After the horrendous beatings by Gary, I had it in my mind that I'd been
absolutely crazy to have so willingly put myself into that situation. I knew without the
slightest doubt that never again would I ever want to do anything like it again.
On the long drive back home I'd been tormented with wondering what my husband
thought about the whole affair. Admittedly he had been a party to arranging the whole
visit, and had seemingly enjoyed every minute of it, even to the point of holding me down
so that Gary could beat me until I was screaming in agony. Perhaps he had done that
because he'd lost all respect for me.
Rob, my husband, certainly seemed still loving. He seemed concerned at my tender and
bruised condition, but we had hardly said a word about the affair and each seemed
preoccupied with our own thoughts as we drove home.
My own overwhelming feeling was one of shame that I had been such a wanton slut, yes,
that's the only word to describe me...a wanton slut for Gary, openly,
enthusiastically, and shameless with my husband watching.
Over the ensuing week this feeling of shame persisted, especially when my husband and
I played in the bed. Rob was still the same loving and caring husband though, and I slowly
began to think that perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn't put out by what I had done.
Perhaps, just perhaps, he did still respect me...why else would he be so loving, seemingly
much more loving than prior to our fantastic weekend away.
The thing was that neither Rob nor myself spoke of what had happened, each one of us,
I realized later, being completely uncertain of what the other one thought.
The ice eventually had to break, and it did break about a week later when we were
fucking and sucking on the bed. I was on all fours with Rob up behind me and pumping his
cock into my pussy doggie fashion.
My bum was still very bruised and tender from my beating, and as Rob fucked me he
pressed onto my bruising, causing me to wince a little and give an "ouch!"
"What's wrong," he asked with concern.
"The bruising is still a bit tender," I replied, feeling a little
embarrassed at mentioning it.
Rob must have been embarrassed as well because he was silent for a moment and then
quietly said, "Can you forgive me for doing that to you?"
I was surprised at his words because I'd thought that it was I who needed
forgiveness, but it seemed that my husband was feeling pangs of guilt at setting me up for
such a session.
"But I was hardly an unwilling party to it," I replied, and then added,
"you must be disgusted with me for the way that I acted."
"Disgusted!" my husband exclaimed. "Why, I thought that you were the
most, wonderful, beautiful thing!"
A cloud lifted, and our true feelings came into the open. It transpired that Rob was
thrilled with my lustful sluttiness and with the awful thrashings that I had been able to
take.
In turn, I let him know that I had been thrilled at being beaten and treated in such
a degrading manner.
We were both filled with lust as we began to relive the experience, comparing
thoughts about every little aspect of what had taken place.
"But you couldn't have enjoyed it?" my husband asked in wonderment.
"No," I admitted. "I certainly can't say that I enjoyed it at the
time, and yet I did want it to happen, and now I am so glad that it did."
Most of the markings that the lash had left on my body had more or less faded away
after a week or two. Some of the bruising though lasted longer and I was quite tender in
places.
Likewise, my emotional healing followed a similar path.
A few weeks after my thrashing, I began to look at my experience in a slightly modified
light. Whereas at first it had seemed so very stupid to willingly submit to that sort of
treatment, I now took the view that I indeed had to try everything at least once, and that
having submitted to such a beating, I could now feel a pride that I had actually gone
through with it.
It was comforting too, that my husband hadn't lost any respect or regard for me
as I had at first feared. In fact his view of me had taken quite the other direction and
whenever we spoke of my treatment at Gary's hands, he was full of admiration and
pride in me as his wife.
Because of this admiration, I eventually suggested to my Rob that he might like to
whip me. His reaction was rather surprising to me in that he shunned the idea and told me
that he could never hurt me.
We quite openly discussed our feelings and, it transpired that while my husband had
an abhorrence of hurting me himself, he nevertheless thrilled at the idea of my abuse and
punishment at the hands of other men.
Time continued to alter my attitude until after a couple of months I was looking back
upon my beating with fond memories, and I knew that if an opportunity arose, I would
enthusiastically submit once more.
From that point on, at nights when my husband and I were fucking, I would bring up
the subject of what we had done in the hope that Rob might suggest a repeat performance. I
was too embarrassed to make a direct suggestion myself.
Because this tack didn't bring the desired result, after a time I took a
different approach and asked Rob if he was still emailing with Gary. I eventually got out
of him that Gary was enthusiastic to again thrash and beat me.
"Is he pressuring you to take me there again," I asked, trying to keep too
much excitement from showing in my voice.
"Well he's pressuring me to pressure you," Rob laughingly replied.
"But it's not up to me," I said, trying to put a surprised tone into
my voice. "I would do it again if you wanted me to."
"Would you?" Rob exclaimed, his face lighting up with joyous surprise.
The "start" button had been triggered in our minds, and we began
enthusiastic discussion and planning. The next day Rob told me that he'd passed on
the good news to Gary.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"His exact words were 'I always knew that the little slut would be back for
more'," my husband replied with a grin.
It certainly wasn't without apprehension that I planned this next visit to Gary.
I could certainly well remember the terrible flogging and the pain and misery and
suffering at Gary's hands, and I knew that this next trip would be no different, and
yet I very definitely wanted it to happen.
It was lust that drove me on. Lust for being degraded and humiliated.
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