Born to Be Used

The final crack of the whip on my clit was the one that changed my life. I came harder this time, my pussy filled with pain and pleasure. I screamed loudly as I sobbed. My eyes were rolled back into my head, and I couldn't believe what was happening. I was getting off on pain.

"Okay, I think you've learned your lesson. Let me get you down," Mr. Schooner said, sensing that I had been pushed past my breaking point.

When I was finally down, I sobbed, holding my hands over my face so they couldn't see me cry.

"Are you okay?" Mr. Schooner asked me. He seemed concerned about me, and I reached my arms out to him for comfort. To my shock, he pulled me to him and hugged me. He rocked me slowly back and forth until I calmed down enough for him to talk to me.

"I'm proud of you. You took your punishment like a good slave. I'll remember this."

"Okay," I said, still crying.

Mr. Schooner walked his friends out, and by the time he returned, I had calmed down.

"I have to go to the hospital. She's having the baby!" he said urgently.

I knew he was talking about Mrs. Schooner, and I wondered if the new baby would change my agreement with him, but it didn't. Instead, it gave us more time to have sex while Mrs. Schooner cared for the baby. I remained Mr. Schooner's sex slave for many years after that. He did crazy things to me, torturing and belittling me.

Mr. Schooner was precisely what I needed to fulfill my sexual aptitude. I was born to be abused by an older man like him, and he was in desperate need of a slave to abuse. Though I was terrified at first, I'm thrilled I met him and that it happened. After a while, I learned that I truly loved being used and abused. Now that I'm older, it's great that I know exactly what I'm into. I'm a slave, and I love being made to hurt the way Mr. Schooner hurt me. I only date older men that are incredibly sadistic, but I haven't found another man like Mr. Schooner yet.