u/danyhwrites

As per your request, this is all the collected internet evidence on case 000120000100085M to this day.

On the website:

https://REDACTED/personalad/06072019/SNUFF\_SLUT\_wanted\_

SNUFF SLUT wanted (read carefully)

White male, 60, single here. I’m looking for a snuff partner to fulfill her (and mine) dream. Must be no older than 45, with a tonic body and willing to go all the way by hanging. NO mercenaries, suicidal or emo, NO married and with family strings. If you are unsure and or think you will start crying or beg for your life, just move on. I’m looking for determined women who know what they sign up for. If you fit the description, hit me up. It’s ok if you want to know each other a bit first, I realize this has to feel right.

The following is a conversation with the suspect (S) accused of posting the above personal ad and the victim (V) that responded.

1 reply to your announce “SNUFF SLUT wanted (read carefully)”

V wrote:

Hi. I can’t believe I’m writing this, but bear with me. I fit the description, I’m 38, recently single. Always had this fantasy and I’m flirting with the idea. It feels good to write this but no promises. I really can’t believe I’m even responding to this… I always look through the personal ad to get a kick but this looks like it was written for me.

S wrote:

Hi. You sound a bit unsure, the kind of woman that disappears after a few mails. But you look sensible and you can write a few lines with no mistakes, which is more than what I usually get. So I will give you a chance even if it goes nowhere. How long have you been fantasizing? Out of curiosity, what area do you live in?

V wrote:

I live in the south area of the city, but work on the opposite side, so I drive all the way everyday. So I wouldn’t mind if I had to take a detour one day.

As for my fantasy… I always had it. Since I was a teenager I suppose. I often dream of finding myself on the edge of doing it and then losing control and actually going all the way. What about you?

S wrote:

I am recently divorced. I had many women in my life but in recent years I started fantasizing about watching a woman hang all the way in front of me. To be responsible for her demise and to end her with my actions. I would like to jerk off and cum on her legs and feet as she dies. I hope you don’t mind me using these terms, but you asked about my fantasy…

V wrote:

The words are ok. I actually like that you are so openly talking about this with me. I also enjoy some verbal humiliation, always had. My arousal always floated around being unsure, and being talked into going further and further by a strong man who can overpower me with his mind more than with his hands. I don’t really care about sex, for me it is about giving up control to someone better.

S wrote:

You are what I’m looking for. You have the right mentality for it; I want you to know I have a nice cock, but it’s not porn-size. Not that it will matter too much, sex is not that important for me as well. Think about coming into my apartment, and me putting the rope around your neck and making you go up a chair. Then you step off and you are finally submitting yourself to a stronger man - for real. Your life ends for a good purpose: giving a stronger man a good orgasm. All you ever was and all your life coming to an end just to empty my balls. That’s true submission for you.

At this point in the conversation, 24 hours go by with no interaction. Then:

S wrote:

Did I go too far? I thought we were having fun…

V wrote:

No you did not. I just took a moment to take this in, we are going fast. It felt… real. You never told me where you live in the city.

S wrote:

I live in REDACTED. It’s ok to be nervous, it would be weird not to be. But you know you want it.

V wrote:

We are very close to each other.

S wrote:

It’s that easy then… you leave your house, cross the street, and come to me. Then you can live your fantasy and be snuffed. You will finally be the object for someone else’ pleasure. I will get everything ready and have you in the noose as soon as you want. From there you don’t have to worry about anything, just enjoy your final moments knowing you are giving up your life for a good cause. My cum! I will take care of everything, you don’t even have to worry about your own death… the nose will take care of taking you out.

V wrote:

I wish that did not make me wet but it did.

S wrote:

I consider you already my snuff slut, dear. If you’d like, we can meet under my home for a quick look at each other, then we go upstairs and in the elevator I will start groping you and feeling your neck in my hands. As soon as you step in my apartment you will climb the chair and put the noose around you neck and when I tell you you go and kill yourself for my enjoyment. When are you available?

V wrote:

Monday I’m working till very late…

S wrote:

Monday I can't, sorry. I’m working too and all of my mornings are taken. In every other time slot I’m available… I think it will need to be a day you are really feeling it. Everyone has their good and bad moments. The only issue is that my phone doesn’t have this email on so I have to check my mail from my PC. So if you try and ask me to be ready at short notice I might not see that in time. Can you be here in the next half an hour? I’m free this afternoon…

V wrote:

No, I really can’t today… I have some stuff to do first. Sorry…

S wrote:

I’m so hard right now. And you know you want to please my cock and die for my pleasure, whore.

V wrote:

I don’t really have the time today… Maybe we can just meet under your apartment for that quick look and then plan for another day.

S wrote:

Come here and die for me. Give me 15 minutes and I will put the A/C on. You have to die by hanging, not from extreme heat! Come on. Time to die.

V wrote:

I didn’t shave properly because I wasn’t planning on getting naked today. I didn’t even get a shower. I don’t like being intimate with someone with no preparation…

S wrote:

I don’t want to meet you just for a chat. I want you to die today. Now!

V wrote:

Why don’t you just want to meet me first? Are you afraid I won’t do it in the future?

S wrote:

Come on, it’s a step you know you want to take. Live your big fantasy. It’s time.

V wrote:

I will come to your apartment to see the noose, but I’m leaving in 5 minutes. I just want to see it.

S wrote:

Ok, come to REDACTED we will get right inside.

Text me when you are here and I will come downstairs.

V wrote:

There’s so many people in the street right now. I’m so scared of meeting someone I know.

S wrote:

What’s the big deal? You are just meeting someone

V wrote:

Ok if you are at building 336 open the door and I will consider coming in

S wrote:

I’m coming down, my buzzer doesn’t work.

The conversation ends here. The following are dialogues that are transcribed from a video the suspect has recorded with a hidden camera. We are unable to confirm the victim knows about the recording.

S:

Come in, fast.

(closes door)

V:

Oh wow… you are not messing around with the A/C. This is freezing!

S:

Don’t worry, you won’t get sick. I like it this way.

V:

(touching the noose)

You really did put the noose up…

S:

It’s for you. Climb here.

(suspects places a chair under the noose)

V:

Just 5 minutes, I want to feel what it’s like to stand on the chair with the noose up.

S:

Sure, just try it on

At this point, the victim is climbing the chair helped by the suspect. She places the noose around her neck voluntarily.

S:

(unintelligible)

V:

No, I just want to stand here for a second

S:

(pulling his cock out and starting to masturbate)

You are beautiful like this. It’s perfect for you. It feels right, doesn’t it?

V:

It does feel appropriate for me, it’s weird.

S:

Do you want me to take off the chair?

V:

(gasps)

S:

If you want it, I’ll do it

V:

If you do it…

S:

When you ask for it I’ll do it.

V:

If you do it I will die, right?

S:

If I do it you hang and die.

V:

(pauses for a long time, it appears as she is touching herself inside her yoga pants)

Ok let’s try this.

S:

Ok, let’s go.

V:

Thank you.

The suspect proceeds to take off the chair under the suspect feets. The victim falls into the noose.

The victim appears to freeze for a couple of seconds, then starts to struggle to get free. Both her hands reach the rope but soon she loses control of her body and starts “ghosting” with her arms.

At this point the suspect is very close to the victim. Due to the low resolution of the video, it’s unclear whether he’s still masturbating. After a couple of minutes the victim stops struggling and, after a couple of violent shakes, gets still at the end of the noose. The suspect turns around and switches off the camera.

Spots of cum have been found on the victim's legs and feet.

The suspect is yet to be found for interrogation.

--

This story is heavily based on a real life experience. You can read all my stories and the backstories on what they are based on by going on my website danyhwrites.wordpress.com

Having a threesome has always been one of my biggest fantasies. Since I’m approaching my 40s, I also feel the time to do it is now or never. I want to be physically fit enough to whistend the hours I would be spending being pounded by two different men taking turns on me. I want to still feel at my peak sexiness and I want these two men to desire me more than they wanted anything else. 

I want to feel their heavy breathing on my neck while on the elevator; I want to feel their hard cocks in their jeans pressed against my legs and ass simultaneously. I want one of them to look me in the eyes while I take in my mouth his best friend. I want them to leave my house thinking they will NEVER have better sex in their life.

But right now, this will do. I feel awesome, actually. We have just started. The windows of the room are open and in the distance you can see the sea; the salty air breezes inside the room and hits our sweaty bodies, providing some refreshment to our overheated skins.

One of them is behind me. It could be my boyfriend, why not. He should be a part of this. Or maybe not. It could be Francesco, that would be even hotter. It’s my BFF friend boyfriend, and I have noticed that when we have dinner at their place he always touches my hand while handing me a glass of wine. When we kiss goodbye on the cheeks (we Italians love to do that) he always uses his lips on my skin, and he almost goes for my lips. It’s very brief, totally unnoticeable by our partners, and makes me wet. 

Yes, he is definitely the one fucking me from behind. In fact, he’s doing it without a condom. Better. He has spitted on my ass and he’s preparing me for anal. And once we start anal, the road to being double penetrated is open and I’m so fucking ready for it. In fact, I’m trying to deepthroat the other guy to the best of my abilities. Unless he is my boyfriend. He doesn’t really like a deep throat. He likes to be sucked on the tip more. I think I want to deepthroat this cock and so this guy I’m sucking is for sure someone else. I have to make up my mind, because I feel I’m about to come.

Francesco starts to make his way in my ass with his fingers. One, two, almost immediately three. I’m so fucking ready.

The doorbell rings. It’s a strong, decisive ringing. It’s not a friendly ring.

The noise of my vibrator is very noticeable. Outside it’s raining. In my bedroom it’s very dark, because I have closed all the windows so I can masturbate naked and not be seen by the people living in the building next door. This morning I checked my distance to the sea: it’s exactly 25,7869 miles.

“Who is it? I’m coming” pun intended, motherfuckers!

“PCU. You have been selected”.

I switch off my vibrator. The temperature in my room drops below zero. My skin itches.

I’m dead.

The population control unit, or PCU, is the latest and most desperate action our government’s took to try and stop climate change. As every human being produces two tonnes of carbon dioxide a year just to eat, the most direct solution to reducing pollution was to reduce humans. First, it was people in jail serving for life; then it was people above the age of 80 being put to sleep with pills in a holiday that became known as sleepday (as opposed to your birthday).

But when all these deaths didn’t really make a dent in global warming, the random selection process was started and the PCU became everyone's worst fear. The number of executions per day was not really known; everyday a group of people were randomly selected, picked up at their home, and executed.

I was actually convinced they were starting to slow down executions: a couple of years after the PCU started the random selection, I was able to regularly park my car in front of my building, something that was like winning the lottery back in the days. And the air quality seemed to be improving a lot. It didn’t really make any difference in any case. They are outside my door to collect me. And there’s no getting out of it. I guess I could jump out of the window right now; living on the 8th floor will guarantee to kill me quite fast in any case. Maybe I could finish masturbating, and jump to my death naked.

“PCU, open the door or we will have to activate the resistance protocol”

I quickly dress up with my underwear, yoga pants, a worn out t-shirt and my beloved white Adidas sneakers.

Two operators in blue uniforms are waiting for me outside. The lady, short, chubby and with her hair tightly pulled around her head and under her hat is checking back and forth between  my face and her clipboard. She doesn’t want to screw up and execute the wrong Daniela.

The photo matches, clearly, as she nods to her partner: a tall, strong, black man that talks with a voice deeper than hell.

“Walk in between us. Not faster or slower. Look down at your feet the whole time. Don’t speak, don’t make gestures, and get in the car as soon as we get there”.

“Shall I close the door?” I say pointing at my apartment door, still open.

“Don’t speak,” the chubby woman replied.

And I do as I’m told. You have to consider yourself dead when you are interacting with the PCU. It’s written on all the informational material. On all the billboards. On the tv advertising. I am dead. If I don’t consider myself dead, if I try to run away, if I make them force me in the car, then a lot more people will have to consider themself dead. My boyfriend, for sure. Francesco, my dear Francesco who knows how fucking wet he gets me everytime he touches my skin with no reason in front of everyone, he will be dead as well. God I wished I tasted his cum at least once.

Instead, I’m dead and I’m walking towards the elevator. I feel the black man breathing on top of me. He’s using more than half the space in the elevator. I’m so close to a chubby woman that I smell her make up and feel her arm against the side of my body. I wish the black man could just punch my head with all his strength and kill me instantly. But I know he won’t.

I exit the building. They have double parked their car right where mine is. In front of the building. I told you, now that there are less people around, I park in front of my building all the time. They have left the door to the backseats open. A 20-something woman rushes out of the open door and runs away laughing with her friends: a selfie on the death-mobile. What a thrill.

The PCU operators smile it off. I sit on the backseat, they sit in front, and we are off.

“Wear your seatbelts” they tell me.

Let’s keep the dead woman in one piece before we kill her. We don’t want her to be in pain when we hang her body to a rope by her neck and wait until the oxygen deprivation makes her go unconscious until the damage to the brain is so extensive she won’t be a person anymore.

Let’s not bury her body with more marks than a huge red ring around her neck, her tongue sticking out of her face, her bladder released on her legs and feet.

Fucking bureaucrats.

Our car joins a line of other, similar, cars. On the backseat of each of them, someone who’s about to be executed. One by one, our cars enter the metallic gate of the processing facility, an anonymous hangar in the outskirts of the city. On the other side of the road, cheap housing is home for a lot of working-class men and women. I wonder if they look outside the window to look at us. If they made peace with the fact that while they eat dinner, or watch TV, we get hanged, killed, and disposed of. 

Would you still fuck your wife, if you knew I’m suffocating at the end of a rope, naked, cold, and scared shitless? Would you fuck her harder?

It’s my turn. My car approaches a square made with hurdles where all the other women selected for execution are kept before entering the facility. I get out of the car and into the square. On the opposite side of where I got in, a new check for identity is performed on each of us before being allowed inside. That’s our final moment in the outside world.

The weather is still overcast, but the rain has stopped. While I wait for my final check, I take a peek outside the metal fences, where a small group of people that will not die today is looking at us.

“Hey blondie! BLONDIE!” someone screams at me. “Hey you! Throw me your shoes! PLEASE!”.

Of course that’s the kind of people that waits outside the facility on a day like this. He wants my white sneakers to go home and jerk off thinking that I’m dead.

“Come on! You won’t need those anymore”. His friends laugh loudly.

Another woman, approximately my age, but with long red hair, hugs me.

“It’s ok, it’s going to be over soon” she whispers in my ears.

We are going to be over soon. She and I will be finished in a matter of minutes. Violently.

I don’t throw the guy my shoes. I am too fucking scared of getting a bad behaviour mark on my death report. That would mean a lot more death reports among my friends.

My identity check is good. It’s me you want to kill. I enter the facility. I will exit it in less than 1 hour as a lifeless corpse.

Our small group joins a larger bunch of women in a huge room with benches and showers. It’s no different than a classic gym locker room. There isn’t any closet, or room for your personal belongings. Only a bunch of trash bins right in the center of the room: shoes, clothes, underwear. 

On the bin designated for shoes collection a sign asks kindly to tie the shoes together, so that they don’t get lost. I buy some time looking at some more signs on the wall: another sign gives simple, direct instructions, just like the ones of an Ikea bookshelves.

Strip naked, put your clothes and shoes in the appropriate bin and then, if you want, take a final shower. That word, “final”, strikes me. Everything we do now is final.

Another sign, the bigger one, points at a red door on the other side of the room: once naked, please join the cue.

The showers are running. It’s a good excuse to stay alive a bit longer. Alive in the locker room, with no way out, and a noose waiting for you behind the red door. I won’t shower. My stomach hurts, my head is spinning, my heart is racing. I want to get this over with. I want to be on the other side of it.

I don’t want to die and I really want to be already dead because this wait is… killing me I guess? Or is the wait keeping me alive, and the moment I stop waiting is the moment I start dying? Consider yourself already dead, remember?

I am naked. The shoes are gone, sorry wank-man. No smelling my shoes for you today.

Maybe tomorrow you will smell the sweat of some other feet from some other woman that will be hanged and killed. Not mine.

I cue in front of the red door. The red-haired woman, the one that hugged me outside, is right in front of me. Then the red door opens and we get into another waiting room: only nine of us enter the new waiting room, then the red door gets closed again. A green door is waiting for us on the other side of the waiting room. Me and eight other naked women stand in the room, closely guarded by a PCU operator. 

She grabs metal handcuffs from a plastic box and starts cuffing our hands behind our back. The green door briefly opens and another operator enters the room. She is carrying another plastic box full of handcuffs. Of course these are not single-use handcuffs. These are coming from other dead women, in the execution room behind the green door. They take handcuffs off the dead bodies and put it on us; then we die, and they take the handcuffs off again. How many have died with these handcuffs on? In a matter of minutes, there’s going to be one more. I’m the new dead woman.

We exit the final waiting room and form a line. At the end of the line, a gallows with nine nooses is facing us. At the end of each noose, a woman is dying, hanging from the neck.

Each noose has a number, from 1 to 9, nailed on top of the wooden frame supporting the ropes. There are no ladders to climb, no trap-doors, nothing else.. A winch controls each noose: when the woman at the end of a rope dies, her body is winched down, and the number of that noose is called out. The first one in line then makes her way to that noose, and by the time she has completed the journey the noose is free and ready to take her life.

I’m forth in line.

“Eight!”

The first woman in our line is released from the cue and makes her way to the gallows. With almost perfect timing, the operators have released the corpse from the noose and, by the time she’s there, the noose is already up and ready. She gets noosed up and the winch motor pulls her high. She was with me on the cue. She is dying now.

“Three!”

The red hair woman, the one that hugged me before, is released from the cue. She appears to walk in slow motion. She gets helped to speed up by a PCU operator. Don’t slow down the process. We don’t want to delay your death. We need you to suffocate at the end of this rope quickly, or the ones behind you will die later and we won’t go home in time. Can you just all die when you are asked to? That would make a huge difference for all the PCU operators that have to go on with their life. Go on with your death, please.

“Seven!”

Last one before me. Number 3, the red-haired woman, is up in the air and kicking like mad. What did she tell me before? I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter.

Number 8 is twitching. She was in my group and now her brain is shutting down. Number 4 was hanging when I got here and she’s gently dangling. I think I might be the new Number 4.

Come on, Number 4. Kick again. Give me another 30 seconds. I really don’t want to experience hanging to death.

Just as she could hear my thought, Number 4 gives another kick out of nowhere.

“Six!”

I was so focused on Number 4 that I didn’t look at anyone else. I am released from the queue. The cement floor under my soles is cold. The former Number 6 is winched down. I can see she has drooled on herself and on the noose. Gross.

I get there as she gets put on a trolley with the bodies of the former Number 8, Number 3 and Number 7.

“Face the queue”, I get told.

I look at the cue I was just released from.

“Two and Three”

Two at once. Number 3 was the red-haired woman. She’s dead now. I am about to.

As I get noosed up, I feel the rope is warm. Warmed by the bodies of the women hanged before me. The saliva of former Number 6 wets my neck.

I feel a finger sliding between my pussy and my ass, leaving in me a warm, thick substance.

“It’s superglue. So you don’t shit yourself” someone whispers in my ears.

I don’t have time to process the information. I don’t get asked any last words. I don’t get molested on the noose. The winch motor starts and I get pulled up by the neck. Just enough that I can’t touch the ground. A couple of hours ago I was at home, masturbating, and now I am naked, hanged by the neck, dying.

Those were the last words I will hear? “Shit yourself”? What were my last words? Why is this in my mind right now?

Life sucks. Being hanged sucks too. The skin of my neck is burning like it’s on fire. I didn’t even get a chance to take a last breath, so I’m already out of air and drooling on the noose. Sorry, future Number 6.

Please let me die soon. Please. Why am I still conscious? I want to breathe. Let me down and let me breathe again. Please. Do I have to kick? I am kicking. Is this amusing to you? I keep trying to suck air in my lungs and nothing happens. My head hurts, my heart is about to pop out of my chest. I am still alive.

Consider yourself dead. Please let me die now. I don’t want to dangle at the end of the rope.

I don’t want to be put on that trolley, on top of dead bodies. I will be dead soon. Dead bodies will be placed on top of me.

I am back in the house on the beach in the threesome. The two men are strangling me.

Francesco, is that you? I’m dreaming? I’m dying. Are you happy I’m dying?

Then I consider myself dead. For you.

“Six!”

---

You can download all my stories, and read the post scriptum with images from the comic book that was inspired by this story, on my website: danyhwrites.wordpress.com

“It's here”, I say to myself.

I park the scooter on the curb, the way we do in Rome, alongside many others. People that came around here for work, unlike me. Today I have a late shift and a free morning. A free moment I am putting to good use.

I’m 10 minutes early because I did not want to be late. It’s hot and I feel a bit of sweat under my open face helmet; I hate myself for this. I don’t want to be sweaty, or dirty. I chain my scooter and immediately sanitize my hands. I want to be immaculate.

I should have taken a cab but Rome’s traffic can be a huge pain and I did not want to be stuck at a traffic light and be late. Being late this morning is not acceptable.

I check my teeth in the mirror. I haven’t eaten anything since I woke up; but I want to be absolutely sure they are as clean as they can be.

“I am here” I text her. Another woman. I feel like I can’t breathe.

“I am almost ready,” she replies,”knock at number 12 when it’s 11:00”.

This part of Rome is a bit different. Near the usual buildings there are some more unconventional constructions. Number 12 is a two floor building with a door facing directly the street; no shared entrance, no door man, just the door to an apartment. It’s unconventional, but it’s in a line of similar buildings, so it’s not really standing out. It’s near a car workshop. There’s people outside. Do they know? They must see the people coming in and out. They will see me and understand what I am about to do. I feel ashamed.

I pretend to check my phone and slowly walk towards the door. I’m about to do it. It’s 10:59. I could go into the clock app and check how many seconds are left; or I could just wait an extra minute and knock at 11:01. Would that be disrespectful?

It’s 11:00 now. I knock.

The door opens slightly. The inside feels like a black hole: the lights are probably very dim. There’s just enough space for me to slide in.

“Welcome” she whispers. She’s exactly like in the photos, but she is not wearing an eye mask. My eyes are still trying to adjust to the darkness.

She gives me her hand to kiss; I do that whispering “thank you”. I don’t want to do something wrong. She is the same height and same age as me; she is fit, with dark brown hair collected in a pony tail. She is in a sporty outfit: leggings, sneakers, a tight shirt.

I had the option between leather, formal, or gym. I chose the gym. I don’t regret it. A casual encounter of two humans where the better one is in charge.

We are in a small room. One of the walls is occupied by a large, red couch. Oversized for the room, but there’s literally nothing else, except for a staircase going down.

“Follow me” she says, walking in front of me and down the staircase, “and watch your head” she adds tapping with her hand on the hard edge over one of the steps, in the intersection between the ground floor and the basement.

Downstairs there’s a little more light. I look around in astonishment.

A wooden throne sits in the center of the room; all around the walls, a collection of every tool made to inflict pain and pleasure. Pads, chains, various sizes of strap-ons. A wooden cross shaped like an X, with belts at each end. A metal cage sits under the stairs we just used.

“Place my gift in the dog bowl” she says as she sits on the throne, pointing at a metal bowl on the ground, to her right. “Then get naked and kneel in front of me”.

I take the money from my pocket. The pay of a day's work for me.

I put the money in the dog bowl, then I strip until I am fully naked in front of her.

She points at the ground in front of her.

I kneel. She grabs my chin firmly, like she wants to evaluate me.

“This is who you are and you finally embraced it”.

“Yes” I reply.

“I don’t want to hear your voice”, she says.

I nod.

She takes off her shoes. I bounce between the knowledge of being totally naked, in front of another woman about to dominate me, and the attempt to just let go and live the moment.

She puts one of the shoes in my face. “Breath in”. I obey.

“This is my smell. Your owner’s smell. Breath in as much as you can”.

The smell of her gym-used shoes fill my nostrils. I feel good.

She takes off her socks. “Lick my feet”. Her soles are dirty. I can’t understand if that is just make up or real dust she picked walking barefoot before I came in. I’ve asked her to have dirty feet and now it’s my job to clean them. With my tongue.

“I want them clean,” she says, relaxing on the throne. It feels weird to lick the feet of another woman; It feels different. That’s why I’m here.

The dirt comes off little by little the more I lick. She takes little moments to check her soles and points to spots with more dirt, where my licking was not good enough.

“Use your teeth if you need to”.

I scrape the dirt from under her feet, getting more and more aroused. It’s not as much my licking that gets me, but the fact that it feels extremely natural. She is superior. 

She snaps her fingers. “Every time I snap my finger you open your mouth and put your tongue out, is that clear?”

I nod and open my mouth. She spits on my tongue.

“Swallow”. I swallow her spit. Another woman has spat in my mouth. I am dripping from my pussy. She touches me between my legs, exploring my insides.

“You are so fucking wet,” she says, “put yourself doggy style, head towards the throne”.

I put myself in position and I notice two leather straps at the bottom. She uses those to tie my wrists to her throne. I can’t move anymore.

I hear her walking around the room, but I’m unable to see what she is doing. I hear noises, like she is putting on plastic gloves. A cold, wet feeling on my butthole. It’s lube.

“Have you ever been fucked in the ass?”

I shake my head. The answer is no.

“Time to change that. Your ass is mine”.

She slips one finger in. A woman is fingering me. Two fingers, three. It’s not unpleasant.

“I will take your virginity now”. The fingers come out. I feel the tip of the strap on with the condom pressing on my butthole.

And then she is inside me. She slowly pushes past the point where her fingers reached; I feel my insides accommodating the dildo, her hands wet with lube on my ass cheeks.

She keeps going until her hips make contact my ass. She is fully in. She starts trusting.

I’m paying for it. It’s my first time.

I’m having sex with another woman. It’s my first time.

I’m having anal sex. It’s my first time.

She fucks me more and more steadily increasing the speed. I try not to moan, as she made it clear she did not want to hear my voice, but my brain is on fire.

She grabs my hair and pounds me. The wet noise of my ass being slapped by her hips echoes in the room.

“Look to your right,” she says. A mirror reflects the image of me, chained to the wooden throne, doggy style, getting fucked by my mistress. I only notice now she is naked from the waist down. She’s the one getting paid and yet I feel like the biggest whore on earth. I desperately want to touch my clit, but I can barely hold my hands on the ground through the straps. She pounds me violently. The lube allows the dildo to come in and out with ease. I see images of porn videos of girls doing anal. I’m like them now.

I get lost in my mind. The outside world feels so distant - my anxiety about being a little sweaty. Me being naked, in the presence of another woman. The money. The licking of the dirty soles. I feel happy I’m doing this.

She gets out of my ass and slaps it really really hard. I let out a cry of pain and pleasure. She snaps her fingers as she walks around me and sits back on the throne, the black strap-on that was in my ass seconds ago at the center of my field of view. I open my mouth and tongue and she spits in my mouth again.

As she takes the strap-on off, she takes the opportunity of pushing my face away with her soles. I am chained and cannot back out. Her feet rub all over my face, messing it with my tears and her saliva. She stands up in front of me, her shaved pussy inches away from my face. I’ve never been so close to a pussy before.

She takes off the leashes from my wrists and orders me to lie on my back.

“Now it’s my ass that needs attention,” she says. She squats on my face, her asshole over my mouth.

“You are going to be my vibrator. Start slowly”.

She gets even lower. I start using my tongue on her asshole.

“Faster” she orders me. I try my best. I would love to have her feel something from me. It feels like the most important thing in the world.

“Now as fast as you can” she orders, as I close my eyes and try my best to bury my tongue inside her.

“Good job, faster” she says. She puts her hands on my tights. Close enough to make me beg mentally to be just touched for a split second. I’m sure she knows.

“Oh fuck” she says, stepping up. She made me believe I was actually pleasuring her too much; but I’m a woman as well and I don’t think I can fall for that as easily as any man might do. I’m licking the flavour of her butthole from my lips; that’s already enough.

I lay on the floor, my ass still wet from the lube, in my throat the taste of her spit, on my tongue the flavour of her asshole. She is back in my field of view with a plastic bag.

“When it gets too much tap on the floor”. I don’t really have time to respond. The bag is on my head as she rides me sitting on my stomach. I’ve bagged myself several times masturbating, I know the feeling. But this is different: she is holding the bag. She could technically keep going when I want to stop. She is holding my life in her hands. An unknown person paid to do this to me, not in a story. For real.

The first few breaths are ok. Then the plastic bag starts to stick to my face more and more; the air is running out. After a few seconds, there’s nothing else to breathe but my own CO2. The plastic adheres to my mouth and nose, trapping me in. The noise of the plastic contracting gets more and more intense.

I notice she is kissing my lips through the plastic, but I’m too busy trying to inhale air into my lungs.

I tap the ground. She laughs. She keeps going.

I don’t want to panic and be silly. But I really want to breathe.

She lets go, standing up, as I cough and roll on one side. She uses her feet on my shoulder, turning my body back to face the ceiling.

“You can touch yourself now,” the mistress says.

My clit is exploding.

She squats on my face again. I know what’s coming. I’ve asked for it.

“Open wide”.

I masturbate as fast as possible. She looks me straight in the eyes and squats on my face again, now with her pussy inches from my face. She  starts pissing in my mouth. Then she stops as soon as I’m full of it.

“Swallow”. I obey. She starts pissing again.

“Come as I piss in your mouth”.

I swallow again. Some piss ends up in my eye. My contact lens hurt.

I come.

She pisses on my tits, belly, hand and pussy. I’m drenched and breathless.

“Go shower,” she says, pointing at the only door in the room. I get up from the floor. My head spins. I'm dripping piss.

The session is over.

As soon as I’m in the toilet, I see my face in the mirror. The face of someone that has now paid someone for a session, got fucked in the ass for the first time, licked another woman's feet and butthole, drank her piss and masturbated in front of her. I feel ashamed and very happy.

In the shower there are more than 10 bottles of different body soaps: all for men. My hair are slightly wet from her piss but I can’t wash them as it will take forty minutes to dry them. I will have to go to work with piss in my hair.

I leave the toilet covered with a towel. The mistress is sitting at her throne, back in her gym outfit.

“You can dress up now. How was it?”

I still taste the piss on my tongue.

“It was… amazing”.

“And now you are not an anal virgin anymore”

“Yes, and you are the one who took it away”.

I am naked again. I’m dressing up.

She has cleaned the mess made by her piss with paper towels. A scene I was not allowed to see, of course.

We talk a bit more as I get ready, then she walks upstairs. “Never walk in front of me. You always follow, clear?” she says as we approach the door.

I nod.

“Good girl”. She gives me her hand for me to kiss again.

She opens the door slightly for me to sleep out.

“Thank you mistress” I say, before going out in the midday sun. It’s hot. The door closes behind me.

I walk in front of the mechanic next to her door and I see he takes a glimpse at me. Does he know? I'm back to real life: take the chain of my scooter wheel, put the helmet on (I still have piss in my hair!), fire up the engine, drive away.

Everything is very much normal; I stop at a traffic light. Cars line up behind and around me; they don't know. My ass was being fucked minutes ago. I still feel a little light headed. I feel I want to share my new found sexual accomplishment of the day and yet I can't.

The lights turn green, but I'm still daydreaming.

The guy behind honks, he wants me to move. I still taste piss in the back of my throat; I drive away with a smile. 

“It's here”, I say to myself.

I park the scooter on the curb, the way we do in Rome, alongside many others. People that came around here for work, unlike me. Today I have a late shift and a free morning. A free moment I am putting to good use.

I’m 10 minutes early because I did not want to be late. It’s hot and I feel a bit of sweat under my open face helmet; I hate myself for this. I don’t want to be sweaty, or dirty. I chain my scooter and immediately sanitize my hands. I want to be immaculate.

I should have taken a cab but Rome’s traffic can be a huge pain and I did not want to be stuck at a traffic light and be late. Being late this morning is not acceptable.

I check my teeth in the mirror. I haven’t eaten anything since I woke up; but I want to be absolutely sure they are as clean as they can be.

“I am here” I text her. Another woman. I feel like I can’t breathe.

“I am almost ready,” she replies,”knock at number 12 when it’s 11:00”.

This part of Rome is a bit different. Near the usual buildings there are some more unconventional constructions. Number 12 is a two floor building with a door facing directly the street; no shared entrance, no door man, just the door to an apartment. It’s unconventional, but it’s in a line of similar buildings, so it’s not really standing out. It’s near a car workshop. There’s people outside. Do they know? They must see the people coming in and out. They will see me and understand what I am about to do. I feel ashamed.

I pretend to check my phone and slowly walk towards the door. I’m about to do it. It’s 10:59. I could go into the clock app and check how many seconds are left; or I could just wait an extra minute and knock at 11:01. Would that be disrespectful?

It’s 11:00 now. I knock.

The door opens slightly. The inside feels like a black hole: the lights are probably very dim. There’s just enough space for me to slide in.

“Welcome” she whispers. She’s exactly like in the photos, but she is not wearing an eye mask. My eyes are still trying to adjust to the darkness.

She gives me her hand to kiss; I do that whispering “thank you”. I don’t want to do something wrong. She is the same height and same age as me; she is fit, with dark brown hair collected in a pony tail. She is in a sporty outfit: leggings, sneakers, a tight shirt.

I had the option between leather, formal, or gym. I chose the gym. I don’t regret it. A casual encounter of two humans where the better one is in charge.

We are in a small room. One of the walls is occupied by a large, red couch. Oversized for the room, but there’s literally nothing else, except for a staircase going down.

“Follow me” she says, walking in front of me and down the staircase, “and watch your head” she adds tapping with her hand on the hard edge over one of the steps, in the intersection between the ground floor and the basement.

Downstairs there’s a little more light. I look around in astonishment.

A wooden throne sits in the center of the room; all around the walls, a collection of every tool made to inflict pain and pleasure. Pads, chains, various sizes of strap-ons. A wooden cross shaped like an X, with belts at each end. A metal cage sits under the stairs we just used.

“Place my gift in the dog bowl” she says as she sits on the throne, pointing at a metal bowl on the ground, to her right. “Then get naked and kneel in front of me”.

I take the money from my pocket. The pay of a day's work for me.

I put the money in the dog bowl, then I strip until I am fully naked in front of her.

She points at the ground in front of her.

I kneel. She grabs my chin firmly, like she wants to evaluate me.

“This is who you are and you finally embraced it”.

“Yes” I reply.

“I don’t want to hear your voice”, she says.

I nod.

She takes off her shoes. I bounce between the knowledge of being totally naked, in front of another woman about to dominate me, and the attempt to just let go and live the moment.

She puts one of the shoes in my face. “Breath in”. I obey.

“This is my smell. Your owner’s smell. Breath in as much as you can”.

The smell of her gym-used shoes fill my nostrils. I feel good.

She takes off her socks. “Lick my feet”. Her soles are dirty. I can’t understand if that is just make up or real dust she picked walking barefoot before I came in. I’ve asked her to have dirty feet and now it’s my job to clean them. With my tongue.

“I want them clean,” she says, relaxing on the throne. It feels weird to lick the feet of another woman; It feels different. That’s why I’m here.

The dirt comes off little by little the more I lick. She takes little moments to check her soles and points to spots with more dirt, where my licking was not good enough.

“Use your teeth if you need to”.

I scrape the dirt from under her feet, getting more and more aroused. It’s not as much my licking that gets me, but the fact that it feels extremely natural. She is superior. 

She snaps her fingers. “Every time I snap my finger you open your mouth and put your tongue out, is that clear?”

I nod and open my mouth. She spits on my tongue.

“Swallow”. I swallow her spit. Another woman has spat in my mouth. I am dripping from my pussy. She touches me between my legs, exploring my insides.

“You are so fucking wet,” she says, “put yourself doggy style, head towards the throne”.

I put myself in position and I notice two leather straps at the bottom. She uses those to tie my wrists to her throne. I can’t move anymore.

I hear her walking around the room, but I’m unable to see what she is doing. I hear noises, like she is putting on plastic gloves. A cold, wet feeling on my butthole. It’s lube.

“Have you ever been fucked in the ass?”

I shake my head. The answer is no.

“Time to change that. Your ass is mine”.

She slips one finger in. A woman is fingering me. Two fingers, three. It’s not unpleasant.

“I will take your virginity now”. The fingers come out. I feel the tip of the strap on with the condom pressing on my butthole.

And then she is inside me. She slowly pushes past the point where her fingers reached; I feel my insides accommodating the dildo, her hands wet with lube on my ass cheeks.

She keeps going until her hips make contact my ass. She is fully in. She starts trusting.

I’m paying for it. It’s my first time.

I’m having sex with another woman. It’s my first time.

I’m having anal sex. It’s my first time.

She fucks me more and more steadily increasing the speed. I try not to moan, as she made it clear she did not want to hear my voice, but my brain is on fire.

She grabs my hair and pounds me. The wet noise of my ass being slapped by her hips echoes in the room.

“Look to your right,” she says. A mirror reflects the image of me, chained to the wooden throne, doggy style, getting fucked by my mistress. I only notice now she is naked from the waist down. She’s the one getting paid and yet I feel like the biggest whore on earth. I desperately want to touch my clit, but I can barely hold my hands on the ground through the straps. She pounds me violently. The lube allows the dildo to come in and out with ease. I see images of porn videos of girls doing anal. I’m like them now.

I get lost in my mind. The outside world feels so distant - my anxiety about being a little sweaty. Me being naked, in the presence of another woman. The money. The licking of the dirty soles. I feel happy I’m doing this.

She gets out of my ass and slaps it really really hard. I let out a cry of pain and pleasure. She snaps her fingers as she walks around me and sits back on the throne, the black strap-on that was in my ass seconds ago at the center of my field of view. I open my mouth and tongue and she spits in my mouth again.

As she takes the strap-on off, she takes the opportunity of pushing my face away with her soles. I am chained and cannot back out. Her feet rub all over my face, messing it with my tears and her saliva. She stands up in front of me, her shaved pussy inches away from my face. I’ve never been so close to a pussy before.

She takes off the leashes from my wrists and orders me to lie on my back.

“Now it’s my ass that needs attention,” she says. She squats on my face, her asshole over my mouth.

“You are going to be my vibrator. Start slowly”.

She gets even lower. I start using my tongue on her asshole.

“Faster” she orders me. I try my best. I would love to have her feel something from me. It feels like the most important thing in the world.

“Now as fast as you can” she orders, as I close my eyes and try my best to bury my tongue inside her.

“Good job, faster” she says. She puts her hands on my tights. Close enough to make me beg mentally to be just touched for a split second. I’m sure she knows.

“Oh fuck” she says, stepping up. She made me believe I was actually pleasuring her too much; but I’m a woman as well and I don’t think I can fall for that as easily as any man might do. I’m licking the flavour of her butthole from my lips; that’s already enough.

I lay on the floor, my ass still wet from the lube, in my throat the taste of her spit, on my tongue the flavour of her asshole. She is back in my field of view with a plastic bag.

“When it gets too much tap on the floor”. I don’t really have time to respond. The bag is on my head as she rides me sitting on my stomach. I’ve bagged myself several times masturbating, I know the feeling. But this is different: she is holding the bag. She could technically keep going when I want to stop. She is holding my life in her hands. An unknown person paid to do this to me, not in a story. For real.

The first few breaths are ok. Then the plastic bag starts to stick to my face more and more; the air is running out. After a few seconds, there’s nothing else to breathe but my own CO2. The plastic adheres to my mouth and nose, trapping me in. The noise of the plastic contracting gets more and more intense.

I notice she is kissing my lips through the plastic, but I’m too busy trying to inhale air into my lungs.

I tap the ground. She laughs. She keeps going.

I don’t want to panic and be silly. But I really want to breathe.

She lets go, standing up, as I cough and roll on one side. She uses her feet on my shoulder, turning my body back to face the ceiling.

“You can touch yourself now,” the mistress says.

My clit is exploding.

She squats on my face again. I know what’s coming. I’ve asked for it.

“Open wide”.

I masturbate as fast as possible. She looks me straight in the eyes and squats on my face again, now with her pussy inches from my face. She  starts pissing in my mouth. Then she stops as soon as I’m full of it.

“Swallow”. I obey. She starts pissing again.

“Come as I piss in your mouth”.

I swallow again. Some piss ends up in my eye. My contact lens hurt.

I come.

She pisses on my tits, belly, hand and pussy. I’m drenched and breathless.

“Go shower,” she says, pointing at the only door in the room. I get up from the floor. My head spins. I'm dripping piss.

The session is over.

As soon as I’m in the toilet, I see my face in the mirror. The face of someone that has now paid someone for a session, got fucked in the ass for the first time, licked another woman's feet and butthole, drank her piss and masturbated in front of her. I feel ashamed and very happy.

In the shower there are more than 10 bottles of different body soaps: all for men. My hair are slightly wet from her piss but I can’t wash them as it will take forty minutes to dry them. I will have to go to work with piss in my hair.

I leave the toilet covered with a towel. The mistress is sitting at her throne, back in her gym outfit.

“You can dress up now. How was it?”

I still taste the piss on my tongue.

“It was… amazing”.

“And now you are not an anal virgin anymore”

“Yes, and you are the one who took it away”.

I am naked again. I’m dressing up.

She has cleaned the mess made by her piss with paper towels. A scene I was not allowed to see, of course.

We talk a bit more as I get ready, then she walks upstairs. “Never walk in front of me. You always follow, clear?” she says as we approach the door.

I nod.

“Good girl”. She gives me her hand for me to kiss again.

She opens the door slightly for me to sleep out.

“Thank you mistress” I say, before going out in the midday sun. It’s hot. The door closes behind me

I walk in front of the mechanic next to her door and I see he takes a glimpse at me. Does he know? I'm back to real life: take the chain of my scooter wheel, put the helmet on (I still have piss in my hair!), fire up the engine, drive away.

Everything is very much normal; I stop at a traffic light. Cars line up behind and around me; they don't know. My ass was being fucked minutes ago. I still feel a little light headed. I feel I want to share my new found sexual accomplishment of the day and yet I can't.

The lights turn green, but I'm still daydreaming.

The guy behind honks, he wants me to move. I still taste piss in the back of my throat; I drive away with a smile.

__

Hey there! This is my first attempt at a non guro/snuff topic. I'm not a native English speaker, so excuse any weird wording I might have used. Feel free to reach out for feedback! :*