Baner's Slut

The date-rape drugs described here—GHB, MDMA and Meth—are real, just, to my knowledge, never compounded for effects quite like those described.

The carrier DMSO acts exactly as described and has been used as a substance-drug carrier across the skin for years.

I have personal experience with the hypnotic state described here - In the hands of an unethical and skilled master hypnotist one can, over a period of months, actually cause a person to be given a post-hypnotic suggestion from a state of trance, mainly by getting the person to believe that the events and/or persons happen a long time ago and not to be concerned about them... and to forget about the thought as soon as possible.

In like fashion, also as a personal experience, a similar state of obsessive behavior (often financial) can be induced in a person, to cause them to make millions of dollars for someone else while working many overtime hours and making a lot less for themselves.

Hyper-sexuality, or nymphomania, is a real disorder in women. They can become a slut at a moment's notice, but then revert to a posture of innocence in a heartbeat - It is uncommon but not rare.

*****

The RV motor-home life suited me, as a nomad business consultant. Most of the clients I had didn't need my physical presence at their businesses. If they did, it was easy to drive there, or take a flight, parking the RV somewhere. I bought a few acres in a warm place (for the winter) and a few more acres for the cold months (in a warmer place). Each got set up with a rain shelter and a shaded front porch, for sitting around and just dozing away my single-man's life, with no girlfriend: just escorts, now and then, plus Freddy Feel-Good and his Funky Little Five Piece Band.

I was sitting there, on that porch, when I heard a rock fall from up the small trail that led from the pines to my sheltered RV. I looked up from my semi-nightmare, to see the subject of that nightmare walking down the path, toward me.

She swayed as she walked. Long brown hair, done up in a knot at the back of her head. Lightly tanned. Long, lovely legs, ending in socks and comfortable walking shoes. Wide hips for her petite size. Nice, toned muscular waist. Bigger ski-slope shaped tits than I remembered, but still tipped with lovely nipples. Long arms, small hands snd sensible, well-kept fingernails. Wearing a skin-tight halter top and equally skin-tight set of short-shorts. A belt around her waist, holding a pager, cell-phone holster. A handgun holster on her right hip. A small backpack. That 100-watt smile.

My ex-wife. The gang-banging slut I left 3 years ago. Anitra.

She mounted up on the porch and sat down the other rocking chair I had there, while she took out a bottle of water from her backpack, and drained it in several gulps.

Her pager went BEEP, as I involuntarily cringed, as it was the most hated sound of my memory, long ago. She took it out and looked at the display. But then she threw it down in the dust, drew her .357 Magnum revolver and calmly shot into it three times. "Wow, what a BANG," she said as she grinned again.

Then her cell-phone rang, and she looked at the message, saying, "Harriet insists that I get my ass to The Bank, right now." The cell-phone joined the shards of plastic and silicon on the ground, as she placed three more shots into the costly device, reducing it to plastic rubble. "That was SOOOO satisfying," she said, as I gapped.

Last, there was a signal from a big tablet computer in a pocket of the backpack. She pulled it out, looked t the message flowing across the screen in big bold letters. "The Bank demands that I return immediately and they're using the command words that I had to respond to, back years ago." Anitra calmly ejected the spent cartridges, and reloaded her gun, then put all six shots into that tablet computer, smashing it beyond any hope of repair or influence. Then she dropped the empty revolver on the porch and pushed it away from her with one lovely foot.

Anitra clearly and slowly said, "Fuck my pager. Fuck my cell-phone. Fuck my tablet. Fuck Harriet. Fuck Ahmed. Fuck my research team. Fuck the Board of Directors. Fuck the big depositors. Fuck all the guys and gals who forced me for all those years and FUCK THE BANK!!"

She added, grinning again, "Better close your mouth, lover, or the bugs will get in."

She stood up and posed for me a moment, then rolled her eyes up until the whites showed, and fainted into my arms.

————————-.

Carrying Anitra into my now cramped RV, I put her on the couch that served my relaxation times, and covered her lithe body with a thin blanket. Looking down at her, I wanted to: kill her. ... love her ... force-fuck her ... bang her until she bled to death ... cuddle her ...make long, slow love to her ... mutilate her body ... I wanted to, oh, what to do ... anything but murmur, as her eyelids fluttered open, "it's pretty good to see you, Anitra. Will you stay for lunch?"

She replied, "OK, but can I be topless then?"

Dumb question.

I added, "Anitra, I've changed my name. I'm Casimir Ellis now, no middle initial."

She just nodded.

Lunch was a hearty sandwich, piled high with deli meats, onions, tomato on multigrain bread, plus my home-made beer. She contributed by pointing her free-swinging boobs at me every second.

I said, "Anitra, you're gonna try to seduce me into bed and you'll succeed, too, but why? Why now, after all this time? Why, just me when you have all those guys and gals?"

I added, in a sudden nasty mood, "How many were there?"

"Well," she said in mock concentration, "for about a year before you wrote your last letter and got lost, there were 11 guys (the girls didn't count) and they were horny, so each shot their loads into all my holes or hands three times. There were usually 6 Board members, but since they were a lot older, they could cum once. But there were usually a smaller group of big depositors, say, 5 men, and they could cum 2 or 3 times, too."

"So lets figure 11 guys times 3 each plus 5 depositors also at 3 times each, plus 6 Board fuckers at 1 time each, for a total of 54 loads of forced-sex cum into my waiting body for every orgy. The sex was usually 3 times a week, during Banking hours, so that makes it 162 cum-shots in my drooling cunt per week."

"I got some Banking holidays and most weekends off from the group sex, so that makes it 50 weeks times 162 which equals 8,100 cum-rapes per year. They kept this up, right to the final day, which was about 3 years, so I had about 24,000 loads dumped into my cunt."

She added, tears starting to break through the mask of mock-levity, "That doesn't count the number of times Ahmed and Harriet took me home for a weekend or when they leant me out to party with the big depositors or the Board members, so let's just say that I had about 28,000 fucks in those three years. I did get some weekends off, some bank holidays and a few supervised short vacations."

Her tears may have started, but I felt my long suppressed rage building. I said, quietly but with tension in my voice, "Lady, you keep saying you were 'forced.' That doesn't square with what I saw while you were having your orgy on that day or the other times, when I watched the DVDs I took from the cabinet in your office.

"In each of those recordings, you were taken from your office, naked and walking proudly out to the research table area smiling, boobs bouncing and hips swinging, except for the one time when you were 'dressed' as an executive for The Bank: then, you did a sexy strip to the buff, before anything else happened."

I found my voice rising in pitch and loudness, as I continued, "I clearly heard you say, 'LET'S PARTY,' followed by calls for 'SOMEBODY, ANYBODY, FUCK ME' over and over."

I was louder and started to get red with rage, "Then I saw you get down on your back and you had your team leader Ahmed plunge his dick into you, hard and fast, to unload into MY WIFE a few minutes later. About the same time as you were eating out your BFF Harriet and she squirted all over your face and tits. Then you sucked everybody's hard dick, spending over 5 minutes with each drooling cock."

To my now cowering ex-wife slut, I yelled, "I saw you taken in every hole. You were, as they say, airtight. Guys pumping jizm into you by ones, twos and threes. Guys shooting their slimy loads into your open mouth, while you struggled to swallow all of it. I saw MY WIFE fucking 24 men, over and over and over, for four hours, per each DVD disk."

Then screaming in a mixture of hate, lust, remembered horror, lost love and disgust, "I SAW YOU SMILING YOUR 100-WATT GRIN WITH EACH PENETRATION AND SPERM LOAD TO YOUR BODY, WHILE YOU ORGASMED AND BEGED FOR MORE AND MORE AND MORE."

Suddenly quiet, I said in a defeated monotone, "So it was never really forced, was it?"

I broke down and sobbed hard, tears streaming down my face, as

i couldn't continue my rage any moire. I near-whispered, "I saw MY WIFE used and abused in a two-hour sexy orgy, and loving every thrust, every shot, every orgasm. Not a trace of guilt or shame. I even watched, a dozen times on each disk, as you cleaned your cheating ass and cunt out, right there in front of all the cheering guys and gals, then got a bottle of sex-lube and started back to fuck some more."

"Poor me. I'd lost you to The Bank and its fucking research crew a year before I even knew about the party in your panties ... oh, sorry, you don't wear any panties anymore, do you."

Quietly, with finality, I said, "All that wasn't forced! You loved it all! You loved, probably still love, the fucking and sucking. There's no way one single ex-husband could come within 1% of satisfying you, I knew that when I saw you 'perform'. I'd never been good enough, it seems. I'm still not good enough now."

I said, before my throat closed up too tight to talk, "OK, I get it. I can't compete. The Bank won you, body and soul. So what are you doing here, with one broken down old fart who can't support you with a 6-figure salary or sex you the way you need?"

I fell to my knees, and then into a tight fetal ball, as I cried and sobbed and mourned.

Time passed. A lot of it, or maybe just moments, i don't know. I unwound myself, to look up and see Anitra, tears staining the front of her still bare boobs and running down her bare belly, raise her revolver to her open mouth and put the barrel inside.

I've never moved that fast in all my life, as I literally launched myself at her slim, petite figure, yanking the gun out of her mouth and firing it six time into the air. My launch caught her and knocked her backwards, on her back. I threw myself on top of her, heedless of my weight, as I snarled, "Oh no, you don't. No easy way out for you." She squirmed under me, her already bare boobs pressing into my chest, as I pinned her arms to the floor.

She sobbed and moaned, as she squirmed under me and suddenly, I was hard as steel. I tried my best to force her, there on the porch beside my RV motorhome.

I tried ... but I just couldn't force-fuck this wench. Never could. Even now.

Multiple gang-bang cheating, unfaithful sex-slave to a faceless corporate institution ... all of it suddenly laid aside, as I surged over her, ripping open my chino pants and exposing my long-denied manhood. I pulled and jerked her short-shorts off and flung them to the side. With no foreplay, but years of bated lust, I penetrated MY WIFE with my long cock. Despite tens of thousands of fucking penetrations, she was TIGHT.

There was no resistance to my first thrust, as I sank to the hilt in sopping-wet woman juice. Anitra moaned, and thrust her hips back toward mine, as we settled into a slow rhythm. I could barely talk and she was too busy working herself up to her first orgasm, but i was able to grind out, "I can't force you. I still love you. I've GOTTA HAVE YOU, RIGHT NOW!!" She nodded and, in 20 thrusts, came, hard and wet, squirting all over my cock and thighs.

Anitra started to chant, over and over, as she helped me nail her to the floor, "Slut me. Whore me. Fuck me. Do me. Make love to me. Fill me up, so that I leak. I wanna leak, to show everybody what you put in there. No mercy, drive it inside me, right now. I want it, want it, want it." More orgasms happened, faster and faster, as i ravaged her in long-suppressed lust, until she went into Status (where the end of one orgasm triggered the onset of the next).

Tiny, at 4' 10" and 105 lbs,, she bucked me near off as I thrust into her, still screaming voice, "I love you. You love me. Fill me up and let me leak down my own leg. I'm yours, now. You're just right in there. Don't you EVER think that you're not good enough!"

I came! Pumping what seemed like gallons of jizm into her pouring wet pussy (not cunt, anymore), as I pulsed and screamed out my cock-spurting ecstasy.

Then I slumped to one side, and tried to get my reality-mind in gear again, but reality and mind had fled the scene, leaving me with post-coital bliss, right beside my ravaged woman

Yeah, my woman!

A few decades later, or maybe only moments, Anitra got up and stood before me, sporting a just-fucked 100-watt grin and damn-all else. A trickle of my implanted sperm began to ooze out of her nether lips. I pointed this out, offering a towel. To that, she simply asked, "why?" The same answer was given when I asked if she wanted to get re-dressed. "Why?" She parked herself in one of the rocking chairs on the wood porch that butted up against the side of my RV motorhome.

Leaning back and rocking, she said, "That was perfect. Just perfect. Oh, and by the way, I'm tight because of two years physical therapy, hypnotic de-conditioning, walking, running, Kegal exercises and dance therapy." I plaintively said, "I didn't ask."

Waiting for a time, Anitra said quietly, "I've got a lot to tell you, and some of it will hurt me or us, so let me talk and please don't interrupt."

To which I said, "This is MY land. That is MY RV. You're sitting on MY porch, rocking in MY chair. You're MY woman again and I'M your fucking pervert man. I'll interrupt when I damn well please, including coming over to feel out your boobs, and put my fingers in your pussy and ass, whenever I feel like it ... like this."

A delightful few moments went by and Anitra said, laughing, "oh, please, Sir, can I have some more?"

She began.

—————————-.

About 2 years before you saw me 'perform' in the research department of The Bank, wrote your letter and left, the analysts and I had finished a bang-up investigation on the looming dangers of the sub-prime mortgage derivatives markets. To celebrate, we went out to an expensive, exclusive club, where a stage hypnotist performed.

First he entranced Harriet into being a chicken, and she clucked and pecked for grain on stage. Then he worked on Ahmed, instructing him that he was a male stripper and had him dance to some loud music, getting naked right down to his speedos.

Next it was my turn, and apparently by pre-arrangement with Ahmed and Harriet, I was told that I was a stripper and exotic nude pole dancer who was working up her lover for some hot sex.

Suddenly, I WAS a dancer, and I did a sexy strip right in front of the packed club's patrons and my cheering team, on stage. I was wearing that little black dress number with the front zip and I took several minutes of strutting and posing to get that zipper all the way down and thrown off. My little lace thong panties followed, so then I was nude, right on stage, in front of all the patrons at the club. You know I almost never wear a bra and I didn't have one on that night. I had naked sex with the pole, climbing it, swinging around it and thrusting my oozing bare pussy up on it. At last, I got down on the floor and made screaming, humping love to the 'invisible man' with the 10" dick, cumming several times, screaming and loving it, still right on stage.

I was handed off the stage by the hypnotist, but further instructed not to be concerned that I was naked, for 10 minutes more, but then to just put on my clothes back on. Which is what I did, to the cheers of the club's patrons.

What I didn't know, then, but do now, was that the hypnotist had also planted a powerful post-hypnotic-suggestion in me, that I was:

(1). A true hyper-sexual nymphomaniac, ready to have slutty sex at a moments notice. Since I was already a flirt and all sexed up for you, I was more than ready to act that way to my new hypnotic master.

(2). That I would revert to that state whenever I heard three command words said by out loud and do whatever they told me to do.

(3). That whatever I did would be for the profit and pleasure of The Bank, as determined by its representatives (my research team).

(4). At another three-worded command, I would utterly forget anything I said and did while under the command words.

It was, of course, a set-up by Ahmed and Harriet, and that started my downfall. Over the course of a couple of weeks, the hypnotist, looking and dressing differently, was added to our research team, as an entertainment industry consultant to The Bank and he regularly worked me over, reinforcing his commands and planting others.

He even implanted one to cause me to suicide at the spoken word, if somehow, their plans became unworkable and they had to run.

Next, Ahmed found a rogue chemist, and added him to our team. He made up a drug for me, which Harriet gave, just before a 'party' was scheduled. Ahmed and Harriet called it our 'sexy juice'. It was a three-part drug, and loaded into transdermal skin patches, sort of like the over-the-counter nicotine patches that give out to stop smoking. I'd get one and, in a couple of minutes, I'd start feeling warm, sexy, loving and uninhibited. I never found out precisely what was in his 'sexy juice'.

I interrupted Anitra at this point.

"Anitra, about a week after I left, I called in a favor from a recent former client, one who did confidential biochemical work for other folks. Your 'sexy juice was a mix of 3 very illegal compounds, each a stand-alone date-rape drug. Start with Gamma-Hydroxybutyrate Acid, or GHB. In a mild dose, adjusted to your specific body weight, it causes euphoria ... removes inhibition ... enhanced libido ... acts as an aphrodisiac ... boosts sexual drive a lot ... promotes increased sexual perception and impairs memory, so that the user doesn't know what happened when it wears off.

Then add a light dose of MDMA, which is 3,4 methalenedioxy methamphetamine. Otherwise known as Molly here in the USA but also ecstasy, Taking it would give a mood lift into euphoria ... increase sense of energy ... an ego softener ... decreased fear, anxiety ... feelings of comfort and closeness to others ... feelings of love ... Increased awareness of the senses, especially touch ... urge to hug and kiss people, including complete strangers ... Increased sexual participation ... increased genital area sensitivity ('making your pussy tingle').

Then, because each of the other drugs had an affect of making you drowsy, they added a mild dose of Meth, which turned your woman into a hyped-up sexual animal for 4 to 6 hours at a time. The real kicker was that each of these drugs acted together as stronger than any one or two alone."

"Finally, they put this hell-mix in a transdermal patch and mixed in DMSO. You remember the DMSO craze, years ago. A person would mix lemon extract with DMSO, then put a finger in the liquid. In a couple of minutes, you'd start to taste lemon in your mouth. So your mix of 'sexy juice' drugs would flow into your bloodstream within a couple minutes that Harriet put the patch on your skin, and you'd become a mindless, uninhibited, sex-loving, fuck-crazy, hyped-up nympho whore-slut, wanting to hug everyone around you and make love and have sex with all of them, all at once."