The pirates gleefully took turns spanking the lily white ass of the haughty duchess, teaching her a lesson that she would never forget. The young busty beauty sobbed with pain and humiliation, squirming at their blows upon her delicate skin. And she was all too aware of her exposed large breasts bobbing up and down in rhythm with their cruel slaps. Her pink nipples were hard and erect in excitement. One of the men even commented about what a slut she was as he reached down and pinched them.
The duchess jolted in surprise as she felt fingers exploring her pussy.
"I believe the little bitch is in heat and ready for a good fucking, lads! What do you say? Shall we give her what she wants?"
She realized that the evil pirate leader intended to let all of the crew have their way with her. And she trembled with fear...and anticipation...
Bound as she was with her wrists handcuffed behind her back, she could not escape the pirate's relentless fingers from tickling and tormenting her spread and vulnerable cunt.
"Don't be afraid, lass," he whispered in her ear. "You're enjoying it, after all."
"No, I'm not!" she protested furiously.
"You're a liar. You're going to come in front of everyone if I don't stop touching you. Aren't you?"
The duchess did not dare answer because she knew he was right.
"Go ahead, slut! Give them a show! I want you to come in front of everyone here! Let them know how much you like being fucked!"
Humiliated, the duchess tried so hard not to give in to the sensation that he was building up inside of her with his wicked fingers. She couldn't let them see how much she enjoyed being used in such a disgraceful way. But her body was greedy and hungry to experience everything. And she felt the deep tremors begin from the pit of her stomach.
"Noooo..." she cried out softly. "Nooooo...ooh..."
------------------------------------------------
Greta reluctantly closed "Pirate's Booty", taking a deep breath. Sometimes, she swore that one of these naughty stories would make her come right there in the bookstore in front of everyone. And then she smiled softly. That would be just like the captive duchess in the story now, wouldn't it? At any rate, this book was definitely worth the trouble of purchasing. It could provide her with yummy fantasies for at least a few days.
Placing her hand discreetly over the half-naked pirate wench on the front cover, Greta took a step back, feeling her rear end bump right into a warm solid body.
Darn!
She would not have lingered this long in the erotica section of the bookstore if she had known that someone else was around.
"Oh, excuse me!" she cried out a little too loudly as she peeked over her shoulder.
"Not at all."
Greta was somewhat disturbed that the man she had bumped into had been facing in her direction. Had he seen what she was reading? Had he been watching her read the story? She could only imagine how she must have looked while she was taking in such a perverse tale.
Glancing back at the man, she swallowed nervously.
The man looked to be in his forties, a good ten to fifteen years her senior at least. With black hair, dark eyes and a swarthy complexion, he was very attractive. In fact, he would have been perfectly cast as the evil pirate leader in the short story she had just read. In his expensive-looking black suit, he was probably a CEO of some nearby company in downtown Manhattan. He seemed to radiate with confidence and power. She could all too easily imagine herself on her hands and knees, chained to a desk in some office while he would be standing over her with a whip. And he would smile slyly at her...
Just as he was smiling now!
"Is something the matter, miss?"
His voice was deep and husky, sounding vaguely exotic.
"No, of course not! Why do you ask?"
"You are all flushed..."
The bastard gave her a cocky smile, his eyes gleaming mischievously.
"But I suppose it is rather warm in here, isn't it?"
He knew what she had been reading! And he knew that she knew that he knew! And...
"Excuse me..." she said hurriedly, clutching feverishly at her book as she rushed past him.
"Goodbye..."
Waiting in line to buy the book, Greta glanced behind her nervously, worried that the pervert might have followed her. She glanced at the elevator, at the escalator and down the aisles leading to the register. But he was nowhere in sight. Apparently, he was still upstairs by the erotica section. Well, that was good, right? So why did she feel oddly disappointed?
"Next in line..." the clerk announced.
Usually, Greta was always embarrassed when she would hand her latest erotic novel to the clerk at the register. She knew it was silly of her. After all, she was more or less a regular here now. The employees at this bookstore were always discreet and polite, pretending not to notice a thing. And yet she always flinched on the inside as she handed over her purchase, waiting for that humiliating wink or smile or comment that would take all of the fun out of everything.
She dreaded for such a thing to happen as she cherished her Friday evening ritual.
After a grueling work week at the law firm slaving away over a hot computer, Greta would go to the nearby bookstore and treat herself to a new paperback adventure. She usually preferred historical erotica with lots of swords and tight corsets and codpieces and ripped bodices, but she was open-minded to modern material if it was sexy enough for her. She always preferred the men in the stories to be cruel and dominating...whether they be pirates, sheiks, vampires or dukes. It didn't matter as long as they were dark, handsome and good with a whip!
Politically correct or not, Greta loved stories about women being forced to submit...whether it be to just one man or twenty. She knew that rape was really an act of violence, not of sex. She was sure that there were many women's rights advocates who would want her shot for having such horrible fantasies. They would insist that such literature only exploited women and got men off, encouraging them to hurt women for real. But she couldn't help herself. Those stories never failed to make her all wet and horny. Granted, she had her limits. She wasn't crazy about anal rape or deep throating or golden showers. And if the men didn't make the woman come, then it was just a waste of time. One of the best parts of the violation was making the woman have an orgasm, even when everything in her was fighting not to...but she couldn't help herself.
On the subway, Greta would sit with her latest purchase, folding the paperback firmly against her lap so no one could see the cover. And for half an hour, she would live vicariously in a fantasy world of pain and pleasure. Then she would go to her tiny studio apartment, usually making her way straight to the vibrator which waited for her in her dresser. Stripping off her shoes, pants and underwear, Greta would lie on her bed and plunge the purple rabbit-shaped apparatus into her wet hot pussy. Facing down on her stomach, she would rest her weight on her shoulders and knees, spreading her legs wide as she straddled the apparatus. First, she would work the vibrations on her clit. All the while in her imagination, she would be tied spread-eagled to a chair in some dark room with some cruel villain torturing her button with a feather or a whip handle. Then she would turn on the rotating dildo of the vibrator, pretending that the man was taking her from behind, ruthlessly fucking her while torturing her clit at the same time with his free hand. And she would feel so helpless and desperate and humiliated and dirty that her orgasm never failed to be more intense than any she had ever shared with a real lover.
Perhaps to some, Greta's lifestyle would reek of loneliness and desperation, even of sickness. She didn't see it that way. Her imaginary lovers were vicious only in order to create mind-blowing orgasms for both parties involved. Yes, they would strip her and humiliate her and whip her. But they never stood her up or called her fat or made her pay for dinner. And the purple rabbit was always ready, willing and able as long as she had batteries on hand. It was available morning, noon and night. It wasn't in the least squeamish when she had her period -- and sometimes that was when she was at her horniest! Perhaps she didn't have a date every Saturday night, but her sex life suited her just fine the way it was.
Of course, Greta's nasty break-up with Paul probably contributed to her state of mind. At first, her boyfriend had seemed romantic and sexy. He was always bringing her flowers and taking her out to movies. But as time went on, his charm began to fade. He never kept a job for long. The sex began to get boring. Sometimes, he didn't even try to make her come and she would get completely frustrated. And he tended to become overly critical of her, especially harping on her plump weight. Six months ago, she had decided that he had insulted her for the last time. She called him a fucking loser, hung up the phone on him and never looked back.
Immediately after the breakup, Greta was devastated, although she felt completely justified in leaving Paul. Feeling very self-conscious about her figure, she began to work out six times a day and consistently logged in all of her calories every day. So far, she had managed to lose 20 pounds. For the first time in ages, she was able to fit into skimpy dresses just like in her high school days. Slowly, she began to feel a little better about herself. But the fat insecure little girl inside would occasionally torment her.
One Friday evening in particular, she was being tortured by her inner fat girl...
After having a particularly hard day at the office with her petty sniping coworkers, Greta went into the bookstore as soon as she could escape the place. Thankfully, it was only two blocks away from her office building and easy to get to. If nothing else, she just needed to walk around the bookstore and unwind before facing another long lonely weekend by herself. Wiping away tears of hurt and depression, she paused when she saw an interesting looking book right by the Erotica section. Tentatively, she sneaked over to the forbidden part of the store, grabbing the book quickly before anyone could see. It was an anonymous classic called A Man and a Maiden. Just reading one page of it turned her on with an intensity that was unbelievable. After buying it, she hurriedly went home. Lying on her bed, she leisurely took in the pages, soaking in all of the dirty details, casting all of the characters with her favorite actors and actresses. And she began to fuck herself with her fingers. After she came with an explosion, she realized that she had been silly to cry over Paul. Why did she want him when she could have this?
Over the following weeks, Greta had read the book so many times that the pages began to fall out. After a while, her own fingers groping at her pussy was no longer enough. Making her way to an adult store in the Village, she finally purchased her own vibrator. The trip had been embarrassing but educational. That night, as she experimented with the toy, she came with a shriek in only a couple of minutes. What had she been missing out on for so many years?
Perhaps her middle-class suburban background was to blame. Most of the girls she had gone to high school with were married now to nice stable men and had lots of children. They were all good girls who didn't have such physical cravings all of the time. And Greta was not a good girl, not on the inside. Good girls did not dream of being whipped by evil pirates. Good girls did not masturbate or read pornography. Good girls did not even lose their virginity until after they were married. Well, she had already failed on all of those counts...so why not enjoy herself in her downfall?
Thus, the routine began. And Greta tore through one erotic book after the next as if they were all cheap one-night-stands at the local bar. Some books, she would look at once and throw away. Others were good for a few chapters and that was it. And some like The Story of O and A Man and Maiden were timeless classics that she would use over and over until she practically had them memorized.
And Greta had no complaints. Really, she didn't. She was more sexually satisfied this way than she had ever been with a lover. And she felt better about herself when she didn't have to suffer other people's psychological abuses and hang-ups.
OK. Maybe she did have one frustration...
Just once, Greta would love to really be like one of the heroines in her erotic novels. She yearned to be tied up and humiliated and spanked and fucked ruthlessly for real. And that was something she could not get with her faithful vibrator or her porn. As it was, she was entirely too finicky and squeamish to do anything like join a sex club. And she was too poor and had too much pride to hire some male prostitute to fuck her and abuse her...if she even knew how to find one. And she was much too burned to ever get in another relationship.
