Becoming Bimbo

Special shout out to one of my favorite authors: Toxis. Yours was the first remotely believable story of this genre and the best, so far.

H. Dean

She was caught in a web of deceit; the lie of infidelity. Having hurt the only man she loved, she was willing to do anything to get in his good graces and save her marriage. In so doing, she is willingly led down the path to oblivion.

Becoming Bimbo

Chapter 1

I don't know how it started. No, that's not true. I know how it started. It started with me stepping out on him. But I was lonely and bored. He was out of town on business - like he always was. No, that’s an excuse. He always said I could come with him. There was a standing invitation, he had told me. He even asked me to join him on his trips, telling me it would be good for us and our relationship and how he missed me when he was away. But I never went - I always had an excuse. Then I cheated on him. He found out. Then there was Hell to pay.

He was furious. Of course he was. Who wouldn't be? He threatened to kill me and kill himself and kill ‘the prick who fucked me’. He wept and he yelled, putting his fist through the wall before turning to me and telling me to get out of the house.

“I never want to see your ugly lying face again!” he screamed at me. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

I didn’t leave. Instead, I begged for forgiveness, promising him anything he wanted and telling him how much I loved him. It was a mistake – a night of drunken loneliness and I promised never to do it again. It was a partial lie. He didn’t need to know I had cheated more than once but I was serious about never stepping out again.

“Anything?” he demanded. “Then let’s just see how serious you are!”

He grabbed me and ripped my blouse off, spinning me around and pushing me towards the bedroom. I knew what he wanted. He wanted to fuck me. No, he wanted to rape me – to get back at me for hurting him. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t have it in me to fight.

“Please, “ I begged as he pushed me to the bed. “don’t hurt me.”

He growled at me and ignored my plea.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he said as he flung me around and roughly pulled my jeans off of me.

I was scared. I’m tiny; four feet eleven inches tall and less than a hundred pounds. John could easily kill me without even trying and, angry as he was, there was nothing I could do to stop him.

“Tell me what you want,” I cried. “I’ll do it. Just tell me.”

“Get on your knees then!” he ordered.

I did it. I got on my knees. John ripped off my panties and unintentionally flung me from the bed. I was quick to recover and crawl back onto the mattress.

“I’m gonna fuck you, whore. I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before,” he said. “I promise you’re gonna be walking funny for a month!”

He freed his cock from his pants and grabbed me by the hair, pulling my head back, and shoved it in my mouth. There was no choice. Not that I wanted one. I deserved to be treated this way – like a whore. So I went limp and let him fuck my throat, fighting off the need to gag as best as I could.

“Take it bitch,” he said. There was anger, lust, power and pleasure in his voice. He was high on the power he wielded and, strangely, so was I.

He pulled from my mouth and spun me around, shoving my head into the white of the sheets.

“Did you let him fuck your ass?” he asked, his voice demanding an answer.

“No. I swear it!” I cried out. “Never!”

“Then this will be your first time, cunt!” he growled at me.

Pain ripped through me as he shoved his cock into my ass. I screamed out and then cried as he stretched my hole and started fucking my ass. Never had I felt so full or so helpless as I did at that moment. He was brutal, never slowing for a moment and I thought I might die from the pain. But I deserved it. God help me, I deserved it.

“From now on,” he said, thrusting with each word, “you will do as I say, when I say and how I say. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” I cried out through the tears falling from my eyes.

“Yes what, bitch?” he growled.

“Yes, I understand!”

“Sir, bitch. Say it!” he ordered.

“Yes, Sir,” I cried.

He came in my ass then, grunting out his pleasure and moaning at me what a whore I was. Then, without so much as a word he stormed out of the bedroom, leaving me to my tears.

“Get your ass in here!” he shouted at me.

I nearly ran into the bathroom where he was and kneeled at his command. Gripping my hair, he pulled my head back roughly and shoved his softening cock into my mouth and let loose with a stream of piss. I coughed and pulled back but he pushed me back down and made me drink the fountain of urine. I hated it – the taste, the act, the humiliation – but I had no choice.

“Don’t ever fucking resist me again!” he said. His voice was tinted with angry disdain.

“I won’t. I promise,” I said. Then he left me where I knelt.