Carrie's Story

It had started innocently enough. In fact, it had started the way it always does. After fifteen years of marriage, sex with her husband had fallen into a comfortable routine. As she closed the door to the bedroom, he slid up behind her, pressing his body against her and running his hands gently from her breasts, to her hips and then down her thighs. As his hips pressed against her ass she could feel that he was already getting hard.

"You up for a little naughty?" he asked, his lips near her ear, then began kissing his way from behind her ear down her neck to her shoulder.

"If you want to" she said, turning around and kissing him. He wrapped his arms around her and gently pulled her toward the bed, where he sat them both down. Still kissing her, he reached up and began unbuttoning her blouse, putting a soft but eager pressure on her breasts. She reached down and started to take off his belt, the way she had a million times before.

It's not that sex with Andrew wasn't enjoyable -it was- it was just that it had become so routine. Andrew was a caring and conscientious lover; he genuinely enjoyed going down on her, and always made sure that she came before he allowed himself to get off. But he knew what he liked, and he liked it the same way, virtually every time. The same touches, the same foreplay and oral warm-up, then mounting her and fucking her until he came. Even after fifteen years of marriage, he was still utterly attracted to her, and he loved caressing and touching her body- which was wonderful- but, it was always the same, soft, gentle caress, the same loving kisses on her skin.

As Andrew got her shirt open and began kissing her chest, moving down towards her bra, Carrie admonished herself for feeling this disinterested. Andrew was a good lover; a sweet lover. She should appreciate him. So why was she so bored?

They'd watched a movie a few weeks ago, just some three-star Netflix garbage while they were waiting for the next season of their favorite show to drop. One of the bad guys in the movie had gotten angry with his girlfriend for some reason. Mostly just to show that he was a reprehensible villain, he slapped her in the face, grabbed her by the hair, and slammed her up against a wall, and the camera cut away just as he reached down to unzip his pants while his girlfriend whimpered helplessly against the wall. "What an asshole," Andrew had said, but Carrie hadn't said anything; she was too turned on to reply. Later, after Andrew had gone to bed, she had gone to the bathroom, turned on the fan and started touching herself while playing that scene over and over again in her mind. It had a startling effect. Why was she getting so wet at the thought of being abused and forced?

The next time Andrew had gently pulled her onto the bed for "a little naughty," Carrie was utterly unaffected by his little kisses and caresses. She had to replay the movie scene in her head just to get herself in the right mindset to cum when he went down on her. When he entered her gently, with a caress, she found herself wishing he would force her down on the bed by her neck. His little kisses just distracted her from the fantasy of being held down and violated.

Of course, she watched that scene from the movie again while he was out shopping. That just led to porn searches with an ever-expanding list of keywords: "Forced," "Bondage," "BDSM," "Maledom," "Submissive," "Slavegirl." She masturbated furiously while watching brutish men demean, degrade, and take complete control over helpless, whimpering women who just offered themselves up like sacrifices. She came like she hadn't come in years. Soon, the porn searches happened whenever she was alone. Whenever he would touch her, or go down on her, she would imagine the abusive bastards from her porn clips pinning her to the ground and forcing themselves inside her.

She was so lost in that familiar fantasy now that, as Andrew's kisses reached her breasts, she barely noticed that he'd slipped something over her right wrist. His mouth came back up to hers as he gently pulled her left wrist in front of her, and slipped it through the other loops of what she now saw was a pair of rope wrist restraints.

She pulled her hands apart, but the ropes only tightened on her, and suddenly, Andrew's kiss had become forceful; he was leaning in on her, forcing her back down on to the bed. She pulled her mouth away from his in surprise, and began tugging at the restraints, but Andrew simply pulled the rope up and brought her wrists up above her head, pinning them to the bed with one hand, while he pressed his weight on her and roughly fondled her breast with his other hand.

Carrie's heart was pumping. Suddenly she was sweating and becoming just a bit scared. It was one thing to fantasize about this, but now that she was being so roughly handled by her gentle husband, she was beginning to panic.

"What—" she began, but he took his hand from her breast and used it to cover her mouth.

"Shut up," he growled at her and brought his mouth back down to her neck, but where before he had gently kissed her, he was now biting where her neck met her shoulder. It wasn't a deep bite, he didn't draw blood, but it was enough to cause a jolt of pain. She shuddered and whimpered into his hand, but he went on biting down to her upraised arm, then he thrust his face within an inch of hers. "I've seen your browser history, you little slut."

Carrie went cold. The things she had watched, the images she had looked at, all of those horrible, perverse things; if he had seen that, what must he think of her? He yanked on the rope binding her wrists, jerking her arms upward.

"You want this. You want to be treated like this. To be manhandled and fucked like the whore you are. I know it, and you know it, and now it's happening whether you admit it to yourself or not." He pulled his hand away from her mouth, thrust it up her skirt to her wet panties, and started pressing roughly on her pussy. The reality of what was happening was slowly sinking in even as her panic at having been caught was mixing with the undeniable physical response she was experiencing.

"This pussy," he growled at her, "is mine." With that, he pushed her panties to the side and slid three fingers deep inside of her. Carrie couldn't suppress a moan, and as he started finger fucking her she thrust her hips up into his hand. Already, her body was losing itself to her fantasy.

Andrew yanked her up to a sitting position by pulling the wrist restraints toward himself, then slid his glistening hand out of her pussy, and pulled her off the bed entirely. He crushed her body against his and kissed her hard, still holding her bound wrists above her head, then forced her down to her knees. She'd already pulled out his cock while he had been caressing her earlier, and it was now staring her in the face, hard as a rock.

From habit, she leaned forward to kiss it, and she realized her mistake too late. With one hand, he grabbed her by the hair and forced her face against the shaft, rubbing her hard against it. Then he pulled her head back, and pressed the head of his cock against her mouth.

"Suck it, bitch," he said, and forced her head down till he was deep in her throat. Her wrists bound above her, his hand pressing her head down onto his cock, she felt utterly helpless, utterly degraded. Without warning, her husband had turned her into a victim. She couldn't remember wanting his cock inside her as badly as she did now.

He yanked her mouth off of his cock and then, pulling her by the wrist restraints and a fist wrapped tight in her hair, lifted her back to standing. He pulled her hands down and loosened the rope on one wrist, then turned her around and thrust her face down on the bed. She let out a gasp, and almost without willing it, she lifted her ass up toward him, like an offering. Andrew pulled both hands behind her back and bound her wrists again, tightening the rope so it dug into her skin. Then he slapped her ass, hard. Carrie gave a little whimpered yelp.

"Tell me you're my bitch," he said, and slapped her bare ass again.

"I-I'm y-your bitch," she stammered as he delivered another sharp slap to her reddening cheeks.

"Tell me you deserve to be treated like this." She winced as he spanked her again.

"I deserve to be treated like this." He slapped her again, alternating cheeks, spanking hard.

"Tell me who owns this body." Again his hand snapped on her ass.

"You do! Oh god, you own this body!" She could feel herself getting wetter with each smack. "I'll do anything! Please! Please fuck me!" She could feel herself letting go of her inhibitions, her fear of this had melded with the anticipation and become part and parcel to her fantasy. She was thrusting her ass back at him, pushing her pussy closer to his hips and his cock. "Fuck me, please! I'm you're slave!"

"My slave, eh?" he asked, slowly pressing the head of his cock against her pussy.

"Yes! I'm your slave! Oh god! Please fuck me, master!" She thrust herself back at him, inching his cock just inside, but he kept it far enough back that only the tip had penetrated. "Please fuck me, master! I'm your whore! I'm your slut! Please!" she begged and thrust her hips back and forth trying to slip down his shaft.

With a grunt, he shoved his cock deep inside of her and started pounding her brutally. Gone were the loving caresses, replaced now by angry, disdainful thrusts. He pulled her bound arms back, forcing her all the way onto his cock, then put his other hand around her hip to her pussy and started rubbing her clit. And he fucked her like that, bent over the bed, her red ass pressed to his hips while he yanked on her arms, and drove himself deep inside of her, his fingers pressing and rubbing her wet pussy while his cock pounded in and out.

"Is this what you wanted, slave?"

"Yes, master! Oh god, yes!" she cried as her building orgasm finally peaked, causing a shudder to run through her whole body.

"Well, good" he growled, still pounding away at her, "because this is how it's going to be around here from now on!" And with a long grunt through gritted teeth, he thrust deep inside of her and shook violently as he came.

That was how it started. That was how it ended up like this; with Carrie waiting for her master dressed in stocking, heels, her pleather skirt and corset, her red pvc bra and her sheer lace top. That was how Carrie ended up buckling on a black leather collar and waiting, wet with anticipation, for Andrew to come home and tie her, spank her, punish her, put toys in her, command her, use her, and fuck her. The little kisses and caresses weren't gone from their marriage, not at all, but there was an understanding in their house now. When she put on the collar, when she dressed herself like a whore, then her husband became her master. There was no telling what he would do to her, or make her do. Now that she was able to admit to Andrew, and to herself, that this is what she wanted, she was able to give herself over to the fantasy. Things had become anything but routine.