I hope you enjoy reading my stories but I’m offering my erotic tales for free, sharing intimate thoughts and feelings, If my spelling errors upset you don’t read me again, simple, acting superior correcting small errors says more about you then me.
They are not a book report constructed so every word is perfect, I have a tumbling out style writing from emotion. I love feedback even the harsh comments from the grammar police “English must be your second Language” being the most cruel/funny.
What would be helpful to acknowledge though is not only are some of these rules the grammar police hold so dear incredibly capricious, they’re also constantly changing. The thing that is oft overlooked is that as language changes, as it naturally does over time, the rules that govern it should change as well.
This is a story of the abuse I suffered at the hands of Lisa a 27 year old 5’3″ blonde hair, with an athletic build and beautiful blue eyes, my recovery, the long road back, I am writing my painful story in hopes it mite help someone in a similar situation and know they are not alone.
Things were great when Lisa moved in my favorite day was Sunday we rarely got dressed just laying around all day in our panties. A lazy day sitting across from each other in our panties talking has I painted Lisa’s toenails.
Taking long bubble baths washing, caressing, each others bodies. Eating a late breakfast, so many wonderful tender moments, going down on her in the back row at the cineplex.
She even came home with me for Thanksgiving week end we slept in my childhood room on that visit stifling our moans has orgasms shook our bodies. I loved her very much life seemed perfect.
That all changed though as she became more and more controlling wanting to know where I was and what I was doing at all times. Our apartment became a prison to me, she hovered, went through my phone, if I was five minutes late she would explode.
Resenting my long hours at work, she would text constantly, she would get mad when we were out accusing me of all sorts of crazy things. I dreaded going home, heaven had become a living hell, or so I thought. The first time she hit me I was frozen with shock, why I didn’t fight back, I don’t know.
The second time she hit me it seemed natural thinking to myself “She will calm down now.” The beatings that followed became more frequent and more intense I felt trapped. Hiding the bruises and marks, keeping it inside, I told no one, almost believing I deserved it.
One particular night after she had pushed me to the ground kicking me repeatedly she forced me into the bedroom. Ripped of my cloths, forcing down, bending me over the bed spanking me with a leather belt.
Whack! Whack! my body shuttered with each blow my ass erupting in pain with each strike of the belt. Tears running down my face Lisa pulled me off the bed by my hair forcing to my knees before her. “Kiss my feet” I did has instructed kissing her feet softly she laughed calling me a dirty little slut, whore, liar.
“Lick my ass slut” crying, I followed instructions, my ass still hurting from the whipping I had received. What happened to the woman I fell in love with, worst yet what had happen to me to let her treat me this way.
I licked her dirty asshole, probe inside it with my tongue, reaching up I stroked her clit hoping an orgasm mite stop all this. I was humiliated, on my knees face buried in her ass, licking as if my life depended on it. “You like this slut?” All I could do was mumble “yes” better to make her happy.
Lisa body trembled after what seemed like hours has an orgasm washed over her. I stayed in place tongue in her ass, crying at what I had become.
After her orgasm shook her body she became a different person though, holding me softly, cuddling, but the abuse just ran through my brain this is not love. I hardly slept anymore, was scared all the time, how did I let this happen.
That was the turning point that was the last night I would suffer at Lisa’s hand. I left for work that day knowing I had to tell someone, find help, get away from her before she killed me.
Filling out the police report of her abuse was horrific but stripping naked and having pictures taken of the marks on my body was a new kind of low. My long road back had begun.
Six months had passed since I was brave enough to seek help and get away from Lisa. all I did was go to work and come home to spend my nights alone, eat alone, watch movies alone.
No dates, no nights out with friends, I had even stopped loving myself. I had always loved touching, teasing, bringing myself to the brink but I just was never in the mood anymore.
I decided to go to a meeting of the battered women’s support group I had read about in the paperwork they gave me when I filled the restraining order.
I arrived at the meeting a little before seven, looking around at groups of women talking, I saw a table with coffee and cookies. I wandered over to it pouring my self a cub.
“I’m Carol” I turned and smiled seeing a tall beautiful blonde woman with dazzling green eyes. Realizing I hadn’t responded, how long had it been, say something “HI, I’m Cheryle nice to meet you.”
“Yes, is it that obvious.”
“We were all there once, nervous, but you had the courage to come that’s a start.”
Her voice had a soothing quality and I relaxed.
“The meeting is about to start come you can sit with me.”
The meetings did help, I was even started masturbating again, watching my self explore my body in the mirror, having shattering orgasms.
I sat with Carol every week, I liked her, we started going for coffee after the meetings. I looked forward to seeing her every week, slowly she drifted into my fantasies, I imagine kissing her, touching her, licking her, masturbating thinking about her, she was such a beautiful soul.
The night she asked me if I like to go dancing with her I was tingling all over. I tried not to sound to eager has we made plans for Saturday night. I was so excited when Saturday finally came, what to wear?
I picked a tight black dress with black strappy heels. We met our favorite diner were we went for coffee after meetings. I entered to see her sitting in our favorite booth, she stood up wearing a gorgeous blue dress with matching pumps.
“you look great.”
“Your gorgeous, sweetheart.”
Did I really say that! She put money on the table and we were out the door in a flash. The short walk to the club seemed to go on forever, anticipation, we arrived at the club entering to loud music blaring in our ears.
We got drinks and found a table sipping our drinks waiting for a good song to dance to. Werewolf’s of London started I love that song. Grabbing Carol’s hand and pulling her up to the dance floor we started dancing. We drank and danced shaking our bodies to the music I was having a great time. I felt alive again.
Taking a break we returned to our table taking, our seats seemed closer together, our bodies touching now. Wonderful, I felt wonderful, I had come so far down the long road back.
Her hand was on my arm, I turned into those sparkling green eyes, her succulent lips, scrumptious, luscious lips I needed to kiss her.
Leaning forward our lips met softly, tenderly we kissed, our mouths slowly opening to allow our tongues to enter. Lost in the moment of the first kiss never wanting this moment to end.
Carol had saved me, befriended me, showed me how to survive. How lucky I was to have met her at that first meeting.
Now laying naked in her arms I remember that first kiss, her first hello to that nervous girl at the battered women’s support group. I nibble her ear, kissing down her neck to her breast, biting her nipple, hearing her moans, lowering further to her wetness tasting her juices.
We don’t go for coffee after meetings anymore we rush home instead to make love.
On Sundays she comes over with coffee and the paper we eat breakfast, read the paper, spend the day together.
Sharing tender moments, exploring each others bodies, she seems to understand me in ways only someone who has been through it too can.