The thing of it is


When I was 12 years old, my Mother asked me to run upstairs and check that I hadn’t left a t-shirt that we needed for our trip under my bed. I ran to my room and lay down on my belly with the left side of my face pressing against the carpet so that I could see better. Lying on my stomach with my face pressed into the carpet made me experience a feeling down there that I never had previously. I felt inexplicably excited but also scared and confused. That wasn’t the first time I masturbated, but it was the first time I’d become excited from lying on the floor.

I’m now 26, and the past 14 years of my life have been littered with similar instances. Mine wasn’t so much a sexual awakening as a celibate coma – sex meant something so different to me that it seemed impossible I would ever find anyone that could provide me with everything I craved and a ‘normal’ relationship on top of that.

I’ve decided to start this blog to slowly chronicle all of the sexual experiences I’ve had in the hope that writing them down will help to get them off my mind. There is no specific order, I might re-visit the same guy more than once, and I might sometimes just verbalise my sexual fantasies.

I’m currently masturbating at least 3 times a day and I feel like a bitch in heat whenever I am surrounded by men. I know I am eye-fucking every half decent man I speak to, and I know that my behaviour is getting out of control. Hopefully if I share some of my thoughts it will at least keep them in a box so I can try to concentrate on my day job.

So that’s the thing of it; I’m a 26 year old british girl obsessed with degrading and humiliating pornography and a staggeringly high libido. I am definitely 90% submissive towards men, at least 60% dominant towards women, and honestly on the spectrum of sexuality so wide I couldn’t identify as straight or gay if I tried. Things that I know for certain;

  • I can’t respect a guy who is weak as shit in the bedroom or the boardroom
  • Normal sex doesn’t get me off
  • Sometimes I like thinking about banging girls
  • Sometimes I like thinking about girls getting banged
  • Being passed around like a cheap slut for the benefit of older and stronger men makes my clit clench and unclench like the san andreas fault
  • It would be very awkward if everyone who has had to listen to me talk about Feminism knew about this

I hope to add to this list as time goes on.

By the way, I’ve tried to keep my identity a secret. If for some magical reason you’re reading this and you’re pretty sure you know who I am – don’t be a dick. I’m going through some stuff and trying to work it out best I can, so please don’t tell anyone or for that matter mention it to me.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

30 years old, wearing a dirty paint splattered workman’s tee shirt, cargo shirts with filthy trainers, covered in tattoos and 3 day stubble. Smoking a cheap fag and swilling lager round his glass, natural biceps bulging and a firm hairy chest underneath the polo shirt.

Laughing uproariously in the beer garden behind the pub close to last orders time.

“So, are you posh or what? You don’t sound like you’re from round here, love”

He looked at me with a cheeky smile and a considerably more sinister glint in his eye. There were 7 of them and 2 of us. Me and Mollie, a new girl at work, had gone for drinks on a Tuesday because the Mediterranean restaurant where we worked hadn’t needed us. I’m not sure how we ended up chatting to these builders in the beer garden but we had. They were all from the local town, all had very strong, rough Northern accents and from what I could gather where called Gaz, Dave, Damo, Terry, Dave, Wayne, and Steve (interchange as you like).

Mollie and I couldn’t be described as posh, but I suppose you could argue we didn’t exactly fit in with that particular pub. It was just the only one open and we had been drinking all night, getting to know each other. It was nice to have another girl to work with, I’d been the only English waitress at the place I worked for a while and I thought it would be fun to share my thoughts with someone. I’d not been wrong, turns out Mollie and I were two of a kind in certain respects.

“Well actually smartarse I am from here, it’s just round the corner, do you know the houses behind the second church? My parents live there and I moved back to the area recently,” I was feeling quite cocky, probably as a result of all the Sauvignon swishing round in me. “Just because I can speak properly doesn’t mean I’m posh” I said with a wink and a smug little bratty smile. These boys didn’t scare me – they weren’t a match. I was comfortable offering sarcastic comments back and it was all in good banter anyway.

One of them (I’d love to know their names properly) turned around and said,

“Oh ‘ave you ‘eard this one?! Proper told you what’s what didn’t she! Cheeky bitch, needs teachin’ a lesson I reckon Gaz”

I said, “Oh really? A lesson?” I stood up. “Please do tell me which one of you has got the bollocks to put your money where your mouth is, because I’m betting you couldn’t teach me a lesson with a free textbook and a powerpoint on standby”

At that I triumphantly knocked back the rest of my wine, grabbed Mollie and announced loudly that we’d had enough of these little boys and we’d see them around. Giggling and stumbling out the front entrance of the pub, she clutched my arm and said,

“Oh my god babe, that was like, literally, like so funny. Who even were they?! Literally so jokes. Can’t believe they didn’t have Prosecco in that pub though, what an actual bore!! It was so rough and boring! Shall we go to the Sainsbo’s up the road and get some and head back to yours?”

I agreed that was probably best.


Living in a rural area, we felt completely safe wandering back through the graveyard to my little cottage to drink the Prosecco that we’d bought and somehow managed to open on the walk home. So jokes! Mollie was great fun, this was an excellent idea, except now I had to pee. Badly. I said to her,

“Ok babes you wait here, I’m gonna go and do a little tiny wee wee behind that tree – ” more giggling – “don’t tell anyone I did a wee I’m a good girl we will be at mine soon”

I crouched down about 15 ft away from Mollie and peeled my black tights down to my ankle, lifting my little pleated pink skirt completely above my ass. I leaned forward slightly and let loose a single stream of piss, giggling at how naughty this was. God I was more drunk that I realised.

Out of nowhere I heard,

“Oh, not to fucking posh to piss in the fields is she?” My blood froze. It was the men from the pub. Frantically scrabbling to pull my knickers up I managed to dress myself and stand, looking round to see 4 of them stood there laughing at me and swigging from what looked like a whiskey bottle.

“Dirty fucking little bitch. Didn’t even wipe her arse. Did you see that boys? Fucking posh bitches round here think they’re better than us – went to school with half of em, they come back from their fancy Universities and can’t even fucking remember our names.”

I made a decision. I turned and ran as fast as I could towards Mollie screaming her name. I didn’t get two paces away before I felt strong hands grab me from behind, one sweaty, hairy hand gripped my throat from behind and another closed over my mouth, nearly choking me. I felt my body slammed full force in the tree I’d just been urinating against; it was a massive oak and more than big enough for me to be held against.

I struggled and kicked and tried to bite the hand in my mouth. My face was side on the rough bark of the tree, my lips squished into a little O shape by the hand keeping my head there. The hand was huge and could grip my entire head. My soft hair was being pulled by another hand and both of my arms were pinned above my head, a strong leg kicked mine apart and I was held there. Helpless pinned against the tree by 4 rough, drunk, common locals with a grudge. Locals I’d been very rude to less than an hour ago.

I heard deep breathing and felt one of them lift the back of my skirt up, suddenly there was rope around my wrists. I was being lashed to the tree. Where the fuck had they got fucking rope from?!?! Who carries rope?!?! Then I answered my own question – labourers maybe, rapists definitely. Good work Sophie. Not like you asked for this.

“Wait lads, I know this bitch. Works at that fancy restaurant that won’t let us in. I’ve seen her coming and going, always looks so up herself. I’m not fucking her unless she begs for it.”

Gaz said, “Don’t be a prick Damo, let’s just do her and get home. I’ve got a raging hard-on and the missus is pregnant again, I need to fuck something soon or I’m gonna go mad. I’ll go in the arse if you want I don’t mind I’ve just gotta get back.”

Sophie could see out of the corner of her eye that Gaz already had his stinking prick out. 8 inches long and thick as an aerosol can, she could smell it from there. Clearly there had been no time for them to shower after their day’s hard graft. Gaz spat into his hand and then palmed his cock, pumping the shaft up and down and staring at Sophie’s pale virgin ass trembling in the moonlight. “Come on mate, let me fuck this posh bitch so hard she can’t sit down for a week. Fuckin slut fuckin deserves it.” He wasn’t even making sense anymore, his voice thick with lust, a perfect puckered arsehole just inches from his hard cock was sending him crazy.

Damo, however, was clearly the leader of this pack.

“No mate. Terry, Dave, have one of you got the wallpapering scissors on you or in the van? You know, the massive fuck off ones that look like shears? Go and get em. I remember this bitch as well – from high school. Always in the top classes, teased us all, looked down her nose at us, thought she was better than everyone. She didn’t even snog anyone until Uni I heard. Made my prick hard for 5 years this one. She’s gonna pay for it now. I’m going to enjoy this.”


ARGH – WHEN WILL RAMADAN BE OVER – bitch needs some inspiration

So, I’ve sat down three times now to write the next instalment in Sophie’s development. HOWEVER – with no real life inspiration it is close to impossible. Both of the delightful Turkish brothers are keeping a respectful distance until (and I quote) “fasting finis” [sic]

Slight update though – the new focus is going to be on Mehmet because Ahmed has a wife and all joking aside, that kinda kills it for me. So I’ve been texting Mehmet and I’ve agreed to go away with him for a night to a hotel somewhere when ‘fasting finis’.

Shifts at the restaurant are going very very slowly now that flirting is strictly verboten, and I am doing by best to be respectful. It’s hard.

However, in another three weeks, it will be over, and my only hope is that things return to their outrageous ways. Silver lining, we’ve hired another English waitress who we will call…Mollie. She’s younger than me but absolutely filthy and has already admitted she would like to be the filling in the sandwich between the two brothers (at least I know it’s not just me…) and we have swapped a couple of fantasies over wines after work. She’s also revealed she is bisexual and has slept with 4 girls. With the greatest of respect, I would be interested to know what a 20 year old straight girl knows what to do with another woman’s body, but judging from the drunken snog we had on Tuesday I’m guessing she is willing to learn.

I also drunkenly texted Mehmet and asked if Mollie could come with us to the hotel – he text back saying he didn’t understand, language barrier.

There may be a slight hiatus until I can do this story any more justice and for now the well is dry. *sigh*

I might have a bash at finishing off chapter 2 of Licking Her Heels, it’s suitably perverted to keep me out of mischief I’ll warrant. Thanks for your patience!

The Sportsman’s Pub

I was a 15 year old waitress at a country pub in the Lake District, Cumbria, England. I was wearing a white shirt and a black shirt with bare legs, black pumps. Dark curly haired constrained in a bun.

My job was to clear dirty plates and take food out from the kitchen. I was too young to serve alcoholic drinks behind the bar, but I could carry them to the table. I was paid £4.00 an hour and thought myself lucky. I worked hard, but I wasn’t the favourite. Too shy, too posh, too quiet. I didn’t flirt with the regulars, I didn’t stay for drinks with the team after service, preferring my Dad to pick me up so I could go home and study for school.

It was before the smoking ban so the young farmers that came into the pub used to enjoy a cigarette and a pint at the bar. They would come in at about 4pm on a Saturday, when the days work was done, and set up camp until last orders. They liked to make eyes at Franscesca, the 21 year old waitress with red lipstick and blonde hair. She played up to it – simpering and smiling whenever they paid her a compliment. I felt like a pale little waif next to her. I always felt like I had to apologise for even being there, even when I was just doing my job.

One Saturday there were three of them sat on stools at the bar. Drinking pints of lager and having a laugh. I walked past just as one of them knocked over a drink. I automatically apologised and went behind the bar to get some blue roll to clean it up. I came back round and knelt down to clean. I didn’t even realise they hadn’t re positioned their knees and I was essentially on the floor inbetween their legs.

I was trying to pop up the spilled beer when the first comment came.

“While you’re down there love…” Cue lecherous laughter. My face burned crimson. I was still too young to fully appreciate how horrendously inappropriate it was to suggest a teenage girl suck your cock, so I didn’t say anything, just tried to complete my task as soon as I could. Then, it happened.

One of them leaned over and slowly, deliberately, spat a massive wad of his saliva onto the floor that I was cleaning.

“Be a good girl and clean that up as well. You’re welcome, we’re giving you something to do”

My clit was throbbing and my treacherous cunt was soaking wet. I couldn’t look up. My face was burning with shame while my young pink nipples tightened and rubbed against the lace of my teenage starter bra. I tried to keep my breathing even while they laughed and joked, literally looking down at me, while I cleaned up their spit and beer on my hands and knees at 15 years old.

“I can see her tits down that top. Small but I’d still let her give me a titjob, if she asked nicely”

More laughter. My pussy was clenching so hard at this point, my nose on their boots practically as I tried desperately to mop up the sticky mess.

When I finished, I stood up, bright red, and mumbled thank you and sorry. They were still laughing uproariously.

After I threw the blue roll in the bin, I headed straight for the disabled toilets. I ripped my skirt down and shoved two fingers inside my soaking wet teenage pussy. I gripped the bars on the side and tried to imagine all three men dragging me by my hair out to the smelly beer garden near the bins. Ripping my white shirt and tiny black skirt off to reveal me stood there in a pale pink underwear set, frilly knickers and a sodden pussy. Stretching my labia back to fit one big manly cock inside. Another one shoving his fingers down my throat and telling me to gag and look at him. Nipples being twisted and tortured while I am forced to deep throat my attacker. The men spitting on my face and spanking my ass hard while fucking the virginity out of me.

I came so hard in the toilets that I ripped my knickers and ruined my skirt. My face was hot and flushed, my right hand completely cramped up. I took a few moments to compose myself (or so I thought) and left the bathroom.

Sharon, my landlady, was waiting outside the toilets for me with a resigned look on her 55 year old face.

“Your Dad is on his way sweetheart. I’m sorry about Jonno and the lads – he always was a bugger, our Tracey used to babysit him. I am sorry darlin’ working in pubs can be like that sometimes for a young bird. Anyway you get yourself off love – I can tell you’ve been crying, your face is all red. I know it was horrible and you hated it but chin up love it’s only a job, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

If only she knew.

English Slut for Turkish Businessmen #6

Ahmed and Mehmet were sat alone together sharing Iftar and drinking Turkish tea. It had been a very long day. They’d been up since 3am the previous night, eating sweet rice yoghurts and dates and fruit, celebrating their Ramadan. Their bodies felt whole and cleansed. It was the most special time of year for them, and Ahmed felt sorry that Sophie couldn’t enjoy the spirituality that they did. She wasn’t a Muslim, she wasn’t anything. Just a poor lost soul abandoned by her family and struggling to try and find her purpose in this world. He felt it his religious duty to ensure she did not go too far astray – she had that character. He was scared that if they turned their back on the poor girl she would end up on the streets, pathetically offering every hole up to any man walking past, just wanting to feel useful and filled with cock. He and his brother were discussing what to do with her.

Ahmed said, ” Brother, she is our responsibility. We gave her a job, we gave her money, we fed her. It is no surprise she has become dependant on us. We cannot ignore her feelings and what she needs.”

Mehmet responded with a leer, “Oh really brother? We do what you suggest, just for her benefit? It will bring you no pleasure at all?”

Ahmed grew angry. He was a man of a principle. They would not be in this mess if Mehmet had not unlocked this slut’s true nature while he was in Turkey trying to save the business. Now she was unleashed, wild. Like an animal. They had to deal with the aftermath or they would be no better than common rapists or hooligans. Ahmed was an honourable man, he understood that women couldn’t help the feelings they had between their legs. Especially when confronted with a strong Alpha make that could take care of them, and own them in the way they needed. Mehmet had released Sophie from the belief she had to be independent and they had to account for that.

“Brother believe me when I say. What I do today, is the most masochistic thing I have ever done. I do not wish to do this. I hate to see women cry, you know this. But she needs it. She needs it so badly she cannot breathe, she cannot sleep, she cannot eat. We have stirred her most base needs and it is our responsibility to sate them. Will I enjoy what we do? No. Will it bring me pleasure? No. The only pleasure I derive from what we are about to do to this poor defenceless slut is that she craves it so badly in her soul we would be hurting her more if we did not do it. It would be self-indulgent to deny her, and I won’t hurt her. She is too pure. She needs to be humiliated, and brother, we must be the ones to do it.”


English Slut for Turkish Businessmen #5

“Sophie, wake up my darling. Please wake up Sophie, it’s okay, wake up,” Ahmed murmured.

Sophie awoke with a jerk, her frantic eyes looking round her as she tried to orient herself to her surroundings. She was lying under a duvet in her white cotton bra and knickers, in her room above the restaurant. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming into the room through the thin orange gauze.

“Sophie, what were you dreaming? You were crying my darling, we heard you from the kitchen. What is it? Are you still unwell? I promise you will get better soon.”

Inexplicably, Sophie had caught a very severe flu bug and had lots considerable weight over the past 4 weeks. After her encounter with Mehmet in the cellar, he had been so guilty he had behaved like the perfect gentleman towards her. Ahmed had returned from Turkey and had demonstrated nothing but compassion towards her. When she fell ill, with no family in the UK and her nearest friend hundreds of miles away in Brighton, they had insisted she stay with them. She was so weak she couldn’t even feed or wash herself, and Mehmet saw it as his personal responsibility to ensure she was safe and looked after. He’d picked her up in his car the second time she called in sick, and upon seeing how pale and trembling she was, he instantly commanded she get in the car and wait. He went into her flat and packed up clothes, toothbrush, even her favourite teddies from her bedroom and her biggest pink heart shaped cushion. He drove her back to the restaurant and after a hastened conversation in Turkish with the cleaner, her room was ready within two hours. He sent one of their waiters to the local shopping centre and he promptly returned with a duvet set fit for a princess along with a duck feather quilt and soft expensive linen bedding. She was set up in a kingsize bed at the top of the house, with a bell next to her bed to ring when she needed something. Sophie was so grateful for this kindness she had promptly burst into tears and fell into his strong arms. He looked down at her hot, wet face, lips pink and pouting as she struggled to speak. Her soft face was pulpy with tears and shame; she was supposed to be an independent woman, not a weak defenceless little girl.

“Shhh now,” he had said, stroking her cheek gently, “You need to be looked after. You need to eat homemade food and have hot baths and tea. You will stay here and we will all take care of you my darling. You have been a very good girl, and you are our good girl now. We will not leave you out in the cold. You are safe here. I promise you my darling.” He smoothed her hair out of her face and held her gently in his strong brown arms.

That had been 4 weeks ago, before Ramadan began. True to his word – Sophie hadn’t been touched. She was treated like a royal princess, sweet food brought to her on the hour every hour, hot baths ran while Turkish waiters respectfully retreated, eyes downcast, when she was ready to disrobe and get in. She had never felt safer in her life.

So why was her imagination taking her to dark, disgusting places of filth? She felt so ashamed. Yes, ok, there had been a couple of sexual scenarios with Mehmet, but she had made it plain she was consenting hadn’t she? And there certainly hadn’t been anyone else present. And now these men, these lovely, respectful, caring men were trying to observe their most holiest of holidays, Ramadan, and she couldn’t stop thinking about vile things. She felt so guilty, they were just looking after her and they weren’t permitted to drink, eat, masturbate, smoke, or have sex for the next 30 days. So why did this turn her on so much? Why was she plagued every single goddamn night by these dreams that were slowly getting more depraved?

Her thoughts returned to the present and Sophie looked at Ahmed. He said,

“I hate to see women cry. I cannot have a woman upset in my presence. Please Sophie, we are trying to look after you my darling, please you will tell me if there is an upset with you from us?”

His genuinely concerned, gorgeous face looked at hers. His brown eyes were deep and rich and his jaw was set in a soft line of concern for her. She felt like he was looking into her soul. At the same time, he was stroking her bare shoulder with the lightest of touches from his warm, brown fingers. She could feel the hot weight of his body next to hers. She knew instinctively the only reason he had sat down on her bed was because she wouldn’t wake up to anything else; he was that respectful.

Sophie burst into tears.

“I’m so so so so sorry – I have to leave. I don’t deserve to be here. I have – I’m having – I’ve been having these dreams and, these thoughts. I can’t stop. I can’t stop and I am so so sorry I am so grateful and I respect you so much and I am so sorry I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” She sobbed and choked on her own tears. She was nearly hyperventilating with the shame, and the terror. What would she do when they threw her out? Where would she go?

She folded herself up into the foetal position and sobbed her little heart out onto the soft silk pillow he’d made sure she had.

Ahmed said gently, “Sophie, my darling, I cannot help you if I do now know what you have been thinking. You are a good girl. I know you are a good girl, I do not want you to be in pain. You must tell me where you mind is going or you will not be happy. It is better when you smile – you have such a pretty smile. Please no more tears. I cannot stand to see a woman cry.”

Sophie sat up and looked at him. It was now or never.

“I want to be abused” She said plainly, looking him in the eye. “I want to be fucked, I want to be humiliated, degraded, used like a filthy fucking slut. I want you and your brother to chain me up like a dog and piss on me and force me to suck your cock and lick your arseholes and make me debase myself for your entertainment. I want you to invite all of your important business associates round so you can tie me up from the ceiling and take turns with my body, and then ignore me while you smoke cigars and drink brandy. I want you to put me in a collar and leash and lead me round like your slutty little puppy, fucking my ass and pussy and mouth and making me airtight for your pleasure. I want to be your worthless humiliated little fucktoy and I want everyone to know that you own me. I want to be your sex slave. I want to submit to you and your brother and whoever else you see fit to share my holes with. And I am so, so sorry, I cannot stop these thoughts, I just can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”

And with that Sophie cried even more violently, her whole body shaking in terror and confusion at the strength of her own feelings. She rocked herself back and forth gripping her knees.

“Please help me” She whispered forlornly, looking into Ahmed’s shocked but kind eyes.

Ahmed looked at her. It was Ramadan, he was supposed to be having pure, charitable thoughts. Clearly this girl was not going to be conducive to his religious responsibilities. She was a harlot, a Western whore that his Iman had warned him about growing up. She was an insatiable cockwhore and desperately wanted nothing more than to be fucked. If he peeled the covers off her bare legs, gently spread her sex and commanded her to lie back and take his cock, she wold cum just from the chance to be obedient to his throbbing prick. He swallowed deeply and his jaw was set in a very hard line. This was a test. This was a test he was meant to resist.

Ahmed was always the good brother. The most handsome one of  the family, responsible, religious, dedicated to Islam. A true gentleman by anyone’s standards. Strong, proud, a protector of the weak and the vulnerable, always giving to charity and nurturing lost souls. He had women throwing themselves as his toned brown body weekly but he smiled his enigmatic smile and politely and respectfully declined; it was not the way of Allah to take up with these Western whores. His brother, he knew, had sampled far more of the Western girls and the pleasures they so freely offered. He had heard first hand what it was like to feel a woman’s lips wrap subserviently around your hard cock, gently lapping at your balls until you were ready to gift her with your cum. He had, however, never done it himself. Mehmet was insistent that he get in on their game, take advantage of these English sluts. Whores are meant to be fucked, Mehmet said. You are being cruel by denying them, he said.

When Sophie had started, Mehmet had told Ahmed that he had no choice but to take her for his own. Mehmet had given Ahmed a white sex slave recently, and he couldn’t do anything with her, so she ended up escaping. Mehmet said he was cruel, the girl needed discipline, a firm hand, and an ever firmer cock to worship. If he had just given her what she needed maybe she wouldn’t be on their Uncle’s farm in Turkey being humiliated as a worthless sex slave now. He felt guilty. He looked at Sophie’s beautiful and pure face. She couldn’t help it, clearly. She’d been raised with no religion and left to fend for herself in a world full of men at 21. Of course she craved the darkest parts of dominance, she was crying out for it. Would he be a man and give it to her, saving her the way he couldn’t save the other? Or would he yet again let a poor innocent slut be sold off because he wasn’t man enough to give her what she needed – complete and total dominance?

He had made his choice. He would help her, he would save this beautiful young girl from herself. He would accept her as his sex slave.

English Slut for Turkish Businessmen #4 – be warned, this is far darker than previous

DISCLAIMER: This is not roleplay, gentle, or romantic. This is fucked up, sadistic, violent, depraved sexual torture and rape. It crosses so many lines you can’t even see the lines anymore. I DO NOT CONDONE any of the below in the REAL WORLD. There is a difference. This is pure fiction – completely UNTRUE and an exercise to see how far I could push myself. Please do not read if you are against scat,  bondage, violence, rape, torture, non-consent of any sort. Please note this story will only make sense if you’ve read the previous 3 chapters.

You have been warned. Any minors fuck off now.


Pale, white arms straining against the thick, black ropes above her head. Wrists tied together suspending her from the ceiling. Dark hair hanging limply round her shoulders, her own stench of sweat assaulting her from her armpits. Once pretty, fresh white underwear now grubby, mucky. Stained with dark fingerprints and filth. She had pissed herself, hanging there helpless with her feet barely touching the ground.

Hey eyes blindfolded. It was unbearably hot, wherever she was. No sense of night or day. Sticky, languid heat clung to her slender, twisted body. Trickles of sweat collecting in her arsehole and underneath her swollen breasts. She felt dizzy, like she’d been drugged. Her mouth was dry as sand and her throat felt raw.

A slow, grinding, machinery noise, almost like the shutters to a warehouse opening. A pause, a gust of cool air rushed past her. A clang to let her know the door was shut. Thick bootsteps coming towards her. They sounded like the feet of a giant. Hot breathing on the back of her shoulders, a smell of sweat and testosterone. More footsteps. Vague, unconnected voices around her. Everything sounded like it was underwater. What felt like cool glass pressed against her lower back. She froze, unable to speak or move.

A deep, male voice next to her ear, thick with lust.

“How long she been here my friend?”

“48 hours. No water, no food. We tied her up afternoon, when drugs wore off. She will not be any trouble. Very docile now. Very calm. You will like my friend, I promise you.”

Sophie trembled.

She felt the male presence move round in front of her. She could smell his breath, a mix of cheap cigarettes and coffee, and something sweeter. He was taller than her. A rough, calloused finger slowly traced a line from her throat to her navel. The client reached for her breasts and freed her left nipple from her bra. Rolling and squeezing it between his fingers, testing her threshold. Sophie gasped and realised she had a thick, round rubber gag in her mouth.

“Nice. Firm, like you said. Has she felt either cock or whip yet?”

“You have seen the videos of her nipples being spanked, and learning how to suck cock in the basement. Her bottom has not been touched, as promised. She has not been fucked yet my friend, you will be the first, if you choose.”

“How wet does this one get? He likes very wet. Always very wet for him.”

“You saw Mehmet making this bitch cum without touching her pussy when you were looking through the glass. He said when he removed the skirt her whore knickers were drenched. She is a born submissive. We can smell her all the time – this filthy cunt is constantly gushing. We are confident she will be a star attraction at the farm, you will get your money’s worth out of this one.”

Sophie’s pussy responded to these words and she felt herself getting wet hearing this disembodied foreign voice selling her sex like it was a piece of furniture.

“Okay. Her pussy will need to be inspected. Hand me the knife”

She realised it wasn’t a piece of glass against her back. Large hairy hands grasped her tender hipbones hard from behind, holding her in place. She didn’t know who they belonged to, but whoever it was leaned close and inhaled her curls deeply.

“She will need washing. She stinks. She will need to be washed, shaved, and oiled up before being presented. And her cunt and asshole need loosening up, he does not have time to deal with frigid whores. I have only brought 7 men with me, and we only have 12 hours to properly break this slut into a mindless fuckpig who requires no physical restraints. The Prince has not got time to train disobedient white English sluts who can still think for themselves.”

“Of course my friend, of course. We are confident you will find her most agreeable. We have brought the canines, just in case.”

Sophie heard muffled dog barks that sounded distant – but not distant enough to stop her tight young body trembling with fear.

“Ok, pass me the knife”

The wasitband of her delicate white lacy french knickers was pulled outwards, exposing her pussy to a rush of cool air. Her clit instantly responded, and she moaned and writhed forwards towards the warm fingers inches from her cunt. The knife unceremoniously cut away the front of her sodden panties while she heard scissors making short work of her bra.

Stood suspended from the ceiling, gagged, blindfolded, completely naked with the stench of her own sweat and stale piss in her nostrils Sophie whimpered like a caught puppy. Why was she so wet? Her throbbing clit ached between her legs and she was producing so much girlcum her tight slit was glistening with slime.

The man with the knife, the one who seemed to be in control, sneered. He got level with her pussy. She felt his hot, rancid breath on her delicate flower. A rough, flat tongue reached out and he dragged it slowly from the opening of her cunt up to her clit, grinding it against her most delicate of spots. Sophie’s body convulsed forwards and she involuntarily let out a moan.

A foreign voice said proudly,

“We told you. Ahmed only provides the best English whores. This one is born to suck your cock. She might be a little older than we usually provide, but she makes up for it. She will beg to serve on her knees until she is no longer useful and then you can use her as a breeding cow for more slaves. It is a very fair trade for what we want from you my friend.”

“Ok. I will be the judge of that. Cut her down, we will begin. Suleman, get the oils, clamps, chains and The Angle. Oh, and the whip. This white bitch needs to learn her place. Let’s see how wet she is after 12 hours of servicing our cocks and being whipped on her cunt and pathetic whore titflesh.”

Sophie felt her gloopy cum ooze out of her worthless and treacherous pussy. She was going to be passed around like a cheap piece of meat, dangling from the ceiling while every Turkish man had his turn with each whole.

Suddenly, her blindfold was lifted. Her dilated pupils adjusted to the smoky darkness. There were no less than 11 Turkish men stood round her. All stocky, big, hairy and looking at her with animalistic rage in their eyes. She looked fearfully around and tried her best to speak through the ball gag, when she noticed a menacing presence step out of the shadows. Nearly 7ft tall, shoulders as broad as a house and thighs bigger than her entire body. A shaven head supported by a thick, sinewy neck. Dark, deep set eyes that were almost black glittered with evil intent. His mouth set in a cruel line, a sadistic grin playing on his lips. Sophie was so scared she felt a little bit of wee trickle out of her vulnerable pussy. She started fighting against her ropes and tried to scream against her gag. She was bucking so hard the man behind her lost grip of her hips, she tried to kick out with her feet and flailed uselessly. Her entire body was possessed, desperately trying to wrench herself out of her ropes and run a million miles. Tears formed instantly in her blue eyes and she was hysterically sobbing and writhing at the same time.

A look of confusion passed between the restaurant owners.

“Amir, do you know this girl?”

He smiled and uncrossed his arms to reveal a violently sharp black leather whip, almost longer than her body in length. He took a step closer to her and relished seeing this uptight princess struggle against her bonds, clearly terrified out of her mind. Pissing herself, crying, whimpering and cowering before him. Tight pink nipples, bare flesh completely unmarked by burns, scars, or whips.

Amir placed the whip very, very gently on the floor by his feet, never breaking eye contact with the unfortunate girl 20 years younger than him naked and helpless.

Upon rising, he unbuttoned his dark blue shirt that was straining over his huge brown muscles. This guy made The Rock look small. When he removed his shirt, everyone in the room apart from Sophie gasped and looked away, for she knew what to expect.

Deep set welts criss-crossed his entire torso. His back bore evidence of severe lacerations, inches deep and very wide. The silvery marks suggested he had been beaten several times, with several different implements, over a long period of time. He had a huge, ugly scar across his entire left pectoral, still mottled with evidence of being tortured long after the initial wound was inflicted. A tiny trickle of filthy brown shit escaped Sophie’s arsehole and the bile rose to her throat as she realised the exact situation she was in.

Amir’s soulless black eyes bore straight into Sophie’s as she tried desperately not to choke on the vomit in her mouth.

“15 years ago, I was arrested as an infidel in Uzbekistan. Suspected of terrorist activity, I was help captive at Guantanamo Bay for almost ten years, until my brothers broke in and rescued me, killing all of my persecutors. All but one. We thought we had killed him, he was the worst offender of them all. He tortured me day and night, he raped my wife and my daughter in front of me and made me watch. He kept my 15 year old daughter as his personal sex slave in front of me for 3 years. He transformed her into a mindless slut for English cock. He trained her to cum at the click of his fingers, he brainwashed her to cum when she watched me get tortured. I watched my beautiful baby girl on her knees sucking 20 English cocks in a row. The things they did to her in front of me…you wouldn’t do a dog. She slept in their filth. She begged to be allowed to eat their shit – I watched them modify her pussy into a human toilet. She lived off their piss and shit. She was treated worse than anything you could imagine – all for their sexual pleasure. He used to sit opposite me for hours at night – with my daughter on a leash in front of him. It nearly drove me mad. My sweet young wife was sold to a Mexican street gang, and died in less than 12 months after they took bets on how many horses could fuck her before her tiny body gave up. They filmed it and got popcorn and beers and chained my face inches to the screen. When they were bored, they would bring my daughter in, who they had changed from a sweet innocent girl into a pig. She would oink and sleep in the filth, cocks constantly in her mouth, pussy and ass. He would whip me hard in front of her, and then fuck her dripping pussy with the handle that had been used to beat her Father. All of this in front of me. Every day. Every night.

After I escaped, we thought he had perished in the fire. We raided his belongings and discovered mementos; family pictures. We burned them all. I wanted no trace of this man.

4 years ago, I found out that he was not only alive, but he thrived. He had found love again, he had gone on trial taking pictures of my face, making the world think I was a murderer who deserved to be hanged. My picture was in Western media for years, everyone thought I was a monster. When they could not find me or my brothers, I learned that he had retired from working for the government. He had left his command and started a new life, taking his family, his money, and his untarnished reputation with him. At first, I wanted to seek him out. But I knew that would not be enough. I had to do worse than that. So, instead of following him, I vowed to track down his only daughter, the only remaining member of his family to remain in England. Rumour had it she cut ties after learning what kind of man her Father truly was – she wanted nothing to do with him or his money. Determined to make it on her own. Sweet girl.”

Sophie passed out.


English slut for Turkish Businessmen #3

“So that’s two Greek platters, one Turkish meze, a round of Old Fashioneds and some soft bread?” Sophie smiled tightly at the group of local men enjoying a late Saturday supper.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” he leered. “Bring us the dessert menu after…but only if you are on it” Raucous laughter from his comrades. Sophie smiled the same blank robotic smile and retreated to the empty cocktail bar to enter the information onto their bill. In what universe, she thought, could I possibly want your flacid, squidgy, average white penis flopping about my body?! The lack of charm on these guys was jaw dropping. Looking through the open kitchen glass, she could see Mehmet artfully constructing the next dish. His soft, strong brown hands belied the delicacy with which he could manipulate any ingredient into what he wanted. She looked away quickly before he noticed her. It had been over a week since their last encounter and she had thought of nothing ever since.

It hadn’t helped her concentration that his brother, Ahmed, was due to return from Turkey tomorrow. Sighing, she pulled the oranges out of the fridge and began to peel.


“Sophie, my darling, what would you like to eat? I can make anything you like and then one of the chefs will drive you home safely.”

His deep brown eyes looked at her with a mixture of compassion and concern. She was looking thin. He didn’t like to think that she hadn’t enjoyed the previous weekend – and more importantly, he’d promised his brother he’d have primed her ready by the time he came back. The last thing he needed was for her to enter a dark place and not wish to continue any more.

“Oh, erm, can you make me some of that Turkish stew with the chickpeas please? And just a tiny bit of rice, I’m not that hungry. Thank you.” Truth was, she was absolutely fucking starving. But not for food. Her body felt like a plucked harp that had been discarded at the interval. She’d abused her clit so much since last weekend she was surprised she could still walk. Every morning waking up with creamy pearls of cum collecting in her knickers, nipples pink and hard with lust, hips writhing against her duvet. Her dreams full of depraved orgies; images of serving in a Turkish harem with strong powerful men forcing her onto her knees, or splaying her out like a pale trophy while they stood over her. She was deeply troubled by her lack of control over her own body – it seemed to have a mind of it’s own.

Mehmet watched her delicately pat the corners of her mouth with the napkin after her meal. She was so tense he felt the magnetic vibrations coming from her body. Flashes of the previous weekend came to mind – her tiny throat gripped under his hands, her firm tits taut with sexual tension while he slapped at her nipples and muttered dark nasty words into her ears. She looked at him across the table with shadowed blue, almost black eyes. Her lips moist and parted, the way they had been for a week. She pouted almost naturally; he would have to do something about that. Because it was only 11pm, she would have to go down into the cellar to arrange the dry supplies for tomorrow’s shift before finishing at 12. It was wrong. He knew it was ahead of schedule, and it didn’t fit in with the psychological manipulation they usually worked on these girls. But he had to fucking have her. She was supposed to ask him for it – he was meant to wait until she came to him and asked, one way or another, for a repeat performance. That’s when he would permit her to feel the full might of his thick, brown cock and she would be under the spell properly. To do anything too soon was risky – her self-esteem was bordering on a precipice as it was. To jeopardise that now would be unnecessarily foolish. Sophie’s small pink tongue delicately lapped at the corner of her perfect, plump lips, removing the last bit of creamy yoghurt from the meal he’d served her.

Fuck it. She was asking for it. Fucking begging for it, if you were an experienced man and knew the signals. He made his mind up. Tonight he would make her pay, teach her a lesson. His breathing was deep – he was sweaty and hot from his efforts in the kitchen. Perspiration gathered on his top lips and as a sheen over his golden body. She would have to learn to love the smell of Turkish sweat on balls, might as well begin her education this evening, the fucking dirty slut. Mehmet was getting worked up. Sophie looked vulnerable and scared, a little sparrow in a world full of vultures. It was too much. He was a red-blooded man for Christ’s sake – this English whore was begging to be fucked with the way she looked at him, looked at all the men in the restaurant. Well, tonight she would get her wish.


Being over 100 years old, the underbelly of the building was a warren of low ceilings with grey stone walls and unidentifiable leaks. Grimy, black slime coated some of the walls and it smelled vaguely like a sewer. A mixture of stale cigarette smoke, gone off beer and damp. Dimly lit and dust and debris on the floors. He knew exactly where she would be. Even walking the 20 steps down to the basement he knew this was wrong, and not a part of the plan. She wasn’t ready. She was innocent, vulnerable, scared. Overwhelmed by the new and disturbing erotic feelings she’d had being dominated by her older Turkish boss. Used like a common whore and spoken to like one while he abused her tits and made her cum for him.

He smelled her before he saw her. Coconut hair oil, cheap girly perfume and strawberry lip balm. She was again stood with her back to him, her tiny delicate hands struggling to open a large box of kitchen supplies. He wasn’t going to talk this time. He needed something primal from her, and he was going to get it. He approached her slowly, like a wolf stalking it’s prey. When Mehmet reached the girl, he lifted his left hand and deliberately moved her black curls to one side of her neck. Sophie gasped and tried to turn around. His large, spade-like hand gripped the back of her head in a vice like grip, while the other hand circled her waist and pulled her arse into his crotch.

“Don’t struggle. Don’t scream. You will not enjoy this. This will not be fun for you. But I need this – and you need to give it to me,” he whispered menacingly in her ear. Sophie moaned audibly and instinctively raised her head up, offering her throat to his hands. Mehmet span her round and their eyes locked. Her pupils were dilated, her breath coming short and heavy. He groaned inwardly – she was so fucking sexy and she didn’t even know it. His full 8 inches was straining against his chef whites. Mehmet put both strong hands on her shoulders and gripped her hard. Without a word, he forced her nubile weak body onto it’s knees.

As her legs buckled underneath her and she felt her bare knees touch the cold stone floor, she looked up at him through wet lashes with a questioning gaze. Was he going to hurt her?! What was happening? What had she done to deserve this?

Hands hanging limply by her side, she watched as Mehmet calmly undid his drawstrings. When they dropped to his ankles, she was hit by his scent. Thick musky sweat combined with the undeniable smell of cock. Her eyes rolled back in her head uncontrollably and she moaned aloud. She knew what he wanted from her, just as she knew she had no option but to deliver it. Her pussy was a warm, sticky wet mess, her clit sticking to her lacy french knickers. She looked up and met his gaze. Mehmet tugged at the back of her head, gripping her black curls with his right hand. He took a step closer, strong, hairy brown thighs like tree trunks overwhelming her petite frame. He rubbed her nose and lips into his stinking crotch. He moaned as her lips were separated by the action of his throbbing prick rubbing itself against her slutty face. He was going to make such a slut out of her. By the time he was finished training her, she was going to be a mindless cum addicted slut, unable to cope without the taste of his thick white seed on her worthless whore tongue.

With his left hand, he freed his hard brown superior Turkish cock. It sprang from his tight black boxers while his huge balls hung heavy and full of cum in between his legs.

He positioned the brown, bulbous head of his thick cock at the entrance to her pink full lips. He was leaking salty precum and she could taste and smell it on her lips. Sophie breathed in deeply – he was magnificent. A God. She knew she was going to kneel on this dirty basement floor while the rest of the foreign chefs were upstairs probably knowing she was sucking on her Turkish boss’s cock like a needy little cumslut.

Mehmet still had hold of the back of her head with one hand and gripped his throbbing erection in the other.

“Open your mouth, bitch” he growled. Sophie obediently followed his orders – the only thing she knew what to do in that moment. His thick cock landed on her soft pink tongue and instantly started fucking her throat. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t soft. He was hard as steel and simply using her young mouth to make himself cum.

“You dirty fucking whore. You fucking love sucking Daddy’s Turkish cock don’t you, bitch? Lick the tip – worship it. This is your Master now. This is your God. All you need to think about is sucking and pleasing my cock like the worthless fucking pig you are. That’s right slut – suck it good and hard and maybe I will let you eat my cum off the floor when you are finished.”

Sophie gasped and moaned around his cock – her hands still hanging limply by her side while he gripped her skull and used her tight throat to get himself off. He was panting hard at this point, thrusting with everything he had, bruising her delicate throat from the inside while tears pooled in her beautiful innocent blue eyes.

Mehmet pulled his cock out with a pop and slapped it across Sophie’s cheek. Her loveheart shaped face was tiny next to his huge throbbing prick.

“Fucking thank me for using your face you worthless piece of shit. You English slut, beg me to rape your face. Fucking beg me for it bitch or I’ll put you on the street with all three holes on sale.”

Mehmet was going to cum. She was making the sluttiest noises gagging and choking on his cock, trying her hardest. He could see her hard nipples through her shirt. She was moaning onto his cock and he sloppily used her whore face to make himself cum.

She was struggling to breathe. He pushed himself into her throat up to the hilt of his hard cock – and then pinched her nostrils between his fingers.

“You worthless pig cunt. You breathe when I say you can breathe. Fucking suck my hard cock you slut – you should be grateful I’m teaching you how to suck cock. When my brother returns you are going to be on your knees every day servicing our cocks. Better learn how to make a real man cum now or I will put you in the stocks and let every single old, fat, disgusting Turkish chef use your young holes for their pleasure. Fucking work for it bitch – beg for it you slutty cunt.”

Sophie was absolutely dripping at this point. Her knickers were soaking wet and she desperately wanted to be bent over and fucked in her tight wet slophole. She knew it was going to get worse before it got better and that excited her. To be used like the pathetic whore she was got her so wet and hot she thought she might cum.

Mehmet thrusted angrily into her face. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this – the little bitch had teased him and forced him into it. He was a good man, he had a wife and children in Turkey. His wife was a beautiful, classy princess. Not compared to this cheap whore with her mascara running and slutty red lipstick smeared all over his cock.

He pulled her head back and wanked his cock with the other. Sophie stayed on her knees but opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, looking innocently up at him.

“Please Sir, please give me your cum. I’m a worthless white slut and I am desperate to be your private cunt, your personal fuckhole. Please Sir please teach this slut a lesson. Please cum on my slutty worthless face Sir. Please” Sophie begged.

Mehmet felt his load building up; he gasped and positioned his cock directly above her eyes. Ropes of thick creamy cum spurted out of his erect brown cock, coating her eyelashes and eyelids in his spunk. She looked like a cheap two bit whore, which is basically what she was in that Turkish restaurant. Mehmet breathed deeply and leaned down – “Open mouth pig slut”

Sophie opened her mouth wide and Mehmet spat into her mouth, before rubbing the end of his salty penis all over her beautiful lips. Her mascara was coated in his cum and she was shaking with the brutal force with which he’d skullfucked this bitch.

Mehmet coaxed a few last drops of his cum out of his cock and rubbed them over her cheeks and lips.

“Lick it up. Now”

Sophie scooped what was left of his cum, the parts that had pooled in between her eyes and in her cupid’s bow, and greedily shoved all four coated fingers into her slut mouth. She looked up at him.

“Thank you Sir.”

My First Spanking

This is a work of non-fiction – it’s an accurate description of the first ever time I was spanked by a man, how it happened, and how it made me feel. I was 15 at the time, but the guy was 17 and it was completely consensual, and he remains a good friend to this day, (and also a really decent human being) so hopefully that will comfort people it wasn’t a weird molestation scenario, because it totally wasn’t. It is just an honest recounting of something that happened as part of my sexual journey over ten years ago.

I don’t know why, but I’ve always been attracted to confident men. That confidence has to be real – I didn’t go for fake power, bosses, teachers, friends’ dads. It was the guys that looked at you with a 100% conviction that they were the Alpha – they were in charge.

If I’ve come across as a shameless cocktease now – you should have seen what I was like at 15. Just waking up to my own body and how it felt; I had a deep-seated sexual lust impossible to slake. However, I was still a very nice normal English girl from a good family with a Catholic upbringing living in a rural part of Northern England.

Allow me to describe myself. Black curly hair, blue eyes, small waist and tiny, firm, milky white teenage breasts. This was before the era of fake tan and eyelashes – I was about as natural as you can get, if you ignore the liberal amounts of black make-up I chose to outline my eyes with. He worked in the kitchen at an Italian restaurant I’d gotten a part time job at. Inconsequential at first – I mean, I knew he was attractive. I could tell he appealed to me. Taller than me by about 10 inches, and wider in his shoulders; he was not a small man. Despite being 17 he looked about 25. Long, rocker style hair and strong, uncompromising facial features with a stubbly face that implied he’d been shaving for a while. Steady green eyes that really saw you. His most distinguishing, and dare I say sexy, feature was his laugh. It was a small, private joke where he didn’t even make eye contact, just carried on with what he was doing but smirked as though he knew something about you you could’t ever possibly to understand about yourself.

He also had…a smell. I couldn’t tell you if I tried what it was. It was heady; deep, natural. A mix of teenage boy sweat and his clean fresh shampoo. I remember once accidentally bumping into him and smelling his hair and feeling my pussy tingle with unaccountable desire. The contrast between his very male, very testosterone natural pheromone and this hair that smelled like a fucking rainbow meadow was insane. I didn’t know what to do with myself.

The order of events are somewhat blurred to me – it was over 10 years ago in my defence. I do remember without any haziness whatsoever what happened in the park. We’d struck up somewhat of a friendship. He was funny, acerbic, intellectual without being pretentious but most of all incredibly compassionate and kind. He looked at you and really saw you, if you know what I mean. He was also at his core a Good Person. He was the kind of guy you could have a beer and a laugh with but also spend 6 hours discussing the futility of human endeavour, with no sense of Holden Caulfield about him. A Liberal through and through – strangers were to him just friends he hadn’t met yet. Well liked by everyone, a talented musician, and quietly intelligent, he was a friend worth having.

We had met up for some reason, possibly after school, in a deserted park often frequented by the local teenagers. I’m wondering if we played truant because there wasn’t a soul there. Sat next to each other, laughing, joking, both trying to pretend the sexual tension wasn’t building like an inescapable Cumbrian storm.

I can’t remember how it came about, we were play fighting I think. He was sat cross legged on the grass and I ended up splayed over his lap, my nose in the dirt and my slender back arched down to my little teenage bum standing proudly out from my (then) spindly legs. I was wearing a navy blue school polo shirt and tight black jeans that flared at the ankles, in true 00’s skater girl style (despite the fact I’d never stepped on a skateboard in my life). He lifted the back of my shirt up and noticed the two dimples that I have above each buttock. He placed his huge warm hand on the bare skin of my lower back, covering me completely. I actually think he could have circled my entire waist with both hands if he’d chosen to.

“Do you feel anything when I press these?”

He had his left arm under my chest, holding me firmly off the ground as if I was made out of glass. His right hand was on my back, feeling my dimples and tentatively pressing them to see if I felt anything.

“No, haha, they’re just really random. I’ve always had them. Doesn’t feel like anything though.”

I was nervous. For some reason, being prostrate across his lap and not being able to see his face or his intentions was having an electrifying effect on my 15 year old virgin pussy. He held me so confidently yet gently in his arms, I felt safe and protected at the same time as wildly exposed. It was singularly one of the hottest experiences of my life. I couldn’t tell you why I stayed lying across him like that, but we did, for several minutes. If memory serves, I was winding him up about something. That was my default setting in those days, if in doubt, take the piss. It’s charming when you’re a Lolita but irritating when you’re a businesswoman, I’ve since learned. He said something. I responded,

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?”


Absolutely no hesitation. I gasped and we both paused for a moment, as if to take in what had just happened. He had spanked me. I was across his knee and this guy who was just supposed to be my teenage, harmless male friend had brought his right hand down hard on the softest part of my bottom and delivered a firm spank. His voice dropped about three octaves lower;

“Then that’s what you’re going to get. Do you want another one?”

My lips gasped yes before my brain knew what was happening.


I heard his breathing coming quicker and heavier. He was every bit as aroused as I was. My pussy felt like it was on fire. My bum was stinging and I knew there was drool coming out of my lips, dripping onto his hairy, strong arm, as he still held the entire weight of my tiny teenage body in his left arm. His right hand rested gently on my lower back, half on my ass. I was panting like a dog and I could feel the heat coming off him. He rolled me over as if I was made of feathers and pushed his face down hard onto mine. He kissed me with firm lips and a dominant tongue; I wasn’t there, I was an object receiving his attention. Despite having my mouth full, I moaned and writhed into him. Feeling completely vulnerable in the middle of a park with my pussy trickling hot liquid girlcum down to my tiny teenage bumhole inside my knickers. With his left hand he grasped my hair, tugging on the curls to arch my neck back so he could have better access to my mouth. It was the kind of sore, clumsy, bashing of teeth and lips and tongue that teenage kisses are all about. My sex drive went from 0 – 10 and I was actually writhing on his lap, moaning like a slut into his mouth as he took the kisses from me as roughly as he liked.

That wasn’t the last time I saw him. How could it have been? Together we explored his natural Dominant side and my burgeoning submissiveness as best we could, the age that we were. What I will say is that it felt incredibly nurturing, comforting, and safe. He was nothing but caring and compassionate in normal life, and so accepting of my nature that the rare times I felt like I had any worth at that age, it was around him.

He was the first man to lay me back and open my legs gently but firmly, to inspect my pussy. Splayed out, with my pale thin teenage legs covering the expanse of his friend’s bed while everyone was downstairs, in a completely dark room except for the moonlight streaming through the window. Seeing the expression on his face as he spent two hours stroking, opening, manipulating and exploring my virgin pussy before his face. Gently coaxing my tiny little bud of a clitoris until it was swollen and pink, slick with my juices. Sliding a finger up and down my slit that had never been touched before, not even by me. My warm, wet opening responding to his touch like a soft velvety flower coming out for spring. He didn’t even place the first gentle kiss on my clit until we started to hear the birds sing outside. It was the best 10 hours of my life – and deserves a proper chapter next time.




Licking her heels

“Oh yeah, because you’re going to be in a fit state to drive tomorrow morning babe!” I joked, pushing her gently into the fridge. She giggled and opened the door, looking for more Prosecco.

“Erm, babe, I think we drank it all. We’ll have to move on to the red”

I watched her firm, tight buttcheeks in the baby pink velour shorts she was wearing pad down the hall towards the wine rack in the living room. Bending over to get the good stuff her boyfriend kept at the bottom, her tanned calves strained with the effort. Her messy dirty blonde bun bouncing around atop her petite head, she jumped up with a bottle of Australian Shiraz and announced happily that this would do.

I stood quietly watching her sashay towards the kitchen to fetch clean wine glasses. She was still chattering on about something but I couldn’t concentrate. She was fucking perfection. Round brown eyes shaped like large almonds, a naturally pouting pink rosebud mouth and a dimpled smile that sometimes looked evil. Her breasts had been surgically enhanced and she had what I suppose you would call the sophisticated bimbo look. Lots and lots of wavy blonde hair, big red lips and very long fluttery eyelashes (that she used to get her own way).

A size 6-8 with 32DD tits and a tight little arse that just wouldn’t quit. She was smaller than me too, at 5,3. Her laugh sounded like sparkling water being poured over ice and her perfectly sharp manicured nails often fingered her neck or earlobes when she was talking about something that interested her, which was often, as she was incredibly intelligent.

I’d known for a while I wanted to be her dog. Her pet, her slave, her abused little piece of shit that worshipped the very ground she walked on. We had an incredibly equal and fulfilling friendship, she was everything you could want in a best female friend. We were both straight, she had a boyfriend and I was seeing one of his friends. We had the best laughs together, comforted each other, stuck up for each other at work and ultimately enjoyed all of the closeness that two girls in their early twenties do. The irony was she wasn’t ever nasty to me – she did have a slightly arrogant streak in so much as she knew how devastatingly sexually attractive she was, but with me being another woman it never really came up in our friendship. I don’t know what it was about her that made me want to get on my hands and knees and lick her boots. I think simply knowing that she was superior did the trick. Stunningly beautiful, confident, self-assured. Everything I wasn’t. I felt lucky just to be allowed to bask in this goddess’s glow. When I showered at her house I considered licking the toilet seat because I knew her perfect arse was probably perched there at some point that day.

This particular Friday we’d completed our usual ritual of the pub after work with the guys from the office, meandered home via Sainsbury’s to purchase some nibbles and wine for the evening. All very chilled and relaxed. Until she put those fucking shorts on. I’d been wanking over her furiously kind of since I met her. How could I not – she was unreal. But it was always in the darkest recesses of my mind. And in fairness, I had real respect for her and the friendship we had managed to cultivate. Did I feel guilty? Of course I fucking did. Every time we had a spa day and she’d strip that perfect golden brown body down to a bikini I used to wish I could worship her openly.

She came back with the wine and started excitedly discussing her upcoming wedding. Would I help her choose an outfit?

“Of course babe let’s see what you got. What colours roughly are you thinking? Is it the day do or day and night?”

I tried to keep my questions light, natural. She answered,

“Well, we are going to the day, but all the girls are taking a spare outfit for the night do. So I thought we could look at both if you don’d mind?”

I didn’t mind. We set ourselves up on the end of the bed she shared with her boyfriend, a very charismatic and monied fellow who was currently at a stag do. They had an en-suite, and she would go in there to get changed and come back out again. It was sheer torture. Seeing that tight, tanned little body poured into skimpy baby pink lacy underwear and spilling generously out of her bra while I was forced to sit on my hands and watch and obediently tell her how gorgeous she was stank.

So I sat at the end of her bed like a faithful little dog and dutifully told her how beautiful she looked in every outfit – and drank my wine. Maybe I drank a bit too much. She disappeared into the spare room and returned with 6 different pairs of heels.

“Okay, so, if you can sort through those and pick which ones you think would be best for the night do, that would be great. Oh some of them are dirty so do you mind just wiping them? Here’s a cloth. Thanks hun”

I sat in disbelief. I was to sit at the end of her bed, sorting through her painfully sexy high heels, cleaning the mud off the ones she might want to wear to turn her boyfriend on. Nonetheless, I did it and tried to ignore the dull throb in between my legs that was getting more and more aggressive.

I drank more wine.

She came out of the bathroom in a dark red, low cut, silk number. Her thighs and lower legs were slightly exposed, but it was the tits that really demanded your attention. Pert, swollen and tanned, they needed no bra. She saw me staring.

“They look so good don’t they! And the swelling has totally gone down. Have a feel babe”

Me – “Oh no, I couldn’t it’s fine,”

She said no problems, would I help her with the heels. To my surprise, she lifted her left leg up and placed it in between my legs on the bed. She looked directly at me and I was a loss. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers and said

“Well? The shoes aren’t going to put themselves on are they?”

No I say, no they’re not. I’m sorry. I picked up a black lather shoe with silver spiked straps and placed it carefully on her delicate perfect feet. She was stood in very sexy underwear looking down at me. I stroked her foot by accident when I was doing the buckle up, but she seemed happy. She stood in front of the mirror with the heels and sexy underwear on for what felt like ages. Then she turned and said,

“more wine now please. You should get used to serving me to be fair – when you are my bridesmaid I’m going to have you running around like my own personal bitch!!!” She creased up laughing at her own joke I managed a slightly murmur of consent, and then went back to doing her shoes.

“You didn’t do a very good job of cleaning them, did you” No, I hadn’t I said. Did she want me to clean them again? She pouted and said there was no time, I’d better just memorise whaht they look like and clean tomorrow. I agreed – anything for you. I was trying desperately not to call her Mistress, even though I wanted to be her doggy.

She coo’d and reached down to stroke my chin.

“God you’re useful sometimes! It mush be hard for you, seeing me like this,”

I coloured instantly. Stammering “what-wh-wha-what do -do do you-mean,?” and she said

“Well, I am just so much more better looking that you are, I’m skinny, pretty, and perfect. and you are just a silly pig whore. Oink for me piggy – say oink!!!”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Maybe it was the outfit she had on. All I knew is the woman of my dreams wanted to humiliate me to keep herself amused, and I certainly wasn’t going to argue.

“Oink! Oink! Am I a good piggy??” I said. She purred and reached down for my chin. She slapped me hard;

“Even if you have to use your tongue, just make sure my fucking shoes are clean. It’s not like you have a life or a date or anything, maybe it’s time you spend more time helping me!”

She looked stern. I just nodded numbly. Then she said,

“I think you need to show my shoes some proper respect. Kiss them. Kiss my boot heels.” I looked up in astonishment. This was my ultimate fantasy – and she was making it happen. I gratefully crawled on all fours to where she was stood. She looked down, thoroughly disinterested in me.

“All straight girls are the same. Did you think you were different, slut? You are my dog now, she said. You are my slutty little dog and you will fuck yourself with my high heels if I tell you to, won’t you?” I looked up at her confident brown eyes and hands on her hips, her perfect body in complete control.

“What are you?” she cooed.

“Your dog Mistress. Or your pig. Depends what mood Mistress is in”

“Very good!!! Now get on your back. I have some important friends coming over and they want to use to as a footstool. Say thank you, you ugly fat bitch.”

“Thank you Mistress.”

English Slut For Turkish Businessmen #2

Sophie slowly closed the big, heavy wooden door behind the last customers of the evening. She had been trying to ignore the wetness between her legs for the past three hours, but the tension was building. When she saw Mehmet guide his Turkish business associates up the stairs to the massive house above the restaurant, her lower abdomen felt like liquid fire was pooling up. Since Mehmet had gently asked her if she was prepared to be a show pony for some potential investors, she had slowly become more and more aroused at the thought of performing on demand. She tried to tell herself she had no choice – that she was only doing what she had to in order to save her job. She was lying to herself. She had fantasised about the Turkish owner and his brother more times than she could count. Working as late as she could just to stare at their broad, muscular backs and burnt sienna coloured skin. Rushing home to shove her fingers in her greedy sopping wet cunt over and over again until she brought herself to crashing orgasm imagining being forced to service their large cocks. Once, the need had been so great she had actually got home and straddled the sofa arm, grinding her clit hard against the furniture and moaning softly into the cushions. With these thoughts swimming around her confused but dopamine filled brain, she carefully arranged some refreshments on a tray and made her way upstairs.


Sophie knocked tentatively on the door. Mehmet had changed out of his chef whites into a simple white shirt and jeans. He looked absolutely sensational and for a moment Sophie was speechless. He smiled gently, he knew the effect he was having on this girl. She was almost too ripe for the plucking, she would be eating out of his hand before the end of the night.

“Sophie, my beautiful darling, you are so wonderful and kind to come up here and help. Please come in, remove your shoes, relax. I have spoken to the men and they do not want you to be uncomfortable, we are all going to just have some talks and some drinks together.”

Sophie looked into his kind brown eyes and felt her heart surge. He was a true gentleman – she wasn’t going to have to debase herself after all. How funny that she actually felt a bit deflated now, almost as though she was looking forward to it. She entered the room and placed the tray down on the table in front of her. Sophie had never been up here before, it was a beautiful room. As old as the huge building, it had large windows set in deep wooden sills, the wood dark and roughly hewn. There was a burgundy leather sofa against one wall and several Chesterfield chairs occupying the space. There was an wall-to-wall bookshelf to the right of her against the back wall, opposite end of the room to the traditional huge fireplace with a real fire burning. The volumes looked dusty and were clearly very old, a mixture of Greek, Arabic and Latin texts. Few titles were English from what she could tell. Standing imposingly on the wall to the left of her was a wrought iron wine rack, with over 200 bottles of the finest wine in there. Opposite the wine rack was a huge and immaculate mirror, big enough to take in the entire room. Mehmet directed her to the leather sofa that was side on to the mirror and bid her sit down.

She looked around for Mehmet’s business associates; he clarified that they were in another part of the house watching something they couldn’t miss – they may join us later, he said. Sophie relaxed instantly. Mehmat picked up two brandy glasses and handed one to her.

“Oh, erm, thank you, I don’t really, I mean I’ve never had, brandy is quite strong isn’t it? I’m not sure I should”

Mehmet looked directly into her eyes, deliberately touched his glass to hers, and drank his without breaking eye contact while standing over her. Sophie got the message. She managed a tight smile and thought, what the hell. Down the hatch. The fiery liquid burnt her throat but did calm her nerves somewhat. Mehmat sat next to her on the leather sofa, incredibly comfortable and at ease. He had assumed his position from earlier, his right ankle resting on his left knee, crotch splayed wide, arms stretched out reclining on the sofa. He allowed himself a leisurely gaze over Sophie’s nubile and tensed body, here in his house, all his to play with. She was like a scared little bunny rabbit faced with a wolf. He looked at her with a wolf’s hunger. She was still wearing her white blouse, tight black pencil skirt and bare legs. He reached over slowly, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers sending shivers down her spine. She looked nervously at him while his fingers buried themselves into her dark curls and released them from the clip they were held in.

“There my darling. Now you are comfortable.” He murmured, almost as an afterthought. He still wasn’t looking at her – he was idly stroking one particular ringlet round his big, strong, brown finger. Sophie had a sudden feeling of being held on a leash, like a dog. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Mehmet looked directly at her and then released her hair. Her breathing was coming in quick, short bursts and her pussy felt like it was on fire. Being in this close proximity to Mehmet, in his home, when he looked like a God, was doing unacceptable things to her body. Her nipples were hard, tight little bullets poking through the thin lace of the white bra she wore. Her buttocks were clenching and unclenching and she could feel the inner walls of her pussy convulsing with desire. Her moist lips parted and she moved her tongue over the top one, biting gently to stop herself saying something.

“Go into that wooden dresser. Third drawer down. Bring back what you find.”

Sophie stood, slightly shakily, and followed Mehmet’s orders. She found an antique looking box of long, dark brown, thick cigars. In her hands they looked obscene – when she handed one to Mehmet it looked like a thin stick in his huge manly hands. He laughed and handed it back to her.

“You don’t know how to give a man his cigar properly? Your Father never taught you?” He asked amused, laughing at her discomfort. She reddened instantly and looked down and started mumbling about being a strictly non-smoking family. Mehmet enjoyed her unease, and then gave her the instructions she needed while she stood in front of him.

“You put it in my mouth – here, you see, and then get the matches and you light it for me. Keep the light there until it is good. Then you thank me.” Sophie did as she was told. She placed the end of the cigar in his mouth – being that close she could smell his aftershave mixed with his sweat on his stubbly jawline. It was intoxicating. Musky, manly, and very overwhelming. Sophie’s trembling fingers picked up the box of matches and managed to light one. She leaned down and held the light to the end of his cigar, waiting while he drew the smoke deeply into his lungs and then lazily blew out a stream. She felt his warm breath and the smoke completely envelop the top half of her body. Unsure what to do now her task was complete, Sophie stood there. Then she remembered.

“Uh, thanks…thank you.”

Mehmet looked steadily at her, she was still standing in front of him while he leaned back and relaxed with his brandy and cigar.

“Is that how you say thank you?” he asked dangerously softly.

Sophie felt her pussy tingle. She was terrified some of her juices would run down the inside of her thighs and he would smell her.

“No Sir. Sorry Sir. Thank you for teaching me how to light a man’s cigar Sir.” Mehmet nodded slowly in approval. She was a fast learner.

“You may sit back down next to me, little girl. After we play a little game. Do you like games, Sophie?” he asked. Sophie said, “I used to Sir. When I was a little girl. I used to like hide and go seek.” She blushed again.

“Ah I see. Well this game is slightly different. I am concerned that you do not properly respect men, I am concerned that since your Father left you have had no role model to help you. Your safety is very important to me Sophie my darling, and you are a beautiful woman. I would not like to see you get taken advantage of.”

Sophie said “I agree Sir it has been difficult. I have tried my best.” She looked down again, uncertain as to what was next.

Mehmet was not unsure. He said,

“The first thing you need to do is realise who you are, and what you have to offer. I think a simple question and answer game would work for this my darling. But I do not want you to get tired. You may kneel.”

Sophie said “Thank you Sir” and gingerly knelt down on the wooden floor in front of him. She said “The floor is very hard, please can I have a cushion?” Mehmet’s response was swift and unexpected. He reached down and pulled Sophie’s bottom lip with two fingers, stretching it out so she couldn’t speak. She looked at him with frightened eyes and her hands automatically flew up to his wrist. He was far too strong for her and barely noticed her attempts to wrest his fingers away from her pouting lip. She could smell the cigar smoke and brandy on his breath as he leant forward and menacingly whispered,

“You ungrateful bitch. I am giving up my time to help you – and you want to put one of my beautiful expensive cushions on the dirty floor where my feet go? All because your knees hurt? And you forgot to address me properly – do not make me change my mind about handing you over to my associates Sophie. I assure you they are not nearly as patient with stupid English sluts as I am.” He looked her in the eyes and the hard set of his mouth told her he was not playing around.

Sophie gasped and tried to think rationally. Her pussy felt like it had 10,000 volts of electricity coursing through it. She could barely breathe she was so aroused.

“Now, I will allow you to apologise and we will continue with your education.” Mehmet said softly and released his grip on her lip. It pinged back to her face throbbing with pain and the rush of blood. It felt a but numb and she wasn’t sure she could speak properly.

“Yeth thir, thorry shir. I will try to be a good girl thir.” Sophie managed. Mehmet’s cock was like a rod of steel looking into her beautiful blue eyes that were already tearing up as pathetically thanked him through the lisp he’d given her for making her feel shit about herself. She was almost too easy.

“First, we will start with the basics. I am Sir. You are whatever I like to call you. Mostly you are slut. But it is important to me that you understand I will call you only the names I know will help you my honey. It will be good for you to hear how much of a whore you are, what a dirty slut you are and what a needy cockhungry cumwhore you are. The sooner you accept your subservient position as a mindless English slut addicted to having a superior Turkish prick rammed down your throat, the easier this will be my darling. Do you understand, slut?”

Sophie nodded breathlessly through tear filled eyes. Her mascara was starting to smudge already, her lips bitten and her face felt numb. “Yes Sir, thank you Sir.”

Mehmet leaned down and stroked her cheek softly. She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation. Suddenly, he slapped her hard across the face. She cried out and grabbed her stinging cheek. She looked at him with fear and mistrust in her eyes. But then;

“Thank you Sir.”

“You are welcome. A good lesson for you to learn is that your body is secondary only to what men want to do with it. Sometimes we will have stressful day, we will be angry. We need a punchbag. You are that punchbag darling. Sometimes we will hurt you for sexual pleasure, sometimes we will simply hurt you because we are angry. A good whore will always be grateful for the attention and thank her Master accordingly afterwards. Yes?”

She nodded submissively – incredibly turned on by what she was hearing. Mehmet looked satisfied.

“Ok, good. Now, you will humiliate yourself for my entertainment my darling. Crawl on your hands and knees like a dog to that cupboard. In the bottom shelf you will find a red pen. Bring it back between your teeth, like a puppy.”      “Yes Sir”

Sophie obeyed without thinking about her. Her gushing pussy at this point was squelching in her knickers, and she was sure he could hear or smell it. Sophie crawled to the drawer, and returned with the pen in her mouth.

“Ok, now remove your shirt. Write ‘whore’ on your chest. “

Sophie removed her shirt quickly, discarding it next to her. She felt like her breasts might strain out of her bra she was so aroused. Taking the pen, she carefully wrote the word ‘whore’ inbetween her breasts. Mehmet smile at what she had done. He said,

“Face the mirror, whore.” He knelt behind her and removed her bra. The cold air hit her nipples like ice and she shivered. Mehmet reached around with both hands, looking at her in the mirror. He began to manipulate both nipples at the same time. His thumb was three times the size of one of her pink rosy buds. Sophie gasped looking at the stark contrast of his huge, hairy and dark skinned hands mauling her pale, firm breasts. He whispered in her ear,

“These tits are slut’s tits. These are the titties that English women have when they want to be treated like a slut. You want these tits to be twisted, tortured, slapped, bitten and suckled. Your tits now belong to the restaurant my honey. They are our property as much as the furniture. If a customer comes in and has a bad day, you will present your slutty worthless white tits to him and beg him to abuse them until he feels more relaxed. You will repeat to him that he is a God and you are a worthless piece of shit. You will thank him for even looking in your direction. Isn’t that right slut?”

Sophie was openly moaning and gasping at this point, her swollen breasts responding to Mehmet’s expert touch. He had clearly fondled a lot of young women’s breasts in his time. He was controlling them perfectly, flicking the nipples, squeezing and touching the underside of her tits and pinching the nipples outwards from the breast. Sophie thought she was going to cum when he leaned over her shoulder and slowly and deliberately spat on her left nipple. He whispered in her ear,

“You disgusting, perverted whore. You are a worthless cock-hungry slut and your tits are mine. I am going to pass you around the entire restaurant on a platter and allow men to cum all over your tits. You’d like that, wouldn’t you whore?”

Sophie was moaning loudly and squirming at this point, looking directly into the mirror and watching Mehmet abuse her tits that had the word whore scrawled across them in red pen. She didn’t know if it was possible to cum just from having her nipples played with but she didn’t think she was far off. Her black skirt had ridden up to her thighs, and her hair was bouncing around her exposed shoulders. With one hand, Mehmet gripped the front of her throat, his strong muscular tanned arm practically covering her entire torso. Her creamy pale tits jiggled as he slowly choked her, gripping her neck with one hand, and slapping alternate breasts with the other. Sophie was gasping for air at this point and trying to grab his hand away from her neck. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she felt a mini orgasm rush through her as Mehmet choked her and slapped her abused titflesh harder and harder.

“Cum for me now Sophie. Cum for me like the English slut whore you are. Cum for my while I abuse your slutty tits and choke you like you deserve. Make yourself cum while you look at whore written on your tits and a man 15 years older treats you like a ragdoll. Cum now you filthy fucking whore”

Sophie shook with emotion as she ground her legs together and squeezed her clit with her thighs – it was happening. She was cumming and he hadn’t even touched her there. Sophie screamed out and shook, her entire body went limp and she fell back into him. Her senses returned and she could smell his aftershave and his sweat, and feel his breath on her neck. Mehmet gently released his grip on her and carried her over to the sofa. He lay her down on her side, the cool leather felt nice against her burning skin. Her colour was starting to return and while she felt overwhelmed with what had just happened, her body was still adjusting to all the endorphin’s rushing around thanks to her orgasm. Mehmet went to get a large glass of water, a blanket and a cushion. He came back to where Sophie was laying on the sofa, kissed her gently on the forehead and stroked her hair behind her ears. He said,

“Lift your hips up for me Sophie. We are going to take off your skirt and then wrap you up in this blanket. You need to feel safe now.”

She obediently raised her hips and wriggled out of the useless and soaking wet garment. Mehmet’s warm strong hands rubbed her trembling legs up and down and instantly comforted her. He placed the cushion beneath her head and brought the water to her lips.

“Please drink some of this Sophie. I am going to go into kitchen downstairs and make you favourite food my darling. I will leave this water here and you must drink it all by time I come back. I bring very sweet tea with me when I do. You have been a very, very good girl and I am very pleased with you.”

Sophie snuggled into the blanket, sleepily nuzzling into the soft cushion he had brought her. She felt completely satisfied, and very safe. As she lay there, she could hear Mehmet grilling a steak just how she liked it and making up a plate of meats and cheeses. She felt like the luckiest girl in the whole world.