Vivian Tied – M/f – BDSM and mild humiliation

She’s tied to the bed in his hotel room. Blindfolded. Gagged with her own panties. Nude. And she’s so vividly aware that she has no excuses tonight. She can’t blame the alcohol, though it had been another strong drink. She can’t lie to herself that it was an accident, that she had been overwhelmed by his presence.

She could try to lie to herself, like the day before, that she hadn’t gone to meet him for this reason. That she hadn’t worn the sexy dress with its matching bra and panties like he had instructed to please him. She had no excuse. She had made the choice to meet him. The stranger. She had showered and shaved and dressed to please him, all the while thinking, imagining, touching herself lightly.

It had been such an easy choice to make. Too easy. This wasn’t like her. She should feel bad. She wasn’t the sort of woman to cheat. She had spent the day checking, and double checking, her own conscience. Barely a blip. The regret she felt wasn’t at her actions, but that she had been forced to seek this out.

In his room, they had kissed briefly before he had asked her . . . No, it wasn’t a request. She had clearly heard the command. Reacted to the command. He had ordered her to strip and her dress had been off before she even considered that he might have wanted a slow strip tease. So she had committed, practically tearing the bra and underwear from her body. Standing nude as he, still dressed in his suit, circled her.

As he paced around her, she could feel his eyes, felt exposed, like she was on an auction block. Being judged, but appreciated. Feeling his finger tips touching here, there. Her shoulder, her breasts, her hip, her ass.

Then he was picking up her panties from the floor and ordering her to open her mouth, so they could be used as a gag. He had made sure she saw him coming, he had wanted her to see it, to understand what was in her mouth. Then the blindfold. Then she had stumbled, as he led her through the room, guiding her by the arm, to the bed, where he had carefully thrown her onto it, on her stomach.

Over the day, she had realized that she deserved this experience. After so many years of disappointment. Of living in a dead bedroom. She deserved a bit of fun with someone that genuinely wanted her. Appreciated her. Lusted after her. Would do the perverse things she had begged for and been denied. The perverse things she had kept secret even to herself.

And as she lies on her stomach, as he slowly pulls one wrist out to the side, then the other, tieing them into place. Pausing to run his finger tips up and down her back, her buttock, her neck, she can feel his lust. His gaze. His appreciation and want for her, her body, her mind, her submission. The thrill running through her, the shivers, the wet between her legs that he finds when his finger tips tease up her thighs as he pushes her legs slightly apart, sliding his fingers in for just a moment, its all so much. It’s what she deserves.

He lifts her waist and slides something, a pillow? Two? Under her stomach, lifting her ass and cunt higher into the air. Then he’s at her ankles, tieing them apart, her legs open, but not obscenely so.

The bondage is comfortable, but she can’t even move more than a half an inch. She shivers again. Anticipation? Adrenalin? fear?

She’s helpless. Naked. In a room with a man whose name she barely knows. He could do anything to her. She’s completely vulnerable. She should be scared, she should be angry with herself for being so stupid, but there is no terror, only keen anticipation. When his finger tips graze the back of her thigh, its like sparks of electricity, she moans into the gag with an intensity that shocks her. She wants the touch, needs the touch, so badly.

“I don’t need to ask if your enjoying yourself,” he says from behind her, “I can smell that you are.” That can’t be true can it? Can she really be so aroused that he can smell it from . . . . And for just a moment, her body jumping as if shocked, she feels his finger tip teasing her entrance, sliding down to her clit and lazily back up. Sliding slowly into her cunt, she can’t hold back the small moan through the gag.

“Don’t forget,” he says, his finger sliding up and down her sex, “snap your fingers as your safety word. Then not one but two fingers slid inside of her, curling in to find the spot, pressing down on it as they slowly thrust in and out. Pushing her so quickly, so incredibly fast, towards orgasm.

It felt too good. She felt exposed. Wanton. Helpless. Amazing. She wasn’t going to cum, not yet, but how quickly she was approaching the edge.

This wasn’t her. She didn’t do these kind of things. Not in so, so long, and never like this, never so . . . dirty. But she had wanted it. Fantasized about it. Snuck away to read dirty stories, watching filthy videos, touching herself. This wasn’t her, but deep down she knew it was.

She is a whore. She is a slut. She is a toy to be played with. She is his toy to play with.

Then his hand comes down on her ass. Hard. It’s difficult to say what startles her more, the shock of pain or how loud it is. He seems to realize it too because after a few moments she hears music, not too loud, but loud enough. Then his hand again.

Smack. Smack smack. One cheek. Then the other. Smack. The pain and strange pleasure rippling through her body. Being spanked like a naughty child. Smack smack. Like a wanton whore. The pain increasing slowly as her ass starts to sting and, she realizes he is testing her, as he slowly increases how hard he is hitting her.

With each hit she moans and cries into her panty gag. At first trying to stay quiet, stay dignified, but slowly losing control as her world devolves into strangely pleasant pain.

Then suddenly it stops, his hands are still on her, rubbing her sore ass, massaging it. Being so gentle and kind to the tender flesh he was hurting only a moment before. Then his hands are gone, but just for a second, she can hear him messing with something plastic and then there is something wet on her lower back. He hasn’t cum on her has he? It wouldn’t be awful to be used so quickly, in such a degrading way, but it wasn’t what she was hoping for. But no, not semen, no, he’s rubbing the wet into her lower back. An oil. Massaging her and working his finger tips down to her sore ass.

His fingers slide easily in the oil, massaging into her skin before suddenly digging his finger tips in hard, then sweetly rubbing again. His hands lift and smack down again, the oil making a wet slapping sound. Again. Again. Smack smack. Then one hand massages one ass cheek while his other slides on the slick oil between her legs. A finger easily sliding into her ass, another into her pussy and the others against her clit. Sliding in and out, against her, while the hand rubs at her sore butt.

She feels her body, its not even a conscious move, pushing her ass up, willing his fingers deeper. Harder faster. Moaning through her gag.

But he withdraws them, slapping her ass again. Lightly smacking her lower back, her upper back, her thighs, and she nearly screams when she feels his hand come down hard on her hot, wanting, pussy. How can being smacked so hard, so painfully on her pussy bring so much pleasure to her body.

To be used. To be a whore. To be a slut. To be her. To finally be herself.

Again. Slap. A wet soft noise so in-congruent with the pain, and pleasure, flaring through her cunt with each hit. Again and again. One moment pain, the next, his fingers massaging her labia. She doesn’t try to hold back the cries.

He switches up the blows. Landing them all across her body. It’s hard to tell how long it goes on. Everything blurs, everything fills, her mind not working. The pain of him hitting her, the noise, the pleasure as he takes breaks from spanking, to slide his fingers against her body, her sex, her ass, his fingers tease at her. Sliding in the oil across her clit, between her labia, into her, deep, pausing to push and slide against her g-spot, into her ass. Like a whore. Like a whore. Like a whore her mind is screaming at her as she loses track and it all muddles into a mix of pleasure and pain.

But then his fingers don’t leave. Both of his hands. One, no, two fingers, stretching her ass and sliding in with only mild discomfort. Fingers sliding into he pussy, going right to that spot, so deep inside her, and two onto her clit. Rubbing with purpose. Fingering her with purpose. The pleasure at the knowledge that this strange man is going to make her cum should shame her. Does shame her to an extent, but in a good way. In a lovely slutty way.

How right it feels to be abused this way.

She’s going to cum. He’s going to make her cum. His fingers working her, pushing her, knowing her in ways that only a few men, and fewer women, have. It feels so good and she’s going to . . . But he hasn’t given her permission. Was that a rule? He had told her this morning that she needed permission, but he hadn’t said so tonight. How can she ask while gagged?

She’s so close though. She tries to get his attention, making whimpering noises through he gag, trying, vainly to pull her crotch further from his hands, to lessen the pressure and pleasure, but they move with what little give she can find in the ropes.

“Poor horny slut,” he says, his voice is gentle, but teasing. And suddenly both hands are moving away from her, out of her, she nearly screams into the gag in frustration and does scream when his hands come down, very hard, onto her ass. Spanking her even harder, quick hard slaps that make her contemplate snapping her fingers before he stops.

Then she feels him on the bed, against her. His bare skin, when did he strip? His skin touching her legs, his thighs straddling the top of her legs, his hard cock lieing within her ass cheeks, the head on her lower back. And his hands, wet with the oil, rubbing her back. Working their way from her lower back to her shoulders and back down. Rubbing pleasure into her aching body.

Not a tease, but a hard rub, thumbs pressing almost painfully deep into her skin. And with every motion, every circle of his thumbs, his cock slides more, wet from the oil, against her ass. She thinks she knows where he is going with this as she can feel him shifting. Each time his hands travel back to her lower back, rubbing and pressing, he inches his legs down, his cock head slowly moving down until its tapping against her asshole.

She can feel how greased it is, he’s not even pushing and she can already feel the tip, just the tip, sliding slightly into her before meeting resistance. Is that his plan? Her ass? It’s not what she wants, though the idea excites her. Being his dirty slut. His anal toy. Taking it up the ass like a whore. Exciting. But she wants him inside her. Fucking her cunt. Making her cum while she’s helpless.

He seems to know or guess because he keeps inching down until with every motion, his hands massaging her ass, the tip of his cock is at the entrance to her pussy, then slowly rocking with his massage into her. Each time sliding slightly further in. She doesn’t feel the slightest bit of shame as she lifts her ass to meet him, to try to get just a half inch more of him to inside her.

His hands rubbing at her back, his thighs hugging her legs, his cock slowly pushing deeper and deeper into her. She’s helpless. She doesn’t know his real name. She doesn’t want to. She is his to take and then he’s all the way inside her, pushed as deep as he can and she’s moaning and whining with each thrust into her gag. His slut. His whore. His submissive.

He’s fucking her and leaning across her and forcing his hand under her stomach and between her legs. He’s fucking her and his fingers are sliding and grinding against her clit. And she’s getting closer, and closer, and closer. So helpless. So used. So filthy.

She’s close, too close. She wants to please him. She wants to please him. Why does she want so badly to please him? She starts to whine again, to moan, to let him know that she’s trying to be good. Trying. But his cock is in and out, in and out, his fingers are relentless and . . .

“You may cum when you are ready,” he says into her ear before giving it a bite.

Soon she is, crying out into the gag, feeling him speeding up his hands. It’s too much, too intense, but she can’t stop him. Can’t pull away. Can’t tell him to stop. And she has no choice but to ride it. To ride such unbearable pleasure that she screams.

Then his hand is gone, his stance is shifting as his hands grab into her shoulders hard, and he’s thrusting harder and faster. Harder and faster and starts to pant and grunt. He lets out a moan as he finishes inside her.

She feels used. Wet. Sloppy. Like a whore. It’s wonderful. Her body is thrumming. Her ass hurts. And he stays ontop of her, against her, his cock inside her. She can feel him withering inside her. Used like her. Spent like her. Then he moves slowly to untie her. Pulls the underwear out of her mouth, soaked with her spit, he’s kissing her, telling her how good she was. How much he enjoyed her. How much he wanted her. Lusted for her.

As he should be. A slut like her, deserves proper respect.

They lie like that for some time, her untied but still on her stomach. Him against her, one leg over the back of her thighs, his flaccid wet cock against her hip, his finger tips tracing pleasant caresses into her oiled back. Making her shiver. Making her want.

They talk for a bit. He wants to make sure she was happy with what had happened. Was there anything she didn’t like? No. She asks him questions about his experiences. Its nice, she feels content and horny and used and appreciated. But still horny.

They both use the bathroom, him first, and when she comes back, he’s on his side, waiting for her to lay back down next to him, but she decides to take things into her own hands. He had told her, earlier, that as a dom he rarely gets pampered without explicitly ordering it. And she thinks he deserves a bit of pampering.

She gently pushes him from his side onto his stomach and looking around, finds the oil, a small jar of coconut oil, near the bed. She straddles his lower back, feeling a small rush as her labia pushes against him, and begins to work the oil into his shoulders, his neck, his upper back. She pauses for just a moment, long enough to lift her ass off of him, and spread the oil across his lower back, onto his ass, letting her finger tip graze between his cheeks, before climbing back on, feeling how nice it is to have her cunt and ass sliding across his skin.

Sliding against him, feeling the pleasure, the term, humping him like a dog, enters her head. But she doesn’t stop. It feels too good. She massages him. Rubbing her hands, pushing into his back, making him gasp, gasping herself sometimes as she wiggles her ass, her crotch against his back, sliding across his butt cheek at just the right angle to feel sparks of pleasure from her clit. Humping him, like a dog.

She’s seen videos of this, nude oiled massages, imagines herself a geisha, a trained love slave. A pretty whore giving her master what pleasure he needs. Taking what pleasure she can get. She feels the start of the orgasm building within her, she could so easily ride him like this to orgasm. Humping his slippery flesh, grinding out her pleasure. Cumming while giving him pleasure. It would take some time though and she pushes it from her head. The point is him right now.

She focuses on the massage, but teases him as well. Reaching behind herself to tease his asshole just a bit. Sliding down his leg, making sure to grind her cunt the entire way down the back of his leg, reveling in the pleasure, until she can reach between his legs to lightly massage his balls, or take his cock in her oil-slicked hand and rub it. Enjoying the slip and slide as it grows hard. Before going back to massage him. Back and forth. Back and forth.

As he had teased her, she teases him. Hands moving from massage to cock to massage to his ass to massage to his cock. Feeling it sliding between her hands. A whore giving a happy ending. A slut living for his pleasure.

It is a tease, but pleasurable to her as well as she grinds into him sliding on the oil, she wonders how much of the slick on his skin is the oil, and how much is her. Given time, she is increasingly sure she could grind herself to an orgasm. Whore. Slut. Dirty girl.

He tries to rise, likely to take control back, but she decides no. He wasn’t ready. He needed more pampering. More teasing. More working up. She pushes him, gently, back. He resists for a moment, lifting himself on one arm to turn his head and look at her, his eye brow raised, curious, before he smirks and lies back down. He knows. She knows. They know. It’s a game. A little pretend.

The tease continues. Her hands on his lower back, massaging his ass, fingers teasing his asshole, his balls, hand beneath him stroking his cock. She slides down even further until she is off of him and gently, with her hands, encourages him up onto his knees, ass up, legs open just enough to reach between. She leans forward until her mouth is on his asshole, her tongue sliding out across it and slightly in, tasting the sweet coconut oil. He makes a happy noise and she reaches under him to take his hard cock and begin stroking it with her greased hands.

Rimming him. Like the sluts in the dirtiest videos she’d sneak off to watch. Something even in her short lived wild days, she’d have never done. An anal whore. An ass eating slut. So strange, so vile, so wonderful. She dives in, stroking and licking, licking and stroking. Feeling so perverse, so lovely. It would be nice to make him cum like this, to feel him gasping as her tongue pushed into him. Feel his hot cum on her hands. Knowing what pleasure she had wrought from him.

But no, she realizes, while that would be nice. Pleasant. Erotically perverse. She doesn’t want to give him an orgasm, she wants him to take it from her. To be used by him for his pleasure. She wants to tease and tease until he can’t take it. And she can feel, in his tension, that he’s getting close. That if she went on long enough, that he could cum, that he would let her abuse herself this way, that he was getting off on how she was degrading herself for his pleasure. That isn’t want she wants, so she asks, “Can you turn over, please . . . . Sir. Lay on your back?”

She thinks he might have argued, that he was going to tell her not to stop, to finish him like the slut she clearly was, but it was that word that stopped him from rising. Sir. This strange man was Sir to her. Her dominant, her master, at least for the night. It had popped out without her even considering it. She likes the way it felt on her tongue. Servicing him. Servicing her Sir.

He rolls onto his back as she shifts above him, his eyes curious, amused, hungry. She straddles his thighs, taking his cock between her slick hands and stroking it with both. She slides down his legs further, gasping as she grinds her cunt against his knee, and leans down to take him in her mouth, for just a few moments, enjoying his groans of pleasure. She likes the feeling of the cock in her mouth, the taste of the oil. Even the small bead of pre-cum, which she doesn’t entirely like, is pleasant to take in, to swallow. A visible example of what her ministrations are doing to him. His eagerness for her.

Another tease though, she stops and slides her cunt back up his leg, taking his cock, holding it in place as she slides herself on top of it. Trapping his slick cock between his stomach and her labia. Sliding her wet, aching, cunt up and down the length of his cock, pressing her clitoris hard against him as she slides. Gasping together at the pleasure. He reaches up to grasp her large breasts, fondling, pinching, squeezing.

She could cum like this, easily, his hands kneading pleasure into her, gripping painfully strong, but just right for what she wanted. Grinding pleasure into both of them. She could cum like this, happily, and from his deep, hard breathing, he is getting close. His cock against her clitoris.

He’s grunting and sighing, and his face is so hungry. His eyes wanting. He’s fighting within himself and his face is back in the strange way, that way it turned when he took her the night before. When she let him be the dominant she wanted. When he fucked her like a toy. A doll. A whore. Something that was his.

He starts to rise, to move, to change positions, and she reaches out her hand again to stop him. But he’s too far. Too worked up. Too teased. Perfect.

He takes her hand and pulls, carefully but roughly, lifting her body with his pelvis, turning her back onto her stomach, back onto the pillows laid under her stomach, lifting her ass into the air. But holding her hand, forcing it under herself, above the pillows, and against her wet, god how did she get so wet, pussy.

He nearly growls into her ear, “masturbate”, and she doesn’t hesitate, twisting her trapped hand to reach her clitoris. To rub her aching cunt as he climbs onto her, positioning his cock against her asshole. He stops only long enough to grab more of the oil, greasing himself up, and then pushes his cock against her ass.

It’s been years since she has had anything other than her fingers or a toy inside her ass. Years since anyone’s taken her. Defiled her. Used her in this way. Despite his need, his clear urgency, he’s being careful, pushing slowly, inch by inch, stopping if he even thinks she’s making a pained noise, but he’s not to be deterred, stopping only long enough to make sure she can take more.

He’s going to take her ass. He is taking her ass. Fucking her ass. And it’s pleasure and its discomfort, but just the right level of pain. Of degradation. He’s going to take her ass and she can hear in his grunts of pleasure, as he slowly pushes deeper into her, that this is about his pleasure now. She’s become a thing to him. Her ass little more than a hole to satisfy his dark needs.

“Do you like it,” he growls, pushing the last of himself into her, filling her, stretching her, hurting her just a bit, but in a way that makes her feel deliciously submissive inside.

“Yes,” she says, feeling strangely shy, as he begins to thrust. Taking his pleasure from her. She can’t help but reach her fingers up from her clit, to slide her hand up, to feel, for just a moment, his cock sliding into and out of her ass. It’s so slick, so firm, so large to be sliding so easily in and out of her most neglected places.

“Say it,” he says, “what do you like?” He’s building up speed, his thighs slapping into her beaten and sore ass cheeks. Her fingers are spinning under them both. Sliding against her clitoris, rubbing, pushing, bringing herself to the edge. So fast, the pressure building inside her cunt, her ass, her body. So close already, but not quite there.

“Can I cum,” she asks despite not being ready, partly wanting to avoid his question, partly wanting permission and knowing she will get denial.

“No,” he says, with a hard thrust, his mouth falling to her upper back, his teeth scraping against her skin. “Say it.”

“I like . . . .” she starts. Why is it so hard to say it. To name the sin. Her ass, her cunt, her back feels so good. She pushes herself, forms the words as his cock slides in again to the hilt, filling her, stretching her, “Fuck, I like when you fuck my ass.”

He grunts satisfaction. His goal is his own pleasure now. Her ass merely his means. He speeds up, pushing himself to the edge. The knowledge is pushing her. Being his slut. His fuck toy. His anal whore.

“Can I cum,” she pleads again. She’s going to. Its too much. Physically and emotionally. She’s not going to stop herself.

“What kind of woman gets fucked in the ass by stranger. What kind of married woman?” he says, his voice taunting, husky, his thrusts slowly just slightly, “Tell me and you can.”

He speeds up again, faster. Harder. Pushing himself to the edge.

“A whore,” she gasps. “A slut. A fuck hole.” The pleasure racing through her as the orgasm hits. As the pleasure and pain and humiliation of wanting her ass fucked so badly and getting it. “I’m a play thing, a dirty slut, a filthy fuck whore . . . . ” and she loses track of the words, just moaning syllables as the pleasure pushes through her body. As she feels him tensing in orgasm, grasping her hips hard as he buries himself as deep as he can. Filling her for the second time, making her feel delightfully dirty through the final throes of pleasure.

He’s done.

Later, she will ask, shyly, to stay the night, imagining a midnight romp, another early morning session. But he will say no, he has an early drive. She feels dejected. Rejected. And he’s leaving? She has 3 more days here, after this, she can’t spend them alone. But she feels better when he asks if she will see him again when he gets back, the day after and when she says yes, happily, without shame, he smiles and says, “good, then I have some orders for you tomorrow.”

She walks back to her room, fortunately in the same hotel, and even more fortunately, not having to pass through the lobby, without her underwear, her face flushed. Perhaps it is from the embarrassment of being nude below her dress. Or that she can feel his semen slowly drying as it leaks from her abused body. Or that she’s making a walk of shame for the first time since college. Or the excitement of what he has ordered her to do tomorrow.

Likely, all of it. And it feels wonderful.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/oahjuv/vivian_tied_mf_bdsm_and_mild_humiliation