Susan Gets a Slut Name

Susan came in wearing sunglass and her vinyl jacket. I'd asked her to wear the jacket, the glasses she did on her own. Asked was probably too light a term, it had been clear I expected her to wear the vinyl. She didn't have much else on, high heels that matched and that was it. All it would take would be untying the belt and she'd be bared, exposed, open to any lewd advance I made. And that got my blood a boiling.

I went to her and immediately slid my hands along her. Not just over the coat, but along those bare legs too. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into me roughly. She moaned in that all too pleasing way. I owned her could do anything I wanted and she accepted that, reveled in it. I wanted her. Wanted to toss her down and ravage her right there in the spot. My other hand slid up her back and took a handful of hair.

Yanking her head back I leaned in and kissed her, hard. Tried to suck the life out of her. I wanted to possess everything. I moaned as she pressed and I pulled her body into mine. Breaking the kiss I slid my nose along the curve of her neck inhaling her. I told her how much I wanted her, as if she couldn't feel that already. Coming back up to her ear I whispered, told her she was my slut, my whore, my cunt. I wanted her and was going to fuck her. Use her the way I wanted. The words caused a reaction, she pressed against me, a dirty little creature in heat. She relished the name-calling.

There had been problems though. While her reaction in the bedroom had always been the same she did whisper to me at lunch one day that it caused her to worry just a little. What if those horrible, filthy, ugly, slutty, little words sank in? While she loved being reduced to a mere object of lust in moments of passion, she was afraid she'd be considered the same out in public. That she would soon be nothing more than a whore in my mind.

The problem was tricky. I enjoyed reducing her to those horrid things far too much to yield. I had a need to say those things. It simply wasn't imaginable to go back to those bland vanilla days. The psychological damage however would eventually result in an inevitable break up.

After a few days of mulling the issue over the solution struck. I told her to think of a name. The name of a dirty nasty sex hungry little bitch. Someone depraved. Who wasn't much more than the filthy names I would call her.

I broke the kiss, she squirmed against me. The sunglasses were a mask. She was hiding herself. Wanted to minimize whatever pain I had in store for her this evening. They had to go. I removed them and tossed them aside. Her doe eyes looked up begging quietly. The hand in her hair tightened and she closed her eyes.

"Look at me cunt." She opened them again, now filled with the pained expression.

"I love Susan. She is everything to me. I respect and admire her. But you Marie, you are nothing. You are just a cunt to be fucked Marie. A mouth to cum in. An ass to beat. You are my whore. To be tied up, used. A sex doll to empty my lust into. Do you understand Marie?"

Marie nodded and I slapped her. "Do you understand Marie?"

"What are you Marie?"

"Your cunt."

"What else Marie?"

"Your whore. Your slut. Anything you want."

"Good girl. Open your jacket Marie, I'm going to use you."

Her hands undid the belt. She let the outfit fall to the floor. Marie knew me so well. I pulled her to me relishing the feel of her naked skin against my clothed body. Marie kept her eyes shut as my hands explored her body roughly.

"Where's Susan, Marie?"

She thought for a moment, fighting off groans as my hands squeezed owned flesh. "Susan's not here."

Susan returned, hours later as we lay in the afterglow of exhaustion.

"Will that work?" I asked her.

She responded with a gentle kiss, her hands travelling down my drenched body. She purred and I knew it would.