Life can be strange. You might think that your life is boring, you might even think you are stuck in a rut, that nothing exciting will ever happen to you. Then one day everything changes. Suddenly, you can be flung into a scary rollercoaster ride that takes you way beyond what you thought were your boundaries, turns everything upside down, makes your heart race and your brain spin, before bringing you back down to a new life, in which nothing is the same as it was.

Had you met me a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have expected me to talk like that. My name is Andrea. I live in Sleepytown (at least, that’s what the locals call it, only semi-affectionately). I am happily (yes really) married to my husband Jeff. He is my soulmate, the love of my life, the one person on the planet who I would do anything for. We have known each other for twenty years – he was in the grade above me in High School – and we have been married for twelve.

Our life together was perfect. Well, almost perfect. We had a lovely house in a peaceful, friendly neighbourhood. Our neighbours were generous and warm, without being too intrusive, and we had no money worries. Jeff worked long hours, but I knew that if I ever asked him, he would drop everything and come rushing home. He wasn’t a workaholic, and he never neglected me. For my part, I was set up in a flower shop just a few blocks from my home. It was my dream job. I got to be my own employer and I spent my days chatting with people and arranging beautiful flowers.

So, like I said, our life was almost perfect. Except for one, small thing. It was a minor thing really and I would never have told anyone about it, because it seemed so silly and I was ashamed of it, but that one small thing was, well, sex. Actually, given the frequency and intensity with which I thought about it, sex is too small a word. It was more like SEX in enormous flashing neon lights.

I wasn’t sure when I started to turn into such a sex obsessed, frustrated wife. It kind of crept up on me. It had never been that important in our marriage. I mean, we had sex, a lot of it, particularly when we were first married. Jeff had usually been the one to initiate it, which doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. I did, it was really hot, particularly when he was a little more insistent than usual, and I could tell that he really needed the release. That was particularly hot.

But over the years of our marriage, things began to change. Over time, the occasions when Jeff would give me that look and I would smile back became less frequent. And as our 20s turned into our  30s we just kind of drifted into a no-sex situation. It’s not that we didn’t have sex, it just became something that happened on special occasions, holidays, birthdays and so on.

And as our sex life began to falter, I found that my desires grew stronger. I found myself daydreaming about sex more often. And not just about the lovely but straightforward sex I had with Jeff. Wilder fantasies, impossible and scary desires that I had pushed to the fringes of my imagination began to recur at random, often on days when I was alone in the shop. Sometimes they were so strong that I could barely stop myself from going out the back of the shop and getting myself off.

I didn’t of course, I was far too timid for that. Instead, I tried everything I knew to recharge our sex life. One night I even put on a kind of strip show for him. I slowly peeled out of my sexiest outfit – the one I hadn’t worn since I’d turned thirty – as he lay on the bed. We had some pretty good sex that night. But he said the next morning that I didn’t have to do that for him, and I got the impression that he was a little embarrassed by it. He was even more embarrassed one morning when I hinted that perhaps we should try something a little more dangerous.

We had been chatting about a scandal involving a Congressman from a neighbouring district. He had been caught in a compromising position – in fact, tied up to a motel bed – and the salacious details of the scene had been providing the locals with gossip for a few days. Seizing my moment, I innocently suggested that perhaps I wouldn’t mind being in that situation.

“What situation?” he asked

“You know, being tied up. Being spanked, maybe.”

Jeff looked at me, frowned, then went back to reading his paper.

“I could never do that. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

I wanted in that moment to say how much I wanted him to hurt me. Well, not hurt me exactly, but to spank me, tie me up, maybe even be a little rough with me. Of course, I didn’t say any of that. Even confessing that I might like to be tied up had made my heart race. I didn’t dare take the risk that he would think I was some kind of slut.

But of course, sexual desire doesn’t really go away, does it. Jeff had made it clear he wasn’t going to contemplate entertaining my darker desires. But they didn’t go away. Instead, I found myself going online more often, seeking out the kind of action that I was never going to get with my husband. I felt ashamed, of course, but it quickly became an addiction. I would close up the shop early, dash home and surf the web, looking for scenes of bondage and submission. Sometimes I even sneaked out of bed when he was sleeping, opened up my laptop, slipped my fingers into my panties and plunged my imagination into a world of dark desires and forbidden lusts.

Of course I felt ashamed. I mean, it was pretty disgusting and seedy for a married woman to end up in that state. But no matter how much shame I felt, I couldn’t stop myself, and I knew I couldn’t stop. In fact, I probably would have carried on with my secret shameful exploits if I hadn’t been contacted by a complete stranger late one afternoon.

I was getting ready to close up the shop. It was a typical late summer day and I was feeling hot and lazy, and all I wanted to do was get home, fire up my laptop and head to my new favourite site: Gates Of Forbidden Passion. It was full of the most incredible bondage and submission erotica, and just the thought of reading through some of the stories was making me tingly with anticipation.

Just as I was slipping into another daydream, I felt a buzzing against my hip. It startled me, and then I remembered I’d tucked my phone into the pocket of my jeans. The text was from a number I didn’t recognise, but I opened it anyway:

Hello Slut

I frowned. I checked the number again. It was definitely not one that I knew. Was it a joke? A wrong number? I shrugged and slipped my phone back into my pocket. But two minutes later, it buzzed again. There was another text.

Don’t ignore me Slut.

This time I was annoyed. I texted back immediately.

You’ve got the wrong number.

The reply was almost instant.

You are Andrea Carpenter and I know what you want.

A cold shiver of fear ran through me. I looked around. The shop was empty. Slowly, I crept into the back and peered around the stock room. There was no-one there. And when I went to the window at the front of the shop, I couldn’t see anyone. Just the usual passers-by, the same old cars.

Leave me alone!

This seemed to have done the trick. I waited for several minutes for a reply, but none came. My heart still racing, I closed up the shop and hurried to my car, anxious to get home. But as soon as I stepped through my front door, I felt a sinking dread as my phone buzzed again.

You want to be tied up and fucked hard

I gasped as I read it. Who was this? How did they know my name? And how, in God’s name, had they managed to find out my secret. Because they were right. I did want that. I wanted it more than anything. But not from a stranger. I felt a cold dread creep over me. I turned off my phone, dropped it into a kitchen draw and quickly poured myself a glass of Shiraz to settle my nerves.

I left my phone there for a while. I didn’t go onto my laptop that afternoon, and I tried to get busy with preparing dinner as it was my turn. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the message, about the phone. And what I was experiencing was only partly fear. Mingled in with the cold terror was something else: a tingling, warm sensation, a thrill, a hint of anticipation.

Eventually I cracked. I opened up the drawer and turned on my phone. I had seven messages, all from the strange number. A voice in my head screamed at me to delete them, but I didn’t. I opened them. And then I gasped.

The messages from this stranger were disgusting. Filthy. Obscene. He told me that he wanted me to gag on his cock, that he wanted to whip me, make me into his dirty whore, tie me to a bed and have his friends use me over and over all night. I couldn’t believe I was standing in my own kitchen, alone, reading these appalling, filthy messages from a stranger. Worse still, I couldn’t believe that I was experiencing the unmistakable tingling of pleasure.

I should have gone to the police. But I didn’t. Why? I wasn’t entirely sure. I didn’t reply, not to any of them, but I didn’t delete them. I told myself that this was because eventually I would go to the police and that I should keep them all as evidence. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true.

The texts continued for five days. I got used to them. They were like little extracts of erotica, delivered to enliven my day. I knew it was crazy but every time my phone buzzed I felt a giddy rush. The messages were so wrong, so dirty, but I couldn’t help myself. Of course, I should have known better, should have known that this mysterious stranger would be unlikely to settle for just texts.

Capital Hotel. 9pm. Tomorrow

I ignored it.

Don’t ignore me slut.

Who did this stranger think he was, that he could just summon me to a hotel? My heart was pounding a little as I thumbed out a reply:

Leave me alone. I won’t meet you.

The reply was almost instant. But this time there was a second beep. An attachment. I read the text first, with a rising sensation of fear.

Capital Hotel. 9pm. Tomorrow. Or everyone sees this.

That advice you are always given about never opening attachments from strangers is good advice. Because when I clicked on this attachment, I was horrified. It was a video recording that I had never seen before, but I recognised it instantly. A slim, red-headed woman in a tight black dress was slowly gyrating and turning, bending forward, showing off her ass, pulling up her dress, behaving like a total slut. I knew that dress well. It was my dress and the redhead was me. Somehow this stranger had got hold of a recording of my striptease for Jeff, which meant he had bugged our home!

I felt the walls of my little shop closing in on me. What was I going to do? I tried to bluff my way out of it, claiming it wasn’t me, and then saying that I didn’t care what he did with the video. He texted me back with another attachment. When I opened this one, I yelped and nearly dropped the phone. It was a list. A list of ten of my friends and relatives. My mother, my aunt Jane, my sister Helen. And Jeff was on there too, along with his brother and his boss. I closed my eyes. Just like so many of the women in the stories I’d read on Gates of Forbidden Passion, I had no choice.

*  *  *  *

As I entered the lift at the Capital Hotel, I tugged nervously at the hem of my dress, and clutched my handbag. He had been very specific about what I was supposed to wear. It must be something tight and black and clingy, he said. So I had squeezed myself into my sluttiest outfit; tiny thong, sheer black stockings, flimsy bra and an impossibly tight dress that clung to my butt and my breasts. I was also wearing the tallest heels I had, in which I could barely walk.

I had a plan, you see. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was something. In my handbag I had $5,000. If that wasn’t enough, I planned on offering a striptease for him, like I did with Jeff. I felt terrible about it, but not as terrible as I would feel if my friends and family saw that video. I was prepared to do anything to save my loved ones, and Jeff in particular, from that humiliation.

I should have known better. Within seconds of my stepping into his hotel room, he had rejected my offer of money and said he wasn’t interested in seeing me strip. I stood, nervous, next to his bed, feeling exposed and vulnerable while he sat on a hotel chair, gazing at me from behind a mask.

“You know what I want.”

I shook my head.

“Take off your panties.”

“What?” I replied, incredulous.

“Do it,” he said, firmly. “Or I will press send on this email and everyone will find out all about what a whore you are. Including your internet search history.”

I stared, open-mouthed, my brain frozen in horror. He knew about that! He knew about all those filthy sites I had been visiting! But how!

“You have five seconds,” he said. I had no choice. I reached down and pulled my thong straps through the dress, wriggling and squirming until I felt my thong fall loose and flutter to the floor. I felt incredibly vulnerable at that moment. But that was only the beginning.

As I watched, he picked up an opened bottle of wine and poured it into a white porcelain bowl. Then he put the bowl on the floor.

“Shiraz,” he said. “Your favourite.”

I didn’t reply. How did he know!

“On your knees, Andrea.”

What choice did I have? Slowly I sank to my knees, slipping out of my heels as I did so, keeping my eyes on the floor.

“Now crawl to me.”

It was so humiliating. I did as I was told, but cursed him silently. I had to find a way out of this situation, before it got way out of hand. But I couldn’t think how to stop him from sending that video to my friends and family. And if my mother saw my internet history…

I crawled, until I was kneeling in front of the bowl.

“Now, arms behind your back. And drink from the bowl.”

I looked at him angrily, but he pointed at the bowl and humiliated, I realised I had no choice but to comply. I leant forward and began lapping at the wine. Immediately I felt that familiar warmth in my throat, but this time it wasn’t accompanied by relaxation and pleasure. I could feel the liquid dribbling down my chin, some of it was on my nose, and I could only imagine what it was doing to my make-up.

But however humiliating it was to be on my knees drinking wine from a bowl, it was preferable to what I imagined was coming next; the moment when he would want me to cheat on Jeff.

I didn’t have to wait long. With a yelp, I felt him pull my hair and I was yanked up from the bowl. Kicking it aside, he pulled me forward and with a whimper, I did my best to comply. He unfastened his trousers with one hand and I gasped as I was confronted with his swollen cock. I tried not to look at it, but it was so big, around the same size as Jeff’s and instinctively I started to imagine what it would be like inside me.

“You know what to do,” he said, in a cruel voice.

“No way,” I said, my voice wavering.

“You’re going to defy me?”

“Please, I…I can’t….”

Without warning he stood and dragged me over to the bed by my arm, flinging me onto it. I gasped and scrambled to get away, but he had already grabbed my ankles and in that moment I felt the tight burn of rope against my ankles. I looked over my shoulder desperately and saw that he was wrapping thick white rope around my ankles and legs. As I thrashed and struggled, I suddenly felt something tight against my lips. It was wrapped around my head and then I realised. He was gagging me with my own thong! I tried to scream and squeal, but I could only make a whimpering sound.

He flipped me over onto my back and I watched in horror as he gripped my dress in two hands and ripped, tearing the fabric. He ripped at the dress again and again, and pulled feverishly at the material, leaving me completely exposed, the rags of my dress hanging off me. Then he flipped me over again and I could feel him tying up my wrists. Pretty soon I couldn’t move at all. With a wrench I felt my arms pulled back and then fastened behind me somewhere and then he turned me over again, removing the thong from my mouth. I gasped and was about to scream but before I could, he had pushed his cock between my lips, holding my head so I couldn’t move.

My eyes were wide and I desperately wanted it to stop, but there was no way I could get free. I was tied up so well, hogtied with my arms and wrists and ankles pulled tight behind me that I couldn’t offer any resistance as he forced his cock into my mouth, pushing it into my throat.

And the worst thing was that I could feel I was relaxing into it. I could feel the wine working on me, relaxing me, and I could feel my limbs relaxing into position because there was only so long that I could struggle before I knew I had to give up and even though my brain was screaming at me that this was wrong, pretty soon I was moving in time with his thrusts. I had become just a mouth to him, a doll, a toy for him to satisfy his lusts and as I lay there on the bed, feeling his thick cock pushing into my throat, making me gag, I knew he could do anything he wanted.

After fucking my mouth for what seemed like an eternity, he pulled out and I gasped, a long trail of drool trickling from my lips. I looked up at him, breathless, in a mixture of fear, anger and, God help me, the first stirrings of a desire to submit, to give myself to him further.

With a yelp, I was flipped over again. I felt the pressure on my wrists and ankles easing, but not released entirely, then I yelped again as my wrists were pulled wide. At the same time I could feel my ankles being pulled apart. I collapsed face down onto the bed as my legs were pulled wider and wider apart. I was spread-eagled on the bed, my naked pussy exposed to him.

I tried to brace myself against what was coming next, but I was helpless. As soon as I felt that heavy, throbbing cock pushed against me I knew I would not be able to resist. With a squeal I felt him press it into me, slipping it inside my pussy, opening me up. Jeff was always so gentle, but this cruel stranger wasn’t at all. Soon he was pounding me harder than I have ever been fucked before, fucking me so hard that I began to shake and tears formed in my eyes. I had got myself in too deep and now I had not only betrayed my husband, I was trapped. I would be this stranger’s toy for as long as he wanted.

Suddenly I felt a sharp slap across my ass and I yelped.

“Be quiet whore,” he said, cruelly. “You love this don’t you.”

“N…no….”I managed to stammer, shaking at the hard pounding I was getting.

“Then why are you so wet? Why are you arching your back like that to meet me? Why were you looking at all of those filthy websites?”

“Oh please…I….”

“Tell me you want this!”

“I…I….”

At that moment he pushed his cock right up inside me, so deep that it felt as though he was penetrating me right to my core and without thinking I screamed.

“Yes! Oh fuck yes! I want it!”

With a desperate cry I felt him pull his cock out of me and, panting, I tried to crane my neck to see where he had gone. Then I saw him walk in front of me, his big, throbbing cock gleaming. I was open mouthed with lust and shock and fear but I knew that I had just spoken a deep, dark truth that I could no longer hide. I wanted it. Oh fuck I wanted it. I looked up at the stranger and saw that he was lifting up his masking, revealing himself. 

“Hello, Andrea,” he said. I gazed up and my jaw dropped. It was Jeff.

*  *  *  *

Jeff had known. He’d known all along. He said that when I’d first mentioned that I would like to be tied up he had wanted to say yes there and then, but was worried that I had been testing him. So then he looked at my internet history, and when he knew I was genuine, came up with the plan.

I was so relieved that I kissed him harder than I had ever kissed him before. And then, after we’d made love again, I told him that the whole thing had been the most incredible experience of my life and I would never forget it.

“You won’t have to,” said Jeff, smiling and stroking my hair. “We’re going to do it again.”

And we did. Every month, Jeff books a hotel, and I arrive, nervous, waiting to see what he has in store for me. Some of the things we have done are frankly so shocking that I am blushing even to think about them. But I would do anything for him. Our sex is incredible, and, more importantly, we are closer now than we have ever been. Like I said, life can be strange. And full of surprises!