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My Slut Wife Life Ch. 01

By: myslutwifelife



Chapter 01: The Beginning

Today

Two hours ago, I knelt on the floor of my owner's office, sucking his cock and his shiny balls. I wore only a tiny pair of panties and a collar around my neck. My bra lay balled up in the corner. I hadn't been wearing any other clothes when I entered the room. My owner was looking at porn pictures and videos on the computer. I was scrunched up under his desk, my face in his crotch, his cock in my mouth. I'd been ordered not to use my hands, I had to manipulate him completely with my lips and throat and tongue. Occasionally, and without warning, he would begin thrusting his hips against my head, fucking my face. As his thick cock found the back of my throat, I'd concentrate on making my mouth feel just like a hot pussy, warm and wet and welcoming. When it was my turn to suck on him, I'd rub my tits all over his legs, letting him feel as much of my soft flesh as possible. 

I kept my otherwise unoccupied hands stuck inside my panties, busy slowly rubbing my engorged pussy. Despite his complete lack of interest in my cunt, I was still wet and desperate to have the feel of him inside me. Inspiration hit me, and I pulled aside the crotch of my panties to reveal my pussy. Continuing to suck his cock, I pulled his bare foot towards me, pressing his big toe against my pussy lips, and then finally inside me. When he didn't pull away, I moved to straddle him, careful not to lose the rhythm on his cock. My main assignment was to suck him off. Everything else was secondary. 

I slowly bounced up and down on his toes while treating his cock and balls to the best tongue lashing I could give. Sometimes his big toe plopped inside me. More often it just pressed against my clit and slit. No matter which happened, I shuddered with pleasure, both physical and mental. He turned up the sound and while I couldn't see the dirty movie, I could imagine what was happening. It sounded like an anal fuck, maybe a dp. My favorite kind, both to watch and to be a part of. The girl's gasps and yelps sounded real to me, and I wondered when the next time would come when I would be rewarded with a dirty, nasty ass fuck. Maybe if I did a good job on this blowjob. Maybe.

The unseen girl's cries rose to a crescendo and the man's grunts followed. Had he blown his wad inside her ass, coating her bowels with his delicious jizz? Had he shot himself all over her anus and pussy, branding her as a fuck whore good for only one thing? Or had he turned her around and plastered her face with his cum, giving her the honor of wearing it and scooping it up so she could eat it? I wanted to see so badly, see which way the man on the screen had used his fuck whore, and hoped that my owner had the same in mind for me. 

He swiveled out away from the desk and I crawled along after him, my mouth never leaving his powerful staff of fuck meat. "You may clean my feet," he said calmly, his eyes sweeping past mine to focus intently on my bare breasts. I expected nothing more. My mouth, tits, cunt and ass are all he cares about, as he's told me over and over again. I bent down, onto my forearms, and raised my ass in the air in the proper position. As my tongue washed over his toes I can taste my acrid pussy juices all over his feet. There was grit between his toes. I swept that into my mouth just as quickly as anything else; I'm not allowed to stop this task for any reason, not even to remove sand from my mouth. I diligently licked in between each toe, pausing to kiss each one as it is completed. I slowly licked the bottom of each foot, gently blowing on the skin to dry it before transferring my attention to the top. After I finished my task, I remained in position, gently kissing the top of one, then the other, bobbing up and down like a hungry hen. 

"You may hump my leg, bitch," he ordered, a slight rasp of aggression in his voice. When I hesitated before beginning to rise to take my position, he grabbed my right tit and roughly pulled me to my feet. I didn't bother to conceal the twinge of pain in my face; he wants it and expects it. And it's far from the worst I've ever felt. As I stood before him, still completely submissive, he pulled scissors from the desk and deliberately cut the waistband of my panties in two spots. I spread my legs slightly and watched as they dropped silently to the floor. It's not the first pair he's cut off. And it won't be the last. 

I crouched down and positioned my pussy over his shin, then began humping his leg, like the bitch in heat that I am. My mind was focused on nothing but the feel of his shin rubbing against my pussy, his hairs aggravating my most sensitive spots. It's not so much painful as it is irritating, the coarse hair sometimes getting caught in the folds of my cunt. He took the camera off the desk and began filming me, and I wondered where the footage is going to be seen. Shown to his friends? Or posted online at an adult-oriented amateur site. Either way I have no say in the matter. My job is to do as he orders. Faster! Harder! Louder! He orders me by grabbing my hair and shaking it. I slammed my cunt up against his leg and shinnied up and down it, his rough skin and hair rubbing raw against my pussy walls. I mewl though I want to weep; the friction left me in pain. 

I continued for minutes that seemed like hours, clamped around his leg, humping, humping, humping him. 

Some Background

My name is Karen. And I'm a real life slut wife. You probably find that hard to believe. Three years ago, I would've felt the same. But whether you believe me or not doesn't change the fact that I am a slut wife. And I'm not talking about the kind of woman who simply allows her husband to call her a slut when he's giving her a particularly hard fuck in the dark of their bedroom, but won't let him fondle her in the daylight. Nor am I the slut wife that will try a few minor adventures, flash her tits at Mardi Gras or let her husband post nude pictures of her, and then call herself a slut, as if she's really sacrificed anything. And I'm not the product of some guy's imagination, sitting alone at night with his laptop and making up tales of how he wishes his wife would act, if only he could get the balls to make her do things his way.

No, I am a real-life slut wife. I've swallowed so much cum, from so many men, that I can tell by the taste what they've had for dinner. More people have watched me masturbate, live and nude, than have watched the women in the strip clubs around here. I've pulled a fuck train during a recent vacation, and been groped by old men while tied to a tree in the park. I've had my ass tanned so red I could barely sit in the pew at church, and knelt for hours to worship a line of sacred cocks. 

You may doubt that I am real, and that my adventures have really happened. As I said, I wouldn't blame you. But ask yourself this: What about all the bondage equipment that is sold online, all the lingerie and the butt plugs and the fucking machines? Who is buying all that? A small group of degenerates in the inner cities? Or people like you? Your neighbors, your bosses, that sweet couple holding hands as they walk around the block? And who is posting all those pictures online? Who is posing outdoors, their naked pussies spread open like wanton sluts? They can't all be strippers and whores and crackheads working for their next score. They can't all be Russian sex slaves and trailer trash. Some of them have to be middle class moms and newlyweds and women following their husbands' orders. Some of them have to be just like me. And you.

If you saw me, you wouldn't peg me as a slut wife. I'm five foot six, hazel eyes, with naturally blond hair that I keep cut at shoulder length. My face is a little pixie-ish, which helps me look younger than I am. My bust, which I know you've been waiting to hear about, is 38D, all natural. My tits aren't as firm as they used to be, but they're not bad for a 39-year-old with two kids. They're more upright than saggy. And my nipples still get firm just from the thought of someone touching them. I have a flat tummy and a firm butt, the result of a ton of exercise. My legs are shapely and my cunt is still tight, so it's a pleasure for any man to enter me. My hands are small as are my feet, so if you're into footjobs or handjobs, I have to make up for lack of grip with a good technique. 

My children both go to school away from home; one in a military academy (his choice) and one a freshman at an out-of-state college (her choice). I'm educated, with a degree, self-employed and working from home. Once or twice a week I head into my clients' offices, so I'm not completely isolated from the rest of humanity. My colleagues don't know that I sometimes come to work without panties under my skirt, or with a buttplug in my ass, or that I'm being forced to record myself peeing in the ladies room. 

This all sounds very clinical, but it isn't. My slut wife life is a non-stop adventure. When I'm not actually doing something crude, perverted or degenerate, I'm thinking about what it's going to be like or remembering what it was like. What you think of as fantasy, I think of as tomorrow's chores. What you see in a porn movie, I do in real life. Interracial. Bondage. Lesbian. Double penetration. Group fucking. Ass to mouth. Rough stuff. Submission. Gloryholes. Waxing. Just about anything except beast stuff. Although I've seen a few movies and been forced to masturbate to them. But, thankfully, my owner, Tom, isn't interested in that kind of stuff.

Already I can imagine the reaction to this story or article or bio, or whatever you want to call it. "Bullshit!" will write the Literotica moral critics, in that judgmental way that some of them have. "Nobody really lives like that!" they'll spout, sure that their way is the only way. But, I can say with confidence to anyone who thinks this is bullshit, that I don't give a flying fuck what you think. Whether you think this is true or not makes absolutely no difference to me. It won't change the way I live my life. And it will only make me and my owner feel pity for the close-mindedness that probably keeps you from enjoying any real variations in life. But, I hope that even if you think this is all bullshit, you'll still enjoy it as being highly erotic bullshit. Besides, in a country where a large number of people still think the President was born in Africa, there's probably no proof I could provide that would convince you anyway.

So, enough of that. Where to go from here? Well, you've got the who and the when already. The what will come in copious amounts over the next several months. Where does this all take place? In the good old USA, of course. More specifically, in the Midwest. My owner and I live in a exurb of a suburb of a medium-sized city. We have about five acres, as do most of our neighbors. You'll learn more about them later. So, it's fair to say that we can practice our lifestyle away from most prying eyes. You'll learn more about that later, too.

The first question that most people ask is how we got started in this lifestyle. That question comes mostly from women, for whatever reason. Most people assume that I've been submissive all my life. As my past boyfriends can attest, that's about as far from true as one can get. I've always been very assertive, very forthright when it comes to love and sex and getting what I want. Like any woman, I've used my body to get my way, and used the promise of my body to get some things. Sometimes I delivered, and sometimes I didn't. Other times, I used my mind to get what I want. I can argue you into a pretzel, until you're so exasperated you just give up. Being submissive is not in my natural makeup.

Nor do I have body image issues. I'm beautiful, sexy, and most of my son's friends would say that I'm a MILF. Most of their fathers would say that too. I think many people assume that a submissive wife would have body issues because so many submissives shown on the internet seem to be overweight. But most of the real slut wives I know are average to beautiful. In fact, of the overweight ones that I know, most of those are lesbians with full-time partners. I have no idea what conclusion to draw from that. In the end though, if my husband were to leave me for some reason, I know I'd have no problem attracting another mate. Not that he would leave me. Nor I him. 

Which leads to the question: How does a non-submissive woman with high self-esteem end up being a slut wife? Well, why does a man jump out of a perfectly good airplane? Or a woman risk life and limb diving on an old wreck? Why do people hang glide, or mountain climb, or race cars at crazy speeds down crowded tracks? For the thrill of it, of course. The endorphin rush, as my doctor is fond of saying. I just find it extremely, extraordinarily exciting, a huge rush, to be forced to do things I wouldn't normally have the guts to do. And my husband has the imagination and will to push me past my limits, while still loving me enough to keep me from getting hurt. I trust my husband more than I would ever trust a parachute!

How I became a slut wife is a long story with a short summary. Soon after we were married, my husband realized that role-playing and play-acting would really amp up my sex drive. I just loved to pretend, and the more I fantasized about being forced into having sex, the hotter I would get, and the harder I would come. After a while, nearly every time we fucked we would talk about me being ravaged by a couple of strangers, me being kidnapped and raped, me being sold as a sex slave to a city gang, me being the big jackpot at one of my husband's poker games. 

Our fucking got rougher and rougher too, and I gave him my body to use any way and any time. There was nothing he would ask of me that I would deny him. I just wanted to hear the story and feel his dick in me, some how, some way. I got off on making him get off. And if he said or promised or intimated that we were going to have sex, but then we didn't, I was always very disappointed. And I'd usually find a way to flash my tits or pussy to try and get him to change his mind. 

Then one night, everything changed. I still remember it, every detail. I still masturbate to it, even after three years. Tom and I had driven out to a fundraiser in a city about an hour away. It was at a country club, semi-formal, so I'd worn my little black dress and come fuck me shoes. No bra, of course. My little black dress didn't allow for that. As usual, I'd been the center of attention for many of the men. My husband doesn't mind. He knows that I'm a shameless flirt, and he likes watching all the attention my tits command. Why would he care? No matter how many men flirt with me, he's the one who gets to bang me at the end of the night. 

So, we stuck around long enough to get a few glasses of champagne and bid on some overpriced stuff to help the charity. I was feeling horny and wanted to get back home and get out of those clothes, and I could tell that my husband had just about the same plan in mind. We'd just said our goodbyes to a group of friends when my husband sidled up to me. 

"Take off your panties," he said in a low, toneless voice.

"Excuse me?" I replied, unsure that I'd heard him correctly. 

"Your panties. Take them off. Go to the ladies room, pull them off, put them in your purse, bring it back here, open it up and show that you've done what I want. Now go. Unless you want me to say it louder."

I went, the thought of all our friends hearing such a demeaning order driving me straight into the ladies room. I was so frazzled I struggled to get them off over my shoes, finally opting to sit on the toilet and pull them down as if I had to pee. All that went through my mind was wondering how drunk he really was, why he'd decided to do this right now, and what he had in mind after this. Then, with the silk panties wadded up in my purse, and feeling completely naked even with my dress on, I headed out into the lobby to find my husband waiting impatiently for me. 

"Show me," he ordered, his voice flat and toneless, not slurred or amused or displaying any of the other signs that he'd had too much to drink.

Wordlessly I opened my purse and watched in terror as he reached in and fingered the wadded up garment, fearful that he'd pull them out and inspect them in the crowded lobby. Instead, he simply nodded and, taking me by the elbow, guided me out the door, through the parking lot and to our car. 

Once inside, he turned off the radio while I strapped on my seat belt, and we slowly and deliberately headed out onto the main highway. Which, in our neck of the woods, is a two-lane blacktop that stretches two hundred miles east and west, with nothing but trees, cornfields and the occasional five-house village to break the monotony. Who knew what he would want to do in the 45 minutes it took to drive home?

I didn't have to wait too long to find out. Once out of the range of the few streetlights in the area, he had his next instructions.

"Pull up your dress and let me see your slutty pussy," he ordered, again in that almost dead tone. My hands seemed to act of their own accord as I grabbed each side of my dress and, hunching up against the pressure of the seat belt, I pulled my dress up until it was around my waist, leaving my ass and pussy fully exposed. I had just finished the thought that at least it was dark in the car when he reached over and turned on the under dash lights, illuminating not only my legs, but also the shaved bald mounds of my now shivering pussy. 

Without taking his eyes from the road, he reached over and began stroking my full mounds, his fingers rough against the tender skin. Instinctively, I pressed my hips upward, sucking in a breath when one of his fingers slipped between my folds. 

"My, you're a horny bitch tonight, aren't you," he commented, his voice holding just a touch of a smile.

Horny? No, that didn't quite describe it. I was fucking on fire! I was ready to jump any upright phallic object in a ten mile area -- his cock, the stick shift, a fence post. I needed something inside me right away.

"Hmmmmm," was all I was able to murmur as his fingers skated across my pussy flaps. What was this cruel game he was playing? And why now, here, racng along at high speeds, when neither of us could go much farther?

"Expose your breasts," he said suddenly, his eyes locked on the road.

Expose them? That was an odd choice of words. Give me a quick peek, he'd said a few times, when we were hidden from view in the woods near the house. Show me your tits, he had playfully suggested a few time previously, when we were fooling around on the living room sofa. But 'expose' them? That wasn't the kind of language he usually used. But just that little change in language was enough to amp up my desire. 

The shoulder strap on the safety belt kept me from pulling my dress up any further, so I pulled the straps on my dress down over my shoulders. After a bit of maneuvering, my tits were out, the safety strap nestled between them. 

"You are one slutty bitch," he said, with nothing more than the barest hint of a smile in his voice. No, this wasn't how he normally talked to me at all. What had gotten into him?

The cabin grew brighter as we slowed to roll through one of the several small towns between here and home. I saw myself reflected in the window, dress pushed down, tits hanging out, blatant look of desire scrawled across my face. A look that turned to shock and embarrassment in less than a breath. Could any people outside the car look in here to see my bare breasts? Could they see how slutty I was being? As if in reply to my evident consternation, he reached over and fondled my left tit, squeezing it, rubbing it, then pinching and pulling my nipple until I had to whimper. 

We stopped at the town's only stop light. If anyone was going to see me, it would be here. But thankfully, the streets had been empty; the shops had closed hours earlier. The light lasted an interminable amount of time. And my husband continued to play with my tits as openly as if we were at home in our bedroom. And still I didn't object.


My Slut Wife Life Ch. 01



Why not? I've asked myself that dozens of times. Part of it was that despite the painful way he was grabbing my boobs, it still felt good. The rush of feeling back into my nipples was pleasurable, and if it took a little shock of pain to make that happen, I was willing to pay that much. And it felt dangerous and good to be that naughty, driving down the road with my big tits hanging out and my pussy exposed. I didn't want anyone to see me, but secretly I thought I might enjoy it. Just like at the fundraiser, when I knew that so many men were looking down my cleavage, hoping to get a look at my brown nipples and wondering what it would be like to get their lips and tongue on them. 

Mercifully, the stop light finally changed and we were back up to high speeds, leaving the lights behind and with only dark farm fields surrounding us. 

"Open up your pussy and rub it," he ordered. I did as I was told, though it was clear that he couldn't spare more than a glance at my slit, as the road had become very curvy. But I was grateful for the chance to touch myself. I'd wanted to do it at the light, but it was crystal clear that he didn't want me doing anything without his ordering it. And I didn't want to provide any reason for this magic spell of nasty behavior to unwind.

I used two fingers to spread open the lips and one to lightly stroke the inside of my pussy lips, lightly grazing over my clit with every stroke. The odor of my cunt juices thickly filled the car. I hoped he would allow me to finger fuck myself. I needed something in my hole. And right away.

I'd been doing that for several minutes when I finally opened my eyes to look at him. He wasn't even paying attention to me! "Um, anything else?" I prompted meekly. 

"What? Oh, yeah, next suck the cunt juice from your fingers," he said distractedly. His eyes weren't on me. They were on the GPS.

I lifted my fingers to my mouth and seductively licked each digit, but it was clear that he wasn't paying attention. He'd said 'next.' Which got me to wondering. Had he planned this out in his head before we even left the fundraiser? Or even earlier than that? What was his game here?

The car slowed, turned sharply, and the headlights illuminated a little-used dirt road. We jounced along it for a minute or so, the gravel crunching under the tires and the safety strap cutting a wedge into my breasts. Then he turned off the headlights and we drove another minute, maneuvering only by the soft orange glow of our parking lights. Another turn onto an even smaller track that I hadn't seen, and then he extinguished the lights altogether, and we went another fifty or sixty yards ahead in complete darkness. He stopped, turned off the ignition, and we sat in silence, listening to the engine ticking as it began to cool down. 

I was suddenly aware of how vulnerable I was. Naked from the neck down and the waist up. Out in the middle of nowhere, with no one knowing where we were. And with a man who, although he was my husband, had evidently had a complete personality change and was now ordering his wife around in a way he'd never done before. This was a lot more ominous than a game of grab ass in the basement. 

Without warning, he reached over, pulled me toward him by the hair on the back of my head and kissed me violently, so hard that our teeth grated against each other's. I was amazed at the violence of the gesture and submitted to it without question. He grabbed my tits as he tongue-raped my mouth, squeezing them as if to milk them like udders. Then his hand found my cunt, his fingers forcing themselves between the wet lips and down into my spastic hole. I tried to push my hips upward, to give him even greater access, but the safety belt held me back. I was locked in place like bondage whore in one of his porn movies. 

He looked at me, the under dash lights reflecting the dark menace in his eyes. "You will serve me," he stated flatly, as if there could be only one answer. I was overcome by the sudden power in him, the way I wanted to do whatever he said, without question, just to have that menace focused somewhere else. But part of me liked it focused on me. Both fearful and thrilled, I could only nod tentatively in acceptance.

He got out of his side of the car, leaving the door open so the dome light illuminated the whole interior. I watched as his shadow passed around the front bumper, then he was at my door, yanking it open. As he leaned across me to undo the safety belt, he took my tit in his mouth and bit the nipple, shaking it back and forth like a small dog with a toy, while I could only whimper with pain and pleasure. 

"Get out," he ordered tightly, and he waited impatiently while I tried to leave the car with my dress scrunched up around my waist. "You won't be needing this," he said as he roughly pulled it up over my head, not even attempting to unzip it so it would come off easier. Then he tossed it disdainfully into the back seat. Now I was completely naked, with only my come fuck me high heels on my feet. 

"Kneel and suck my cock, you filthy bitch," he growled, leaning against the side of the car. His tone was menacing, so different from anything I'd ever heard from him. I could feel myself trembling. What had changed him into this?

I looked down at the patch of ground below me. "Right here? In the dirt?" It came out before I could stop it. My heart was pounding with excitement and fear. Had I just ruined everything?

His response was harsh and guttural. "Yes, you little slut. Right here. In the dirt. On your knees. Suck. My. Cock. Unless..."

He left it hanging. I didn't want to ask. I wanted to get his cock out. To see what he would do next. To see what would happen to this thrill pulsating through me. But just like my body was reacting of its own accord, so was my mouth. 

"Unless what?" I asked meekly, my head bowed and my eyes on the ground.

"Unless you want to be spanked first, which you clearly do," he replied, even as he took me roughly by the arm and swung me to face the side of the car. "Put your hands on the hood and press those slutty tits down. I wanna see them squashed flat. Hard against the hood. Do. It. Now!" His shout startled me into position, and I could feel the heat of the engine beneath the hood, and the cool night air against my ass cheeks. 

Slap! The sting of his hand meeting my butt was sharper than he'd ever done it. Sure, we'd played at spanking in bed before, but that was a mere love tap next to this. Slap! The crack of flesh on flesh echoed through the night. Slap! I could feel my ass heating up fiercely. But when I imagined what I must look like, my nude body bent over the fender, my tits smashed against the metal, my ass invitingly canted up in the air, I felt an even hotter liquid begin flowing inside my cunt. I tightened my cunt muscles. I didn't want to squirt, right there. It might ruin his nasty plans.

When he finally finished tanning my ass, I quickly dropped down on my knees and frantically fumbled with his belt and zipper, wanting to get his cock in my mouth as fast as possible. That spanking was something new, but not something I wanted to repeat just then. His cock, surprisingly, was only half hard when I finally got it out of his trousers, though it had the salty taste of pre-cum. I wasted no time trying to suck it into full extension, and was just beginning to tug on it when he grabbed my hands and raised them up.

"No hands, bitch. Do it like the whore you are." 

Suddenly, his dirty talk didn't scare me. It just made me hornier. I slurped at him as much as I could, nuzzling his ball sack with my nose and cheeks, licking his balls as if they were the best tasting candy in the world. I could feel the dirt and pebbles grinding into my knees, and I wondered if I'd end up with an ass full of dust if he decided to fuck me right on the ground.

At a cue only known to him, he grabbed me by the hair and yanked me upright. I squealed in pain, but he didn't pause a moment before pushing me face down over the fender, smashing my tits against the hood. I thought for sure he was going to spank me again. Instead, I momentarily felt the top of his rod probing between my legs, before suddenly slamming inside my dripping cunt. I squealed again, this time in pleasure, my voice echoing through the wilderness. 

Then all I heard was the slap, slap, slap of his thighs slamming against mine, and the sticky wet sounds of his thick rod ramming in and out of me. He held back nothing. He wasn't having sex with me. He wasn't making love to me. He was fucking me, flat out raping me, taking his pleasure from me without giving anything back. Occasionally he would grab big handfuls of hair and yank my head back, sending sparks of pain through me. Mostly, though, he kept his hands clamped around my waist and held me still while he slammed his cock inside and ravaged my pulsing cunt. 

I lost track of time, lost track of where I was, of how I was standing naked in a field being fucked like a wild animal, my hair stringy with sweat, juices dribbling down my legs, my knees scraped and my tits rubbed red from getting dragged back and forth across the car hood. I lost track of who was fucking me. Was it some farmer who found me on the side of the road and forced me to give him a fuck in exchange for some help? Or a farmhand who just decided to rape a white woman for the hell of it? It didn't matter, because all I could feel was a hard rod punching into my hole again and again, varying its rhythm only enough to slam inside harder and more brutally than the stroke before. I lost track of who I was, all my senses focused on the insistent cock penetrating me, stabbing inside of me and ripping apart my identity. 

Suddenly my cunt was empty and I was halfway through a cry of dismay when I felt the mushroom head pressing into my butt crack, just a little higher than my swollen slit. I tensed against the invasion; he'd never taken me without a sheen of lubricating oil. Then I heard him spit and felt the saliva trickle into my butt crack. He spread it across my anus impatiently, then kicked my legs farther apart so my ass was down farther. I tried to will myself to relax, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't be denied, and didn't wait until I was ready. The small bit of pain was quickly overwhelmed by the familiar feel of having a nasty cock shoved up my tight ass. He crammed it in there just as brutally as he'd taken my cunt, and I could feel every ridge, every vein in his shaft as he screwed my ass. I was being well and truly fucked. 

After forever and no time at all, his cock was missing from my anal canal and he was once more wrenching me into a kneeling position. My knees hit the ground hard and I would've fallen if not for his strong hands on my shoulders. But he turned even that small gesture of assistance into a carnal act, reaching down to grab and squeeze my breasts, slapping them again and again until they bobbed to a demonic rhythm, the sting exceeded only by the fire in my recently spanked ass. 

Brutally he forced his cock into my mouth and fucked my face, pulling out only often enough to let me barely catch my breath before once again slamming his cock back inside, pressing it deep into my throat and holding my head still until I gagged, the spasms of my throat giving him the kind of squeezing that he evidently craved. Again and again he forced me to deep throat him, until I was drooling thick spit all over my face, and long tendrils of it covered my shuddering tits. 

Finally, after raping my mouth repeatedly, he pulled out and began jerking off his cock. "Open your mouth and take your master's cum, you fucking whore," he rasped, aiming his cock right at my face. I had barely parted my lips before he was shooting his load all over me. Most splashed over my cheek, ear and hair. I caught one spurt in my mouth. And the rest he aimed down at my heaving body, marking my neck and tits with his fiery jizz. 

As he leaned back against the car, he pulled me forward by my hair, positioning my mouth to catch the remaining drops of his pearly white sperm. 

"Now clean it," he growled menacingly. Obediently I bent forward and took his cock into my mouth, using my tongue to lick every drop from him, and even licking around his balls in case any splattered there. I had just released his cock from my lips when he pushed me back onto my heels and pointed down. For a moment I couldn't see what he meant, and then I noticed: a few drops of cum had dripped onto his shoe. I looked up at him as if to appeal my sentence, but it was like looking into a face carved of stone. I didn't want to do this, but I didn't want to feel his hand spanking my bare ass again, either. So, crouching down in the dirt on all fours, I bent my face and licked the cum off the top of his shoe, being as careful as I could not to lick up any of the dust and grime that had fallen on it. 

I only knew I was done when he started to walk away, leaving me bent over like a dog in the dirt. Then he came back, lifted me up under the armpits and unceremoniously dumped me on the car's hood, making my ass sting when it hit the cold metal. 

"I suppose you did and adequate job and you deserve some sort of reward," he said in that same menacing voice. "Spread your legs and we'll see just how much of a slut you are."

I did as he ordered, spreading wide, my pussy an alarming red from where he had punished it with his fuck stick. He reached down and penetrated me with three fingers, using his thumb to simultaneously rub my enflamed clit. It took only a few seconds of finger fucking before I was writhing and yelling in orgasmic ecstasy, all my limbs quivering and my head lolling back and forth on the car hood, as if I was having some kind of a seizure. I didn't even mind sucking my pussy juices off his fingers. The orgasm was that good. 

Finally sated, at least for a little while, he bundled me into the passenger seat and we headed back to the highway. I wasn't allowed to get dressed again, and in my numbed state I was only barely aware of the cum and spit drying on my skin and hair, and the way my pussy seemed to gleam in the car's interior light. I knew I was nude and we'd soon be rolling through more small towns, where any inhabitant might see my well-fucked body through the window. I knew that my husband had just spanked and practically raped me. I knew all that, but it didn't matter. I was in a haze and a daze. And worse, I was wondering when it would happen again.

That was just the beginning of the beginning. There's a lot more to come...



My Slut Wife Life Ch. 02



Beginnings – The Middle



Author's Note: My Owner wishes to inform you that he is not a cuckold. He shares me with others because that is his right. I am his property. And if his friends need a cunt to bed, he will loan me to them. Much the same as if they need a shovel, he will loan that to them. So if you are looking for a cuckold story, you need to look elsewhere. If you want to know what it's like to be truly submissive, read on.

The Next Day

I awoke muddled and confused, having to take a few minutes to take stock of my surroundings. Bed? Check. Sheet? Check. Nightgown? Missing. In fact, I was completely nude. Dreaming? No. At least, I didn't think so. The sheets felt real enough under my body. And I felt sticky. You wouldn't feel sticky in a dream, I reasoned. Had I dreamt the whole thing, then? That was a promising possibility. No. I could smell the sour odor of old, dried spunk. And could feel it on my breasts and in my hair. 

It had been real, then. All of it. The stripping in the car. The humiliating blow job on the dirt road. The brutal fuck. The cum painting my face. And the embarrassing ride back home, completely nude and masturbating for his viewing pleasure. I checked my knees. Yep. Dirty as hell. I must've fallen asleep at some point, because I didn't remember coming to bed. At least my saintly husband had taken my heels off.

Speaking of which... I turned over, expecting to find the other side of the bed empty. By this time on a Saturday, he was already up and moving around. But not this Saturday. Instead, he was leaning on his elbow, watching my body as intently as any adolescent boy seeing his first nude woman's body. 

"Good morning," I said, letting the sheet fall back so it covered my stomach but left my tits uncovered. "That was some night last night."

I expected him to reply that he was sorry that he'd gotten so out of control. I expected him to say that he didn't know what had gotten into him. That I'd been so sexy that he just went crazy. That there was some extraneous reason for his behavior.

What I didn't expect was for him to reach over and sharply pinch my nipple, pulling on it while twisting it until I gasped in pain. I didn't expect him to release it and just as deliberately do that to the other one. And then reach down and paw through my pussy lips, as though I was a slab of meat and he was testing my freshness. 

In one motion he pushed back the covers with one hand, revealing his naked body. With the other, he grabbed me by the back of the neck, insistently pushing my head down towards his crotch. His intent was clear. As was the fact that I had absolutely no say in whether it took place or not. 

I took his rapidly inflating cock in my mouth, wrapping it in wet warmth. I intended to suck him off, hand and fast. I thought if he blew his load and slaked his lust, he'd be done with treating me like some sort of whore. And I could figure out just where this behavior was coming from.

My intentions were of no consequence to him. In fact, he started doing something he'd never done before. Grabbing my hair in his hands, he pushed my face back and forth across his cock, barking out orders about what to do with my mouth. "Lick!" he commanded harshly, moving my mouth along the length of his shaft as I licked obediently at its rigid length. "Kiss!" snapped, twisting my head harshly so I was positioned to kiss his tightening balls. "Open," he called, pushing his cock into my waiting mouth, and jerking my head up and down so that I was fucking him with my mouth. 

It went on and on, my spit drooling out all over him, hanging from my chin in thick strands. Several times he pushed my head all the way down on his cock, forcing me to deep throat him, chuckling as I gagged at the bulbous head filling my throat. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he pushed me away.

"Spread your legs," he said, his tone even and measured. I did so swiftly, strangely happy to be told to do something that was at least familiar. Plus, in contrast to the harsh voice he'd just been using, his deadpan command sounded all the more menacing. 

"Get 'em up," he said, slapping the undersides of my thighs. I knew what he wanted, though he'd never ordered it in such a forward way before. Grasping the back of my knees, I bent myself in half, leaving my cunt and asshole stretched and exposed for him. When we want to play rough, that's how he fucks me. But he wasn't playing now. 

I let out a grunt when his cock penetrated my pussy. I was wet and ready for it, but not ready for how violently he violated me, nor how hard he dropped his full body weight against me. I felt like I was being smashed deep into the center of the bed, like I might be slammed through the bed covering and find myself amidst the springs and coils, the only creature of the flesh in a steel mechanical world. 

He fucked me then, brutally and sadistically, his concentration fully on getting his cock as deep into my cunt as possible. He spared not a moment to ask about or assist with my pleasure. It was clear that this fuck was all for him, and if I got any pleasure out of it at all, it was unintentional, and probably a mistake. 

As I knew he would, he entered my ass several times, using nothing but the wetness on his cock as lubrication. It pinched, enough for me to gasp, but not enough for me to try and make him stop. Which is for the best. Even to this day, I'm not sure he would have. 

I took it all, took all of his painful penetrations, his mean and dirty words, his violent ministrations. I took it secure in the knowledge that when he finally came, he would be spent, and his brutal domination would be over. 

And then he pulled out. And he stood by the side of the bed. And he made me pry open my foaming pussy while he watched. And he made me stretch my pussy lips til they hurt. And pull on my nipples until they stretched taut. And then told me to lay there, spread-eagled, naked, and lick my own nipples. And keep doing it until I was told to stop. And then he went into the bathroom. 

I heard the toilet flush. And I kept licking my nipples. I heard the shower curtain slide, and I kept licking my nipples. I heard the shower going. And still I kept licking my nipples. I was sure it was a trick. That he was just looking for a reason to give me another spanking.

The shower continued interminably. My tongue was sore from stretching to reach each nipple. My hands were sore from pulling my tits up to my mouth. My tits were sore from being pulled on so continuously. I didn't stop. Right. Lick, lick. Left. Lick, lick. Right. Lick, lick. Left. Lick, lick. When he pounced out the door, I was determined that he'd find his obedient wife doing his bidding, her tits wet with saliva. 

"Get in here!" he called, just as the shower stopped. Not what I expected. I tumbled out of bed, hurrying into the bathroom, while a part of my mind wondered why I was being so compliant. I was his wife, godammit, not some sex slave. He didn't have the right to treat me like this. And still I went. 

I found him dripping wet, water puddling on the floor. "Dry me off," he said gruffly, pushing the towel at me. I must've hesitated, because he flexed his hand in that odd way he'd done the night before, just before giving me that wicked spanking. I'd dried him off before, of course, after mutual showers or nude swims and the like. But that had been in fun. And this time I was more like his servant. 

I started at his head and worked my way down. I had just finished his feet, kneeling on all fours in the cramped bathroom and struggling to wipe the bottoms because he refused to raise them more than a couple inches, when he spoke again, "You may suck my cock, slut." Despite having been degraded again and again, I still felt a thrill. If I could only get him to cum, then maybe this fascination with degrading me would end. 

So I knelt naked on the floor of the bathroom, gazing hopefully up at his eyes for some sign of satisfaction, some twitch that would foretell a spurt of sperm plastering my mouth or face. But there was nothing. He enjoyed it, no doubt. But he either would not or could not cum. 

"The shower's all yours," he finally stated, pushing my mouth away from his shaft. He tousled my hair in a gesture that felt demeaning, then strode away.

My mind was a whir as I showered, got dressed and made the bed. I could hardly wait to get downstairs to the computer. What was bringing on this deviant behavior? Had he had some kind of a stroke last night? A mental breakdown? Was it a bad drug interaction? What could cause a man to change his personality so quickly? I had to find out. And quickly. 

When I got down to the dining room, all was as it would normally be on a Saturday morning. He read the paper, dressed in his usual old golf shirt and ratty tennis shorts. He'd made the coffee and there was a steaming cup waiting for me. The curtains were all open, the sun shone in and the house had its usual brightness and light about it. 

Bizarrely, we talked as if nothing had just transpired. He pointed out an article in the newspaper, and I tentatively told him I'd already read it the day before in the online edition. He had no untoward reaction, merely commenting that he liked to see his news as ink on paper. It's a discussion we'd had many times. It felt comfortable. Well-worn.

We talked of our plans for the day. Of how the landscaping would need to wait for the next day, as there was a thin line of storms moving through. I would be doing my normal Saturday chores, vacuuming and dusting and cleaning. I like to get it all done so I can have Sunday free for fun stuff. He would be doing his thing. No clues that the night before had been very, very different. Or that the coming day might have anything different in store.

After an hour at the computer researching mental illness, I came away more shaken than educated. Have you ever done that? Learned about how easily a mind can go from stable to unstable? It's scary. It can happen at any time. I can take place from a blow to the head. From a physical change. Or for no discernible reason at all. Just out of the blue. I still shiver to think of it. 

His symptoms – this sudden need to dominate – could be from any number of reasons. Or no reason at all. The science was shockingly lacking. And everything I learned did nothing to assuage my fears or provide an answer to my question: Why was he suddenly acting like this?

Later that morning, I'd finished much of the housework and was heading to get the vacuum cleaner when he called me into the family room. He'd managed to get about half the lawn cut before the first rain drops started to spatter down, and was now resting in his favorite chair. 

"I think it'd be good if you did the rest of the housework topless," he stated, without so much as a grin on his face. 

I stared at him blankly, my mind a confused whirl of thoughts. Topless? Now? Why? Part of my mind objected. He can't mean it. He can't make me do this. Part of my mind was intrigued. If topless now, what next? In another part, an insight began to form, but it slithered away before I could grasp it. 

"Something you didn't understand?" he asked, his solicitous words undermined by the touch of menace in his voice. 

Stiff and self-conscious, I pulled off my t-shirt, then carefully unclasped my bra, handing both to him. He stared at me greedily, and I wondered what new part of me he was seeing. Over all our years of marriage, he'd examined me in intimate detail, and should've memorized my entire body. So why was he staring so intently at my tits? And why were my nipples hardening so much in response to his gaze?

Anger flashed through me. Who was he to treat me this way? So, he wanted me to do the housework topless, while he leered at me? Fine. But I had to vacuum the house. And he could either get off his ass and follow me upstairs, or leer at me through walls and floors. 

I stomped up the stairs, dragging the vacuum cleaner with me. Despite my anger, though, it never occurred to me to cover up my bare breasts while I vacuumed the upstairs carpeting. Not even when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw the sheen of sweat between my boobs, or accidently banged my boob against the dresser. 

Finishing the upstairs, I dragged everything down the stairs to get started on the carpets there. I wondered what he would do about my minor disobedience. The thought that he might do anything sent an embarrassing thrill through me. What was I turning into? 

His call from the family room didn't surprise me. I went and stood before him, hands on hips, my whole body poised to defy him. Anyone looking at me would know not to mess with this lady. 

Yet, he did. "You look hot. You oughta take off those jeans and finish up with less clothes on."

I glanced around, looking both for support and perhaps for a witness. Of course, we were alone. It was just him and me. This unpredictable man, who used to be my very predictable husband. And me. Half naked. And being ordered to show more. 

"I suppose you want my panties, too," I spat, putting as much venom into my reply as I could. 

If he noticed, he ignored it. "Nope. Just your jeans. You can keep your panties on."

I digested this unexpected reply. I felt like I was on a precipice. Choose one way, and fall headlong down an unknown path. Head the other way, and return down the path well-trod and recognized. You know how sometimes you do something and you can never explain why? Like eating a gallon of ice cream on a whim. Or illicitly kissing someone. You can later try to rationalize it. Or try to assign a motivation to it. But deep down, there's just no explaining it. The tumblers in your mind click one way and the decision is made. I made mine.

Wordlessly, I unbuttoned, unzipped and pushed down my jeans, bending over with my ass almost in his face to push the legs off my feet. I gave him the jeans, which he carefully folded and placed on the floor next to him, joining my shirt and bra. I'd worn green bikini panties, and I knew the folds of my pussy would be clearly visible through the cotton fabric. Inexplicably, I felt like a shy schoolgirl undressing for the first time in front of her young boyfriend. 

He waved his hand, and I set about vacuuming the carpets. In the living room I was sharply aware that I was half nude in front of a huge wall of windows. Anyone looking in would see me, my tits bouncing and swaying as I pushed and pulled the vacuum cleaner. I knew there was nobody for half a mile in that direction, but the fear of being caught still hit me. 

Back in the family room, I could feel his eyes on me the whole time I worked. One time I gave my tits a little inviting waggle, but he just waved for me to continue. He clearly didn't want me flirting with him. I could see myself reflected in the windows, and wondered again what he had in mind for me. I also wondered if I could get away with closing the drapes before it happened.

Walking past him to put away the vacuum cleaner, he snagged the waistline of my panties and forcibly pulled me back to stand in front of him. He leaned back in his chair, like a king on his throne, and studied me. It went on uncomfortably long, and I didn't know what to do with my arms. Leaving them hanging felt weird, and crossed under my tits just made them stand out more. Finally, I stood with my hands lightly clasped behind me. What was more worrisome was that I was having trouble reading his eyes. Usually his intentions are pretty open to me. Now, I had no clear idea what he was thinking about. I did have a general idea, however. 

"Kneel." The single word sounded flat, but it caused me to immediately sink to my knees. 

"Suck." 

Not "How about a blowjob?" Or "Suck me off, you hot little slut." No. Just that single order, delivered without passion or urgency. 

I pulled his sweats off, grasped his manhood in one and hand and sucked his cock deep into my mouth. He tasted salty, of pre-cum and sweat, and I knew that my near nudity had been affecting him. Or was it thinking about the plans he had in mind for me? No matter. This was once again a familiar activity for me, and I was again heartened by the thought that getting him to cum would release some of the pent-up lust that was probably driving this behavior. Yet even as I went to work on his cock, sucking and slurping at it, making my mouth as much like a hot, wet cunt as I could, that treasonous thought stole into my mind again: Did I really want this to end?

I was well into it, his cock as hard and thick as any dildo we had in the house, when he suddenly held my head still. "From now on, any time you suck my cock, your tits will be bare. Unless I explicitly say otherwise. Understand?" 

I nodded my acquiescence, his cock still buried deep in my mouth. I'd made sex promises in the bedroom before. But they were just that: sex promises. They heightened the mood, but nobody really expected you to keep them.

He pulled his legs up then, and leaned back in the chair, exposing his balls, his crack and his anus. I knew what he wanted and bent forward to lick the puckered rim. I'm not squeamish, and it's fun to hear his guttural moans as wet his most forbidden hole. This time he tried to suppress those groans, but one or two slipped out, especially when I parted his sphincter with my darting tongue. 

I gave his entire backside a thorough licking, painting the flesh of his butt with my tongue, sucking and lashing his heavy balls, and always returning to his tightly pinched anus, giving him a better rimjob that I ever had. Part of it was the lust coursing through me. I suddenly wanted him to ravage me. To pin me down with his cock and pound me like an animal. The other part was that we were doing it in broad daylight. I could see what I was doing to him. See the parts that I'd missed. And watch as his muscles tightened and loosened in response to my tongue on it journey of exploration. 

When he lowered his legs, I could tell he was close to cumming. I doubled my efforts to bring him off, wrapping my tits around his cock and giving him a sexy tit fuck, pausing in between strokes to lick the purple mushroom cap atop his thrumming rod. When I suck him off, I would usually take his full load in my mouth, just so there's less to clean up. He was having none of that. He grabbed his staff and gave it a final few strokes, then aimed it at my face, gesturing for me to close my mouth. 

I closed my eyes, having had semen sting my eyes on more than one occasion. So I missed the look on his face as he painted mine with blast after blast of thick, viscous cum. I could feel it on my cheeks, my lips, my nose, but thankfully not on my eyelids. As I opened my eyes, he pressed his cock back into my mouth and I did my best to clean it off, despite the globs of cum sliding down my face. 

Finally, his cock deflating in my mouth, he leaned back into his chair. "Hold still," he ordered as I started to get up and get cleaned off. So I knelt there uncomfortably in front of him as the gobs of cold cum slid down, pooling at my jawline before dripping down to splash on the tops of my tits, where they began a similar journey along that quivering flesh, before finally dripping onto my thighs and knees. A sticky path of sperm, from face to tits to legs. Leaving behind a slimy trail, like a slug across a glass pane. 

"You'll stay like this until I tell you to clean up," he declared, indicating my nudity and the jizz on my face and tits. 

"Like this?" I asked, confused. I had expected this act, this charade, to end when he finally blew his load. I had expected him to let me shower again, and to go on as if nothing had happened. To follow the bedroom rules: What happens in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom. Even if it doesn't precisely happen in the bedroom. 




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 02



"Like this," he responded, as if responding about the weather, or the price of lumber, or some other mundane matter. And not that he was asking, no, telling his wife to spend the rest of the day mostly nude and covered in cum. While doing god knew what. Because my plans to spend the afternoon curled up with a good book were clearly not going to happen. 

Amazingly, I complied. I say 'amazingly,' because I still could've stopped things. Could've said 'fuck you,' gotten dressed and stormed out. But now my curiosity was piqued. So far, what he wanted me to do wasn't all that bad. It wasn't anything we hadn't done before. Just in a different place. At a different time of day. And presented to me in a different manner. I didn't like being ordered around. But I didn't exactly hate it, either. 

Despite his admonition, I did wipe the cum from my forehead later. Cum in the eye stings badly. Don't believe me? Try it some time. 

The thunderstorms blew through quickly, as the weatherman had predicted. We had some good booms, and the rain violently lashed the windows. I had my chance to curl up with a book while it was raining. We were like any other couple on a rainy afternoon. He in his chair, watching TV. Me in my chair, reading a book. Both of us sipping a soda and snacking on crackers. Except I was almost naked, and he was fully dressed. A small deviation, but an important one. 

The sky cleared up almost immediately after the rain ended, and the sun quickly began to dry up the puddles. My husband was just as quickly busy at work on some project or another on the deck, leaving me to enjoy my book. Except I couldn't really enjoy it. I found myself reading the same page over and over again, while my mind wondered when the next ax would fall. What did he have in mind for me? Why was he keeping me topless? I could imagine being forced to do all kinds of perverted things. From the harmless, like cooking him dinner in the nude. To the kinky, like him eating his dinner off my nude body. To the fantastical, like never letting me wear clothing again.

Each seemed equally likely. I could no longer guess what was fantastic and what was possible. Worse, the thought of any or all of those turned me on like nothing had ever turned me on before. Sitting there, imagining my fate, turned out to be the biggest aphrodisiac I'd ever had. My pussy was wetter than ever, and I found myself absently rubbing my clit and tits as my imagination ran away with me, over and over again.

It was almost a relief when he finally called for me. Almost. Because he wanted me to join him out on the deck. In the daytime. Half nude. Now, the odds of my being spotted by any neighbors were very slim. Our house sits nearly in the middle of five acres of land. The front of the house is a couple hundred yards from the gravel residential road. To the left, as you're facing that road, is a county road, that's separated from our land by a stand of trees and thick underbrush. You'd have to stop your car and peer through the trees to get a look at our house. To the rear is another stand of trees, about a hundred yards of woods, which lets out to another neighbor's yard. It's thick enough that we've never tromped through there to get to their house. It's easier to drive. 

To the right are our nearest neighbors. Their house is about a hundred yards from ours. A few trees mark the boundary between our land and theirs, but not enough to really obstruct the view. We're close enough that on a winter night, during one of those Midwestern snowstorms, we can see them moving around through their windows. It's a reassuring sight, knowing that help is nearby, should you need it.

Now, though, it wasn't their help I was hoping for. It was their absence. Because if they were in the back, prowling around in the gardens or on their deck, they'd definitely spot me. And if they looked closely enough, they might even see that my tits were hanging out for the whole world to ogle. 

"Strip," he ordered, as I stepped out onto the deck. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement. It's one thing to have your tits out. I'd even flashed them at Mardi Gras for a bunch of cheap beads. But now anyone who wanted to would be able to see my bare pussy, my swollen pussy lips, and maybe even the dripping hole inside. I'd be completely vulnerable. 

I did it though. Pushed my soaked panties down and kicked them away. Stood there, half shy and half bold, wanting to know what he finally had in mind for me. He told me to lay down, and once I did, he pulled my legs far apart and had me scoot forward until my feet were touching the bottom of the deck railing. That's when I realized what he had in mind.

He was tying me to the deck! He tied ropes around my ankles and secured them to the deck rails, so I couldn't close my legs. Then he did the same to my wrists, securing the ropes to hooks he attached along the back of the deck. I was tied down, spread-eagled, naked, and completely unable to move or free myself. 

The thing about our deck is that it's in the full sun for most of the day. During the deep summer, we put up umbrellas to create some shade. But at this point, we hadn't taken them out of storage. So the sun was beating down on me. And I immediately began to sweat. 

He stood over me, and I found it hard to focus on him because of the brightness of the sun behind his head. "You've been such a good slut, almost completely willing, that I've decided to reward you for your good behavior," he started, shading my face with his body. "I hope you'll let me know how much you enjoy it."

There was nothing for me to say to that. He hadn't really told me anything, and I couldn't guess what he had in mind from it. All I could do was wait. Literally. That was all I could do.

He crouched between my legs, and only by stretching my neck could I see what he was doing. He had tape. He had an extension cord. And he had... he had my masturbator. It's the kind you see in porn movies. A heavy-duty wand with a big white head. It doesn't go inside you pussy. Just stays outside, vibrating your clit until you come and come and come. It has never failed to get the job done for me. And now he was taping it to the inside of my leg, with the big white head resting against my pussy slit. 

Mine have five speeds. Three speeds of buzzing vibration, and two separate speeds of pulsating vibration. I usually start with the middle buzzing speed, then change to the harshest pulsing speed to push me over the edge. 

He started me off at the lowest buzzing speed. It felt weird sitting against my slit, me not being able to work it around, to keep one part from being over-stimulated, or to give attention to another part that was crying out for attention. Just that buzzing against my slit. The head just about reached my clit. But not quite. 

He sat in a chair, enjoying a beer, watching the sun make me sweat and the vibrator make me squirm. I found I could rock my hips and arch my back to get my butt off the hot deck, but I couldn't move or dislodge the wand strapped to my thigh. 

The buzzing continued. I could feel juices flowing out of my pussy. Or maybe it was just sweat. I tried to keep my eyes clamped shut against the glare of the sun, but every time he moved around, I had to look and see if he was doing anything. It was like a compulsion.

Just when I thought the vibrator had turned my cunt numb, he got up and switched it to the next higher setting. The new stimulation was like a fire brand searing into my raw pussy lips. I imagined them getting scalded. The heat radiated throughout my body. 

The buzzing continued. My hips started twitching and bucking up and down of their own volition. Lava couldn't have been hotter than the wetness oozing from between my legs. I could smell myself, the odor of hot cunt mixed with hot sweat mixed with a large dollop of desperation. Why was he doing this to me? Why not just make me pleasure myself inside the house, where he could watch me cum, maybe even help me cum? I asked myself those questions over and over, but never got an answer. I couldn't concentrate on them. Every effort to think became mixed up with the incessant buzzing between my legs. 

I think it was the not concentrating that gave me the answer. Or maybe the dizziness from the sun. Or the desperate need for sexual release. Or all three. Or none of the above. Whatever. I finally had the answer that had eluded me all day. 

It was this: He was being the master I'd always fantasized about having. I'd talked about how much fun it would be to be under someone's complete sexual control. I'd shared my fantasies about being kidnapped and held in a dungeon, or strapped to a bed. About being used and shared and forced to do all the things I didn't have the guts to try in real life. And often, after I'd shared my fantasies, he, in his awkward way, had tried to recreate some of those. He'd tried to play at being my master. At ordering me around and being mean and cruel and loving and domineering. And it had never worked.

It was a question of permission. It had taken us a while to figure it out. In essence, if he asks me if he can be my master, then the very act of asking makes it impossible for him to truly act the way he should. If I give him permission, then I'm not really living the life of a slave, I'm just playing at one. And under those circumstances, the roles we assume aren't nearly as intense. And, since we were married and truly cared for one another, it was hard for him to treat me with any kind of cruelty, even in a good cause. 

He must've gotten over that prohibition, I thought, as the stimulation from between my legs began to reach throughout my body. Even though I tried to silence my lips, little mewls of pleasure escaped my mouth. What if the neighbors were home? Would the sound of my sex echo through the neighborhood?

I watched helplessly as he bent and switched to the next level. The new stimulation took me to a higher level, and I screamed a cry of ecstasy and anguish. I wanted to cum so, so, so, so bad. Another wave of explosive pleasure swept through me, and my back arched as my muscles spasmed. The head of the vibrator was just a touch too low. If I could just raise it an inch, I could be off this plateau and surfing the peaks of orgasmic pleasure. 

"Master," I gasped, my mouth dry from the panting and the sun. "Please..." I couldn't finish my plea, as another wave rolled through me, leaving my body tense and exhausted at the same time.

"So. You finally figured it out, eh slut?" he asked, a smile in his voice. "Figured out that you're now just a piece of fuck meat for me?"

"Ya, ya, yes," I stammered, as a series of small orgasm shuddered through me. I thought I could feel a wetness running along my legs. Had I squirted somewhere along the line, and not noticed? It would take just the touch of his finger to set me off. But I wanted, desperately needed, something more. His cock. Rigid and thick. Penetrating my cunt and pushing me over the edge. Clamped between my pussy lips and massaged by the muscles in my slit. My twat. My hot little box. I wanted him in me more than I ever wanted anything ever before.

"This can be the beginning, or the end," he stated, using his foot to play with my sensitive tits. "If you agree, we'll keep going down this path. If not, we'll go back to where we were."

I struggled to concentrate. How could he expect me to make any kind of decision in this state? My cunt was throbbing, literally pulsing, as I slowly, slowly got closer to a final orgasm. I wanted to cum so badly! And he wanted me to decide? 

It was if he could read my mind. "I know it's tough for you to think clearly, with your whore body betraying you, making you into a cunt-dripping slut. But think about it for just a minute. Wouldn't you want to keep having adventures, instead of going back to just having sex once a week? You're ready to give in, aren't you? Ready to give in to your desires and become what you've always known you are."

I squirmed around on the deck, the buzzing driving me mad with desire. My ass scraped along the wood, and even that felt good, adding to the tension now surrounding my cunt. So close. So close! I let out a yell, a scream of pleasure that resounded off the back of the house, echoing into the woods. More followed. I didn't care who heard me now. I wanted everything. I wanted his lips clamped atop my nipples. His cock raping my cunt. His fingers thrust in my anus. His hands around my neck. His fist twisting my hair. His palm slapping my ass. His toes desecrating my pussy. His flesh in my mouth. I wanted it all. I wanted all of it at the same time. 

Suddenly, he reached down and dropped the vibrator level to the lowest setting. I whimpered in disappointment. What new torture was this? Then he moved across the deck, down the steps and out of view. In the direction of the neighbors house. 

I stretched my neck to see. Through the sweat stinging my eyes, I spotted our neighbor approaching the tree line separating our lot from his. My husband met him there. Though the vibrator between my legs was making it hard to think, I was lucid enough to realize that they were talking about me! The naked wife, tied to the deck, howling and whimpering like a tortured animal. Would my husband ask him to come over and witness my degradation close up? If he had, I would've begged him for a touch to my pussy that would've pushed me over the edge. I was that desperate. 

He returned to the deck, a grim smile on his face. "Our neighbor thinks you have nice tits," he stated, pushing at one of my boobs with his foot. 

He didn't say that, did he? I didn't know. Could he see the deck from there? See that I was stretched out upon it? Hear my panting and cries of ecstasy as they left my lips? Was her over there now, waiting for the inevitable screams that would signal my final release? The worry filled me with even more lust.

"So. Where were we? Oh, yes. You were about to admit that you're a submissive slut in need of discipline and training. And that you belong completely to me." He peered down at me with a malicious grin on his face. "No, you don't have to answer now. There's plenty of time for that. But, what you do have to decide is what you would do to cum. Because I can keep you on this edge for a long, long time."

What would I do? I'd do anything! My pussy was on fire. My toes were curling. My nipples felt like someone had been sucking them for hours. My hips and legs ached from the tension. My mouth was dry from panting and whining. Sweat was pooled between my tits and dripped in rivers down my sides. My hair was plastered to my forehead. And lightning bolts were shooting out from my cunt and into all my extremities, turning me into an addict for more stimulation. 

"Anything!" I gasped, in between the curse words that now fell from my mouth. I couldn't control my language. Couldn't stop from spewing out any word that came to mind. "Fuck me. Oh, fuck. Cock. I want cock. Now! Your cock. Shove it in! In! Deep! Fuck. Ohhhh, fuck!" It was a litany, a prayer, a meditation. 

He reached down and upped the setting to the next highest. I groaned, long and loud. Closer. I was so much closer. But not close enough. Not there. The buzzing continued. I felt my bladder let go. If I hadn't squirted before, now I had. I craned my neck to see if I could see. But I was tied down too tightly. I could feel the liquid against the back of my legs. I imagined it dripping down between the cracks of the deck. My urine, dripping down. The thought turned me on.

"Anything is too broad a statement. And there are parts of anything that you clearly don't mean. So, be specific, my little slave slut. Or we can stay here all day. And I can call the neighbors over and see if they have some suggestions about what to do with you." 

I tried to concentrate. What did he want? What was he always asking for? Then it hit me. Pictures. He was always after me to let him take nude pictures of me. Dirty pictures. Nasty pictures of my legs spread wide and my pussy lips open. My tits hanging out. And cum splashed across them. Pictures. And I'd never said Yes. 

"Pictures!" I fairly screamed, trying to make myself heard before another wave of spasms wracked my body. My cunt, god, my cunt was burning up. My clit throbbed. I could actually feel it throb. 

"OK," he replied, in that ominous flat tone. "OK. Pictures is what you'll give me. And here's what I'll give you."

He bent and click the setting up to five, the harshest pulsating mode. And then, with no more than a nudge, he pushed the wand up until the vibrating head was resting directly on my clit.

It took no more than ten seconds. It felt like an eternity. My whole body clenched up. I held my breath. My heart went into overdrive. A sheen of sweat sprang up on every inch of skin. My nipples felt like they were squirting milk. And then it hit, with the force of a thousand hammers. My clit felt like it was splitting open. Wave after wave of sheer pleasure roiled through me, making me curl my toes and clench my hands and thrust my hips and bite my tongue and then scream long and hard, releasing every bit of tension inside me, until I lay like a limp rag on the deck, with only my head rocking back and forth, back and forth. 

He reached down and adjusted the wand to the lowest setting. I moaned in pain. Touching me there so soon after orgasm was like touching a hot poker to my pussy. I didn't want the stimulation. Yet there it was. Still buzzing between my legs.

To be continued...



My Slut Wife Life Ch. 03



Ch. 3  The End of the Beginnings


I lay on the deck, naked, my body still trembling violently from the orgasm I'd had forced upon me, courtesy of the vibrator that was still taped to my inner thigh. And that even now, was still buzzing against my sodden pussy. I was spread-eagled, my ankles tied to the deck railing, my wrists tied to hooks my husband had installed that morning. I was covered in sweat, and the sun continued to beat down on my bare skin, and I feared I was not too far from getting a sunburn. And none of that was my greatest worry.

I twisted my neck and tried to raise my head high enough to see over to the neighbor's house. While I was strapped to the deck, the neighbor, one Jeremy Thison, had come out to see what was causing all the screaming. My husband had left off from torturing me and gone to meet him. I was dying to know what they had discussed. My husband's answer to my question about that meeting had been decidedly unsatisfactory. 

HE was inside getting the camera to take dirty, perverted and humiliating pictures of me, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. He had made me an offer I couldn't refuse: Allow him to photograph me in exchange for allowing me to finally cum, after what had seemed like hours of abuse by the vibrator between my legs. HE wanted me to treat him like my master. And I suppose he was, given that I was the one tied to the deck and he was walking around in the cool house, without a care in the world. After what I'd been through, it was easy to imagine how he could leave me out there for another round of tormenting, the vibrator again bringing me to the cusp of orgasm, but not beyond. Already my body was betraying my mind and responding to the never-ending, insistent stimulation. My cunt felt thick with juice. It wouldn't be long before my juices started dripping outside my pussy again.

He finally returned with the camera and I lay there compliantly as he shot picture after picture of my restrained body. No part of me was too intimate to be recorded. He pried open my pussy lips and shot pictures of the inside of my hole. He shot my tits from all angles. If he could've taken a picture of my anal canal, I'm sure he would have. Finally, he released my hands, helping me sit up, but only so I could spread my pussy lips and he could record my obedience to his orders. 

After an interminable period of time, he released my ankles from the restrictive bonds. I'd feared the pain that would come from removing the tape holding the vibrator in place, but it hardly hurt at all. It clearly wasn't real duct tape. Some sort of light adhesion tape, instead. When I tried to stand, I couldn't. My muscles were all cramped and stiff. Not only from being tied to the deck, but also from the strain I'd put on them as wave after wave of orgasm had wracked my body. In truth, all I wanted to do that that point was curl up and go to sleep. 

My husband had other plans, however. "You're a real mess," he said as I sat, trying to massage some life into my stiff limbs. "Too messy to let back in my house." I suddenly became aware that he was, in fact, right. Not only had a gallon of sweat dried on my skin, but I'd squirted all over my legs and had spent a good deal of time laying in a puddle of urine. Not to mention the dried cum that was still on my face and in my hair from that morning.

"There's only one way to get you clean," he announced, dragging the hose up onto the deck. For the millionth time that day, I was shocked at the implied humiliation. To be sprayed off like some dog that had spent the morning rolling through the trash. I could just as easily shower in the privacy of our own bath. But he was going to wash me down like an animal! This was going too far!

I didn't get a chance to protest before the first stream of water caught me on the chest. At least he was using the garden nozzle and had it set to the rain setting. So it wasn't unlike being in the shower. Except I was sitting completely nude on the deck outside the house. And the water, at first warm from sitting in the sun all morning, suddenly turned ice cold. I couldn't help but squeal in protest as the bitingly cold water swept across me. Which only encouraged him to aim at the sensitive parts between my legs, and at my tits, causing my nipples to pop up as hard and quickly as his cock. 

Then he ordered me into a series of positions in which he aimed the cold water at me in order to cause the most discomfort. The hard rain setting beating upon my up-thrust ass. The flat spray setting scouring up and down my tits and stomach. The hard stream applied to the soles of my feet, where it both hurt and tickled simultaneously. The fog setting enveloping my face in a chilly mist. And gusher setting, allowed to waterfall right on my pussy, making my cunt throb again from the pulsating manipulation. No matter what he did, he always managed to find a way to turn me on. It was insufferable. 

Finally, my degrading bath was done. I felt and looked like a drowned rat. As if to capitalize his complete domination of me, his last act was to spray my cast-off panties until they were soaked, and then announce that he hadn't brought out any towels, and I would just have to air dry. And while I was doing that, I might as well do something useful. 

And so, I once again found myself kneeling between his legs, his manhood inside my mouth, my tongue frantically licking his balls and sac, my lips as soft and welcoming as the lips between my legs. As I worked him, he would buck his cock against me, jamming the head down my throat while pulling my head down, forcing me to deep throat him. I'd keep him in my throat as long as I could, pulling back only when the gagging started. It wasn't so much painful as uncomfortable for me. As for him, the moans of pleasure and panted orders told the whole story.

Finally, after several minutes or days, depending on if you were the receiver or the giver, he pulled my face away from his crotch and gave me a baleful glare. "Now kiss my feet. Like you mean it. Like you want to," he said. Did I detect a touch of pleading in his voice? It was hard to tell.

"Again? Still?" I asked, a bit amazed that we weren't, at long last, finished.

"You haven't asked to stop," he pointed out, his hand cupping the side of my face. 

No, I hadn't asked to stop, I reflected silently. I'd been tempted, but never had. Been confused, but never had. Been pushed to my limits and beyond, but never had asked him to stop. That was when I made the decision.

Yes, just like that. I usually go with my gut. I don't do a lot of hemming and hawing, or deep, contemplative decision making. It's worked out for me so far.

"You're right, I haven't asked you to stop. And it hasn't been so bad. In fact, some parts have been incredible. So, then, let's do this all the way," I said to him, kneeling naked between his legs, gazing with all sincerity into his face, with his stiff cock just inches from my face. "I'll go wherever you want to take me. I'll do whatever you want to make me." I hadn't intended to make a rhyme, but it made both of us smile during this serious conversation. "Take me, make me" has become our slogan for this adventure.

Decision made, I ceremoniously and respectfully knelt all the way down and placed a firm kiss on the top of each foot, then sat up to adorn the tip of his manhood with the same kiss of respect.

"What would my master wish me to do now," I asked, getting a little excited at what he might say. 

He chuckled. "I don't think we'll be doing that 'master' bit. We'll talk about that at dinner. For now, come on up here."

He physically lifted me onto his lap in a way that he probably hadn't done since our honeymoon, plopping me down atop his cock, not so it was inside me, but nestled between my butt cheeks. It felt good. And right. He gave me a deep, passionate kiss, and tenderly whispered that he loved me. Then he lifted me onto my feet and sent me into the house with a gentle swat on my butt. One minute later I was in bed and fast asleep.

+ + +

Thunder, lightning and the scent of an impending storm filled my dream. I lay naked in the grass, facing the sky, as jagged shards of electricity arced across the heavens. I could feel every blade of grass, wet against my back, several blades tickling the crevice between my ass cheeks. The smell of ozone, pregnant with humidity and impending rain, filled my nostrils and triggered that instinct to fight or flee.

Yet I couldn't flee, had I even been able to try. For, standing around me, towering into the sky, were four men. Naked men. Their legs and chests muscular, their faces lost in the roiling clouds. And their cocks prominently outlined against the sky, neither completely rigid, nor completely flaccid. But clearly poised, nonetheless, for some event that was as imminent as the coming rain.

Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked. I wanted to jump up, to run, to flee to a safety that must be nearby, though I could spot only trees past the legs surrounding me. The wind whipped up and a single raindrop slapped against my breast, the sting on my skin as sharp as if I'd been slapped by an open palm. 

I looked up, searching the sky for the squall line, wondering if I'd be able to spot the downfall before it reached the earth. The cocks, with their large sacs flanking thick rods, were poised like vultures on a tree or a rock, ready to swoop down and consume me. Another raindrop spat on me.

"Letting the rain wash it off doesn't count, you know." It was my husband's voice, sounding from beyond the forest of legs. His voice had a bemused tone, as if he was teasing me without my knowing why. I was still formulating an answer when he cut in, "You need to tell them to get on with it, slut. Tell them to wash it off."

Wash it off? I looked down to find that my pussy, my stomach, my breasts and torso were covered in a familiar glaze, the thick strings of liquid that could be only one thing: cum. It glinted in the multiple flashes brightening the sky, the storm coming ever closer. Whose cum, I wondered. Theirs? Someone else's? My husband's? It was thick upon me, and for the first time I could tell that it glazed my face, too. I licked my lip and the familiar taste exploded in my mouth. Cum. 

The wind whipped higher, venting its anger against the parts of my body that weren't protected by the forest of legs. He'd said I couldn't wait. I knew I shouldn't wait. So I waited no longer. "Wash it off," I yelled into the teeth of the wind.

Droplets splattered down on me. The rains had come. Rains warm and strong and insistent. Very warm. It coursed across my body like a stream, first one and then more. A familiar scent made me feel heady, even as the liquid streamed across my skin, dislodging the cum and pushing it this way and that. Suspecting yet curious, I opened my mouth to let the rains quench my thirst, and the taste shockingly matched the scent. Finally comprehending, I looked up to see that the rainclouds had not yet let loose. And the cocks were like fire hoses, sluicing along the length of my body. Wetting me. Dousing me. Baptizing me.

+ + +

I awoke with a start, body bathed in sweat. The sheets were twisted around one leg. Other than that, I was stark naked. I could feel eyes upon me and sensed the edge of the bed sloping downward. My husband. Watching me, with quizzical look on his face. 

"Bad dream?" he asked, reaching out to push a stray strand of hair out of my face. 

"Not bad," I answered. "Just different. Exciting."

"Well, you've slept long enough. We have a long evening ahead of us, and dinner is ready."

"Dinner?" Had I really slept that long?

"Yep. We need to keep your energy up. We have a lot to talk about. And do."

A small thrill went through me as I wondered what he meant by that. Goosebumps prickled up across my arms.

"I've take the liberty of putting together something for you to wear to dinner. It's formal, so don't forget the shoes," he said, leaning down to give me a quick kiss on the forehead.

Making dinner? Picking out an outfit? Who was this man, and what had he done with my husband?

The outfit in question turned out to be something I'd bought several years ago, at his suggestion, that I'd never worn. A one-piece mesh bodystocking cut down to the navel, cut high up the hips and open at the crotch. When worn, the mesh was just tight enough to keep my nipples from poking out. After pulling it on and much stretching and adjusting, my breasts were mostly covered, though I was baring an impressive amount of cleavage. My pussy, of course, was totally exposed. And in the back, the mesh covered as much of my ass as a bikini. Or, more succinctly, not much. 

The shoes were black and spiked, a pair that I'd rarely worn, as they were difficult to maneuver in. The weren't my "come fuck me" shoes. They were more my "come fuck me and all I'll ask for is twenty dollars because I'm that kind of a cheap whore" shoes. The kind that porn stars leave on when they're fucking in the movies. I didn't so much walk on them. I tottered.

And so, having put on the clothes, brushing my hair and re-applying my makeup, I headed out to the dining room. Only to find that we were going to be eating on the deck. And that my husband had laid out an impressive spread for dinner: Chicken piccata, creamy pasta and steamed broccoli, with a couple of tall glasses of wine. The chicken smelled heavenly, and my stomach growled in anticipation. 

I felt pretty self-conscious sitting on the deck dressed as I was, even though just hours before I'd been stretched out across it, tied to the railings and completely nude. 

The meal was very pleasant. We spent most of the time just enjoying the food and savoring the fine red wine he'd selected. We're not wine snobs. We just grab whatever sounds good with whatever we're eating. 

In fact, the entire meal seemed very normal, just like a hundred others we'd enjoyed back there. The sun warming the deck without hurting the eyes. A light breeze wafting across us, bringing with it the fresh smells of the forest to our south. If not for the occasional reminder that I was wearing little more than a sheer, stretched out fishnet bathing suit, with an open crotch and peek holes for my nipples, the dinner would have been completely normal. 

My husband waited until we'd almost finished before beginning to speak of serious things. And, as usual, he backed into it.

"I met with Dr. Ko last week," he remarked, scraping up the remainder of his meal with the side of his fork. Dr. Ko is his physician, and a man with many resources.

"All is well?" I responded, knowing that if it wasn't, I'd be the first to know.

"Very well. In fact, he gave me a new prescription you might be interested in. I noticed back there," he gave his head a nod to the house, "that you were trying really hard to get me off. You probably thought that if you did that, this whole owner/slave thing would go away, just like so many of my ideas do once I've been satisfied."

I didn't answer. He was right. That had been my plan. 

"The thing is, Dr. Ko came across a drug they're already using in Europe, but hasn't made it here yet. It's like Viagra, in that it keeps you hard for a long time. But it also keeps you from getting too satisfied. Keeps you from losing that edge, you know? So, even though you were trying as hard as you could to get me off, I wasn't about to get deterred from what I wanted to do."

I must've blushed at having been spotted so easily. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't hold it against you. Much." He said the last word with a smile on his face, but it still sent a twist of trepidation up my spine. Much. He could mean so much with that word. Or not much at all. Not very comforting. 

"Also, Jeremy from next door invited me over while you were asleep. You'll never guess what I found. No, don't try to guess. I said you'll never guess. Anyway, I went in through the patio door and found him in their family room, sitting on the couch. Sylvia was there too. Kneeling on the floor next to him. Completely naked. With a dog collar around her neck and a leash running from it to his hand."

I know I blushed then, because I could feel the heat on my cheeks. Sylvia? She always seemed so, so in control. So feminine and yet feminist. Independent. And now he was telling me that she was some sort of pet to her husband? I wasn't sure whether to believe him.

My doubt must've showed. "Yep, Sylvia is a sex slave. Nice set of tits on her, too. Not as nice as yours. That's what made Jeremy call me. He saw your performance out on the deck earlier, and wanted to tell me that he could teach me in the ways of the dominant male. In case I didn't already have a plan. Which I do. But it's always good to have some options, don't you think?"

I didn't know, because I was still too busy mulling over this shocking revelation in my mind. Our neighbors had been discreet, that was sure. But there'd been strange occurrences that were suddenly coming into focus. The smug references about his wife being tied up at the moment. The sudden closing of drapes whenever I ventured too close to their house. And the distinct cries of passion that sometimes echoed through the neighborhood, as if someone was having sex outside instead of inside.

"Jeremy really likes your tits," he relentlessly continued. "Wondered out loud what it would be like to watch them bounce back and forth if someone was to fuck you from behind. Asked Sylvia if she'd like to see that. She said yes."

I looked up sharply at that. Sylvia and I weren't particularly close, but the thought of her watching me get fucked was oddly erotic. I wondered what she would look like getting fucked.

"Don't worry," he said. "You've got a ways to go before you're fit to be put on display like that. We need to make sure you can take orders, know the proper positions, can be obedient and accept discipline. That alone is going to take up much of your time. Only after that will you be ready to be put on display. 

"Which, by the way, I know turns you on. I've been paying attention, all these years. Paying attention to all those fantasies you've shared with me in bed. The gangbangs. The rapes. The public displays. The judging contest. Banging the minister. Shocking the church. Being a sexretary. And all those loaded questions you've asked. Would you think I'm strange if I wanted to get peed on? What kind of woman likes to get tied up? And the ever popular, are women who like sex really sluts?"

He pointed at me with his fork. "What if all those what ifs started to come true? What if you found out what it was like to do all those things? Found out which ones you didn't like? And which ones you did? What if being gangbanged was even more enjoyable than you imagined?"

My arms sprouted goosebumps. My breath caught in my throat. He didn't just mean to parade me around the house naked and take dirty pictures of me. He didn't just plan to take us a meaningless step closer to the stuff we would watch in the porn flicks. He actually wanted to do that stuff! To give me away. To objectify me. I felt both excitement and dread fear swirling throughout me. Could he do that? Would he? Really? And what would it feel like to be treated that way?

He pushed himself back in his chair, his meal complete, and pointed his fork at me again. "Let me see your tits," he said flatly. I regarded him for half a second then remembered that I had already signed up for this. Pulling the fishnet fabric to each side, I let it bundle up so that it pressed my tits together. Better that than trying to fit all that cloth in the valley between my breasts. And sexier, too. 

"Nice," he declared, leaning forward in the chair. "And if Jeremy's watching, I'm sure he'll appreciate the view. Now, let's get to the ground rules, why don't we?" He pulled out a small Steno pad and pen from a bag next to his chair. "You should take notes about all this," he advised, pushing the pad and pen into my hands. "There will be a quiz on this. And failure will be severely punished.




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 03



I wanted to laugh at his tone, but I held it back. He was serious about this, and I had to be serious too.

"First things first," he said, as if pulling from a list that he'd assembled long before. "None of this master and slave stuff. You can't say master without giggling, and I won't have a slave who giggles. So I'm going to save us all some pain and suffering and go with new names. You will call me Sir. With a capital S. Sir. And I will call you whatever I want. Bitch. Slut. Cunt. Whore. Whatever strikes my fancy. Make sure you write this down. When you call me Sir, it should be with complete sincerity and humility. Yes, Sir. No, Sir. Or "Sir, may I lick the cum off the floor?" 

I lost my train of thought as an image of me passed through my imagination, one where I was kneeling down, mouth pressed to the floor, licking up a pool of cum. I suddenly wanted to do that. Right then. 

"Point two," he lectured, warming to his subject. "I am your owner. You are my property. Not master and slave, but owner and property. I can do with you whatever I want. If I want to lend you to the neighbors, I will do so. Just like lending a shovel, or a screwdriver or a carton of eggs. You're property, no more than that. And I'll make sure the people that I lend you to understand that I want you returned in the same condition that they got you. Unmarked. Unscarred. And ready to do the same task for me. Owner. Property."

Owner and property. I mulled that over for a second. Yes, it could work that way. And it would be different from that silly slave stuff you saw on the internet. The ones with the wives posing like slaves, but not actually forced to do anything.

"Point three: You don't get a say in what happens to you. Just like a shovel can't say it won't dig in mud, you can't say you won't do something. Oh, if there's something that's too dangerous, or too gross, or potentially too harmful, you can let me know about it. But expect that I will give you another task that's likely to be even less appealing to you. And you'll be punished for not following my orders, to boot."

I thought for a second about that one, too, as I wrote down the rule. There are lots of kinky and disgusting things that people do that I wouldn't. Like have sex with a dog. Or eat poop. Or put pins in my tits. But I was positively sure that he didn't like those things either. Almost positively.

"Point four: While we're on the subject of punishment, expect to receive lots of it, in many different ways. You need to learn your place in the world, and frankly, there will be times when I just enjoy punishing you. Obedience, punishment and discipline all go hand in hand. Just remember that I do it out of a desire to make you better at what you do. Which is to please me. And that's something we both want."

I smiled as I wrote that one down. I can pretty much turn my tears on and off at will. On the couple of occasions where he playfully gave me a spanking, I was able to dissuade him simply by whipping up some tears. I had this one covered. Or so I thought.

"Finally, point five: You're going to need to be OK with the fact that other people are going to know your secret, and to accept or ignore their judgment. What we're going to do isn't what's considered normal to most married couples. So, if somebody recognizes you from pictures on the internet, or sees you doing something in person, you need to be able to deal with their judgment. That won't always be easy. In fact, it may be hard. But if you look at it the right way, it can add to the experience. You know, the pleasure of going against society and all that. So you need to know your motivations and be accepting of your lot in life."

My mind worked furiously as I wrote that all down. He had a good point, there. What would I say if my friends spotted my picture on the internet? Or when the rumors started to swirl? We live in a part of the country where everyone keeps to themselves. But the rumor mill works at twice the speed than in the city. The first inkling of us having a kinky lifestyle would be all over the place in minutes. Yet despite the trepidation, I also got a huge jolt of excitement. I knew I'd feel superior to all of them if I enjoyed doing something they wouldn't. And I'd always liked to push the edges of propriety. 

"So, that's it for now on those subjects. Something to think about, when you're not training to be a good slut." He said the words with a pronounced leer in his voice, as if daring me to react. "Let's go inside and get started with your training."

+ + +

Looking back at my copious notes from that evening, it's clear that he had a definite plan regarding what he wanted to cover. Maybe he'd thought it all the way through, like the project plans he makes at work. Or, more likely, he'd fantasized about it so often that he'd almost lived it before trying it in real life. Either way, by the end of the evening, I knew exactly what was expected of me.

Once inside the house, he pulled the ottoman over in front of the couch and gestured for me to sit on it, while he took a seat on the couch. "The first thing you need to learn are a few starting positions. They'll make it easier for you to understand what I want, without me having to explain how I want you to stand, or sit, or whatever. And when it's time to show you off to other people, it will impress them at how well you respond to orders. And you will respond correctly," he added, adding a knife edge to his tone. "So, take off that outfit and I'll show you exactly how I want you to pose."

The first pose he put me in was what he called "Stand for Inspection." I knew this one already. He'd asked me to pose this way in the past, when we played at the master/slave game. Now, though, he was much more serious and exacting in his directions. I had to stand barefoot, with my legs slightly spread, and my hands clasped behind my head, keeping my back straight so my breasts would be thrust forward. If I kept my eyes open, they needed to always be looking downward, unless he ordered otherwise. 

Once he had me in position, he took pictures of me from all angles. For later reference, he said. Then he demonstrated the importance of that position to me, running his hands across my breasts, along my hips and around my flanks. Using his finger to delve into my pussy, splitting the lips as easily as parting a wisp of fabric. And inspecting every inch of my exposed body, prodding here and there, examining my mouth and teeth, squeezing my tits like melons, tweaking the nipples and commenting on each discovery like a slave trader looking over a prospective purchase. 

After he finished his inspection, I felt more like a piece of meat or an animal than a woman and wife. Which was probably the idea.

The next position was "Kneel for inspection," which is similar to the standing position, but kneeling back on my heels. The same clasping of the hands behind the head, the straightness of the back, the downcast eyes. My legs were to be spread a little farther. I performed it on the ottoman in front of him, and when he probed my waiting pussy with his fingers, his hand came away wet. Just the simple act of displaying myself like that had turned me on. 

Again he demonstrated the usefulness of that position. His ability to easily probe my cunt. To inspect my posture. And show how firm my breast became when I stretched like that. I have large boobs, as I said. And they now have a bit of sag to them, thanks to nursing the children. But they still stand out on their own, and when displayed like that, seemed almost youthful to me. I was silently congratulating myself on that when he drily pointed out how this was likely to be the position in which he would be displaying me to other men. That set me back a bit.

He called the next position "Hands and Knees," which was appropriate because it consisted of me being on my hands and knees. I was to keep my elbows locked tight, my back level, my legs parted enough for him to crouch between, and my feet vertical to the floor, with the bottom of my toes bent and touching the floor. This last part was hard to maintain, as I would normally put the tops of my feet against the floor. But when I got it wrong, he demonstrated the primary use of this position. He spanked me. Hard. With the flat of his hand hitting the round of my rump with enough force that the crack of impact echoed throughout the house. Crack! Crack! Crack! I wrote down the instructions, but knew that I'd remember the details of that position without any notes.

"Ass Up" came next. The same position, but with my forearms and hands touching the floor, and my back sloping sharply upward. When his cock entered my pussy from behind, I thought I knew the primary use for this position. Then, when his cock pressed insistently at my anus, wiggling its way through until it popped inside and I let out a gasp, then I knew the real primary use for "Ass Up." Though he's found lots of creative ways to use in the years since then.

He instructed me to roll over and get on my back for the "On Your Back" position. I thought I knew the proper way to do this, as I'd opened myself to him thousands of times. But I was sorely wrong. I was to lay back, head on the floor and looking up at the ceiling. My legs were to be spread at a 45-degree angle. Knees bent just so, feet flat on the floor. And hands flat on the floor on each side of me, resting but always ready to help guide him into my fuck hole. He needed no such help when he crawled between my legs to demonstrate the use of this position, as his thick cock immediately found my cunt hole and rammed its way in. He fucked me like that for a while, rather clinically, admonishing me more than once not to lift my legs in response to his humping. After he pulled his still throbbing cock from inside me, he once again sent a shiver down my spine when he declared that this would be a good position in which to display me to an audience. I knew he was serious, this time. 

When he told me to "Spread Wide," I thought I knew what that meant, too. On Your Back with my legs spread wider, right? Well, yes and no. He had me put my legs in the air and spread them, and then reach a-r-o-u-n-d my legs and pull my pussy lips far apart. Really far apart, so he could not only see the pink inside my pussy, but also deep down into my cunt hole. He took lots of pictures of me while I held this painful position, which I'd always associated with being a filthy slut. Which made me the same. 

"That's it for the regular positions," he announced, looking down at my naked form. "Those would be the ones that most masters and slaves would recognize, although they may have different names for them. There's a couple more that I'm going to teach you now, and then a few others that we'll go over later."

Regular positions? That confirmed my belief that he'd been looking all this up on the internet. Although, now that he knew that Jeremy dominated his own wife, who knew what kind of perversions my husband – no, my Owner – would soon be bringing home. 

"Feed Me," was the first of his special positions. He put me into "Hands and Knees," then made me crawl over his body as he lay face up on the floor. He positioned me so that my tits were hanging right over his mouth. Then I had to dip down to feed my tit into his mouth, letting him suck on it, lick it, bite it, take a large gob of the firm flesh into his mouth, worry at it, nibble or do whatever else he wanted to, with no regard to how good or painful it might feel to me. Then, with a muffled command or a nudge of his face, I was to shift my body to bring the other one into mouth range. Back and forth, back and forth we went, his mouth sometimes tender on my sensitive flesh, other times rough and mean, making me whimper and yelp in agony. Several times he took in whole mouthfuls of tit flesh and chewed on it, physically holding me in place when I tried to pull away. After the second time that I protested, he grabbed me by the hair and twisted my head down next to his. "Mine!" he declared sharply, his meaning clear. I was but a piece of property. And he could use or misuse me however he liked. Another lesson learned.

The next position, "Flat on the Floor," was one that we'd tried a few times before, but I'd never liked and wouldn't let him use very often. I was to lie face down on the floor, my face turned to the right and pressed flat against the cold surface. I kept my legs tightly together, and my toes pointed downward. I could put my hands wherever I wanted them, so I placed them flat on the floor next to my head. I knew I'd have to brace myself against the floor. Crouching on all fours, he mounted me, plunging his iron rod straight into my asshole. I know why he likes this position – no matter how long he fucks my ass like this, my anal ring never relaxes all the way. So I'm as tight on the fiftieth stroke as I was on the first one. For those same reasons, it's painful for me. So I need to keep him lubricated all the time, either by begging to suck his cock or begging for him to put some lube on. You can guess which one happens most often.

We ran through the positions one more time, with him recording each of my attempts and making note of every mistake, real or perceived. Then, after putting me in the Hands and Knees position, he thoroughly spanked me, until I was sure my ass was glowing red. I turned on the tears early, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, I think it actually made him more brutal. 

I rolled over when he was done, curling my body around his ankles. I was spent. I had no idea what time it was. And my body was sore from head to toe. So when he ordered onto my hands and knees, I literally sighed with relief. At least I wouldn't have to do anything too strenuous. 

After all that he'd done to me, this doggy fuck was almost anti-climatic. Until he climaxed, of course. Up until that point, he just slammed his meat into me as hard as he could, grabbing me by the hair and pulling my head back at the same time. The only time I had to do anything was when he held himself still and made me rock back and forth on his magically hard cock. And even then, it wasn't too long before the lust took hold of him again and he moved his dick into my ass, sodomizing me like a college kid getting his first taste of ass fucking. 

"Get ready," he growled, and I wasn't sure what he meant until he added the command to get into the "Kneel for Inspection" position. With my hands laced behind my head and my tongue out as far as it could go, I obediently waited for him to adorn my face with his cum. It took only a minute of stroking and a couple of visits to my mouth before he was unloading gobs of creamy jizz onto my face, the sperm hot and squishy and wonderfully thick. At his command to hold still, he dragged his cock across the dripping rivulets until a large gob attached itself to his manhood. Then, ever so carefully, he moved it into my mouth, where I sucked and licked him clean, as obedient as any young schoolgirl. '

Over and over he fed me the cum from my face, neck and tits, moaning as I employed my tongue for its proper use: cleaning cum from my owner's cock. Finally, when my body was cleaned of his cum, and his dick was cleared of it too, he physically pushed me, smiling as I awkwardly toppled backwards. I was just about to protest when he said meaningfully, "You missed a spot or two."

Nonplussed, I looked down at my body, which, though sweaty, was clean of his sperm. Then I noticed two drops on the floor. "Ass up, bitch!" he said harshly, and I scrambled into position. At another gesture, I licked his man juice off the floor, as carefully as if I was licking up gold. 

"And that's the last lesson of the night, slut," he declared. "You're not to waste any of my cum, no matter where it falls. You'll eat every drop, or you'll pay the consequences." At that point, I thought I'd known the consequences. Soon enough, I'd find out how wrong I was.




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 04



"Training Time"



I learned a lot following my decision to become my husband's slut wife. Or, more specifically, his sexual property. 

The first thing I learned was that he didn't have a plan. At least, not one that was as fully developed as the one he'd followed over the weekend. He was unpredictable, scattered, whipsawing from kind and nurturing to kinky and torturous. 

The second thing I learned was that it was probably for the best that he didn't have a plan. Because being trained on a random basis was far more exciting than knowing what was about to happen. 

The third thing I learned was that he wasn't going to hold to the "sessions" concept he'd told me about in our first weekend. He was going to do what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it, most of the time without a single bit of warning. And I could either go along, or give up on the whole experiment.

I learned all that within the first 48 hours. 

It started with the words, "You're not going to wear that, are you?" Every wife has heard those words. What was unusual this time was that I wasn't the one saying them. He was. And even more unusual, he wasn't saying that about an outfit I was going to wear out of the house. He was commenting on my morning clothing selection, which I always wore in the brief time between my getting out of bed and my sitting down in my home office. Usually he would leave for work somewhere in that hour or so. Sometimes... once in a while... OK, never had he ever commented on my clothing choices. Yet this time, he did.

I looked down at myself, expecting to see some sort of horrible color combination that would cause the dead to rise and start a zombie apocalypse. Because, honestly, given his taste in clothing, that's the only reason he would have call to question my taste. But I was wearing what I always did in the summer when staying at home: shorts, sandals and a t-shirt. Sure, I had my bra and panties on, too, but nobody mentions those because they're a given, right? That's why they're called unmentionables. 

"And a bra and panties," he added, as if I'd forgotten something crucial. 

"Well, yeah," I replied, surprised only because he seemed to be treating it as some sort of admission of guilt. 

Sigh. He actually sighed. "I gotta get to work. We'll talk about it tonight." And then he kissed me and left for work. 

Yes, I stewed on it for most of the day. How could I not? it's like someone saying they bought you a present, showed you the wrapped box, then decided not to give it to you until next Christmas. Infuriating!

When he arrived home, I greeted him at the door. No, not like in the olden days, with a cocktail and the promise of a foot rub. And not like in the porn movies, with a blowjob in the doorway. More like with a kiss, a "how was your day," a "let me tell you about mine," and a "I'm thinking about (blank) for dinner, but we can always go out." It's a long-running joke. And sometimes, we actually do go out. 

I held my peace (quite heroically, I must say) all through dinner, before finally asking, "About what you said this morning...?"

"Yes, I've been thinking about that," he said, in that tone that implied that he was surprised that I'd remembered about it at all. "If you're going to be my property, we're going to have to do something about how you're dressed."

This time I literally bit my tongue while I turned that over in my mind. My first thought, of course, was "how dare he?" Then I remembered the agreement I'd made, just 48 hours before. Then I realized that it sure sounded different in normal conversation, when it wasn't wrapped in the throes of lust and playacting. Then I realized that this point was destined to come, because we wouldn't always be wrapped in the throes of lust, and being his sex toy would happen whenever HE wanted it to, and not on any schedule that I set. THEN I realized that this whole conversation in my head was stupid, because the reason I said yes to his proposition was to avoid having to make these decisions about why things were happening and what I should do about them, and instead just go with the flow and do whatever he says. 

Then I answered, "What did you have in mind?"

He raised an eyebrow.

I rephrased the question, "What do you want me to do?"

He raised both eyebrows and cocked his head.

I shook my head, confused.

"Sir, he prompted, his eyes starting to turn steely.

Damn! The sound of his hand upon my ass reverberated through my memory. I lurched for the save, "What did you have in mind, Sir?" I asked him meekly, putting on my most submissive look, though I had absolutely no idea what that should look like. Dropping to the floor and kissing his foot would've been a little too obvious.

He sighed dramatically, as if he was already tired of suffering fools. "Let's do it this way," he said, pausing as if he hadn't already figured this out ahead of time. "Why don't you go upstairs and lay out your ten sexiest outfits. When you're ready, call me up, and we'll see what we need to do from there."

I headed for the stairs, meekly (I hoped), my mind already cataloging what I'd be putting on the bed. The first five were easy. Two were outfits he'd asked me to buy: thigh high stockings held in place with an old-fashioned garter belt, topped with a cleavage baring bra. No panties. He likes the way the garters frame my bare pussy and ass. Next onto the bed was a red satin teddy, worn religiously during the Christmas holidays. He gets to unwrap me. Then a sheer white negligee, with matching white panties. A favorite for big busted women because it really accentuates our tits. To those I added a full body stocking that he bought me for my birthday one year. It takes about ten minutes to put on, one minute to take off, and has an open crotch in case you don't want to go to all that trouble. He loves it, though.

Then I was kind of at a loss. We've been past the sexy lingerie part of our marriage for a while. Prior to the last weekend, he would ask "Ya wanna?" I would respond "Yeah." And we'd take off whatever we had on. No need for sexy clothes to seduce him. Hearing him head up the stairs, I grabbed a few more items nearly at random: a short white robe, a black lace set of bra and panties, a sheer white blouse I'd worn once without a bra, my favorite bikini, and in a rush as he started to open the door, my little black dress. 

I stood meekly to the side while he paced around the bed, contemplating my motley collection of sexy clothes. Then, using post-it notes, he marked each outfit with a number from one to 10. "I'm in the mood for a fashion show," he said brightly. "You're going to model each of these outfits, and I'm going to grade it, from zero stars to five stars. The more stars you get, the more spanks will be deducted from your punishment for forgetting who is in charge here. So, you 'could' get enough stars to skip the spanking altogether. Though," he frowned down at the bed, "you might want to get out your come-fuck-me shoes and any other tricks to get all the help you can."

He started me out with the white negligee. I can't really recall what was going through my mind as I stripped off my clothes in the closet and slipped into the panties and negligee. I'm sure part of me must've thought this was ludicrous, being ordered by your husband to model for him. And letting him take pictures of it, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do. And I'm sure another part of me was bemused. After all, he'd seen every part of me that a man could see without doing major surgery. That he'd get excited by seeing my body partially covered is kind of amusing. But I think the better part of me was excited. Being objectified is a turn on for me. I could see how some women would like being strippers and baring all for a bunch of leering strangers.

Wearing nothing but the white negligee, the matching panties and a pair of white heels, I scored three stars. Standing before him in that outfit, and the nine that followed, my pussy got wetter and wetter. My nipples got harder and harder. And my body got hornier and hornier. By the end of the show, the scent of my sex filled the room, and I was almost drunk with the need to have a cock deep, deep inside me. 

Of all the outfits, the body stocking scored five stars, the garters four stars, and most everything else, three or below. After 22 slaps, my ass would be on fire. And after 22 slaps, it was. So you'd think that I'd be focusing on that. But, all I wanted was for him to fuck me.

He knew that, of course. Knew it and used it to tease and torture me. I stood at the side of the bed, dressed in the stockings, garter, bra and heels, and waited breathlessly for him to decide on the next step that would, hopefully, take us one step closer to having his dick in my cunt. 

Do you doubt that? Are you unable to fathom a woman being as sexually desperate as a man? So worked up that she'll do literally anything in order to have her itch scratched? Some men, and women, think that's unwomanly. That such women are sluts or whores or whatever. But I can't be the only woman who ever feels that way, can I? So worked up that my clit is as hard as any cock might get? If I am, then lucky me.

He beckoned me over and slipped his fingers into my slit, roughly parting my mound and jamming his digits deep inside. He rolled them around and around while I cantered atop his hand, trying to grind myself down on a limb that just wouldn't hold still. When he pulled free, his hand was slick with my cunt juice. It streamed down his knuckles and filled the air with a tangy scent. I almost crumpled to the ground at the vacancy between my legs.

"What do you want slut?" he growled simply and aggressively. "And how bad do you want it?"

I knew he wanted me to beg for it. And I was ready to do just that. In fact, begging for it would make it even better. I wanted to be his. Be impaled by his thick cock. Speared. Toyed with. Dominated. Crushed down into a quivering shambles. Taken. Overwhelmed. Turned into nothing more than an animal with only one purpose: to receive and encase his manhood. 

"Please sir," I begged, my voice a gasp and a supplication, "please fuck me however you want. Take me. Give it to me." That kind of talk always made me giggle when I heard it in porn movies. Now, though, I could only wonder if I was wheedling and begging enough. It was all I could do to not jump atop his body and hump his leg. 

When he stood up I sank to my knees. Of their own volition my hands scrabbled at his belt and zipper. I had to force myself to slow down, so desperately did I want to release his cock from its prison. When it was finally free it swayed in front of my face, the head red and angry, a hard spear announcing its deadly intent to all the world. His balls were full and ominous, the sac contracted to outline the eggs that held his cum. How much would he be spraying inside and outside my body this night? But that was a question for later... much later, after he'd rammed himself into my hole, had made me weep and whimper from the sheer power of his control over me, had reamed my ass with a vehement rage and fucked my face until my lips were battered into bruised submission. 

I took him into my mouth, eagerly, greedily. I took him deep inside, until that demonic head was scraping the back of my throat. I sucked his cock. Kissed it. Slurped on it and swaddled it. I licked his balls and, ducking down, licked his asshole, reveling in the dirtiness of the creature I'd become. 

I'd never been so obsessed with it. So open and ready to do anything for it. I felt untethered from reality, outside my body watching my body do things no respectable woman would ever dream of. I was torn between laying back and offering my body to him like a sacrifice to a powerful god, and wrapping myself around his legs, worshipping his manhood like a religious supplicant in the throes of a vision. 

His orders to me were harsh and abrupt, and I responded with the quickness of an army private. Up. Lean. Crouch. He quickly had me bent over the bed, my ass an offering and an invitation. There was no question of his needing to stand on tiptoes or contort his body to find a good position. I squatted and spread and twisted until my cunt was directly in front of his spear; I eagerly moved the target to ensure his easy and accurate penetration. 

He proceeded to fuck me then, savagely and powerfully. Not making love. Not having sex. Fucking, an alpha male taking his beta female. He speared me, his hips not so much thrusting as punishing, his cock ravaging the inside of my cunt. He pulled free frequently, reveling in the power of splitting my hole open again and again and yet again, forcing himself into me, raping me like a bedraggled prize on the battlefield. And I welcomed it. Was greedy for it. Usually, I can only feel his cock near the outside of my pussy. This time, it felt like my entire hole was a bundle of nerves. It felt like I could feel every ridge in his rod, every throbbing vein, the bony hardness rasping over my sensitive pink parts.

We have a couple of tall mirrors on our closet doors. We'd watched ourselves fucking in them before, but always in the dark, or illuminated by candles. Now, in the harsh daylight, I looked over to see what it looked like to take such a savage fucking. Through the sweat stinging my eyes and the hair swaying in front of my face, I caught glimpses of a powerful man holding an animal in place as he viciously fucked it from behind, its teats slapping together wildly, its rump slammed by repeated blows, its head bent low in utter resignation to its fate. 

That image stays with me to this day. I see it in my dreams and my nightmares. It's the motivation and blame for what I am today. That fuck, more than any that came before or since, summed up what I was, what I wanted, and what I could be. In that image I saw a person who'd given herself over completely to a powerful man. Not just in body, but in spirit.

After his initial onslaught of violent penetration, I lifted my head and began fucking him back. He held still while I rammed my ass back against his groin, spearing myself on his fuck stick. I writhed, I wriggled, I clenched, using every trick I knew to bring him as much pleasure as I could. I was the sex slave every man dreams of having, totally committed to his pleasure and willing to do anything to provide it. 

Along the way, I came. I came, as my girlfriend would say, like a freaking freight train. Bouncing and shuddering and squealing, orgasms reverberating through my body like echoes in a cave. My pussy was on fire, my brain was aflame. No matter how much of his meat he crammed into me, I was always hungry for more.

He stopped slamming into me only twice. Once, when I sat atop him, impaled on him, he had me stop bouncing up and down on his dick so he could take a series of pictures of my cunt encasing his girth. I slowly inched my way down as the shutter snapped incessantly, impatient to get back to the job of giving his dick a handjob using the folds of my pussy. 

The second time he squirted baby oil all over my tits and ordered me to give him a tit fuck. Squeezing my tits tightly together, I slid up and down his pole, greasing it up and rubbing it down, licking the angry head whenever it came near my lips. That oil had another purpose, I quickly came to realize. When his dick was slick with lube, he turned me over and crammed his cock into my ass. He didn't slip it in. Didn't nudge it in. He crammed it in, harshly stretching my anus and painfully stretching the ring of muscles almost to the breaking point. At least, it seemed that way to me. My vacant bowels had a new resident, and it was going to trash the place in its desperate search for ecstatic pleasure. 

Once he had his dick in my ass, all interest in pictures was gone. He had only one purpose, only one focal point for all his lust and wrath and madness. He fucked me in the ass while I was bent over the bed. He fucked me in the ass while I kneeled on the bed. He took me in the ass while I lay on my back. He penetrated my ass while I lay on my side. He even leaned me upside down and mounted my ass from above, his fuck stick like a pile driver pounding into me, splitting my anus open, reaming my bowels, slamming his flesh into mine with as much violence as the spanking he'd given me that first night. 

I took it all. Reveled in it, in fact. My mind was as focused as it had ever been, more focused even than the days that I'd given birth to my children. I was minutely aware of every stroke, every slap of flesh on flesh, every time a part of him got close to my clit, or his arm brushed my tit, or his cock left my ass. Every contact outside of the incessant pounding of his cock inside me set off sparkles of electric shocks throughout me. I orgasmed almost continuously, in that way that all women do when you're building up to a big one, where you're not getting enough to get pushed over the edge, you're there, almost there. At that point where your mind screams how can I get any closer without going off, and then you find there is another level, and another after that, each infinitesimally closer to the cliff, the point that's going to push you over, where a simple brush against your nipple or a stretching of your pussy is finally, finally going to release all that pent-up energy, and allow it to explode with a scream and a wave of spasms turning you into a virtual pool of jello, the pleasure reverberating from skull to curled toes like waves washing back and forth in a bathtub. 

I don't know how long I stayed at that point. The mini-orgasms were leaving me weak. My body squealed for release in no uncertain terms. But an anal fuck, even one so enthusiastically delivered, just doesn't provide the kind of stimulation that I need to get off. And while I would normally rub my clit to get myself off, that was not permissible. Though it might have been. I just never thought to ask for permission. My mind was occupied with other matters. 

It didn't help that as we changed positions, he would have me suck his cock in between to help get him back to full erection. I'd never been a big fan of ass-to-mouth. In fact, I thought it was unsanitary and dangerous. This night, all those fears were forgotten. I couldn't wait to gobble on his cock. If it tasted of anything, it tasted of oil and sweat. But I didn't really taste much of anything. I was too busy sucking its rigid shaft, licking the sac surrounding his balls and helping him fuck my face whenever the spirit moved him. And then trying to return to the precipice when he returned to violently violating my body with that wicked, wicked shaft.

It happened while I was laying on my back on the floor, my sweat-soaked body jack-knifed in half so that my anus was high enough and open enough for him to comfortably ream it. He'd made me suck him long enough that my gaping asshole had a chance to close a little, the muscles beginning to recover their tightness. When he'd returned to his quest of dominating me fully, I'd felt a familiar tension in my ass as his cock had to push through the ring. I don't know how many strokes it took, or long it took, but suddenly his cock had left my ass and was spurting stream after stream of lava hot jizz all over my pussy, spurt after spurt covering my raw pussy, like shots from a water gun.

When the boiling hot cum hit my clit it pushed me over the edge too. I came long and hard, a scream escaping my mouth before I even knew it had formed. My muscles contracted and contorted randomly, my toes curling painfully and my fingernails digging into my palms. I screamed again and again, wailing as the pent up pleasure released like a dam. If I'd had a cock, the cum would've blasted high enough to splatter the ceiling. As it was, my pussy spunk bubbled out, leaving a pool of tangy-smelling liquid smearing the floor. 




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 04



We both lay on the floor, totally spent, trying to catch our breath, his jizz congealing on my slit, slowly seeping between the swollen lips to trickle inside my cunt. Finally, many minutes later, he ordered me to scoop up what I could and suck it into my mouth. It had cooled by now, but every lick of my fingers reminded me of the ecstasy he'd taken me to. And finally it reminded me of the original question.

"So, Sir, how do you want me to dress for you?" I asked, my still sticky cunt glistening in the remaining light.

The next morning, when he came downstairs to eat the breakfast I'd prepared for him, I was topless, with nothing more than a pair of yellow bikini panties on. The next morning, I was bottomless, my breasts only covered by a too tight halter top that reached no lower than the top of my pussy patch. The next day, topless again. The next, bottomless. And for the next few months, I never wore more than one item of clothing in the morning. And he was free to touch and fondle me whenever the thought struck his mind. Which it did. Often.

+ + + +

Another thing I learned during those first few months: That a man's mind can be as fickle as a woman's. And when a man is unshackled from the morals and strictures of polite society, his first instinct is to experiment with his freedom. And I learned that my husband and new owner could be a very creative experimenter indeed.

One Friday, about two months in, I received a call from him suggesting that I make a dinner that could be eaten cold and later in the evening. He would be home a couple hours early, and he told me to wear a very specific outfit to welcome him at the door. Friday and Saturday were the days that I anticipated and dreaded the most. While he could force me to do anything during the week, there was a limit to how late we could both stay awake. We did, after all, still have jobs to do during the day. On Friday night or Saturday night, though, there were no such restrictions. He could use and abuse me for hours on end, drawing out his perverted schemes until I was quivering and exhausted. And he could resume his playtime in the morning with no deadlines or time constraints. I often spent most of my Sundays staggeringly sore between the legs, and incredibly tired.

Since it was already afternoon, I rushed to tidy up the house. I was keeping it pretty immaculate already, per his orders, but there's always something that needs to be cleaned. Fortunately, I'd finished all my career-related assignments that morning. 

With time ticking away, I rushed upstairs to shower and dress. I paid particular attention in my shower to my pussy and anus, washing both thoroughly and finishing with a sweet smelling body spray. Then I lay on the bed and trimmed my pussy patch while shaving the rest of my cunt and ass completely clean. Every Friday, my owner instructs me on how he wants my pussy patch to be shaved. This time he wanted it all gone except for a round, thumb-sized patch of very short hair just above my slit. Not long ago, I'd bought a professional trimmer kit and razors so I could achieve exactly what he wanted. Considering that I rarely got spanked for missing an area anymore, it was worth the money. 

After a light dusting of makeup and body powder, it was time to get dressed. His orders for today were to wear a leather chained bra and chained g-string, the chains nothing more than decoration, allowing the fullness of my tits to protrude from the studded leather straps around my breasts. The bra was held up in the front by a leather collar around my neck, and tied in the back with two thin leather straps. The collar around my neck had four rings stitched into it: in the front, back, and both sides. 

The g-string was of similarly revealing construction, with the chains in the front doing nothing to conceal my newly shaved slit, and my ass cheeks completely revealed in the rear. Per his instructions, I also wore a pair of black high heels, the spikes so high that I had to concentrate on walking. Once everything was cinched and tightened, I looked like a slave right out of the Viking days. 

I slowly descended the stairs and took my position just inside the door. In his phone call he'd instructed me to greet him in the "Stand for Inspection" position, in which I stand with my legs spread a little more than shoulder width apart, and then lock my hands behind my head. With heels on, it pushes my tits out and pulls my ass in. There's no way to mistake it for anything but a submissive position. 

In the bustle of getting ready, I'd been too busy to speculate on what he had in mind this time. But now, my mind had a chance to wander. The outfit might be a clue and it might not. In the past two months, he'd sometimes have me elaborately dressed only to quickly strip me naked and use me as his cum dump. Then there were times when I'd greet him totally naked and he'd spend hours ritualistically teasing and using my body. 

I truly didn't know what to expect. I'd learned a few things along the way. To never forget to call him Sir, even if we weren't in our dominant and submissive sexual roles. To always be ready to offer my cunt, ass or mouth to him. And to remember the rituals. This was perhaps the biggest revelation to me. I'd never known how important doing things a certain way was to my husband. But I found that he bordered on the obsessive-compulsive. And he'd created over a dozen rituals for me to remember and perform. For instance, there was the obeisance ritual. I had to kneel, naked, bent over onto my forearms, and kiss my way up his body, starting at his feet. Always starting from the left and moving to the right. First the top of his left foot, then the top of his right. Left ankle, right ankle. Left knee, right knee. All the way up until I got to his cock and balls. Kiss the left ball, then the right one. And then lick every inch of his cock, always starting at the bottom and running my tongue up to the top. 

Missing a single step in a ritual was cause for punishment. He might simply spank me for my transgression with ten swats with a ping-pong paddle across the globes of my ass. Or he might get creative, strapping me down to the kitchen table and dripping hot candle wax onto my breasts and nipples. 

I also hadn't known how creative he could be in finding new ways to abuse and humiliate me. Some, I'm sure, he picked up from the internet. There were plenty of sites that showed how women in my situation should be treated. Some other ideas he got from our neighbor, Jeremy, who was keeping his own wife as a slut slave. But a lot of them he made up on his own. Maybe they were fantasies he'd always wanted to try. That thought made me shiver. Or maybe he just spent a lot of time thinking about my body and what he could do to it. That thought got me hot. 

However he came up with his ideas, he always managed to find a way to humiliate me along with turning me on. Yes, every time, even standing in the house clad as I was, I felt at least a little humiliated. Who wouldn't? Especially if you're forced to do things that normal people would think of as dirty, disgusting, unacceptable behavior. Who wouldn't be humiliated by being forced to go to the garden in the backyard, find a suitable zucchini, and then lay down in the grass and fuck herself with it? In broad daylight. When your neighbors are lunching on their deck. They had both watched openly as I had masturbated with a vegetable, and as my owner had filmed the whole embarrassing episode, loudly encouraging me to drive it in deeper and to open my cunt to vegetarianism. So forgive me if I confess to a little trepidation while I waited for him to appear. 

I heard the garage door open, then begin to shut, and I steeled myself for whatever was going to come next. That's always the hardest part, the waiting and wondering. That's the point where I often ask myself "What the fuck are you doing?" and "Why are you putting yourself through this?" Strange how I never question my decision to be a fuck slut when we're in the middle of some perverted act. And never afterward, either. Only when I'm faced with a new one. In all this time, I've never acted on that urge.

"Nice," was his only comment when he entered the house. That, and his hand reaching out to tweak my bare nipple, squeezing and twisting it before letting it drop. "Stay!" he called over his shoulder as he left the mud room, leaving me alone to face the door in that humiliating position. 

He was gone a good five minutes, and when he returned my arms and back were sore and I was beginning to totter on the heels. In his hand he held a leash, a chrome chain with a clip on one end and a leather handle on the other. I both loved and hated that leash. Hated it, because it meant that I was going to be treated as his pet, an animal to be trained, petted and punished. Loved it, because he liked to run the links up and down my pussy slit, each cool link bumping against my clit as it traveled back and forth, back and forth, made slippery with the juices running out of my cunt. 

"Come!" he ordered, clipping the leash to my collar. I knew he didn't mean that I should follow him on my own two feet, like a person would. I did as a pet would, dropping onto my hands and knees and following as he led me into the kitchen. 

"It occurred to me today," he began, taking a seat at the table, "that we've been far too busy with work and our entertainments, and we've really neglected the yard. Since it's warm today, I thought we should try and get the yard cleaned up. I don't want to leave it all for a day when it's much colder out."

I thought I knew where he was going with this. I would have to go out, dressed as I was, and do some gardening. While he would take humiliating pictures of me. Kneeling on the floor in front of him, I could see up the leg of his shorts. He wasn't wearing any underwear, and his cock was thick and hard. Nude gardening. That had to be it.

"I read something last night," he continued conversationally, as if he didn't have a nearly nude woman kneeling before him, her breasts just inches from his knees. "About how some cities aren't using chemicals to control the weeds. Gets in the runoff. So they're renting goats and cows from farmers, and letting them graze the grass and weeds all the way down. That made me think about the Sledge's, with those animals they keep down the road. Maybe it would be fun to try it out, have them bring over a goat or two and let them have at it."

He reached over and patted my head, like you would do to a dog that you'd just noticed. "But then I thought, what goes in a goat must come out, and I didn't want to deal with that kind of fertilizer. Then I realized that I didn't need to use someone else's cow. I had my own."

With a painful jerk of the chain he pulled me out of my crouch, then leaned down to bridge the gap. "You don't mind being a cow for me, do you?" he asked ominously, steel suddenly in his voice. 

A cow? A cow? My mind scrabbled for the meaning but couldn't find it. I felt as though someone had stolen all my memories of that particular thing. What was this cow of which he spoke?

"You'll need some practice, of course," he continued, leaning back but keeping the leash taut. "if you're going to be my cow, you need to be the best cow you can be." He picked up a crop from the top of the table. It was one of our many online purchases of discipline tools. This one was just flexible enough not to leave harsh marks on my skin, but pliable enough to sting like hell with only the slightest slap. The sound of it whistling through the air always makes me cringe. 

"Take off that top." I quickly disconnected the straps from the collar, leaving it in place around my neck while letting the halter drop to the floor. "These... these are your udders," he instructed, flicking each of my breasts with the crop for emphasis. "What are they?"

"They're my udders, Sir," I responded obediently. The word tasted dirty and disgusting on my lips. My breasts, which were so admired and lusted after by so many men, had in seconds been reduced to sacks of milk dangling under my body. 

"And these," he flicked my nipples, "these are your teats. Udders. Teats. Repeat it."

"They're my teats, Sir. And my udders, Sir. My udders and my teats, Sir." I felt ashamed, of what he was doing and of how I was letting him. But he wasn't done. 

"Take off your bottom. Hands and knees," he commanded. I quickly pulled the leather straps off and kicked it away, then took up position on my hands and knees on the cold, hard kitchen floor, dressed only in a collar and high heels. "This, this is your rump," he chortled, slapping my ass with the crop so hard it made me squeal. "And your name, until I say otherwise, is Betsie. So, Betsie, let's review, shall we?"

"Udders," I answered when he flicked my breast, the taste of the word no better for repetition. "Teats. Rump." To those he added hooves for my hands, and cud for my tongue, which he found a way to slap with his crop. 

"Just one thing to go, Betsie, before we get to work," he added, using the crop to push my udders this way and that. ""Let's hear you moo." 

He said it with all the emotion of someone asking for a cup of coffee, "Let me have two creams with that. And by the way, let's hear you moo."

But though I shuddered in disgust, I wasn't fooled. That crop could be used for more than pointing out my udders, teats and rump. It could be used in such a way that I'd end up begging to moo, and begging to moo for the next day and a half. 

"Mooooo." I knew right away that it wasn't good. The biting sting of the crop across my tit confirmed it.

"You can do better than that!" he sneered. "You're a cow now. You have the udders, the teats and the rump to prove it. So let's hear you moo and really mean it. Or I will tan your hide."

He wasn't making a joke. "Moooooooo-oooooooooo," I sounded, letting the call start in my chest and force its way out my mouth. "Moooooooo-ooooooooo."

We kept at it for a couple of minutes, he coaching me and me trying my best to sound like the real animal. If someone had stopped by and looked in the window, I suppose it would've looked pretty hilarious. Me, on hands and knees on the kitchen floor, a collar around my neck and a chain attached to that, completely nude except for the heels on my feet. Kneeling there, with udders dangling down, teats stiff from excitement, my rump high in the air, mooing like a cow in heat. The weird thing was, the more I mooed, the more I started to feel like nothing more than a lowly cow. Pun intended. 

"Alright, then, I guess that's as good as you're going to get without much practice. On to phase two." He led me across the floor, out the door and onto the deck. I immediately noticed the post in the middle of the yard with the chain attached to it. And next to the post sat a bucket and some weeding tools. 

"Obviously, you won't be grazing on the weeds like a real cow does. Unless you have some hidden skill I don't know about." He looked at me as if to ask, but then shook his head. "So, you'll need to use the tools to get the weeds out. You'll start in one spot, then go clockwise until you reach the beginning again. Make sure you do a good job, or you'll do it again, with me standing over you to guide you." I didn't need to see the crop move to know what he meant. 

"Oh, I almost forgot... Betsie, open your mouth," he ordered. I did as he said and he pushed a five-inch realistic dildo into my mouth. Attached to the end were a couple dozen strands of leather straps. He'd flogged me with this very thing a couple of times before. Flogging doesn't really hurt as much when its happening like the crop does. But it stings a lot more later. "Nod when you think you have it good and slippery," he added.

So that's how it was going to be. And it was. As soon as I nodded, he took it from my mouth and shoved it into my cunt. The thick latex felt wonderful against my pussy walls. "Now you're a proper cow, Betsie. With a tail to match." 

Crawling on hands and knees down wooden stairs while wearing heels is no easy task. But after a couple of scraped shins, he had me hooked up to the chain and ready to go.

"Now, don't forget that you're a cow," he lectured. "So I don't want to see you sitting on your rump and digging out those weeds. You'll stay on your hands and knees, or kneeling back on your heels. But I want to see those udders dangling and swaying as much as possible. And if I don't hear you mooing every so often, I'm going to give you something to squeal about."

With that, he left to take a seat on the deck, beer in hand to watch the show. I grabbed the bucket and crawled over to the first dandelion. But even that simple task wasn't done to his liking. He wanted me to crawl so that I was sideways to the deck, so he could see my udders better. And I was to moo loudly every time I successfully pulled up a weed. 

I had done a quarter of the circle when he came out with something to drink. A bowl of water, which I was forced to lap up like an animal. I tried not to look around while I was doing that, but it was too hard. This was the first time I was outside nude, in daylight, for an extended period of time. People walking down the street in front of the house would be able to see me between the houses. Our neighbors would be able to see me right from their kitchen window. Anyone prowling about in the woods would have a great view of me. And, with the trees starting to thin with the approaching fall weather, anyone on the road that borders our house would be able to see me. A nude woman, on her hands and knees, her big tits dangling down, a fake tail coming out of her ass, a collar around her neck and incongruous high heels on her feet, chained to a post and drinking water like an animal from a trough. I was ashamed. And I was horny.

I can't explain it, except to say that the fantasies that always get me off the fastest are the ones where I'm forced to be naked in public. Where men see my wet snatch and jack themselves off at the sight. Where a glimpse of my cleavage and tits gets a man hard and desperate. Sometimes, in my fantasies, that man has his wife with him. And while she is outraged by my slutty nudity, he's turned on despite himself. He makes her suck his rigid cock while he examines my voluptuous nude body. 

But those are fantasies, and this was reality. Even as I contemplated being caught in this situation, I didn't think about calling an end to it. Doing this made him happy. And it kinda turned me on, too.

"Got yourself a cow too, I see," a voice boomed across the lawn, shaking me out of my reverie. I looked up and flushed red all over. It was Jeremy, standing not 20 feet away, calling out to my owner. I tried to keep my eyes down so he wouldn't see how humiliated I felt. I don't know why I didn't realize at the time that was the whole point. My owner walked over and they started discussing something in low tones. "Here, I'll show you," I heard Jeremy say. Then they started walking over to their shed. "Keep working!" my owner yelled over his shoulder at me. "I want to be able to hear you inside the shed!"

I continued to work my way around the circle. We'd let the dandelions get a foothold over the summer and now they'd spread everywhere. Dig, dig, moo. Dig, dig, moo. Over and over I repeated it, my legs and ankles aching from the awkward crouching, my arms and shoulders sore and trembling. Dig, dig, moo. I worked steadily, aware that anyone looking out from the shed would now see my naked ass swaying as I worked, the dildo deep inside me, though every so often I would have to reach back and push it back in. I was tempted to use it to masturbate a little, but what if I got caught? The consequences might be too severe. Just a few more weeds and I'd be able to enjoy the second bowl of water that my owner left for me. Embarrassment be damned, it would taste too good. 




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 04



It was during that water break that I first heard it. "Moooooo-ooooooo. Mooooooooo." It repeated a few more times. I sat on my haunches and listened carefully. It sounded human. It sounded muffled. It sounded like it was coming from the shed. Over and over it echoed from the shed. Sometimes three short ones in a row. Sometimes one long one, almost sounding anguished. 

Finally the shed door opened and the two men came out, smiling and laughing. Behind them, on all fours, Jeremy's wife shuffled out. She was as naked as I was, with a collar on her neck but no leash. Her face was flushed and her long hair was plastered to her neck and shoulders, almost as if she'd been doused with a bucket of water. Even though she moved slowly, her breasts swung and swayed below her. Her tits are technically the same size as mine, though they sag more. Now they looked like half empty sacks hanging off an aging cow. As she turned to follow the men's meandering path, I saw that she had something shoved in her ass. A buttplug. No wonder she was going so slow. 

When she turned back again, our eyes met. Then she did something completely unexpected. She mouthed something at me, and then smiled evilly. It looked just like "You're next."

Jeremy and my owner shook hands and I quickly got back to work, only looking up when he stood directly in front of me. "The rest is gonna have to wait for another time," he announced, speaking above my head. "There's something I want to try. And you're gonna want to see it too." I thought about mooing in the tone of a question, but quickly decided against it. Whatever was in that shed could take a serious toll on a person. Jeremy's wife was proof of that. 

He detached the chain and reattached the leash, then led me, still crawling on my hands and knees, to the entrance of the shed. Inside, the wooden floor was covered in straw, dirt and dust. And in the middle of the room was a framework of iron pipes and hoses, the purpose of which I was completely unable to fathom. 

"Kiss my feet, Betsie," he ordered, and I immediately dropped down on my forearms to put my lips within reach. He was wearing sandals, but I found enough bare skin to touch with my lips, kissing his feet firmly and loudly, as he'd trained me to do. It was one of his rituals, and I'd learned the hard way that the difference between a hard training lesson and a bearable one could be in the way I completed a ritual. Besides, it seemed to make him so happy. And I wanted to make him happy.

"Well, you're an OK cow. Or hucow, as others have named your kind," he said as I worshipped at his feet. "You have good udders, fine teats and a delicious looking rump. You're mooing is starting to sound realistic, and when you're drinking water from your trough, you're not spilling too much. So there's only one thing left to do. It's time to milk you."

Milk? Me? I was immediately confused. Even he had to know that childbearing was what released the hormones needed to produce breast milk. He ought to know. We had two kids, and he'd lived through the birth of both of them. So milking was a physical impossibility.

"Don't worry," he said in bemusement. "I haven't lost my mind. Well, not completely. You'll understand better once we have you strapped in."

And that's exactly what he did. Strap me in, I mean. With his help, I climbed inside the network of pipes and hoses and found that there was a spot for me to perch, on a slight angle, with my butt supported by a pipe at the end, and another set of pipes that went crosswise, supporting me both below and above my breasts. My wrists got strapped to another set of pipes, and my legs were kept apart and supported by yet another set of pipes. It was like being strapped in place inside a cage, but with my tits hanging out underneath. Oddly, it wasn't all that uncomfortable. 

What came next made up for that lack of discomfort. He dragged over what I immediately recognized as a milking machine. Not the small hand-powered one that a lactating mother might use to express some milk. Not the industrial size one that big farm operations use. No, this was a smaller, more portable one. One that could milk about a dozen teats at a time. One that worked just as well as those big ones. 

Why would I know so much about it? When you live out in the country, surrounded by open fields, there's always some fool who decides to raise their own food. I say fool, because until you decide to run a small farm and continue to have a full-time job, you have no idea what it's like to really work. So, having helped a neighbor or two with their mini-herd and farm chores, I've come to know quite a bit about the tools of the trade. 

I was strapped in so tightly, there was no squirming out of the way once he greased up the suck tubes and bent to attach them to my breasts, surrounding my nipples and areola. The tubes themselves were about an inch in diameter, with rounded edges to keep from slicing into the skin. They weren't as wide as the ones normally used on cows, but then my breasts are a lot firmer than a real cow's udders. 

The tubes adhered right away, held on by the strong vacuum effect. I squealed and immediately received a swat with the crop. He wanted me to moo, even when in pain. I mooed. It wasn't a steady sucking, either. A vacuum held them on, while a stronger vacuum pulsed slowly, milking each teat with an extra pull, alternating between the right and left. I closed my eyes, fighting back the humiliation. I was being milked like an animal!

It didn't take long for another kind of discomfort to take hold, wiping away any consternation I might have about my degrading position. I don't know about other women, but for me, my nipples are almost as sensitive and responsive as my clit. Under the right circumstances, when I've been stimulated between my legs, I can achieve orgasm by someone just sucking on my nipples. It's something my husband often takes advantage of; it's hard to object to a quickie when your breasts are on fire with desire. 

Now, the incessant sucking on my nipples was turning my body into a live wire. Every stroke of the engine brought me a tiny bit closer to a precipice that I feared I'd never go over. Every tug on my nipple, every space between sucks, every small amount my breast flesh was pulled into the tube, was like a torture of pleasure. An overflow of stimulation. And another step in pulling me into his control. 

I could've said no. Even at that stage, with the machine shuff, shuff, shuffing, the tubes quaking with the pressure, my breasts being milked like udders, my body firmly tied in place, the whole scene like one out of a medieval torture chamber, with me in the role of degraded prisoner, I could've said no. And he would've released me. And I would've stomped off in anger and disappointment. And he would've reasoned me into forgiving him. And our sex lives and marriage would've returned to the familiar placidity of how we'd been before the agreement. 

And that's why I didn't protest. Even then. Even now. Because I'd begun to like and want the new him. As well as the us we were becoming. With more trust. More adventure. And a lot more pleasure and exhilaration and mystery.

I don't know how long I knelt there, mooing when the need arose to express my excitement or my pain. Panting as the milking machine tortured my breasts. Wincing as he randomly slapped my rump, tits, stomach, pussy and feet with that damned crop. And being taken to new levels of bliss and ecstasy all the while. 

I'd almost forgotten where I was when he played the next card in his hand. With a flourish, he pulled a drape off what I had thought was a wall to reveal a mirror, stretching the whole length of the shed. I could now, cruelly, see exactly what I looked like. It wasn't a pleasing sight. While I didn't look exactly like a cow being milked, I looked enough like one to bring tears to my eyes. As before, though, that expression of disgust quickly gave way to pleasure as he touched a dial on the milker, increasing the rate of suction. I gasped, writhed and cried out over and over as the stimulation reverberated through me, in a sensation of pure pleasure that I'd never felt before. My hands curled involuntarily, the nails biting into my palms. I didn't even feel the pain, though, so thoroughly was the hedonistic thrill washing through me. 

I'd almost reached that point, where you either go off or go numb, when he started fiddling around with something behind me. Suddenly, I felt something, not his cock, but some hard, thick object, forced into my tight, contracted cunt. It felt weird, misshapen, unnatural. I squealed at the pleasure, turning it into a moo when I realized what was coming out of my mouth. Then, unbelievably, the object began sliding in and out of my cunt. It was fucking me! Through the haze and buzzing in my brain, I followed the path of a tube from the milking machine, along the floor, and back to where it disappeared behind my ass. Then I realized what he'd done. I was being fucked by a dildo attached to the machine. And it was pistoning in and out of me as fast as the tubes were sucking on my tits. 

He watched it work on me for a while, taking pictures and movies and generally acting like a teenager extremely pleased with his work. I was mooing, gasping and squealing almost continuously now, fucked in the cunt by a mechanical dildo and sucked on the tits by a mechanical milker. Sweat dripped from me, splattering on the floor. My body ached from the continual stimulation, craving release.

He touched the dial again and everything sped up. The timing of the suction torturing my tits. The speed of the dildo pounding my pussy. And the rasping of my breath as it roared in my ears. Finally, when I felt about to go mad with frustration, the dam broke. I screamed like a woman in a horror movie as the orgasm ripped through me, turning my insides to jelly and my cunt into a molten pool of steaming sauce. I squirted, I think, I must have, because there was suddenly water splashing all over the floor. I screamed and screamed until I was hoarse, cumming again and again and again, each new contraction of my pussy on that thing inside me causing another breaker to roll over and crash through me. 

Finally, I sagged in the saddle. And mercifully, he turned off the milking machine. My nipples and tits were distended and flaming red when he removed the tubes. They hurt to touch or even when I moved. Not a pain, but a sting, like when you stub your toe and hobble for a bit. When he removed the dildo I was amazed at its size and girth. Was it supposed to represent a bull's cock? If so, I had been well and truly fucked by it. (I found out later that it wasn't to size. Good thing. A bull's penis is almost three feet long. Ouch!)

My owner took pity on me for a couple minutes while I uncramped my joints and found the strength to move. Then, it was back onto all fours, with the leash clipped to my collar. We left the shed as we had entered it, only this time with me in front, presumably so he could watch my ass wiggle as I crawled along. We'd only gone a few feet when he tugged on the leash and ordered me to stop and stay. I sighed, wanting only to get into the house and into bed. Then something caught my eye. Our next door neighbor Jeremy was sitting on the porch, naked from the waist down. And his wife was busy humping his leg, her body bare and dripping with sweat. I understood, then. Unlike my owner, he hadn't allowed his slave to cum. And now she was being forced to bring herself off on his leg. I would've felt sorry for her, if she hadn't assumed earlier that the same would happen to me. 

"Ass up." I sank down onto my forearms, offering my ass to the man who now owned me, completely and for as long as he wanted me. Looking backwards at him, his rigid cock was an angry red, thick and potent with the threat of ripping me apart. I felt the head slide along my crack and didn't care which hole he took me in. Whatever he wanted was his to command. 

His man meat punched into my cunt and I mooed for him, now instinctively playing the part he'd given me. He fucked me like that for a while, grunting every time he slammed against me, the slapping of his flesh meeting mine echoing through the yard. "Hand and knees," he ordered harshly, pulling up on my shoulders. He continued to pound into me, and I suddenly became aware of a strange feeling, like I was being watched. 

Sure enough, Jeremy was watching me even as his wife mounted his leg like a bitch in heat. He was saying something to her, I couldn't hear what, but he was staring straight at me. And I reveled in the feeling.

I'd always fantasized about being forced to have sex in public. To be taken in front of a window while a group of strangers watched. To suck cock in the middle of a party, my tits out and ready to catch the streams of cum raining down, even as the party-goers whisper about my cock sucking skills. Fantasies, mind you. Played out in private while I rubbed my pussy.

Now, though, it was all coming true. My owner, my husband, fucking me in the yard, in broad daylight, my tits hanging out and my ass bare, while a neighbor watched with keen interest. Even better, I was stealing his attention from his wife. He wanted to watch me get fucked. I straightened my back so he could better see my tits. Thrust my ass back against his cock so the sounds where louder and wetter. And mooooooed for him, long and loud, when the cock in my pussy found a new home deep in my heaving ass.

My owner bent down then, dropping most of his weight onto me, cramming the full length and girth of his throbbing cock all the way inside my bowels, and whispered in my ear, "A bull shoots a cup of semen into a cow's cunt. How do you think it would feel to have a cup of cum sloshing around in your cunt?" Then, without waiting for an answer, as if I could answer while being ass-fucked that way, he continued, "I'm going to fill your ass with my cum, right now, right in front of the neighbors. Does that turn you on?"

It did. Not that it mattered, because I was already turned on. And in just moments he was grunting about cumming and I was taking his cumshot inside my ass, and then turning around and licking the remaining cum off his thick, nasty cock, gobbling it up and slurping it down, licking his shaft and balls and legs and ass, cleaning him like a feline cleans its litter. 

I don't remember crawling back into the house. I barely remember taking a shower. I do remember him rubbing some salve on my tits, given to him by the saintly Dr. Ko. I remember sliding between the sheets. 

Then I heard the alarm. It was dark out. The clock read 10:00. I slid out of bed, still sore and tired, and slipped on the half robe he'd left on the clothing chair for me. I left it untied. If he wanted it another way, he'd tell me to do it that way.

I found him sitting in the living room, watching videos he'd taken of that day's adventures. I briefly stood in the doorway, watching myself mooing like a cow as I pulled weeds, my body brazenly naked, my udders swaying. Then I crossed to the couch, lay down with my head in his lap, pulled out his semi-erect cock and started softly sucking him. He hadn't showered, and tasted of sweat and cum and manliness. I groaned with pleasure.

We stayed like that for awhile, my mouth tenderly wrapped around his fuck stick, while he watched me being degraded on screen, and absently stroked and fingered my exposed breasts.

I came up for air, turning my head in his lap until I was facing him, his cock nestled against my ear and hair. "Why a cow?" I asked, glancing back and forth from his face to the screen on which I was now being mechanically milked, my moans and moo's desperate in the background.

I could see him turning over possible answers in his mind. "Because you needed it. Because you wanted to really be pushed. Because I wanted to. And because you couldn't say no."

It wasn't the answer I'd been looking for. It didn't explain why the humiliation made the pleasure more sweeter. Or why the public degradation thrilled me so. 

I turned and went back to work on his sacred cock, hoping that this time I would be able to revel in his hot, silky cum, let it drip off my face and onto my tits, and be allowed to swirl it around in my mouth before swallowing it, his semen coating my throat all the way down. 

He jerked on my hair. "Get up here and ride me, you filthy, nasty, cow cunt, ass-licking, whore of a twat, cock-sucking slut," he ordered, pushing back the robe and baring my breasts. I did as I was told, quickly and gratefully, and prepared to be fucked again by my husband who was now my owner, and who could do whatever he wanted with me. And to me. As long as we both shall live.

To be continued...



My Slut Wife Life Ch. 05



Chapter 5

"Recorded for Posterity" 

Picture this: You see a woman, of medium build, laying along the length of a sofa. Her brunette hair comes down just past her shoulders, though because her head is propped up on the armrest, some of it flows down the side of the sofa. One leg rests high along the top of the back, the other is stretched wide in the other direction. 

You can tell she's a large-breasted woman because her breasts are completely exposed. In fact, her whole body is naked. Her big tits lean a little to each side, not because they're old or saggy, but because they're natural, not implants, and that's how natural breasts react to gravity. As your gaze travels down her flat stomach, you encounter a thin strip of hair, her pussy patch precisely trimmed to a line no more than a half-inch in width. It points directly to her slit, like the demarcation between left and right, east and west, right and wrong. Right now that slit is closed, despite the fact that her legs are spread so far apart. The skin around her mound is hairless, soft, and supple.

Two pairs of eyes gaze upon her. The first set has seen this all before, yet those eyes still hold a spark of interest and electricity. He has seen her like this before, but at the same time is seeing her like this for the first time. The second set of eyes has a hungry, predatory look to them. He, too, has seen a woman in this position many times, but not this woman. This woman is something new to him, and as such is something to savored, to be drunk in large gulps as well as small sips, a treat to his palate.

There are innumerable other eyes, too, the woman realizes. For the second man carries a camera, and who can know what eyes will be exposed to her dreadful exposure. He is contracted to keep a lock on the photographs, to destroy any duplicates. But can you honestly trust the word of a man who does this for a living? It was not, and is not, her decision to make, so she discards the thought to reflect on other, more pressing concerns. 

She struggles to keep her right leg still as the camera records her naked body. It is not concerned with the beauty of her eyes, or the silkiness of her hair, or even her well-toned legs. Rather, it focuses on her most blatant sexual characteristics. Her breasts, awaiting the rough touch of a man in lust. Her slit, wet, warm and ready to receive any appendage a man might deign to offer her. Her mouth, prepared to stimulate and milk the next penetration of manhood, lips tight, tongue twisting, throat tightening. Is that to happen this day? She has no way of knowing.

The examination by camera becomes more deliberate, more intimate. On orders from one she reaches down and spreads her pussy lips apart, while the other records the steamy pink canyon that's been exposed. She holds not the folds of her pussy, where her fingers might obscure a view of her intimate interior, but rather the base on each side of her mound, opening her hole from the bottom. At another order she shifts her fingers so she can flick her fingernail against her clit, urging it to engorge, though that's hardly necessary. It's already hard and trembling, a fact that is revealed with the next order, which forces her to pull back the hood of skin over her clit so the camera can capture even that raw nugget of flesh.

She's long past the point where she cares what facial expressions the camera might capture. She moans and closes her eyes whenever she's stimulated, grimaces when the demands strike her as to perverse, flashes anger when a comment from her tormentors cuts to the quick. It's better, she thinks, than those vacuous women staring up with vacant eyes in all those pictures on the web. Reality has emotions.

She watches as one stands above her, a bottle of baby oil in his hands. He tips it and she follows the stream down, closing her eyes only at the last moment, when the viscous liquid splashes against her waiting tits, oozing down the mounds and pooling in the middle of her chest. For a moment she fantasizes that its syrup, then whipped cream, then cum. She returns to reality when a pair of hands begin smoothing the oil around and across her breasts, tugging and twisting and kneading and swirling. The friction warms the oil which in turn warms her flesh, and she imagines for a moment that her tits might spring into flame. Then the rubbing concentrates on the nipples -- always the nipples -- and the warmth stabs like lightning through her body and into her pussy.

A whispered conversation to which she is not invited. And then the order comes to pull her legs straight back, exposing both her ass and her pussy. A finger rubs the rim, the camera catching all. Then penetration, not painful, not unexpected. She'd been fucked, anally, that very morning, her bowels liberally coated with a sheen of fresh sperm. Her muscles had regained much of their usual tightness, but not all, and the elasticity allowed the finger to easily violate her asshole. It moved in, moved out, moved in, moved out, then another finger joined it, stretching her even more, but nowhere near the limit she could go. Not even as much as she'd reached in the morning, with a hard cock pounding into her butt. 

Despite the recent stimulation, she still writhed and squirmed atop the fingers, her body willing them to go deeper, deeper, with more force and greater malevolence. Was there no depravity that she would resist?

Another whispered conversation and she was upright on the sofa, her legs spread, her pussy exposed, her ass hanging almost off the front of the cushions. More oil dripped onto her pussy lips. Then his hand, also slick with oil, penetrates her pussy lips, presses into her cunt hole. One finger, then two, three, four, the thumb folds into the palm. A slight twist which elicits a sharp grunt from her, and with an audible "thwock" his fist is deeply ensconced inside her pussy. She can feel his fingers wiggling around inside her. He slowly pulls his hand outwards, stretching her cunt hole in a way that's uncomfortable yet extremely erotic. She's fascinated by the image before her, the skin bulging out, clinging to his fist, like the way the earth's crust bulges just before an eruption.

Then, just as deliberately, he pushes his fist fully inside her cunt, the hair on his wrists scraping against her sensitive skin. She can feel his knuckles reach the back wall of her void. Knowing that he has invaded her so completely fills her with lust and shame. It's one of those moments when she is truly nothing more than his fuck toy; when he's doing nothing more than reacting to his sick and twisted urges. In response, she pushes away the hurt and humiliation, and lets his carnal appetite overwhelm her, drinking in his perversions and trying to enjoy it as her own. She gives in to her most base desires. She is the fully and completely the sex toy that he wants her to be. 

His fist is in her for mere minutes, though it seems like hours. He has palpated her from the inside. He found her g-spot and made her writhe upon his hand like an insect stuck on the end of a needle. She moans with every movement within her, and he revels in his ability to get such a reaction from her. 

She holds her legs up with one arm. With the other she clutches the back of the sofa. She feels denim brush against her hand there. Again. And again. The photographer is rubbing his crotch against her hand, without a break in the filming of her depraved fisting. She stretches her fingers out and feels the erection within. It's wrong to touch another man's cock this way, but she finds momentary delight in the illicit feeling. Besides, in four weeks she'll be entertaining this cock in her mouth and who knows where else. It's a small move from a blow job to a tit fuck. And who knew what kind of service this man would do for the privilege of fucking her cunt?

Then, with a swiftness that's almost shocking, he withdraws the hand, leaving her gasping at the sudden void. Her bladder is suddenly ready to give way; it's only with supreme effort that she keeps from letting out a stream of warm piss. It occurs to her that they would love to see her do just that.

The camera swoops in, the auto-focus light bathing her crotch in red light. Though the clicking sound is turned off, she knows that the photographer is taking dozens, if not hundreds of shots of her freshly fisted cunt. How big must the gape be of a woman just fist fucked? She can't see for herself, the angle is wrong, though she can sort of see her image reflected in the camera lens, weirdly distorted and horribly disfigured. She can only hope she doesn't look that bad.

Her husband, her owner, her keeper, looks down at her with a graphic leer. She has never felt so completely debased in his presence, though she knows from her travels on the internet that there are many levels below this that a woman can be forced into. Her emotions are at war, with one part mortified at how she's being photographed and recorded, yet another part experiencing a keen-edged thrill at being so out of control of her actions. She can do no wrong because she has no control. 

At a two-word order she holds her legs tight to her chest, exposing her ass in the process. With an erection so stiff it appears to be steel, her owner steps up and sinks his shaft into her waiting anus. Well-lubricated from the spillover from the fisting, there's only a moment's resistance before the head of his cock crowns through her anal ring. He fucks her, slow and steady, pressing her hard into the sofa cushions, seemingly without a care for her physical comfort. After several minutes of this constant rhythm, he suddenly withdraws, his throbbing cock slick with oil and her internal juices. She's sure he will climb up on the cushions and make her lick them off. It seems like another good way to humiliate her and in the past she has been adamant about not engaging in ass-to-mouth. His face shows a knowing smile, as if he's guessed her thoughts and is weighing the benefits of forcing her to do the very thing she has been so against. Instead, he turns back and enters her slack pussy.

She knows she hasn't regained the tightness that normally welcomes him. She can barely feel his dick in her at all. He solves this by pushing her onto her side and fucking the hole that's now pinched between her legs. This, this is a position she's never experienced. The feel of it is wholly different, despite the looseness of her cunt walls. The pushing and tugging during every stroke is sheer bliss. It needs only one thing to make it perfect. Slowly, carefully, she presses her hand between her legs, finding her clit and gently rubbing it, feeling like a thief stealing some pleasure for herself. 

She's forgets about the camera. Forgets about the cameraman. Forgets about everything except the tantalizing sensations between her legs. He fucks her passionately. She rubs herself just as passionately, slowing down and speeding up in time to his rhythms. 

When she cums, it's a burning nova exploding between her legs. A fireball that causes her to squeeze her legs even tighter, even as she screams her pleasure to the world. Moments later, he ceases thrusting and stiffens, his cock pumping burst after burst of cum into her wet crevice. How long had it been since they'd both cum together? Forever, or years at least. He hadn't been deep inside her upon shooting his load and she knew right away that some of his cum would leak out, would dribble out the crack and drip down her ass. He'd given her a cream pie, as the porn sites so graphically called it. A cumshot in her pussy. His cock emerges, leaving a wet trail along her thighs. He bends down and kisses her tenderly on the lips. At that moment she regrets that he came in her cunt. She wants to show her unyielding devotion to him, her thanks for his tenderness, by receiving his hot sperm upon her face and in her mouth. So he could gaze down at her and know that he hadn't just made her do something -- she'd also given something to him.

She's so sated by the explosive orgasm that she doesn't resist at all when she feels a hand upon her knee urging her to sit up and spread her legs apart again. It's the first time the photographer has touched her with purpose. He takes the camera away from his face to look into her eyes, and understanding passes between them. From this day forward, he will be in charge of her in a way that neither she nor her owner anticipated. 

The camera captures the cum leaking out of her pussy. The sperm dribbled across her thighs. The oily dampness in her crack. She moves as ordered onto her hands and knees, so he can record her cream pie from the rear. Her tits dangle down, now forgotten. She feels a hand rubbing her ass and knows it belongs to the photographer. She looks over to her owner to find that he's not upset by the forbidden grope. She knows then that this is only just the beginning.

* * * * Two Weeks Earlier * * * * *

So, you might think that after that "cow" thing, that my life must be an unbearable hell of cruelty and humiliation. But that's not the case at all. As I said in the last chapter, people and animals that have no limits often create limits for themselves. My owner, having determined that he could do almost anything to me, including milking my tits like a cow, must've decided that was far enough. Maybe his conscience started to bother him. At least, that's what I surmise. We haven't actually discussed it. All I can say is that kind of combination hasn't happened again. 

That's not to say that he doesn't continuously push me into uncomfortable situations, either to test my obedience or for his own perverted pleasure. The things I've been made to do... well, you're going to learn all about them in later chapters. Suffice it to say that it's not the kind of thing being discussed at suburban dinner parties on Saturday night. (Or maybe it is, and we just led very sheltered lives. Who knows?)

As my initial "training" continued, he came up with plenty of little surprises to keep me on my toes, and on my back. As I said before, any hope of wearing normal clothes was almost gone. Nearly every day he had me scantily-clad and ready for groping. The only time I could wear normal clothes was when I was on a Skype call with my clients, or during those infrequent trips to town when he couldn't find a way to put me in a potentially embarrassing clothing situation. 

For instance, I thought that going to church would put our new lifestyle on hold. Nope. Under my prim and proper clothing, I was almost always sans panties. A couple of times, he had me wear a pair of garters and attached a metal washer to them with a string. Every time I moved, the washer would swing up against my pussy lips, reminding me it was there. When you're being distracted like that, it's hard to concentrate on the service, or even on what people are saying. People must've thought I was on drugs, or drinking or something. 

A trip to the hardware store (we do that a lot around here) also became an adventure. Small-breasted women can go without a bra and not have to worry about much, especially if their top is of a heavier material, or their nipples aren't too pronounced. For big breasted women, it's much more obvious when you're not wearing a bra. I get lots of hateful stares from the other women shopping there. On the plus side, the salesmen swarm around, eager to help out. And since my nipples harden at the smallest whiff of a breeze, it always looked to them like I was ready to jump on the next cock to come around. 

My owner loved the attention I got in those situations. He knew it made me feel uncomfortable, but also knew that it got me wet, once the initial shock of being the center of that kind of attention wore off. Besides, what was I to do when he said I could choose any two articles of clothing to wear to the store? If I picked the bra, I wouldn't have the top to go over it. And if I picked the panty, I wouldn't have the jeans to go over it. So, for the most part, trips to the store were done without bra or panties. Fortunately, it was starting to get cooler in our neck of the woods, which meant that I could dress a little more heavily, such as in a sweatshirt or sweater. Though sometimes I ended up in a zip-up fleece jacket, and then he could control the amount of cleavage that I showed. And back in the car, he could make me unzip it all the way, giving him free and clear access to my boobs and nipples during the drive home.

At home, though, there were no limits to the depraved ways he could dress and undress me. It didn't take long for him to decide that my closet of lingerie was seriously lacking, and we spent the good part of two weeks going on an online buying binge. He'd always liked the way women looked in a bodystocking, especially the crotchless kind, so we ordered a great number of them. Full body ones, sleeveless ones, topless ones, wide netting, narrow netting, string netting... the list is endless. I can literally wear a different style of bodystocking for three straight months without repeat. 

And that was only the beginning. Think of every manner of lingerie and slutty dresses that you can use to partially cover or uncover the female body, and I have a few samples in my closet. While he likes the bodystockings, my favorites are the leather harnesses. They're a bitch to get into, with all those straps and rings and openings, but once I have one on I feel like an Amazon princess. They hide nothing, of course. My tits are right out there for anyone to see, and the leather strips between my legs only accentuate the mound of my pussy. But when I'm wearing one of those and a pair of thigh high boots, I feel like I could be a dominatrix, ready to order around my submissive mate. 

Ha. Like that would happen. Usually when he dresses me in the harness, it's so HE can use a leather crop to administer some "behavioral modification" to any exposed part of my flesh... which is all of it. The harness is also a good way to snag me and pull my body into a better position, usually so he can fuck me harder, deeper or more easily. Still, I like wearing one.

There were lots of times, though, where pure, unadulterated female nakedness was all that he wanted to see. Every day for a full week he ordered me to wait for him to return from work by kneeling on our bed, completely naked, on all fours in the ass up position, my butt and pussy pointing at the door. He ordered me to prepare my anus by oiling it up, and prepare my pussy by masturbating until it was hot and juicy. On each of those days, he approached me from behind and, without a word, mounted me like a dog and raped my ass or pussy. 

One of those times, after savagely fucking my ass and cruelly spanking my ass cheeks, he pulled out and spewed his sperm up and down my ass crack. Then he ordered me to put on a pair of panties without cleaning myself up. I spent the rest of the night struggling to contain his semen within the thin fabric, not wanting to let it stain or ruin any of our furniture. By the time we settled down to bed, the panties were soaked and showed no signs of starting to dry. Want to spend an uncomfortable night? Try to sleep with a pair of wet, cum-soaked panties binding up between your legs. 

Remember in an earlier chapter when I said that it seemed he didn't have a plan? Well, maybe he did it consciously, or maybe it happened by accident, but all these little indignities began to desensitize me to the incremental steps we were taking. When you're walking around the house bottomless with a buttplug shoved inside you, it doesn't seem so bad to go to the hardware store without any panties. When you're forced to greet your husband with an oiled up ass pointing in his face, you feel a lot less uncomfortable when he reaches under your dress in the church parking lot and strokes your bare pussy. And when he's already fucked you outside while the neighbors are watching, it's a lot less embarrassing when he pushes you to your knees in the forest and makes you suck his cock, and then makes you wear the facial that's dripping off your chin during the long walk home. (And then eats out your naked cunt while you're stripped and spread-eagle across the hood of the car, with the garage door open, revealing everything that's going on to whomever might be walking down the road, such as the new neighbors from down the street who pretend not to be watching but surely notice a bare woman's body heaving and groaning while a man has his face placed firmly between her twitching legs.)




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 05



The point is, in a little more than eight weeks, I'd gone from the typical suburban wife to a woman who would drop and suck her husband's cock at no more than a nod from him, baring my body no matter who might be watching, and generally acting like a rutting animal with no more on its mind than satisfying the insatiable urge to scratch its primeval need to procreate. 

It was about this time that my owner decided he wanted to do a better job of recording our intimate actions for posterity. 

Since the very beginning of our new lifestyle, my owner was very interested in photographing my body in a variety of semi-nude and nude positions. As the weeks progressed, I graduated from posing with lingerie to revealing more and more of my most intimate body parts. He finished up that series with a 50 photo expose on the inside of my dripping pussy, with special emphasis on my erect clit. He followed that up with another series on my gaping asshole, wet and quaking from a raunchy anal fuck. And he was always keen to take pictures of his cum decorating his slut wife: a creampie dripping slowly from my cunt, an anal creampie bubbling from my ass, a facial that coated my forehead to my chin, a load moisturizing my tits, his jizz warming my feet, and the classic load in the mouth. 

From there, he moved on to recording himself as he fucked, used and abused my body. Sometimes he would hold the camera himself, other times he would put it on a tripod, so he could keep his attention on his own pleasure and bending me to his will. It was clear, though, that after a week of experimentation, he wasn't getting the results he wanted. He wanted it to look more like a porn shoot, with multiple angles and closeups when the situation called for it. What he got was a clearly homemade effort, with a shaky camera and crappy sound. You could barely tell who I was, and could barely tell how big his dick was. Clearly not acceptable to someone who wanted to expose his wife and show the world how dominant he was.

One Friday night, that changed for good. That's when our lifestyle started down that slippery slope to another level of depravity. That night, he had me wear an open bust black one-piece bodystocking to greet my owner at the door. Crotchless, too, of course. 

I met him at the door and he immediately put aside his briefcase and computer bag, then pulled me into the kitchen, where he dropped the seat cushion from one of the chairs onto the floor, then nodded at it, while he sat down in the chair. I knew exactly what to do without a word from him. Pushing the cushion between his outstretched legs, I dropped down onto my knees, undid his pants, and pulled his sacred cock out. 

I had just begun to suck his inflating snake into my mouth when I noticed movement in the doorway we'd just come through. There was someone there! Someone there watching us! I started to pull my head back so I could warn my husband, but he forced my head back onto his cock with a not-so-gentle shove. I looked up at him, with the warning hopefully in my eyes, only to find him gazing down at me in bemusement. He knew there was someone inside the house and watching! And he didn't care.

It was simple but misguided instinct to try and cover my exposed breasts and pussy. But it soon became clear to me that one arm wasn't going to cover my big tits, and covering my pussy didn't matter as long as I was kneeling on the floor and sucking a big thick dick. So I turned my attention to the why and how of it.

He knew there was someone there. The only way into the house was through the garage. So he either invited the person in, or they'd wandered in on their own. Who would wander in? A delivery man? The postman? A neighbor looking to borrow something? Whoever it was, it wasn't someone that I wanted to be watching me performing fellatio on my husband. Especially not dressed in a bodystocking that left nothing to the imagination, but did leave my bare tits and pussy out where anyone could see them. I wasn't sure what was worse: displaying my near nakedness or performing a sex act in front of an unknown person.

That thought, bewilderingly, made me want to get as much of his cock into my mouth as possible. To keep anyone from seeing the length and girth of his erect manhood? Then I thought about how THAT would look to the observer: me being such a cock slut that I'm so eager to deepthroat him. But then I thought that I might actually be a cock slut, because my thudding heart revealed that I was once again excited by the idea of someone watching me do something dirty and kinky and promiscuous. Such was the confusing swirl of my thoughts. 

Even as I contemplated all that, I had to decide what to do with my free hand. I was only allowed to have one hand on his dick while I sucked it. He'd made the rule at the beginning, reasoning that two hands would be a handjob, so if I was ordered to give him a blowjob, only one hand was allowed. So normally I would use my free hand to rub my pussy, which he allowed as it would get me all worked up. But now I felt self-conscious about playing with my pussy while a stranger watched so closely. Whoever it was would be close enough to see that I was as horny as a rutting animal, completely unable to keep my hands away from my dripping pussy and hardening clit. So I let my hand just settle on my thigh, though several times I noticed that it had gone back to lightly stroking my pussy lips, and I'd have to force myself to remove it.

With all those thoughts fighting for attention in my head, it was hard to concentrate on giving my owner a good blowjob. I sucked at his sacred cock, licking the shaft until it gleamed, and using the raspy back of my tongue to massage the sensitive underside. I forced him down into my throat until my lips met the root, holding him there even as my throat gagged against the breath-stifling intrusion. I licked his balls thoroughly, swathing the sac with my spit, crushing my face into his groin. I licked behind his balls, too, planning to give him a rim job, but he demurred. So I went back to sucking and munching on his fat fuck stick.

Every so often I would dart a glance at the stranger in the doorway, but he/she remained obscured in shadow. All I could do was wonder who it was, and to force that speculation out of my mind to try and concentrate on administering a blowjob that my owner would enjoy. Maybe it was a test? That made sense. To see if I could keep my concentration on his cock, where it should be. I endeavored to pass this test.

"Nice," my owner said, his first words since returning home. "Now push that off and give me a tit job," he ordered, shifting his ass to the edge of the chair. I complied with his order, tugging the netting off my shoulders and arms, and pushing it down to my belly. Somehow I felt more exposed than before, even though my boobs had been fully exposed through the holes in the fabric. My owner doesn't usually like using a lube for a tit job, in case he wants to chew on or lick my tits afterwards. So my spit has to suffice. 

I kept my eyes on his face as I pushed my tits together and slid them up and down over his erect cock. A tit job for him means that I do all the work, unless I'm laying on my back and he fucks my cleavage like its just another tight hole for him to fill. Sliding up and down on him, pressing my boobs together and making sure that every stroke is a tight one almost made me forget that there was someone watching. Every so often I would take a break and rub his cock head over the part of my nipple that was exposed by the clamps. I don't know how it feels for him, but I love the touch of his cock on my nips. And his manhood looks so ominously potent next to the soft flesh of my boobs.

"Enough," he finally said, pushing me away hard enough that I almost fell over. Earlier in my training I would've wondered if I'd done something wrong. But now I knew that it was just another way to remind me that he was in charge. His next command, "Worship," had me crouched down on the floor so low that my tits were pressed against the floor. I pressed my lips against his shoes, deliberately kissing them in a display of obeisance that my owner expects of me as often as he desires. If his feet are bare, I'm also to lick his soles and toes to show how grateful I am to him that he would allow me to serve him. It makes me feel like a worthless slave when I do it, but despite my humiliation it gets me revved up too. 

"Good," he praised me, as I waited in the worship position for his next order. "Now strip and stand for inspection." I hurried to rid myself of the bodystocking. Then I stood in the inspection position, my hands clasped on the back of my head, my legs slightly apart, my body erect and my bosom thrust out, giving my owner full access to every part of my body. Because his head was below mine, I kept my eyes staring at the floor. It's not permissible to assume a posture that's above his.

"Impressive," a voice sounded from the doorway, almost causing me to jump out of my skin. In my eagerness to please my owner, I'd forgotten about the stranger! "It seems well-trained, and not too hard on the eyes," the voice - it was clearly a man - stated. I wanted to look and see who was talking, but my training was quite clear: never break position unless I'm told to. So all I could do was keep staring at the floor and hope that the man would come into my view at some point. 

"Yes, she's taken to the training quite well. Though she has a long way to go," my owner added, tucking his cock back in his pants and rising from the chair. "Someday she might be a valuable piece of property."

"So you are master and slave?" the voice inquired. It sounded like an innocent question, but I thought I could hear a tone of greedy desire behind it. 

"Ah, no. I am the owner and she is my property," my owner chuckled. "I'm not a big fan of being called 'master.' So I have her call me 'Sir.' It confers more respect. Or so I like to think."

"She is not a 'she' but an 'it'," the man responded. "Very good. I shall endeavor to remember that." His voice had a hint of German in it. Not an accent, per se, but just an undertone. His next words gave me a chill. "May I inspect it?"

"Sure," my husband replied in a bland tone. "That's what you're here for, after all."

Alarm bells rang in my head as those plain words broke through the surrealism of the moment. I was standing completely naked, my tits, pussy and ass totally exposed, with my hands behind my head in a stance indicating pure submission, and my husband had just invited a man, a stranger, to inspect my body. The last man to have done that, besides my husband/owner, had been the doctor. And even he had the decency to dress me in a thin paper gown before reaching inside and examining me. This man was no doctor, and I could tell from his voice that this man had left decency behind a long time ago.

"It seems to be in good shape," the man stated. His voice came from over my right shoulder, and I could hear him moving around me. "It has a nice coloration, and its flesh appears to be pleasingly firm."

"It exercises daily," my owner confirmed. "And it gets a daily dose of special skin moisturizer, if you know what I mean," he said with a smile in his voice.

It? It? It! Now my owner had picked up that infernal way of describing me. They continued to discuss me as if I wasn't in the room, commenting on the firmness of my breasts, the fine trimming of my pussy patch, the size of my mouth and its ability to suck cock, the muscles of my thighs and the size of my feet. And each time, they described me as an "it." Worse, I couldn't look at them to see if they were baiting me. I had to keep my eyes locked on the floor.

"Does it have a name?" the man asked, when they'd finally finished dissecting my physical appearance. 

"It changes every day," my owner answered. "And I haven't assigned one for today. But for simplicity's sake, you can call it 'Tits.' It seems appropriate at the moment."

The man barked a short laugh. "Yes, it does." He moved to stand in front of me. "Now, Tits, you may look at me. You will call me Mr. Hans. That, of course, is not my real name. But it will do for what we need to accomplish. Please do not forget the 'Mister.' It is a sign of respect for me and my craft. And I would hate to see you punished for forgetting to show respect."

I raised my head to look at the man who'd just examined nearly every inch of my body. He wasn't what I expected. He stood about 5-foot-eight, was of average build, and seemed to be in his early 60's. His grey hair was closely cropped, and he looked not unlike the many older men who always seem to be prowling the aisles at the local hardware store. Not grandfatherly, but not menacing either. Until I saw his eyes. They were flint grey, and I saw a darkness behind them that couldn't be disguised by the easy way he held his body. Those eyes said 'predator.' And I was standing exposed and defenseless in front of him.

He looked at me a moment longer, as if to make sure that I recognized exactly what he was, before turning to my owner and asking, "May I make a more thorough inspection?" 

No! I stared at my husband with a look that could only be read as, "Don't let this man anywhere near me," but he barely even looked my way before answering, "Of course. If it will make your job easier later on."

Mr. Hans turned back to me and gently palmed both of my tits. "They are as firm as they look," he said over his shoulder. "And they are what size?" he asked. I looked to my owner in shock, but he only nodded his permission to speak. 

"They are a D-cup, Mr. Hans," I responded, surprised that I didn't stumble over his name. 

"Very nice, very nice," he murmured, squeezing each one a little tighter before rubbing the face of his thumb across the top of each nipple. That last bit almost made me break posture, it weakened my knees that much. After giving each breast a final squeeze, he lightly stroked my waist and hips. Then, at his direction, I opened my mouth so he could inspect the inside. He held my mouth open with his thumb, and rested his hand against the side of my throat. I could feel his fingers lightly pressed against my jugular, and knew he could feel the pulsing of my blood beneath those fingers. I became keenly aware that a simple squeeze of his hand could throttle my life from me. 

He knew that I knew that. I could see it in his eyes. I wondered again why this man was here. And if my husband knew just how dangerous he was. 

"Have it bend over. I want to show you something," Mr. Hans suggested. Though I didn't want to do it, though I was embarrassed beyond belief, I still bent over at the waist and held myself in place against the kitchen counter. I felt Mr. Hans touching my ass cheeks and the slit of my pussy. "See, here, how its mound is visible when it's bent over? That makes for good shots. Men like to see that. Want to see what they're getting into, I guess." He barked another short laugh. 

He thought it was funny, but all it did was make me wonder what men would be seeing my pussy in that position? And what kind of shots was he talking about? Then, even with all the poking and prodding my owner was letting Mr. Hans do, I wasn't prepared for the command to Spread. Was this it, I wondered, as I got down on the floor, laid back and spread my legs open? Was my husband/owner going to let this man fuck me? To penetrate me in a way no other man had done since before we started dating? And would I put up with it, or would this be the time that I would put an end to it all, to refuse and go get dressed, knowing that my husband would be shamed by my behavior and but wouldn't press the issue, ending forever our experiment into the dark side of sex.

It certainly seemed as though I was going to have to make that decision as Mr. Hans stood between my legs, an erection clearly growing in his pants. And it seemed even more certain when my owner gave the "spread wider" command, where I spread my legs apart as wide as I can and then pull my pussy lips apart so they can see deep into my cunt hole. Was this going to be how it would happen? Would he soon be dropping his trousers to reveal his throbbing cock, and make me hold my pussy lips apart while he slipped his rod into the sheath of my cunt, the journey smoothed by the gallons of juice forming even now in my nasty fuck hole? Could I let him take me that way, urge him to fuck me harder and deeper, and be a willing receptacle for his load of sperm?

He seemed to know what I was thinking as he gazed down at me, his eyes hungrily devouring my naked flesh, my willing tits and my welcoming cunt. He seemed to know that he could have me, right there, right then, ignoring my husband's weak protestations as he took whatever he wanted, making me scream and moan in a mixture of humiliation and ecstasy. He would fuck me silly, leave me both drained and overflowing, filling me with enough sperm to coat parts of my cunt that had never been touched before. 

Then he stepped away, leaving me open, exposed and relieved, trembling in the knowledge that I wouldn't have protested, wouldn't have ended the experiment, but would have taken him between my legs, letting him violate me under the auspices of being a good slave, but knowing deep in my heart that I was nothing more than a slut that would've enjoyed the feel of his cock roughly raping my cunt, giving sexual succor to any stranger who happened along.

"It has potential," Mr. Hans said to my owner, as I lay still spread out on the floor, evidently forgotten. "Potential and a willingness to obey." 

"It is very obedient," my owner agreed. He stepped over to stand between my legs, then leaned right over my open cunt. "Stay still," he ordered, then dribbled a gob of spit onto his lips, and then let it fall directly into my open cunt hole. He'd never done that before, but I remained still, thankful that he hadn't let it drop someplace even more degrading, like on my face. 

"So," he said, turning back to Mr. Hans. "Can you work with this? And do you want to?"

"I think I can find time in my schedule for a new project," Mr. Hans replied. "You do understand that in addition to any plans you might have, I'm likely to have some suggestions of my own. That's why you're hiring me, instead of some punk kid with a cheap digital camera."

"I understand," my owner replied. "That is why I answered your ad. I want something that's memorable." 

"And as to my fee?"

They wandered into the other room, presumably to discuss the fee, while I continued to lay on the floor with my thighs cramping as I tried to keep my legs spread wide and my pussy pulled apart. It never even occurred to me to relax my position. My mind was engaged elsewhere. 

Mr. Hans was clearly a photographer. That much was clear. But also some kind of a specialist. Someone who specialized in adult photography? Kinky pictures? Submissive wives? I had too many questions and not enough answers.

My owner returned alone and put me in the Kneel for Inspection position, in which I kneel, sitting back on my heels, with my hands clasped behind my head. Much more comfortable than being left in "Spread Wide." I heard the front door slam. Mr. Hans had left.

"So, Tits, as you may have guessed, Mr. Hans is going to be our official photographer for a while. He has some very interesting ideas on how to best show off your assets. And some ideas on how I can train you better," he explained. "I was a little worried that his fee would be too high, but it all worked out perfectly in the end."

He undressed quickly while I knelt there, my mind keenly focused on every word. He stepped forward and rubbed the tip of his cock back and forth over my closed lips, before nudging it forward in a clear sign that I was to suck him, and apparently without using my hands. 




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 05



"He has some equipment he has to buy, so we'll be paying him in cash for the first six weeks," he continued conversationally, while I literally sucked on the fat cock in my mouth. "After that you'll be giving him a blowjob for every session he comes out. A fair price, I think. Though we'll have to work in the meantime to improve your cocksucking skills," he casually observed, forcing his cock deeper into my mouth. 

My mind reeled. That's when I knew, without a doubt, that it wouldn't be long before another man's cock would be penetrating my pussy and possibly my ass. My days of innocent, harmless obedience would soon be behind me. Could I follow his orders and let another man fuck me?

* * * * To be continued. Comments are welcome. * * * * *



My Slut Wife Life Ch. 06



Part 6
"First Use"




The Weekend When Everything Changed actually started on a Thursday. I remember this because I remember everything about the weekend. How it started. How it suddenly twisted into something different. And how the end of it turned out to be just the beginning. 

In a few minutes, a bunch of other people will be learning the intimate details about the Weekend When Everything Changed. They won't have to listen to me tell it, trying to fill in all the details. They'll be seeing it, in full, living color, on a 60-inch TV in the middle of our family room. They'll be watching what happened to me on that weekend. And watching me as I watch. And when the show is over, another performance will surely begin. One in which I'm sexually used and abused by a group of people who had once been my friends, but are now my masters, mistresses and tormentors. A group of people who, according to my owner, will be so worked up by what they've seen that they'll want to recreate it. To put me in the same humiliating positions. To treat me with the same disregard for my personal wishes. To relieve their engorged cocks and pussies of the urgent need to orgasm, using my body and discomfort as the stimulation they need. The thought makes me tremble in trepidation. But, the thought also makes me hot. 

+++++++

I remember that Thursday as being different in a lot of ways. For one thing, my owner hadn't used me for his perverted sexual pleasure for any of the five previous days. In fact, the last time he'd been inside me had been on the previous Saturday, when we'd made love, the old fashioned kind, with no orders or kinkiness or anything. I remember that it had left me feeling strangely underwhelmed. He came and I didn't come close. I remember feeling kind of like "is that all there is?"

Anyway, he hadn't ordered me to do anything perverted for four days. No blowjobs on the outside deck. No ass fucks in the kitchen. Not even an order to put on a lingerie show for him. Oddly, it had left me feeling a little adrift. After the intensity of the previous three months, I'd become a bit reliant on the adrenaline rush that I felt whenever he ordered me to debase myself for his pleasure. It was getting to be a huge turn-on. So much so that I couldn't orgasm without it.

I wondered, too, how he'd been able to contain the pent-up urges he should've been feeling. His doctor had given him those new, experimental pills that could not only keep him erect for hours at a time, but also kept him in a highly volatile state of sexual excitement. I'd discovered over the past few months that they also had the side effect of making him more aggressive, more sensitive to perceived slights, and less inhibited by society's rules. When he was on those pills, which was almost all the time, it was like living with a sexual time bomb that could go off at any point. And who better to assuage those urges than your live-in slut wife? Living on the edge like that gave me butterflies in my stomach. And kept me as wet between my legs as a cheap whore on a navy dock. 

For those reasons and more, that Thursday began with a feeling of change in the air. I got finished with my work in record time, closing the door to my home office by noon. Around one o'clock I received a text from my owner/husband: "Holiday tmrw. Leaving early today." That was to be expected. Almost all of corporate America leaves early on the day before a three-day holiday weekend. And his office was more liberal about it than most.

Despite reminding myself that I wasn't a new bride who was addicted to the touch of her new husband, I almost danced around in rapt expectation as I waited for the next message, the one I imagined would come soon. That I was actually hoping, nay, praying, that he would come home and do nasty things to me would've been shocking just a few months earlier. Now, though, it was a treat to me as anticipated as a day at the spa, or finding a gorgeous dress on sale. 

I'm certain he made me wait on purpose, playing another of the many mind games he uses to keep me enthralled and compliant. I know I'm being played, but it still works. The sound of my phone announced the arrival of another message: "Get ready." That was it. What I'd been waiting for. Those two words sent me into a frenzy of activity. First, a shower. I'd done that in the morning, but this would be more thorough. Every crevice, every crack scrubbed and scoured. Hair washed and perfumed. Asshole reamed clean. Pussy cleansed inside and out. A shaving of the legs, armpits and anywhere else a stray hair might want to grow. A thorough inspection of my pussy patch, shaved to a mere half-inch wide strip that narrowed to arrows on each end. I actually inspected it twice, because he would brutally rip out any stray hairs outside that area with enough force to bring tears to my eyes. And then spank me harshly for the transgression. It was a punishment for pain's sake, not pleasurable at all. So it was worth the extra effort.

His next message came as I stood in the bathroom after the shower, my skin burning brightly from the incessant scrubbing, my pussy tingling in anticipation. "Box 32," was all it read, though it held a world of meaning for me. I walked nude into the adjoining closet. One whole wall is covered in small cubicles, each filled with a shoebox. Each shoebox is numbered. Inside each shoebox is a pre-assembled sex outfit, usually lingerie, stockings and sometimes shoes. We'd spent the last few months putting these together to suit any mood he might have. Much easier than his trying to describe what he wanted me to wear over the phone. And yet another reminder that I was his property, to be dressed however he wanted.

This box contained a black leather teddy, with three significant attributes: it was cupless at the top, so my tits would be in full view; it zipped all the way down the front, so he could expose as much of my front as he wanted, ending with holes at the bottom, exposing my mound and asshole; and it was held in place with just straps across the back, so I was almost completely exposed back there. In addition to a pair of black fishnet stockings, the box also held three pieces of paper. The first indicated that I was to wear a pair of black knee-high boots with tall stiletto heels we'd recently purchased. The second indicated that I was to wear a certain black dog collar, with the tag that read "Bitch" on it. Nothing too unexpected. It was the third paper that got my attention. He'd clearly added it recently. Because on the third, it said that 30 minutes before his estimated time of arrival, I was to locate the butt plug with the black tail on it, and then insert it into my ass, leaving it there until he told me to remove it. Just reading the note got me horny. There were so many things he could do with a well-stretched anus. So many nasty, manly, ugly things.

I prepared for the upcoming adventure with the care and attention to detail that other wives might give to creating a gourmet meal. The house was perfectly clean. An easy-to-make and eat meal was ready in the refrigerator. And in the teddy, stockings and boots, with my breasts jutting out and the nipples lightly powdered, I looked just like a call girl. A very high-priced call girl. 

I'd just finished wiggling the butt plug into my anus and checking to make sure the tail hairs weren't snarled when I heard a knock on the door from the garage. Was my owner home early? My nipples tingled at the thought. But why would he be knocking? I admonished myself to stop asking questions and just let it all happen. It's much more enjoyable that way. 

When I opened the door, expecting to see my owner, I was met instead by another, older, more worn face. Hans. I tried to keep my disappointment out of my expression, as Hans often makes "suggestions" to my owner that usually end up being extra humiliating and painful to me. I needn't have worried. Hans' gaze was fixated on my exposed boobs, the black leather below it, and the mounds of my pussy peeking out from the leather between my legs. His eyes never strayed up past my neckline. Without a word to him, I turned around and headed back into the kitchen, giving him a good look at the butt plug and tail trailing behind me. "Looks like he's finally started treating you like the bitch you are," he called after me, lugging his camera equipment through the door. I resisted the urge to stick out my tail-adorned ass at him. It would've proved his point. 

Clearly, Hans' appearance meant that my owner wanted to record part or all of the evening's proceedings. Fine. I could deal with that. Just closing my eyes took care of most of it. My problem with Hans was that he insisted on sharing "great" ideas with my owner, usually about how he can better train, use or punish me. Hans has been taking pictures of dominant/submissive couples for a long time. He's seen a lot. Much of it more intense than I had been ready to do right away. Or ever. At first, my owner had given in a lot and done what Hans suggested. Lately, though, he'd been refusing those suggestions. My hope was that we'd be without Hans soon. Not soon enough, though.

My other problem with Hans was a deal that my husband had made with him a couple months earlier. In exchange for recording our activities, I was to give Hans a blowjob. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Hans would be the first person to get a blowjob from me other than my husband since I got married. That's right. No cheating, so far, for this newly activated whore. And if I'd been given the choice of all the people on this earth that I'd like to service, Hans wouldn't make the list. Giving Hans a blowjob would likely be a harsh, brutal and ultimately painful act, filled with many tears from me and many perverted orders from him. And surely ending with him spraying his jizz all over my face and tits, and probably making me scoop it all up and lick it off my fingers. Something I normally don't mind. But not for a man like Hans. 

But if my owner's intentions were to make me pay off Hans with his blowjob, would he have made me get all dressed up for it? My gut told me otherwise. Hans would be getting his blowjob as a throwaway gesture, not as part of the main event. My owner would be saving that for himself. 

While I worried, I busied myself at the kitchen sink. Not to accomplish anything, but because my owner has a thing for half-dressed women in the kitchen. Seeing me there, my tits exposed, my ass freshly scrubbed with a butt plug tail protruding, was likely to get his heart racing. Ultimately, I hoped, pumping more blood to his cock. 

Off to one side, Hans was already filming, no doubt zooming in on my erect nipples or the contrast between my ass and the leather. The usual cheesy pornographic shots. Which is why he caught my delighted teen-like reaction when the door to the garage opened and slammed shut, and my owner/husband strode into the room. Pausing only a moment to caress my ass, he left to drop his briefcase in the office. Then, returning to the kitchen, he perched upon the bar stool near the breakfast bar, leered darkly and ordered, "C'mere you." 

++++++++

"C'mere you." Watching the slut on the screen eagerly run to that man wasn't like watching myself on the screen. I'd done that often enough. Usually it was a private viewing, held by my owner to humiliate me by showing just how slutty and uninhibited I'd acted during a recent adventure. Or to embarrass me by pointing out how I looked with a creampie in my cunt. Or just to relive a particularly intense session. Just me and him and whoever might be online if he'd invited someone else to watch. 

Now, though, I was watching in the company of a bunch of people. Friends who'd become like strangers to me. Evil strangers. People who had once cared for me as a person, but now only cared for the sexual and psychological pleasure I could bring them. There was Jimmy, my owner's best friend. Martha, sitting obediently at her husband Sean's feet, once my best girl friend but now dedicated to tormenting me. And Krista and Jason Davis, long-time friends from the days our children went to school together and now eager participants and observers in my training. All watching the slut on the screen respond to a abrupt request by happily traipsing across the room and plopping herself with relish upon the man's lap, facing him and obligingly lifting her breasts so he could more easily suckle on them. And doing it all with so much joy that it couldn't be acting; she truly had to be that happy to offer her body to him. The audience was primed to see the Weekend That Changed Everything. But first they'd get to enjoy What Came Before. 

Up on the screen, a slutty brunette with big tits, a black teddy, thigh-high boots and a tail sat astride a man dressed in blue jeans and a casual business shirt. Despite the tail protruding from her ass, she was grinding her cunt back and forth across his crotch, clearly trying to speed his erection and masturbate along the way. At the same time, she lifted her tits up to his chin level, offering her flesh for his licking, sucking or biting pleasure. Grinning evilly, he accepted the offering, cramming as much of her tit meat into his mouth as possible, stuffing it in so deeply that his lips stretched back and his teeth gleamed white against her skin. Unsatisfied, he used his tongue to lick the length and breadth of each boob, leaving wet trails that often crested on each hard nipple, which were teased and tortured with the rasping flat of that tongue, until the attached body squirmed and squealed in blissful pleasure. 

She arched her back, enjoying his attention, pressing her body against his, curling her limbs around his trunk, worshipfully kissing any inch of skin that came within contact of her lips. He let her grind upon him, relishing her sensual movements, inhaling her lust and ingesting her passion. She writhed like a snake upon him, massaging his chest with her tits, rubbing herself up and down him like an animal rutting against a stump, oblivious to everything but the primal urges coursing through her. 

He reached between her legs, finding her mound first, then parting the lips with one large finger, hooking it inside her and tugging her cunt back and forth. She moaned, a cry that was both desperate and despairing, as if she wanted more but couldn't find the words to beg for it. He grinned and chuckled, rubbing her cunt more and more furiously, as if he could set it aflame through friction alone. Her tits bounced and shook, fleshy flags waving and snapping as the body beneath the heaved in reply. Beads of sweat broke out upon her forehead, and she thrust her tits up and out as she rode upon his prodding fingers, completely oblivious to the camera, the cameraman, or any surroundings. 

Just as her cries were reaching a crescendo, when it was clear that her tensed muscles were about to let loose, he pulled his finger from her cunt and thrust it brutally into her mouth. Her muted mewls of pleasure turned to whimpers as she realized that her orgasm had been delayed, postponed or possibly cancelled. Gasping, she sucked her own juices off his fingers, eyes alternating between a hateful glare and a desperate begging. 

Unmoved, he turned to other pursuits, grabbing each of her breasts in his calloused hands and squeezing tightly, pressing until her flesh pushed out from between his fingers. Savagely, cruelly he clenched his fingers, then pulled and twisted her tits like a hound worrying at a ragged toy. She gasped at the sharp pain, and now, instead of pushing herself at him, she tried desperately to pull away. But there was no pulling away, as he held her in place with her breasts alone, dragging her towards him even as she twisted in the other direction. 

He pulled her against him and leaned in, whispering something in her ear that not even the camera's sensitive mike could pick up, "This is only a fraction of the pain your whore tits will feel tonight. This is your punishment for being so slutty all those years, wearing bikinis and tank tops so that other men would look at you and get hard-ons. Now you will pay, you filthy slut!" His voice grated in her ear. He didn't even sound like himself. He sounded like the devil himself had taken over his body. She quailed at the tone. He would make good on his promise, she felt sure. 

With a sudden movement of his legs he dumped her onto the floor. Though surprised, and with the threat still echoing in her brain, she managed to twist into a kneeling position, the butt plug now painfully pinned in her anus. He lifted one foot imperiously and she recognized the gesture. In less than a minute she had removed both his shoes and socks, and pressed her body and face flat against the floor as she strove to cover each foot in a bounty of kisses and licks. 

The camera followed her down and she could feel its great eye upon her, memorizing the moment when she left all humanity behind and became no more than an animal begging for affection from its owner. As if to drive home that thought, his next order came, "For tonight, you will call me Master, and I will call you bitch." Master, master, master, master she repeated to herself, trying to drive home the memory while licking the dirty and scum and sweat from his sacred feet. He is not Sir. He is Master. She forced her mind to remember. She'd surely be punished if she didn't.

A tug on the hair told her to rise, and a tug on the teddy's zipper revealed the rest of her, like the flesh of a lobster released from its shell. He fondled her tits some more and fingered her cunt, as if considering what to do with her. At a curt syllable from him, she moved into Stand for Inspection, her tits thrust out and her hands laced behind her head. She didn't look resigned about what was to come. Instead, she looked eager for it, her hard, erect nipples lending truth to the notion. 

"Strip off those filthy, cum-stained clothes," he said harshly, flicking the teddy distastefully with his fingers. "I'm sure you've leaked your nasty juices all over the crotch. Take off the boots, too. Then crawl like a bitch into the living room, swinging your ass like the dog you are." 

She removed the teddy and then the boots, aware the whole time that her movements were causing her legs to open and her pussy to stretch and rub. Each movement aggravated the pinching of the butt plug within her anus, causing her to wince and whimper. She was aware, too, that the cameraman thought her predicament to be very amusing, and he filmed every contortion and grimace with a sense of satisfaction. As she crawled across the hard wood floor, knees painfully aware of every crack and crevice, she wiggled her hips and ass so that the tail bounced and swayed in a tantalizing rhythm. It wouldn't be long, she knew, before another kind of stem would be plugging her butt. The kind that moved, reamed, and might ultimately leave a load of sticky cum coating her bowels.

In the living room she stood before him, completely vulnerable in her nudity and obedience, as he began to prepare her for the night's activities. First he slipped leather wrist braces onto her, locking them onto her with a small lock. Next, the same braces were locked onto her ankles. Both wrist and ankles braces had a number sturdy metal rings and clips attached to them. Using these, he snapped her wrists together and, using a rope from a bag nearby, tied her hands high over her head, attaching the rope to an eye screw embedded into one of the wooden beams. A screw she'd never noticed before. Next, tying a rope through the rings on each ankle, he ran the rope through two eye rings attached to the baseboard on either side of the room. These too were new.

After a couple of adjustments, she was effectively bound in place, kept from moving her feet closer together than shoulder width, and kept from toppling to the ground by the bonds holding her arms straight up to the ceiling. She'd been bound by him before, of course. In her first week as a slut wife, he'd tied her to the outside deck. But this was new. Her face shifted from curious to distraught and back again, unsure whether she would like what was going to happen next. Her Master had no such qualms. 




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 06



"While I prepare, you have one minute to think of 10 slang words for your breasts. And you can't use breasts. That's not slang. The more you miss, the more 'uncomfortable' it will be for you." The way he said it left no doubt that whatever he had in mind, she'd be uncomfortable no matter what.

She thought furiously. All those hours looking for dirty pictures and movies on the internet should've left her with a cornucopia of words. But her mind froze. The desperateness of her position, combined with the curiosity of what he had planned caused her lose track of anything else. Desperately, as he counted down the last 10 seconds, his hands hidden behind his back, she pulled up what she should.

"Well, bitch? What words do you have for those nasty bags of flesh on your chest?"

She tried to think of more even as she spouted out the ones that immediately came to mind to keep from forgetting even those. "Master, these are my boobs. Tits. Hooters. Knockers. Um, um... funbags! And, um, yes, udders! And, and.. and..." There were so many! How come she couldn't think of them?

"That, bitch, was pathetic," he said, using the palm of his hand to sharply slap her tit. "Maybe you need to spend more time on porn sites, learning what the rest of us already know. That women are good for nothing but fucking. And using as play toys, of course."

He reached around and slapped her ass sharply, the sound cracking through the room. "So, now we're going to play a little game. I clip you, and you beg for more." With that he pulled out his other hand, revealing the wooden objects in his palm. Clothespins? Spring-loaded ones?

Without any other explanation, he stepped forward, opened the jaws of the pin and attached it to the soft flesh of her right tit, just below her nipple. She gasped and tried to writhe away, frustratingly held fast by the ropes at her ankles and wrists. It didn't really hurt, it was more like a stinging sensation. Like when a tooth hurts and you press on it. But it hurt a lot more when she looked down and saw the clothespin dangling from her sensitive breast. He stepped back to admire his work, then came forward with another one, clamping in the same place, but on the other breast. 

He worked quickly, not hesitating despite her gasps, yelps or cries of pain. He applied them in a four inch circle around her nipple, each application stretching her skin tighter and tighter, until he had to pinch the flesh between his fingers just to get enough purchase for the clothespin jaws. By this time her tits were afire, as were the muscles in her arms, the ropes attached to the ceiling being the only thing holding her upright. 

He stepped back to admire his handiwork and Hans stepped in, taking both pictures and movies to record her torment, the skin of each breast painfully taut, straining against the torture devices that were twisting and torqueing her beautiful udders. 

"Spread your legs, bitch!" her Master barked at her, as if repelled by her weakness. She stretched her legs as much as she was able without toppling over, then watched in unveiled horror as he bent to apply additional clothespins to her pussy lips. These hurt more than the ones on her breasts, though they didn't stretch the skin as tautly as the others. She cried out openly now, with real distress, as he amused himself by flicking the pins with his finger, causing them to vibrate painfully against her cunt and clit. 

Tiring of that, or perhaps bored, he turned his attention to her ass. Brutally he twisted the butt plug out, and after detaching the tail strands, he forced it into her mouth. Without thought she sucked on it, tasting her own anal juice but unable to get away from it. With the dildo shoved in place in her mouth, he headed out to the kitchen. She strained to see what was in his hands when he returned. Was that... potato chip bag clips? She wanted to protest, wanted to scream "No!" but the dildo was too deeply wedged in her mouth. So all she could do was look on in fright as he prepared to attach one to her body. But where?

When the cold, plastic edges of the clip closed on her erect nipple, the sharp pain rippled through her body. But it subsided quickly, leaving behind a soft throbbing, like the feeling after stubbing your toe. As he prepared to attach the second one to her other nipple, she watched intently, the eroticism of the moment overcoming any trepidation. None of it really hurt, she realized. They were all like sharp stings, which slowly devolved to a soft pain. The biggest shock came when her Master brought a mirror over for her to see herself: Standing naked, tits and pussy pinched with over a dozen clothespins, her engorged nipples held in place with huge plastic clips, and a butt-plug stuffed deep into her mouth. 

He let her take in the sight of herself for a few moments, let Hans record her abuse and humiliation for posterity, then shooed the man away and turned back to her. "We're not done. No, far from it. But now you receive your punishment for not being clever enough to come up with more names for these hefty hooters here. You see, there are two ways to release your whore tits from their torment. One way is to squeeze the handles and slowly take them off. Like this." She felt nothing but a rush of blood when he removed the clip, though she could see that it left a red mark behind. "And the other way... well, the other way is to drag them off, slowly, like this." With that, he grabbed one leg of the clip and slowly pulled it away. At first, the prongs refused to release, but then they slowly started sliding off, painfully pulling at her skin and pinching it harder and harder. She whimpered from behind the dildo in her mouth and felt tears come to her eyes as the pinching got more and more acute. Just when she thought that the pain was too much to take, the clip popped off, leaving her tit red, raw and throbbing. 

Her reaction only served to encourage him, as he alternated between quickly removing the clips and pins and slowly teasing them off. Throughout it all, she wasn't in pain so much as ripples of discomfort. And while his actions didn't really turn her on, it didn't turn her off either. What did turn her on was watching the whole process in the mirror, which he'd so conveniently left in place. She was actually getting turned on by watching him torture her! The idea was so twisted as to be almost unbelievable. By the end her breasts and nipples were speckled with bright red spots, testimony to the areas that he'd tortured with the clips. 



As I watched myself on the TV, I noticed how much that person resembled the women in many of the pictures she'd found on the internet. Tied in place. Sweat-soaked. Eyes wide with a mixture of fear and desire. Nipples hard despite the abuse. A woman reduced to a plaything for a semi-sadistic man, yet not protesting and, in fact, eager to see what would happen next. Not surprisingly, the rest of the people watching this show were just as enraptured. They'd all known me in a wide variety of sexual ways, but the direct exposure to this kind of treatment had captured their imaginations, priming them with new scenarios they could demand that I comply with.

I watched as the woman on-screen was released from her bonds, collapsing slowly to the floor and then stretching her arms and legs to release the kinks. I looked around at the other people watching the TV show. They watched me like wolves stalking a wounded animal The analogy was apt. Once the video was over, the lights would return and they'd be upon me. And inside me. 



She remembered how tight her muscles and joints had been after being released. How quickly the marks on her breasts had started to fade. And how hungrily her husband, her Master, had looked at her as he conjured up yet another torment to put her through. After pulling the plug from her mouth and carelessly tossing it aside, he hooked a leash to her collar and led her to the kitchen. Two minutes later she was securely bound to a kitchen chair, her wrists tied behind, her ankles tied to the chair legs. Under the gleaming kitchen lights, she felt even more vulnerable than she had while strung up in the other room. 

Her owner rifled through the kitchen drawers and her imagination took hold. Spatulas might be used as paddles. Would he penetrate her with a rolling pin? A serving spoon? A wine bottle? Would he coat her in cooking oil? In Crisco? In flour? Would he soothe her wounds with ice? Or use it to torment her with cold? Would those candles he was pulling out just set the mood? Or would hot wax soon be dripping on her tits, like she'd seen done on those hardcore sites on the internet? He wouldn't cut her or draw blood, she was sure. Or reasonably sure. But a baster might be just like that milking machine applied to her udders. She shuddered at the thought. Odd that she still thought of them that way. 

He pulled out a cherry pitter, glinting like a medieval torture device. A funnel. which made her pussy tremble. A juicer, its conical dome a warning of things to come. That potato masher and meat tenderizer were just for show, weren't they? The camera lovingly caressed their blunt and sharp edges. You could almost feel the cameraman's hot, fetid breath. He found the drawer she'd been dreading, filled with many pointed rollers used for making pasta and pies. He pulled each out dramatically, experimentally rolling them across his palm and then grinning lewdly at her. The kitchen was filled with more implements of brutality than she'd ever realized.

She watched in even greater trepidation as Hans left his spot behind the camera and approached her Master, whispering in his ear and gesturing at her. Her Master looked intrigued, never a good sign where Hans was involved. After several moments of searching, her Master pulled a length of rope out of the depths of a cupboard. She had no idea what he had in mind, but the ominous way he approached her was enough to make her want to flee, naked, into the night. 

It soon became clear what he had in mind. Starting from behind her, he wrapped the rope under one of her breasts and over the other, then around her body, then over the first breast and under the other, repeating the pattern until her tits where captured top and bottom by the rough rope. After tying it off, he came around in front to admire his work.

"That, plus a ball gag, will make you a real bondage slut. I can tell you like it, despite your feeble attempts to get free," her Master sneered, pinching and pulling on her erect nipple. 

Hans came over, the camera on a tripod behind him. "What this bitch needs is a reminder that her tits are wasted on you," he said harshly. "Bitches need to be punished for showing their tits all over." He grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter and strode behind her. She felt him fiddling with the rope constraining her breasts, then the ropes constricted alarmingly tight. She gasped, heard him laugh cruelly, then the ropes were squeezing her breasts even more strongly, making the flesh pop out. She winced, trying to hold it in, to soldier through, but the pain became too much and she cried out, a shriek that became a wail. In response, Hans twisted again, the rope almost scissoring her tits in half.

"That's enough," her Master said, his tone now low and forbidding. 

"That's your problem," Hans sneered. "You're too easy on her. She'll never be a real slave until you stop coddling her. Are you a real man, or are you just pretending to be one?" 

"That's enough," her Master repeated, this time menacingly, stepping between her and Hans. "You go too far. And now it's time for you to go for good."

Her Master strode into the living room, Hans heatedly following. She could hear only snatches of the conversation. "...had a deal." "Not wanted anymore..."Your word..." "Lots of friends in the community." And, most ominously from Hans, "I have pictures."

When they returned to the room, Hans began packing up all his equipment, save for the camera on the tripod. Her Master bent to untie the ropes around her torso, ankles and wrist, the knots coming free surprisingly quickly. He always was handy with that kind of thing. She was gratefully massaging the undersides of her breasts when his next words, whispered in her ear, stopped her cold. 

"You need to get this old man off. And then we're done with him."

She looked at him in shock. It had been one thing to fantasize about doing another man. To make it part of their role-playing. And entirely something else to actually do it, even if it was at her husband's orders. They were at the precipice, she realized. The tipping point. The proverbial point of no return. A point that she made with him. 

"Are you sure?" she whispered urgently. "There's no going back from this. If you make me do this, it changes everything." Including the fact that if they stopped this experimental lifestyle, what they did now would stay with them forever. And the fact that starting it all off with Hans literally made her stomach turn. 

"Just get him off," he replied through gritted teeth. "You know what he has to hold over us. And," he gave her ass a squeeze, "despite the fact that he's a pig, I think we can trust that once he's 'paid,' he'll honor the agreement to leave us alone. Plus, all he wants is to jack off on you while he watches you rub yourself." 

She didn't believe that for a second. But maybe the old man was so horny, he wouldn't be able to hold back after just a little visual stimulation. She could always hope.

Hope proved fleeting as Hans knelt between her spread legs, eagerly eyeing her open hole as she rubbed herself, trying to provide as graphic a sight as possible. But no matter how hard he stroked himself, his cock wouldn't achieve full staff. 

She looked imploringly at her Master, who only cocked his head to one side and grinned. If it wouldn't get done the easy way, he seemed to say, then she'd have to do it the hard way. After a bit of repositioning, Hans knelt above her nude body, his cock dangling just above her lips. With a sigh of resignation, she took him in her mouth. He tasted as nasty as she had imagined, salty with sweat and wet with pre-cum. He must've been spunking steadily in his shorts the entire time he'd been filming them. 

It didn't take long for his short cock to get firm, and as he reached back to paw at her wet pussy, she knew she had to redirect his attention somewhere else. She definitely didn't want him humping away at her pussy. Keeping him trapped in her mouth, massaging the length of his cock with her tongue, she quickly oiled up her cleavage and hoarsely begged him to fuck her tits. 

In no time he was gleefully thrusting into the valley she'd created for him, a wash of bitter and ugly words spilling from his mouth the whole time. Some woman must've caused him great heartache at some time, she thought. Or maybe he was just one of those men who blamed women for whatever ill they suffered from. Either way, it was better to have him fucking her tits than fucking her cunt. 

It was over almost before it began. He grabbed his cock and jacked away at it, until a stream of milky cum dribbled from the tip onto her oiled udders. At his orders she dutifully rubbed it into her skin, smearing it across her nipples and around her breast meat. He bent forward and she sucked the remnants from his cock hole, licking his rod until it contracted back into its tiny ball of wrinkled flesh, nearly indistinguishable from the saggy, hairy balls on either side of it. 

Her Master nodded in approval as she stayed on the sofa, continuing to lightly rub her dripping cunt. Despite the revulsion she felt about the situation, her body had still responded with the wetness necessary to ease the penetration of her pussy. Without another word, but smirking victoriously, Hans got dressed, packed his equipment and left, slamming the door behind him. All save for the camera on the tripod, which appeared to be still filming her. 

"I bought this one," her Master noted, coming over to sit between her legs. "This evening didn't quite go as planned." He ran his hand gently over her sticky breast. "I'm not unhappy with the way you performed. Hans got all that he deserved." His hand traveled down to caress her pussy mound. "But the time will come, very soon, when your loyalty will be tested, and I'll expect you to welcome another man's cock between your legs." He pressed one, then two, then three fingers inside her cunt, making it clear with a single gesture who controlled the use of that area. "I think we're done for tonight. Take a shower. Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

+++++++++

The video ended. In the faded light coming from the TV, I could see shapes moving toward me, eyes gleaming like wolves in the darkness. The hunters were prowling. I would be their prey. I braced myself for the coming assault, knowing from experience that the best way to enjoy it was to drown myself in the pure hedonism of the moment. They would demand that I pleasure them. But I would steal moments of pleasure for myself. And maybe, just maybe, earn a modicum of respect from my erstwhile friends. 



To be continued...



My Slut Wife Life Ch. 07



Chapter 7

"From Slave Wife to Slut Wife" 

My name is Karen. I'm a slut wife. A real one. The kind who will do whatever my husband orders, whenever he orders it, to whomever he orders. Some on this forum have called me a fake. Some think I'm the work of a guy, just getting his jollies by pretending to be a woman who acts out his fantasies. I'm not. I am a married woman living in the Midwestern part of the United States. I have given birth to and raised two children. I have a job that allows me to work from home. I have two advanced degrees from respected universities. I am not fat, physically or mentally deformed, do not have low self esteem, and do not believe that I must subject myself to deviant behavior in order to keep my husband. I have selected this lifestyle because of the excitement it holds, the rush I get from extreme sex, and the satisfaction I get from satisfying my husband. 

I have neighbors who know of my self-selected situation, and believe as I do, that what happens between consenting adults, as long as it is not harmful to themselves or to others in the community, is really none of their business. My children are grown and at college. As we live in a relatively small community, it's not unlikely that they know of my situation. If they do, they don't speak of it. We do not perform any of our sexual lifestyle in front of them, just as people who practice traditional sex would not do so in front of their children. We have raised our children to be tolerant of the beliefs and lifestyles of others. If they do know, and they are not mentioning it, then my husband and I are very proud of them. That is the essence of tolerance. The world could do with more of it. 

My husband and I began practicing this lifestyle nearly two years ago. The first weekend, when he asked me to join him in this adventure, was a total surprise to me. I didn't know that he was interested in having me be a real slut wife. Not the play-acting kind, for which I have nothing but respect. But the kind that would be expected to submit to his orders at a moment's notice, with no hesitation, regardless of the humiliation it might cause me. During our first weekend, he had me do many things that left me embarrassed, humiliated and extremely horny. I came harder and more frequently than at any time in our marriage. The anticipation of knowing what was about to happen at times, coupled with the fear of not knowing what was about to happen, create in me the ultimate aphrodisiac. Just writing these words, I'm wet just thinking about what he may have in store for me this evening. It may be brutal. It may be tender. It may involve just us. It may involve friends, neighbors or strangers. I may end up helping someone to cum. Or I may end up cumming myself. Or even cruelly being denied an orgasm. My whole cunt is blazing hot.

So, believe me. Or not. Laugh at those who do. Or pity those that don't. There is little proof that I can give you. My husband takes photos and videos of my adventures all the time, but he only shares those with select friends and acquaintances. Unlike the rest of the world, people around here understand the benefits of relative secrecy. If I'm outed on Jerry Springer or whatever passes for confessional TV today, it's likely to mean the end of all the fringe benefits they enjoy. Like walking through the woods and coming across a nude woman who is eager to suck your cock. Or having a ready-made, safe-from-disease whore to give to your son on his eighteenth birthday as a special gift and rite of passage. Or even just having a willing ass for your husband to fuck when you're not in the mood for anal sex. I've done, and will likely continue to do, all of those. 

A word about my relationship. I'm not a slave in the classic sense of the word. My husband is not my Master, though I sometimes call him that. We know some couples who are in Master/slave relationships and that is not how we live. There are many different types of Dominant/submissive relationships, just as there are many types of other relationships. If you think you're normal, I defy you to define what normal is. And then I defy you to find even 10 couples who have sex lives exactly like yours. Normal doesn't exist. But I digress. For the purposes of our sex lives, my husband is my Owner. I am his property. He uses me much like he would use any kind of property, like a watch or a shovel or a pencil. Like a shovel, sometimes he uses me in the regular way. Like shoving his cock in my pussy. (Sorry for the bad pun.) And like you might use a shovel to lever something out of the ground, or to pound in a fence post, he sometimes uses me in ways that are a little irregular. Like making me service a cock with each of my holes, at the same time. 

I'm getting sidetracked again. I get so horny thinking about it, sometimes it's hard to concentrate. Anyway, the point is, he's only my Owner some of the time. When I'm not catering to his every whim, we have a normal marriage. We make decisions together. We go out to dinner. I mostly take care of the inside of the house, while he mostly takes care of the outside. I do the gardening. He fixes things. We skype with our kids at college. I make cookies, when asked, for the church and other organizations. We both work, pool our money, pay our bills, go on vacation when able, sit and read when we have a chance, watch sunsets and generally enjoy life as much as we can. Together.

If you've read my story from the beginning, you know all this. But sometimes it's worth getting the newbies up to speed. I'm real. I have a social security number. I pay taxes and grumble about it. The stories you're about to read are as real as I am. I'm writing them down because my Owner thinks it's a good idea. Maybe it will inspire someone to break the chains of their conformity. Maybe you'll read this and try something new. Or maybe my Owner knows that writing this gets me extra hot, so I'll be in a better place when he torments me next. You never know. He's really good at getting inside my head.

I tell most of the stories from my point of view. But sometimes I try and tell them from an outsider's view. Or even my Owner's. Or one of his friends. I'm trying new things with this because I think it would get boring to hear over and over about how it feels when I orgasm, or the way that cum drips down my tits, or what it tastes like when I lick his ass. So maybe setting the scene a different way helps tell the story. Or maybe not. Feel free to tell me what you think in the comments section. Prior to this, the most I'd ever written was academic papers to get my degree. This whole autobiography thing is still new to me.

So let's get started with a few key events that happened in the last two years...

I'M SITTING ON A KITCHEN CHAIR a few weeks after my Owner's failed experiment with the bondage coach. OK, so not entirely failed. He pushed us to try things that made me feel more vulnerable and helpless. But he was a creepy guy and I'm glad he's gone. So, I'm sitting on a kitchen chair, completely nude, my butt uncomfortable on the wooden seat. My hands are tied together behind me, behind the back of the chair.. My ankles are tied to the chair's front legs, and ropes run around my thighs to the stiles under the chair, ensuring that my legs are held wide apart. I have a gag in my mouth. They call it a cleave gag. It's really nothing more than one of my Owner's ties, knotted tight through my mouth and around the back of my head. I can talk, a little, though it sounds like when the dentist has his fingers in your mouth. I don't talk, however, because that would earn me a punishment. And I have no interest in having my Owner come over and swat my sensitive tits with a crop for such a breach of his orders. 

It's broad daylight outside, and I'm seated next to the doorwall. Anyone who comes to the doorwall would easily see me bound to the chair, my nipples erect with excitement, my crotch wet with desire. I try not to think about this but my mind keeps returning to it. My half-step-brother is due over sometime that day. If he saw me like this, I would die of embarrassment. Then, given the kind of pig he is, he'd probably demand to take pictures of me to wank over. At this point, I'm not sure what my Owner would say to that. It worries me enough that I can't stop thinking about it. 

Also, behind our house is a big stand of trees, with a few hiking trails in there. Though only a few people know of my exploits as a submissive wife, they may have told others. The woods are sufficiently close that a person with binoculars could see inside the door wall. See me sitting there naked. See my breasts fully exposed. See that I'm tied to a chair. And watch my Owner do to me whatever he has in mind. 

What did he have in mind? He was putting it together right in front of me. It was diabolical. It would have me screaming in pleasure, and for mercy, for hours on end. He'd taken a sawzall, a portable reciprocating saw, for those of you who don't have a house with thousands of dollars worth of tools in it. He'd take the blade out and replaced it with a short pole. As I watched, he was attempting to attach a thick, long, rubber dildo to the end. He was having some trouble getting the dildo to stay on the pole. That would be important. Because, if I wasn't mistaken, once he figured it out, he would be sticking that dildo in my cunt, turning on the machine, and fucking me mechanically as I came over and over and over, until my pussy was sore and dry and ravaged. And then he would oil it up with lube and do it some more, letting the mechanical dildo pillage me at a pace his hand or cock could never keep up to. It was pain through pleasure, torment through orgasm, and one of the things he really, really enjoyed. My muffled, strangled screams coming through the gag would only add to his enjoyment.

Tied as I was, I wouldn't be able to stop him in any way from assaulting me with his handmade fuck machine. I would be totally at his mercy. And he knew enough about me, about my sounds and the look in my eyes, to know how far past my limits he could push me without doing any lasting damage. We have a safe word. Everyone should. But every time I've been close to using it, just ready to scream it out, he's always backed off. He knows my limits. And my limits were getting broader and broader every day. 

I looked out the door wall again and saw movement in our neighbor's yard. Part of the view is blocked by pine trees, but from our deck and door wall you can see into the rear of the yard. The neighbor's chubby wife was crawling on her hands and knees through the grass, naked, her tits dangling and swaying. We found out that first weekend that the couple next door had been practicing hardcore D/s for some time now. Every weekend, on sunny days like these, he does something vile and perverted to her. She seems to like it. Or at least tolerate it. I think she deserves it. She's always been a bitch to me. In my head, I call her a fat cow. They don't have to worry about someone spying on them from the woods because they have a large shed blocking the view. I shudder every time I think of that shed and what's in there. I shudder and get incredibly horny. 

A knock on the door startled me out of my reverie. It came from the screen door leading from the garage to the kitchen. I looked wild-eyed at my Owner who just shrugged. It wasn't something he'd set up. I heard the sound of the door opening and almost broke my silence with a scream. Few people knocked on that door instead of the front door. The UPS man. A neighbor. For the first time ever, I found myself hoping that it was the Dom neighbor from next door. He at least would understand why I was naked and tied to a chair. 

It wasn't him. It was my husband's friend of 20-some years, Todd. I caught the look of shock on his face, the widening of his eyes, the drop of his jaw, before I shut my eyes in dread of what was to come. 

"Hey... um, did I catch you in the middle of something?" Todd asked my Owner.

Yes, I screamed silently, my eyes still closed. You should go now, I added, trying to push him out the door with my mind. 

"Nah," my Owner shockingly replied. "Just getting ready to have a little fun. See? I've got the mechanics all figured out. But I can't figured out a way to keep the dildo attached."

I heard footsteps getting closer and braced myself for the inevitable. "Hmmm, I might have an idea for that," Todd said, shockingly close by. "If I can have some fun too."

No! I silently screamed at my husband, thinking of him that way and not as my Owner. Though I didn't protest out loud, so I could see later, after some reflection, why my objection didn't register with him. 

There was a long silence that seemed to last for a week, or at least a couple of seconds. "Well, we could ask her," my husband replied. "But she's not allowed to talk right now. So, if you can find out if she's interested by the thought," he said with a smirk in his voice, "then I guess it wouldn't be so bad if you join in."

I opened my eyes and stared daggers at both of them, scorning them for their transparent cleverness. Todd, standing just inches from my bound and naked body, took the cue and reached over to fondle my nipples, which were rock hard, curse them. "Hard nipples," he commented, rolling the nubs between thumb and fingers. He released them, then slowly slid his hand down my body, across my stomach, brushing along the shaved stripe of my pussy patch, his eyes on mine as he greedily took what was offered. Down between my legs his rough fingers traveled, one digit slipping between my swollen pussy lips. I wanted to be dry there, wanted to be shocked that my husband could so callously allow his friend to see and touch me there. His middle finger hooked up inside my cunt, my wet, hot and dripping cunt, betraying my excitement, my sexual energy. He fingered me with enthusiasm, pressing his finger deep inside my hole, fucking me with it, coating himself in my steaming pussy juices. I stared him in the face, trying to show my hatred of him, but knowing it was lost on him, knowing that in his mind, my body had betrayed me and that I was actually very turned on by his exploitation of my vulnerability. 

A few words about Todd. He's been my husband's best friend since high school. As friends go, you would say that Todd would be the wingman to my husband's pilot. Forever trailing behind, forever lost in the shadows. Todd, or Toady as he is sometimes known, is a stereotypical computer geek. He's pudgy, maybe even chunky. His hair is always in disarray, his face is perpetually florid, his eyes are forever distracted. Unless he sees a woman of almost any body type. Then his face transforms into a leer so depraved that it makes me retch. Despite all this, he never seems to be without female companionship. Some women are just drawn to him, by his boyishness. That attraction never lasts longer than a few weeks, though, as they quickly discover the rude, crude personality behind that boyish face. 

When I first started dating my husband, he made it clear that Todd came with the package. He would be joining us at concerts, on road trips, at the movies. I set him up with a few of my friends, there at the beginning, but quickly learned from them that not only were his social skills lacking, but that he had a crude way of treating women that could've only come from the seedier parts of the internet. I stopped setting him up, and stopped warning away the women who were perpetually trying to change him. I've since begun to think that some women just enjoy being treated poorly. 

During the following years, Todd and I came to an agreement of sorts. He would make crude comments and I would roll my eyes. And I would tease him shamelessly with my body, showing a lot of cleavage, strutting around in a bikini, bending over seductively, and generally driving him crazy with the knowledge that he could only look, but not touch. It was all going perfectly. Then came the day, today, when he walked into the house while I was tied up naked, and all my clever teasing came back to bite me. Along with, it would turn out, his yellowed but sharp teeth.

"Well, unless she's always so hot and wet, I'd say she was excited by the thought of having some fun with me," Todd replied to my Owner's earlier question. "But I wouldn't bet against her being hot and slutty all the time," he added, a sickeningly triumphant smirk on his face. 

"That's not a bet I'd take," my Owner replied with a quick smile. "So, you going to help me with this or not?"

Pausing only to rub his juice-covered fingers on my lips, Todd strode over, his eyes now alight with the thrill of a problem solved. "Here's what I'm thinking. See, you take this shaft," he paused, emphasizing the word and giving me a leering wink, "and cut wedges into it, so it's barbed like a manta ray's tail. Then, coat the whole shaft with super glue and shove that dildo right down onto it. The glue will hold it, but if that comes loose, the barbs will keep it from sliding off the shaft." Both times he put emphasis on the word shaft, as if sharing a joke with someone in another room. Someone like me.

"That brilliant!" my husband marveled. "What would I do without you?" I closed my eyes and prepared to wince as the answer came back, "The question is what wouldn't you do with me?" Har-de-har-har, I thought.

Then suddenly I wasn't even pretending to laugh. "I'm going to get this thing working," my Owner said, his voice suddenly deeper and more menacing. "Why don't you amuse yourself for a while," he said to Todd, "And why don't you entertain our guest?" he said, gesturing with his chin at me. With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the workshop. 

Part of my mind wanted me to scream for my husband and beg him to come back. I wasn't ready! Not like this. Not with this man, this pig who thought that every woman wanted to be oppressed under his foot. But the other part of my mind recognized the logic of it. Of making his best friend the first man I'd be given to. Todd, for all his faults, always had safe sex. He got himself checked out after every girlfriend, making sure that he didn't have any diseases. And who could be trusted more to ensure that the secret was kept? Tom would never part with it, if only in fear of being cut off. 

Yet another part of my mind held out hope. Maybe I was just exaggerating the fear. My husband/Owner hadn't actually said that Todd could fuck me. He hadn't actually said that this was the moment he'd been "training" me for over the past few months. He hadn't actually... All thoughts fled as his lips came down on mine, hot and questing. I struggled for a moment, but could no more push him off than I could spontaneously dress myself. His tongue probed my mouth. He reached around my head and suddenly the gag was loose and out and thrown to the ground. Again his head dipped down and this time his mouth covered mine, his tongue spearing inside, hot and insistent, raping this hole as if in preparation for taking and owning those other, more intimate wells.

He moved his lips down to my breasts, kissing the firm flesh first, then transferring his attention to my nipples. I'm not afraid to say that I have big breasts. They're 38DD, firm and natural with very little sag, even after nursing two children. They're probably the first thing that most men notice about me, and the most likely part of me to get groped, should someone be in a position to do so. As Todd now was. As the flat of his tongue rasped across my hard nuggets I couldn't help but mewl in pleasure. I didn't want to give in to this just yet, but he somehow found all my weak spots and turned my resistance into weak-kneed acquiescence. 

As he burrowed his face in between my tits, frantically licking the undersides, I suddenly realized that this was indeed going to happen. This man was going to be allowed to spear my holes with his hard dick. My husband was going to stand by and watch as another man fucked his wife. What would it feel like? Would it feel different from any of the lovers I'd had before meeting my husband? I'd fantasized about it. Masturbated to it. Described it in detail to my husband as he sought to train me to be a submissive and enthusiastic lover these past months. He wouldn't be so cruel as to stop his friend at this point. I'd be spreading my legs for someone else, welcoming him into my vagina, feeling his body slam against mine, receiving his cum in my slit or up my ass or on my face. God, I was so horny I felt like I could breathe fire! I wanted it! Maybe not this man, but most assuredly this act.




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 07



"Untie my arms... please," I whispered in a soft and begging voice, his ear just inches from my mouth as he continued to ravage my breasts with his lips. 

He lifted his sweaty face from between my boobs and grinned wolfishly. I thought for a moment that he would demand a trade for the freedom of my arms, but he'd evidently reached the conclusion that he still held all the cards, and there was nothing but the hard seat of the chair keeping him from his ultimate prize.

With my hands free, I pulled him back against me, capturing his mouth in mine. This time I was the aggressor, the need to be penetrated and filled overcoming all disgust at the name and personality of the man who would soon surely be my new master, however briefly. As he bent over to suckle on my tits some more, I reached down and fondled his crotch, the erection easy to feel through his blue jeans. Memories flashed through my mind of all the pictures of cocks my Owner had forced me to look at and collect over the past months. Big ones, short ones, fat ones, thin ones, crooked ones, straight ones, some with giant ball sacs and some with balls dangling below in deflated sacs, like cherries hanging from a tree. 

He pressed his crotch hard against my hand and I could almost wrap my fingers around his cock, the fabric of his jeans and underwear the only impediments to my giving him a desperate hand job. He moaned, then crouched down, leaving my hand grasping nothing but air. He kissed his way down along my belly, tongued my navel, then dropped even lower. My Owner had tied me tightly to the chair, so I could barely lift my ass off the seat, but I tried anyway, my pussy suddenly greedy for the feel of his hot breath and inquisitive tongue against my swollen lips. There was room for him to lick my pussy lips, but not to shove his tongue deep inside. He slurped at me while I looked down at the top of his head in a dizzy haze. When had he started to lose his hair? How far away was my Owner from that? My mind skipped and slid haphazardly from one subject to another, while two parts of my consciousness fought for accepting the pleasure he was giving, and rejecting the attention of such a crude and nasty man.

Slowly he withdrew his head from my crotch, prying open my pussy lips and peering inside, like a virgin boy discovering the mysteries of the opposite sex for the first time. Then he stepped back, grabbed his cellphone and prepared to take pictures of me. I sagged against the ropes, knowing that as soon as he left the house, photos of me would be whizzing through the deepest bowels of the internet. 

"There's no need for that," my Owner's voice came from the doorway. I didn't know how long he'd been there, but from the look on his face, it had been some time. Todd's arm reluctantly dropped, his camera mercifully unused. "Don't worry dude," he continued, laying a hand on Todd's shoulder. "There's more fun to come if you're willing to play along. Just grab a beer, pull up a chair, and we'll make a deal. And you," he turned, pointing at me, "you stay right there and we'll get to you. But no talking. In fact..." he retied the gag around my head, leaving me completely unable to talk or even babble.

Once they were comfortable, my Owner told the story of how we came to be in this situation, outrageously exaggerating the facts to make it seem like I was an insatiable slut who wanted to fuck every hour of every day. He lied and said that I'd begged him to be my Master. He created an entire scene where I pleaded with him to whip, spank, use and abuse me, because that's what really got me horny. And he completely fabricated a discussion in which I promised to do anything in return for the privilege of being ruthlessly fucked by friends and strangers. 

Todd, of course, ate it up. I was every inch the whore he'd been taught to expect from his extensive exposure to the internet. I was married but secretly promiscuous. Demure yet secretly slutty. Confident yet secretly submissive. Good yet secretly wicked. With the gag in my mouth I couldn't protest at all. Todd probably even thought that my wide eyes indicated my shock at My Owner sharing all this with him, and not my shock that it was all fabricated out of thin air. 

"So, after her begging and begging and begging to service another man, I've decided to be the good husband and put her happiness first. Sure, it kind of kinky. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to keep his wife happy, right? And if this is what she wants to, it's my job to give it to her.

"Actually, it's a good thing that you came over," my Owner continued, while I stared my hatred at him. "I was going to advertise online for someone to come over and give her what she wants. But you never know what kind of pervert you're going to get, right? But you're someone I can trust, someone I can make a deal with and know that you're going to keep it."

"I'm the kind of pervert you can trust," Todd smirked in agreement. 

"Exactly!" my Owner laughed along with him. "My kind of pervert. The trustworthy kind. So here's what I'm proposing: You can have this nice piece of fuck meat. You can have her in all the ways you want. But in order to do that, you gotta follow my directions. I'll decide what's going to go down, I'll take the pictures, and you get what you want. You'll be like a porn star. But with a real life wife at your beck and call. A real life slut wife. So, what do you say?"

I sat and fumed, the sexual excitement of just a few minutes ago burning out. It was humiliating sitting here and listening to them negotiate like this, making a deal about the use of my body. Not that I hadn't fantasized about it. But it was so much more mortifying in real life. A lesson I would learn again and again. 

"And what would these 'directions' include?" Todd asked, his eyes never leaving my naked body. 

"Oh, nothing that would get in the way of your enjoyment," my Owner answered. "I might need you to do her a certain way. Or pause a second so that I can get a picture that I need. Mostly, I'll be telling you where to shoot your load, so I can get a good picture or video shot. On the plus side, you won't need to use that shitty cellphone camera. I'll give you copies of all the pictures and videos that you want. I'd appreciate it if you don't post them anywhere, though. You can see why. If certain people around here recognize her, then we won't get to have as much fun. Another plus: you don't have to wear a rubber. She's protected and you're clean. So, there's nothing to get in between you and her. So what do you think?"

I could see Todd pretending to calculate his decision, but it had been made from the moment he walked in the door. With a slight nod to my Owner, Todd got up and approached me, then proceeded to grab and squeeze my breasts. "Sure, man, I can help you out with this," he called over his shoulder. "After all, what are friends for?"

I looked up into Todd's eyes and saw the cruel intent in them. Then looked down to see that tent in his pants had gotten even bigger than before. The anticipation, the dread and the excitement from before swept through me again. He was going to fuck me, brutally fuck me, right in front of my husband, the man who was now my Owner. 

My Owner joined him in front of me, his fingers callously moving on my breast, his eyes delving deep into mine. With a determined smile, he shook Todd's hand, sealing the deal. 

"Help me out with this," my Owner said to Todd, gesturing at the chair. Each grabbing a side, they hefted me up, chair and all, and carried me into the living room. "I'm going to go get a camera," he added, once I was firmly on the ground again. "Feel free to amuse yourself. But not too much," he added in a mock warning tone. 

For Todd, amusing himself consisted primarily of groping my breasts and fingering my pussy. He especially liked to heft my tits, lifting them up and then letting them fall against my body, like some child's toy. Occasionally he would pause, his fingers deep inside my cunt, and whisper all the nasty things he was going to do to me. Despite knowing that he could only do what my Owner would let him do, the thought still sent chills through me. And, despite everything else, thrills of excitement too.

Finally, my Owner walked behind the chair to release the ropes. "Just as you've been trained," he whispered in my ear. Immediately I fell to my knees in front of Todd and undid his belt and pants, freeing his erect cock. It was about the same size as my Owner's, uncut and pulsing with danger. 

I took a deep breath and pulled it into my mouth, letting my lips do the work of pushing back the hood. Todd sighed above me, but I barely heard him. I was too intent on worshipping the cock before me. Now it didn't matter who it belonged to. Now I had to do as I'd been trained, for my Owner's pride. And yes, to avoid any punishment he might give me later on if I didn't perform to the best of my ability. 

And also because the lust had returned. The need to serve, the desire to be penetrated, the craving to be used. I sucked on his cock, using just my lips, mouth and tongue, alternating between a mouth fuck and licking and kissing his ball sac. He tasted musky and sweaty and a little bit like cum, and it seemed likely that he'd been leaking pre-cum since the minute he stepped in the door. I could hear Todd moaning and gasping as I worked his rod, and looking up at him I saw a look of agonizing ecstasy on his face. I was so intent on giving him the best blowjob of his life that I almost missed the signal from my Owner. 

I pulled back. "Please, fuck me," I moaned, not acting in the least. "I need you in me."

While he quickly shed his clothes, I languidly laid back on the carpeting and let my legs fall open, exposing my dripping cunt. If this was going to be it, the moment when my husband and Owner gave my pussy to another man, then I wanted him to be able to see all of what he was getting. With daylight streaming in through the windows, I could see every vein in his raging hardon. so I knew he could see how ripe and ready my body was to be taken and violently fucked. 

Finally, after what seemed forever, he knelt over me, his shaft a dangerous spear with an angry head on it, ready to pierce my pussy lips and pin me to the ground. At first I thought he was going to bend down and eat my pussy, making me wait even longer for his domination of me. But then, with a satisfied sigh, he pushed his shaft into my waiting hole, in one stroke turning me from a slave wife into a slut wife. His cock felt like any other man's, but the moment felt different as I spread my legs open to welcome another man's fuck meat into what was once my husband's private domain. 

Todd fucked me hard for several minutes, his cock sliding smoothly in and out of my pussy, his body banging into mine, the slapping sound echoing through the room. I was barely aware of my Owner hovering about us, taking pictures and movies of his wife being sexually used by another man. The lust, the passion had swept through me, and now all I wanted was that hard cock deeper and deeper inside me, filling my hole and stretching my cunt. I thrust against him, arching my back so he could penetrate me farther, grabbing his butt so he'd stay inside me longer.

Todd responded as any man would, driving his cock inside me to the hilt, oblivious to anything but my welcoming hole. After kissing me occasionally, or pausing to paw at my breasts, now he was consumed with punishing me with his dick. And I urged him to do so.

"Fuck her like a bitch!" my Owner commanded, startling us both. Todd withdrew with a loud 'pop' and I obediently rolled over onto my hands and knees, spreading my legs a little to give him room to mount me. Instead, he moved in front and forcefully pulled my head up by the hair, thrusting his cock at my face. I didn't hesitate and took his cock into my mouth, the familiar taste of my pussy juices flooding my palate. Within a couple of minutes, his erection had returned to its former stiffness.

Swinging around, he crouched down and crammed his rod into my dripping pussy. As I gasped and moaned at the intrusion, he murmured, "That's right, bitch. Take it deep." The threat in his voice sent shivers through me. This wasn't just my Owner making a point. This was another man, pumped full of hormones and power, taking control like a barbarian at the gate. Pulling me back by the hips, he slammed his staff hard into my hole, ramming me like an animal. And all the while, my Owner circled around us, his camera capturing every pornographic moment. 

I could tell Todd was ready when his rhythm faltered a couple of times. When I looked at my Owner for instructions, he mouthed the word 'face,' so I obediently begged Todd to shoot his hot load on my face. He clearly had no objections, pulling out and then slapping my ass, as if to indicate that it had been his idea to give me a facial and not mine. Unfairness is just something you have to put up with when you're a slut wife. In seconds he was towering above me, his sex serpent demanding more attention. 

My Owner had spent much of the last few weeks teaching me about the proper art of cocksucking, and with him watching so closely, I didn't want to disappoint. Arching my back and thrusting my breasts forward, I knelt before Todd's quivering cock and began my mandatory pre-cum worshipping ritual. After kissing each ball in his sac, I moved up and licked the underside of his dick, moving from the base to the tip. Then I kissed the tip, slowly moving my head down to let the shaft slip into my mouth. Only then, after completing the ritual that my Owner had spent so long teaching me, did I start really sucking and licking his cock. 

It didn't take long before Todd was gasping, ready to unleash a blast of his sacred cum. Since the very beginning of our new relationship, my Owner had been teaching me that a man's sperm was the most valuable liquid, not to be wasted, always to be worshipped. So, on my first time with another man, I wanted him to see that I'd learned that lesson. Using one arm to push my tits up to catch any wayward drops, I tilted my head back and opened my mouth, giving him a target for his spunk shot. 

I actually saw his creamy cum shoot out from his cock's narrow slit, flying down onto my cheeks and tongue. He pumped himself with his right hand, sending large globs onto my lips. With a shudder, he pushed his dick back into my mouth, where I simultaneously sucked the remaining goo out, while bathing his stick with the cum he'd already deposited there. When he finally pulled out, globules of sperm still clung to parts of his shaft, milky white and still warm. 

"Finish it right," my Owner ordered, a cruel smile on his lips. It was another ritual he had taught me. It wasn't enough for me to suck and swallow all the cum out of a cock. I also had to swallow all the cum that had landed anywhere else. including my face. And do it in a way that was reverential to a man's powerful penis. So, grasping his shaft, I carefully wiped it down across my cheek, sweeping the spent cum toward my mouth, and covering his rod with it in the process. Into my mouth it went, where I licked it clean. Repeating the process, I was able to clean most of the cum from my face. To Todd's delight, I was able to lick my own tits to clear up the few stray drops that had dripped off my chin and onto my breasts.

"Damn, your bitch is hot!" Todd said breathlessly, collapsing onto the couch, his dick slowly withering. Oddly pleased by the praise, I remained kneeling nearby, glistening with sweat from the violent fucking he'd given me. At that moment, he wasn't Todd the annoying friend of my Owner. He was Todd, the guy who had just fucked me silly. Truthfully, had I tried to stand at that moment, I know I might've had a hard time keeping my balance. He'd banged me that hard.

My Owner came over and patted me on the head, like a dog that had done a good job of obeying. "Good girl," he commented, his hand now resting on my head.. 

"And was it good for you?" he asked his best friend, now sitting naked on the couch. 

I could see immediately that Todd was trying to figure out if his friend was angry, if somewhere along the way he'd stepped over some unseen line. It was kind of gratifying to see him wrong-footed like that. My delight in that didn't last long, though.

"Because if you did like it, maybe you'd want to do it again?" my Owner asked, as if the answer could be anything but affirmative. "Like I told you, she's insatiable. A sex fiend. And I bet even though she just brought you off, she's probably hoping you could get it up one more time so she can impale herself on you. Isn't that right, honey?" 

I didn't need to answer, as he was already helping my head to nod up and down. Todd, of course, ate that up. The idea that I was insatiable fit right into his image of women as a whole. Idiot. And what was my Owner's game? He'd already 'broken my cherry' when it came to sex with other men. This seemed almost gratuitous. There was no way that this geek would've been expecting another go around. Was my Owner punishing me for something? Or was it some sort of display of his control over me?

I mentally shook my head. In the end, it didn't matter what was his motivation for this offer. I was only to obey and to do. All I really wanted to do was shower and climb into bed, to rest and to unsort my wildly conflicting emotions about what had just happened. But all I was destined for was another shower of cum. That would be the geeky joke Todd would make if he had access to what was going on in my brain. 

I crawled over to him, probably looking sexier doing it than I meant to. He obligingly spread his legs open and I nestled in between them, taking up the 'Good Doggy' position that my Owner taught me. That is, kneeling with my legs curled under my ass, my breasts thrust out and my hands resting palms up on my thighs. Ready to obey any order, especially if it involves sucking on something that's right in front of my face. 

Which is what was needed this time. "Get him ready to go again," came the instructions from my Owner, who then stepped away, leaving Todd and I alone in the room. Sighing slightly, I bent to the task, pulling the flaccid penis into my mouth and rolling it back and forth across my tongue. Back and forth, back and forth, I worked on it in a slow, steady rhythm, willing it to stiffen and harden to the point where Todd, or Toad, could once again cram it into my hot box and bang me again. 

It turned out to take more than a blowjob to bring Todd to full staff again. He liked to play with my boobs, and the ability to do whatever he wanted with them, without having to worry about how the woman beneath them felt about that, was what eventually got him hard. He liked to abuse women, and having one at his beck and call was more of a turn-on than having one kneeling between his legs and sucking him off. Or, at least as much of a turn-on. 

Despite my best efforts, it took almost a quarter of an hour to get him stiff and ready again. That's a long time in comparison to my Owner, who had the evident advantage of taking the special, probably illegal drugs from his doctor that kept him filled with lust and hard as a rock for days on end. Finally, though, his pole was at full-mast, so to speak, and he was waving it around like a patriot in a political parade. And from the way he was talking, it was clear that the imbecile thought that I couldn't get enough of his magic pole, and not that I had gotten him hard again on orders from my Owner. For such a smart guy, he was incredibly dense. 

"I was thinking we could start with a tit fuck?" he half-asked half-heartedly of my Owner, who'd equipped himself with a digital camcorder. 

"Ab-so-lute-ly!" my Owner replied, with fake enthusiasm. "Seriously, though, she loves to have those big boobs fucked. I mean, look at them. It's like having another pussy just for men." 




My Slut Wife Life Ch. 07



I couldn't help but look at him, shocked at his statement. It was what I had said to him on our wedding night, when I gave him an enthusiastic tit fuck before we started the main activities for the honeymoon. And now he was sharing it with this pig? There was definitely a power play going on here. I had to wonder if he was somehow resentful of how I'd opened myself to and fucked Todd, even though he had been the one to initiate everything. I was just obeying orders and now he was feeling threatened by it?

My retort was, probably thankfully, interrupted by the introduction of Todd's cock back into my mouth. "Get it nice and wet, bitch," he said aggressively, reassured that his best friend didn't object to how he was treating me. 

I got him dripping wet with spit, then moved into position, trapping his rigid member between my breasts. It was clear from the beginning that I would be doing all the work, so I pushed my tits together and bobbed up and down, intermittently drooling a bit of spit into the valley to help lubricate our efforts. From the moaning, gasps and wild-eyed looks, it was clear that Todd was in tit-fucking heaven. I wondered briefly how many women he'd had this way, but my wandering mind was brought back to the present when my Owner roughly pushed my head out of the way so he could get a good shot at the action from above. I hated him even more for that. 

Finally tiring, for the moment, of having my tits at his disposal, Todd inquired what the next position would be. This time I tried to tune them both out; the negotiations of how to penetrate my body was quickly becoming a source of irritation to me. Finally they agreed on reverse-cowgirl, so Todd could "have a look at that sexy butt in action," and my Owner could "get some close-up shots of a hard cock going into your slutty pussy." I was quickly getting tired of these two bozos.

Unfortunately, they weren't getting tired of me. After making me ride Todd's hard dick for awhile, they flipped me back onto my hands and knees and Todd reamed out my pussy doggystyle. I could tell that he wanted my ass but also feared pressing my Owner too far too fast. So he contented himself with sticking his finger into my anus as he fucked me, wiggling it around and stretching my asshole for the camera to see. 

Worse, despite his rough tactics, I was quickly becoming turned-on again. Maybe I was insatiable? Maybe I was indeed a slut? Whatever. After a solid half hour of being physically banged and orally abused, I was dripping wet inside and desperate to be used some more. Even now I can't understand what turns the switch. It's almost like I zone out, but that's not the right way to describe it. It's more like I zone in... I get to a point where nothing but the physical and emotional sensations, the pleasure and pain and trepidation and anticipation and everything else just wash over me, cover me and fill me with nothing but the need to feel it more and again and in triplicate. 

That's where I was, fellating Todd once again, urging his dick to expand once more and stiffen to the point where he could violate another of my holes, or get swallowed up again in the valley between my breasts. I didn't care what he did. Hell, he could have my ass over and over again if he wanted. And the men, they both knew that I was ready to fuck anything at that point. Todd's cock. A vibrator. Humping the arm of the couch would've been fine with me. I just wanted, lord help me, to be used forever and ever. 

There is, unfortunately, a point at which a man's cock can no longer be coerced to remain rigid. After another half hour of fucking and fluffing (the act of orally stimulating him until he gets hard again), Todd was once again ready to shoot his load. I thought for sure that my Owner would like to see another man's cum dripping from my well-reamed pussy, and had even started to get into position, when the order came to shoot it on my tits. 

Todd was more than happy to comply. He knelt over me, tit-fucked me some more, and then jacked himself off the rest of the way, his cum spurting onto my jiggling boobs like water spraying from a hole in a hose. After dribbling the remainder of his load onto each of my nipples, he bent forward and I sucked the salty mess off his angry-looking head, sliding the tip of my tongue into the tiny slit in an effort to get as much jizz out as possible. 

I still don't know why I did what came next. A brain fart, maybe. Or maybe it was the silky feel of hot cum on my body. Whatever the reason, I grabbed my tits and slathered his load all over, smoothing it into every pore, as if it was an exotic perfume or massage oil. From the sour look on my Owner's face, I knew immediately that I'd done something wrong. And that I would pay for it, very, very soon. 

Things happened quickly from there. My Owner put me into the 'Kneel for Inspection' position, where I need to kneel straight up with my hands clasped behind my head. Before stepping into the study to give Todd his promised pictures and videos, my Owner even set up a motion camera, to capture any times I lost control of my position. It works very simply: if I move enough to make the camera take a picture, then I've moved too much. And the motion sensor is very sensitive. 

In the time it took for Todd to receive his copies, and a reassurance from my Owner that he'd be enjoying my body many, many times in the future, the camera had flashed three times. That meant three times the punishment. On top of whatever I would receive for touching that load of cum without permission. I was almost hoping that Todd might stick around some more, if only to put off what would be a lengthy punishment. 

He was, however, out the door all too soon, a dreamy and yet voracious look on his face. I didn't turn to watch him go. The camera was still trained on me. 

"All right, young lady," my Owner growled, once the front door was shut. "It's a good thing that Todd doesn't know shit about how a slut wife should act. And obey. Because then I'd be even more embarrassed than I am now." He stepped around the camera and checked the pictures. "Plus, three times you moved? I was gone for what, ten minutes?"

There was no point in arguing that the floor was hard, or that my bladder was full, or that I was tired from having been fucked silly for the past few hours. Complaining did no good. That was one lesson this slut wife had learned right from the start. Instead I answered in the ritual form he demanded, "I'm sorry, Master. I should be punished."

"Damn right you should be punished," he said between gritted teeth. He seemed to be barely holding in his anger, though to me it seemed completely out of proportion to what I'd done. He was upset that I'd enjoyed the fucking so much! But pointing out how hypocritical that was would be extremely unwise. 

He grabbed my hair in his fist and pulled me to my feet, the flash on the monitoring camera going off with a series of bursts. I stumbled along as he dragged me through the house, trying desperately to keep my hands clasped behind my head -- he hadn't given me permission to break position. 

Finally we ended up in the bathroom and my heart sank as I realized what my punishment was to be. Seating himself on the toilet, he pulled me over his lap, my ass bare and firm, ready for a spanking to be administered. When he next spoke, it was in that thin, calculating voice that I'd learned to fear the most. "That's 10 strokes for each time you moved out of position. For a total of 30, right?"

"Yes, Master," I answered tremulously, even as his hand descended cruelly onto my ass cheeks. I tried to focus on the sting of the spanking to keep from focusing on what was going to come next. Probably. Or maybe it was a psychological ploy to make me suffer from anticipating something that wouldn't happen? He did that sometimes. I didn't think I would be so lucky. The sight of another man banging me, no matter how much he'd wanted it, had shaken him more than he'd expected. I knew I was not being punished so much for my transgressions, but as a way to assuage whatever turmoil was in his head. He was reasserting his authority over me. And marking his territory again. And how do most males do that? Like a dog.

That last thought hit me just as the thirtieth swat stung my pink and pulsating ass cheeks. I looked fearfully back at him, hoping for some mercy, but he just gestured at the tub. 

I'll always remember the first time he did this to me. I'd been shocked and disgusted and humiliated, and that was only at the suggestion of it. Despite my trepidation, though, I hadn't been able to come up with a good reason to use the safe word. Even when I couldn't even come up with a substitute act that would be worse than what he was demanding. (That's how we work it. If I use the safe word to stop something, he gets to pick something else to do in exchange. And I can't object to that.) That stream of urine hitting my breasts, and then making its way up to my face, had been the latest act to make me question my agreement to follow this lifestyle. It was humiliating and degrading. And worse, it turned me on. 

Yeah, I know. If you haven't experienced it, you're calling 'bullshit' on me right now. And for most women, it would be just humiliating and degrading. A reason to leave your man. Or at least, something that you want to avoid at all costs. Something you will only do for him after many hours of pleading. And the addition of a couple of carats of diamonds to your collection. 

And yet, for some of us... Well, admittedly, for a very few of us, it is a turn-on. I've thought about it. A lot. And when I didn't come up with an answer that way, I talked about it with my therapist. And in talking about it, I remembered dreams and fantasies that I must've subconsciously stored away because of the shame that goes with it. Fantasies of men standing over me. Of being completely at their mercy. Of liquids spraying down on me from the slits in their dicks. Of those liquids sometimes being streams of cum. And sometimes being streams of pee. And damn me, but those fantasies and dreams always ended up with me giving myself a giant orgasm. 

Still, the first time my husband, in the guise of my Owner, suggested that I crouch down and take his pee on me, I was still shocked by the thought. We were in this very same bathroom, getting ready to shower together, getting ready for me to attend to him in the shower, when he ordered me into the tub. And ordered me to take the 'Ready for Inspection' position. And then turned and abruptly starting peeing on me. 

I was astounded. Couldn't believe it was happening. And didn't make a move to stop it. His pee splashed against my breasts, first the right one, then the left one. The stream moved up my chest, my eyes locked on the head of his cock the entire time. Up my neck. And when it reached my chin, without an order being uttered, I obediently opened my mouth. And he aimed his stream right into that hollow, filling it up, forcing me to taste his urine. Then upwards some more, making me shut my eyes, until the stream of urine was splashing across my forehead and finally soaking my hair. 

I knelt there, unmoving, my mouth still filled with a pool of urine. I could feel his piss dribbling down my body, dropping from the tips of my breasts onto the tub floor. Dripping through my pussy patch and into the cleft of my slit. It was my dreams, my fantasies, all over again. Played out in reality. I felt warm and wet and a small orgasm jolting through my body. I looked up into his eyes, my body dripping with his dirty urine, the stink of it filling the bathroom, and closed my mouth and swallowed every drop. I couldn't lean forward fast enough to get his cock into my mouth. I wanted to suck everything out of him, out of his cock tube, out of his pee hole, onto my tongue, down my throat. I sucked him off and swallowed a giant load of gooey sperm, letting it slide down my throat like a raw oyster.

Now he was going to pee on me again, only this time in punishment. Even so, a thrill shot through me. At his orders I stepped into the tub. "You first," he said. At first I didn't know what he meant. Then I got it. He wanted to watch me pee. In the last few weeks, he'd been making me pee in the woods like an animal, squatting down and letting go. This was just another thing like that. So I squatted. I peed. And the warm water arced up onto the sides of the tub, then ran down to pool around my bare feet. It had been a while, and I'd been fucked a lot, so I had a lot of urine in me. 

Finally, as it was dribbling to an end, he ordered me onto my knees. I knelt in the urine-soaked tub and obediently opened my mouth. He aimed his piss right at my breasts, right where Todd had unloaded his cum, and sprayed them up and down, back and forth. Only after he'd coated them completely in urine did he fulfill my ultimate wish and aim it into my mouth. After it slowed to a trickle and stopped, I leaned my head back, gargled his piss a few moments, then drank it all down. Despite knowing this was supposed to be a punishment, a wave of bliss swept through me. He put his bare foot on the edge of the tub and I reverently bent to kiss it.

"What else can I do for you, Master?" I asked meekly. 

"I'm sure we'll think of something, you slut," he said cruelly, but with a hint of tease in his voice. "Something really nasty," he promised. 

As I sucked the remaining drops of pee from his dick, I had a sudden shiver. He would keep that promise. And I would probably get off on it.

** End of Part 7 **