This is the story of how I discovered that I am a Pain Slut.  

My name is Chloe, and I had been dating Chris for about six months since the beginning of our freshman year of college. He was a great guy, and we did all the typical things that young couples do - we went out on dates, hung out with friends, etc. I had sex with him after we had been dating for a few weeks, mainly because it was what was expected. He wasn't my first, but I hadn't been with many boys. Sex was okay, but it just didn't seem like a big deal to me.

----------

The summer before, I had dated an older guy in his mid-twenties, Keith. It was a short-lived affair, but something happened one night that I couldn't get out of my mind. We were at his place, watching a movie and playing around on the couch. I was interested in the movie, so I was mildly rejecting his advances. All of a sudden, Keith got serious with me. "Turn off the movie. I want to fuck you now."

The change in his tone was stark, and I immediately lost my focus on the movie and turned to look at him. His expression did not seem playful; in fact, it was deadly serious. I suddenly felt myself getting very wet, but I didn't understand why. I wasn't really sure how to react, so I just looked him at him, saying nothing. He stared at me malevolently for a few moments, and I finally replied, feeling like I was giving into his force of will, “Okay Keith.”

With a sudden movement, he grabbed me and pulled me over his lap onto my tummy, pulled down my leggings and panties, and swatted my ass five times on each cheek, extremely hard. It hurt, but I realized that the pain was welcome and also brought a wave of pleasure. Keith had never done anything like this before, and I was so taken off guard that it took me a moment to realize how turned on I was by what he was doing.

My instinct was to struggle, but I did so with the full desire for him to overcome me. I knew implicitly that struggling would make him hurt me more, and that’s what I wanted. He was much bigger than me and easily held me down and kept me from moving. "Stop fucking squirming!" he shouted, and then he swatted my ass another five times on each cheek. 

"What the fuck are you doing?!?" I yelled, but only as a means of pushing him to do more of what I wanted. This got me another five swats per cheek. I briefly considered saying something bratty to incite him further, but I chickened out and just relaxed on his lap and heard myself say calmly, "I'm sorry, Keith."

He tugged my leggings and panties the rest of the way off. He pushed me off his lap onto the couch, stood up and took down his pants, and mounted me from behind like I was a bitch. My pussy was absolutely drenched as he shoved his cock into me. It only took him seven or eight hard, fast thrusts before he came in my pussy.

While I didn't have an orgasm, my body was in a state of arousal that I could never recall having experienced before. There was a kind of euphoria that followed the intense pain and my submission to him. It was a warm feeling of satisfaction, of being useful. That moment of submission was like an orgasm of the mind.  

We broke up not long after that for reasons unrelated to what happened that night, but I could not stop thinking about that feeling at that moment when I gave in to him, and I knew that I wanted to find a way to feel that again.

----------

Chris and I met not long after that, and we started dating. He checked all the conventional boxes - he was about my age, good-looking, intelligent, with good prospects for the future. But our intimacy was mediocre for me, and I would just run through the paces. Meanwhile, I couldn't shake the memory of that night with Keith. It wasn't as much about Keith in particular, but instead, it was much more about that euphoric feeling of submission.

Chris's father, Mr. Collins, was in his mid-forties, divorced, and very attractive. He was a serial entrepreneur who had made his money selling three companies he had started over the previous ten years. Chris told me that after his parents got divorced, his father had been "playing the field" for the past two years. He smirked when he told me this, as though he took great pride in his father's conquests.   

Mr. Collins was always very cordial to me when I was at their house. He would smile and make small talk. I could never put my finger on it, but something about his demeanor made me feel like he was...appraising me somehow, as though he was taking careful mental notes about my appearance, mannerisms, how I talked, etc. It was the oddest feeling, as though he was slowly taking hold of me in some subtle way through the sheer force of his will.

One afternoon, I had planned to meet Chris at his house. When I arrived, however, he was not yet back from his class at the local university we both attended. Mr. Collins invited me in to wait for him. He offered me a drink, which I gratefully accepted. He poured me some chilled white wine, which was welcome because it was a hot day.

We talked for a while, and when I finished my first glass of wine, he offered me a second, which I accepted. We were talking and laughing about something, when I felt a little dizzy. Mr. Collins saw I was about to fall and reached out to catch me. I suddenly felt myself being held tightly in his strong arms. I regained my balance, but he kept one big hand clamped around the back of my neck.

"Are you okay, Chloe? Are you drunk?" he asked.

"Oh, no, I'm fine, I'm not drunk at all; I just felt a little dizzy there for a moment."

He continued to grasp my neck firmly. We suddenly seemed to run out of words, and I found myself just looking into his eyes. He had a smirk on his face like he knew something I didn't know.

"Why don't we go over to the couch," he said.

He guided me toward the couch, his hand still on my neck. I assumed we would sit next to each other on the couch, but suddenly, he sat down and pulled me over his lap onto my tummy. I was in utter shock that my boyfriend's father was doing this to me, but I was also immediately reminded of my experience with Keith. He put one arm across the back of my legs while he continued to hold the back of my neck with his other hand.

"Just relax, Chloe," he said in a calm, soothing voice.

I still had no idea why he was doing this, but I knew that I liked it. I felt my pussy get wet, even though he had so far done nothing overtly sexual.

"Mr. Collins, what are you doing?"

"I think you know exactly what I'm doing, Chloe. Do you want me to stop?"

I thought about this for a long moment before answering. "No."

"Good. Now, Chloe, you look to me like a girl in desperate need of something. Am I right?"

"Yes, Mr. Collins."

"And what is it that you need, Chloe?"

"I need a man to tell me what to do, to make me do it," I said before I even knew I was thinking it.

"Make you do what?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever he wants."

"Whatever, who wants?"

"You, Mr. Collins. Make me do whatever you want. Please."

"Get on the floor in front of me on your knees."

I did as he asked, kneeling in front of him and looking up at him.

"Take off all your clothes."

I froze in utter disbelief that this was happening. My boyfriend's father was ordering me to strip naked in front of him.

"Chloe, we can stop this anytime you want. But once you stop, it's over. You'll never get another chance with me."

I looked up at him with longing. I wanted that feeling again so badly. And my instincts were telling me that Mr. Collins knew a lot about how to give it to me. After a few moments, I began to undress. He watched me calmly the entire time as I stripped my clothes off until I was kneeling in front of him once again, but this time completely naked.

"Chloe, do you want me to hurt you?"

A thrill went through me as he asked me this question. He had hit the nail on the head. I had not realized until that moment how much I wanted him to hurt me.

"Y-yes, Mr. Collins."

"'Sir.' You will address me as 'Sir.'"

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Collins. Please hurt me, Sir."

"Get back up on my lap, on your tummy."

I did as he instructed and stretched out my naked body over his lap, still unable to believe that this was really happening. I was embarrassed because I knew I must be getting his pants very wet from my gushing pussy. Without warning, he began to spank my ass. He would raise his cupped hand high in the air and bring it down with violent force. Each time he struck me, it made a loud POP sound. He spanked me five times on my left ass cheek and then five times on my right. I gasped, and my eyes got big and started to water as I absorbed each blow. The pain was intense and stinging, but I did not move. I felt helpless, but I also felt that sense of euphoria beginning in my belly, and I could feel my bare, exposed pussy getting wetter. After spanking me five times on each side, he stopped.

"Well?" he said.

I panicked for a moment, trying to figure out what he was waiting for. Then, it came to me.

"Thank you. Thank you, Sir, for hurting me."

"Good girl. Now go get cleaned up and put your clothes back on. Chris will be home soon."

I slid off his lap and gathered up my clothes. He left the room without another word.

About fifteen minutes later, Chris arrived. I was completely dressed, and there was no outward sign of what had happened with his father. My ass was stinging underneath my clothes, however. The throbbing pain felt wonderful, and I found myself wishing that he hadn't stopped at five spanks per side. I also wondered if Chris and I would end up having sex later in the evening and if he would notice the redness of the skin on my ass. This caused me to feel fear, but it also gave me a cheap thrill to have this secret with Mr. Collins.

During the following week, I couldn't get Mr. Collins off my mind. The way he had so effortlessly commanded me and how I had been so quick to obey. It felt so natural to submit to him, and thinking about doing it again made me feel lightheaded and also caused my pussy to get wet.

Then, one day, I got a text message from Mr. Collins: "Chloe, you will come to my house at lunchtime tomorrow." I wasn't sure how to react. Was I going to let this happen again? Right under my boyfriend's nose? It only took me a few minutes of contemplation to conclude that, yes, I was going to do it. I felt like I would risk almost anything to have him hurt me again.

The next day, I arrived at his house at lunchtime, wondering what he had planned for me. I rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, he came to the door. He opened it and immediately turned around and walked towards the kitchen.

"Get inside and close the door. Go upstairs to my bedroom and into my master closet. Take off your clothes."

As if in a trance, I followed his directions. I walked inside, closed the door, and walked up the stairs. I had never been in his bedroom before. It was neatly organized, with a king-sized bed and a large walk-in master closet with plenty of room to stand. One side of the closet had no clothes hanging from the wooden rod that ran all along the length of the closet. That side seemed oddly empty, but then I noticed something leather hanging over the rod. A closer inspection revealed that it was a pair of leather wrist restraints. This realization sent a thrill through me.

I stepped into the closet, and I did as I had been commanded. I stripped off all my clothes and stood there waiting, completely naked. I must have been in there for at least twenty minutes. Several times, I started to call to him, but then I thought better of it. Mr. Collins seemed very deliberate, and if he had me waiting, he was doing it on purpose.

Finally, he arrived and stood outside the closet, looking at me. He just stared at me like I was a piece of meat. Eventually, he said, "Grab the hanging rod."

I did as he told me, and he attached the restraints to my wrists and wrapped them around the rod. It was pretty high up, and I was forced to stretch my arms far above my head. When he was finished attaching me to the rod, he left again.

He was gone for another fifteen or twenty minutes, but this time, I was much less comfortable, basically hanging from the closet rod. When he returned, he once again stood there watching me. "Well?" he asked.

This time, I didn't miss a beat. "Sir, will you please hurt me?"

"Yes, Chloe, I will. Chloe, your safe word is 'basketball.' If you use that word, I will stop whatever we are doing. However, once we stop, we are done for the day. So use it only if it is absolutely necessary."

"Yes, Sir."

I watched him slowly remove his leather belt, which he folded in half.  

"Chloe, I am going to hit you with this belt. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Sir," I said as that mixture of fear and anticipation caused my pulse to race.

He began to hit me with the folded belt. He did it slowly but deliberately, starting with my ass cheeks. First, the left, then the right. Then he moved down to the backs of my thighs - right and then left. Then he struck the backs of my calves. He worked his way back up my body until he slapped my ass with the belt once again, and then he moved to the small of my back - two whacks. Then to the middle of my back - SLAP, SLAP. Then to the top of my back - SLAP, SLAP. Then he hit me twice on the back of my neck. He continued this pattern, beating me with the belt up and down the back of my body. I cried out each time he struck me, but that feeling of elation was taking hold of me, my pussy was gushing, and there was girl-cum running down my thighs. The pain was almost unbearable, but I never came close to tapping out. I just wanted it to go on forever.

I had lost all track of time and had no idea how long it had been by the time he stopped. But when he finally finished, he silently released my wrist straps and walked out. "Get dressed, and get out." I didn't see him again that day.

Two days later, I got another text from him, so I went to his house again at lunchtime, and we did it all again. For the next few weeks, we began a pattern of me going to his house several times each week for my beatings. He never got undressed, but I could see his rock-hard cock through the pants of his expensive suits. 

I found myself in a constant state of arousal, thinking about my sessions with him and daydreaming about the pain. I could barely concentrate in my classes, but acting "normal" around Chris was the most challenging part. I had lost all interest in conventional intimacy, so I basically had to fake everything with him, up to and including orgasms. While I was with Chris, I would try to imagine being in his father's closet and getting hit with that belt. These thoughts, at least, kept my pussy more than wet enough for Chris to fuck.

One evening, I didn't feel like having sex, so I turned Chris down. As always, he was the perfect gentleman about it, and we ended our evening early. But then, the next day, I got my first clue that there was a connection between my "beard" relationship with Chris and my pain-centered relationship with his father.

The next day, Mr. Collins summoned me to his house. But instead of taking me to his closet, he had me get naked, and he tied me down to his bed with my wrists bound to the corners of the headboard with my legs splayed apart. He left the room for a few minutes and returned with an item I had not seen before - a riding crop. "Chloe, I'm going to hit you with this riding crop. Kiss it." 

He put it next to my face, and I reached out and kissed it.

"Lick it," he said. I did as I was told and slathered it with my tongue, getting it wet.  

Without any warning, he began to spank my pussy with the riding crop extremely hard. He didn't ease into it but proceeded to whip my pussy mercilessly. I cried out in pain, my body jumping with each blow, but the pleasure of it also flooded through me. He just kept hitting me over and over and over again. I thought it was never going to end. The pain in my pussy was immense now, and when I looked down at it, I could see it getting very red.

Finally, as quickly as he had begun, he stopped. He walked out of the room again and left me like that for ten or fifteen minutes. When he finally returned, he bent down and put his mouth close to my ear. "Listen, you worthless little bitch. That nasty little cunt of yours is Chris's to use. Don't you ever, ever, and I mean fucking EVER, turn him down when he wants to use any of your fucking holes. Got it?'

"Yes, Sir," I said immediately without thinking. My whole body tensed with fear at the venom I heard in his voice. He released my bonds and said, "Now get dressed and get the fuck out."

What had Chris told his father? More importantly, what had his father told Chris?  

My master closet sessions with Mr. Collins resumed for the next few weeks. Meanwhile, whatever Chris wanted, I gave him. I let him fuck me whenever he wanted. I sucked his dick, and I even told him that I was willing to try anal. Bizarrely, I saw it as part of my role as his father's pain-bitch to be Chris's fuck-toy. Chris never let on that he had any idea about the punishment I had received at his father's hands after turning him down that one night, but he used me almost every day.

Then, one day, I got a text from Mr. Collins with an address and a note that said, "Nine o'clock sharp. Don't even think about being late."

I looked up the address and saw it was in an industrial area. What a strange place for him to want me to meet him. I drove to the address that evening filled with apprehension, wondering what he had in store for me. The building looked like a large industrial warehouse. I went to the main entrance, and Mr. Collins was waiting for me. He didn't say a word to me but walked inside, and I followed.  

We walked down a long hallway, and he stopped in front of a large door, which he opened and walked through. I followed him into the room, and I gasped. The room was filled with men milling around, drinks in hand, engaged in conversation. None of them looked up or acknowledged our entrance in any way.

In the center of the room was a set of wooden stocks. The three holes in the stocks were clearly meant for my head and wrists.  

"Chloe, I’m going to lock you in those stocks and these men are going to have their way with you. You can stay or you can go. The choice is yours.”

While fear was coursing through me, it was far outweighed by the anticipation of having one of my darkest fantasies become a reality.

“I’ll stay, Mr. Collins.”

“Chloe, make yourself naked," ordered Mr. Collins.

I was petrified at the thought of taking off all my clothes in this room full of strangers. Mr. Collins saw my hesitation and slapped me hard across my face.

"I meant right now, you dumb cunt," growled Mr. Collins.

I fought through my fear and began to undress. After a few moments, I stood there in the middle of the room, naked. Mr. Collins grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the stocks. He opened the top and roughly pressed my head through the gap in the center and my wrists through the gaps on either side. He shut the top of the stocks and locked them in place with a padlock.

I was left in a stooped-over position, staring out at the room full of men. Mr. Collins then roughly tied a blindfold around my eyes, leaving me in the dark. Nothing happened for a long time. Then, I heard voices coming closer to me. I sensed people all around me as though they were inspecting my restrained, naked body. Then I felt the sharp sting of a slap on my left ass cheek, followed by another on the right.

SLAP

SLAP

The spanks continued, sharp, slow, and methodical. SLAP on the left. SLAP on the right. It went on and on, and the pain and pleasure coursed through my body. My pussy started to get wet, and I could feel it leaking out onto my thighs and into the crack of my ass. As the spanker continued, someone in front of me started slapping my face. SLAP on the left. SLAP on the right.

"What an ugly fucking bitch," said the face slapper. The two of them were relentless, my cheeks, top and bottom, stinging. I could feel the skin becoming tender, and I knew it was turning red. Ass slapper became back-of-the-thighs slapper, moving up and down the backs of my legs, and then mixing in some hard pussy spanks. At the same time, face slapper started to alternate between slapping my face and slapping my tits. Then after every three or four slaps, he would throw in a light punch to my tits. The man behind me started to slap and lightly punch my back.

My mind entered that heightened sense of euphoria. While there was no direct stimulation of my clit, my entire body felt like every nerve was being stimulated, and I felt my eyes rolling into the back of my head as the sublime pleasure coursed through me. They just kept hurting me, and I couldn't get enough. The man in front of me stopped, and I almost cried out in anguish. I heard the rustle of clothing, and then he grabbed my hair and yanked my head up.

"Open your worthless mouth, you stupid bitch," he growled.

I did as he commanded, and he shoved his cock into the back of my throat, cutting off my breath. He just held it there, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. The man behind me continued to beat on me, and I felt myself getting close to losing consciousness.

Just before that happened, he finally pulled out. I gasped and took several ragged breaths. He expertly waited until I had my breath back, and then he shoved it back in. He repeated this pattern over and over again for what seemed like an eternity. He seemed to know exactly how much I could take and would take me right to the edge of consciousness before pulling out. After a while, he began to fuck my face, and I knew that he was done inflicting the breath control on me and was now using my face to make himself cum. After a few more strokes, he shoved his cock deep into my throat one final time and then yelled loudly as he spurted his cum deep into my throat. When he was finished, he roughly pulled out, and I spit up saliva and cum all over the floor.

Someone ripped the blindfold off me, and I was now able to see that all the men in the room were lined up, waiting to take turns on me. As the night wore on, I lost count of how many men fucked my face and came in my mouth, but I could see a large puddle of cum and spit on the floor in front of me. The entire time, men were constantly slapping me, punching me, pinching me, and degrading me. It went on for hours.

When the last of the men had used me, l lay there hanging in the stocks, exhausted both from the pain and the pleasure of the experience. I looked up and saw Mr. Collins looking down at me appraisingly. And standing beside him was Chris, with a wry smile on his face. From his sweaty and disheveled appearance, I realized with surreal fascination that he must have been one of the men to take a turn on me that night

"You did very well, Chloe. Very, very well," said Mr. Collins.

"Chris, you've outdone yourself. She's the best one you've groomed for me yet."

"Thanks, Dad. I learned from the best. But I have to give my buddy Keith some credit. He was so right about this one - she is a total fucking Pain Slut."