I spent the weekend trying to come to terms with what I had discovered about myself. Sex had never been that much of a big deal to me. Yes, I enjoyed it when I did it, but I didn't obsess about it or worry when I wasn’t getting any. I'd never been that bothered about pleasuring myself either, maybe doing it occasionally when I was in a long dry spell, just to keep in practice, as it were.

But when I woke up on Saturday morning, after a Friday night never to be forgotten, sex was all I could think about. I took my dildo into the shower and brought myself off, but with the dildo stuck up my arse and my fingers working on my pussy! I made myself climax twice, but I still didn't feel satisfied, I had just run out of hot water.

I was still thinking about it when I went shopping that afternoon. I went to the big shopping centre, looking in shop windows to try and distract myself, knowing I couldn't really afford to buy very much. Seemingly inevitably, I ended up staring into the Ann Summers shop, looking at sexy lingerie and chains. I went inside, despite being incredibly embarrassed, and found myself gravitating towards their Bondage section. As I looked at their toys, all I could think about was me in those cuffs or those chains, being subjected to all manner of depravities by Alan, or even Mr Hollander, despite his age and the fact that he was my boss. Or maybe because of those things, I really didn’t know.

When a couple stood beside me, sniggering at the equipment, I felt myself blush bright red, and I hurried out, feeling the eyes of the sales assistants and all the customers burning into my back, whispered comments of condemnation fired in my direction. Or I could have imagined that. But I felt very flustered, and headed towards the toilets, wanting to get away from the crowds. Safely locked in a cubicle, my hand went under my skirt and I felt just how wet my panties were. Knowing how wrong it was, but unable to stop myself, my hand slipped into my knickers and I began to finger myself, forcing myself to the brink of orgasm.

At that moment, I heard someone coming in to the ladies room, and I froze, trying desperately to breathe quietly without panting. The person went into the cubicle next to me, and I knew I couldn't continue without her knowing exactly what was going on. Except I had to carry on and, hardly believing what I was doing, I slipped my wet panties off and stuffed them into my mouth. Now gagged, I resumed my stimulation, legs spread wide, and hanging on to the toilet cistern as I made myself cum.

"Well, really!" I heard from the cubicle next to me, followed by a flush, and then the sound of high heels rapidly exiting the room. It was pretty obvious that I had not managed to be as discrete as I’d hoped, and I felt mortified that some anonymous woman had heard my muffled moans of ecstasy. But I was still terribly aroused. Putting my crumpled, soaked panties back on, I stumbled out of the toilets and went home, still stunned at my own behaviour.

I spent Sunday trawling the Internet, trying to understand exactly what it was that had turned me into some kind of sex fiend. But it seemed that pictures, videos and stories didn't do it for me, it was only the reality, or the memory of that reality, which got me excited. And then, in the evening, there was a knock on my door. With my heart suddenly pounding in my chest, I went to answer it and, to my joy, it was him!

"Alan!" I exclaimed with a broad smile, "it's good to see you again!" His response was a hard slap across my cheek, almost knocking me to the ground.

"I told you not to use my name, didn't I, bitch?!" he growled, pushing past me into the house.

"I'm s-sorry, Sir," I responded nervously, "can I get you a drink?"

"I don't have time for that," he frowned, looking at his watch, "just get on your knees!"

I was rather taken aback by this abrupt command, but when I saw him unbuckling his belt and pulling down his trousers and shorts, I knew he was perfectly serious. Moments later, I was kneeling submissively in front of him, parting my lips, ready to take him into my mouth. As I tried to look up and make eye contact with him, he grabbed me by the hair roughly and simultaneously thrust forward whilst pulling my head tight into his body, forcing his erection deep into my mouth and making me choke.

He didn't give me an opportunity to demonstrate my learned skills of the blowjob, he just kept thrusting in and out, ignoring the gross gurgling and choking noises coming from me. I gasped for breath when I could, but basically he fucked my face remorselessly, until he reached orgasm. I felt like I was drowning in his cum, swallowing as much of it as I could, but also coughing and spluttering some of it out onto the carpet.

I licked the overspill from my lips and wiped it off my chin as I looked up at him. He merely pulled up his trousers and turned to leave.

"Next time, I want you to be wearing this," he said, tossing something across to me, "and nothing else." I looked down and saw that it was a dog collar - not a specialist piece of bondage gear, which looked like a dog collar, but the genuine article. Thick black leather with metal studs.

"When will I know you are coming, Sir?" I asked.

"You won't," he replied flatly, "but you'd better be ready for me anyway." With that, he walked out and slammed the door behind him. The whole ‘visit’ had been only a matter of minutes.

I felt used, as well as degraded and ashamed of myself. But still I clung to one thing - he would be back! I didn't care what he did to me, I just wanted to be with him. Having said that, I had to admit that I also enjoyed what he did to me, even though it made me feel even worse about myself.

My next challenge was Monday morning, and seeing Mr Hollander for the first time since our sex session. In the end, it was relatively easy, as he completely ignored me. I went bright red when he walked in of course, but no one said anything - maybe they thought I was getting early-onset menopausal hot flushes! Or maybe they just thought I was so weird that they’d stay out of my way.

When I went home that night, I stripped out of my clothes and put on the collar. It felt very strange, but very arousing - I was dressed as a slave, Alan's slave, and I realised that was exactly what I was. He didn't need chains, he already knew I would do whatever he asked willingly, and the collar was just a token of my submission.

He didn't come that night, and I went to bed disappointed, but still wearing the collar, fingering it lovingly as I fingered myself. It was my new ‘outfit’, given to me by my wonderful lover. The collar was the first thing he had given to me, and I reacted like it was jewellery! This became the pattern of my life - evenings spent naked and hopeful, but usually ending in frustration; days spent with my head down working hard, dreading the approach of my boss or the call to go into his office.

It was the next week before I heard the knock on the door and Alan was there again. I was naked and wearing the collar, but he made no comment, instead turning me away from him, pulling my wrists together and binding them tightly with rope. He thrust a cloth into my mouth, stuffing it in until I was completely gagged, then tying a piece of rope between my lips and around my head to hold it in place.

He bent me over the back of the sofa and shafted me deep and hard in the rectum, making me cry out at the pain, the sound very effectively muffled by the gag. I was soon grunting and moaning in pleasure as he roughly buggered me until he came, filling me with his hot seed. He slumped down on the sofa, his trousers still around his ankles.

"Clean me," he ordered when he had pulled the cloth from my mouth. Meekly, I knelt between his thighs and took his flaccid, stinking cock between my lips. I worked until he was clean and, as he didn't stop me, continued until he was stiff once more. He crooked his finger and beckoned me towards him, before stuffing the spit-soaked  cloth back into my mouth. Following his hand signals, I crawled on top of him and took him deep into my eager, receptive cunt.

I rocked back and forth as he lay back and let me ride him, reaching up to me and squeezing my breasts, painfully pulling on my nipples. I came quickly, my cries of ecstasy muffled, my arms still tied behind me preventing me from fully expressing the sensational feelings. As I tried to dismount him, he kept hold of my nipples, silently indicating that I should continue, that he was not yet satisfied, and that my own pleasure or discomfort was immaterial.

So I continued to bounce up and down on him until my thighs were aching, my pussy sore. I climaxed again, before he finally reached his own orgasm and allowed me to slump down on the sofa.

"Be at my place on Saturday," he said briskly as he adjusted his clothing, "seven o'clock, don't be late. And come as you are, naked and collared." When I saw him walking out of the door, I tried to cry out through the cloth, but he ignored me and was gone, leaving me still bound and gagged!

It took me nearly an hour to get free, having to use a kitchen knife to cut through the rope on my wrists. When I was finally able to pull the cloth from my mouth, my jaws were aching and my tongue felt like sandpaper. But I was exultant - I had a date! Okay, it was probably going to involve something filthy and degrading, but I would be spending time with Alan, and that was all that mattered.

Surprisingly, I did have to worry about what I was going to wear because, while I was to be naked when I got there, I didn't intend to travel to his house naked! In the end, as it was a warm summer evening, I decided to jog over, so I wore my sports bra, running vest, shorts and trainers, with a small backpack in which to put them when I got there. Feeling a little daring, I wore the dog collar during my run, declaring my slave status to the world, although the world didn't seem to really care - a few cars went past me and I passed a couple of pedestrians, but nobody noticed my slightly unusual adornment.

I arrived at shortly before the designated time, and stripped out of my kit, packing it away in my bag before ringing the doorbell. Although it was a very nice summer evening, the combination of a slight wind and a little perspiration on my body quickly left me shivering and hugging myself to keep warm. Slow minutes passed as I stood there, thankful that the house could not be seen from the road. I was about to ring the bell again when the door opened and Alan was there, looking incredibly handsome in his open-neck shirt and tailored slacks, a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"What's that?" he said, looking suspiciously at my bag.

"I-It's my clothes, Sir," I answered nervously, "I-"

"I told you not to bring anything," he barked angrily, "put it by the front gate until you leave, and be quick about it!" I ran back down the drive, trying to ignore the sharp gravel digging into the soles of my feet, looking to see if there were any pedestrians or cars on the now nearby road. I put the pack down by the gatepost and ran back out of view, returning to the front door.

Alan led me in, taking me straight up to the master bedroom. Without saying a word, he pulled my arms behind my back and I felt the rope being tied cruelly tight around my wrists. But then he went further, and he tied my elbows together as well, almost pulling my arms out of their sockets, forcing me to thrust out my chest. As I tried to come to terms with that, he forced a ballgag into my mouth, lodging it behind my teeth and buckling the strap as tight as he could. He pushed me roughly down onto my knees and then everything went black as he pulled some kind of sack over my head. I was really frightened, wondering what he was going to do to me now, but all I heard was his footsteps walking away and the bedroom door closing. After a few minutes, it became obvious that he had left me alone.

I knelt there for what seemed like at least an hour, too frightened to move - not that there was anywhere I could go or anything I could do. I was blind and helpless, my ragged breath blowing back into my face off the material covering it. But what kept me in exactly the same position was the fear that Alan would be angry if I had moved when he returned, and that he would punish me for it.

I was absorbed in the pain in my wrists, elbows and shoulders caused by the ropes, and that in my jaw caused by the huge gag, when I heard the doorbell ring, followed by the sound of male voices - several male voices. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could hear laughter. What was going on, I wondered. The doorbell rang again as someone else arrived, and it was maybe another half an hour before I heard anything more. But then, the bedroom door opened and the sack was whipped off my head, blinding me briefly.

Alan had returned, and he now clipped an actual dog lead to the collar around my neck, pulling me to my feet by it and leading me out of the bedroom and downstairs. I could hear the murmur of voices in conversation coming from the dining room and, to my growing alarm, I realised this was where I was being taken. Of course, on one level I knew that these men were here to use and abuse me, and I was incredibly excited about that, but on another level, I was overwhelmed with embarrassment, humiliation and self-loathing that I was allowing myself to be treated this way.

"Gentlemen," Alan said, presenting me to the small group, "this is our entertainment for the evening, a very obliging little slut called Valerie. Valerie, you know most of the guys here."

Indeed I did, and my eyes widened in horror. There was Mr Hollander, a broad grin on his face as he raised his glass to welcome me. But alongside him were Mr Smith and Mr Johnson, the other two partners in the firm where I worked! Mr Smith, who was even older than Mr Hollander and rather portly, looked extremely surprised to be seeing one of his employees standing naked in front of him. Mr Johnson was around forty and, by way of contrast, looked absolutely delighted to see me, unable to stop himself staring at my breasts and my pussy. He took a long swig of his beer to slake at least one of his thirsts.

"You haven't met Steve yet, have you?" Alan went on, introducing the fourth and final member of this little get-together. "Steve is Detective Superintendent of our fine local police force. I'm sure you’ll get on really well together." The policeman was probably in his mid to late thirties and was almost as handsome as Alan. But he wore a troubled expression.

"I thought you said she was up for this, Alan," he said, "how come she’s bound and gagged?"

"Sorry, just my personal preference," Alan replied, releasing the gag and untying my elbows, "I happen to enjoy bondage, and this one takes the ropes so well." I pulled at my wrists, but he made no move to untie them, and I did my best to rotate my aching shoulders and move my jaw to try and work out the stiffness.

"Valerie," Alan said, turning to me, "why don’t you tell the nice gentleman what you want to do for them tonight?" I looked around at the smiling, expectant faces focused on me, and swallowed hard.

"I… I want to… to pleasure your guests, Sir," I stuttered.

“And how will you do that, slut?” Alan taunted, with an amused tone.

“W-with my body, Sir,” I mumbled, my head down, “You and your guests may use my body as you wish.” If anyone had any doubts about the night’s activities, that put them to rest.

"So, now we've all been introduced, let's get down to business," Alan said with a broad smile, “I suggest that Valerie demonstrate her newly-acquired oral skills to start. Who would like to go first?”

Mr Hollander started to rise from his seat confidently, but then Mr Smith put his arm across him to block his way.

“Age before beauty, Frank,” Mr Smith said, and Mr Hollander, smiling,  held up his hands in submission.

“Go for it, Arthur,” he chuckled, and sat back down. I slowly went down on my knees as the elderly partner approached me.

“Be gentle with me, dear,” he said as he unfastened his trousers, “my wife stopped doing this many years ago.” When his member sprung out, stiff and long, I guessed Viagra was at work again, and I set about my work.

I did treat him gently, carefully caressing him with my lips, and licking him until he was moaning, calling me ‘sweet, sweet girl’ and stroking my hair fondly with trembling hands. It didn’t take too long before he shuddered, his cock twitched, and I found myself sucking down his lumpy seed.

“Thankyou, young lady,” he said shakily as he slumped down in his chair, “you’ve made an old man very happy.” As I swallowed the last of the semen in my mouth and licked my lips, Mr Hollander stood up and took up position in front of me.

It seemed they had decided to go in descending order of age, and when Mr Hollander had unloaded in my mouth, I was sucking on the third partner of the firm where I worked, Mr Johnson. He was  rather more rough with me, gripping my hair painfully and thrusting deep into me, making me choke.

“Go on, you little cunt, suck it!” he sneered, repeatedly blocking my airway with his violent strokes. With my wrists still bound behind my back, there was nothing I could do to stop him, all I could do was try to endure it. When he neared his climax, he pulled out and, holding my head in place with his fist clenched in my hair, he sprayed his cum across my face.

“Take it, cocksucker, take it all!” he growled, smearing the sticky mess around with his fingers, before pushing them into my mouth. I licked them clean, shaken by the aggression and apparent hatred in his treatment of me, but also incredibly aroused by it.

The policeman stood before me next, and I was in such a daze that I didn’t even look up at him, just waited for him to drop his trousers. He didn’t make me wait long, but he made no move to put his cock in, making me lean forward and take him into my well-used mouth. He was long, and I struggled to take him all in, but I fought back my gag reflex and went down on him until the glans was brushing my tonsils. I suddenly felt his hand on the back of my head, forcing his shaft into my throat, frightening me as I fought for breath. Long moments passed before he released me, and I gulped down air desperately, before he tried to force himself even deeper. Now I was frantically struggling to escape, because I really thought he was going to asphyxiate me. But he held me in a vice-like grip as his phallus throbbed and finally exploded, shooting his cum directly down my throat without the need for me to swallow. As he released me, I fell to the floor, coughing, spluttering and gasping like a fish out of water, sharp pains shooting through my abused throat.

“Hmm, I think I’ll skip my turn right now,” Alan said, “I think she’s probably had enough. Let’s move on to my favourite pastime  – fucking her arse.” I looked up pleadingly and shook my head no, but when I tried to beg him not to do that, only a pathetic croak emerged, and I cringed at the pain.

Alan pushed me over onto my knees and started to wrap me in rope. My arms were twisted behind my back and held apart, each to its own side of my body, the palms of my hands facing outwards. The rope cut into my flesh, crushing my breasts and squeezing my waist. I felt my thighs tied to my calves, then also to my body so that I was imprisoned by the cord, unable to straighten up, hardly able to move at all, my legs pulled apart, spreading my upturned buttocks invitingly. I was ready, and Alan took full advantage.

The cry I couldn’t suppress as he thrust into me felt like it ripped my tortured throat open, but the violation of my rectum was too painful for me to remain silent. Time and again he rammed his length deep into my bowels until, with an animalistic shout, he pumped his fluid into me. As I felt him briefly slump over my back, his sweaty skin sliding across my own, I experienced a curious sense of satisfaction – I had surrendered myself to my love in the most humiliating and degrading way imaginable, and somehow I was sure he appreciated my sacrifice. Surely, I thought in my befuddled state, his feelings for me must be growing. Moments later he got up, and someone else took his place.

I tried to shut my mind to the pain and humiliation as, one after another, they took their turn to bugger me. But, as had happened before, I found my revulsion and disgust at my abuse gradually overwhelmed by my arousal at being treated like this. It finally reached the point where I was forced to orgasm, my hoarse cries accompanied by tears streaming down my face.

At that moment I looked up to see Alan, a drink in his hand, toasting me with a smile, and suddenly it all seemed to make some kind of sense. I wasn’t debasing myself like this for my own pleasure, I was doing it for him! My suffering was, in some strange way, helping me win him over, to make him love me like I loved him!

Well, it seemed to make sense to me at the time. After all, the alternative, that I really was the horrible, depraved whore they all thought me, was too awful to contemplate.

“Why don’t we move this upstairs, then we can really fuck this slut’s brains out.”