The slave knelt in the corner of the dingy motel room with her hands crossed behind her back. She was whimpering slightly around the panties balled up in her mouth. She was naked, collared and plugged. She wore a light spandex slave hood with one mouth hole and two eye holes. Her owner had told her he had no interest in seeing her face during these sessions. Facial expressions were superfluous for fuck-pigs, he had explained. To him, she was nothing but wet hole from the neck up.
The hood also helped to protect her identity. If anyone found out about her secret life, she would be ruined.
The slave was also blindfolded, so she waited in darkness. She heard a clock ticking somewhere in the room. Time seemed to stand still.
She had been waiting thus adorned for about thirty minutes. Her owner liked to make her wait. He also liked to make her pay for the room. She was always instructed to dress like a prostitute and pay in cash. He made her use the name Lola Roundheels when checking in. This reminded her that she was his whore.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning. On a Wednesday.
For the tenth time in as many minutes, she wondered what the fuck she was doing there. How had she let herself get in to this situation? She was a successful executive married to a loving husband who worked as a physician. She had two kids in high school and was a member of the PTA. She played golf for crying out loud.
Why did she crave to be used like this? She couldn't explain it, but she knew it was true. Something inside her had fundamentally changed. She simply had no interest in vanilla sex any more. She needed this.
And it was getting worse.
When she had first started, she had only required a session once a month. Now she needed it once a week, sometimes more.
She lifted her blindfold for a moment and studied her reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the door. She sucked in her gut and thrust out her breasts.
Not bad at all for a forty-year old mother of two. Her breasts were full and firm with large circular nipples. Her belly was still pretty flat. Bit of a pooch, but not much. Her legs were long and shapely. Her hips were just curvy enough and tapered up into a narrow waist. Her cunt was clean-shaven.
She looked good. Her husband always told her she was a MILF.
At the thought of her husband, she felt a brief, but deep twinge of guilt and self-loathing. What had happened to her quiet, normal suburban life? What had she become?
She thought about what would happen during her session today. She wondered if he would come alone.
She had been her owner's fuck-pig for over two years now. She had been well-trained. During their sessions, she abandoned all pretense of propriety and reveled in the sheer debauchery of her own debasement. She drank piss. She ate ass. She learned to eat pussy for her owner's entertainment. She was gang-banged on a regular basis. There seemed to be no limit to the depths of her depravity. She wouldn't do anything illegal or any scat, but other than that, she was his humiliation whore to use as he pleased.
She knew she was a whore. The more he degraded her, the more she enjoyed it. The more he punished and abused her, the more aroused she became. It never failed. Ever. It was like a drug.
She heard soft footfalls in the hallway, followed by muffled laughter.
Then the door opened and laughter got louder. He was not alone.
There was a few seconds of rushed whispering, then the slave heard her owner's voice.
"I told you. There she is," said the familiar deep voice. The slave could tell he was smiling.
"Holy Shit. You've got to be kidding me," said a young female voice. "I thought you were bull-shitting, just to get me up to your room."
"Nah, I've owned her for two years. Nastiest slut I've ever used. She'll do anything. She gets off on the humiliation."
"Who is she?" asked the girl.
"Just some middle-aged cow I picked up on the internet. She's married with kids and everything. Has some big job in the city."
The slave cringed behind her mask. She hated how her owner always talked about her as if she weren't in the room. To him, she was property, not a person. She knew this was true, but it still stung, even as it aroused her.
"How did you find her?" asked the woman.
"I have a blog on Tumblr. I post pictures of women who love to be treated this way. There are tons of them out there. They can't get enough of this shit. I'm constantly getting requests from frustrated housewives who want to be used and abused. Most of them I ignore, but this one was special. I could tell right away."
"Special how?" asked the female voice.
"She's the real deal. An authentic humiliation whore. I keep trying to find new ways to degrade her, to try to get her to use her safe word, but she won't. She's a legitimate freak."
The slave heard light footsteps, then felt her blindfold being removed. She blinked for a few seconds, then looked up at the two people standing in front of her. She continued to kneel with her hands crossed behind her back. She was drooling slightly around the panties in her mouth. Her ass was aching from the plug.
Her owner was dressed in his usual expensive, well-cut business suit. At just over six feet, he was tall and fit with close-cropped blond hair and deep blue eyes.
The woman was in her late twenties. Pretty in a perky sort of way with short red hair and plenty of freckles on her pale face. She was wearing a knock-off blouse and an Ann Taylor skirt with second-rate sensible shoes. Her outfit screamed mid-level management.
Her owner reached out and rested his hand on top of his slave's head, turning her to face the woman.
"Fuck-pig, this is Sheila. I met her in the coffee shop. She asked me what I was doing at the motel and I told her I was meeting my fuck-pig for a session. She didn't believe me, so here we are."
He reached down and removed the panties from the slave's mouth and threw them on the floor.
"Say hello to the pretty lady."
"Hello, ma'am. Pleased to meet you," said the slave averting her eyes.
"Nice to meet you, too....," she paused and looked over at the man. "What do I call her?" she asked.
"Fuck-pig," he said. "That's her name." He reached down and grasped the dog tag affixed to the slave's collar.
"See?" he said, tilting the large red plastic disc so the woman could read it.
The woman bent and examined the tag.
FUCK-PIG was emblazoned on the front. She flipped the tag over to read the reverse side.
"PLEASE USE MY HOLES," she read under her breath. She let go of the tag.
"Charming," said the woman straightening. "Nice to meet you Fuck-pig."
"Thank you, ma'am."
The petit red-head looked over at the owner. "So, what does she do?" she asked curiously.
"Whatever I tell her to," he replied breezily.
"Really?" Her face was slightly flushed. "Can I watch?"
"You can do more than watch," said the owner. "You can join in if you want. She loves being used by strangers."
The red-head put a hand to her throat and looked down at the slave.
