0 comments/ 45219 views/ 16 favorites Suburban Slave Ch. 01 By: Wifeowner Part 1: Consequences "Strip, cunt," said my husband as soon as the door closed behind us. I immediately began wriggling out of my dress as he walked across the room and deposited his six pack of beer in the mini fridge. By the time he closed the fridge door and turned back to me, I was standing naked in the middle of the room in my inspection position. We had just dropped the kids off at my parents' house and checked in to the Ritz Carlton for the night. We would be heading out to dinner at Ruth's Chris' Steak House in a few minutes. It was going to be a rare, romantic evening with just the two of us. We were both looking forward to it. But first I had to take a belting. My name is cunt. I am a forty one year old housewife from Connecticut. My husband is a prominent physician. He is also my owner. I have been my husband's sex slave for seven years. He named me cunt to remind me that my sole purpose in life is to function as a warm, wet sleeve for his cock. As his slave, my primary job is to keep my holes clean and well-lubricated so they will be available for use at all times. This is my role in life. I am treated well. My husband is a great father and a good provider. The only difference between myself and a square wife is that I have no say in how and when I am used sexually. My body belongs to my husband. I signed a paper to that effect. It isn't such a bad life. My husband doesn't share me with other men, only the occasional stripper. He has a knack for picking out the girls who might be interested in taking an extra hundred for the privilege of sitting on the face of a doctor's wife. He never touches the strippers. He just watches them whip my pussy as they squat over me. Some of them are nice. My husband sometimes allows me to hump myself against one of their shoes if I do a good job. The strippers always laugh. I am used primarily as a sex slave, not a pain slut. I am only punished if I am disobedient or make a mistake. Like today. "Let's try this again, you stupid cow. Hole position." I immediately opened my mouth wide, spreading my legs as wide as possible and bending slightly forward at the waist. I reached back with both hands and spread my ass cheeks. This is hole position. This is how I stand every morning after getting out of the shower so my husband can inspect my holes. He always starts with my upper-cunt, sliding two or three fingers around inside my mouth. Then he moves to my lower-cunt, inserting one or two fingers before finally moving on to my hind-cunt. All my holes have been trained to accommodate my owner's large cock, so there is never any pain. Hole inspection always ends with my husband re-inserting his fingers in to my mouth for cleaning. This is where I fucked up today. When he brought his fingers up for cleaning this morning, I closed my mouth. I don't know what came over me. I just didn't feel like tasting my ass at the moment. Big mistake. Huge. My husband wiped his fingers on my hair, then slapped my tits as hard as he could. Then he told me what my punishment would be. I had earned a belting. A triple-twenty. A triple-twenty belting consisted of twenty strokes each across the ass, tits and cunt. It was a severe punishment which was used sparingly. The last time I endured this treatment was when I let myself gain more than five pounds above my allowable weight. I couldn't walk straight for a week. In this case, my insolence toward my owner easily justified the use of the punishment. I remained in hole position as my husband walked slowly up to me. He reached in to my mouth with two fingers and withdrew the panties he had stuffed in to my upper-cunt about thirty minutes earlier. At the hotel, I had gone through the entire check-in process while sucking on my own underwear. It's amazing how well you can communicate with hand gestures and head nods when you have to. My husband unfurled my sodden panties, then casually pulled them over my head and face, using them as a crude blindfold. I would not be able to see the belt coming. That would make it worse. Then I felt him inspecting my lower-cunt. I was not surprised that I was wet. I had been trained to derive sexual pleasure from being humiliated and degraded. This is what made me such a good slave. I liked it. I didn't like pain, though. After sloshing around in my lower-cunt for a few more seconds, my husband turned his attention to my hind-cunt. He pulled lightly on the large plug in my ass. I had been plugged since we left for the airport in the morning. It was part of my punishment. I had a few scary moments going through security, but apparently the TSA is not interested in finding or removing butt plugs from the asses of suburban housewives. Presently I felt my husband slowly withdrawing the plug. I grunted as the large head was pulled past my sphincter, then I felt it pop out. "Not too bad," said my husband. "Just a few flecks. I thought it would be a little messier after being in for seven hours." Without warning, he shoved the large plug in to my open mouth. "I'm sure the other guests don't want to hear your mewling , cow." I closed my lips around the plug and waited. "Where do you want if first, cunt?" He always asked. I answered the same way each time. It's always easiest to start with the ass. "Affs, thir" I said around the large plug in my mouth. "Sorry, honey, but I can't understand you with that filthy plug in your mouth," he laughed. He paused for a moment. "Why don't we start with the udders?" Then I heard him unbuckling his belt. Suburban Slave Ch. 02 Part 2: A Belting I heard the buckle tinkle softly as my husband pulled his belt from around his waist. Then, there was a sharp slap as he doubled the thick leather strap in to a loop and pulled it taught. He reached up and pulled the butt plug from my mouth. "We'll try it without the gag first, but if you scream too loudly, the plug goes back in." "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." "Remember, you brought this on yourself, slut." "Yes, sir. I know," I said softly. "Legs apart, hands behind your head. Present your udders for punishment." I immediately complied, assuming the correct posture and sticking my chest out as far as possible to make it easier for my owner to whip my large breasts. "Ask for it, cunt." "Please whip this whore's udders sir," I asked meekly, then braced myself. There was a brief pause. I couldn't see what my husband was doing because of he had pulled my panties over my head and face, obscuring my vision. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, I heard a slight swoosh followed by a loud crack as the thick leather belt struck me sharply across the left nipple. The pain was instantaneous and all-encompassing. In seconds, the entire left side of my chest was on fire. I gasped, but didn't scream or call out. I took two deep breaths. "One, thank you sir." He paused for a beat. Another soft sound of air being displaced followed by another loud crack. This time he hit me on the underside of my right breast. The pain was spectacular. I began panting through my open mouth. "Two, thank you sir," I grunted. A third stroke arrived at exactly the same location as the second, on the underside of my right breast. I felt as if my flesh would break open like a ripe melon from the impact. "Ahhrgh. Oh, God!" I wailed. "Count it out, slut," said my owner evenly. "Three, thank you sir," I whimpered after taking a moment to collect myself. The drumbeat upon my breasts seemed to go on forever. Sometimes my master would take slow deliberate aim and strike the same exact spot several times in a row. Other times, he hit me with a rapid combination of strokes across my entire chest. He was an expert with the belt. He hit what he aimed at. I was adrift in a sea of pain, but I never moved to cover myself. I never took my hands from behind my head and I never backed away. I had been corrected before. I knew the rules. I counted out each and every stroke. At last we reached the count of twenty. I was crying quietly underneath my sodden panties when the onslaught finally ceased. I took several deep breaths to steady myself. My sobs finally subsided. My owner roughly lifted the panties from my head, then grabbed me by the hair. "Come have a look at what happens to the udders of disobedient sows like you." He dragged me across the room until I was standing in front of the large dresser mirror. I continued to hold my hands behind my head as I looked at my reflection in the glass. My breasts were striped with red, angry welts. There were purpling bruises surrounding the base of both nipples and extending out in to the soft globes of both breasts. The nipples themselves were swollen and inflamed. No bikini tops for me on this trip, I thought morosely. As I continued to examine my reflection in the hotel mirror, my owner roughly plunged two fingers in to my cunt from behind. Again, I was not surprised that I was wet. Despite the fire in my breasts, I began to move against his hand almost immediately. I tried to stop myself. I really did. I told myself I didn't like the pain. I was not going to be an accomplice to my own degradation. I would not play the eager pain slut for him. Not this time. That was when I realized I was about to come on his hand. "Can I please come, sir?" I asked almost in a panic. I had no choice. A slave always has to ask. He immediately pulled out his fingers and smacked me smartly on the cunt. "Are you fucking kidding me, you stupid cow?" he asked incredulously. "This is supposed to be a punishment. God, what a whore you are." He brought his fingers to my mouth for cleaning. No hesitation on my part, this time. That particular spark of rebellion had been belted out of me, but good. I sucked and slurped for all I was worth. In a moment, he pulled his hand out of my mouth and wiped it on my hair. Then, her brought the belt up to my lips. "Kiss it, cunt." I kissed the stiff leather surface, then went back to staring at my reflection in the mirror. I couldn't help but notice that I was rocking my pelvis back and forth in slow, deliberate arcs, grinding myself against nothing but the air in the upscale hotel room. I moaned in misery and need. Then, I realized that the worst part of my punishment was still to come and I had to choke back a sob. A triple-twenty. Twenty strokes to the tits, ass and cunt. Each. My husband pulled me roughly over to the desk chair. "Bend over. Ass up." I dutifully complied. "Bring that ass up higher and put your head down, cunt." I pivoted slightly, shifting my upper body down and lifting my ass up as high as I could. "Legs a little wider, please." I assumed the required position. "Ask," he said. "Please whip this whore's ass, sir," I breathed softly and closed my eyes. After a moment, the belt came down. I counted. The leather sang and my ass burned, but it really wasn't too bad. The ass-whipping is the easiest part of a triple-twenty. Here is where a girl can catch her breath. Here is where you can pause and get your mind right for the last part, the worst part. The cunt whipping. Too soon, my owner was finished belting my ass. "On the bed, whore. Legs wide open and I better not see you close them one centimeter or we add strokes, understood?" "Yes sir," I muttered softly. In a moment I was laying on the bed with my legs spread. I pulled a pillow under the small of my back and leaned back, then tilted my pelvis upward to make it easier for my owner to whip my shaved cunt. "Ask for it, slut." "Please whip this whore's cunt, sir," I said softly. My husband picked up my discarded panties off the floor, then walked over and stuffed them roughly in my mouth. "I know you won't be able to stop yourself," he said not unkindly. "You don't have to count." He smiled down at me. I looked up at him in desperation over the bunched cotton underwear in my mouth, but found no mercy in his eyes. My husband chuckled and looked away, then walked casually to the foot of the bed, taking up his position between my legs. He slapped the belt gently against the flat of his left hand a few times as if planning out his attack. Then he took a step back and looked me directly in the eyes. I held his gaze for a few moments, then looked away, turning my head to the right and closing my eyes. It was best not to see the first one coming. There was a beat of silence, followed by the sentinel sound of rushing air. Then, my entire vulva exploded in pain. He had struck me full force, a direct hit across the middle of my slit with the thick leather belt. My eyes popped open and I craned my neck against the bed as I screamed in to the panties in my mouth. Again, I felt the hot tears rise. The next stroke came without warning and landed directly on my clit. This time, my scream was louder, longer and deeper. More guttural. It seemed to last forever. Again, the belt fell. Next on my taint. Then back to the clit. The next blow was placed directly across the rim of my exposed asshole. I was sobbing and mewling in to my panties as the strokes continued to fall. My entire pelvis was on fire. I was experiencing whole new dimensions of pain as I writhed in agony on the hotel bed. But then, inevitably, I began to feel something else as well. The belt continued to fall, but I gradually stopped screaming and began moaning instead. My clit started to tingle. Then I felt a warm, wet wave rising slowly, but steadily from the molten core of my sex. I knew then that the dark alchemy of my affliction was upon me. There was no going back now. I shuddered inwardly at what was coming. At what I would do. My husband began to strike me repeatedly on my engorged clit. Stroke after stroke landed with perfect precision. After a while, that small nubbin of flesh between my legs became the fulcrum of my universe, balancing the extremity of my pain and pleasure in perfect equipoise. After a few more strokes, the warring sensations of agony and ecstasy assaulting my clit fused in to one searing, throbbing current of electricity that thrummed outward from my aching loins up in to the center of my very being. My entire body began to vibrate. I was lost now. I began to thrust out my pelvis to meet each new stroke, lifting my ass off the bed as high as I could to maximize the force of the impact. My husband noticed the transformation in me. He always did. He changed to a steady rhythm now, keeping every stroke trained deliberately on my clit. Again and again, the stiff leather kissed my most sensitive flesh. I continued to rise up to meet each stroke. I was up on the backs of my heels now, my legs wide open, offering the flower of my sex to the belt. I was covered with a sheen of sweat. I grunted quietly in to the panties in my mouth. I was long past screaming now. I was vaguely aware that we were way past twenty strokes. I didn't give a fuck. I was calling the belt now with my cunt, trying to draw it into me, making it hurt me more. I needed more pain. I was almost there. I began to recite the familiar mantra. "Harder," I croaked around the panties in my mouth. I thrust my pussy up even higher, bouncing up and down on the bed and throwing myself against the belt with as much violence as I could muster. "Harder." I grunted with more urgency this time. My husband was breathing heavily now, swinging the belt with all his strength. I was panting like an animal. Close. Ten more strokes fell. Twenty. It was coming. Ten more. Five more. Finally, it was here. I froze with my back arched and my cunt thrust out above me with my legs spread as wide as humanly possible. I was presenting a perfect stationary target with the ideal angle of approach. I needed one more perfect stroke. My husband did not disappoint me. He pulled his arm back as far as he could and swung the belt in a perfect arc. It actually whistled as it fell and found its mark. The sound of the impact was drowned out by the cacophony of my screams as my orgasm overtook me and I exploded in to a thousand shards of bright, white elemental ecstasy. I was crying softly when I became aware of my surrounding again. My husband was stroking my hair as he held my head in his lap. "It's over, Suzanne. You did well. All is forgiven," he said softly. I knew our sessions were over when my husband began calling me by my real name. He sat up on the bed, pulling me up gently to sit beside him. "Now go get cleaned up and let's get dinner. I'm going to spoil your rotten tonight." He stood. "Wait," I said. "I have to thank you for my punishment, sir." He smiled. "Don't worry about it honey. Come on, let's go. The session is over." I didn't listen. I rolled off the bed on to my knees and crawled to the feet of my owner. I bent my head and kissed both of his shoes. "Thank you for punishing me, sir." I bent again, hugging his legs loosely as I kissed his feet again. I was overwhelmed by the depth of my emotions. "Thank you for my belting," I said softly with my face pressed against his shoe. I was not at all surprised to find that I meant it.