Is It A Sin To Allow Yourself To Be Taken SeXStoRY

I won't lie to you and say that I didn't have anything to do with the following events that transpired. I won't tell you that I was just an innocent victim, because that isn't true. I asked for this, played with fire, let the monster into my life, and naively thought that i could somehow control the outcome of what was to ultimately be ... and in retrospect, (hindsight 20/20,) i don't think i truly understood what the consequences of my desire would produce, nor comprehend the fiery need that burned within my soul. To give you a quick background to this story, i will tell you that there was a period of time in my life, two years ago, where I discovered - and really embraced - my submissive needs, explored them, alone, on my own ... well - until I met Him. We both felt as though we were "sent" to one another because it all happened so magically and perfectly, and we instantly felt that "connection." No one had ever understood me so completely like He did. I felt as though He was my destiny, and every experience I had ever had in life, up until now, had led me to Him. For several months we gracefully danced the dance of D/s: through stories and poems written passionately for one another, exploring mutual desires through dreams. We had never met in person, although I pleaded and begged on instant messenger, and cried real tears as He denied my requests time and time again. i didn't understand (at the time) that His denial of my wishes to meet face-to-face was actually Him training me - molding my mind and bending my unbridled desire to His will. i was young in my newfound submission, inexperienced, afraid, full of doubts, and consequently i tested His patience on a continual basis instead of simply trusting Him. He had a plan that i was not privy to knowing. My impatience was our ultimate demise. i turned and ran in the other direction when my new world became too uncomfortable to brave. i ran down a familiar, well-treaded, vanilla-bean path, back to my old life, and tried to convince myself that I would never look back. However, i've learned that when you unlock the secret part of your heart and soul where those dark desires reside, there really is no chance that you will remain unaffected and be able to just "go back to normal." It was late on a dewy Friday night, and I was pretty much the only one out on the wooded jasmine-scented trail, just walking and cooling Buck, my five-year old Arabian stallion, down from a nice ride we had enjoyed. It was unseasonably warm for a March evening, as we trotted along, smiling. The gentle wind felt refreshing against my sweaty, dusty face. When we got back to the stables, I was a little surprised to see Jacob in his truck backing out of his make-shift parking space in the dirt. "Miss Tamara," Jacob rolled his window down as I hopped off of Buck and held his reigns in my hand. "You're the last rider out, and I need to leave early to pick up my son from the airport -- he's coming for the holiday weekend. You gonna be okay here alone?" His genuine concern touched my heart. "Of course," I smiled at the old farmhand. "No worries, Jacob, I can turn the stable lights off after I finish grooming Buck." "Thanks much, Miss Tamara." He put the beat-up pick-up into drive, "have a nice weekend!" "Thanks Jake, you too!" I waved at him through the dust his tires kicked up, and then i turned to Buck, stroking his neck. "Looks like it's just you and me, k**." I mewed to Buck. Of course my horse couldn't answer me, but he understood -- I could see it in his eyes and the way he shook his head, as I led him over to the cross-ties so I could take off his tack and groom him before saying goodnight. The moonless night was quiet, save for the distant hum of a nearby freeway. I proudly walked Buck through the corridor of the stable, where the other horses either nibbled lazily on hay, or stood silently observing the gorgeous chestnut stallion and his pretty owner with the same color hair tied in a long, loose pony-tail, as we strode by on our way to Buck's pen. Just as I was opening his gate, the stable lights cut out and everything went pitch black. Someone grabbed me by my ponytail and yanked me backward with full f***e. My feet slid out from underneath me, as Buck whinnied loudly, pulling from my grasp on his reigns. I tumbled backward, and I heard him kick the metal gate with his hoof! I screamed in shock, "Buck!" A black hood zipped over my head, and another pair of large, dirty hands grabbed me by my feet, as I struggled and twisted in their grip. My arms were seized tightly behind me, and a voice growled in my ear to "shut the fuck up, otherwise my horse would end up at the glue factory." I shuddered with fear, and panicked, immediately obliging their demand. It all happened so fast ... I was hustled into what I could only imagine to be a van, because of the sliding door sound I could identify, sliding closed to seal my fate. Once I was thrown inside, the van tore off down the dirt road that led out of the vacant stables. I was too shocked to cry, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my body, and I couldn't process all of this at once. The distinct sound of male voices were surrounding me -- three, I think. They had me laying face pressed down on a long bench seat. One of them tying my feet together, roughly, another tying my arms behind me, and one driving the van. They were speaking in some sort of coded language -- not a foreign language, but rather communicating in some kind of code so that I couldn't decipher anything they were discussing. My heart raced, I was hyperventilating behind the dark fabric that shielded my core senses. I tried to quiet my mind, to calm my breath, to assess the situation, and try to plot my course of action, but I was concerned about Buck's well-being. "My horse..." I mumbled into the hood, my face pressed against the cool seat. I pictured my beautiful stallion whinnying distressed around the dark stables. "He's fine, Tamara." Chills coursed through my body -- how did this man know my name. "Trust me, bitch, we weren't there for your fucking horse." He hissed into my cloth-covered ear. The man chuckled deep and sinisterly, his cohorts joining in on the amusement. "Now shut up, otherwise I'll stuff my cock in your mouth to make you quiet." His big hand pressed my face into the seat as if to punctuate his command. I swallowed hard and clenched my jaw, feeling like I might vomit inside the hood. Who were these men, what did they want with me? Were they going to gang r**e me, and then kill me? Sell me to some crazy all-American-girl-next-door-prostitution ring? I couldn't imagine what other use they'd have for me. It isn't like my husband and I have some great source of wealth, we're just your average upper-middle class, white collar "dinks," (double income, no k**s.) We drove for what seemed to be about forty-five minutes, (and a small lifetime,) when the van rolled to a stop and the sliding door was flung open again. When my captors hauled me out of the van like a baby piglet on her way to the fire-pit, I could smell the distinct scent of the ocean; the air was heavy and wet with the thick aroma of salt. They carried me onto a boat and i totally lost it; i began to sob and heave, my body trembling from fear of the fate that lay ahead of me. I just imagined having my lifeless, lithe corpse dumped in the middle of the dark ocean - which oddly enough, is one of my biggest fears - and no one knowing where I had disappeared to in the dark of a moonless March night. "Be brave, little one." A voice different than those of the men who had captured, me suddenly piqued my attention. I knew this voice. I recognized Him by his tone. "Leave her." The same familiar voice commanded, and the brutal men obviously complied, because i could hear their heavy footsteps departing the boat, and the sound of the van speeding away into the night. Now it was just Him and me. My mind reeled with possibilities -- a veritable game of memory -- as I tried to correlate the voice to someone i knew. I stood froze, tears silently drizzling down my face, hot from being contained inside of the hood. I felt helpless, frightened, and had no plan of my own to rectify the situation. The a****l instinct in me told me to comply with His demands, gain His trust and then seize an exit strategy when I found an ample opportunity. But how? I felt Him walk closer to me, examining my body, the way my limbs had been secured for the transport to Him. He tugged on the rope which held my arms behind my back, so severely that my supple breasts jutted out for display to Him. "Tsk." He quietly chastised their handy work with the rope. "A little snug here, love?" He began undoing the knot that held my arms together. "I guess you probably gave them a decent fight." He quietly chortled at the thought of me being snatched for Him. "Let's let these pretty arms have a rest for a moment," He began to undo the knot in the rope, and then abruptly pulled my shirt-collar back, forcing it to constrict against my throat and cough. "But Tamara, now, darling little whore, I'm trusting you not to flail about, you got that?" I did not respond out of sheer protest. He slapped my face, (which had been quite unexpected,) and the thin fabric of the hood didn't buffer the shock of his abrupt strike. "I asked you a question, slut." He grunted angrily at me, demanding my response. I started to whimper, "yes. Ok. i got it." "Oh b*****r. Do we really have to start all over at the very beginning?" He sighed deeply, and sounded exasperated with me. "Yes, Ok, WHAT?" Oh. My. God. The realization just now struck me. Johnny. He is Johnny. Johnny. Oh god. Panic once again took up residence again in my tiny body. But mixed with panic was a shudder of lust, and the feeling that only He could ever inspire within me: to be turned on in the most erotic way i have ever experienced. "Yes, Sir." I muttered quietly in between shuddering sobs, compliant to His will. Though I would be loathe admitting it to Him, I felt a rush of heat and wetness alight in my cunt as i surrendered to Him. "Good girl." He undid the rope, and rubbed my forearms. "I think we'll put on the cuffs, because, let's face it -- you're not going anywhere soon." He chortled, "and we can't have your pretty little limbs getting all numb and losing circulation." He moved my limp arms to be in front of me, and latched on thick, lambs wool-lined cuffs. "Now, I'm probably being way too kind here, but I sense that you've been pretty scared by all of this -- which, of course, was my intention, pet." He laughed to himself. "I am going to remove your hood, and I'm trusting that you will not scream. Is that correct? Do I have your word slut?" "Yes, Sir." I whispered. "Because I bet you're a little thirsty, and although you're talented, I'm willing to wager that you can't drink through that hood." He laughed his husky laugh again, amused at His handiwork, and gently removed the hood that had been secured over my head. I blinked slowly several times, letting my eyes adjust to the change of light. I took in my surroundings: we were the bowels of some sort of sailing vessel - a yacht, a sailboat, i wasn't sure. The walls were caverns of thick dark burgundy vinyl padding, a bowl of fruit on a table nearby, a couple of water bottles on the same table, ropes and suspension bars rigged up against one of the walls that a bed lay underneath of, and Him -- the man, no - the Dom, the Man who owned my heart, soul and body -- the One with whom i had only ever exchanged written correspondence, or had listened longingly as His voice read me stories He had written for me on those nights where we explored the most intimate and secret caverns of our souls via messenger and webcam. He had, in all the time we had gotten to know one another, never shown me His face; only allowing me to see His strong hands as they typed those magical, sensual words to me, and his beautiful, thick cock that i, alone, could make harder than anyone else He had ever known. I studied Him as He stood before me, transfixed with wonderment, desire and fear. He was the most handsome man i had ever seen ... deep, piercing, kind, with a tinge of sinister, night-blue eyes, and a smile that i believed was meant only for me; absolutely perfect alignment of all His features. And exactly as i had dreamt of Him to be when i was lucky enough to dream about Him as i lay unfulfilled in my bed. He brushed stray sweaty hairs out of my eyes and caressed my cheek with the back of His hand as he looked into the depths of my eyes, peering into my heart. "Here." He said as he moved a bottle of water to my mouth. "Drink this." I gulped it down, thankfully, like a little a****l dependent on her master for sustenance. Some of the water spilled out of my mouth and onto my chest. "Thank you, Sir." I remembered my manners, despite my disdain for His having k**napped me, and He appreciated that. "Very nice, pet, very nice." He put the empty water bottle on the nearby table, and took a tangerine from the bowl, peeling it with care as He studied me. "Since you are such a sweet little slut, I'll let you have some of this tangerine." He held it just out of my mouth's reach, as if to taunt me momentarily. He fed me with affection and awe, the way I would imagine Hades had fed Persephone the pomegranate seeds when He had k**napped her and taken her to the underworld to become his mistress in the darker months of the year. He pressed the last little wedge of tangerine into my mouth, smiling at me. "Such a pretty mouth, slut." His fingers lingered inside the warm cavern of my mouth. "Soft lips." He said beneath his breath. Unwittingly, I closed my eyes for a moment and sighed. My desire could not be hidden from Him. "I see what a dirty little girl you are, Tamara." He stared into the darkest part of my soul and I couldn't obstruct His view. "My little whore." He pulled His fingers away and got my attention by grabbing my ponytail and yanking my head back. He put his mouth right against my neck, in that spot just below my ear, the tenderest of all spots, and hissed at me. "On your knees, slut. Let's see what that pretty mouth feels like on my cock." He shoved me down to the floor and angrily undid his pants. His massive, hard cock sprung out, greeting my face, and i cherished taking Him completely into my watering, ready mouth. To say the feeling of lust and desire was overwhelming would be an understatement. He had His hands gripped tightly on the back of my head, thrusting my face against His rigid member, burying the length of his fat cock into my face, cramming Himself deep down my throat. It was all i had ever wanted to do for Him, feeling Him fill my soul. After about thirty-something succulent rides on His perfect cock, my mouth could tell He was close to cumming: His dick twitched rapidly against my glottis, and then He ripped my head away from Him, denying me. Precum and saliva were glistening on my lips and chin. The look of submission was heavy in my eyes, as i stared up at Him with want. "Not worthy of my orgasm, you little slut." I trembled and a little tear dripped down my cheek as i hung my head in shame. He didn't notice the tear, or if He did, he said nothing. He pulled his jeans back up and left me alone in a little heap on the floor while He sauntered across the cabin and returned with a riding crop -- MY riding crop! He whisked it through the air. My eyes widened. He chuckled and shook His head at me. "You're so cute when you get all frightened at the punishment that you know you're going to receive. " He shook his head at me, slapping the crop against the palm of His other hand. "Don't act like you're surprised, you dirty little girl." He used the slapping end of the crop to push my chin up so that my eyes were visible to His. He cocked His head to the side for a moment, as if deciding my fate, and then produced a little ball gag from behind His back with the other hand. I bit my bottom lip and whimpered, though i said nothing. "Oh, slut, you're such a spoiled brat." He determined, as He fastened the ball gag on me, quickly untied the rope that held my feet together, and commanded me with a sharp smack from the crop on my ass. "Stay on your knees, now, and follow me." I obediently scurried after Him, on my knees, (which was superbly difficult without the use of my hands, i quickly discovered,) still dressed in my riding outfit of tight denim pants, tall dark brown riding boots and a thin, tight-fitting, faded-black, long-sleeved tee. I trailed behind Him up a short flight of stairs to the deck, and then up another, shorter flight of stairs, to the Captain's room. He instructed me to kneel quietly with my head bowed while He expertly maneuvered the boat out of the harbor and into open waters. About fifteen minutes into our trip, once we had left the slow putt through the harbor, He broke the silence. "Tamara." My name rolled off His tongue as though He had named me Himself. I didn't know if He wanted me to acknowledge Him, or if He was just taking a pause before continuing on with His dialogue, so i just tilted my head a little to the side in an effort to show Him that i was paying attention. He removed His hands from the wheel and unlatched my ball gag. "A question?" He stated more than asked. I knew this game. We had played it so many times during our instant messenger liaisons, before I ran from Him back to my old life. The rules were never the same for both of us. "Yes, Sir." i obliged, as i always had. He looked down at me and put one hand on top of my head. "Does your husband know what a little slut of a wife he has married?" the words hung out there on the horizon like dirty, soiled bed-sheets. I was flush with contempt - angered, frustrated, betrayed by my own desire. I breathed hard and didn't answer Him. He gripped my hair; all disheveled but still in some semblance of a pony-tail, and yanked it back so that my eyes looked up at His. "Does he know what a little cock-hungry whore you are, Tamara?" He demanded. "No." I whispered. "Sir, he does not." I knew the tears could come if only i let my breath out. He stared at me, devouring my soul with his piercing gaze. I didn't breathe. "You want to ask me something, darling little slut?" He released His grip from my hair and stroked the top of my head. I felt like i was being set up. He smiled, cunningly. I stared at Him with defiance, and asked, "Why did You do this?" Tears felt salty hot behind my eyeballs, but i commanded myself not to let Him see me cry. He didn't flinch, rather just grinned in condescension. "Why did I take back what is rightfully mine?" He said with no wavering emotion. "Or why did I give you this gift that you were too timid to ask me for?" i closed my eyes and squeezed them shut, frustrated by the truth of His response, realizing that He was right and that my query was purely rhetorical. He snorted with satisfaction at having turned my question back onto me. "You never ask the crucial questions, little one." My eyes were still shut, but i could hear the smile in His voice, "but you're so damn cute." He steered the vessel into the dark of the ocean, where I imagined us now in middle of nowhere. i could hear nothing but the sounds of the water lapping gently against the sides of the boat, like the tides of desire washing higher and higher against the walls of my heart. He pressed a button on the control panel and a wrenching, churning sound conveyed to me that He must have dropped the anchor down, so that we'd stay put wherever we were floating in the dark watery folds of this dream. Because, i must be dreaming ... i must be ... dreaming. I suddenly felt as though i were swooning. Not that i even know what swooning would feel like, but i felt close to passing out, and all these pretty, silver stars shot through my minds' eye, littering my inner-vision, and i felt utterly lightheaded -- like falling through a dreamy abyss. "Nat!" Johnny caught me with His muscular, tanned arm in one fail swoop, before my little skull could smack against the wall. He scooped me up in His arms. He rushed me off the deck and down again, down those musty stairs, down to the hull where i had first been deposited by those thugs of His. I felt myself drifting between two realms of reality, and was unsure which one i would slip into permanently. Cold water -- not salty -- fresh, purified, freezing-Alaskan-cold water was being poured over my head and He was holding me in a tub, kissing me, petting me like a c***d, while i gasped awake and stared in amazement at Him with silent appreciation and trust ... we smiled at each other with the understanding that we could survive only with one another, and no one else, despite anything that life dished out to us. We shared that awareness for a tentative moment, and my heart plunged to my stomach like an elevator dropping eighty-seven feet from the top of the world trade center, as i realized for the very first time in my life i experienced the feeling of complete trust and comfort and absolute assurance that someone beside myself really cared about my well-being and my precious life. We both had the semblance of tears in our eyes, and time ceased -- well, it slowed down; everything became very sluggish, with the light shifting into very soft, muted colors. The water drenching me in spurts and droplets, so that I could actually see the molecules breaking down -- as we existed, together, in the middle of the dark-blue-black waters that our existence was floating upon, relying on, at this very moment. He lifted me out of the naked, cold, shivering tub. And wrapping a plush, creamy towel around my tiny body, He carefully dried me off by rubbing the terry cloth against my skin. "Slut," He cooed in my ear while brushing my hair, and tying two pig-tails off to either side of my head. He licked his lips, breathing in the tiny, cavernous erotic orifice on the side of my head, sending my desire spinning off into a thousand places of longing. I just wanted Him inside of me, in whatever capacity. He shoved me away from Him and to the floor just as I was swooning and total putty, willing to do anything to make Him happy ... to please Him. I'd do whatever. I'd comply, only please, just command me, Sir. That's the look that must have been impressed upon my face and in my body. "You're tricks are no use to you here, slut." He grabbed my wrist with a slight of His hand and dragged me over to the bed, my tender, bare ass sliding against the soft silky silver--grey comforter. In His arms i felt like a little hummingbird in the hands of a giant, who could crush me with just the squeeze of a few fingers. My wrists were deftly secured to either side of a suspension bar that was latched to a hook bolted in the ceiling. A hook - humungous silver "o-ring" attached to a long rod that would allow the latch to slide back and forth, so that my body could be turned and twisted -- manipulated -- to His liking. He noticed my eyes widen at the realization that i was going to be completely immobile, and entirely at His mercy, so He left me momentarily with my arms spread above my head like an angel, and snatched a thick, black blindfold from His invisible bag of tricks. He loved depriving me of my senses, knew that i was more submissive and vulnerable in that state. In one speedy motion the blindfold was fastened, blunting my vision. He whisked the crop through the air and slapped my inner thighs briskly, as instruction to open them wider. Instinctually, i obeyed this physical command. He drove two fingers deep inside my aching, smoldering cunt. I moaned behind the gag. "Yes, my hot little cum-slut." He wedged the fingers deeper inside of me, and pulled them out, leaving me with a terrible craving. I heard Him sniff, and then suck the fingers that had been lodged inside of my pussy. "your body was made to be owned and used for My liking." He yanked each of my ankles to the sides, bending my legs at the knee, and tied them open wide to rope anchors that were hidden on the sides of the bed i hung above. "Count and be gracious, little slut." He demanded as he swirled me around so that my round, unmarked ass faced Him. And He didn't waste one millisecond before bringing his whole hand down swiftly on my right butt cheek. "Ow," I only acknowledged this shock within my internal dialogue. His smack took the wind out of me, but i somehow managed a meager, "One. Thank You, Sir," with a broken voice, pleading for another. "Good girl, you little cock-hungry bitch." Smack! That was 'two' and i told Him so, thanking Him again. "You know you're going to have to make it to at least a hundred before I even entertain the idea of touching your clit or giving you any pleasure at all, slut, don't you?" I suddenly realized there was no chance of using my desperate, pleading antics on Johnny. He knew me and my deviant ways far too well. It was becoming more and more clear that He did, indeed, own me. I belonged to Him. And i would do whatever it took to please Him, and only Him.