Keywords: M/F anal, oral
Author: W R Jenkins
Title: Drunken Slut

  Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
 This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are 
under 18- 21 in some localities  If you are underage you must leave 
now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the 
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange 
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this 
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral 
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. 
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be 
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so
we can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, 
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.

	Drunken Slut (drunksl.txt) - I'm not in love- oh no, far from it.
It's just a happy phase I'm going through. And the poor drunk that is
on the other end has to put up with it. There's no excuses here- for
either of them. M/F, oral, anal

	I can hear her. I can hear him too. He's louder because she's got
his cock stuffed in her face. I can hear her slurp and gulp. He's 
telling her to suck it and how good it is.
	It's a public restroom. I could go in and watch rather than 
listen through the door, but that's not my thing. I know what she looks
like when she sucks a cock. She sucks mine all the time. She's my wife.
	Right now she's my drunken wife, going off with the first man to
drag her in the men's room. Being drunk is no excuse. Rather, it is
only an excuse. She's not so drunk she doesn't know what she's doing.
	"Get up now.  Take off your panties.  Bend over and grab the
seat. "
	He wants to fuck her now. She's so wet she squishes as his flesh
smacks rhythmically against her ass. He fucking pretty fast, but not
like he's ready to cum. He must be getting off on banging her in the
john.
	She's not so drunk that she can't stand up and take it. It's not
like being passed out on a bed and not knowing your cousin is pulling
up your skirt... pulling down your panties... She knows she's getting
fucked. It's not like having it slipped in while you're unconscious
and knowing nothing until the commotion rouses you enough to see your
cousin's hard cock interrupted in mid-fuck, still sticky with your own
juices.
	That would be drunk enough for an excuse. And it takes an unlucky
cousin to make that work. What she is, is a drunken slut. The booze
only strips away her pretense along with her clothes. She forgets to
play the socially appropriate role.
	The real her comes out. The booze doesn't make her do anything.
It makes her forget to resist her natural urges. She wouldn't fuck the
fat guy at the bar. Alcohol splits the world into people she'd fuck and
people she wouldn't. Then she proceeds to fuck the first one in the
first category that's willing.
	He's going for it now, slower and louder. In a minute, probably
less, he's going to cum in my wife. Then, if he's smart, he'll make
her suck his cock until he wants to put it away.
	I'll wait until she's alone to present myself. She'll be morose;
she always is. You know it's the booze, she'll say. I just can't hold
my booze. I know I shouldn't. But you should be with me to stop me,
she'll try to make me an accomplice.
	There's no reasoning with her while she's got her load on.
Anything I do is wasted. It will be fuzzy, half-remembered blurs in the
morning. I have to put her to bed to sleep it off and confront her in 
the morning.
	No, I don't roll her over and give her one because it's there.
That's for the chumps she picks up. That's not why I put up with her
behavior. I put up with her behavior because in the morning, when
socially appropriate comes back to her, she knows she has to make
amends.
	I am not the long suffering fool she imagines I am. Imagines,
because by now she must have a deep suspicion I am something else. I
listened to her heart-breaking tale of being molested with interest.
Of course, it had nothing to do with her behavior at the time. Then I
did what I always do.
	"You awake? Want to tell me about it?"
	"Oh, honey, I don't know. I was so drunk," she begins,
	She knows that won't work yet she always tries. She knows she
might as well tell me. She knows it's only worse if I'm angry.
	"Some guy... wanted to show me something... I remember a
bathroom... then he... he did it... " the gaps are real, her memory
fuzzy, but there is also self-protective editing.
	"He did what? What did he do? Did you suck his cock? Did he fuck
you?" I want confession.
	"Yes... I think so... Yes! Yes! He fucked me..." she lets it out.
	"Why? Why do you have to do this? Does it feel good to go
slutting around like a common tramp?" I bemoan my fate.
	Being disappointed in her works better than yelling. I hold the
yelling back for later. She knows she has to make it up to me. She's
still not comfortable with that. What would be the point if she was?
	"No I don't feel good. I don't feel anything. I can't help it.
You know that. The only thing that would work would be to keep me from
drinking," she bursts out.
	"You mean you'll never learn? You'll never change, so I might as
well give up?" I press her.
	Of course she's right, but that doesn't count. It counts that
there are two alternatives: do as I say or watch me walk. I honestly
don't know why my leaving fills her with dread, but it does. It comes
down to hanging her head and accepting her fate.
	"I try. I try to do better. But when I'm drunk..."
	It comes back to the behavior she can't control.
	"Have you been bad?" I ask simply, tired of the prelude.
	"Yes."
	"Then you know what comes next," I tell her.
	My cock is throbbing so hard the skin is too tight. She gets up
to go wash off the scum from the night before. We have entered the play
part of her making amends. She was bad. She will be punished. I wait
with my hands gripping my thighs so I don't grab my cock.
	Washed, warm, naked and pink she comes back in the bedroom. I
take my hands off my thighs so she can lay down over my lap. She is so
soft and alive after a hot shower. I can raise a most marvelous red
on her ass when I strike.
	"Hands," I say sternly.
	No matter what resolve she intends, she will always reach back to
cover her ass sooner or later. She puts her hands behind her back,
clasping each other so I can hold them both with one hand. Now all she
can do is kick.
	"No! OW! I'm sorry! Ow! I won't! I'll never! OW! Please! Ow!"
	She is only starting to struggle. Her ass is a bright pink and
the tears have started. The first ten are quite brisk and as hard as I
am going to spank her. It's not the escalating power of the blows, but
that they keep coming.
	"No! Please! No! Stop! Please! No! No! Stop! No!" 
	She is wriggling with all her might to escape. She can only
 scream for me to stop. Her ass is deepening into a bluish red as I
rain my hand down on the jiggling flesh. I will spank her until one of
us tires.
	So much for tires. I can't wait anymore. She is blubbering and
squirming and I want to fuck her so badly. I roll her off my lap and
onto the floor.
	"Now see what you've done" I say as I show her my hard-on. "Why
don't you show me what you did last night."
	It's not torture for me to present my cock to her. She's the one
that has to choke back sobs as she chokes on my cock. It's not the kind
of crying that just stops. She gathers momentum while I whale on her
ass and then I cut her gasping breaths in half by shoving my cock in
her face.
	I'm not trying to kill her. It's not the torment that amuses me
but the struggle she endures sobbing in pain and choking on cock. It's
punishment. She's supposed to dread it.
	"You're having trouble with that. And it's not very good," I rate
her effort, "Just bend over the bed and I'll do it."
	I may have been impatient to fuck her, but that doesn't mean her
ass isn't glowing, hot and stinging. I don't tire quickly. I also know
just where to make it the reddest. She bends over, knowing what is 
coming, with the welted crimson on her cheeks offered back to me.
	It's not the same as a spanking when I shove my cock in her and
start to slap against her fiery ass. It's more the idea that comes as
I drive into the hot flesh and bury my cock in her. I'm fucking my
spanked wife. She's my cock whore and has to take what I give her.
	Along with the power and control, I get off vicariously on the
pain I bring to her ass. I don't know how she experiences it, but I
feel it as an extra thrill, an added sensation, as I pound my cock in
her. Then there's how hot her flesh is as I push into it.
	"Is that the way you give it up to any drunk that comes along?"
I pull back and spatter her already flaming ass with a dozen or so
sharp slaps.
	No- she doesn't mean to, doesn't want to- can't help it. She is
more strident and shrill this time. Her skin is stretched tighter and
already welted and the pain is intense, but it's also because she knows
what is coming.
	Her hot ass bumping on my belly is a pleasant feeling but I know
how to make it better. I push my finger up her ass without comment.
She knows. I rotate it to grease her asshole. She gasps when I pull it
out.
	At first she begged me not to. She didn't do that. She still
doesn't like it, but she knows it's coming. No argument has ever
stopped me and she braces, trembling, knowing what's next.
	Her ass doesn't fight like before but it is still tight. I press
my cock against her sphincter and push in. She makes a coughing gasp
as I force her open. It's punishment so I should be rough on her.
	I keep pressing until I get to the heat. There, deep in my groin,
in the joint of my thighs, I feel her hot ass all around me. My cock
is buried in her hot bowels and her fiery ass surrounds me where I
plunge into her.
	If I cared she is a slut, this would make up for it. As it is,
I grind against her, bathing in the heat and feeling content. This is
good, very good, from the sensations to the feeling of possession.
	I imagine how helpless she feels with my cock deep in her ass. I
have her as deep as my cock goes and I know I feel control. Her pain
and discomfort is her surrender. I demand that offering although I
don't value it. Her place is spanked and bent over. Mine is fucking her
ass.
	It is too good. It is too perfect. I can't bask in the heat of
her ass for long. I pull back and fuck her hard. I don't want to
sacrifice the feel of her hot ass nestled around my cock long enough 
to pull back where I could slap her ass on a thrust. Still I bang into
her hard enough to rock her on her feet and set her breasts flying.
	She's taking it. She's taking it all. I revel in the heat of her
ass, the heat of her bowels with only the brief interruption needed to
ram my cock in her ass and remind her who owns her.
	The collision of sobs and gulps as I skewer her make her sound 
like she is struggling in water. She even gasps wetly as I slam into
her. She isn't forgetting the purpose of this treatment. She is shamed
as well as abused as I pound into her ass. She knows she deserves it-
or at least that it is her fate for being alcohol's slave.
	I can never enjoy that part long enough. It is too exciting, too
full of all things good. But there is a bright side as I answer the 
imperative of my balls. Grabbing her tight so I don't knock her over,
slamming her wildly brings a frenzy that lifts me past the trimmings.
	Her ass is still hot and I am slapping it again. She moans and
sometimes whines as I fuck her feveredly. It's all there, but dimmer
against the perfect passion that rises on the hard short strokes. It's
behind a veil as my own orgasm screams up to take over and drive me
to a personal ecstasy full of lightning and content.
	I come back slowly from the private moments of spasms and filling
her ass with cum. I stay pressed tight to her hot ass as one by one the
sensations of our bedroom return. There's the heat surrounding every
part of my loins and the grip of her asshole around the base of my
cock. Yes, I am buried in her cum-filled ass and she is still gulping
wetly in the aftermath of the fury.
	I take a second or so to be pleased with myself before I start
a slow, very slow withdrawal from her asshole. When my cock drops out
the final disgrace begins. I step back to look at my work. She knows
better than to move.
	Distended anus, discolored buttocks, bent over and open for
inspection, leaking fluids, she hates to be that display. That is why
I have to wait until she's sober. Drunk it wouldn't make an impression
and the impression is so important.
	"Crawl up on the bed and kneel with your knees wider," I tell
her. "I want you to remember what being a slut feels like."
	She no longer argues with any command. I might tell her I feel
sorry for her and suggest she press her ass to the cool glass of our
bedroom window so she can be on display for any chance passer-by. I
might have her stand in the corner like a naughty girl to be on display
for me. She just complies. It would be too much like a ritual to do the
same things every time. Then I would be performing a fetish and not
exercising control.
	I suppose the indispensable parts- the spanking, the ass-fucking,
are some kind of fetish, but I don't feel like a slave to them. I dress
them up in many pretty guises and I know the real fetish is control.
	"Should I plug you up now or do you want to keep your ass in the
air like a bitch in heat?" I ask after an appropriate viewing.
	"Now- please," she answers quickly and belatedly adds the
contrition.
	It's almost as much fun knowing the black plug is in her ass as
it is punishing her. Well, no, it is pale by comparison, but it is
delightful to watch her flit about the house knowing she is enduring
that penetration and occasionally catching a glimpse of the black
circle between her cheeks. It is as good as the mind part of her
punishment because that plug is tangible reinforcement of my control.
	She'll have it in place until I decide to take it out. It sets up
horrible occasions of fear when guests are scheduled on a day after a
bender. Will I allow her to take it out? Will I allow her to even
dress? Will this be the time I explain her shame to outsiders?
	The fear is better than the shame- at least it is eternal and the
shame would be one and done. Still, she knows I would be capable of
anything. To help her remember, I often allow her to dress but not
remove the plug. It is more exquisite to know her nasty secret in a
room of the unaware.
	"I really don't mean to," she says as I push on the plug, letting
it settle at its own pace, enjoying her ass being spread wider and
wider until it settles back behind the bulge. "I just don't know what
I'm doing. And it doesn't mean anything."
	Of course it does. It means I get to play the next day.
	"Then maybe this time you'll remember what happens when you give
in. Or maybe we need to do something that you will be sure to
remember," I say amicably, letting my words carry the threat.
	I do consider carrying out this threat. One day her penance is
likely to include some piercing. Oh, not all at once and certainly
not quickly. I envision antiseptic but no anesthetic and a slow press
of metal through tender flesh. 
	I think I will do it one nipple at a time and then progress to
labia. Of course each incident will be followed by an appropriate
pause to see if it's working- and to draw out the fun.
	It should have the desired effect, if not the one stated. If I'm
any judge, a ring or rings will release more of her inner self when
alcohol is added. Then I will have more cause and more events to 'help'
her correct. And she will have less reason to complain or to think 
about what I am doing.
	"I'll do anything. You know I will, but we just have to keep me
from drinking," she says.
	Sweet music in her surrender fills my ears. I ignore the obvious
solution because it holds nothing for me. In fact, I mean to make sure
she keeps drinking.
	I think I will have her wear the plug until tomorrow morning. It
will be delightfully uncomfortable for her and marvelous for me. Not
only is there the surge of content feeling the intruder in her rectum
when I fuck her, but it also provides a real and exciting addition to
the sensation of sheathing my cock in her.
	I could make it a day-long orgy of sex, but that is so excessive.
It is better to let the pleasure brew through the day of her nakedness
and invasion and then, as if normal, let it crest in a night of marital
love-making with her appliance adding to my pleasure.
	The pleasure delayed is then more explosive. I don't need to be
a glutton. There are many opportunities to come. It is best to keep the
thin veneer of reason in place so I can enjoy her indefinitely.
	After all, I am only doing this for her. It is for her own good.
I am trying to help. And she's enough of a drunk to not trust her own
perceptions of my real motives.
	###