Perfect Mother, Perfect Slut

It turned out, he already had a room in the adjoining hotel, so he guided her up without the delay of registration. He was brusque and short, upon entering the room, releasing his cock immediately and forcefully pulling her in for a blowjob, with no semblance of foreplay. It was rough and hard sex. His pubis smashing against her face, bruising her lips. Still, Debbie took but a few seconds to adjust to his pummeling assault.

With an inarticulate cuss, he came, holding her firmly and spraying the back of her throat. Hardly pausing, he pulled her to standing, even before she'd finished gagging and swallowing. Letting her go, he began tugging at his own clothes. "Get naked!" he barked, and, thrilled with the naughtiness, which seemed to make it all the more intense, Debbie quickly disrobed.

He gruffly directed the action, ordering her this way and that; and she readily deferred to his demands. Mauling her tits, pinching and twisting with one hand, he proceeded to bite and pull the other with his teeth, eliciting little whimpers of pain and arousal. In the meantime, he grabbed her hand and placed it on his tool, pushing it about until she began to jack him on her own accord. Debbie was amazed at how quickly he responded to her manual ministrations, getting bigger and harder by the second. It pleased her that she could inspire in him such an urgency, such a raw need. She was aroused by his arousal – the pain emanating from her breast, illuminating her excitement, like a bright light.

So, rather than being offended by his blatant chauvinism, Debbie found his display of macho aggression super-stimulating; and that, in turn, made her see, even more clearly, that she actually enjoyed acting like a slut. She actually loved being bossed around. As this realization flooded over her like a warm tide, he pulled back an instant, letting go of her to fling her around, onto her hands and knees. His only concession to her feelings was the he licked his hand and spread saliva onto his rampant steel, before ramming himself into her, spearing her fully, all the way, until his balls swung against her clit. The peremptory attack further enflamed Debbie's already blazing libido, precipitating a surprise, and surprisingly intense, orgasm.

Taking no notice of her powerful climax, he set to pounding himself into her, slapping his pelvis hard against her buttocks. And he went on, feverishly banging her doggie-style, until he stiffened and froze, and bellowed out his own climax, spewing his cum against her cervix, and splashing it out to run in rivulets down her thighs.

As he pulled out, he smacked her sharply on the bottom. It had been a straight, no nonsense, suck and fuck. Wordlessly he pulled on his trousers, and looking at her, still on all fours, trembling, he said, "Okay. I've gotta leave now, but meet me here, in the lobby, same time tomorrow. We'll see what else you've got."

Debbie smiled and nodded. Somehow, she was not surprised. But there was something about his cavalier presumption that raised a red flag, so, she just didn't mention that she was not available the next day, nor that, even if she were, would she keep another rendezvous with him.

Paradoxically, although he treated her like dirt, that very treatment had kindled deep within her a curious glow that she could not explain. That glow, flaring and ebbing, stayed with her all the way home. Once the babysitter was dismissed, and the kids were in bed, she masturbated, running the evening through her mind's eye. She kept at it for two more orgasms.

Debbie began to embrace the freedom afforded to her by her sluttiness. Acting like a slut – and really, she had to admit, it was more a matter of 'being a slut' – allowed her to be more outrageous than she had ever imagined – a freedom, she felt, unlike any other.

But it came with a sort of Jekyll and Hyde dilemma. While, for most of her day-to-day life she was her ordinary Ms Mom self, she was a little concerned that Miss Slut, her alternate persona, was surfacing more often, late at night, after the tellie was off and the kids were in bed. Still, she reassured herself, it never intruded on her days, never besmirched her roles as mother, teacher, neighbour – upstanding citizen.

Her second purely sexual encounter was in back seat of car in a bar parking lot. Whoever he was, she couldn't remember his name, muttered something about not wasting money on a room – his unspoken reasoning being loud and clear: "At least, not with a slut like you." Notwithstanding, the risk of discovery was a real rush, and Debbie found herself being captivated by the naughty novelty of it.

"Back-seat sex is a sort of adolescent thing, isn't it?" Not, she admitted, that she had ever experienced it. In any event, it was rushed and uncomfortable. Her partner had cum way too quickly, and, pulling out while he was still spurting, had splashed semen onto her skirt. Despite herself, Debbie had got quite close to having an orgasm of her own. Her paramour, though, was completely unconcerned that she didn't get there. It was more than obvious that he couldn't care less about her satisfaction. He clumsily zippered himself up, and ushered her out of the car, leaving her – with an eminently insincere "Thanks" – standing in the half light of the parking lot.

Afterwards, sitting in her car, Debbie, reached, before starting the engine and heading home, down her skirt front, and into her panties. Idly stroking her semen-soaked quim, her fingertips were electric. Amazingly, it took only a moment's light touch before she erupted into a powerful orgasm. Dazed by the suddenness and intensity of her climax, Debbie was slow to recover her senses. Resurfacing from her swoon, she looked about embarrassedly, and quickly started her car, re-assuming, as she drove, her Ms Mom persona.

Around that time, Debbie had several more what she thought of as adventure dates. Although it was never explicitly expressed, it quickly became evident to both parties that they would all be one-night stands. Consequently, the partners realized that they didn't have to treat her nice. They were surly, barking orders and calling her names – bitch, whore, slut, cunt; they yanked and shoved to get her into position, they were ruthless and raw; there was more of face-fucking than felatio; and even the couple who deigned to go down on her were rough and insistent – biting and stretching her most feminine flesh. And to a man, they were insensitive to her feelings, comfort or pleasure. Yet, she not only accepted it, she inexplicably reveled in the ghastly treatment. Despite, or, more probably, because of her tawdry treatment she experienced multiple orgasms during each encounter.

More than simply carnal sex, there was something basic or instinctual going on – something fundamentally primal about every one of the recent encounters. Oh, yes, and the resultant sense of fulfilment was virtually irresistible. Indeed, Debbie could feel an impending addiction. More and more he got turned on by verbal abuse. She reveled in the name-calling and dirty-talk – the demeaning and derogatory, the dismissive and insulting. She thrilled to the apparent degradation.

She knew she was engaging in very risky behavior, yet, while she was smart enough to recognize the growing danger, she could hardly resist. Her very own Mr Hyde – Miss Slut – kept pulling at her common sense, encouraging her to carry on, tempting her with the possibility of new heights. And all the while, between encounters, her thoughts kept casting back to that original public washroom – the Aussie-fuck. It had been such pure stranger-sex, so greedy and raw, that it'd almost been rape; except for her response – hungry and reciprocating. It had been just about too much – too good, engendering an almost humiliating need. Just thinking about it turned her on. The contemplation of being willingly used again got her hot and horny. So she continued, aware of danger – and, in some small, rational corner in the back of her mind, she worried that her behavior was fast becoming unsustainable.

Another time, on another internet hook-up, Debbie let a virtual stranger drive her to his apartment. Once inside, he became overwhelmingly aggressive and threatening. A wave of fear swept through her, causing collateral arousal to sparkle in her gut. She did her best to comply, and, in the end, it turned out all right. As his physical domineering had become increasingly raw and rough, she was able to see through the cracks enough to assure herself that it was just role playing – fantasizing; furthermore, she'd gotten off on the scare, stimulated by the domination – and the discipline. That was, in fact, the incident which illuminated, for her, a transcendence from pure sex to power-mongering, and how the boundaries got very blurry.

As her Miss Slut alter-ego became braver and brasher, it had also become more willingly compliant. In reflection, Debbie found that she could even acknowledge, in herself, a sort of perverse pride that she could take direction so very well. Indeed, she realized she had to face the fact that she was becoming a real, honest-to-goodness submissive slut.

She used to think of herself as a good judge of character, and, she mused, maybe she still was, but in the cold light of reality, she acknowledged, that the whole idea was rather delusional.

More often than not she just blindly thrilled to the wickedness. In her more sober moments, she was cognizant of the possibility that she was becoming addicted to high-risk sex, and seriously considered the consequences of such; but the danger only seemed to make the sensations keener. Most of the time, she simply refused to actively contemplate the possible negative consequences. "I've been lucky so far," she told herself, ignoring the patent irrationality of the statement, for, of course, the question remained: "How long can my luck hold?"

Despite all of her wild experiences, the truth was: she was at home most nights. So, from time to time, she purchased sex toys for her own solo use, looking for the delicious climaxes, which she thought about – desired and craved – more and more in between assignations. After she'd got the kids to bed – lights out, after she's puttered in the kitchen and family-room, watched a bit of tube, she often found herself getting out her toys – vibrators and dildoes. She knew that she was masturbating more than she ever had before. Still, in the solitary darkness of her bedroom, fantasizing about giving in to the greedy demands of faceless pirates, it seemed harmless enough.

A short time after the stranger's apartment date, still tempting fate, Debbie allowed a 'date' to take her to a park for al fresco sex. Just off the walk he ordered her to get down on her knees and get him hard. She hesitated for an instant. "What will happen if we get busted?" Scenarios featuring her children, her parents, her friends and colleagues, her employer, all looking down on her in disgust and disbelief, streamed across the video screen of her mind. But then the promised thrill of submission overrode her better judgement, and she dropped to her knees in front of him, her attention fully focused on the lump in his pants as she fumbled with his belt and fly.

I only took a few minutes to get him rock-hard, and she gobbled him with gusto, bobbing vigorously on his root, moaning, and gagging softly each time her lips and nose reached his pungent pubic beard. Without warning, he pulled out of her mouth, and pushing her head away, told her get on all fours. "I'm gonna do you doggie style, you cock-hungry bitch," he taunted. Flipping up her skirt, he tugged her panties aside, tearing them in the process, and thrusted himself into her glistening cunt. Stabbing her mercilessly, he hit bottom with an almost audible thud, knocking the wind out her and bruising her cervix. But Debbie recovered quickly, and matched his mad, frenetic rhythm, gripping his penetration with her strong cunt muscles, then releasing him with a goosh of her juices. His firm grips on her ass cheeks, randomly gave way to rough squeezing and pinching of her breasts. The mauling hands then returned to their assault to her ass.

While he was pounding away at her backside, heaping vitriol on her, continuing to pinch, squeeze, and slap her butt, two young and drunk guys stumbled from the path to investigate the ruckus emanating from the edge of the garden. Unaware of their audience, Debbie wallowed in the rough treatment and the verbal abuse, rocking back to meet his every thrust. She could feel an orgasm germinating in her fundament.

Noting that their spectators were, fortunately, not associated with the authorities, Debbie's conquistador, reached over and grabbed her hair, abruptly lifting her head. "Open your pie-hole, cum-slut, so one of our young friends has a place to stick his cock!" Debbie opened her mouth, whether to comply or complain – she, herself, wasn't even sure; but the moment she parted her lips one of the guys stuck his turgid cock in. She gagged for a moment, then, took up the rhythm her fucker had already established. He stiffened and growled and emptied his balls into her in short order, then, brutally smacking her on the rump, he smoothly moved aside to make way for the other onlooker.

"Don't you dare stop, you pathetic cum-dump," he warned, continuing his trashy tirade, "until they've both come." But his verbal abuse faded into the background as the two cocksmen began to accelerate, each of them wailing and juddering in their approaching climaxes. Suddenly, Debbie's head was held firmly, as her felatist jammed himself deep into her throat, sending jet after jet of cum into her gullet and up her nose. Pulling back, she was stabbed deep into her cunt, her hips seized and held tight as volumes of semen splashed her womb.

Following which, they unceremoniously withdrew, both of them smacking her cheeks – facial and butt – as they let her go. And Debbie, finding that her limbs could no longer support her, collapsed onto the grass. She was barely aware of the boys zipping up and leaving. "Clean yourself up, you disgusting whore!" Then it was quiet. Eventually she came to her senses and gathered herself as much as she could. Standing up and looking around she expected to see her 'date' watching from nearby, but he was nowhere to be seen.

After checking for his car, she concluded, incredulously, that he had abandoned her. She was shocked, though she knew she shouldn't be, really. As she hoofed it the few blocks back to her own car, she went over the events of the evening. She was amazed at how extremely aroused she'd become, at the trash-talk. In fact, she recalled, every time he'd called her slut or bitch or whore, her genitals had tingled. She couldn't logically explain her desire to be mistreated; couldn't understand the stimulation of verbal abuse; couldn't actually believe it was her doing all those depraved things. Yet, secretly, she reveled in her position of submission. Objectively, though, she was not yet sure about how she felt about the pain – or, at least, how willing she was to admit how she felt about it.

The moment she reached her car, she knew she needed to masturbate before heading home. Sitting in the drivers' seat, with one hand down her panties, and one under her blouse, she brought herself off as inconspicuously as possible. It wasn't hard at all, there on a side street in the wee hours of morning.

Coming down off her erotic high, pulling herself back into her Ms Mom persona, Debbie realized how incredibly dangerous that had been. She vowed not to let herself get drawn into such a perilous position ever again.

While she continued to be fascinated by the dominance and submission aspects of her experiences, and her dates continued, in many respects, to be wild and intense, she became, deliberately, more conscientious and discerning in her choice of hook-up partners, as well as in her acceptance of invitations to meet. A little more cautious and wary, Debbie slowly acknowledged, nonetheless, that acceptance of some physical discipline was a natural extension on her submissiveness. She allowed herself to delight in the sharp stimulation and the agony/ecstasy paradox of mild sado-masochism.

She removed herself, as far as possible from the hook-up sites she had previously frequented, and began actively investigating some more specialized dominance and submission sites. Surfing through links from those sites, she found herself looking, with rapt curiosity, further and further into the alternate world of what is commonly referred to as BDSM. Most of the sites seemed serious and genuine, as she slowly made contact – first as a guest, and later as a profiled member.

Her erotic adventure nights started to change from spontaneous hedonism to orchestrated gratification, the dates – her sessions – becoming less power-mongering and more collegiate, More exploratory. Dominance and submission were roles taken, not assigned. During that time several partners tried to coax her into trying light bondage, and she soon began to entertain the idea, enjoying fantasies of restraint and devising intricate scenarios.

But it took a particularly persuasive and sensitive partner to finally convince her. So it was, with an excited hesitancy, she finally found herself being fastened spread-eagle to a bed in a strange apartment. It surprised her that she felt more anticipation than fear.

That first time was really wonderful. Her debut into bondage proceeded very slowly and gently: padded cuffs over silk scarves; clipped to rings on the bed posts; pulled taut but not tight; and accompanied by soothing explanation and reassurance all the way. As much as simply being restrained was unbelievable, being fondled and pinched, tickled and poked, smacked and spanked, while tied down, unable to respond, was out of this world. Debbie was almost embarrassed at how loud she got and how quickly. She just couldn't help it. When her partner asked her if she would object to wearing a ball-gag, she shook her head wildly, whimpering, between screams of ecstasy, "Yes... no... I mean... yes, give it to me!" Carefully applied, Debbie being such a neophyte, the ball-gag turned out to be a further, incredible turn-on. The heightened thrills and boosted effects of stimulation while bound and gagged were beyond description – super-stimulating, hyper-arousing, more than words could say!

But then the mother in her, Ms Mom, that ever-present presence in the back of her brain, surfaced. "Stop!" it commanded. Suddenly, her Ms Mom persona would not tolerate physical bondage. That part of her conscience, it seemed, couldn't abide being rendered helpless, whilst her children still depended on her. "What if my children need me while I am incapacitated?"

While that threw a damper on the marvelous experience, it didn't stop her. "There's always a solution," she told herself. So subtly, without saying anything to anyone, Debbie worked, conscientiously, over the next many adventure nights, to perfect the art of virtual bondage. She willed herself to be effectively bound by ethereal tethers, with no need to be actually tied up. Through the weeks and months that followed, she honed her ability to abide by her imaginary restraints, and, in doing so, to stoically withstand pain.

Furthermore, she, unexpectedly, developed a joy in passively withstanding all manner of corporeal discipline and punishment, and, in the end, experienced a form of bliss – rapture, even – in her passive acceptance. The stimulation she'd come to craved was, of course, a manifestation of masochism. She realized that. So, she embraced the masochist in herself – the Miss Slut aspect of her twin personas.

In spite of her admirable capacity for virtual bondage, Debbie still thought longingly about the heights she had reached in her only real experience with true physical bondage. Suddenly, it came to her. Such a simple and obvious solution. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Truth was, she needed only exclude herself from being physically bound while the kids were with the babysitter. Surely, she easily convinced herself, she was okay to experience it if they were at their dad's! Suddenly a whole spectrum of possibility opened to her.