Oh My God free porn video

It all started when I was surfing online one day while the k**s were at school and I was home sick. I came across a website where people can create their own blogs and post pictures anonymously. As you might suspect, it has devolved into mostly porn. I was feeling a little horny, which was unusual for me at the time, so I decided to explore.

I came across a blog (I won't name it) which focused on humiliating women sexually. The women were called fuckpigs or sows. There were pictures and videos depicting women performing all sorts of depraved and degrading activities.

They even drank urine.

Of course, I closed the blog quickly and went back to surfing my usual sites, looking for sales at the stores I frequented, ordering stuff for my k**s, etc.

But I kept thinking about the things those women were doing.

I went back to that blog.

I never thought of myself as a sexual prude, but some of the things these women did I had never even heard of. Who would think of putting a funnel in a woman's mouth so a guy can pee in to it?

I noticed that several images depicted different women in a similar pose. They were naked and collared and stood with their legs wide apart and their hands laced behind their heads. Their pussies were always shaved. They were looking directly in to the camera and smiling. Written across their breasts in large red letters was the same word:

F U C K P I G

I was amazed that women would pose like and post the picture online. Showing their faces!

It gradually dawned on me that these were not porn stars. These pictures had been sent in by people who came to look at the site. People just like me. They were amateurs, not professionals.

I wondered if they were fans of the site and instead of sending fan mail, they sent in pictures of themselves. But why would they show their faces?

I kept scrolling through the site, mesmerized. I realized I was becoming aroused. I rarely masturbated back then, but I felt my hand being drawn down to my crotch. I was sitting right there at my computer in my night gown, alone in the house. Without even realizing what I was doing, I began to rub my clit with my left hand while I continued to surf with my right.

I watched a video of a woman pissing in to her own mouth as she lay on the floor with her legs up.

I watched a clip of a woman slurping cum out of another woman's asshole.

I watched a video of a woman having her bald pussy whipped with a belt.

That was when I came.

After that, I was off to the races. I kept going back to my blogs. One blog led to another, each more depraved than the last. There were dozens of blogs whose primary focus appeared to be the systematic sexual degradation of women.

I couldn't get enough of it.

I began to masturbate at work in the ladies room, looking at these blogs on my iPhone. At one point, I was doing it five times a day. My clit was sore every night when I went to bed with my husband.

I began to fantasize about acting out some of the scenes I witnessed.

After a few glasses of wine, I approached my husband to see if he would be interested in some role-play. You know, maybe tie me up and give me a spanking?

Disaster.

He just wasn't in to it. He kept saying he loved me, why would he want to hurt me?

I went back to masturbating to that website and my blogs.

I noticed that all the blogs had a little envelope you could click if you wanted to send a message to the blog owner. One day, I clicked on it to see what would happen. It turned out you had to create an account on the website if you want to message back and forth using this system. I quickly closed the window. I wasn't ready to take that step.

The next day I created my account.

I didn't post any pictures, of course, but now I could communicate with the other blog owners.

Inevitably, inexorably, I was drawn back to the original blog I had first encountered. The home page contained a brief description of the blog. I remembered this one because it had struck a chord in me when I had first read it. Here the blog owner had written, "Always looking for new sows to train. I will teach you to be the fuckpig you know you really are. Online or in person, message me to explore your deepest, darkest submissive fantasies. Discretion guaranteed."

It was a weekend and I was alone in the house, which is rare. I was feeling a little frisky, which was not rare at all. I looked up at the little envelope icon. Could I really do this? Could I send a message to some stranger and ask him to train me as a fuckpig?

Apparently, I could, because that's exactly what I did.

"Hi, I might be interested in online training, but I'm married and I don't want my husband to find out," is what I wrote.

I was very careful to specify the "online" nature of my request. I had no intention of actually cheating on my husband. Back then, the idea seemed utterly abhorrent. That sentimentality seems so quaint now.

At first, I received no reply and I immediately felt like an idiot. The guy was probably some pimple-faced teenager whacking off in his mother's basement.

Still, I kept checking my inbox almost every minute all afternoon. I was just about to give up when I saw that I had a message.

My hand was literally shaking as I clicked on the little envelope icon.

"Hello, darling. Of course I would accept you for training. I love to train married sows. And don't worry, hubby will never find out. I personally guarantee it."

He also sent me his ID for one of the free chat services, so we could chat online. His ID was Sow_trainer.

As I looked at the screen, I realized my pussy was actually pulsating. This was really happening. I reached down and rubbed myself through my panties. I came immediately. That had never happened before.

I quickly logged on to the chat service and created an account. I chose "MILF_Sow" as my username.

Just typing in my username got me wet again.

I clicked on the compose icon and entered "Sow_trainer" in the address box.

"Hi. It's me. I'm the one who just messaged you on tumblr about fuckpig training."

I swallowed hard and began to breathe heavily while typing in the word "fuckpig." My hands were still shaking.

I immediately received a reply.

Sow_trainer: Oh yes. The married sow. How are you today, dear?

MILF_Sow: Good. And you?

I felt vaguely ridiculous making small talk with a stranger who was going to train me as a fuckpig.

Sow_trainer: I'm well, dear. Thank you. And it's sir. Your first lesson is that I am called sir at all times.

MILF_Sow: Oh, sorry, sir. I didn't know.

Sow_trainer: No problem, dear. Second lesson, you are not an "I". Human beings use that pronoun. You are a fuckpig. You will refer to yourself as "this fuckpig." Is that understood?

My pussy was literally gushing as I read this note. I looked down between my legs and noticed a dark stain on the back of my khaki skirt. That had certainly never happened before. I would have to change before the k**s got home.

MILF_Sow: Yes, sir. This fuckpig is sorry sir. Please forgive it.

I thought using the "it" pronoun was a nice touch, but he didn't seem to notice.

Sow_trainer: No worries, fuckpig. Are you alone?

MILF_Sow: Yes, sir, this fuckpig is alone in the house.

Sow_trainer: I assume you have been masturbating.

I blushed crimson, even as I became more aroused than ever.

MILF_Sow: Yes, sir. This fuckpig masturbated twice this morning.

Sow_trainer: A fuckpig is only permitted to masturbate if it has permission from its owner. I don't recall giving you permission.

MILF_Sow: This fuckpig is sorry, sir. It didn't know it had an owner this morning.

Sow_trainer: So you admit you masturbated without permission.

MILF_Sow: Yes sir. This fuckpig is sorry, sir.

Sow_trainer: I think twenty strokes should suffice for your first offense.

MILF_Sow: This fuckpig does not understand, sir.

Sow_trainer: Twenty strokes on your bare cunt with a wooden spoon.

I looked at the screen with disbelief. Did he really think I would actually do that? I almost logged off right there and then. Who did this guy think he was?

He's your owner, said a small voice in the back of my mind.

I paused. That was a good point. I had asked him to train me. Fuckpigs are supposed obey their owners. Even I knew that.

Incredibly, as I thought about the mechanics of actually doing it, my arousal increased even further. I had never spanked my own cunt, but now there was a fire starting inside myself that I simply could not control. After a few more seconds, I realized I wanted nothing more in this world than to spank my pussy with a wooden spoon for this complete stranger.

I saw my hands reach out to the key board. They seemed no longer to be attached to my body.

MILF_Sow: Yes, sir. This fuckpig will go get the spoon.

Believe it or not, I did just that.

I jumped up from the chair and bolted in to the kitchen.

When I got back to my desk, I pulled off my panties and rested them on the desk. I noticed they were saturated.

MILF_Sow: This fuckpig is back, sir. It has a spoon. It also took its panties off and has its legs spread.

Sow_trainer: Splendid. You are a fast learner, whore. Just place your panties in your mouth, then you may begin.

I looked over at my panties on the desk. The entire crotch was dark with my secretions. Suddenly it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to suck on my panties while I spanked my cunt. I hesitated for only a second, then bunched them up and stuffed them in my mouth. The taste was pungent, but not unpleasant.

I pulled up my top to expose my tits and hiked up my skirt up above my hips to stop it from getting further stained with my juices, which were running down my thighs like a stream after a storm.

Then I spanked my cunt.

I did it hard and very deliberately. I waited a long time between each stroke. I didn't cheat because I didn't want to. I was surprised to find that I liked the pain. It was real. It was there.

In no time, my twenty strokes were over. My belly and chest were covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. My entire vulva was on fire.

I had never felt more alive.

MILF_Sow: Done, sir.

Sow_trainer: Good job, sow. You may now beg me to let you play with my cunt.

MILF_Sow: You mean my cunt, sir?

Sow_trainer: No, you dumb cow. I own your cunt now. It doesn't belong to you anymore. Understood?

MILF_Sow: Yes, sir. Sorry sir. This fuckpig apologizes for being so dumb.

Sow_trainer: No problem, whore. Now beg.

I took a minute to think.

MILF_Sow: Sir, please let this worthless fuckpig play with your cunt. It is so grateful that you have accepted such a useless sow for training. It wants to celebrate by masturbating for your amusement. Please, sir.

Sow_trainer: Well, done, cunt. You may play with yourself, but don't cum without permission. Tell me when you are close.

I put the first two fingers of my left hand in my vagina and used the thumb on the same hand to rub my clit. I had discovered that this was the best way to get myself off. In less than a minute, I was close.

MILF_Sow: This sow is close to cumming, sir.

Sow_trainer: That's a good fuckpig. Cum for your new owner. Then you will be mine. But don't forget you're a my sow now. Fuckpigs oink when they cum. Loud as they can.

As the words sunk in, my humiliation became complete.

I exploded.

I oinked.

I was lost.

We chatted online every day. Sometimes at home. Sometimes at work. I did everything he ordered me to do without question. I became addicted to being humiliated and degraded by him.

I was never allowed to wear panties and always had to wear a dress or skirt. Never pants. I shaved my pussy. I bought a butt plug and several dildos.

He told me fuckpigs don't have breasts, they have udders. He told me I had three cunts: an upper cunt (my mouth), a lower cunt (pussy) and a hind-cunt (my asshole). He told me he owned all my holes and nobody was to use them without his permission.

My owner controlled every aspect of my sexuality. I was not permitted to masturbate without his permission. One time he made me go two weeks without cumming, even though I had to play with myself at least three times each day.

He made me ask permission if I wanted to have sex with my husband. My owner told me which holes I could use on each occasion. He made me try anal sex for the first time. He said he was thinking about ordering me to seduce one of my female friends so I could learn to eat pussy.

He made me masturbate at work at my desk and in the ladies room with someone in the next stall. He made me masturbate in the powder room when we were visiting my parents and the whole family was eating dinner just outside the door.

He made me drink my own piss.

He made me wear a butt plug to work and had me play with myself under the table during meetings.

Then he began to ask for pictures. He wanted proof that I was obeying his commands.

I sent everything he asked for. I was careful never to show my face, but I sent the pictures he requested:

Me with three fingers up my cunt.

Me drinking a bowl of my own piss.

Me sucking my butt plug clean.

Me practicing my deepthroat training with my largest dildo.

Me with a clothes pin on my clit.

Me with clothes pins on my udders and FUCK PIG written across my chest in big letters with red lipstick.

Then one day my owner informed me that fuckpigs-in-training should not be allowed to use their hands or fingers when they masturbate. He began to train me to hump myself against various inanimate objects, such as shoes, shampoo bottles, pillows and furniture. This is the only way I would be permitted release until I was told otherwise. It wasn't easy, but I figured it out.

Thus began my torrid affair with the dining room table.

It turned out the best approach was to get down on all fours and back myself up against one of the table legs. By lifting my leg slightly, like a male dog about to pee, I was able to get just enough pressure on my slit and clit. I would then rock myself back and forth, grinding my vulva against the hard surface. I became very good at it. It only takes me about ten minutes to cum each time now. I oink when I cum. I always do.

Part of my training was to keep up with my owner's blog. Each day I had to log in and view all of his posts. He continued to post all the images he could find depicting women being degraded, humiliated and debased.

Once in a while, not often, there would be a new picture of an amateur woman with FUCKPIG written across her chest. Many of these women were showing their faces in the picture, smiling at the camera. These images never failed to amaze me. Why would these women do that? Wouldn't your life be ruined?

After about two months, my owner suggested we meet.

At that point, I was so brain-washed, I should have agreed without hesitation, but something held me back.

Online play aside, I still had never cheated on my husband and I didn't want to start now. I was also concerned about privacy. Despite all of our activities, I had never told my owner my full name. He had never even asked. I didn't know his name and he didn't know mine. I wanted to keep it that way.

I expressed these concerns to my owner.

He told me not to worry. We would not need to exchange names. He just wanted to meet for an "inspection." I would be naked, collared and plugged. All he wanted to do was inspect his property, then watch me hump myself against a chair while he held my leash.

I still hesitated, but after a while I relented. To be honest, I was totally turned on by the idea of meeting my owner and putting on a show for him. It wasn't cheating, I told myself, it was fuckpig training.

He told me to meet him at a motel off the highway approximately equidistant from where we both lived.

On the day of our meeting, I called in sick. After the k**s were off to school and my husband left for work, I quickly showered, shaved my cunt and picked out my clothes. My owner had ordered me to dress as slutty as possible with a low cut blouse and very short skirt with no panties. I was also told to where the medium butt plug. I was ordered to bring my collar and put it on in the car when I got to the motel.

Before leaving, I dutifully checked my owner's blog. There was a new picture of a fuckpig I had never seen before. She was fit and blond and smiling directly at the camera. She had the usual FUCKPIG stenciled across her chest. She also had something written above her pussy. I had never seen this before. When I looked closely, I could see the "#2" had been written on her vulva, probably with a black sharpie. I wondered what that meant for a few seconds, then I looked at the clock. I was running late. I logged off and grabbed my collar and car keys.

I was wet as I pulled my car in to the space in front of the motel door. Room 124. I still remember the number.

I checked my make-up in the rear-view mirror, then picked up my collar from the passenger seat and buckled it around my neck. I stepped out of the car and walked up to the door, holding my purse in one hand. I knocked once and the door opened immediately.

There was my owner.

He was about six feet tall and looked to be in his mid-thirties. He had close-cropped brown hair and lively green eyes. When he smiled, his white teeth were straight and his expression was welcoming. All in all, he was a very attractive man.

He seemed nice.

"Hello fuckpig, so nice to meet you dear," he said holding out his hand.

"Nice to meet you too, sir," I beamed as I stepped in to the cheaply furnished room.

"I see you dressed appropriately for a whore," he said, still smiling.

"Yes, sir. I hope you like it, sir," I said meekly.

"I do indeed, fuckpig," he said amiably, then clapped his hands together. "Let's get started, shall we? I have some meetings in the city this afternoon. Please strip and assume the inspection position."

I knew all my slave positions.

In seconds, I was naked and standing in the middle of the room with my legs spread wide and my hands laced behind my head. He let me stand there for over a minute while he checked his email on his phone. I was conscious of the plug stretching my ass.

Finally, my owner put down his phone and picked up a crop off the bed. He began to circle me slowly. He examined me carefully, tracing the crop up and down my body slowly. I was in good shape, with firm breasts and a flat belly. My legs were lean and well-defined. I enjoyed being on display for him.

He flicked each nipple lightly, then ran the crop down my belly and rested the tip on my clit.

I almost came.

"Wider," he said curtly. "Present my cunt."

I spread my legs further, then tilted my pelvis so my pussy would be more accessible. I felt the lips part slightly. I had never felt so vulnerable and exposed.

It was the single most erotic moment of my life.

My owner gently drew the tip of the crop down my slit, pushing the thin square of leather between the lips of my dripping pussy. Then he began to lightly pat my cunt with the crop.

"Whose pussy is this?" he asked evenly.

"Yours, sir," I breathed.

He stopped patting my pussy and again placed the tip of the crop at the base of my slit. This time he pulled it upward toward my clit, dragging the tip slowly within the folds of my cunt.

He held the tip in front of my face. It was shiny with my juices.

"Clean," he said, pushing the thin square of leather in to my mouth.

He looked in to my eyes as I licked, then sucked the tip clean.

"What are you?" he asked.

"I'm your fuckpig, sir," I murmured around the square of leather in my mouth.

"Are you going to put a show on for me, fuckpig?"

I continued to suckle the tip of the crop. I realized I was moaning involuntarily.

I had never been more aroused. Being used in real-life was a thousand times better than playing online. This was real. I was surprised at the depth of my emotion. It was as if I had suddenly developed a new sense and perceived for the first time a new dimension of existence. I guessed this was what they called "sub-space." My legs were trembling.

Eventually, he pulled the tip out of my mouth. Then he reached out and cupped my chin with his right hand.

"I asked you a question, cunt," he said sharply.

I pulled myself together.

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir. This fuckpig would love to put on a show for you, sir."

He walked over to the cheap desk chair and pulled it toward the middle of the room.

"This should do," he said matter-of-factly. "Beg me to let you masturbate, please."

I remained in my inspection position as I spoke.

"Sir, please let this worthless cunt masturbate. I promise to put on a good show for you, sir."

"How are you going to masturbate, you stupid cow?" he asked harshly.

"I'm...I'm going to hump this chair for you sir."

"Then ask properly."

I paused.

"Please let this worthless fuckpig hump the chair for your amusement, sir," I said softly.

"Get to it, cunt."

He grabbed me by the collar and pulled me to the chair. I didn't have to be told twice. I was aching for release.

By this time, I was an expert at humping furniture. Sizing up the chair, I quickly realized the best approach for this particular piece of furniture would be to stand over the chair sideways and lower myself on to the wooden back rest. I would keep one foot on the floor and the other on the seat of the chair as I squatted. It looked to be just short enough that I could ride it like a wooden pony.

I carefully turned the chair and began to get in to position.

"Hold it," said my owner sternly. "I want to put these on first."

I looked over at my owner. He was holding up a pair of handcuffs.

"I think it would look hot to see you hump the chair with your hands cuffed behind your back."

I hesitated for a moment. This was not in the script.

He seemed to sense my disquiet.

"Or forget it. No big deal," he said casually, tossing the handcuffs on the bed.

I looked over at the cuffs and thought about it for a few more seconds.

"No, it's okay sir. If that's what you want, please do it. You own me. I will do as I'm told," I said softly.

Then I said the three words which will haunt me for the rest of my life.

"I trust you," I said meekly, picking up the handcuffs and giving them to my owner.

I positioned myself over the chair and placed my hands behind my back.

My owner quickly walked up behind me and expertly locked the handcuffs on my wrists. I winced involuntarily as I felt the cold steel encircle each wrist and heard the mechanism zip in to place.

Then everything changed.

My owner's smile disappeared. He stood in front of me as I held myself poised over the chair. My hands were cuffed securely behind my back, so my balance felt very precarious. He grabbed my under the chin and tilted my face up until our eyes met.

"Oh, dear. You just went down the wrong rabbit hole, my sweet little fuckpig," said my owner with a laugh.

Then he let go of my face and walked over to the closet door and opened it.

There was a naked woman on her knees inside. She had what appeared to be a burlap sack over her head. He pulled off the bag, revealing the face of a pretty thirty-something blond. He pulled her up roughly by the thick black collar she wore around her neck.

"You can come out, 2. Let's get started. This one was even easier than you were."

I stared at them both mutely. I was still squatting over the chair. The height was perfect. All I had to do was lower myself on to the wooden spine of the back and I could get started. I couldn't understand what was happening. Didn't he want to see my show? Who was that girl? Was she going to watch too?

I noticed that the woman had FUCKPIG written across her chest in big block letters with red lipstick.

My owner was standing over me. I opened my mouth to ask what was going on.

That was when I recognized the girl.

I had seen her this morning. On my owner's blog. She had been smiling at the camera with the words FUCKPIG emblazoned across her chest. I looked down at her pussy. There was the number "#2."

I was temporarily speechless.

"Welcome to your new life, fuckpig. I own you now. For real," said my owner.

As he spoke, the other woman was going through my pocket book. In a moment, she had my wallet in her hand. She pulled out my driver's license and handed it to my owner.

He read me my name.

I struggled against my bonds, trying to wiggle my hands out of the cuffs, but they wouldn't budge. This couldn't be happening I thought desperately. This must be a joke.

My owner roughly pulled me off the chair and stood me up straight. He had one hand holding the chain of the handcuffs and one palming the back of my head. I couldn't move.

"Let's get her labeled," said my owner brusquely to the other woman.

"Yes, sir," she said softly as she approached.

I noticed she was holding a tube of red lipstick and a black sharpie.

Without preamble, she began to write something across my chest using the red lipstick.

I couldn't look down to see the letters, but I didn't need to. I knew what she was writing.

F U C K P I G

Now I knew where he got those pictures for his blog. The implications exploded in my mind. My shoulders sagged.

I was caught. My life was ruined.

I began to sob quietly.

The blond slave squatted and I felt the cold tip of the sharpie writing something above my shaved cunt. My owner let go of my head. I looked down.

"#6" was written on my bare vulva in thick black magic marker.

My owner sat down beside me.

"This is what's going to happen," he said softly, almost kindly.

"I now own you. I am going to train you as a real-life fuckpig. You're the sixth fuckpig I have captured using this scam. I can't believe how dumb you cunts are."

I looked over at the other woman. She was on her knees, her eyes on the floor.

"I am going to take twelve pictures of you today. You will stand and smile at the camera for each one."

I looked over at him and sniffed loudly.

"Why would I smile?" I asked defiantly. "You're just going to post them on your blog and ruin my life."

He put his hand on my knee and smiled.

"Wrong, fuckpig. As long as you obey me, none of the pictures will be posted. Ever."

I felt a spark of hope. Maybe there was a way out.

"For how long?" I asked quietly, looking down at the floor.

"For each month of obedience, I will delete one of the pictures from my phone. I'll let you do the math," he said evenly.

"Then I'll be free?" I asked. A faint beacon of hope began to flicker in my mind. How bad could it be?

"Then you'll be free," he said softly, patting my knee.

My owner stood and looked down at me.

I looked up in to his eyes.

"What about my husband and my family? They can't find out," I said desperately.

My owner smiled. He could sense me wavering.

"Don't worry fuckpig, I will not interfere with your vanilla life. Nobody will ever know you served me. You will be kept hooded when you are used by others. People don't want to see your face anyway. You're just a fuckpig now."

Used by others? Incredibly, I felt a quickening in my loins as he described using me as some kind of anonymous fuck puppet.

"Think of it as penance," he said softly. "After all, you're the one who thought it would be a good idea to meet a stranger in a motel room and have sex with a piece of furniture behind your husband's back. Don't you think it's fair that you should suffer the consequences for your own behavior?"

I felt my face burning.

I sat quietly for a few seconds. Then I looked over at the woman on her knees. Something occurred to me.

I had seen her picture on the blog that day.

"Wait a minute," I said. "I saw her picture on the blog this morning. I'm sure of it. If you don't post the pictures, how did it get there?"

My owner rubbed his hands together.

"Ah. Now the details. I said I would not post any of the pictures as long as you obey me. This is true."

He stood and walked over to the kneeling slave.

He reached down and looped a finger through the large D-ring on her collar.

"Fuckpig #2 is a school teacher from New Jersey. Married with k**s, just like you."

He patted the slave on the head lightly.

"I caught her the same way I got you. She was bored and frustrated. She wanted to add a little spice to her life. She contacted me through my blog. You know the rest. I have owned her for almost a year. She has been a wonderful slave."

I looked over at the woman. She remained kneeling with her head bowed.

"Then why did you post her picture?" I asked reasonably.

"She was disobedient. Her old college roommate was visiting last weekend. I know this slave is straight and does not like to eat pussy, so naturally I ordered her to seduce her old friend and take pictures for my amusement. She failed. To me, this means she didn't try hard enough. She was disobedient, so I posted one of her pictures."

He continued to pet the slave absently as he spoke.

"It's actually the last one I have of her. She has been quite an obedient slave for eleven months. Only one month to go and she will be free."

At that the slave leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her owner's legs.

"No sir, never!" she wailed. "I will serve you always."

My owner pushed her gently away. He smiled down at the beautiful blond.

"They all say that," he said softly as he gently smoothed out her hair. "Some stay, some go."

He walked back over and sat next to me on the bed.

Something still wasn't right. It didn't add up.

"I don't get it," I said. "If you've already put her up on your blog, what is her incentive to stay? Isn't her life already ruined now? What if someone from work sees her picture?"

My owner smiled.

"The picture will only be posted for a short while, until she atones for her disobedience. There is an excellent chance it will not be re-blogged during that time. Even if it is, she can track the blogger and ask that the image be removed. The key is to get the picture down as quickly as possible, so the numbers stay manageable."

He stopped patting the slaves head and began to stroke her left cheek.

"All she has to do is perform one simple task and I will take the picture down immediately. Her reputation will remain intact," he said gently.

I thought about it for a moment. Things were beginning to make sense. This is why those pictures came and went on his blog with such regularity. The women were his slaves. When they were disobedient, their picture got posted until they made things right.

I looked over at the slave on her knees.

"What does she have to do?" I asked. I was curious, despite myself.

My owner stood up straight. He snapped his fingers and pointed to me. The slave crawled over and sat back on her haunches at my feet.

She looked up at me, her eyes pleading.

"All I have to do is make you cum with my mouth and the picture will be taken down," she said softly. "Please say you'll let me."

I looked down at the woman kneeling at my feet. For a long time, nobody spoke.

"I'm very good," she said desperately. "I've been extremely well-trained. I promise you'll like it. I'll do your ass too if you want."

She was close to babbling now. It was clear that she was on the verge of panic. I thought about how I would feel if I were in her position. I would do anything the get that picture taken down.

I looked up at my owner.

"Are you ordering me to let her do it?" I asked.

His smile widened and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nope. It's your decision, fuckpig," he said as he walked over to the chair and sat down.

I sat there on the bed with the woman at my feet. She was staring up at me longingly, hoping I would give her a signal, anything to indicate my assent.

"Please, ma'am. As one woman to another, I'm begging you. If that picture gets out, I'll lose everything. We don't have much time!"

She straightened herself on her knees, putting a hand on each of my thighs. I felt my pussy start to tingle.

"Look, if you like it, I'll do you whenever you like. You live in Connecticut, right? I'll come over to your house or you can meet me wherever you want. I'll do your friends, too. Male and female. Anytime, anywhere. Just please let me eat you."

I paused for only a few more seconds. What choice did I really have? The poor slave was so desperate.

I was acutely aware that a threshold was about to be crossed.

I was even more aware that I didn't give a shit.

I spread my legs slowly.

That was when I officially became an owned fuckpig.

I know what you're thinking. I was ****d, forced to engage in sexual activities against my will. At the very least, I was coerced.

That's bullshit.

From the moment I felt the tip of his crop against my clit during my inspection, I knew I wanted to give myself completely to my owner. It was thoughtful of him to allow me the pretense of blackmail, but it was completely unnecessary.

The only reason I had been upset initially was that I thought he was going to post the pictures online and ruin my life.

He didn't ruin my life. He saved it.

The fact is, I enjoyed having that slave eat my pussy. Almost as much as I enjoyed eating hers a few minutes later as my new owner fucked me up the ass.

The pictures were a joke, a formality. I smiled in to the camera like a lunatic for each one. I didn't care. I knew they would never be posted. I would never be disobedient.

I was a fuckpig.

I was trained to please men and women in all possible ways. I became a serviceable piss slave. I was conditioned to equate sexual pleasure with pain and debasement.

I can't cum anymore, unless someone is hurting, degrading or humiliating me. Sometimes, I can cum from a cunt whipping alone, especially if a woman is doing it.

I had the #6 tattooed above my cunt. My owner didn't ask me to do this, I did it on my own. When he saw it, he called me a stupid cow and laughed. I told my husband it was my lucky number. I didn't give a shit what he thought, anyway.

My owner was right. My husband never did find out. My duties never interfered with my vanilla life.

At home, I remained the prototypical suburban mom. But at least once a week, I was used like the fuckpig I am. I would get a text or an email with a name and address and I would show up at the appointed time. Sometimes it was a man, sometimes it was a woman. Sometimes it was a couple or a group of people. I didn't care. I did as I was told.

I was a fuckpig.

My incriminating pictures are long gone, of course. My one-year term of service ended over a year ago. I serve now because I want to, because I like being a fuckpig.

Throughout my term of service, my owner continued to ensnare more women in his trap. He has ten fuckpigs in his harem now, but I'm pretty sure I'm his favorite.

That's why I find it so puzzling that he hasn't called me in over two weeks. He's never gone that long without calling or texting before.

He always had a friend or an acquaintance in town who could use me for an hour or two, a quick fuck or blow job in a motel room or back alley. And he loves sharing me with his female friends. I've gotten very good at licking pussy. He also uses me as entertainment at parties. It's always a big hit when I hump the furniture.

I don't get it. I wonder what's going on.

He hasn't responded to any of my texts.

Can it be he has finally carried out one of his many threats?

My owner works in the city. His office is close to mine. When he first acquired me, he made me come over during the noon hour so I could suck his cock while he ate lunch at his desk. Back then, I had no deepthroat skills, so I needed daily training.

Whenever I was called to serve him like this I would crawl under his desk, fully clothed in my conservative business suit and sensible two-inch heels. I would unbuckle his belt and start to worship his cock and balls while he ate or made phone calls.

Between calls, he always liked to toy with me as I sucked and licked, threatening what he would do to me in the future. It amused him to watch me squirm, knowing I would comply with any command, no matter how outlandish.

He threatened to order me to have "worthless cunt" tattooed above the #6 on my vulva. I would have done it. I would have made up some bullshit story to tell my husband about why I did it. I didn't care.

He threatened to have my udders and labia pierced. I would have helped him pick out the jewelry. I don't think my husband would even have noticed.

He threatened to make me seduce my own sister and lure her in to slavery beside me. He said it would be fun to watch us sixty-nine. I would have done it gladly. I even came up with a few ways we could trap her.

He threatened to give me to his dog. God help me, I get so wet when I think about that.

He threatened to make me beg my young secretary if I could pay her money to let me serve as her pussy slave. I've been thinking a lot about that lately.

Then there was the worst threat of all.

He threatened to toss me aside without warning when he got tired of using me.

He said he would just melt away and leave me marooned back in my vanilla life, like a genie trapped in a bottle. I would never see him again. This would be my final degradation.

No, that can't be it.

I think I know what the problem is. He owns too many fuckpigs. Ten is too many. Some of them are a lot younger than me.

Fuckpig #9 is only twenty seven. She's always making snide comments about me whenever we are used together. She says my udders are starting to sag and I'm not as good as she is at eating pussy and sucking cock. I've seen her whispering to my owner.

That cunt.

I know my owner will call eventually. I just need to tip the scale in my favor.

This means I have to stop him from capturing more fuckpigs. So, that's why I'm writing this story, to educate women about this scam. You need to stop falling for his tricks! Don't look at pornographic blogs. Don't apply for online training. Don't meet strangers in seedy motel rooms! Stay away.

I don't need the competition.

Once the pool of talent starts to shrink, I know I will hear from him again. I'm a good little fuckpig. I'll wait.

But I have to be realistic. After all, it has been over two weeks. It's time to activate Plan B. I'm not going back to my vanilla life. Fuck that shit. I need to be used. Tonight's the night.

It's ironic that it was my owner's idea in the first place.

I asked my secretary to stay late at work today to work on reports. Everyone else is gone now.

There are no reports, obviously.

She's only twenty-five years old. I've been watching her a lot lately. She'd be perfect. She's bisexual and has a very active social life, with plenty of boyfriends and girlfriends.

I heard her break up with a girlfriend over the phone the other day, and not in a nice way, so I'm pretty sure she's got a mean streak. In fact, I'm counting on it.