Why would a married, educated 35-year-old Asian American doctor find herself in a trailer park, sucking on the cock of 60-something auto mechanic 3,000 miles from home? Well, the doctor is me, and this is the story of how I ended up spending a weekend getting my pussy stretched in a disgustingly filthy trailer that had no heat or shower.
I met this man through Literotica. When you're a female writer on this site, men will send you private messages about your stories, sometimes for the purpose of trying to figure out whether you might want to hook up.
I'm very wary about meeting men online. The whole idea of it scares me. You don't know if you're meeting a potential serial killer. I know other women, especially women like me, do it all the time, but I've always avoided it. By women like me, I should probably point out here that I suffer from sexual masochism disorder combined with hypersexuality. It's a kind of fetishistic disorder in which I am sexually aroused by physical violence, verbal abuse and other forms of humiliation. Basically, I like to be forced by men, specifically White men, to have sex, and I love to submit to them and their degradation. I admit it's an awful affliction to have, and I'm not proud of it, but I often feel powerless to resist the urge when it comes over me.
I've never been professionally diagnosed, but after talking to other women with similar afflictions, some of whom I met on Literotica, I'm pretty sure that this is what is at the core of my sexual issues. For a long time, I didn't understand my sexuality. When I engaged in masochistic sexual behavior, I attributed to (1) sexual exploration, (2) too much alcohol, (3) bad judgment, or even (4) conflicts with my boyfriend. In fact, the sex I engaged in was exactly what I wanted, even if I didn't know it then.
After I wrote my first Literotica story-which I wrote as a kind of therapy-I received a number of messages from men who told me what they'd like to do to me. The messages were very graphic in detail, from the size and shape of their cocks to where and how they wanted to penetrate me. I received a number of offers to be hogged tied and tortured by having large items put into my pussy and ass. Even more common were the suggestions that I be gang raped as punishment for my cheating ways. The sheer number and graphic nature of these messages shocked and frightened me.
Most of these messages I didn't respond to. But one person wrote me a very erotic email about who I was, and what I needed. He had read my story carefully and figured out what turned me on. What he wrote wasn't as crude as what others had written, but there were just enough elements of savagery and cruelty to intrigue me.
I can't even tell you why his emails aroused me so much. Against my better judgment, I decided to respond to him. His name is Gary. I wrote to him by email and said, I can't meet you, but tell me more about what you would do to me if we met. What he wrote back made me wet. We would write back and forth and I would end up masturbating furiously to his emails.
We ended up writing off and on for several months. He never failed to satisfy me. He knew all the buttons to push. We exchanged photos, first of our genitalia, then our bodies. He asked me to send him a photo of my face, but I refused. He sent me a picture of his face. He had the face of a man who had had a hard life. He wasn't handsome in any way, but there was a kind of mountain man roughness about him that appealed to me. But I still knew that I couldn't possibly meet him. I've been married for two and a half years, and although I haven't been faithful even in that short amount of time, I've been trying to change.
My Asian husband knows nothing about my sexual disorder, and knows little of my sexual past. What he thinks is that I'm a normal Asian woman who had a couple of long-term relationships with other Asian men before getting married. If he knew the actual number of men, mostly White and Black men, who have had their cocks in my pussy, he would be completely shocked and dismayed.
Gary pushed for us to meet. I guess we had done a pretty good job of arousing each other. We lived 3,000 miles apart. He offered to come to where I was, but that was a nonstarter. I didn't want him to know even what city I lived in. I said that I absolutely could not meet him. But deep down, I was starting to fantasize about having his cock inside me. He had sent me a couple of dick pics, and it looked like it could do serious damage to my tight little pussy.
I think the pandemic had something to do with all of this, too. Since the pandemic started, I had not had sex with anyone except my husband. The twelve months of fidelity was the longest I had gone without cheating on a husband or boyfriend. To give you a point of comparison, I had had sex with eight different men during my first year of marriage. So I was getting a little antsy.
My disorder is a compulsion that compels me to find men who will brutalize me. Other women I've met with similar issues tell me that they find plenty of candidates on Tinder, and before Tinder, they posted ads on craigslist, indicating exactly what they want. I couldn't take those kinds of risks.
My approach has been much more random and disorganized. It was easier when I was in college, and you could go to a party on fraternity row and find some guy to have sex with. Med school was trickier, but mainly, I found that male professors and other doctors were more than willing to fill my holes.
After school, it became more complicated. I was still around a lot of young doctors, but I have always been careful to keep my sexual habits secret, and screwing people at your workplace is a bad idea if your main concern is keeping your professional reputation clean. Promiscuous women are still reviled in society, especially among the professional classes.
So my sexual forays became more haphazard. I had sex with strangers I met at parties or other random events. Medical conferences turned out to be a fertile source of arrogant, entitled men who wanted to put me in my place. Unfortunately (or fortunately) I didn't go to medical conferences on a regular basis. I sometimes went to hotel bars, pretending to be a tourist. I had sex on two occasions with my grandmother's 65-year-old next door neighbor.
Gary said he liked women like me because I reminded him of the Filipina whores he visited when he was stationed at Clark Air Base in the Philippines, meaning I was short, skinny and titless. I was stimulated by the idea of being an Asian whore. When he talked about the ways in which he would violate me, I could see how it would work for me. Other men talk about wanting to bind me up tight or hurting me by using things like nipple clips, and although some light physical violence, like a slap every now and then is great, I really don't want to engage in activities that are painful. Gary seemed to understand that domination, verbal abuse and humiliation was what I craved.
Although I kept insisting that I could not meet him, Gary continued to write to me. We developed a rapport and an established pattern of communication. When I woke up in the morning, there was usually an email waiting for me. His words would make me wet, and I would touch myself as I lay in bed. I would respond with something to titillate him. Then at the end of the day, there would be another email to masturbate to.
After a while, he became a familiar voice in my head. I looked forward to hearing from him, and also to writing to him.
Because I was a doctor, I was able to be vaccinated in January. Gary, too, was vaccinated early, probably because he was over 65. That made me feel that perhaps I could travel and visit him. And the more I fantasized about it, the more I wanted to feel his cock inside me.
At one point, the idea of fucking this stranger went from fantasy to desire. Then, it was all I could think about. Then Gary made the mistake of giving me his address.I looked online and was surprised that I could take a direct flight to Raleigh, North Carolina. I could leave on a Friday morning, and return by Sunday. But the problem was that I didn't have any excuse that I could give my husband.
Then I saw that a North Carolina medical society was sponsoring a continuing medical education program on a weekend in March. I told my husband that I was behind on my credits due to the pandemic, and that this program would allow me to catch up. He didn't bat an eye, and I emailed Gary and made arrangements to fly to Raleigh.
I had never been so nervous as I was on that flight. Sitting on the plane, I saw that my plan was foolish and reckless. I tried to tell myself that Gary wasn't a stranger because I had been corresponding with him for so long, but deep down I knew I was lying to myself. Many times I told myself to get another flight home as soon as I landed, but how would I explain my sudden return to my husband? I decided I would take a peek at Gary, who was picking me up from the airport before making a decision.
When I got off my flight, I went out of the terminal to the passenger pick-up area. I saw a large man that resembled the photo he had sent me. He was even scarier in person, like the serial killer that I was trying to avoid. He looked like an escaped convict who had been hiding in the mountains for twenty years. He wasn't fat, but he was big all over. I thought of turning around and going home, and hoped that he hadn't seen me.
