4 comments/ 7883 views/ 6 favorites Learning Her Place Ch. 01 By: Delilah_Storm Melanie sat in her kitchen, drinking coffee and playing games on her phone. The sink was full of dishes and laundry had piled up, but she didn't care. She was sick of playing housewife to her timid little nerd of a husband, even if he did pay the bills, and take her on expensive vacations, and buy her clothes. He shouldn't expect her to cook and clean! She was better than that! Well, she HAD been better than that. Once upon a time, Melanie had been a knockout, with a beautiful face and the body of a model. Every head used to turn when she walked into a room, and she could have any guy she wanted, any time she wanted, and they would beg for the privilege. She'd dated rich men, had flings with CEOs and minor celebrities, and had once been offered a job posing for Playboy. But that was then, more than twenty years ago. Now, Melanie was old. Her face was lined and blotchy, and her formerly luxurious blonde hair had turned to straw. Breasts that were once firm and perky had become a pair of drooping tits, and the perfect round ass that once drew the eye of every man (and many women), was saggy and wrinkled. She'd also gotten fat. Once she'd barely topped 120 pounds, now she was just over 200. Her sagging breasts sat atop a flabby protruding belly, rolls of thick fat circled her waist and rippled up her back, and her thighs were thick messes of cellulite. Her double chin was nearly a triple and hanging jowls blurred a once-elegant jawline. She could still manage some semblance of her old self. With the right clothes, a good bra, and plenty of support garments - not to mention copious amounts of makeup and a talented hairstylist - she could manage to look "handsome for her age", but her days of living off her looks were long gone. She was never very smart, but she was clever - clever enough to know she was on her way down, and needed to find someone to catch her before she hit bottom. She'd found him, three years ago. He was a few years younger than her, but the years had been much kinder to him. He'd been a late bloomer, which meant that at 42, he could still pass for mid-30s, even younger if he shaved his beard, which was the only grey hair he had, whereas the hair on his head was still dark and very thick. He also kept himself in good shape. Where she was flabby and fat, he was lean and cut. A lifetime of being the smallest, and a savage bout of teenage acne, had left him very insecure about his appearance, with the result being that he didn't really appreciate how attractive he really was. He'd never been popular, particularly with women. She figured that out right away, and she knew just how to play that to get what she wanted. She didn't have many talents or skills, but one thing she was good at was sex. She'd looked like a porn star for years, and it didn't take her long to learn how to fuck like one. One night with her, despite her sagging tits and flabby belly, and he was hopelessly infatuated. He proposed six months after their first date, and they married a year later. At first, she'd been a doting girlfriend, fiancé, and wife, feigning interest in all the stupid things he enjoyed, even consenting to dressing up for some idiotic nerd convention he liked going to. She pretended to encourage his hobbies, and made all the right "fascinated" noises when he talked about his job in IT. Now, she was fed up and sick of pretending. She was tired of hearing from everyone about how smart he was, how talented he was, and she was not happy about being married to a man who weighed over 20 pounds less than her. She'd begun to nag him about spending so much time with his friends - who she'd once claimed to adore, but secretly couldn't stand - and recently threw a fit over how the attention he paid to his hobbies made her feel like she wasn't important. Where once she was a laid-back, fun-loving woman, now she was a joyless scold, whose mood could change at the least provocation. It was to the point where he was afraid to even speak to her - most of his words came out in a nervous stammer. He'd always feared confrontation, and she knew how to use that too. But, she always made sure to give him just enough sex, at just the right times, so he never felt inclined to stray, or let his fear turn to anger. He was hers, and all she had to do to get what she wanted was keep him off-balance, so he never knew what would set her off. "I may be old and fat," she said to herself, smiling, "but I still know how to control a man - or at least a spineless weakling like him." But she was wrong, and she was about to discover just how wrong she was. *** It all started innocently enough. He came home from work the same time he usually did, saying nothing of the state of the house, or the fact that she was still unshowered and wearing the ratty t-shirt and threadbare sweatpants she'd slept in. He never complained, and he never expected anything from her. Tonight, however, he did make one request. "I'd like you to put on your sexiest outfit," he said, leaning in to kiss her. "I want to take you out to dinner." "Really?" she smiled. He tended to take her to nice places with really good food, and she loved to eat. It hadn't been a problem when she was younger, but after 30 her metabolism slowed down and her appetite didn't. He nodded. "I made reservations for 8, so go get ready." He stepped back, holding up his hands and stammering, "If-if-if you w-want to, I mean. We-we don't have t-t-t-t-to go anywhere if..." "No, I want to go," she said, keeping her voice a mixture of casual and slightly annoyed. "And stop stammering. When you get all nervous like that you make me feel like I'm some kind of horrible bitch." "N-no," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't-" "It's okay." She smiled and kissed him, keeping him confused. "I'll go get ready." *** They arrived at the restaurant a little early, and their table wasn't ready. The place was crowded, and they decided to wait at the bar. The bartender came around and asked for their drink orders. He ordered a cola. "I'm driving," he said with a smile. Then he winked at her. "So you can have whatever you like." She had to admit, he was kind of cute when he was trying to flirt. She ordered a glass of wine and they chatted while they waited for their table. She chatted, at least. He didn't say much, seemingly content to listen. She was almost done with her second glass of wine when their table was ready. She wasn't drunk, just a little dizzy. She drained her glass and left it on the bar and they followed their waiter to their table. He left them with menus and glasses of water, but when he returned to take their orders, he'd brought another glass of wine for her. She was halfway through it by the time she was done with her salad. "I'm a little buzzed," she said, smiling. "Is that a bad thing?" he asked. "No," she said. "Do you mind?" "Of course not." He smiled. "Drink as much as you like. I'm driving, and I'll take good care of you." She finished her wine and ordered another. By the time she was done with her meal, she'd polished off that glass and was very solidly buzzed. She got up to use the bathroom, and was just a little unsteady on her feet. When she got back, there was another glass of wine waiting, along with a shot glass filled with a clear liquid. Probably vodka. It was her favorite. She sat down, just a little unsteadily, and took a long sip of her wine. She grinned, her cheeks flushed. "A shot?" she asked. "Sure," he said, finishing signing the check. "Why not?" Why not? The four glasses of wine sloshing around in her brain were making the idea of shots seem very appealing. She lifted the shot glass, toasted him with it, and tossed it back. It was vodka, and top shelf, at that. She chased it with the rest of her wine. "Let's move over to the bar," he suggested, standing up. "Sounds like a plan," she said. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, and she was making an effort to enunciate. She could feel a pleasant warmth spreading out from her belly from the shot. She stood up and stumbled a bit, but he was there to steady her, and he led her to the bar. Once there, he ordered her another glass of wine and another shot. She did the shot, drank half the glass of wine, and went to the bathroom again. This time it was a bit harder to navigate the restaurant, and her clothes gave her more trouble as well. This time she didn't bother putting the girdle and other support garments back on, no longer caring if her fat rolls showed. She stuffed it all, including her panties, into her bag, and stumbled back to the bar. She found three shots lined up in front of her stool, and another glass of wine next to the one her husband had ordered. "Wha... what's this?" It was getting difficult to speak without slurring, and it took her a couple of tries to get onto her stool. A young man seated to her right had to help her. "These young men," he husband said, gesturing to the man who helped her and two of his friends, "wanted to buy you drinks." "Oh?" she smiled prettily at them. "Well thank you. Thass- that's very nice." One of the young men gestured held up a shot glass. She could see that they were all holding shot glasses. "Drink up," he said. She lifted her first shot and knocked it back with him. Then it was his friends' turn. *** She wasn't sure how much time had passed, or how many drinks she'd had, but she was well and truly drunk now. Things were happening in flashes, and there were long gaps between. She remembered doing shots, then maybe drinking her wine? Someone said something funny. She'd laughed a lot. Did she... yes, she'd fallen off her barstool at some point. She looked down at the bar. It was blurry, and swam in her vision. The sounds of the bar were both loud and quiet. It was hard to follow what anyone was saying. And was that her bra on the bar? "You gave it to the bartender," one of the young men said, "as a tip." She laughed. That was so funny! He was so funny. "Thass... thass funny! Where's..." she squinted, finally closing one eye to try to bring things into focus. It only partially worked. "Where's my... my husb'n..." She looked around and swayed, barely able to stay in her seat. Everything was swirling around her, but not spinning, like it should be from being drunk. This was something else. She couldn't even think, and moments were getting more disjointed. She suddenly realized one of the young men had his hand down the front of her dress, slowly massaging her left breast, and one of the others was sliding his hand up her leg and along her inner thigh. She could feel herself getting wet. She could see, in a very blurry distant way that others at the bar were staring. She didn't care. She wanted to get fucked right here. The thought shocked her a little. She was no prude, but... "Did you... you put somethin'... my drink?" "Of course they didn't sweetie," and suddenly her husband was there, and the men weren't touching her. "I was right here the whole time, and I'd never let anything happen to my dear sweet wife." Part of her, the very small part of her mind not completely smashed, told her that she really didn't like his tone of voice, or the way he was smiling, but it was a very small part of her mind, and she ignored it. "I know, baby..." she slurred, leaning against him. *** She was in the car, in the back seat. When she opened her eyes, she could see her husband driving. She was leaning against someone, and someone else was sitting on the other side of her. It was two of the young men from the bar. The other was in the passenger seat, pointing a phone at her. The man she leaned against had his hands on her breasts, and this time, he'd just pulled her dress down to her waist. He was kneading her tits and pinching her nipples. Every so often, he leaned over to kiss her neck. The other man had his hand all the way up her skirt, and was sliding his fingers in and out of her dripping wet pussy. "Babe," her voice was a murmured whisper. "Whasss..." "It's okay, honey," he said, looking back at her in the rearview mirror. "You passed out at the bar, and these nice men helped me get you to the car." "But, they..." she moaned. She thought she was going to cum. "Yeah," her husband said. "You just lie there and enjoy it, you fat slut." The words, and his tone, were like ice water in her face. If she hadn't been so wasted, she would have sobered up. As it was, she had a brief moment of complete clarity. He'd never spoken to her like that before, but something told her he'd been wanting to, for a very long time. Before she could think about it, the fog rolled back over her mind, and she sank into it, reveling in the feeling of hands on her tits, and fingers in her hot pussy. She passed out again before she could cum. *** She was walking. Or was she being carried? She opened her eyes and saw her feet on the ground, one moving in front of the other, but they didn't feel like her feet, and her legs were moving around on their own. She was being held up between two men. *** She was in an elevator. She could tell her dress was just barely covering her, and someone was holding her up while cupping and groping her breasts. Her head lolled back against his shoulder. Someone else was between her legs, his face buried in her pussy. She knew she shouldn't, but she loved it. She had one of the most intense orgasms of her life right there in the elevator, and knew it wasn't her first of the night. Her husband was there, and he had his phone out. *** She was being carried/walking again, this time over carpet. When they stopped moving, she looked up and caught a glimpse of her husband unlocking a door. This was a hotel. Why were they at a hotel? And why were these men still here? One of them, the one not holding her, was pointing a phone at her. She tried to speak, but all that came out of her mouth was a slurred jumble of nonsense. "That's right," her husband said. "The party's just getting started." He opened the door and gestured inside. "Bring her in." They were inside. She couldn't hold her head up very long, but she saw a bed, tables, and a desk. It was definitely a hotel room. "You want her on the bed?" one of the men holding her asked. "Not yet," her husband said. "Just drop her on the floor for now. You've been carrying her since the car, and I know how heavy she is, the fucking pig." She felt herself dropped to the floor and she laid there, everything swirling around her. *** She was in a chair. Her dress was torn and barely hanging off her. One of the men had her head back and was pouring beer down her throat. Something else was in her throat, it felt like a pill. She had to swallow to keep from choking on it. He pulled the bottle away from her mouth and poured the rest over her. She laughed. *** Light. Dark. Swirls of color. Voices. Her husband's face, laughing at her. She was being held up. There was music, and they were taking turns dancing with her. She was naked. One of them had a phone and it was pointed at her. *** She was kneeling on the floor, and one of the men was shoving his cock in her mouth, deep into her throat. She was awake just long enough to swallow his cum. *** She was on the bed, face down, being fucked from behind. She didn't know who it was, but it didn't feel like her husband. She felt him cum inside her, and then he pulled out of her dripping wet pussy. Someone else, still not her husband, began fucking her ass, while another cock was shoved in her mouth. They came together, filling her mouth and ass at the same time. *** She was on the bed, on her back. Everything ached. Her pussy throbbed, her tits were bruised, and her ass was gaping and sore. She was sticky with cum from her face down across her tits and all around her pussy. She'd been fucked in every hole and she could remember, just vaguely, begging for it each and every time. She saw her husband. He was naked, his cock fully erect. "They're gone," he said. "Now it's my turn, whore." When he fucked her, it was with a savagery and brutality she'd never experienced. Every thrust was agony for her raw pussy and ass. When he finally came, it wasn't inside her. He pulled out of her ass at the last moment and shot his load on her back. He grabbed hold of her sticky tangled hair and made her look at him. "Tomorrow, we talk about your new role, and what your place is in this marriage. Understand, you fucking cow?" All she could do was nod. He grunted and threw her to the floor, tossing the comforter from the bed at her. "You sleep on the floor tonight, pig," he said. "Tomorrow we talk about how you earn your way back into a bed." *** A blast of cold water woke her up. She was in a shower, but it was one she didn't recognize. Then, she remembered the night before. The hotel. She was still in the hotel room. She lay in the tub and looked up at her husband, who was fully dressed. "Clean yourself up," he said. "When you're done, we'll talk." Her head was throbbing, and she was nauseous. She threw up once in the shower before she even stood up, and it took more than one try for her to stand. Eventually, the water warmed up, and she took a very long shower, trying desperately to scrub the previous night off of her. When she stepped out of the shower, she found a few hand towels but nothing else. She dried herself with them as best as she could, then walked naked out into the room. Her husband was seated at a small table in the corner. A breakfast tray was in front of him, laden with her favorite foods. He sipped at a cup of coffee, and she saw another cup in front of the empty chair. "Sit," he said. "What's going on?" she asked, not moving. She shivered where she stood. The hand towels hadn't done a very good job of drying her off and she was cold. She didn't see towels or a robe or any clothes at all. She could feel her anger rising, through the headache and the numb grogginess left over from last night. "What did you do to me?!" "I gave you what you deserved," he said, his voice sharp. She had never heard this tone from him before. He pointed at the chair. "I told you to sit." She crossed her arms and stood there, trying to be defiant and angry, but finding it hard while naked, wet, and shivering. "Do you think I'm going to let you get away with-?" "Do you want to eat?" he asked. "I..." she hadn't expected that. "If you want to eat," he said, his voice the same even tone, "you'll shut your fucking mouth and sit down." Now she was angry. "Fuck you!" she shouted. "Who do you think you are?!" He stood and walked around the table. As he walked toward her, he removed his belt. "I really wanted this to be a calm, rational discussion," he said with a sigh. "I didn't want to have to do this. I'd hoped this could all be settled with talk, but then," he looped the belt once, and snapped it tight, "you've never been all that bright." He stepped forward, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her over to the bed. "I'm your husband, you fat sow," he growled in her ear. "Now I'm going to teach you what that means." He threw her onto the bed, face down, and before she could move, he'd smacked her across the ass with the belt. She screamed and tried to crawl away. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back to the edge of the bed. "You stay still and take this," he whispered in her ear, "and it will be over very quickly. If you have to scream, you scream into the bed. I don't want any interruptions. If you fight me," his tone became menacing, "it will be much worse. Now," he asked, "what do you choose?" Her ass was stinging from that one blow. She couldn't imagine more. "Puh-please," she whimpered. "Please don't do that again. Please. I'll sit, I promise!" "You'll do what I say, when I say it?" he asked. Learning Her Place Ch. 01 She nodded, still whimpering. "You'll speak quietly and respectfully, no more yelling?" She nodded again. "Do you promise?" Another nod. "I need to hear you say it." "I puh-promise." "Promise what?" "I promise to-to do what you say, and, and to not yell and to buh-be r-respectful. I promise." Her last words were a whisper, choked by a sob. Her ass was throbbing in time with her head, and she thought she might throw up again, but was terrified of what he might do if she did. "Okay," he said, stepping back. "Just this once, I'm going to let you off easy." His tone became sensitive and understanding; in the way one would address a young child. "After all, it's hard not to break the rules if you don't know what they are, right?" She nodded. "Right," he said. "So, now that you know at least one of the rules, do you think I can trust you to get up and come have breakfast with me like a proper lady and wife?" "Yuh-yes." "Yes what?" She thought a moment. What did he want her to say? She took a chance. "Y-yes, sir." "Very good," he said, his voice full of praise. "You figured that out without having to be told." His voice sounded a bit more distant, as though he'd moved away from the bed. "You can get up and come sit now." She pushed herself up from the bed and saw that he was back in his seat, sipping his coffee and nibbling on some toast, as though this were just a normal morning. "Sit," he said again. She sat, wincing slightly at the sharp pain across her ass. "Have some coffee," he pointed to her cup. "I made it the way you like it." She looked down, and saw the cup was filled with coffee, and had been mixed with a liberal helping of cream. She assumed there was sugar in it too. Two capsules were on the table next to the cup. "Aspirin," he said. "For your headache. I assume you have one, right?" She nodded, but didn't take the capsules and made no move to drink her coffee. "Don't worry," he chuckled. "It really is just aspirin, and there's nothing in the coffee, trust me." He stared deep into her eyes. "You do trust me, don't you?" She didn't, but knew better than to say so. She was naked and wet, with no clothes and no money. She could scream, but she wasn't sure what he'd do before someone got to the room, if anyone even came. When they were home, when she had clothes and access to some money, then she'd leave. For now, she just said, "Yes- um -yes, sir." He nodded. "Good. Now, take your aspirin, have some coffee, and let's eat." He was true to his word. The coffee hadn't been drugged, and the capsules were just aspirin, or, if they weren't, then whatever they were was very effective at curing headaches. When she was done eating, and was on her second cup of coffee, her head wasn't pounding anymore and her stomach had settled down. "There now," he said. "Feeling better?" She nodded. "Good," he said. "So, now we talk about how things are going to be from now on." He sat back in his chair and looked at her. "I've tried, you know," he said. "I've tried to be a good husband to you, to take care of you and support you and treat you well." She nodded. Aside from the previous night, he'd been the kindest and most caring man she'd ever met. "But you," he shook his head. "Well, you haven't been very grateful, or even all that nice to me, have you?" She shook her head. She had to admit he was right. If someone like him could be driven to do what he'd done last night, it said something about how far she'd pushed him. "No," he said. "Now, about last night." He sighed. "I honestly wish I hadn't had to do that. You deserved it, and I will admit to some satisfaction at seeing you get what you deserve, but I wish it hadn't been necessary." She nodded. "Me... me too." Her voice was very quiet, and she looked down at the table. He smiled again and chuckled. "I'm sure," he said. "So, here's what I'm going to do. I am going to promise to never do anything like that ever again." She looked up, and he held up his hand. "Provided," he said, "that you obey the rules, and learn your place. You learn your place and obey the rules, and I won't need to punish you again like I did last night." His voice took on the tone of explaining something to a small child again. "That's what last night was," he said. "It was punishment for your behavior these past few years, but as far as I'm concerned, we start from a clean slate today. Would you like a clean slate?" She nodded. "Okay," he said. "Now, I'm sure it's going to take you a little while to learn the rules and to follow them. There are bound to be some... infractions here and there. However," he leaned back in his chair, "I think we can settle those with simple discipline, yes?" he touched the belt, which sat on the table. Her eyes went wide and she swallowed. "Yuh-yes," she said. "Yes what?" "Yes, sir." "And I don't think we'll need to resort to discipline too often, do you?" "No, sir." She was telling him what he wanted to hear. As soon as she could, she was getting as far from him as possible. In the back of her mind, though, a very small voice asked where she thought she was going to go. "Okay," he said. "Now for the rules, and the way things are going to be from now on. First," he reached under the table and pulled out a small box, handing it to her. "This is for you." She opened the box, and inside was a thick leather collar with a large metal ring at the front. "Put that on," he said. "You'll wear that constantly, unless I tell you that you can take it off." "But..." He sighed, reaching for the belt. "The first rule is obedience," he said. "I thought you'd learned that one." She shrank back, clutching the collar. "I have," she said. "I promise, I have." She held out the collar to him. "I just need help putting it on," she said. "Will... will you help me, sir?" He smiled and nodded, standing and coming around behind her. He put the collar on her and buckled it closed. It was snug, but not too tight. It was actually very comfortable. She couldn't understand why, but wearing it made her fell much less naked. "Do you know what that collar means?" he asked. She shook her head. "It means you belong to me," he said. "It means you will obey me, and submit to me, and serve me, always." He smiled. "Do you think you can do that?" She nodded. She reached up and touched the collar, unable to place the odd sensation she was feeling. She could also feel a low-level arousal, which was odd. "I need you to do more than nod," he said. "I... I can do that," she said. "Do what?" She took a breath. He was going to expect her to be specific with her answers. "I can obey you, and-and submit, and s-serve you," she said. "Always." He studied her a moment, then frowned. "No," he said finally. "No, that's not good enough either." She shivered, this time from more than the cold. "What," she stammered, "w-w-what do you want me to say?" "I want you to want it," he said. "I want to hear you say that you want to serve me, to submit to me and to obey me." He pointed to the collar. "That makes you my slave, and my property," he said. "I want you to appreciate what an honor and a privilege that is. I want you to beg me for the chance to be my slave and my property." She was speechless. He wanted her to beg him to "let" her be humiliated and degraded like this? She'd never been much of a feminist, but she was a strong independent woman! She didn't have to put up with this! He smiled, and seemed to be reading her mind. "You think you're strong and independent, don't you?" he asked. "I can see it in your eyes." He shook his head. "You're not. If you were, none of this would have been necessary. A strong, independent woman would have been a loving and supportive partner to me." He sighed, a look of disappointment on his face. "Honestly, that's what I really wanted, but you haven't been that. You've been a whiny, spoiled little bitch, haven't you?" Her eyes stung with tears. His words hurt, mostly because she knew he was right. She nodded, and then remembered to answer. "Yuh-yes, sir," she said. "I've been a whiny, sp-spoiled little bitch." "So," he said, "it occurred to me that I was in the wrong when I treated you like a strong, independent supportive partner rather than what you are: helpless, weak, broken, and in need of a firm hand to run your life." She took a deep shuddering breath. So much of this was what she truly thought about herself, deep down, and it made her a little relieved to have it spoken so openly. "That collar," he said, "is a symbol of my firm hand. It means you're free of the pressure of having to pretend you can run your own life, make your own decisions, and take care of yourself." He gazed into her eyes, and she saw the deep love she'd seen on their wedding day, when he'd started to cry during their vows. "Doesn't it make you happy," he asked, "to know that you're free of all that?" She nodded, and she realized that it honestly did. "Your problem," he said, "is that you lack direction. You think you're supposed to be strong and independent, yet you have no idea what that really means, and so you rebel against me, and the life I've built for you. But now that you understand that you aren't strong, you aren't independent -and now that I know that too- well, you're ready to truly live the life you should be living, right?" "I am," she said, tears in her eyes. She looked up at him and said, "Please, sir, may I please serve you, and obey you, and submit to you in all things, always? Puh-please, sir, may I please be your slave... and-and-and y-your property?" He smiled and rose from the table, coming around to take her in his arms. "Of course you may," he said. He kissed her, lightly, on the lips. Then he sighed and stood up. "I'm afraid, though, that your old willfulness will shine through." She opened her mouth to protest, and he held up his hand. "No," he said. "It's inevitable. I'm sure, even now, despite everything you've said, you're planning to run away the first chance you get." She looked down at her lap, her face flushing. She knew it was true. No matter how deep his words cut, no matter how true she knew them to be, she still wanted to be free of him now. That voice in the back of her mind spoke up again, asking just how free she thought she'd be. He smiled. "Of course you are," he said. "You say the words, and maybe to some extent you mean them-" "I do," she said, and she was being honest now, but she knew she was still confused about what she really wanted. "I really do." "I'm willing to believe you think you do," he said, "but it's one thing to say, and another to live. So, first thing's first." He took out his phone and handed it to her. "There's a video cued up. Press play." She did, and she was treated to a video record of everything she'd done last night. She saw herself half-naked at the bar, dancing and stumbling around, playing the slut for the three men who'd sat next to them. She saw herself in the car, moaning and cumming again and again as the two men had their way with her. She saw the elevator, the hallway, and every single thing she did in the room. As far as she could tell from the video, while she was clearly wasted, she also loved every second of it. It was also very easy to see it was her. Anyone who knew her would identify her immediately. "The resolution on these new phones really is amazing, isn't it?" her husband said. As the video ended with her taking three strange men at once, he took the phone back. "So," he said, "that exists. And it's been uploaded to my cloud storage and copied to three different remote servers. If I don't enter a code into this phone every day," he tapped at the screen for a few seconds, "like this, then that video starts showing up on fetish porn sites all over the internet under the heading 'Drunk Fat Mature Slut Gangbang' and the URL is posted to every single one of your social media accounts." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I trust you don't want that." She shook her head. "No," she whispered. Then, almost immediately, she corrected, "N-no, sir." "Good," he said. "So, now you know, there's no getting out of this. You leave, this video goes viral." She nodded. "Okay," he said. "Then this is how it's going to be. One: you no longer have a name. To other people, in public, yes, you'll be known as Melanie. However, at least until I know I can trust you to remember the rules on your own, your time spent in public or around other people will be limited and strictly controlled. So, no name. Now, you also haven't been a very good wife, so I think you are going to have to work very hard to earn that title back, don't you?" She nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Right," he said. "So, until you've earned that title, you'll just be my slut." Then he stepped back. "Stand up," he said. She stood, and he looked her over, like a farmer inspecting livestock. He grabbed and pinched every roll of fat around her belly and her hips. He lifted one of her sagging tits in his hand, squeezing it roughly before letting it fall back against her flab with a dull slapping noise. He chuckled derisively when this made her fat jiggle. "Ugh, no," he said. "You don't even deserve to be called 'slut'. I'll be putting you on a strict diet, and a regimen of daily exercise. When you've managed to get back to at least some semblance of what you used to be, or at least aren't so fucking disgusting, I'll start calling you 'slut'. Until then, you're 'pig', or 'cow'. Those are the only two names you'll answer to, understand?" She nodded, tears running unchecked down her face. He'd never once described her as anything but beautiful, no matter how much weight she'd gained, no matter how much she'd let herself go. Now, this cruel assessment of her... the voice in the back of her head told her she deserved it. "Okay," he said. "Next, you'll only wear clothes when we leave the house, which won't be often, and I will choose them for you. Otherwise, the only thing you will wear will be your collar." "Yes, sir," she said when he paused. "You will spend each day making sure my house is completely spotless," he said, "and I will have a hot meal waiting for me when I get home. Is that understood?" "Yes, sir." "Good. I think that will do for now. We need to get home and get you settled in to your new..." he snapped his fingers. "No, one more thing. Your body is mine," he said, "and I'll make use of it when I like. Do you have a problem with that?" "No, sir," she said. "It would make your pig very happy any time you make use of this fat disgusting body." She was shocked at how quickly the words came to her, at how true they sounded and how honest it felt to say them. He smiled. "Then why don't you come and suck your owner's cock, pig." She knelt in front of him, unzipped his pants, and took his already hard cock into her mouth. He grabbed the back of her head and shoved his cock down her throat, and proceeded to fuck her mouth until he came, forcing her to swallow. He stood, zipped up his pants, and patted her on the head. "That's a good cow," he said. "You're doing very well." She was ashamed at the swell of pride she felt at his words. Already she felt her old self slipping away, felt herself becoming nothing more than his willing slave. She hated herself for admitting it, but she knew she was happier this way. "Okay," he said. "Put this on." He tossed her a high-necked long dress. "Time to go home." As she got dressed, he smiled. "Then we can really get started."