Captured Fuckpig A Cautionary Tale

I don't want to give my name.

I am a forty-four year-old suburban mom. I work in the city at a good job. I have been married for eighteen years. I have two children, aged fifteen and seventeen. I love my husband and my family. I am a devoted mom and very active in our upscale community in Connecticut.

I am also owned by a stranger I met on the internet.

He is a thirty-three year-old stock broker who blackmailed me in to sexual slavery. He has a stable of ten slaves all of whom were captured using the same scam.

This happened over two years ago.

My owner does not know I am writing this story. I would be punished if he found out. I am speaking out to hopefully prevent other married women from falling in to the same trap I did.

It all started when I was surfing online one day while the kids 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 kids, 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 kids 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 kids 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.