him for freshman English last year. He a real character!"

"You call him Hungry Guy?"

"Yeah, everyone calls him that. He's always eating something."

We arrived in class a few minutes early and took our seats. The prof showed up right at the dot of 7:30.

"Good evening, class," he started. "Do you all have manuscripts for the class to critique."

I set my story on the table in front of me, as did all the others.

"Who wants to subject their masterpiece to the ravages of their classmates first?"

Lynn spoke up, "I can go first if no one else minds."

Everyone, including me, heaved a sigh of relief. Lynn handed out copies of her story to the rest of us and we spent the first hour of class finding typos, poor grammar, weak characterization, and otherwise tearing it to shreds.

I could tell that Lynn was shaken at these events. Hungry must have also, for he told Lynn, "Please don't feel so bad, Lynn. Even pros must expose their first drafts to this sort of scrutiny.

Like the first class, the prof left the room upon dismissing the class. On my way back to my car, I walked down the sidewalk past the cafeteria and saw the prof eating a muffin and a cup of coffee. What a hungry guy I thought he must be! A sense of dÈj‡ vu hit me at that moment, but it vanished a split second later.

By the third class, I had written a number of stories that had been critiqued in class. I was getting better. I had even written my first erotic story; but it was just for myself. I could never show it to anyone, especially my husband. It was about how the prof kidnapped me and took em home with him and raped me. Maybe I could submit it to HotSexStories.com. The first thing we did today was that the prof demonstrated an exercise in brainstorming. He wrote a word on the blackboard, an each one of the class called out the first word that his word reminded us of. Then we each called out a word that one of those other words reminded us of. It was funny -- I kept thinking of words like "lick" and "suck" and "wet" and even "hungry."

When we had filled the chalkboard with words, we then called out story ideas from the assortment of loosely related words and were told to write a story based on these ideas for next class. The prof smiled oddly at me for a second before we went on to critiques this week's story assignments.

I don't know why, but I had my purse and folder ready to get up as soon as the prof dismissed the class. I left the room ahead of the other students and was walking a short distance behind Hungry -- that's what we all called him now. It was eerie, though. Looking around, the campus was deserted. The other students from the writing class had already dispersed, and it seemed that the prof and I were the only two people walking around outside at that moment.

At that moment he stopped and glanced behind him. "Oh, it's only you, Eve," he said in his British accent.

"Yeah. It's only me. I'm just headed to the cafÈ for a cup of coffee before I head home." I don't know why I said that.

"Me too. Care to join me?"

I walked with the prof into the empty cafeteria. I got myself a cup of coffee from the coffee machine and took a seat at one of the tables. Hungry joined me a moment later with his muffin and coffee. We were the only two people in the huge dining room.

I took a sip of my coffee. Man! The coffee's bitter here. Hungry pointed to a counter where they was extra sugar, so I got up and returned with a few packets of sugar to add to my coffee.

From there, we talked mostly chit chat. How he was originally from New Jersey and he can't stand the heat of the desert here and longs to go back east when the job market improves. I told him how I fly out east to visit relatives once a year or so.

But, wow, I was suddenly feeling dizzy -- like I had just smoked a joint or something.

I must have looked ill. "Are you all right, Eve?" he asked.

"I'll be fine, I think I should be getting home, now, though."

"Let me help you to your car?"

"Sure. Thank you, Hungry."

We walked out of the cafeteria and then the strangest feeling hit me. The next thing I knew, I was tied up and in some kind of padded box. It smelled like rubber and chemicals. And it was moving somehow. I could hear, like, traffic noises all around. Damn, I was in the trunk of a car. How long was I here? I had no way to know. I tried to kick, but I just made a muffled metallic sound. I remember seeing on one of those Fox "Get Out Alive" shows that if you're kidnapped in the trunk of a car to start ripping out wires -- the cops will pull the car over for no tail lights But I was bound so tightly that I couldn't move. And I hadn't the foggiest idea where to feel around for wires.

We had just turned onto some bumpy road. It seemed that I was in there for about two hours. But not knowing how long I had been there already, that didn't tell me anything. At least, being night, it wasn't too hot.

Finally, the car stopped. I herd him open the door and walk to the back of the car. He opened the trunk.

"Hello, Eve."

"Where the fuck am I?"

"You're in my car's boot. Let me help you out."

"Fuck you!"

"Gladly! But first!" he held up a funny smelling cloth to my nose and held it there for a minute or so until I passed out again.

I woke again laying on a mat in some strange windowless room. There was only one door on a far wall -- a steel door that looked to have no handle.

As for me, there was a steel collar around my neck padlocked to a heavy chain bolted to a stud in the middle of the floor. Not only that, but I was also completely naked. I felt so humiliated already knowing this asshole has seen and touched my body.

There were other studs in the floor also with chains of various lengths bolted to them. The walls were lined with all sorts of BDSM gear. There was a Saint Andrews cross on one wall, a wooden pony, and a normal sawhorse in the middle of the room. There were a number of suspension harnesses hanging from the ceiling. And one wall was lined with glass cabinets full of all manner of BDSM gadgets. Overall it was a well stocked dungeon. I'd be impressed if I wasn't here against my will.

The chain wasn't long enough for me to reach any of the cabinets or the equipment.

About an hour later, the door slid open like an elevator door, and Hungry walked into the room. He stepped over to me and said, "Good morning, Eve."

"Holy shit! You're Hungry Guy! From the newsgroups!"

"Rightie-oh, sister! And I know what you like!"

He grabbed another, longer, chan and locked it to my collar and then unlocked the short chain.

"Stand, bitch!" he commanded.

I stood and he pulled me over to the saw horse.

"Lean over this."

"Please! Don't do this!"

"Now, bitch! And spread your legs against each leg of the sawhorse..."

I leaned over the sawhorse with my ass in the air. He reached down and shackled each of my ankles to each leg. Then he walked around to my head and shackled my wrists to the other two legs of the sawhorse. Then he unlocked the chain from my collar.

Next, he went back behind me and felt up my pussy crack and up my ass crack.

"You're so dry and tight, bitch. I need to fix that first."

"Pleas! I beg you! Don't do this to me!"

"Oh, you'll like what I plan to do first. It's what comes after that you'll scream in pain. Bwaa, haa, haa!" Yes, he actually laughed evilly, "Bwaa, haa, haa!"

He kneeled down behind me and started licking my cunt.

He licked up from just below my clit, over my clit and over my pussy hole. He stuck his tongue into my hole as he went over it. Then he went back down again. He paused over my hole for a moment, fucking me with his tongue. Then he continued back down to my clit, and played with my clit with his tongue for a while.

Then he licked up around the inside perimeter of my cunt, up over and around below my clit and back down again. Oh wow! I couldn't believe it. Here I am being raped, and I was getting wet. Then he went back up the middle again, like he did before. He played with my clit, and then went up and lingered a moment over my pussy hole, fucking me with his tongue one more time, then back down to my clit again. I couldn't believe I was on the brink of coming! He continued up and tongue-fucked my hole again, and then came back down to my clit. I felt like I was about to burst! I had never come so close to coming so quickly before.