Part of me hates this man, whom I'll call "X" for now. We didn't get along as a couple, which is why we broke up in the first place. I didn't even hate him when we broke up- it was very amicable, the old ‘we're just in very different places right now,' blah blah blah… but very soon after the split, I found myself fantasizing, over and over again, about the sex we used to have. It became totally consuming, to the point that I finally found myself breaking down and calling him on the phone one day. I tried to be subtle about it, but he saw right through the guise, and that led to us having breakup sex that night. I tried to tell myself it was a one-time thing; I mean, I certainly didn't want to date him again, but for some reason now that we were broken up, I found myself wanting to do all the naughty things I hadn't wanted to do before. I mean, ALL the naughty things, and more- I've become obsessed with the sex, the orgasms, pushing the limits with this man, and I'm afraid I didn't hide my obsession very well at all. X now knows that I'm consumed with these thoughts, thinking about what we'll do next, what he'll make me do, and that I'm desperate for it not to stop. If he was a decent man he'd let me off the hook, help me quit, but instead he's using my obsession against me- I'm being blackmailed over my own wanton desires, and I hate him for taking advantage of my weakness in this way.
Just this week alone I've been forced to masturbate for him countless times, with dildos, cucumbers, vibrating bullets, while he took pictures or video of me doing it. He made me sit in the passenger seat of the car with my tits exposed while he drove aimlessly around town, making me keep my hands at my side and him occasionally reaching over to tweak my nipples to keep them nice and hard for anyone driving by who might see. Yesterday I had to stop in at my office to work for a few hours; normally I work from home, but it happens occasionally that I have to go to the office for some of the paperwork. Before I left, he made me get on all fours on the coffee table, fucked my face for a couple minutes, then slipped behind me where he yanked up my skirt, dribbled a couple drops of lube on me before stuffing my ass with a butt plug. I was nearly in tears at the thought of having to drive to the office like this, take the 2-3 hours to fill out all the paperwork, and drive back with this vile thing rammed up my ass- but when I actually balked about doing it he slapped my cunt and told me I'd do it or else no more sex, no more orgasms- make that MIND-BLOWING orgasms- nothing from him ever again. I literally can't stand the thought of it; I'm so obsessed with the sex, the games, the torment, that I'll do anything to keep him from quitting. So I apologized by sucking his cock some more before I headed off to the office, ass plug intact. The pressure it applied while I sat at my desk was uncomfortable yet unbelievably arousing, and it took me almost twice as long to get my work done because I couldn't concentrate on anything but trying not to cum in a roomful of my co-workers!
So now we're going out to dinner. I had just gotten out of the shower and was moisturizing my entire body, including my freshly-shaved pussy, when he came in with a package in his hand. I looked at him quizzically until he started pulling clothes out of the package, and then realized he'd purchased an outfit for me to wear that night. I glared at him fiercely when I saw how short the black skirt was, and how low-cut and sheer the top was. If my nipples didn't stick out over the top of the shirt then they would at least be seen through the fabric! My glare was lost on him, however, and he merely laughed at me. "If you don't want to wear this, my little slut, then that's fine. You can wear whatever you like from now on while you sit at home by yourself and masturbate to whatever free porn you download," X said. I was still glaring but wilted, as I always did when he threatened to take away the sex. Damn him to hell for tormenting me like this!!
I fixed my hair and put on the hateful outfit and regarded myself in the mirror; I looked like a high-price whore. We were just about to walk out the door when I saw him take a plain white box from the same package my clothes were in and tuck it into my purse. I wanted to ask what it was but I suspected I'd find out soon enough. Off we went, and on the way to the restaurant I was forced to suck his cock the entire way while up on my knees in the passenger seat, ass in the air so that anyone driving by would not only know I was giving him road-head but also would get a good view of my ass and shaved pussy. I heard other cars honk several times while he reached around and plunged his fingers in and out of my pussy during the drive. Words cannot describe how I was simultaneously filled with rage, hate, lust, shame, and more lust.
We finally arrived, and I was shocked to see that it was actually a very nice restaurant. I haphazardly tried to fix my hair a bit and cursed him under my breath while trying to hide my visibly hard nipples poking through the fine mesh of the shirt. I'd been in this restaurant before; it had a serene, elegant atmosphere, and it reeked of money. No doubt the patrons and staff would be ogling my completely inappropriate outfit, but I doubted anything would be said. Sure enough, the maître d' glanced at my short skirt, my protruding nipples, but was nothing but discreet and diplomatic while he led us to a table- in the back, of course, so as to not offend the other patrons. We were in a semi-private booth in the corner, and X waited for me to sit down before sliding into place next to me. He reached over and gave my left nipple a little twist and laughed at me while I tried not to gasp at the intrusion and draw attention to myself.
The waiter was there promptly and took our drink and appetizer orders, promising to return for the rest of our orders when we were ready. X leaned over and whispered that I was to sit there with two of my fingers inserted into my pussy until he came back for our orders. I tried not to snarl at him but couldn't help it, a little bit. He merely laughed at me- completely patronizing me- and told me to get on with it and to please use my right hand so he could see more, as he was sitting to my left. So I tried to study the menu and kept those two fingers buried in my pussy while he unabashedly stared at my crotch. I wasn't to actively play with myself, just keep the fingers buried in there, so I felt somewhat grateful that it was a little easier to be discreet about it. But it was difficult to keep a straight face while ordering our food from the waiter while those fingers were in there…
Finally, we finished ordering. The waiter left, and I was allowed to remove my fingers from my now very-warm pussy. X leaned over and kissed my cheek before whispering, "Here are your instructions: Go to the bathroom, and take your purse with you. Inside your purse is that white box you saw me place in there. Go into a stall, take out the white box, open it, and remove what I have inside. You can carry it back here in your purse but once you come back you are to remove it from your purse and hand it to me, before you sit down. You may not sit down until I say so."
I shivered as his lips brushed my ear, and I was filled with both dread and anticipation at what might be in the box. Without looking at him I pushed away from the table and, grabbing my purse, made my way to the restroom as quickly as possible. Once there, I stepped into a stall, locked it behind me, and pulled the mysterious box out of my purse. I looked at it for a moment, the dread and lust building up, before opening the box. Inside was one of the thickest dildos I'd ever seen, and there was a suction cup at the base of it. I gulped audibly, and sagged against the side of the wall… surely he didn't plan to use this monster on me? I was heavily into denial when I walked out of that stall, the hateful dildo inside my purse again. I looked at myself in the mirror, hating the girl I saw there for being too weak to walk away from this torture. Hating her for actually loving the torture, the shame of it all.
 
                             
                         
                         
                         
                         
                         
                                 
                                 
                                 
                                