Taking Sex to the Extreme

Okay, I thought that this phase of my life might interest you. I'm not saying this was smart or recommending that anyone else try it, but here it is. I call it my "extreme sex period."

Let me lay a bit of background here by stating that at the age of 18, I was "deeply disturbed" according to the string of psychiatrists they inflicted upon me. I have chosen rather than to fight those internal demons, to embrace them. This has created the submissive slut slave that I am today.

One other aspect of my life that I don't talk about often, is that one of those psychiatrists decided that part of my problem stemmed from being a helpless victim in all of that. He said that it might help if I studied martial arts, and learned to defend myself. Well, needless to say, that didn't work as far as "curing me," but I did grow to love martial arts. I've been studying since I was 16 years old. I am currently a third-degree black belt and I still train every week. There have been a couple instances where that knowledge has proven useful.

The last piece of history that you need is that I met my first Master when I was in college. He was a history professor for one of the students that I tutored during college. I had gone to him to plead for a better grade for my pupil, and ended up fucking him to get it. He somehow knew I was a natural submissive and so enslaved me for about a year. He had no affection for me, although I grew to love him. He was sadistic as Hell. He was the one who forced me to perform at bachelor and fraternity parties and perform some of the unspeakable acts we have talked about in the past. The straw that broke the camel's back was when he forced me to drink a concoction of semen and urine from another girl's ass. I'm not sure if that, or the "her ass to my cunt" fucking that followed was the source of the infection, but I ended up in the hospital for a week with an infection that nearly killed me. I had a lot of time to think while lying there watching the life-saving antibiotics drip into my veins. Master neither visited nor contacted me until I got home, and then it was to tell me he expected me to fuck three of his friends that night. At that point, I came to my senses how self-destructive the relationship was. I asked for, nay, pleaded for release. He refused. I told him that he was no longer my Master, and got a restraining order. That was that.

Flash forward to the period when this story takes place. I had graduated both undergrad and Law School with honors. I was working as an associate in a prestigious law firm in Chicago. I was making a decent salary, working long, hard hours. Bought a nice condo. And looking forward to an exciting future. The only thing that wasn't in place was someone to share it with. During my first few years out of Law School, I really tried to leave my slave life behind. I went the usual (for then) routes for meeting guys. I dated a lot of nice guys, some really hot. I also tried to leave my promiscuous ways behind. I demanded real dates (well, I did that in college, too. My reputation was that if you bought me dinner, I'd fuck you for dessert.) I no longer fucked guys until the third date (although my Hitachi Wand got quite a workout during this time). The problem was, these guys all were nice guys. I doubt most of them had even heard of The Story of O, let alone read it. They were nice to me. They "made love" to me. But what I missed was being used, being fucked.

So, I started dabbling in BDSM again. I started just cruising through the BDSM clubs in the city, both public and private, mostly just watching. Not real often, just once in a while. Then one night, I volunteered to be the subject of a shibari demonstration. By the time I was tied and untied, I was soaked. I was begging the knot guy or anyone else to fuck me. The place did not allow fucking on premise, so I went outside with a Dom who fucked me bent over the hood of his car. A couple other guys wanted to fuck me also, but the Dom wouldn't let them.

That started the cycle of my double life. On the surface, I was Miss Goody-two-shoes. But when no one was looking, I was cruising BDSM clubs and goth clubs. I was never a pain slut, but I got known as the girl who could and would take a whipping. I had to be very careful that no marks showed. I was in demand among the Doms in the clubs. Many of the clubs were private, in private homes. I liked them best because I could get fucked while or after being whipped. I craved them. Numerous times, I went on a date with one of my "nice guy" friends, fucked him, and then after he left at my insistence, I would head out to find club to play in. One of my dates caught my stripes and told me he could do that for me. Yeah, right. He was obviously afraid of hurting me, so I dumped him really quick. But something was missing, still. I still wanted to have a man who knew how to use me. I began auditioning for various Doms, but just couldn't find the right match.

Then came Laura. (Don't worry, we're getting there.) Laura was a pro bono case I was working. I was her advocate. She was a girl who had been gang raped by the local high school football team (all over the age of 18). Brutally. Because of my own background, I dove into the case. I did everything I could to help her. Everything I could to protect her. I delved into the case. I even read the psychiatrists' reports in depth. That's when I came across a police report that went into graphic detail about Laura's rape. I read how they had gotten her alone, how they beat her, and held her down and took turns fucking her. They took her mouth, ass and pussy. When they were finished they pissed on her. There were five guys involved. They took photos, which I saw. There was also video which I did not see. It was a horrible, brutal rape of a helpless woman. When I finished reading and stood up, I found that my pussy was soaked. I know, but sick as it sounds, I was incredibly turned on by the images that ran through my head as I read. And then I realized that as I read, the images in my head were not Laura, but me.

That night, when I got to my condo, I stripped down naked, and masturbated, thinking about the rape. I got into the positions I had seen in the photos. I dragged it out, not allowing myself to climax until I pictured them pissing on me. Oh, fuck, what an orgasm that was. The next day I stayed late in my office, until I was the only one left. I locked myself in my office and read the entire account again, this time rubbing my clit as I did. I stopped counting orgasms at six. I was ashamed that I was reacting to such a horrible event like this, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I put the file away, and swore never to read the description again, never again look at the photos of that frightened victim. But the following week, I stayed late again. My only excuse was that I was not imagining Laura in that room... but myself.

I became obsessed with the idea of being gang raped. I couldn't possibly talk to anyone about it. The trips to the BDSM clubs tapered off and when I did go, I fought back, so that they'd tie me tighter, whip me harder, the whole time imagining that I was not there of my own free will. But it just wasn't doing the trick. Role playing was not the same. I didn't feel fear, I wasn't worried about what was going to happen to me. Everything was too controlled. I needed to be out of control. And that's where I was spiraling.

Eventually, I came up with an idea. I would go out and get gang raped. Not Role Playing, but for real. I was confident that because of my martial arts training that, as long as they didn't tie me, I could get out of even the stickiest situation. But I would put myself in danger, and let nature take its course.

I thought a lot about who would be in a position to rape me. How I could get a gang of guys to take that step. I figured that if I could get a small group started, that mob mentality would take over and I'd have it. I thought that insulting their manhood would be the trigger. But I still had to find the group. Then I saw an article in the newspaper about a bar that was reopening after having been closed for several months for repairs. The repairs were necessitated by a huge brawl that had broken out between rival motorcycle clubs. Of course, in the middle of the fight, knives, chains and guns had come out and the place was nearly destroyed. It was now reopening.

I waited about a month, until I thought things might be back to normal in the bar. I still could not get the idea of the rape out of my head. I had given up Role Playing at the BDSM clubs. I still dated a bit, and tried to think about being raped while I had sex with my dates, but they were too gentle. I went into the bar, dressed in as nondescript clothing as I could devise. I checked the layout, the escape routes, the bartender, the pool table and the clientele. The Bikers were back, and they were black, a fact that the news accounts how somehow overlooked. Armed with that information, I formalized my plan.

The night of the attack, I was nervous as Hell. I had to have a couple drinks at home before I could get up the courage to head over to the bar. I dressed like a whore. Black skirt, very short, fishnet thigh highs, and a loose fitting white blouse that plunged dangerously. No bra, but panties, and sky-high heels that said, "fuck me, please." If I bent over, like at a pool table, for example, my tits would be on full display.

I had to steel myself several times before I went into the bar. I actually pulled up, parked and then pulled out and drove to the exit twice. But I finally parked, got out and went in. My hands were shaking. My breath was ragged. My knees were weak. There were four gang members there. Every eye in the place snapped onto me like radar when I walked in. I was after all the only white woman in a black biker bar, late on a weeknight, dressed like a whore. I sat at the bar in a location where I could watch the club members shoot pool, and ordered a drink. The bartender at first refused me saying, "We don't allow pros in here." I assured him I was not a pro and he reluctantly served me. He added that I might not be a pro, but I looked like trouble and he didn't want any.

It was late, around midnight when I made my move. I'd been watching the pool game. It was easy to pick out the alpha, and he was my target. If I could get him going, the others would follow. I took my drink and moved over to the high stools along the wall next to the table, and continued watching. They eyed me, and when I crossed and recrossed my legs, you could hear a pin drop, and although I pretended not to notice, I knew that they were watching me. I started some small talk with them. Then they invited me to shoot some pool. I'm pretty good at 8-Ball, and the game went back and forth. Then we started wagering money. More back and forth. Then we made a big bet, and I lost the last of my money. Inevitably, the Alpha, whose name I no longer remember, offered to bet money, and I could cover my bet with my ass. I accepted the bet, and then promptly lost the game.

I said something about heading home, and Alpha said, "Not until you pay up." It was near two AM and the place was empty except for the bikers, me and the bartender. I tried to laugh him off, saying surely he wasn't serious. "Serious as a heart attack." I had to suppress my reaction when he grabbed me. My instinct was to level him with a knee to the groin and a fist in the throat, but this wasn't what I wanted. I struggled with him. He told the bartender he was taking me to the back room. His buddies egged him on. In the hallway to the back room, just across from the toilets he slammed me into the wall so hard, I lost my breath.

Things got a little blurry for a while, but we ended up in the office at the back, where he threw me on a sofa. He yanked up my skirt and tore off my panties. I got up and tried to run, he caught me and threw me back down. I screamed, "No! No!" (to make sure it was really rape!) He pinned me on the sofa sitting on my chest, took out his cock and told me to suck it. He threatened to kill me if I bit him, then he shoved it in my mouth. I was literally, actually, really frightened. I sucked him, doing my best to give him a good blow job. After a couple of minutes, he climbed off my chest, and shoved his cock into my pussy. He looked a little surprised at how easily it went in. I was creaming like crazy. He fucked me hard and fast. I was at once frightened and yet incredibly turned on. He pinned my hands over my head while he fucked me. He didn't cum in me, but pulled out and sprayed my face with his cum.

The laughter from the doorway told me that his friends had come to watch that stupid white bitch get hers. After he got off me, I lay there for a bit, dazed and confused. He got up and pulled up his pants. I struggled to my feet and headed to the door. But it was blocked by two burly bikers. I tried to squeeze by, but one grabbed me by the waist, and threw me back on the couch. I again begged to be let go, telling them I did not want to do this. He mounted me in short order and began to pound me mercilessly. I really was helpless. There was nothing I could do to stop the attack; nothing I wanted to do. I wanted them to rape me and they were. I felt him tense and shoot his cum deep in my pussy. He pulled out and dangled his cock in my face, telling me to lick it clean so his old lady wouldn't know that he had fucked a white skank. I dutifully licked our combined juices off his cock.

I was still sucking him clean when I felt the third guy climb on. He pushed the second guy out of the way and kissed me, shoving his tongue in my mouth as he shoved his cock in my pussy. The sounds coming from my cunt were loud and sloshing. It did not take him long to finish and he filled my cunt also.

The fourth guy got into position amid much hooting and hollering. Apparently, although low on the pecking order, he had the biggest cock and they were telling him to impale me, to tear me open with his horse cock. When he rammed it in, I thought I was going to faint. I've never had a cock that big before or since. Even with two loads of cum for lubrication, he had to force it in. I felt like I was being torn in two. And he was not gentle by any means. He pistoned his cock in and out of me, ravaging my already sore cunt. I was sure that at any second he was going to emerge from my mouth or rip through my stomach like that creature in Alien. After what seemed like an eternity, he came. In buckets. I could feel his cum being forced out around his cock and shooting halfway to my knees. I had to hide it, but that's when I finally came.

The last guy got off me and pulled up his pants. There was much laughter and high fives as they filed out the door. A few moments later, I heard their bikes fire up and roar into the night. I could barely move. My entire body ached, especially my pussy. I tried to get up, but didn't have it in me.

Then the bartender came in. He berated me for being such a dumb cunt. Yelled at me for bringing trouble to his bar. Told me he was NOT calling the cops. All the while taking his pants off. Then he climbed on and shoved his cock into me, too. I couldn't even feel it. I don't know if he was that small or my cunt was numb, or it was gaping that wide. Judging from what I found when I got home, I think it was the last one. He pumped away for quite a while, until he added his cum to the three loads already in there.

Then he picked me up by my arms, dragged me to the front door and threw me into the parking lot. He went back inside and locked the door. I lay there looking up at the stars circling overhead. My hand slipped down to my pussy, and I found my clit. It took about three strokes and I was screaming another orgasm. It had been everything I had hoped it would be.

I managed to get up and get to my car. When I got home, it was like 4 AM. I showered and cleaned up as best I could. My cunt was raw. My ribs were sore from being slammed into the wall. I had abrasions on my legs from hitting the gravel in the parking lot. I called out sick the next two days.

I kind of withdrew into myself. I stopped dating, stopped going to the BDSM clubs. But every night I relived my own brutal rape and masturbated. I came a lot in those days. Six weeks later, I found out that I had an STD, luckily one that was cured with a round of antibiotics. Eventually, I got back to normal. I started dating again, with the same disastrous results. I realized that I never felt more alive than when I was being raped. I didn't brood over it, or get weird about it. Or I guess I did get weird. I didn't care. It didn't destroy me like it does other women because I participated in it. Normal people would be appalled by it all. Like my other demons, I embraced them.

I did it twice more, with different scenarios. The third time, I got such a soup of STD's that my doctor convinced me that I had to make a change in my life. I also had to fight my way out of the situation, and I'm lucky that I was never prosecuted for the damage I did to my rapists. It was really self-destructive behavior. I don't recommend that anyone else try this stunt. But damn, I've had a shit load of intense orgasms reliving the times that I did.