Chapter 1

I've always been blessed with a dirty mind. Many would no doubt refer to it as a character flaw. I prefer to think of it as a part of my charm. A few years ago I had the opportunity to take an early retirement. I jumped at it. Since I had the time I thought it only fair that I use some of that time to share my dirty mind, my gift for porn, with others.

I'm not well educated. I certainly have no special talent when it comes to writing. But I seem to have tapped into the fantasies of a small but warped community out there that have been underserved by the other writers posting stories of this genre. With their encouragement I have come to enjoy my little hobby. I don't please everyone with my stories. But that's okay. That was never my goal. I write primarily to amuse myself. That others are entertained is just icing on the cake.

It is lamentable. But I have only experienced a small fraction of the things I write about. Of course some of the fantasies I explore I have no desire to take outside of the realm of imagination. But I have to be honest, many of the things I write about turn me on and I would like to explore them in more depth. I suppose that's obvious. If they didn't excite me I wouldn't write about them.

My wife, in some ways, might be said to be my inspiration. My wife is the anti-sex. She does not and has not ever liked sex. I attribute that flaw to several things in her upbringing. I know of many women with similar childhood experiences who survived such terrible things as the Catholic Church, Catholic Schools and parents who were too uptight to show affection to each other or their children and they survived with their libido intact. My wife did not fare as well. She tried for decades to get her father to say "I love you." As far as I know he has never said it to any of his five children, though he says it now to his girlfriend in the nursing home.

My wife wasn't able to put all that behind her like so many others. She grew up to be as repressed as her father. What's worse is that she had no desire to rectify what I saw as a problem but she did not. We stayed together for many years, decades in fact. I have to be honest, though. I was often tempted to leave her. I think I stayed because I thought she needed me. But it may have been something else, a hope that she would someday change. I really did love her, at least in the beginning. Or maybe it was something as simple as inertia.

The thing that my marriage didn't survive was retirement. We began to fight constantly. When we finally agreed to call it quits it was a relief for us both. We divided our assets more or less equably and she headed back up north to live near her family. I didn't miss her then and I don't miss her now.

Despite our inability to coexist, she was responsible for many of my stories. I took out my frustration with my asexual wife on the poor women in my stories.

Throughout my long marriage I was forced to spend a lot of time thinking about sex because I had almost no sex life. Over time it slowly dwindled down to no sex life at all. I'm not educated. But I'm not stupid. I noticed that as the length of time between sex acts grew my fantasies evolved. My already warped mind began to explore kinkier and then even kinkier sex acts.

The women in my fantasies, and then when I began to turn my fantasies into stories, the women in my stories began to suffer more abuse. I believe this was, at least in part, a result of my frustration with my wife. Those women, the women of whom I wrote, were never my wife. I didn't picture her in my mind as I wrote the stories. But many a poor fictional woman has suffered dearly for the frustration I felt.

My stories became a form of therapy for me. I heard from many, many men who enjoyed my writing and more than a few of them claimed to be suffering the same treatment at the hands of their wives. It seems that there is an army of women out there that is not very fond of sex.

Knowing men as I do I have to assume that as often as not the man is probably a lot more than half of the problem. Men can be pretty clueless when it comes to women and sex. I suppose that I'm not totally blameless, either. But that can't be the problem all of the time.

The thing that really astonished me was the number of women who wrote to me, women with fantasies of submission, of being abused and humiliated. They often complained that I didn't go far enough, that I took it much too easy on the poor woman in whichever story they were writing to comment on. There are a lot of very unsympathetic women out there!

I don't think that when I began posting stories I imagined for a moment that women would be entertained by the things I wrote. I quickly received quite an education. Imagine my shock. There are women out there that share my fantasies!

I began to make internet friends with some of the people who read my stories, men and women. People, especially female type people, are much more free to discuss their fantasies with someone they have never met and will never meet, especially when it's someone like me who has already put my fantasies to print and they know that we have things in common.

By way of encouragement, or perhaps payment for my stories, many men send me revealing photographs of their wives or girlfriends. I appreciate them. I look at them. I enjoy them. Then I delete them. I saved them when it first started happening. But I didn't feel free to share them. That would be a betrayal of trust. When I realized that I almost never went back to look at them later I began to delete them.

More interesting to me was the propensity of my female fans to send me revealing photographs. They are all attractive in their own way. And I enjoyed them all, and still do. I am honored that they want to share so much of themselves with me.

After my wife left I actually began to get more out of my life. I didn't date. I'm not sure I still know how. I don't know if I have the patience for it. But I began to travel more. I love to travel but getting my wife to leave our home and go on a trip, unless it was to visit her family, required the assistance of several large men, crowbars, and at least one winch.

Now I was free to travel at will. Even better, I was at last free to travel on my Harley.

Life was just coasting along until almost a year after my wife left. I received an email from a young woman who guessed correctly the city in which I live. She was able to guess because she was born and raised here. She now lives ninety miles south of me with her husband.

I respond to everyone who writes to me as long as they provide a valid email address. I sent her a response immediately. When she replied she included several very nice photographs. I was almost certain that the pictures were too good to be true. It isn't just that the quality of the photos was so professional. The girl looked like she stepped right out of Playboy Magazine. She was incredibly beautiful, easily the most beautiful woman who ever sent me a photograph. I was all but certain that she was sending me photographs that she found on the internet.

I didn't say anything. I had no reason to complain. Whether they were pictures of her or not they were certainly nice pictures. I soon came to realize that I was wrong. Those were actually pictures of the beautiful young woman that was emailing me!

We discussed in intimate detail both her fantasies and her real life. She continued to email me pictures that she said her older sister was taking of her. And then one day she told me she was going to visit her sister and she asked me if I had any special requests.

I requested a set of pictures wearing and then removing certain specific items of clothing and a day or two later I received exactly what I requested. I was floored! It was really her!

We continued to explore fantasies and to liven things up a little she began to submit to me. I would send her an assignment in an email. She would complete the assignment and then tell me all about it.

The things I ordered her to do were things that I enjoyed writing about. So of course this sweet young thing was turning me on like no other woman ever has.

The conflict that began to develop was a result of the clash between her desire to experience her fantasies and her determination to be true to her husband. We had agreed that we would never, could never meet. We both felt a strong attraction and that restriction seemed to make sense. I may be a budding sexual monster. But I have no desire to destroy anyone's marriage.

The problem with that is that as I grew closer to her the desire to meet her and to touch her and to experience the things I wrote about, our shared fantasies, became overpowering.

She was not someone I would ever meet by chance. She is from a well-to-do local family and has married into another upper crust family in the city where she now lives. She is High Society. I am biker bar. And never the twain shall meet.

Except, as time went by, I started to wonder more and more about what would happen if the twain should actually meet. She claimed to have completed all of the nasty sexual assignments I gave her, all but one.

She posed for several sets of explicit photographs and sent them to me. She even sent me revealing photographs of her two beautiful sisters. But I had only her word for the other things I ordered her to do. I ordered her to take a glass into the shower and fill it with her warm piss. Then she was to taste it before pouring it all over her.

She claimed to have gone beyond my instructions and drank the entire glass of hot piss instead.

I ordered her to get a baby bottle, fill it with fresh hot piss and nurse on it. She responded the next day to say that she had completed the task, and was looking forward to doing it again!

I ordered her to scoop up her husband's cum as it drained from her pussy after sex and eat it. She didn't hesitate.

I ordered her to go to the park in a very short skirt with a book. She was to sit with her knees apart and read while everyone lucky enough to be in the area that day enjoyed the view of her exposed underwear. She quickly wrote back to tell me how exciting it had been.

I was quickly falling in love with the perfect woman. Unfortunately, the perfect woman was married to a very good man and intended to stay that way.

We continued to correspond. I enjoyed her emails describing many of the perverted acts that I wrote about in my stories and how reading about them affected her. She claimed to be desperate to experience many of those kinky sex acts in real life.

I began to think more and more about how much I would enjoy making her dreams come true. And then the opportunity presented itself. The state legislature in the state where she and her husband lived and he worked enacted many sweeping changes affecting the construction industry. They were holding one week seminars in Atlanta to inform builders and contractors of the changes to give everyone affected time to adjust and adapt before the new laws took effect.

Beverly's husband and father-in-law own a construction company and were scheduled to attend. The course was to last from Monday through Saturday of next week. They were going to stay in Atlanta from Sunday through Sunday.

Beverly was planning to spend the week in the city with them. But at the last minute she decided to spend it visiting one of her sisters instead. That was my window of opportunity.

There was still one assignment I had given her that remained to be completed. When she told me of the change in her plans I insisted that she complete her assignments before leaving town to visit her sister. I ordered her to go to an adult bookstore and purchase a vibrator, two butt plugs, and a pair of nipple clamps.

She's been very nervous about that assignment. That's why she hasn't completed it yet. She has never been in an adult bookstore, of course. They look and sound sleazy. She has been very nervous about going into one. She tried to get her sister to go with her a week ago but her sister refused. She has been too scared to go there alone.

I decided to take a chance. I visit her city from time to time. It makes for a good day trip for me and a few friends on our Harleys. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm familiar with the area. But I can find my way around.

I located a likely bookstore on the internet and drove down on my bike one day to check it out. It was perfect. It was on the edge of town. It was located all by itself not far from the Interstate. The parking lot is surrounded by evergreen trees, probably to protect the identity of the perverts that visit the store. It was perfect for what I had in mind.

I went home and that evening I sent Beverly an email ordering her to complete the assignment she has been putting off. I ordered her to go to the bookstore and told her that she needn't worry that someone she knew would see her because of the privacy afforded by the vegetation surrounding the store. I didn't just order her to go, though. I gave her a day and a time and warned her that if she didn't obey there would be consequences. Of course it was an empty threat and we both knew it. I could only punish her if she let me.

The day would be Sunday and the time would be after her husband and father-in-law were scheduled to leave for Atlanta.

I then considered the various methods available to me of taking control of her, assuming she would obey and she actually showed up at the store as ordered. I thought of using brute force. I considered chloroform or insisting on a drink and slipping her some form of drug.

I dismissed those possibilities. She would need to come willingly, even if reluctantly. If she would not obey me then I couldn't do the things I wanted to do with her.

I had no intention of keeping her locked up somewhere for the week. I was going to bring her fantasies, and mine, to life. That would require leaving my house.

I considered blackmailing her with the pictures she has already sent me. But that wouldn't work. The pictures are revealing. They are beautiful and a few of them are especially slutty. But there is nothing in them that could be considered blackmail material.

No. For this to work she would have to submit. I would have to be able to take her to the places and events that she fantasized about. It would all hinge on her reaction when I showed up and started giving her orders.

I talked a friend into driving me down to that bookstore and promised to make it worth his while ... if she showed up. He's a good friend. He is the only one of my friends that knows about my hobby of writing and posting porn. I told him why I needed his help and showed him some of the pictures she sent me.

He didn't believe for a moment that the woman in those pictures would have anything to do with me. But it was an hour and a half drive down there and an hour and a half back. He was willing to waste three hours of his time for a shot at that cute ass in the unlikely event that she was actually the woman that would get out of the car, that she would show up at the appointed time, and that she would be crazy enough to do what I told her to do.

I had done what I could do to make this work. It was all up to Beverly now. Was she really a submissive? More importantly, was she as desperate to experience her fantasies as she led me to believe. It was upon that question that this entire exercise would hinge.

Odie drove me down there. But not without spending an hour and a half telling me I was out of my mind and warning me that this story was too good to keep to himself when we got home. All of our friends were going to hear about the egg on my face when no one showed up. Or even better, when an old, skanky meth addict crawled out of the car.

I let him rag me all the way, good natured soul that I am. But I had a feeling that she was going to be there. And I was convinced now that she was going to look just like she did in those pictures, except she would be wearing clothes.

We pulled into the parking lot about twenty minutes before Beverly was ordered to be there. Odie went inside the bookstore to look around. I waited in the car.

Odie was still inside when I saw a Mercedes driven by a woman pull in and park. It was just getting dark. I couldn't see more than her silhouette. But I knew it was her.

I got out, stood beside Odie's car and waited to see what she would do. She didn't get out. Not for several long minutes. I could almost see her in there, taking deep breaths and trying to get up the nerve to obey. I knew she was scared. She had made it very clear in her emails. But she was here.

The driver's door finally opened and after another long pause she got out. She stood by her car, looking around furtively, obviously praying that no one would see her.

I saw her. And she was, indeed, the woman in the photographs.