Hi, my name if Faye. My last name isn't “Kane” though, but it's too close for comfort. Google me; I'm real. I'm also real smart—astrophysics smart, but it just makes me a mutant. It's not a “gift”, it's a curse. I'm also autistic, which might explain why I did this. It happened in Brunswick, Maryland, in the fall of 2001.

It was the stupidest thing I ever did. I musty have been out of my mind to do it once, and I will never, ever do it again.

It was WONDERFUL.

DIANE

I met a girl I knew from high school at the Safeway. Diane asked for my number, and later she called me to talk. Normally I never answer my telephone because I'm scared to talk to people, but I knew it was her.

She was remarkably open and comfortable, so much so that she actually made me enjoy talking to her.

To make a long story short, she got married, and they bought an old 1920s house waaay out in the Maryland / West Virginia countryside. We talked about several things, but our conversation eventually turned to sex. I could tell that there was something she was eager to tell me about.

I told her that I had only done it once, in high school. She seemed amazed. It turns out that unmarried people fuck, like, a LOT. I actually didn't know that.

She loves her husband, and her husband loves... to tie her up. He also loves to hang her from the door frame and whip her ...hard. She said that on Saturday mornings, he pulls her nightie off, gags her, blindfolds her, and earplugs her. After he whips and fucks her, he locks her in their bedroom closet bent over with her hands tied to her feet and her ass in the air. Sometimes he ties her to their basement furniture instead.

In just days, I would see that basement furniture for myself.

I was absolutely fascinated, though I didn't want to be nosy. But without (overt) encouragement from me, and over the course of several conversations, she eagerly told me that he leaves her locked in the closet all day, all night, and into Saturday—sometimes even into Sunday.

I didn't think it polite to ask about water and bathrooms. Eventually I did—I wanted to hear everything, and she was only too glad to tell me. She seemed, of all things, to be bragging about it!

After our first conversation, I started imagining him doing things to me. I soon became obsessed with the possibility. It was all I thought about when I rubbed off.

Before hearing all this, I thought only guys talked on the phone and masturbated, but I sure did then. I suspect she knew I was rubbin' the nubbin because she described their playtimes in a long stream while I didn't say anything.

Diane sounded proud of what they did, which I also thought was amazing. Before my religious-like revelation in their basement, I thought people would be ashamed to admit stuff like that. But celebrating the dark feelings that I denied in myself was the nature of my transformation... and hopefully, yours.

We talked for several hours over several days. What follows is the distilled, concentrated good stuff.

He used a ring gag on her, but it made her mouth too dry. They considered duct tape, but she had read a true-crime book about a girl in Australia who was duct-taped like that, and when she was suspended upside-down, she got a stuffy nose and almost suffocated. And it was supposedly her father who did it too her—and not just once, but for years!

God!

I began to see that my understanding of what other people actually do in real life was about two orders of magnitude too conservative. No wonder everyone else is so happy!

They switched to a ball gag, but it made her drool. Eventually they settled on just a thin, mostly symbolic cloth gag that keeps her from speaking clearly. She said it allows her to close her mouth but didn't really muffle her screams much.

“Di, you talk like screaming loud is a good thing.”

“It is, Faith. Screamin' feels GOOD!”

Ever since I was little, my psychotic Mom told me (in essence) that only bad things feel good. Talking to Di, I began to see that Mom wasn't right. In fact, she was very, very wrong; and she stole my life. I began to think seriously about taking it back.

“Didn't the neighbors hear you and call the cops?”

“Naww, we live way out here where they ain't no neighbors.”

The West Virginia redneck dialect looks bad when you read it, but I think it's endearing to hear—probably because I grew up around it. She sounded so sweet! It reminded me of when I was young and in a weird way, happier.

Along with long hair and smoking dope, the rednecks adopted “if it feels good, do it” from the hippies. That simple wisdom seems to have escaped us smart people. At least, it escaped me for my whole life.

In about a week, that would change.

She was made to sit or kneel in their bedroom closet on a week's worth of dirty laundry, blindfolded, handcuffed, gagged, earplugged, and naked. She was immobile and completely helpless until he came back to release her, not knowing whether an hour or a day had passed. The closet became hot, which made her thirsty. It was part of the torture.

I said I was sorry that she had to endure something so horrible, but her answer was the whole key to my eventual enjoyment of sexual torture. It made me want to experience it even more. She said:

"Yeah, I can't stand some of the stuff he does, but when I reemamber that he's doing it 'cause it makes his dick hard and I'm submitting to it for him, and that he's going to fuck me after; that makes it sexy and not bad. And the worse it hurts, the more sexy it is!"

I had never been so turned on in my life. “The hell with academia,” I thought. ”The stupid people know what's important!” All this technology distanced us from our true animal nature. We can't even eat or go to the bathroom without using some kind of clever device.

Di described the maddening, unending silence that was only occasionally punctuated by TV sports, cracking beer cans, muffled talk, country music, and frequent rape. I asked her the predictable questions.

How did she go to the bathroom? Before each “session,” he enemas her so she won't poop in the closet. When her ass is clean, he ties her in a humiliating position and beats it with their whip until she cries. Then he fucks it while she cries, drags her into the closet, and locks her in the dark. It sounded like some kind of strange, redneck ritual, like kissing goodbye before going to work.

Did she have to do without water all that time? No. He hung the enema bag on a hanger and put the other end (which had just been in her ass) into her mouth under her gag. She described drinking from the enema bag as “like putting gas in the truck at the Marathon station, except he fills me up at both ends.”

What about pee? She peed on the laundry pile. Doesn't that make the floor smell? She put a plastic sheet under the laundry, but it doesn't even get wet, so the same one is still there.  She washes the whole pile after he lets her out on Sunday and he fucks her missionary in bed as a triumphant end to another magical weekend.

Then a new week of anticipation starts at their loving home. “Whenever I throw somethin' in the laundry pile, I get all excited to thank about me bein' on it in just a few days.”

She feels that preparing the closet for what she knows he will do to her is sexy, along with nicely laying out the whip and the enema gizmo on their bed before the fun starts.

During the weekends, Di's loving husband only unlocks the closet for one thing. He does it to her right there in the closet, without removing her handcuffs, earplugs, gag, or blindfold. After mounting her from behind and mating her vaginally and/or anally, he padlocks the door again. The whole time, he never speaks. She never knows if it's him or one of his friends fucking her—an uncertainty she described as exciting.

God knows it sounded exciting to me!

“Sometimes he drags me across the floor to the livin' room and they use me for a party game while I'm tied up and blindfolded.”

I never found out exactly what that meant, but I've gotten a lot of rub-mileage from guessing.

She did describe another party though, at someone else's house. Out of nowhere, he told her to take off all her clothes. She was appalled, but slowly obeyed. No one knew she was going to do that, including her or the couple whose house it was. The other people began noticing it, stopped talking, and watched her strip. The music playing made it slightly easier, but otherwise, standing naked in a room of people couldn't possibly be more embarrassing—she thought.

Wrong!

He made her kneel on a chair with her head low, in ass-fuck position. This put her bare sex opening and asshole on display. Her face felt hot and she wondered what people thought of the whip scars on her.

She was at the right height for the guys to fuck her from behind while standing up. She figured that after he beat her with his belt in front of everyone and she was being gang-raped from the rear, she wouldn't feel as self-conscious.

But to her surprise, he told her to do something that made her far more self-conscious.

"Okay, now get up and put your clothes back on.”

As she did, her embarrassment turned into humiliation. As she got dressed, the party continued. Everyone resumed talking and she sat back down. Her hubby was talking to someone else and she sat alone, holding a beer can. After only a couple of minutes, she felt so embarrassed that she couldn't stand it anymore, and they had to leave.

As astounded as I was, apparently a lot of rednecks do this kind of thing. There are even websites about it. If it means that they're less sophisticated and intelligent, then I think evolution is nudging us in the wrong direction.

Anyway, Di eventually told me something he did to her that pushed me over the edge. One morning, he woke her up by roughly pulling off her nightgown on a weekday. He handcuffed her, gagged her, walked her out to their car naked, and locked her in the trunk. She didn’t know where he was taking her, or why. I don't know if she was excited or scared, but both are really just expressions of a deeper emotion that doesn't have a name.

He went back into the house, presumably for breakfast, and she assumed she would be locked in the trunk all day—probably in the sun. But when he came back, he drove to work as usual, to a farm where he's the foreman of the manual laborers. She said that without a soft car seat, the bumps and bangs in the road hit her really hard.

He let her out down the street from the barn. Apparently that's like the headquarters of the farm workers, not the farmhouse.

She had to walk down the street naked, walk across the dirt parking lot naked, and enter the barn without him. She was to look only at the floor, not speak, lay down on the old wooden picnic table, hold her legs apart, then stay in that position staring straight up at the roof without talking to anyone—all day.

That would have been even cooler if the men had been strangers, but fortunately for her, some of his coworkers recognized her immediately. Then they all knew what was up: their dicks.

Her husband walked in, blindfolded her, tied her to the table, and left her like that all day while he worked. She was a gift to them from the boss, like pizza or a new water cooler. She was a facility for the other guys to fuck at lunch, or when they took a cigarette break, or whenever the hell they wanted to.

She vividly remembers the smell of cow manure on guys' boots, and now when she smells it, she gets horny. I don't know what the deal was with water and bathrooms because I was too stunned to ask.

At that point, I was masturbating so furiously that my right knee gave way, I lost my balance, and fell onto the rug. I was about ready to roll over and explode. I managed to whisper "Di, that is SO FUCKING..." she added “and one time he whipped me all over ‘till I passed out” ...then giggled!

It was amazing! I was totally astounded. I managed to tell her I was sorry that her husband was so mean to her. But again, she said something that changed my life:

Oh no Faith, I loved it!!

I'll remember that moment forever, because that was the start of my “religious” revelation. It rose to a peak the following weekend. What got revealed to me was who and what I really am. And what I thought I was turned out to be only a teeny part of what I am.

And I realized that from Santa to sex, everything Mom had told me was a lie.

NEED TO KNOW

Her experience was all I could think about for the rest of the day. I was obsessed with it. I had heard that supposedly, some people did that kind of thing—probably in California. But it actually happened to someone I know! It wasn't just in porn stories and rub fantasies; Diane actually did it! It's real!

At work, I could hardly think about anything else. My mind was swimming as her words echoed in my brain.

"Oh no Faith, I loved it!"

He whipped her. He embarrassed her. He humiliated her. He kept her tied up in a closet for the whole weekend. He fucked her in front of his friends, then let them fuck her while she was blindfolded and never told her who. He even whipped her until she was unconscious.

And she loved it.

GOD!

I pictured being fucked in silence by a stranger while other men watch. I imagined it was me climbing out of the car trunk, me walking to the barn on bare feet, me who lay down on the rough wood picnic table, me obediently holding my legs apart for hours, me offering my cunt to any guy who wanted it, me being fucked by men who never even spoke to me before or after, and me waiting patiently for another sweaty, manure-smelling boy to fuck me, cum in me, wipe his dick with my hair, and walk away like I wasn't even a person.

Oh, and yes, very few women call it a “cunt” because the word is so crude and vulgar. Since 2001, I always call it a “cunt” for that same reason. It emphasizes that the purpose of my most private place is obscene and shocking and scary and dangerous and embarrassing and sexy and animal and hairy and magic and wonderful.

Using its medical name is like hiding from the exciting horror of what we really are: animals. We're just like the other ones, only a little smarter (and not by much).

I used to have a “vagina” when I was little and my world was happy. Everything made sense then. But it got swollen and red and hairy.

After that, nothing ever made sense at all.

Particularly if it involved my cunt.

I thought my response to all this uncontrolled mutation was logical. I built a dam in my mind to hold back these alien, scary feelings. I wasn't even sure what they were, but they foretold cultural shock and social disorientation. Participating in them involved returning to being an animal in every way. My body, which you're supposed to never, ever expose, would be naked... for a boy.

But worst of all, I'd have to disconnect the only thing that had ever protected me: my logical, analytical thinking. Sex meant becoming a mindless animal. It meant uncontrolled emotions and reproduction and turning old and death.

I thought my mission in life was just learning and discovery, but there was this secret purpose I never even knew about.

That wasn't okay! I didn't want that!

Sex became a dirty secret inside me, a secret I hid from myself.

But Diane had cranked up the pressure in me. I could no longer just sit inert, watching everyone else live. I needed to do something, but I wasn't sure what. Go to bars? I can't talk to boys, and I sure as hell can't talk to men!

I knew that I didn't want to get married and have children. But isn't that why people fuck?

Still, I couldn't just do nothing. I decided that I had a mission: to discover what “sex” meant, to me, personally. I was excited and curious, but unaware that finding the answer would seize me, transform me, and change my life.

AMBASSADOR

Diane was the intermediary.

I don't really drink except when I have to be around people. But, I sure did the next day before calling her again. Only this time, instead of asking her to tell me more, I asked her if maybe, umm... she could get her husband to lock me in his car and give me to his friends.

I did it! I was so proud of myself!

Then I realized what I'd said, and felt really stupid. I figured she’d just hang up because every time I say anything that's not either a question or an answer, people never have a conversation with me. They either stare blankly and say, “Gee, you're Really Smart!” or they just frown, walk away, and are never friendly anymore. The worst part was, they never say why. Even if I ask, they deny through scowls and gritted teeth that anything's changed. Sometimes it even happens spontaneously, and I have no idea what triggered it.

But this time, to my surprise, Diane laughed and got all excited too! She offered to put him on the phone.

NOOOOOO! I do NOT want to talk to him! I only want to know him in the biblical sense!

Soon, in just days, I would.

After two evenings of back and forth, we decided that on the coming Friday, he would gag me at the front door without saying “Hello, how are you,” so I wouldn’t have to figure out how I am. That's always been a tough question for me to answer, and people ask it all the time.

He'd just march me down to the basement, where I'd take off all my clothes in front of him and let him look at me. Then I would turn control of my naked body over to him. I would do whatever I was told, which would presumably involve sexual torture and rape.

Specifically, I wanted him to do whatever obscene, painful, sexy things he wants to me, but the first thing had to be whipping on my cunt really hard until I cry. Then he'd immediately fuck me vaginally, fast and deep, and cum inside me with no protection.

After that, he'd leave the basement and I'd evaluate the situation with Diane. If everything was going okay, I would submit my body to him all weekend tied down and gagged, and I wouldn't have any more choice about what happens.

We came up with a list of probably-boring rules that I won't list here since they're about what you'd think and none of them were broken. ...Well, almost none. But unless there was a medical emergency or Diane agreed that the rules had been violated, I couldn't stop what was being done to me, no matter what it was or how much it hurt.

From Friday night until Sunday, it was to be absolutely nonconsensual. I wanted to be tortured for real, against my will, like all those kidnapped sex slaves were. They didn't have any choice, and had to endure it for years.

God, I was excited!

Part of the deal was that no one would talk to me but Diane, who would be in the basement whenever men were. Best of all, I'd be gagged and never have to say anything to anyone. I had completely fucked up being a person, and now I just wanted to be a naked female body.

The best part was that finally, I wasn't guilty of wanting pleasure. I was there for the men, and if I happened to like it, that was (theoretically) irrelevant. If I didn't like it, that was definitely irrelevant. Whatever kind of sex happens, wouldn't be my fault, and my mom-damaged conscience couldn't hate me for it. Looking back, I also realize that the unpleasantness and cruel torture was my punishment for liking it.

See, I thought I would like it.

Yes, yes, I was being extremely naïve. I would regret making the deal, and would do anything to make it stop so I could escape.

But I knew that right at the start. I was sick of knowing it, knowing other things, and knowing everything else. I wanted to do something without making sure it's nice and safe first. I wanted to experience my life for once. I wanted to do and feel. I was tired of being an autistic broken robot, observing other people actually live.

I always felt like a character in someone else's dream, and I wanted to be real. I wanted to feel things and laugh and cry and scream. I had been a robot Pinocchio, and I wanted to be alive.

And to me, “alive” meant being tortured and raped all weekend by drunken stupid guys in a stranger's basement.

God is sex, and it sure works in mysterious ways.

I counted the days ‘till Friday, and couldn’t concentrate at work to the extent that I said I was sick and had to leave early. My hands trembled as I took a shower and hosed out my cunt. Di told me to enema my ass real good, too. I felt so deliciously shameful kneeling on the bathroom floor with my rear end in the air, pushing the tube into it like a dick soon would, filling it with water. As I filled up, I thought about why I was doing it: because all weekend, strange men I've never even spoken to would be thrusting their dicks in and out of this same little hole as fast they can until they tremble with pleasure and cum deep in my guts.

GOD!!

I was fascinated by being ass-fucked because it's not what nature intends. Not just my mom, but God and evolution and polite society all disapprove. It's like the word “cunt” — unspeakable and naughty. Being sodomized is also dehumanizing, which sounded wonderful because so far, I hadn't particularly liked being human.

I figured it was probably painful too, though my information about that was contradictory. The few women I knew who loved it, loved it a hole lot.

The most disrespectful, degrading, humiliating thing a man can do to a woman is use her asshole for sex.

I just had to have it!

After making both of my entrances clean inside for my rapists to use, I lay down in the tub, bent my legs, and pushed myself under the faucet. I ran the water on my cunt as hot as I could stand, then just a liiiittle hotter. Then I masturbated yet again, forcing myself to endure it.

I pretended a sadist was pouring boiling water into it while I screamed. I longed to plead for it to stop, and for the man to say, "I know it hurts, darlin, but it feels so good to my dick when it's hot!"

But after I cummed, a sudden moment of worry. I wondered if maybe all this was too good to be true, that somehow—as always—I didn't actually understand WTF is going on with other people.

I pushed those bad thoughts aside. I don't want thoughts; I only want feelings!

Standing naked in my room, I considered what to wear. A short skirt with no panties? Stylish, tight jeans? Outrageously short pants? I did own them all, and more. Teasing boys passively was how I sublimated my sexuality. I even pushed the limit of propriety at work and was semi-officially warned about it once. At the small engineering company, I was the only girl besides my friend and confidante, the secretary. She was the only one I ever talked to about anything besides skyshine factor and reactor shield geometries.

Then I realized that what I wore didn’t matter. If this really happened, I would be taking all my clothes off first thing, and not putting them back on for two days. I also considered bringing them a present to thank them for torturing and raping me, but my subtle, autistic jokes were either never recognized as such, or not funny to anyone but me.

Anyway, my real gift was for her husband, and I was bringing it in my pants.

I hoped he would like unwrapping it and playing with his new toy.

AIRLOCK

Their house was waaay out in the country. When I got there, it was dark and below freezing.” I turned off the car engine, and realized I was shaking. Immediately, the passenger compartment began getting colder.

The old house had a vestibule, which was a 1920s version of an airlock.

I hesitated at the outer door. If I ring this bell, the adventure begins. In sixty seconds, I'll be stripped naked by a man I don't even know.

That thought was SO fucking cool that it felt impossible. I wanted it to happen very much, and I pleaded with myself to enter the vestibule and ring the inside bell. Just a few more feet and you're in.

My hand reached for the outside doorbell. That would be launch commit. There would be no turning back.

This is my last chance to chicken out.

I hesitated. “Why am I doing this,” I wondered. Then I answered myself.

I really, really want it, and nothing, not even the stern Mom behind the fear will stop me! I AM DOING THIS.  I am doing it because I want to.

I pressed one button three times, and waited. Suddenly, the door opened and warm air blasted out. I entered, and closed the door behind me.

I DID it!

================ ‡ ================

RECEPTION

Diane said “hi,” but didn't tell me what to do, so I said “hi” and just stood there. She didn't say anything else, so I intensely examined the cracks in their linoleum floor. When I had enough of that, she was still silent, so I concentrated on the power outlets near the floor. I wished dearly that I was there to work on their electrical wiring instead.

As always, I paid attention to something understandable instead of what was happening around me. Soon I wouldn't have the option of ignoring what was happening.

I observed that in the 1920s, outlets were not only unpolarized, they weren’t even grounded(!) If the lamp switch shorted, whoever touched it would get a 120-volt ZAP! I said to myself, “Someone is going to get the shock of their life!”

It would be me, and it would have nothing to do with the house wiring.

I thought about someone shocking my nicely-trimmed sex organ with 120 volts just to watch me thrash around and scream. (Unfortunately, no one but me thought of it.)

Diane still hadn't said anything, and I was becoming concerned that this was another instance of “it” happening. Another "autistic moment," when I am hit by a huge context fault and realize that I don't know WTF is really going on when I thought I did. In this case, it would be that Diane had just been joking on the phone, and I didn't realize it. If past is indeed prologue, It would go something like:

“Faith! What are YOU doing here?”

“Umm, the sex thing, with your husband, uhhh, heh-heh...” [Embarrassed silence].

“You mean you thought… you thought I was serious??”

“Who is it, honey?”

“It's Faith, darling, the girl from high school I told you about. That talk... she thought it was for real. And she's here expecting to be tortured!”

“Oh my God, Diane...”

Things like that happen to me all the fucking time whenever I'm stupid enough to talk to those inscrutable human creatures. One day at work, I was walking through the cubicle maze when a guy I didn't know started a conversation with me. But after several exchanges, he said something strange and unrelated to what we were talking about. And I noticed that he never once looked at me, which normal people do when they talk. Then I realized: he's talking to someone else, and trying to ignore me.

Context fault! Owww!

They feel like bee stings.

I stood in their hallway, silent and awkward. I wondered if I should just turn around and walk away, which is what I usually do when “it” happens. I wondered if maybe Logic was right; maybe I should abandon this “feelings” stuff. Maybe I should just go live in a sealed cave somewhere and let Logic run everything, unhindered and alone.

I found out later that she had been waiting for her husband to bring a gag, and thought she wasn't supposed to speak to me before that.

Just then, a skinny man with black hair walked in. Di said, “what to you think we should gag her with?” Her husband took off his pants and underpants right in front of me! He’s showing me the dick that he’s going to fuck me with, and I’m barely through the door!

But he wasn’t showing me his dick, per se. He stuffed the balls and asshole part in my mouth, filling it. It was warm, and smelled like a man’s sweaty balls. That turned me on immensely. Most of it, including the elastic, hung down in front of my chin. I was so relieved! I didn't have to come up with something to say!

My mouth felt invaded, and I was letting him invade me.

Suddenly, I remembered why I was here.

In just seconds, I will be stripped naked by this man, tied down, whipped, and raped while I cry.

I was giddy with excitement.

He grabbed me roughly by my left arm and silently pulled me to the basement door faster than I could walk, even though I was walking eagerly.

He touched me for the first time. Zero distance now. Physical contact.

It is starting…

We went down the stairs and Diane followed. No one had said anything yet.

Oh my God, when we get to the bottom of the stairs, he'll order me to take off all my clothes!!

We got to the bottom of the stairs, and he said "Take off all your clothes

I spat out the underpants and yelled, "You weren't supposed to talk to me! Talking to me is against the rules!!"

Di looked at her husband with that knowing look people make to each other when I say something with any feeling. Then she took my arm and calmed me down.

I felt stupid. I was the one who forced all this, and now I was going too crazy to actually do it.

I picked the underpants up from the floor and returned it to my mouth.

He didn't speak to me after that. I felt like an idiot showing how nervous I was. I wanted to feel excited instead. But really, they're both just expressions of the same deeper emotion—one that doesn't have a name.

I looked around. The place was dark and cramped, with gray cinderblock walls and a furnace in the corner, quietly doing its job. Dust was everywhere, including the floor. My new home smelled like mold, paint, and sawdust. Metal shelves and stacked cardboard boxes stood motionless, mutely watching. Like me, they waited to see what would happen.

A wooden bench sat incongruously in the center of the room, directly over a drain and directly under a bare bulb that provided the only light. It wasn’t frosted, and you could see the white-hot filament.

White, cotton ropes dangled onto the floor from eye bolts screwed into the bench's sides.

No one moved as I turned my head slowly and looked around.

This is where he tortures Diane and then fucks her while she cries. Once I'm naked, this man I've never even seen before is going fuck ME, too. He's going to tie me to this bench with my knees forced wide apart, so he can look in my hairy cunt and get a boner to rape me with.

My heart melted. This basement was a beautiful place, and best of all, it was real. I felt like I used to on Christmas morning when Santa had come, before Truth ruined everything and made The Sadness happen for the first time.

It’s been doing that ever since.

But here in this basement, I was enthusiastic and happy again, like the little girl I really am.

I was startled when Diana coughed. They were waiting for me to do strip naked.

Slowly and shakily, I sat down on the dusty concrete floor and took off my right shoe.

I've started taking my clothes off for him now.

Both shoes, then my socks. The floor was very cold against my bare feet.

The concrete has a high enough thermal conductivity to bring the cold all the way to the center of the basement. Though really, it’s conducting the heat out to the winter air, not the other way around.

I paused to look at them.

I removed my black T-shirt. I wasn't wearing a bra because it was sexier like that. I felt two parallel bursts of pleasure as the shirt brushed against my nipples, and I moaned.

I'm stripping naked in front of a guy I don't even know. Already, he can look at my tits. Now I’m going to show him my cunt.

This is really happening; it's not a rub fantasy this time, or a porn movie, or a dream. I'm taking off all my clothes for a complete stranger, and it's real.

My nipples were twin hot, hard pencil erasers ready to explode. The skinny man lit a Marlboro and stared at my sexy, naked tits. I thought I could feel his gaze on my nipples.

I have these two soft breasts because I'm a female mammal. I'm not a broken robot after all; I'm a GIRL, and a stranger is going to suck and chew my girl nipples.

Then he'll bite them hard, just to be cruel and hurt me.

I thought I was going to cum in my pants.

Then I took them off, too. It was like at the beach in my tease bikini, but with my top off.

I felt like an Apollo astronaut at the moment the hold-down clamps below the Saturn-V retracted and it began to move. Except that for me, the adventure would begin as soon as I was held down and couldn't move.

Just my panties left, the flower ones.

I remembered selecting them when I put them on because flowers mean “happy and joyful.”

Now I'm taking them off again so a man I don't know can see my cunt. Just looking at it will fill him with the sexual rage. He’ll touch it, and I will let him. He will manhandle me, and I will let him. He will grab handfuls of my sexual parts and squeeze them in his fist until they hurt.

Then he will tie me down and in a furious rage, he will hurt my cunt and make me cry. He will hurt it more, until I scream, and then FUCK me in it—and probably in my ass, too.

I felt weak, and I was shaking.

I will now pull down my panties and become completely naked. Mom said no one should ever see it, but I'm going to show it to this man anyway, and offer it to him, to use.

I put my thumbs under the waistband.

Main engines start…

In a single motion, I pulled my panties down to my ankles.

We have lift-off.

I lifted my left foot, tripped on my panties, and fell down on my bare ass. The concrete felt even colder to my ass cheeks than it had to my feet. I noted that it was because my ass is hotter than my feet.

They both rushed to help me, but stopped when I quickly stood back up. I felt stupid again, like I had broken the mood. Diane spoke.

“Faith, are you all right?”

I nodded, and was mad at myself until I remembered that I was standing in a strangers basement with no clothes on. My face suddenly felt warm.

I waited for something to happen, but nothing did.

My whole life had been like that.

I stood there feeling vulnerable, bare, and paralyzed with embarrassment.

I'm completely naked, but they both have all their clothes on.

I wanted to know what they were thinking, but I couldn't make myself look at their faces—much less speak. My own face had become so hot that I wondered if my ass cheeks were blushing, too. I needed to shield my hairy cunt from his gaze so much that I had to hold my clenched fists at my sides to prevent it.

Why isn't she telling me what to do? If she doesn't tell me soon, I'm going to melt like a candle from embarrassment and be on the floor again.

But they both remained motionless as they silently looked at my naked body.

Not knowing where to look myself, I looked at the same thing the man was looking at: my dark brown, nearly black pubic hair. I recalled trimming it the previous evening so my vulva would look nice and inviting to him.

Soon, it will be his property, not mine. I hope he hurts it and makes me cry.

Another of my wishes was about to come true.

He looked frozen in place like me, but not from embarrassment, from carnal lust. Diane was watching him and grinning. But the motion of my head attracted their attention and they both looked at me, right at my eyes.

Nooo!

I quickly looked down again and studiously pondered my inlet just like I did with the outlet in the hall.

The strange, pointless opening in my body is what I really am: a cunt. That organ is my only purpose. Everything else is just killing time waiting to be fucked again …or die. Nothing but those two things matter.

That thought was strangely relaxing. Being an animal relieved me of all the responsibilities of being a person. I never got any of them right anyway.

Still, I dearly wished I was back in my bedroom where it’s safe.

I cannot stand here naked like this for another second. But I have to; I'm not about to put my clothes back on, and the only other thing I can do besides fall on the floor again is continue to stand here naked.

I had never been more self-conscious in my whole life, but I was nowhere near as self-conscious as I was about to be.

None of us said anything or moved for 30, maybe 45 seconds. But I observed that the Fitzgerald contraction had slowed time, and in the basement's inertial frame, I stood there naked for four years.

I was unendurably embarrassed for every millisecond of it.

I have always associated sex with death. They both involve you as a body only.

Diane said, “Turn around, Faith. Let him see them hips and ass!”

I rotated in azimuth, slowly. It was difficult. Over-the-top self-consciousness had caused something like rigor mortis, only instead of death, this was pure, concentrated life.

“Now band over so he can see you from behind.”

Behind.

I'm going to offer this guy my girl asshole now. I hope he likes it so he will fuck me in it. I want him to do that to me. I crave it. If it hurts and I don‘t like it, that’s even better. I hope I scream in pain while being anally raped by a guy I've never even spoken to.

The thought overwhelmed me, and my bad knee almost gave way again. I placed my hands on my legs, took a deep breath, and bent over, bare as the light bulb. I closed my eyes and suddenly I could feel everything that was happening instead of just observing it.

I jumped when cold hands separated my fleshy cheeks and roughly forced my asshole open. I felt his warm tobacco-stank breath on it as he looked inside me. A new tide of delicious embarrassment drowned me in its glorious shame.

I'm offering the most private, personal part of my body to a complete stranger, and he's accepting my offer.

The three of us stood in a triangle, in reverent silence, as he violated my privacy in the crudest possible way. He whispered to Diana. She said, “Get on your knees and bend over with your tits and face on the floor. Stick your ass straight up in the air.”

I did as I was told, and held that position while he ransacked my body’s secret places.

The man stretched my ass open with his thumb and forefinger. Thank God it was clean. After contemplating the hole for a while, he pinched my outer lips with his fingernails (which HURT) and spread them wide apart, too. The inside of my mating organ had been made hot and slippery, but not by me. I was just a helpless puppet posed on the basement floor by something that doesn’t have a name.

I remained motionless with my tits and face against the floor. My nipples became even harder from the cold, rough concrete. My only purpose in life was to keep my cunt warm and offer it to him. Now that I had, my job was to shut up and stay out of his way while he thrust his dick in and out of it as fast as he could. Then, when he had worked himself into a fury in it, his triumphant orgasm would impregnate me.

I felt Diane lick my clit, long and slow. A lightning bolt of pleasure exploded there, and I inhaled loudly. My eyes were wide open, inches from the floor.

Then, suddenly, she thrust her tongue deep into the hot little hole. I felt her nose against my asshole, and I felt her warm breath on my outer lips.

I moaned loudly. I couldn't stand it anymore.

I whispered softly to her husband, “Fuck me.”

He eventually did, but the rules said he had to tie me tightly to a bench and torture me horribly first.

He did that, too.

DISCOVERY

BTW, before I forget, this story is the first tenth or so of a book you guys insisted I write about this experience. You can read the whole thing at tinyurl dot com slash readfaye.  It has pix of me, too. It's too long to post the whole thing at BDSMlibrary.

Anyway, all the fear and worry melted away and I felt strangely relaxed as the two of them explored the most private places in my body. I squeezed my eyes closed like it would somehow attenuate the embarrassment, but it didn't.  When a strange man is slowly pushing a greased wood pole in and out of your asshole, you will be embarrassed, no matter what.

Finally, Diane spoke. She had to, eventually—her husband wasn't allowed to and I had underpants in my mouth.

She told me to lie on his workbench. I climbed up on it and obediently did what I was told. The rough surface hurt my ass when I laid down.

Laid.

"The first of the pain!!" I thought, and became excited again. I spread my legs apart for him. Then he slapped my inner thigh. I said “Oww!” through my gag. He started to say something, but caught himself, lest I go crazy again.

Now it was on prominent display, front and center.

This is just too fucking good to be really happening to me!

He examined it closely. Again he grabbed its two lips by the hair and pulled them way apart, hard. It hurt for real and I gritted my teeth. The air had evaporated the liquid on the sides of my cunt and I felt the cold inside it.

The little hole between those lips had a mind of its own. I felt it shut and reopen, trying to give pleasure to a nonexistent dick.

It wants to sexually stimulate a male of my species so he will mate with me.

But the “male of my species” lit a Marlboro and looked even stupider than he had when I arrived. I was hoping he would burn me with it. That would come tomorrow, when he invited his friends to fuck the crazy bitch who said they could do anything to her.

The redneck tied cotton ropes loosely around my knees, then they each pulled one of my legs back toward my head, but spread apart. That stretched my cunt and asshole open for everyone to look at, push their dicks into, and hurt.

Anyone at all can just walk up to me in this basement and fuck me without even talking to me, and then walk away while the sperm he deposited in me flows from my cunt.

JEE-ziss fucking Christ that’s what I want!

I thought about being a free fuck dispenser and became overwhelmed with sexual desire. I figured it was okay to masturbate in front of them, but they had tied my pesky hands to something behind my head to keep them out of the way. Then another rope went around my tummy, which Diane pulled tight. It attached me firmly to the bench and squeezed my guts. That felt sexy.

I tried to move, but I couldn't, even a little. Except for my head and my legs below my knees, I couldn’t move any part of my body even an inch. I would stay like that for two days.

The man walked to the end of the table, between my legs. He bent down for another close look at his new toy. He crushed my vulva lips with his fingernails again, but harder. I couldn't see, but I'm sure it must have drawn blood.

“Owww!” I jerked away. Or tried to. But my hips didn’t move at all.

I might as well be embedded in a block of Lucite. I visualized that for a while, as he hurt me. He crushed different parts of my hairy lips with his fingernails.

But to my astounded amazement, the pain didn't feel sexy; it just hurt. Then I reminded myself: This is what the sex slaves in the books felt. This is what I want more than anything in the world. That made it sexy again.

SHEE-yit, I can do this weekend, easy! C'mon, do your worst, you stupid 'neck!

I would have said it out loud, were it not for the balls-sweaty underpants.

Her husband nodded to Di, who duct-taped the underpants to my face so I couldn't spit it out again. Most of it hung down in front of my face. Then she asked me if I was ready. Defiantly! I nodded and mumbled through the underpants, "Okay, yeah.”

“Hurt me."

Then he picked up a ruler with aquarium tubing taped to the end, and did.