Shameless

"You're such a slut! You'll take anything to fill up that hungry pussy of yours, won't you?"

Shame flushed my face as I nodded mutely. I knew it was true and I knew it was what he wanted me to admit, but I'd fought for so long to keep my true nature hidden from him. It wasn't until he came home that day and found my whole fist crammed inside myself, my face contorted with indescribable pleasure, that the truth finally came out after four long years of silently pleasuring myself when he was gone to get what I needed.

I trembled as he grew red with rage, shouting at me about what a lying cunt I was. Our sex life had always been mediocre, but he had seemed pretty satisfied with it. I know I never complained. Sure, inwardly, I wished he would somehow discover my dirty secret, but I never voiced a word of dissatisfaction. Now the cat was out of the bag and it seemed that I was in for it. He would probably divorce me and take the kids. It was my worst nightmare come true. Then I saw something else in his eye, something more akin to lust than anger. He shoved me backward on the bed and I gasped involuntarily.

"OK, bitch, you want that slutty cunt filled up, I'll fill it for you. From this moment on, you're my personal whore. I'm sick of this virtuous shit you've been feeding me. If you ever want to see our kids again, you'll shut the hell up and not fight me. You will perform to meet my every whim, starting right now."

Tears brimmed in my eyes as I nodded silently again. He turned on his heel and left the room. I didn't know what to do. Did he want me to follow him or was I supposed to stay here? It didn't take long for him to return with yellow nylon tie-down rope to answer my question. "Lay down. I'm gonna see how much your pussy can take and I don't want you struggling and making it hard on me."

I lay back on the bed docilely. He had no idea how much he was turning me on right now. I was confused and more ashamed than before and yet so aroused I could hardly think. He tightly tied me down on the bed like a pro. My hands were bound together and stretched taut over my head. My rear was scooted down near the foot of the bed, yellow rope keeping my knees bent toward the ceiling, my feet firmly held in place. My private parts were spread open before him in every sense, glistening and swollen with arousal. He settled on a footstool at the foot of the bed and for a long minute simply stared at me, his eyes drinking in every detail. I could feel the slight whisper of his breath as he exhaled, tickling across my swollen sex. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly in humiliation.

Suddenly I felt his fingers lightly upon my exposed flesh. Instinctively my knees tried to close away what he was seeking but the restraints wouldn't let me. I squeezed my eyes shut as his fingers slid their way up my thigh. My lips were swollen and already parted to his touch. He stroked up and down my slit and I gushed as I cringed. And then all pretense was gone. He slammed four fingers inside me, thumb hooked up so that the pad of it pressed against my throbbing clit. I inhaled sharply and lifted my hips to meet his thrusting hand.

"You are a hungry slut, aren't you?" I made no reply, too embarrassed and aroused to form the words in my throat. His hand yanked out again and suddenly I felt it smack down hard on my mound. The scream I let loose was shrill and wild.

"I see you haven't gone mute after all. I was wondering. When I ask you a question, whore, I expect you to answer it respectfully. I'm not talking to hear my own words, here. Think you can manage that, bitch?"

A couple of tears squeezed past my tightly shut eyelids and I muttered, "Yes." It took on a sibilant sound, hissing between my gritted teeth as he slapped down on my sex again.

"You need to call me 'Sir.' As in Master. Try again, dearest."

The warm tears were flowing more freely now as I whimpered, "Yes, sir." And yet, I had to admit to myself, I was growing ever more aroused. That simple fact surprised me. Sure, I'd been reading and fantasizing about BDSM for years. But it was always the kind where in the end it wasn't really BDSM, it was just a little role-play. And even that I didn't think I would like much in reality. The few stories I accidentally read that had any sort of real violence or non-consent always made my stomach churn and not in a good way. Especially the ones with husbands abusing their wives. So why was this turning me on so much?

His hand smacked down again and my scream this time was guttural, matching the pain that flared deep inside me. "I think I'm going to keep spanking this for a bit, eh, dear? Maybe that'll teach your slutty cunt to deny me the pleasure of getting it off. Don't you think your pussy needs to learn a lesson?" And another slap.

"Yes, sir," I moaned between spanks. Oh god it hurt. Maybe the first one or two were just surprising, but it hurt now. Badly. My mind was scrambling to find a way to placate the author of this pain. "I'm so sorry, sir! I've been such a bad slut. I mean wife. I've been a bad wife and I'm sorry!" I manage to hiccup between shrieks. The spanking ceased abruptly.

I opened my eyes cautiously. He was looking down at me with something I couldn't quite identify in his face. "Do you even understand why I'm so angry?" he growled. I shook my head mutely. "All I've ever wanted is to make you happy. I wanted to bring you joy in every way. Especially in our lovemaking. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do it. And now I know why. All this time, you've had the key I was looking for hidden away and wouldn't even tell me it existed, much less where to find it! I wanted to make your face flush with pleasure the way it was when I walked in and you wouldn't let me!"

I choked back a sob as he hurled those last words at me like a dagger. He was right. If things were mediocre, who deserved the blame for it? I couldn't claim some noble pretense for my deception. The bottom line was that I couldn't bring myself to tell him my secret because I couldn't bear risking the total loss of respect and maybe love that accompanied such an admission in my mind. And yet I had done neither of us any favors. I couldn't hold back the floodgate of tears anymore. My bound body convulsed as I sobbed.

Surely now he would let me go. I couldn't imagine, in my misery, that he would continue this. I realized how wrong I was when I felt another slap. My tear-choked throat let go a a shriek. "Just a little reminder, dearest," he said. And suddenly I felt his fingers on me.

It was exquisite torture. The pain of the spanking was almost transcendent when coupled with his touch on that part of me that was most desperately seeking attention. I sucked a breath through my clenched teeth and released it with a soft moan of desire. Slowly he slid two fingers inside me and I clenched desperately at them with my internal muscles. I groaned aloud as he pulled them back out again.

A third finger joined the first two on his next assault and futilely I struggled against my bonds to close my legs and hold him there. Without withdrawing, he added a fourth finger. I had grown so copiously wet by now that I could feel trickles of fluid running down into my crack and along the junctures of my thighs. His breath tickled at the inside of my thighs.

I was arguably as full as I had been when he walked in the door earlier. Was it an hour ago? Ten minutes? I'd lost all sense of time. But I knew that with the difference in our hand sizes, he was filling me as completely as I was able to fill myself. Desire gnawed away at my throbbing box as I wished desperately that I could muster the leverage to rock myself on his fingers.

The sound of his breathing and my occasional wordless interjections filled the room as my world shrunk to the size of my cleft. And suddenly that world expanded a bit as his thumb entered the arena. It was more than I had stretched before and the burning fire ignited anew. I grunted quietly and pushed out my breath as I struggled to take even this small bit more. He was persistent and none too gentle with his onslaught. Even as I pressed down my pelvic muscles to take him, he was forcing his way inexorably in. And then it was in. The pressure subsided but the feeling of being filled to my limit remained.

"Please," I whispered. He chuckled softly and a knot of dread formed in my over-stuffed belly. It was a cold laugh, as if his raging fury had subsided into icy resolve.

"So this is what you like, huh? You're some piece of work. All this time you've been telling me when we make love that I'm so 'big' and go so 'deep' inside you and then you turn around and do this to yourself? Were you laughing at me the whole time you were cramming your fist in your cunt, bitch? I knew it was ego stroking, but I had no idea you thought I was this pitiful." He drove into me deeper as he spoke, twisting his open hand, driving his fingers right to the opening of my womb.

I wanted to tell him that it wasn't like that. I wanted him to know that it was never about him at all. The words wouldn't come, though, only pants and grunts at this new, unfamiliar sensation of being stretched so much deeper than I could ever go myself. Then my breathing grew shallow as his left hand came up and began rubbing at my clit.

It was too much. My back arched and my lips parted as the waves of climax crashed over me. My eyes flew shut and behind them exploded fiery orange light as my sex spasmodically clenched and released his hand. The pulses flowed to every limb, growing languid as they traveled farther from their epicenter. Unlike the orgasms I faked for him, this was silent. Too much energy was focused into every nerve ending to let go the stream of smutty words and moans that he expected from watching too much porn.

As the flood of orgasm receded, I became acutely aware of two things. The first was the fact that his hand was still inside me and it was no longer a happy feeling. Discomfort was quickly becoming plain pain as he continued his presence inside my degraded body and his apt ministrations to my oversensitive bud. The second was that he was staring intently at my nether regions with a mingled look of awe and fury.

As I came down from my cloud of bliss, his voice cut through me, "I hope you enjoyed a real orgasm, honey," the sarcasm in his words was beyond doubt, "because it's the last you'll be having for a while, I'm sure."

"Please, I'm so sorry," I pleaded. "It wasn't the way you think. I never felt anything but love for you. Never those things you said. I knew it was wrong. All of it. What I wanted, what I did to you, to us. I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you." My voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Too late, babe. Now, quit talking and open wide. You wanted to pretend I was a selfish bastard that didn't care about pleasing you and now you'll get your wish."

Tears flowed anew as I recoiled inwardly against this new man whom I had never known before. He took his time withdrawing his hand and it was torturous. My sex felt hot and raw and swollen as he pulled the rest of the way out. I assumed that he would untie me then so that he could have what he asked for but I was wrong. His weight crushed down on me as he settled, squatting, over my chest. His hand came up to my face and squeezed my cheeks hard until I opened my mouth to accept him. He speared himself into me in that first stroke, filling my mouth until his head bumped my uvula. I panicked, unable to breathe, while he rested there, pressing insistently forward.

"Take it, bitch. Take it all. Open your throat up to me. I won't pull out until you do. Unless you want to die of suffocation, open your throat, whore.You're not holding out anything anymore." I sobbed piteously around his member as I struggled to relax my throat muscles. I knew what to do but I had never succeeded before, despite long years of trying. He continued to press forward into my throat, just as he had done with his hand in my sex, and as before, suddenly I opened up to him. His gasp showed that he was as surprised as I at this sudden success.

He drove to the hilt into me, his pubic hairs tickling my nostrils and my throat still struggled to force out the invader. I struggled to find a way to breathe. My chest felt as if it would explode and my head pounded. And then he pulled out. Not all the way, but enough to let me gasp in some air before he drove in again. Again it was a battle of wills to get back into my throat. But again he won the contest and I opened fully to receive him.

I was beginning to gather an inkling of what was happening. In every way we were contesting and he was besting me. Each inch I yielded he claimed until there would be nothing left of me. He pulled out partway again just as I thought I couldn't wait a second longer to breathe. I choked in the air and held it this time as he thrust back in once more. I opened more readily the third time, my body adapting to the movements necessary. Instead of the desperate need to suck in air this time I felt as if I would die if I didn't exhale soon. And once more he pulled back at the last possible moment I thought I could survive. It was as if he now governed the moments of my life and death, the very air I breathed. He was all-powerful and I at his mercy.

As if sensing my awareness of this new fact, he settled into a more comfortable rhythm. I quickly matched my breath to his pace. My throat was now as raw as my box. I closed my eyes and let him use me. A sharp prickling in my scalp sent my eyes wide open again.

"Oh no, slut, you're not zoning out on me. You don't get out of it that easily. You're going to be with me every step of the way." To punctuate, he yanked my hair again and thrust quickly into my throat to muffle any sound I might make.

He quickened his pace then, obviously near his climax. I struggled to pace my breaths. His hands clutched at my head, holding it firmly. Finally on a downstroke, just at the back of my mouth, he jetted his load into me. He held us both frozen as I gagged, more from the motion across the back of my tongue than any other cause. Finally I choked down his seed and he withdrew from me, collapsing onto the bed beside me.

It was well that I had given up hope of the ordeal ever ending because he made no move to unbind me or even showed any sign that he knew I was there at his side.