I've given some thought to what our first meeting might be like and I know exactly how it will start out. Wherever we should decide to meet, perhaps a coffee shop (this is Seattle, after all), I will be shy. Not normal people shy, but my own special brand of bashful. I won't be able to look you in the eye, trembling and giggling nervously, biting my lip or fingers in my silly, fidget-y way of self-soothing.
You are very understanding, trying your best to engage me in conversation. I am making every effort as well and we manage to make small talk, discussing details of your trip and how our families are doing.
I can feel you watching me as I occasionally look up long enough to catch your gaze then quickly drop my eyes self-consciously back downward.
You've been speaking quite conversationally up to this point but your voice abruptly becomes stern,"Come on, puppyslut. I have plans."
You stand and head out to your rental car without looking back to see whether I've followed. Which I have, my nervousness overriding my natural brattiness which would have normally had me stand in place defiantly at the slightest hint of a command.
Opening the passenger door for me, you place a gentle hand on my back as I step into the car, as if to guide me to my place next to you. I settle into my seat and look up at you for just a moment before the shyness drives my eyes back downward. In that moment, the look on your face is so warm and gentle that I nearly forget what a deviant you are. And I know I am safe. Yet the butterflies in my stomach won’t let me be.
You climb into the driver’s seat and start the car without a word about where we might be headed. I wonder if you even know since you aren’t familiar with the area but the thought immediately gets lost in the rush of emotion when you reach over and stroke my face softly. I instinctively nuzzle my cheek to your hand, eyes closed and content. Your hand moving from my cheek up into my hair to twirl it softly around your fingers until it is wrapped tightly in your fist. I breathe in sharply as you tug and a soft moan falls from my lips.
We pull in to a shack of a building I know to be the local biker bar. I’ve never had the courage to even consider visiting this place and I’m not sure I want to change that. I have a feeling I’m not going to have much of a choice.
Coming around to open my door, you reach in and place a finger under my chin so that I look you in the eye for a moment before helping me out of the car. You can see my reluctance and, in return, I can see you are pleased by it. Closing the door, you press me against the car with your body, arms on either side of me. You can feel my body tremble with the nervousness and arousal of being so near to you, and the worry of what is to come. Directly in my ear, you whisper, “Trust me.”
You lead me inside and to a table near the center of the bar. There are few patrons, seeing as how it is still early in the evening, and they seem to be watching us. Without you having to order, a pair of whiskey shots are set down in front of us and I attempt to impress you by downing mine without hesitation.
"Good girl! Now another," you order, pushing what I'd assumed was your shot into my hand. You know I'm not much of a drinker and almost never do shots so it wont take long to affect me. That familiar warmth is already filling my belly when two more shots arrive. I look you in the eye for perhaps the first time of my own volition tonight and worriedly shake my head. You look at me sternly, nod and shove one of the glasses closer. My bashfulness has subsided some and my willfulness peeks out as I continue to stare you down, my expression becoming one of determination.
It takes no time at all for you to jump up next to me, grab a handful of hair and pull my head back as far as it will go so that you can dump one of the shots into my mouth, already agape from the suddenness of these events. Coughing and trying to spit it out, you cover my mouth so that the only way to rid myself of the whiskey is to swallow it.
When you’re confident I’ve taken it in, you sit back down, still one hand in my hair but with enough slack that I can pull my head upright again. The look in your eye as you hand me the last shot on the table is so intense that I am unable to hold your gaze, instead choosing to focus on the glass. I steady myself for a moment then bring it to my lips and throw it back they way they always do in the movies.
Such a sudden head movement might not have been the best plan after four shots in quick succession. Everything blurs for a few moments and I put my hands out to try to steady myself even though I am seated. In that instant, you point to someone behind me and I feel someone slipping their arms under mine, folding hands behind my neck. I scream and flail about, trying to free myself. This brings laughter from around the bar but no help or even sympathy. It is only then it dawns on me that you’ve set this up. Pulled from my seat, I struggle for footing as I'm dragged backward, finally ending up against the pool table.
Everything is spinning and I can't quite grasp what you mean. Your accomplice has stepped back to leave me a crumpled and dazed heap on the floor.
"Get up, you fucking whore. I want you on the table."
Looking up at it, the table seems dauntingly tall. I begin to pull myself up, but not fast enough.
"Can't hold your liquor? Stupid fucking cunt," you snarl intensely. Your hand wraps around my throat and pulls me upward until I am standing, only to then push me over so that I topple onto the table, twisting so that I end up bent over it.
I stay that way, head in my hands, trying to pull myself together enough to fight back. I feel you stand next to me, your cock already hard and pressing against my hip when you lean over me to whisper in my ear that it wasn’t just whiskey in those glasses. The laugh that follows is pure evil, and yet I can feel my pussy dampen as it rings in my ears. Your hand twists into my hair and I gasp as you jerk my head up and point out my new friends, as you call them. There are probably five or six within my view and I get the feeling that they aren’t planning on playing nice. And I know full well that you don’t, either.
Fingers lift my skirt around my waist to expose my ass and I’m no longer sure if they are yours. My head still pulled up, I watch everyone moving closer and hear them discussing their plans for me as if I were nothing. Your voice invades my head as you lay down the rules for using your puppy. My mind is too fuzzy and filled with fear to be able to follow what you were saying, but it doesn’t escape me how little time it takes to go through them which I know means you aren’t forbidding much.
You let go of my hair just as more hands join the one which lifted my skirt and has been fondling my ass cheeks. I let my head fall back into my hands, effectively covering my eyes which are so blurred and heavy that I might as well simply cover them. Hands on my ass, probing at my cunt, reaching under me to pinch and squeeze my tits mercilessly. I want to fight it but I can’t find the energy to do much more in my d**gged state than whimper and moan, which seems to please several of the guys judging by the comments how much I seem to be enjoying myself.
With no warning at all, a hand comes down on my ass with such f***e that I can barely catch my breath. My right hand flies back instinctively to cover my ass but is instantly twisted up behind my back and I feel someone climb onto the table to sit on it, so not only am I pinned but I can barely breathe as my chest is compressed. I’m not sure if there was some kind of unspoken sign at this point, but it is then that the beating begins. Hands strike both cheeks of my ass in such quick succession that I am sure there are at least two sets, perhaps more. Despite my lack of air, I still manage to let out short screams and squeals as the pain becomes unbearable.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, there is a pause and I am relieved. I soon realize that it is premature as my respite lasts only a minute or two before I feel something solid across both my ass cheeks. My clouded mind is suddenly filled with fireworks and my eyes with tears. My mouth opens as if to scream, but no sound comes out. One of the hands takes advantage and shoves two fingers straight back to my gag reflex, causing my entire body to tense uncomfortably, while the voice attached orders me to suck like a good whore just as another blow falls across my ass. The tears begin to make their way down my cheeks and I am openly sobbing as three more hit, breaking what I’ve realized is a pool cue on the last strike.
The fingers leave my mouth and I am grateful for the quiet moment, though fully aware this time that there is much more planned. It doesn’t take long to discover just what that might be as I feel my ass cheeks being spread and something hard, cold and wet pressing against my asshole. From the murmurs around me, I gather it is the curved end of the broken pool cue. My immediate reaction is to get away but my body still isn’t cooperating and the guy sitting on me doesn’t help. Instead, I try to breathe and relax but there is no way I could be prepared enough for the sudden thrust of the cue deep into my ass. Sadistic laughter fills the room when my response is a drawn out, high-pitched squeal.
I try to kick my legs out but they seem to go nowhere as the cue begins r****g my ass. I don’t even know if it is you who is controlling it but I feel confident it was your idea. I can almost picture your face as you watch it disappear into my asshole, hearing my gasps and whines, knowing I am completely at your mercy; that smug grin and sadistic twinkle which mean you are having the time of your life at my expense. I might have smiled at that mental image if I weren’t on the brink of tears again.
Seemingly harder and deeper with each thrust, I realize the one sitting on my arm is also the one with his hands on the cue as he stands to get more leverage. The joy of freedom is short-lived, quickly over-ridden by the excruciating pain and pressure of what feels like my asshole being torn apart.
A finger wipes the tears from my eyes, not in the sweet way you might see in the movies, but rather in a hard, rough manner which smears my makeup down my face just the way you like. You'd made sure to have me wear plenty of eyeliner and mascara, make myself up as your slut. And right now that is all I am, your filthy slut to be used any way you see fit. As many times as you'd said it to me, I never dreamed it would be quite like this.
Without warning, the cue is extracted from my ass and I feel a strange aching hollowness where it had been. I needn't worry, however, as you step up behind me telling the room of how you had managed to mold this stubborn brat into an obedient puppy without even being in the same city, let alone the same room. Chuckling erupts from several of the observers and I think it is in response to what you've said until I hear you explain that every puppy needs a tail. I know what is coming even before I feel you touch the tip of the puppy tail buttplug to my tortured asshole.
It is true that I’d succumbed to that inner submissive and allowed myself to be called your puppy for some time now, but nothing could have prepared me for the sheer humiliation of this moment. Not only being transformed into an a****l for your pleasure, but having it happen in front of a group of strangers was almost too much to bear. Which I suspect has much to do with your choice to assemble an audience.
I close my eyes tight, half believing I can simply shut out the shame and pain of what is happening. That belief is almost instantly shattered when it becomes obvious just how big the plug is. My already ravaged asshole being stretched further than it has ever before and you lean forward to growl into my ear how you got the extra large one just for your puppy.
My eyes shoot open and a shriek I wouldn't have thought was left in me fills the room as you give up the slow, torturous insertion and savagely shove the last inch in with all your might. You stand back to admire it but realize what is wrong with the picture.
"Up, puppy. Up onto the table."
Patting my ass encouragingly as you say this, I feel a primal need to obey and attempt to bring my legs up onto the table with me but between the d**gs and the abuse, my body has, much like you, ceased to care what I want. I needn't worry, you are impatient and wait barely a beat before shoving three fingers in my cunt like a handle and lifting my ass so that I can get my legs under me, putting me in the all fours position you wanted to see.
"Much better. Now wag it for me. Wag your tail, puppy, so everyone knows how much you love being used like a filthy slut."
I make the tiniest motion with my hips, still unsure how to feel other than fairly certain I want to stay on your good side considering the circumstances. Unfortunately, I fail.
"I said WAG."
Grabbing my tail and pulling my ass widely side to side, the plug straining and threatening to rip its way out. I follow along and continue to wag when you let go, and it sinks in that I am your goddamn puppy no matter how I fight it. This realization overtakes me and the steady stream of tears which have flowed nearly since this began turns to full wrenching sobs of disgrace and self-disgust.
"Beautiful puppy," you whisper in my ear with a mix of soothing and self-satisfaction before shouting out to your audience, "Time?"
"84 minutes," calls back a man in the corner as he begins looking over a sheet of paper, "Matt had it with 80."
"Congratulations, Matt, first shot at this cunt's cunt is yours."