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Domination
by Anonymous (y_dee_x@yahoo.co.uk)

***

A cunt finds the answers to all her questions. (Mdom/F, 
v, bd, tor, ws)

***

I met my husband in a club. I was dancing and this big, 
black man pressed up close behind me, one huge arm 
holding me tight around the waist while the other hand 
was already busy inside my skimpy top, squeezing my 
tits hard and lifting me almost off the floor by them. 
It didn't occur to me to do anything other than teeter 
around on the toes of my stilettos as he swung me this 
way and that by the tits, moving me in time with the 
music. The club was full, loud and dark, and no one was 
paying attention, but even if it had been otherwise, I 
can't say I would have reacted differently.

His other hand moved under my even skimpier lycra mini 
and a finger thrust sharply into my cunt, making me 
squeal and jump in shock. My feet left the floor 
completely, and I was suspended for a few seconds by 
the finger in my cunt and the fingers around my left 
tit. I heard him laugh, his chest shaking as I leant 
against him. Then my feet touched the ground again, but 
only to let him shove more fingers in and when I jumped 
this time, he didn't bother putting me down but carried 
me through the dancing crowd just like that. 

I must have looked like some obscene ship's figurehead, 
and I giggled. He bit my neck sharply, kicked open one 
of the exits and finally put me down. I had just about 
time to note we were alone before he had shoved a 
finger up my ass, grabbed hold of the back of my neck 
and bent me over to his cock. 

My mouth was already open from squealing at the finger, 
but it fell open even wider at the sight of his dick. 
Huge was an understatement. I had only a second to look 
at the monster before it was in my mouth, down my 
throat, and on its happy way to choking me to death. I 
felt my jaw pop, my eyes were watering uncontrollably, 
and snot was pouring out as my whole body spasmed, 
shook, choked and choked on my future husband's monster 
of a cock. Or more accurately, My Lord Cock, as my 
husband likes me to call it. It amuses him.

I was about to pass out, when he finally removed My 
Lord Cock from my throat and let me breathe. I 
collapsed at his feet, breathing hard and gratefully.

"Now that's rude," he said, and I heard his deep, 
commanding voice for the first time. "That's my cock 
juice you just spat out. Lick it up." I was still 
coughing and trying to breathe easily, so I didn't 
respond immediately. His foot kicked my tit and I got 
the message and put my face to the floor, looking for 
wet spots on the dirty floor and licking them up. I 
licked up the last spot and was raising my head when 
his foot came down on my head, pressing me down to rest 
one cheek against the floor as he rested his foot on 
the other cheek.

"While you're down there, clean my shoe."

The only shoe I could reach was the one on my face, so 
I stuck out my tongue as far as I could and tried to 
clean what I could. But it wasn't easy as he was 
pressing down hard on my face and not letting me move 
much at all. He didn't say anything though, so I kept 
trying to do what he had told me to do, and I must have 
looked a sight with my bare white ass wiggling in the 
air, tits hanging out and squashed against the floor as 
a huge, black man stood above me with his foot on my 
face and my tongue waggling desperately about trying to 
clean his shoe.

My husband told me that that was the moment that the 
thought of marrying me first entered his head, because 
a cunt so desperate to please a man she had just met 
was just the kind of cunt for him. Even better, I was 
white and looked respectable – when he wasn't debasing 
me – and quite well off as he found out an hour later 
as he entered my flat. It would please his parents to 
see someone like me running around picking up after 
him, and he was right, it did. 

It pleases them even more these days as we're all 
living together, and I pick up after them too – which 
is a nice way of saying I'm their slave. I don't mind. 
I've been my husband's slave since the moment we met 
and if he wants me to tend to his family too, I will.

He took his foot off my face after a few minutes and 
stepped back. I didn't move, waiting for him to decide 
what I should do next and before too long, he pulled my 
head up by my hair. I was eye to eye with My Lord Cock 
again but this time I was better prepared, opening my 
mouth wide and letting My Lord Cock deep-throat me 
without gagging. But I had never handled a cock of such 
girth before and my control didn't last, especially 
once he started to skull-fuck me with a vengeance. 

His hands were tightly fisted in my hair, and moving my 
head back and forth in time with his thrusting. Fast 
thrusting, fast and hard, my nose and lips hitting his 
pubic bush and bone repeatedly with jarring strength 
which was sure to leave them, at best, bruised. And the 
hi-speed bobbing was making me dizzy, although that 
might have been also due to the lack of air.

I hadn't noticed the pain that much before, too 
involved in trying to get some air into my lungs, but 
he fucked my throat for so long and so hard that it was 
impossible to ignore. My throat felt scraped raw, was 
probably bleeding, and the tears weren't just 
involuntary from all the choking and banging. 

He finally stopped and looked down at me, smiling and 
tenderly stroking my sweaty hair off my face. He didn't 
remove My Lord Cock though, even though he couldn't 
have failed to see or feel that I was struggling to 
breathe, but even as he did nothing, I did nothing. My 
hands were clenched tightly together behind my back, 
keeping out of his way, even as my vision was failing 
due to My Lord Cock plugging up my throat and blocking 
my airways. I could die if he didn't let me breathe 
soon and still I did nothing that could be seen as 
denying him anything that he might want.

His dark eyes swept over my face slowly, taking in 
every detail. There was stark tube lighting, so nothing 
could have been hidden. I could clearly imagine what I 
must look like; my bright red, sweating face, wet with 
tears and snot and cock juice, black mascara running 
wild around bulging red-veined eyes, nostrils flaring 
desperately as my nose lay buried in his curly black 
pubic hair, my red lipstick all smudged around my lips, 
stretched thin and past its breaking point by the 
slimy, black muscle that impaled and obscenely 
distorted my face. 

My eyesight was failing with the continuing lack of 
air, but I could clearly see his pride at the ruin that 
was my face, ruin that his cock, My Lord Cock, had 
wrought.

Then he pulled out, abruptly and painfully, his fist in 
my hair keeping my face right where he wanted. The cum 
spat out, across my eyes, making me blink rapidly and 
tear up even more, across my nose, up my nose and 
making me choke even more, and on my forehead and hair. 
He rubbed his cockhead on my cheek, slowly, 
thoughtfully. I blinked up at him and waited.

And when My Lord Cock was once again back in my mouth, 
and hot piss shot out, I wasn't really surprised and 
gulped it down as fast as I could. It wasn't fast 
enough though, and piss dribbled out and ran down my 
chin and neck and soaked my dress. He punishes me for 
that, for wasting anything that comes out of his body 
and with which he gifts me, but at that time all he did 
was pull out and finish off on my face and hair. Just a 
bit, not enough to wash away the cum, just enough to be 
clearly seen and smelt.

I looked up at him, still coughing a bit, my lungs not 
back to normal especially with some of the piss going 
down the wrong way. He was big and black and utterly 
frightening. Pitiless and cold, that was the look on 
his face, and the contempt came through strong and 
clear. My pussy ached. I'd never been so turned on in 
my life.

"Your name, cunt."

"Cunt," I answered back dazedly. He laughed, deep and 
loud, and I realised he'd asked me for my name, not 
given me the name of Cunt.

"As you wish, my lady," he chuckled, "Cunt it is. What 
was your maiden name?"

I was so happy, and smiled up at him. He laughed again, 
then slapped my face with his cock. "Concentrate. 
Answer me."

"Samantha Burlington, sir." I tried to lick his cock as 
it carried on slapping my face, back and forth, back 
and forth.

"Too big a name for a pathetic thing like you," he 
mused, now rubbing his cock around my mouth and nose. 
He smelled so good, strong and pungent and nasty. "And 
you are pathetic. A piece of shit. Utter white trash, 
if ever I saw it. Right, cunt?"

"Right, sir." I was, I am. I was anything he wanted me 
to be.

"You a whore, cunt?"

"Yes, sir." Anything.

He sighed, and it was just another thing that showed me 
I was meant for him. He always knows me, knows what's 
in my mind. "I meant your job, if you have one. What do 
you do, cunt?"

Oh. "Lawyer, sir."

"You look too stupid for that. You are stupid, aren't 
you, cunt?" He bounced his cock up and down on my nose.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes sir what?" He suddenly snarled, pulling on my hair 
and shaking me.

"Yes, sir, I'm stupid."

He stopped shaking me, but his grip on my hair 
tightened. I flinched as some strands tore off. "And 
the stupid cunt is going to quit and be what worthless 
cunts are born to be."

"Yes, sir," I breathed out, my heart pounding. His dark 
eyes glared down at me, pierced deep and grabbed hold. 
He was everything.

"What are worthless cunts born to be?" 

I opened my mouth, but I didn't know. What, what? I 
looked at him, waiting for him to tell me.

"Nothing." He whispered, and I believed him. Then both 
of his hands fisted in my hair and his cock was in my 
throat in one rough thrust. I went cross-eyed it was so 
sudden, and my nose hit his pubic hair and bone and 
tears were falling again.

"What a show, man!"

I tensed, but didn't pull away, never thought of 
pulling away. There was another man there, but my 
husband hadn't even stopped fucking my throat. He 
hadn't been surprised. I rolled my eyes up to see what 
he was going to do, but he wasn't looking at me. He was 
grinning, looking at where the voice had come from.

"I expected you sooner," he said, grunting as he thrust 
in hard and kept it there, holding my face tight to his 
crotch.

"Like I said, what a show. Too busy watching to come 
down, and it's still recording as we speak. I got 
Charlie to take over."

I was pulled off then, and my throat burned at the 
speed and friction. He tugged my head back and twisted 
slightly, then grasped my chin and leaned down. "Say 
hello to Charlie."

There was a glint in the dark corner of the ceiling, a 
camera. But of course. Cameras were everywhere in the 
clubs. "Hello."

He shook me again by the hair, slapped my face 
viciously and spat in my face. "Stupid cunt! What was 
that?" He slapped me again, and I was so confused. 
"Open your cunt mouth wide, squeeze your tits, spread 
your legs and frig your cunt! That's how a cunt says 
hello!"

My face was pointed up to the camera again, and I 
opened my cunt mouth wide, squeezed my tits with my 
left hand, and spread my legs to finger my cunt. A 
sudden burn on my ass made me squeal and thrust my hips 
up. It came again, and again. 

"Yeah, whip the bitch," moaned the man I still hadn't 
seen. My husband was whipping me with his belt. And I 
squealed every time another stripe was marked on my 
bare butt, and I squeezed my tits harder and pumped my 
hips as I masturbated for the camera, for Charlie, and 
all the time my husband had me by the hair and shouted 
at me to do better. I tried, fingering my cunt and 
licking my nipples and biting and twisting and shoving 
my fingers deep inside my hole, and finally I shrieked 
and came. 

I shuddered, orgasm working its way through every bit 
of me and all was dark and warm and so good. It was so 
good, fantastic, the best sex I'd ever had. If my 
husband hadn't already taken me over so completely, 
that would have been the moment I would have promised 
forever. 

He shook me, and I came to and realised I'd slumped 
forward, his grip on my hair the only thing keeping me 
from falling on my face. I was pathetically grateful, 
grateful for the cum, grateful for being found. He 
pushed me forward and I collapsed on the sticky, filthy 
floor, but I was too grateful to stay put. 

I turned around and crawled over to his feet and 
started licking, cleaning with my eager tongue and 
buffing with my cheeks and hair. They were talking, 
laughing, I didn't really hear, but I knew he wasn't 
speaking to me and so I was going to carry on licking 
until he told me to stop.

I was so happy. He was what I had been looking for, 
ever since I had begun to feel like I was incomplete, 
like I was out of place, like I was just plain wrong. I 
hadn't known what or who or where, but now I did. Now I 
definitely did. What had I been missing? Him. Where was 
my place? With him. And who am I? His. I am his, 
totally and completely. I am his to do with as he will, 
to do anything he wills, to be anything he wills. 

I am nothing but what he makes of me. I am nothing.


Nothing: Weddings

There's nothing quite like pissing in a bitch-mouth. 
And once you've shit in it too, there's no going back 
to flowers and candlelight. Once you've seen a bitch 
stuffed with shit, cheeks bulging with it, face smeared 
and dirty with your waste and tearful eyes peering out 
from under shitty lashes, there's just no way you can 
ever look at a bitch again and not see shit. Respect 
and romance? Hell no. My dick's never been harder, and 
I feel like all's right with the world at last.

This is how it's meant to be, this all-powerful, 
testosterone haze. And she's not running away, she's 
coming back for more and more, and she's not the only 
one. All types of women, just dying to find a man to 
grab hold of her and be what a man is supposed to be – 
powerful, commanding. Frightening. It's genetics. We've 
forgotten that, too blinded by science and tech - 
despite the camouflage, we are nothing but animal.

I have a dream. When I die, I want my cunt to be buried 
with me. Buried alive. The piece of shit should be 
kneeling at my feet, my dick in her toothless mouth, 
arms and elbows tied behind her with barb wire. Udders 
pierced with as many skewers as they can fit, a few 
long and thick and going through both tits. Big tits, 
the biggest-titted whore I can find. Something you can 
really grab hold off and punch and burn and pierce and 
torture, torture, torture.

I want my friends to torture the cunt, go all out, 
really enjoy themselves and leaving it just alive 
enough to appreciate starving to death with my dick in 
her mouth. Not suffocating to death. I want air holes 
in the coffin, make sure my pig suffers for as long as 
possible. A video cam would be good, provide great 
reality TV entertainment. Why watch some losers sleep 
and making fools of themselves when you can watch my 
cunt suffering and dying instead? No contest. 
Especially with a dildo in her cunt and ass that would 
give her some searing, bitch-frying electric shocks.

Wonderful dream. I'm sure I'll add to it before I'm 
completely satisfied. And I'm sure it will be carried 
out and surpass my imaginings - I know my friends.

Who would have known this was where it was leading to 
when I met my wife? She was just another blonde tart in 
a sea of them, shaking her tits and ass to get a man's 
attention. Just another normal night in a club. Her 
tits though, fantastic. They sloshed around wildly, 
almost falling out of her top, no bra in sight the 
fucking slut. 

When she jumps up and down, which I get her to do quite 
a lot, they hit her face. I've stretched them a bit 
over the years, lots of rope-work and special clothes 
and equipment from the BDSM store, and they look 
fucking amazing. Saggy, big and floppy, practically 
down past her belly button. 

Sometimes we hold cunt races on the weekends and 
there's nothing quite like a bunch of big titted white 
whores running with their black masters whipping them 
on. Beautiful. All those saggy tits bouncing around, 
white flesh welted and red and black and blue, red 
faces crying, snot dripping, mouth wide from the ring 
gags and drool down their chins and tits like the 
stupid dogs they are.

Great buys, those ring gags. Aesthetically pleasing, 
giving us the cunts with their mouths wide open, like 
they should be. And practical too. A nice, safe cock 
sheath. Not to mention the whining and retarded noises 
the pigs make when you're working them hard - good for 
the dick, for the soul. And when it becomes annoying, 
and women using their mouths for talking or making any 
sounds I don't allow annoys me, just shove a penis gag 
in through the ring and down the piggy throat and 
voila, blessed silence. Even their snuffling snouts are 
much quieter.

Truly, gags are a man's best friend. The one essential 
item if you're going to be stuck on a desert island 
with the cunt of your dreams.

So, my wife-cunt, slave-pig of slave-pigs, I married 
her the day after I met her. Went to Vegas and did it 
legally. She wore a white corset with her nipples 
peeking out the top, a frilly white tutu that showed 
her bald pussy, white fishnets and white stilettos. And 
the all important virginal white veil. All topped off 
with bright red lipstick, on her lips, her pussy lips, 
and piggy nips. She even had a bouquet, a single red 
rose tucked between her wobbling mass of titties. That 
was some cleavage she got in that corset. 

The priest-whatever-guy could barely get the words out, 
too busy looking at all the slut on show, but he 
finally did and it was done. I had her give him 
whatever he wanted after, as a thank you, and he wanted 
an ass-fuck with a blowjob chaser. All the clothes were 
left on, apart from dragging her udders fully out which 
really didn't need much effort, and I got it all on 
video. Then of course my witness friends had their 
thank you fucks too. It was a good day.

And when it came to throwing her bouquet, that was 
something to see. Look! No hands! The stupid whore had 
her hands obediently behind her and she was bouncing, 
bouncing up and down and up and down like some fucking 
yo-yo, tits and pussy everywhere. Hysterical. She 
finally managed it though, sent that rose flying 
through the air and my best man caught it and that got 
him the first cunt-fuck of the night from the pig. 

I fucked her last, after they were all done with her – 
all her holes all raw and leaking cum and blood and 
piss and shit. She was a mess, all the pristine white 
stained and torn, her white flesh bruised and welted – 
we'd all given our belts a happy time – and her face 
was just absolute perfection. It's how a bitch-face 
should always look – bruised, stupid, afraid.

And then when we got back to her nice, expensive 
apartment, just the two of us, she got her second 
wedding. Lucky bitch, most cunts only get one. It was 
the start of our new life as husband and wife and I had 
specific ideas about how things should be. First, her 
old life was over and the ceremony would show that. The 
Vegas wedding had been great, but I wanted to do more 
ownership rituals, take her over more completely. I 
wanted her to know that she was my property, mine to do 
with as I pleased., just like in the good old days. 
Call me a traditionalist.

So as soon as we got through the front door, she fell 
to her knees as was good and proper and stripped. No 
more clothes or walking on two feet like a human being 
in my home again, unless I gave permission. And I 
dragged the crawling pig by her hair to the bathroom, 
kicked her down on her stomach in the jacuzzi, and 
hogtied her, nice and tight. Wrists to calves, ankles 
to throat, elbows together. She was arched up, choking 
and strangling, tits nicely crushed on show. Then the 
ring gag went in, as did the nose tines, pulling her 
nostrils back and making her look more like the pig she 
is, and this was tied to her big toes.

I set up the video carefully, making sure it would all 
be nicely recorded for future viewing pleasure.

Then I got the scissors and hacked off her hair. And 
the bitch started to cry, stupid cunt. So vain. When I 
got the razor out and shaved her bald, the tears and 
snot really started to flow. I stepped back and admired 
my wife. Shining white bald head, running mascara, snot 
streams from her piggy snout. Gorgeous. But she needed 
more bruises, so I slapped her face a few times, hard 
enough to topple her over each time. Then I punched her 
right eye a time or three, but only her right, because 
I like to see the difference – slitty bloodshot eye 
peering out of swollen, purple flesh, and then the 
healthy one with mascara and shadow.

My belt whapped over her bald head, giving it some 
lovely red welts, and all over the rest of her. I had 
to push her over to beat her tits properly, nice and 
hard, using the buckle end to finish it off to get a 
few spots of blood. Her cunt got a good lashing too, 
even though it really was nicely bruised already. Her 
ass however, was a mess from the guys going to town on 
it, so it was just as well the hogtie left it shielded. 
I intended to completely use the cunt up before I got 
rid of her, but I wanted to take my time, really enjoy 
the experience. I was thinking three or four years.

After the whipping, I got down to the serious business 
of vows.

"What are you, cunt?"

"Uh-hng," my wife sounded through her gag. Nothing. 
Such a good cunt. I patted her on her smooth bald head 
in approval. The tears were still flowing but her eyes 
were wide and worshipful. 

"Who are you, pig?"

"Urr..." Yours. I rubbed my cock over her face, wiping 
over her tears and snot and drool. I could see her pink 
tongue waggling desperately to reach my cock, and her 
eyes were just so stupidly grateful it made my dick 
jump. Stupid, stupid cunts.

"That's right, you're all mine, little piggy," I 
whispered, poking my cock against her nostrils and 
wishing them bigger so I could really get some meat in 
there. That would look so good. I could see it now, a 
cock in each nostril and one down her throat. "Oink for 
me, pig."

She did, but not as good as she could do with her mouth 
gag-free. Sacrifices, sacrifices. I shoved my dick down 
her throat and got a good slam-fuck going, holding on 
to her ears and staring down at her as she choked and 
turned redder and redder. It got so violent she started 
skidding back and forth on her tits and belly, and her 
sweat was really helping the squeaking noises. I 
laughed. Life was good. This bald thing choking on my 
dick was my wife, her apartment and money and 
everything that had been hers was mine, and I could see 
a nice long life ahead for me.

I came on her bald head, in her eyes, up her nose, and 
treated her with a taste too – she had been a very good 
cunt, after all.

"Think of this as your baptism," I said, rubbing my cum 
into her shiny baldness with my cock. I held my cock 
and whapped her on the nose. "Welcome to the Church of 
Your Lord Cock." I whipped her face a few times, 
enjoying the feeling, the sounds of cock hitting cum-
soaked cunt-face.

"Your christening," I said, pissing on her head and 
face. "I name you Pig-cunt. Oink, Pig-cunt." She 
oinked. I laughed, looking down at the cunt desperately 
blinking piss from her eyes and snorting piss out of 
her nose. I finished off in her mouth. "The blood of 
Your Lord Cock." I shoved my cock in. "The body of Your 
Lord Cock."

I grinned, leaning down with my black marker and making 
it official. There, nice and clear on her forehead was 
Pig and across her cheeks and nose was Cunt. I was 
going to step back, give the camera a good look at my 
newly named wife, but her white bald head was too 
tempting. A big smiley face on top, then Pig-cunt again 
around the back, and it was a work of art. There was so 
much more I wanted to do, so much white canvas, but I 
had time. She was my wife. We had the rest of her life.

"And here's something from me." I squatted over her 
head and let loose. Shit curled down onto her bald 
head, over her eyes, down her nose and some runny shit 
rounded it all off for a nice splatter effect. My dick 
was like stone, so fucking hard. I couldn't remember 
the last time I had recovered so quickly. And the pig 
was squealing, eyes rolling wildly and choking as she 
rocked on her tits and belly. I think she was trying to 
get away. I was laughing, stroking my cock and enjoying 
the sight of my wife lolling around in shit and piss. 
Happy as a pig in mud, my pig in shit.

"You're a good wife, Pig-cunt, really good," I said, 
breathing hard and ready to come again. She stilled a 
bit, her squealing ended, like my praise was all she 
needed to get over such abuse. So stupid. "But you know 
what would make me really happy?" Her big blue eyes 
with their shitty lashes blinked at me questioningly. 
"Eat my shit."

Her stupid eyes teared up again, and a moaning sound 
came out of her mouth, a weird keening. It was eerie, 
so I shut her up by stepping on her head and pressing 
it into the shit. She was making those deep choking 
sounds you get when you give a really good deep-throat, 
her body spasming and twitching like she was being 
electrocuted, and I took pity on her and cut the ropes 
to her neck and nose. Her face fell forward and she was 
gasping, and heaving, retching. It was funny how much 
she resembled a fish then. I sat on the rim and waited 
for her to do as she was told. She would, I knew. She 
couldn't say no to me; I was the man of her dreams.

It took her a while, especially restricted as she was 
by the hogtie, but that was ok. I liked the show, 
leisurely stroking my cock as she practically used her 
udders for walking, hoovering up all the shit and piss 
with her mouth when she found her ring-gag didn't let 
her lick very efficiently. She really was a good pig 
and I would have patted her again if she wasn't covered 
in shit. It was fucking disgusting, and the smell – and 
she was eating the stuff. Unbelievable. I hadn't had 
much respect for her to begin with but now, now my 
contempt for the cunt was absolute. Whatever she might 
do in future to redeem herself, it would never work; 
she ate my shit and I hadn't even had to beat her.

I watched silently as she licked up the last remaining 
splatters, her tits squeaking on the plastic now and 
then as she moved. 

"That's great, pig, you're a natural. Go ahead and 
throw up." The words were barely out before there was 
vomit shooting out. Absolutely disgusting. "Go on, dip 
your face in your vomit, that's a good pig. All over 
your face, roll it around. Move your tits into it, 
that's it, good pig. Take a taste, come on – are you 
fucking deaf? Get stuck in there!"

And the disgusting pig was face down in her vomit, 
snorting and snuffling, like a pig hunting for 
truffles. She was crying again, causing tear tracks 
through the shit and vomit on her face. "You love me, 
Pig-cunt?" 

She stopped her vomit eating and looked up at me, 
snorting shit and vomit from her nose, mouth and chin 
dripping with the slimy brown waste. Gorgeous. I nearly 
came right then and there, but then she nodded and I 
was too furious to come. If she hadn't been too 
disgusting to touch, I would have beat the bitch 
senseless. And I didn't want to dirty my belt. "Did you 
just nod at me? Did you just nod, you fucking cunt? I 
ask you a question, you answer! You understand me, you 
stupid slut?"

"Ehh, uhh." Yes sir. And she looked terrified. That 
soothed me, but I was still looking around for 
something to hit her with. 

"Say it." There was a serious absence of punishment 
implements, except for electric cables, and as this was 
my home now, that just would not do.

"Ahh, uhh, ooo, uhh." So sweet, my wife. I calmed down 
at that sweet declaration, had the camera zoom in on 
her face and squashed, bulging tits. Bald, with 
graffiti, covered in shit and vomit and piss and cum, 
she was a right fucking mess. She was perfect, and all 
mine. I shot all over her face one last time, to make 
her feel loved, switched off the lights and shut the 
door behind me. Time for bed.

Great start to the honeymoon.

She started it all, this extreme side of me. Before, 
I'd always been rough with the girls, but after getting 
her, rough was left far behind and it was torture, no 
mistake. Once you get a taste of extreme, you just keep 
wanting more and more. It is addiction, and I'm a 
happy, satisfied addict. She wants it, and takes it, 
and it's so satisfying having a bitch beg for her own 
destruction, and hating herself all the while for it. 

So much better than taking an unwilling cunt who's too 
stupid to know her place, because I am not a rapist, no 
sir. And better than pain-sluts, because all they want 
is pain, the sick pigs. Give them a box of nails and a 
hammer and that's them sorted. No fun at all. I don't 
want them unwilling but I don't want them happy and 
well-adjusted about it either. What I want is what I 
got - my willing, happy and self-hating wife.

I never even thought of snuffing her until she brought 
it up. She'd rather I killed her than throw her out on 
the street, she was nothing without me. That's what 
she'd said. Now, every cunt in my life faces that 
possibility and I can't imagine a life lived any other 
way. 

I love my life.


Nothing: Early days

After we were married, my husband moved into my 
apartment and it was then that I found out he was a 
cop. He looked so good in the uniform, made me so wet. 
Shiny silver cuffs, menacing black baton, those dark 
mirrored sunglasses. The gun. I just knelt at his feet 
and drooled – nothing new, he made me drool all the 
time, and I'm not talking about the gags which were 
more often inside my mouth than not now. But still, it 
was a new fetish and he grinned when he saw the effect 
on me.

I licked his shiny black shoes, shivering as he trailed 
the baton over my spine. My holes were twitching, 
happily anticipating having it inside. He gave a good 
hard whack to each cheek, making me grunt and whine, 
surprised at how much it hurt. Then it was rubbing over 
my head, and I shivered for a whole different reason. I 
was still quite upset over my baldness and the 
graffiti, had seen myself in the mirror and cried. I 
looked terrible, and so very stupid, but my cunt had 
been happy and I had masturbated in front of the mirror 
and come so many times.

Still, it's one thing to get off on humiliation and 
another for the humiliation to be so blatant and long 
lasting. My hair would grow back, but not if he kept 
shaving it off. He'd done that twice now, and I was 
beginning to worry he was going to keep me bald. As for 
the graffiti, he was talking tattoos too and I didn't 
think he'd do that to my face but there was gleam in 
his eye when he said it…

Then the baton was in my mouth, and I was sucking and 
choking. He was smirking down at me, shoving the baton 
back and forth forcefully, hitting the back of my 
throat, holding the back of my head to make me take it. 
I could see my reflection on his lenses, two of me, 
distorted.

"Keep it in your mouth."

He went behind me, and I felt the coldness of the cuffs 
as they closed around my wrists. I moaned, so very hot, 
the drool just trickling down my chin and my cunt juice 
slicking my thighs.

"Crawl over to the coffee table, rest your tits on the 
top."

It was awkward, trying to get my weighty udders nicely 
placed on the tabletop without the use of my hands and 
with a long baton sticking out of my mouth, but I 
finally managed it. I was a bit worried I had taken too 
long, he had a tendency to punish harshly for any minor 
wrong, but he didn't say anything and I relaxed. Then 
he took the baton out of my mouth and started bashing 
my tits flat.

I cried out and pulled back, and I knew I shouldn't 
have but it was uncontrollable. He'd used full force 
and my tits felt crushed.

"Get back in place before I get angry."

I'd gone into this relationship with open eyes, jumped 
in with both feet, gleefully, but it was very hard at 
times. I arranged my tits on the table again, crying 
already, knowing how horrible it was going to be. And 
it was. He had to stuff a tea towel in my mouth to keep 
the noise down. I'm afraid that 3 hits to each tit was 
all I could take, and I pulled away again and curled up 
on the floor. Back then, I'm afraid my pain tolerance 
level wasn't very high.

"Now you've done it." He kicked me over onto my back 
and kept me there with one foot on my tit. He pressed 
down hard, almost standing with his full weight on me 
and it hurt but I was distracted by how manly and 
powerful he looked. He was like a hunter standing over 
his kill, but instead of a gun he had his baton. And 
then the baton was falling and my free tit was getting 
slammed back against my ribs. I was screaming 
uncontrollably into my gag, thrashing around under his 
foot.

"Spread your legs, piggy."

He grabbed hold of one ankle and started thrashing my 
cunt, then it was shoved in and the pain took my breath 
away. But it didn't stay in there long, just long 
enough for it to be slick enough for my ass – and that 
was another shock of pain. I looked up at my husband 
who held me down with one foot on my tit, held me up by 
one ankle and so high that my weight was on my 
shoulders, and who had just stuffed his baton into my 
ass – he was grinning, teeth white and gleaming in his 
dark face, and I could see a large lump at his crotch. 
He was happy, and that was all that mattered.

"Now piggy has a piggy tail," he laughed, shoving it in 
further with a push and a twist. "I'm so good to you. 
Now, try it out. Crawl around and wag your tail." He 
pressed down hard on my tit before letting go of my 
ankle.

All I wanted to do was curl up and hide, but I did as I 
was told. Everything hurt, and I couldn't stop crying. 
I crawled around the room on my shoulders and knees, my 
battered tits dragging against the carpet, occasionally 
wagging my new tail. My husband stroked himself as he 
watched. And even with the tears, he wasn't the only 
one turned on. Not only did I hurt badly, I knew how 
stupid I must look, and yet my cunt was still throbbing 
and aching and dripping.

"Bet you're wet, you sick slut," he said. He knew me so 
well. He stopped me by his chair, grabbing my ear. 
"Here, hump my leg."

It felt so good. I humped his leg like a dog, fast and 
desperate, looking at his grinning, sneering face all 
the while. The baton was starting to slip though, from 
all the shaking, and I had to slow down.

"Open your mouth."

I opened it without thinking, and he took out the tea 
towel and replaced it with his gun. I stopped humping 
in shock.

He slapped my head. "I didn't tell you to stop." But I 
couldn't move.

I'd never been near a gun before, and my first touch 
was with my mouth. I stared up at him, mouth dry, 
tasting the metallic barrel of the gun resting on my 
tongue.

He leaned close, his breath warm on my forehead. 
"You're being very bad today, and I don't like it." 
There was a click, the safety. I nearly pissed myself. 
"Stop squealing, my sick lil' pig. Now, suck my gun."

I sucked, and before too long the whole thing was 
turning me on and I was rubbing against his leg again. 
There was a gun getting a blowjob from me, a police 
baton getting an ass-fuck, and I was so hot I was 
humping my husband's leg like an animal… I really was a 
sick lil' pig.

"You know, I heard this story recently, true story," he 
said, watching my head bob on his gun, spit running 
down my chin. "In one of those Asian countries, where 
the men keep the cunts in their place, the men would 
take a cheating cunt out in front of everybody and 
gang-rape her." I humped faster. I'd got a taste for 
gangbangs from my wedding. "When they were done, they'd 
take her out to the rubbish tip, stuff her mouth and 
ass full of trash. Then they'd put a gun up her cunt, 
and shoot." He pulled the trigger. Click. I flinched, 
my eyes rolled up in my head - I came. 

Sick, sick pig. 

When it was over, I sat there panting, gun still in my 
mouth. The baton fell out of my ass, and I missed it.

"They'd leave her there, dead or dying." He lifted the 
gun, lifted my head with it. "Birds, rats, maggots, 
they'd have fun with her. Then the next pile of trash 
would come along, bury one used up cunt, and life goes 
on. No burning pyre, no fuss, no one giving a shit."

The gun slid out of my mouth. He took his leg out from 
between my legs, placed his foot against my face and 
pushed me off. I lay on my back, on my cuffed hands, 
turned on all over again by his story.

"A fitting end, I think." He stuck the gun up my cunt. 
I held my breath. The gun made squishing noises as it 
thrust in and out, loud, and very telling of my state 
of mind, making me blush bright red and hot in 
embarrassment. "Don't you agree, Pig-cunt?"

"Yes, sir." It was more moaned than said, and I was 
telling the truth. At that moment, I couldn't see 
anything wrong with how the cunt had ended up. And even 
later on, even now, no matter how morally wrong or just 
plain sick it all is, I'm still ok with it, I'm still 
desperately turned on by it. And I think it started 
then, the consideration of a similar ending for myself, 
because I couldn't see how I could truly surrender 
completely to my husband without him taking control of 
my life and death.

The gun speeded up inside me, and I was thrusting back, 
fucking myself with it. I was moaning loudly, looking 
up at my husband in lust and adoration, my cunt 
spasming as he spat in my face. Everything he did 
turned me on, I was so lucky. Then there was the 
trigger, the click, and I was coming and screaming and 
thrashing around on the floor like a demented thing, 
like the demented thing I was.

I lay there in a haze, not really awake. He left me 
there and occasionally I'd see his feet walking past 
me. There were the usual sounds I was used to now, that 
of him changing my apartment to his liking. His 
apartment now. I'd signed over everything to him, and 
even my name now in the outside world was simply Mrs. 
Michael Hyde, and if the first name was needed, it was 
P, short for Pig-cunt, but they wouldn't know that. 
Maiden name? Cee. C for cunt, of course. It had all 
been legally changed - Samantha Burlington no longer 
existed.

My resignation letter had already been sent, my career 
was over. I'd spoken to them on the speakerphone too, 
looking at our reflection in the mirror. I was bent at 
the waist, my wrists tied behind me and my neck 
collared by my husband's belt. He was holding me by my 
wrists and collar as he fucked my ass. We looked so 
good together, I couldn't look away.

He had on a wife-beater, the white of it standing out 
starkly against the dark ebony of his skin and bringing 
more attention to his fantastic muscles. Black combats 
only opened at the fly covered his lower half. He 
looked so big and dangerous, the type I cross the 
street to avoid, the type that make my cunt drip like 
no other. I was naked and bald with graffiti and welts 
and bruises all over, one eye so swollen I could barely 
see out of it and my lips were split and bleeding. My 
tits were tied tightly with cooking string, big purple 
balls bouncing in time to the fucking.

I resented having to talk to anyone - I just wanted to 
look at the picture we made, enjoy the fucking - but my 
husband had told me to and that was that.

"It's a bit sudden, isn't it, Samantha? It's not like 
you."

You don't have a clue what I'm like, I wanted to say, 
looking at the happy abused cunt being ass-fucked by 
her powerful husband. But my husband had told me to 
always speak respectfully and politely to others. They 
were much better than the piece of shit that was me, 
after all.

"I know," I said. My voice was weak and out of breath, 
a result of being fucked and everything else, but those 
on the other side of the line thought it was from being 
ill. "But it's the real thing and we'll be moving soon 
back to his country. Wish me luck!"

"Of course, sweetie, lots of luck. We're just worried 
about you."

"Don't be. I'm deliriously happy." I watched my 
reflection lick her bleeding lips, her eyes wide and 
transfixed on her husband. The call ended at last, I 
mouthed numerous goodbyes, empty promises to keep in 
touch, to email.

"Deliriously happy, are you?" he asked, smiling wide 
and letting go of my wrists to slap my ass.

"Yes, sir," I gasped out. I was only being held up by 
the belt around my throat. And instead of taking back 
my wrists, both of his hands were on the belt and it 
was getting harder and harder to breathe. I was 
choking, my face getting redder and redder, my eyes 
bulging out and rolling wildly to look for mercy at my 
husband who was fucking my ass like a demon. 

He looked like he was riding, reins in his hands, ass 
going up and down on his mount's back. His snarling 
mouth was moving, cursing and degrading me, but I could 
barely hear him anymore. My mouth was wide open, tongue 
sticking out and waggling, drool dripping copiously 
from my chin. My eyes followed the drool, strangely 
fascinated, before they got caught by the frantic 
shaking and flopping of my purple tit-balls – they were 
the last things I saw that day. My vision blurred, 
darkened, and I lost consciousness.

And passing out happens often with him. It's 
disorientating, not to mention frightening, but the 
orgasms are so much better for it. I'd heard that about 
asphyxia, but I'd never met anyone who'd do it to me 
until my husband. And he does it every way possible, I 
think. Hanging, strangling, plastic bags, water and 
other liquids, mummification and entombing, and of 
course, with his dick. He likes watching me struggle to 
breathe, and I love how much enjoyment he gets out of 
my suffering.

I'm sick. This can only end badly for me, but then 
again, a bad end would be the goal of an extreme 
submissive like myself. And I was beginning to realise 
that I was more submissive than even I had assumed 
myself to be, my slavish desire to please my husband 
seeming to have no limits. My life consists of endless 
pain and fear, but also of endless lust and love, and 
it is love no matter what others may think. He's giving 
me what I need and for that I love him desperately. 

I remember a priest from my childhood. He'd said women 
were sin made flesh, only natural for the descendants 
of that great sinner Eve, and that it was up to men to 
keep such sinful creaturs in line. I'd grown up knowing 
he had been talking absolute crap, but now, things 
aren't so clear. There is no denying how sick and 
depraved I am, how much I have been longing for a man 
to take control of me, keep me 'in line'. There can be 
no denying how right it feels to have found such a man 
and to suffer for him, to please him. And there can be 
no denying that I am not the only woman to feel this 
way.


Nothing: Storage

He likes to box me. Not box as in punching, although he 
likes that too, but box as in containment. He likes his 
space, his privacy, and even though I'm silent or 
gagged, he sometimes finds my presence too much. 

When we were in the apartment, he used to just pop me 
in the trunk at the foot of the bed. It was big enough 
to lie in a foetal position, or to scrunch down on my 
knees, or lie on my back with my knees to my chest – 
but whatever position it was, I had to stay put because 
it only took one sound to get him enraged. I'm a 
submissive, and so masochistic to some extent, but the 
punishment he deals out when he's truly enraged, as 
opposed to sexually motivated rage, is something I try 
hard to avoid. Broken bones are often one of the end 
results, and I'm not enough of a pain-slut to find them 
arousing.

I liked it, at first. It was like a safe haven, a place 
where if I stayed very quiet, I'd be left in peace. Our 
relationship is very intense, and very hard on my body, 
and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that I need 
recovery time now and then.

However, the periods of time that he left me in there 
became longer and longer, and then he began putting me 
in some form of bondage. It wasn't enough to simply put 
me in and lock the trunk. Now, the bare minimum would 
be cuffed hands and tied feet, dildo gag and ear plugs, 
and the full treatment would be a strict hogtie, tits 
tightly bound, dildos in all my holes, earplugs and a 
full hood which blinded me and restricted my breathing. 

There's not much to see in a dark trunk, but somehow 
being blindfolded made me uneasy. As did being deaf. 
I'd never realised how much sounds comforted me until I 
was without them. I started thinking about how if I had 
a health problem, or vomited, I'd probably die. He'd 
never know, might even take him a whole day before he 
opened the trunk and found me dead. I might have 
discovered a whole new desire to be snuffed, but I'd 
seen it as something years in the future, if ever. I 
didn't really want to die, especially not now when I'd 
just found him.

And what if something happened to him? Some of his 
friends knew he had me, so they might come looking, but 
if they didn't know anything was wrong with him either, 
then I was in trouble. Or what if he went out and there 
was a fire? 

So before too long after he'd first started storing me 
away in the trunk, I developed claustrophobia. He knew 
I didn't like it, that I was afraid of being boxed, and 
that pleased him even more and he found more ways to 
store me. In the basement now, there's a selection that 
would make BDSM shops envious. There are boxes of 
varying shapes and sizes, made of wood, metal, plastic. 
There are transparent ones for when he wants to see me, 
which is always the case when the boxing is for 
something other than storage. Like breath-play. 

There are coffins, an iron maiden, cages, dog carriers, 
body bags and suitcases.

There are holes in the floor, some deep pits, some 
shallow, some big enough only for one, others for more, 
with iron lids that can be solid or a grill depending 
on his mood. Their moods. His friends come over often, 
usually bringing their own cunts.

There are slots in the walls, just like in a morgue 
complete with the stainless steel doors and sliding 
trays, except the height is about halved. It's tighter 
than in a coffin, and colder, and talking of cold, 
there's a walk-in freezer too with meat hooks from 
which meat hangs, including live cunt. 

But back when we lived in the apartment, there was no 
space for even a fraction of these things, so my 
husband made do with what was already there – 
suitcases, cupboards, closets. And on some, thankfully 
few, occasions, the refrigerator. 

Now, upstairs in the house, there's a chest in the sun 
lounge. It's a nicely carved wooden coffee table on the 
outside, but a place for me inside. It's a tight fit. 
Many times when my husband entertains polite, vanilla 
company, I'm in there with none of them the wiser. The 
old trunk is also still around, at the foot of the bed 
in the master bedroom. And in his study, it's the 
window seat.

He usually plugs me, keep the mess to a minimum, except 
when he wants mess. It's disgusting, but it makes me 
hot – not surprising considering the extreme 
degradation of it and I am, after all, when stripped of 
everything else, a humiliation slut to the core, in the 
core. I lie in piss and shit and come, I drink his piss 
and come, eat his shit and come. He watches it all, 
fascinated, disgusted, hard – shaking his head 
sometimes, unable to understand how someone can sink so 
low. 

Understandable then, that he has stopped thinking of me 
as a thinking human being. Talks to me less and less, 
not even to give me orders. I'm hooded most times, 
blind and deaf and mute, taken out of storage to be 
used, put back away when he's done. I don't think I'll 
last much longer. I've lost track of time, but I know 
it's been a satisfying few years. When I can see, my 
body is an emaciated mess, scarred and ugly. I have no 
regrets, only except for wishing to give him more. He's 
been so good to me, I can't repay him enough. He 
deserves more, everything.

~tbc~

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 41