6 comments/ 262601 views/ 75 favorites The Transformation of Betty By: dom_u_softly Its been so long ago that I can't remember how soon after we were married that the fantasy of sharing my wife Betty with other men became a constant in my head. Each time we had sex and she assumed her favorite position of straddling and riding me I found it impossible to ignore the vision of my 5' 2" wife doing the same with another man, her 34B tits swaying and bouncing as she fucked herself on him. However, back then at least I was surely not bold or confident enough to assume that this image could become anything but a fantasy. Nevertheless, thinking that perhaps if I made the 'right preparations' it could happen in some unplanned way. The first step in those preparations, then, was encouraging her to share the same fantasy. Hence, whenever we fucked I'd encourage it in her by saying such things as 'wouldn't you love another cock in you now?' or 'it would be fantastic to watch someone make you cum'. I knew it was pretty safe to say such things with her in the heat of passion, even though her responses rarely went further than a nod of the head. I knew even then that when hot and on the edge of cumming, she'd agree or at least not object to things that in the cold light of day she'd absolutely refuse to consider. So rather than allow her the opportunity to give me a definitive 'No' or 'Are you crazy' I left it at that. Instead, I simply encouraged her to dress increasingly sexier whenever we went out dining or dancing - high heels, tight dresses, plunging necklines. "Who knows," I thought to myself, without a clear vision as to what I was hoping might happen, "when we find ourselves in a situation when she'd allow herself to be seduced." At times I pushed her a little further than she was willing to go, but month by month and over the course of those initial years of marriage she allowed her attire to become increasingly provocative. It was also around this time that I learned that my petite and seemingly innocent wife loved anal sex, loved having a vibe pushed into her butt when she rode me, and would consent even on occasion to wearing a plug when we went out. Although she claimed that she wore the plug only because I requested it, there was little doubt it kept her wet. In the back of my mind, then, I hoped that the plug in combination with her attire would keep her horny enough throughout an evening out that she'd surrender to that as yet unvisualized opportunity to be shared. Unfortunately, despite my search for venues whereby my fantasy might be realized - restaurants with bars, hotels with nightclubs -- no such opportunity seemed to present itself. Caution too prevailed: Even then the issues of disease and safety kept me from merely seeking some stranger at a bar, and I was never bold enough to suggest anything like a swing club for fear I'd get an unequivocal NO. So I satisfied myself with essentially becoming a voyeur of sorts ... displaying my wife as much as she would allow herself to be displayed, taking pleasure from the fact that the men who saw her most likely wanted to and imagined fucking her. It was a few years into the marriage that we had the good fortune of moving into a neighborhood that was quite social ... barbeques in someone's back yard three or four times a year, an annual New Years Eve party across the street, and assorted other random social meetings such as a birthday party for someone's kid (we had none at the time). And it was at the first of these get- togethers, when being introduced to our new neighbors, that we met Bill, an older (by at least 15 years) unmarried gentleman living alone in the Victorian house down the street. Thus, our neighborhood events and chance encounters at the local grocery store put my wife in relatively frequent contact with Bill and when I had the chance to see them together I could tell there was a mutual attraction. Indeed, the flirting at those barbeques became sufficiently obvious that my wife readily made lite of it, sometimes taunting me with the question 'are you jealous?' My wife wasn't hesitant at all to tell me that she found Bill attractive, even sexy ... but she always did this in a offhanded or dispassionate way without revealing any secret desires. I, on the other hand, saw Bill as the 'golden opportunity'. Now it was no longer 'wouldn't you like another cock in you' but 'wouldn't you like Bill's cock in you' or 'Id love to watch Bill fuck you.' And as before, despite the subsequent frenzied fucking, there was no verbal acknowledgment that any of this turned her on. I was nevertheless certain that the fantasy now existed in my wife's mind, but perhaps to minimize the guilt, I concluded that even if she would allow it, she wanted no role in its planning. For her, it had to be something that 'simply happened' even if she wasn't opposed to it happening. I no longer recall what the specific occasion was, but in perhaps six or seven months time, I built up the courage to ask her point blank if she ever fantasized about Bill fucking her. Her answer was initially evasive: "Do you really want me to?" With a lump in my throat I answered "Yes." "Are you sure he'd want to have sex with me?" "I think I can guarantee it" I replied. "Well, if you really wanted me to I would ... I suppose. He is sexy, I'll admit that. Its up to you." At that point I think we were both sufficiently embarrassed by this exchange and its potential implications that we almost immediately changed the subject and didn't mention it again for a long time. In fact, I let one neighborhood get-together pass without doing anything except leaving my wife alone as much as I could to maximize the opportunities she and Bill had to flirt (which they did). It was the neighborhood party some four or five months later that I decided to act. With a lump in my throat, but with every expectation that Bill would be agreeable, I simply walked up to him when he was alone and said "my wife is attractive, isn't she?" "Yes ... quite attractive, sexy even." He stood there, seemingly waiting for me to say something and so I took the bold leap and said "I wouldn't be the least bit opposed if you seduced her." Without giving him a chance to reply I then blurted out "In fact, I've always had the fantasy of sharing her with another man and I've been encouraging her to let you seduce her." Exhibiting no surprise at my bold offer, he said smoothly "I'd love to fuck her ... I'll leave it up to you to arrange it," at which point he simply walked away to begin a conversation elsewhere. My head began to spin with ill-formed ideas as to what to do next (while making sure that my suddenly hard cock wasn't visible). But it seemed that I had gone about as far as I could go then. I first had to adjust to the fact that I had just boldly offered my wife to another man as a fuck toy and he had accepted ... and that, aside from my wife's reaction, it was now up to me as to whether or when to realize my fantasy. We went home that evening without me mentioning my conversation with Bill. But thereafter I was sure to invoke his name in some erotic context whenever possible. Indeed, I led myself to think that after her frank admission of her willingness to fuck Bill if I wanted her to, that my wife knew I was setting her up in some way. I even began to push the envelope when we fucked: Instead of asking questions when we fucked to elicit a `yes' or some other admission of desire, I made simple assertions such as 'you'll go wild with Bill's cock in your ass' or 'Id love watching you cum as Bill fucks you.' Since she never raised an objection or took back her words, I was confident she'd submit to whatever I planned. The next party, months later, was, appropriately enough, New Years Eve across the street, which provided the excuse to have my wife dress sexier than usual ... surely sexier than for an afternoon barbeque. No bra or panties but a pair of 4" heels (we hadn't yet progressed to a pair of true fuck me heels), button up blouse and an ankle length skirt with a slit up the side to nearly the height of her cunt. I had also in the process made another command decision; namely, to let Bill fuck her without me there to watch. My concern was that she might freeze up out of embarrassment I n my presence, whereas if she were alone with him she'd find it far easier to let herself go. I was naturally concerned that Bill would come to the party or that he'd show up with some other woman in tow. But sure enough, there he was, having arrived even before us. It didn't take me long, then, to approach him out of earshot of everyone and ask "do you want her tonight?" "Why do you think I came here by myself tonight?" was his immediate reply. Deciding that if I was going to have my wife used as a slut, I wanted her used thoroughly, I added "I'll give her to you after midnight. You can take her to your home and keep her overnight if you wish." Pretty bold on my part, but one does have to take steps sometimes to get what one wants. Convinced, moreover, that my wife was fully primed to surrender to Bill, I spent a good part of my time trying to disguise the bulge that strained at my pants. Other than that the remainder of the evening went pretty much as usual ... some flirting between them and an occasional dance. I cannot say whether Bill related our conversation to her and that he intended to fuck her that night, but aside from seeing how tightly he seemed to hold her on a few of those dances, whatever outward indication there were of our plans were sufficiently discrete that even I couldn't detect them. At the stroke of midnight I made certain, of course, that I was with my wife for a deep, tongue probing kiss with my hands pulling her by the cheeks of her ass against my harded cock. I know when my wife is wet, and I was certain she knew what I had planned. But there still was one more bold step to be taken. It was after we separated from our kiss that I told her bluntly "now go to Bill and go back with him to his house . I've given you to him for the night." Maybe it was because I was afraid she'd object or refuse ... after all, I had never explicitly told her I intended to have her loaned out as a virtual whore rather than be there to participate in her sharing. Perhaps it was simply the still lingering embarrassment at so boldly having put plans into effect to have my wife made a slut. My greatest fear of all, of course, was that I had misread all the signals and she would simply walk away from me and return home after calling me a pervert. But rather than allow for any reaction I simply walked away to fix myself another drink leaving her to stand there. She remained there unmoving for a minute, stunned perhaps at suddenly realizing that I had in fact arranged the thing I had for so long hinted or talked about. But it was at that point, with his obviously appropriate instincts for timing, that Bill reappeared at her side and, taking her by the hand, led her to the closet to retrieve her coat. I have no idea what words if any they exchanged as he helped her on with her coat, but quickly they slipped out the front door while trying to avoid the notice of anyone there. Not wanting people to come up to me to ask 'where is Betty?' I soon left myself to cross the street to my own now empty house. Needless to say, once home my imagination roamed wildly. Would she chicken out; would she fuck him once and then hurry home, embarrassed by what she had done? Was she already in the throes of passion, taking his swollen cock in each and every hole, one orgasm after another rocking her senseless? I'll admit now that I came 3 or 4 times that night imagining her in his bed, knowing what she looked like when she came ... her moans and cries of passion, the expressions on her face, her orgasmic convulsions. Sometime that morning I fell asleep and didn't awake until 10AM or so, and still she hadn't returned. It was only then that I felt any anxiety and so it was with a sense of relief that I greeted her when she finally came home a hour later. She offered no commentary on what had transpired that night, except to say she was exhausted and sore. She seemed neither angry nor excited, but simply drawn out. Of course I wanted to learn every detail of what had happened, but once again I felt too inhibited to ask any blunt questions. In fact, to say that she had been fucked and fucked hard is an understatement. Unbeknownst to me or her, Bill was an experienced Dom who had decided that if I was going to loan my wife to him and if she was going to accept being shared, then he was going to make her a sub slut. At the time, D/s only meant whips and chains to me and I was unaware of any of the sophistication of a true D/s relationship. Bill, though, began that very first night with his training. Instead of simply fucking her, resting, and then doing it again after he had recharged (which is what I had naively assumed would happen with a seemingly `horny divorced bachelor') he spent the night playing with her, bringing her to the edge of one orgasm after another, but only occasionally allowing her over that edge, and then only after she said what he wanted her to say. And what she had to say was intended to strip her of her inhibitions - unashamedly begging to have Bill fuck her ass, to spank her harder, to bite her tits, or simply to fuck her and fill her so she could cum again. My questions then were general and less than explicit: 'Did you enjoy yourself?' 'Did he fuck you hard?', etc. My wife had a difficult time describing what she had experienced or answering forthrightly. Embarrassment still pervaded her replies and evenb after a night of being shared, she still had a difficult time uttering such words as 'fuck'. But what minimal answers she gave ('he played with me and used me all night') were suggestive enough to keep my cock throbbing. Those answers, though, were not nearly as comprehensive as what Bill required, for he had given her instructions to describe in minute detail how he had used her through the night. If I had know Bill's full intent when loaning my wife to him, I would never have been surprised at what happened next. Even before I could relieve my own pent up horny frustrations by pushing my wife down on the living room carpet to fuck her Bill called and asked if he could come over to see if she had followed his instructions. Not knowing precisely what he meant by this, I was nevertheless not about to forego the opportunity to learn more and to continue with the 'fantasy' of making my wife a slut. My wife's response to learning that Bill was on his way over was simply "Oh god, he's going to make me tell you precisely how he fucked me." If my hand had been at my cock I would have exploded in my pants then. Fortunately it took Bill only minutes to walk the half block between our house and his. I could tell my wife was more than a little embarrassed to have Bill there ... the man to whom she had just surrendered to like a common whore. More than likely, she still had some of his cum in her. Entering the house, Bill immediately suggested that my wife take a seat on the living room sofa and that he and I sit in chairs facing her. Assuming command of the situation in a wholly natural unobjectionable way, he ordered "Betty, tell your husband what happened as soon as you got to my house." With a quiver of embarrassment she replied "Bill made me take off my skirt and blouse." "You weren't wearing any panties or bra then were you because you came to the party expecting to get fucked by me, isn't that right?" "Yes, that's right" she replied, lowering her eyes. "Tell your husband happened next at my house?" "He got some cuffs from a desk in the living room and attached them to my ankles and wrists." I didn't at that moment think my cock could get harder, but it was only with a supreme act of will that I was able to keep from rubbing my crotch when she answered his next question: "And what did I do after each cuff was attached? Look at your husband when you answer!" "He fingered me." "No slut ... what specifically did I finger?" "You fingered my ... my cunt and my ass" "Pull up your skirt to your waist ... pull it up so we can see your cunt while you sit there." Never had I imagined my wife following such an instruction, even if given by me in the privacy of our bedroom. Maybe it was the sternness of his voice or his mere presence, but amazingly she did as told. "Now keep looking at your husband and finger your cunt." She was clearly having a hard time looking into my eyes. But her hand nevertheless moved between her legs until a finger slipped in and I could tell that her cunt was beginning to throb and she was slowly adjusting to being an unashamed slut. At that point Bill stood up, walked behind the sofa, leaned forward to unbutton my wife's blouse so that he could openly fondle her tits, whispering in her ear "push it in deeper, slut ... move it in and out." I sat there in both shock and supreme arousal as I watched her now wet finger slowly slide in and out of her reddened cunt. "You want to cum for me, don't you slut?" he asked. "Yessss .. " she moaned. "Did I fuck all your holes last night?" "Yessss..." "Were you my whore?" And again she moaned her Yessss. "Are you going to be my whore again when I want you?" With her next Yesss all I could do was think, as if commanding myself, 'don't cum ... don't cum in your pants.' "Are you going to let your husband watch me fuck you anytime he wants to watch you being fucked?" "Yesssss... " she moaned and with a shiver pleaded "please, let me cum." "Are you going to let me train you to be a slut, a submissive little fuck toy with me and your husband your Masters?" "Yessssssss" There was my wife, who I thought only 24 hours ago might never let another man fuck her, unashamedly fingering her cunt while Bill fondled her tits, her hips subtly rising to meet her hand, unable to cum until told she could. I knew then that I could only imagine the ways he had controlled and used her that night - the things he had done or had made her do to transform her into what she so obviously was now ... his slut. But I was about to get a full demonstration. "Cum for me now, slut .. Cum like the whore you are!" whereupon my 'sweet innocent' wife let out a sharp guttural moan, arched her back and did precisely as she was told. As soon as her orgasm had passed, he ordered her to stand up, whereupon he came around the sofa and, standing directly behind her, produced two wrists cuffs that he had stuffed in his pockets. "Keep looking at your husband," he commanded as he buckled first one cuff then the other around each wrist. Pulling her hands behind her, he then clipped them together. "There, now we're going to give your husband a demonstration of what a submissive little cunt you truly are." He then motioned for me to come over to her with the instruction to finger her cunt. Any sense of shock, embarrassment or reticence on my part had now passed, for it seemed that she was now no longer a wife, but simply a fuck toy who needed to be used. Pushing my hand to her cunt thru the slit in her skirt, I could feel her wetness dripping down her inner thigh. And as my finger gently flicked at her clit, she suddenly quivered and straightened as Bill moved her skirt even further aside and pushed a finger into her ass. She seemed to sag a bit, but grabbing and squeezing a tit with my other hand, I pushed up harder into her. I could feel Bill's finger working her ass, her eyes now closed tight, her breathing coming in short staccato gasps. "Feel good slut?" I asked as I squeezed her tit harder and attempted to assert some control of the situation. "Yessss" she whimpered, her eyes now shut tight. "Did Bill play with both holes at the same time last night as we are doing now?" The Transformation of Betty Ch. 02 The first thing I wanted to do as soon as Bill left was to get an understanding of what precisely had happened that night. Aside from the simple voyeur aspects of knowing, I also needed to understand how he had seemingly so effortlessly transformed what I thought was a somewhat reluctant participant in the realization of my fantasy into a slut. I couldn't yet say 'eager slut' since I had no idea how she was going to react when given the chance to calmly contemplate what had happened. And to be honest I was curious as well about my own reaction to things once I had the chance to exhale. One thing was certain: From the time we began getting ready for the party last night and I knew what I had planned and saw how she dressed to when she was returned to me and compelled to perform, I'd found the whole thing the most erotic experience of my life. And I decided then that the last thing I wanted to do was to discourage her or in any way scare her away from pursuing things further. The image that today most clearly remains in my mind when I closed the door and turned to face her was her standing there, hands still bound behind her back, eyes focused on the floor doubtlessly out of some sense of embarrassment and uncertainty as to my reaction. It was obvious that the best approach was a touch of tenderness and affection. Walking up to her to give her a hug and loving kiss, I softly whispered "that was wonderful dear, absolutely wonderful." "Oh god .. I feel so .... so ... Peter, I don't know what I feel" she confessed. "It was an incredible night, wasn't it. You experienced a level of passion you hadn't thought possible, didn't you?" I asked, with a tone that deliberately tried to communicate that I felt no jealousy about the validity of what I had just said. "Yes. Oh god, he did things to me, made me do things ... things I'd never done before. But I was so ... I don't know how to describe it. He got me so incredibly turned on. I couldn't say no to anything." "I guess you learned things about yourself." "I didn't know I 'd react that way to some of the things he did to me, things that before seemed so naughty. But god, I also found it so erotic. Peter, I don't know if I can really do it again. Do you really want me to become a slut ... your slut ... his slut?" It was now or never I decided. She had crossed the line and, frankly, I didn't want her going back. "To be honest, Betty, its been the most erotic 12 hours of my life. I can't describe how turned on I was knowing he was fucking you last night and that you had agreed to let him fuck you. I'll admit that I honestly didn't know how far he'd take it. But even thinking about what had just happened with Bill in the living room makes me hard." And then came my bold admission designed to seal my wife's fate as a slut: "Yes, I want to pursue this further and see where it goes. I'll make this promise: If at any time you want it to end, just say so and it will. But otherwise, I find the idea of Bill and I training you incredibly erotic." In retrospect, I suspect that's precisely what my wife wanted me to say. Not only had she discovered the hidden repressed slut within herself and now didn't want to bury it, she also needed to hear my explicit approval of what had happened. "Ok," she replied, "I'll do what you tell me to do, whatever that means. Just promise to keep me safe. And promise to love me." "Of course ... always safe. And regardless of what happens now, never question my love. I'll talk to Bill later this afternoon and hear what he has to say and we can go from there." Despite this somewhat dispassionate exchange, I wanted the eroticism of the morning to continue. I also wanted her to know that it was not only Bill who would control her. "You knew before we even got to the party that I had planned on having Bill to fuck you, didn't you?" "Yes, you really didn't try to hide that without coming out and explicitly saying it." 'And you decided long before last night, to let it happen, didn't you." "Yes" "So you were already a partial slut in your mind when got ready for the party, weren't you?" "Yes, I suppose that's right." "And it was Bill who you wanted to fuck, correct?" "Yes," she answered once again, seemingly uncertain as to whether I approved of her explicit attraction. "You deliberately wore something especially sexy, something that would turn him on, didn't you?" "Yes, I knew what you wanted and what he would like," she admitted. "You would have been disappointed if I hadn't given you to him, wouldn't you?" "Yes, I'll admit I began looking forward to New Year's Eve months ago. And the more I fantasized about it the more it turned me on. I don't remember his exact words, but Bill even dropped a few hints at the last barbeque. So I knew you had already talked to him." "Are you glad now that you spent the night with him and fucked him?" I asked point blank. Without an explicit 'yes' she nevertheless admitted "I think you know how turned on I got from it, how easily he made me lose control." "So it was even better than in your fantasies, wasn't it?" "Yes" Feeling almost as if I were nailing down a commitment or a contract, I then asked "and you'll do it again whenever you are told to do it, won't you?" "Yes," was her whispered yet portentous reply. I felt no jealousy, but I also felt that I couldn't let Bill alone control her. So as if it were the logical conclusion of what we had just said I commanded her "then get on your knees, slut, and suck my cock." Even though she was still standing in the wetness of her own piss, hands behind her, I think she instinctually understood my motives and immediately did as told. Unzipping my pants to release a cock, I pressed it against her lips until she opened her mouth and, with my hands holding her head, pushed it in: "suck it, suck it good slut, take it in your throat." She had only infrequently taken my cock in her throat before, and always seemed to gag and protest a bit. But this time she offered no resistance as my cock slid over her tongue straight into her mouth. I pulled her face hard to me, holding it there so I could feel the muscles of her throat contract around me. Then slowly I began fucking her, all the while saying such things as 'take it slut', 'swallow it slut', 'let it fuck your throat slut' with the emphasis on the word 'slut' so as to get her used to being called one by me. I wasn't long, of course, before my cock again exploded with what had to be a diminished quantity of cum. But now that she had admitted going to the party with the expectation of fucking Bill, there no longer was any need for a soft touch on my part. As soon as I withdrew my cock, I walked behind her, released the cuffs and told her "you best shower and change ... but first clean up your piss." And with that I simply left for the family room to watch TV. She didn't come down from the bedroom for nearly a half hour, and then only to announce that she really needed to get some sleep ... it had, after all, already been a very long New Year's day. But before I said 'OK' I told her to come to me and turn around, whereupon I lifted the hem of her robe to see if the plug was still in her. Sure enough, it was there ... a clear sign that she meant what she said when expressing a willingness to be trained. With a pat on the ass aimed to tap the plug in a bit, I said simply "go ... get some sleep." I'll admit to being somewhat tired myself, but before I could doze the phone rang. Sure enough, it was Bill, asking if I wanted to come over to talk. No question about it ... it is convenient to have someone who wants to fuck and train your wife living only a few doors away. After making sure that Betty was comfortably asleep it took me less than five minutes to ring his doorbell and be ushered into his living room. "Peter, your wife would make a superb sub slut. I wasn't sure when you initially offered her to me whether what I was being offered was a simple fuck or something more. I pushed your wife fairly hard last night to see if I hit any limits and not once did she object to anything. She may have been embarrassed at times, but she did everything I told her to do and let me do everything I wanted to do to her. In fact, it was obvious that there was nothing that I did or had her do that didn't turn her on. She was totally mine from the moment she entered my house until I returned her to you this morning. I'll state things bluntly: She was a total slut all night, just as you saw her this morning." Despite what I had seen and experienced a few hours earlier, I was still somewhat startled to hear him tell me how readily my wife had surrendered. I didn't know yet all that had happened, but never before had my wife and I spent an entire night fucking or even just 'fooling around'. Yet here I was, being told that my wife had been a total slut and in a near constant state of depraved arousal from shortly past midnight until Bill left my house around noon. "You realize," I interjected, "that I still don't know all that happened or how you got her to what I saw this morning. I know you fucked, whipped and clamped her and even humiliated her by having her piss for you. For reasons other than merely being a voyeur, I would like to know what happened." "Yes ... of course," he replied, "but first we need to agree on where she should be taken and how her training might proceed. Let me begin by saying that when I speak of making her a slut, I don't mean someone who fucks anyone and everyone. She will simply fuck whoever we tell her to fuck. This is also the context in which I speak of making her a whore. I have no desire to pimp her on the street or in bars. That's far too dangerous and disease too great a concern. But I do have some friends who, with your consent, I would like to have use her after she is fully trained." Images of my wife being gang-banged, of cocks in each of her holes and of being made a fuck toy at parties immediately flooded my mind. 'Is this what I want?' I asked myself. I'm not sure I knew the answer then, but it would be dishonest of me to say that I didn't find those flashing images incredibly erotic. "I also want to tell you," Bill continued, "that my ex-wife was my slut for nearly a decade, but that we divorced for reasons that had nothing to do with sex. I mention her now to suggest that I've had some experience in the D/s lifestyle. I've also had the pleasure of partially training three other subs. But I haven't trained or participated in the training of another man's wife. So in addition to finding your wife especially sexy and attractive, I also relish the prospect of engaging in the long term intensive training of a married slut in cooperation with her husband. What I think I can offer you is not only a wife who is a more sexual creature than you ever imagined her becoming, but I also think I can teach you what I've learned in becoming a sub slut's Master." Bill's words conveyed a sense of self-confidence without a hint of arrogance. I liked his style and based, I suppose, on my interactions within my profession, immediately developed a sense that this was someone I could work with. Perhaps not as equals at first, but surely I didn't see myself as merely an appendage to the process of my wife's training. I also sensed that Bill wasn't proposing to train her merely to fuck her. He truly relished the process for its own sake. I would soon learn that all of these impressions were absolutely accurate, but at that point I had to interject "there are so many things to be discussed here such as what our relative roles will be, how available she should be to you, what limits we should set on how she is to be used .... not to mention what program you envision for her training." I felt at that point as if I were asking for a syllabus to some college course, but I then quickly added "it would help me if you could detail a bit how you fucked her last night and how she responded. I also want to clear the table of one issue; namely, I'm not gay or bi. I intend that the focus be strictly my wife." "Good," he immediately replied. "That's my focus as well and if I thought for a minute that you were in this because you wanted men in some way we wouldn't be having this conversation. Let me add, though, that whether your wife is bi or not, if we proceed all the way in her training, she will be bi when we are done. Right or wrong, I operate under the hypothesis that all women are or can be bi and eventually your wife should be made to experience another woman." Relieved at what Bill has said about himself and, admittedly, intrigued by the prospect of watching my wife with another woman, I said simply "Good." "Now let me get on to what happened last night. After she undressed for me upon entering my house and I attached the cuffs to her wrists and ankles I led her to my sofa and had her bend over its back. I could tell she was incredibly nervous and still embarrassed. I could also tell she had no idea what to expect. I raised her skirt and again began playing with her cunt and ass. I still wasn't sure myself at this point whether she was submitting to me because she wanted to or because she was simply doing it for you. But she did get wet fast and once her breathing got heavy I knelt behind her and tongued her until I had her on the edge. But rather than let her cum I know I surprised her by pulling back to attach her ankles to the straps I have on the back legs of the sofa followed by her wrists to the front legs. Peter, you should know that at no stage of this process did she object, try to pull away or even ask me 'what are you doing?' She simply laid there silent and let me tie her down helpless." Once again my cock was rock hard picturing her bent over with Bill attaching her cuffs to each leg of the sofa – the very sofa I was sitting in. And despite what he had just told me, I still had to ask "she never protested in any way?" "Not at all. I had her pretty hot at the time, but if she was opposed to being tied down helpless she surely still had the presence of mind to say so. That she didn't told me that despite whatever embarrassment she might have felt initially, she had committed herself to experiencing 'it all'. I want to emphasize, moreover, that strapped down as she was, she knew full well she was now totally at my mercy. There was no longer any path of escape except to tell me she wanted to go home --she knew it and at that point never uttered a word!" "Interesting, since I'm sure she assumed that she was being sent to your house simply to be fucked," "I'm sure that was her initial expectation. But whether you realize it or not, your wife is a natural sub slut, whether she knew it or not. What she did need, though, was the excuse to allow herself to be one. I can't say whether she fantasized about being a slut or if it was a latent unconscious desire. But you gave her that excuse by sending her to me and at some point either before the party or when I began to tie her down she took it." "Oh, I agree. Sexually at least that was a wholly different woman who arrived at my door this morning than the one I thought I'd married. But like you, I don't know what fantasies played in her head and what desires were revealed to her last night for the first time." "In any event, I continued playing with her and quite easily got her to beg for my cock ... to beg for anything that would make her to cum. But rather than my cock I simply brought her off several times with a vibe, using it on both her cunt and her ass. By then she was wholly fuckable and capable of cumming any number of times. That's when I left her to retrieve the riding crop from my bedroom." Needless to say I wished my wife were there the moment Bill revealed he had whipped her ass and not simply spanked it. Light spankings were all that she had experienced with me, and although I had fantasized about using a crop on her, I never had the guts to buy one and present it to her. "The trick here," Bill continued, slipping into the mode of teacher, "is to not surprise the slut, but to let her know what's coming. So I showed her the crop and told her that she was going to become intimately acquainted with it. She begged ... somewhat unconvincingly I might add ... to not use it on her, but what she didn't fully understand was what I meant by 'intimately'. Rather than merely smack her ass with it as a wannabe Dom is likely to do, I used it to play with her ... rubbing her clit, pushing it into her cunt, and so on. I then took the handle and slowly worked it into her ass, then fucked her with it while rubbing her cunt and clit until she came again. When training a slut to enjoy a crop, the first thing you must do is get them to cum from it absent the pain. After pulling it out I used it again to play with her, this time telling her she was a slut and a whore. Periodically I'd give her a hard crack across the ass, but would immediately return to using it to excite her. My intent was not to inflict pain for its own sake, but to combine it with pleasure so that the two became one." I felt at that point as if I were attending a BDSM 101 lecture and that I should be taking notes. Of course, the one thing that would have precluded useful notes then was my throbbing cock. "God that's erotic," was all that I could say in response to Bill unfolding account. "Well, let me say that I knew she was going to cum, and cum hard when I finally whipped her, so I paused and did the prudent thing ... I gagged her. No need for the neighbors to know what was happening in my house. I again built her up to the edge and when she crashed over it I gave her three or four truly hard cracks across the ass. Peter, I bet she came harder then than she'd ever cum before. I thought for a minute she'd pull her hands out of the cuffs, not in an attempt to escape, but from the intensity of her convulsions. Her whole body shook and it was a damn good thing I gagged her or the neighbors would have heard her scream." It occurred to me then that Bill's description of how he had used my wife was intended not merely to convey facts, but also to make me want to see the whole process repeated. And in that objective he was 100% right. "Normally, after that, I would give a slut some time to collect her senses. But you have to realize that I still hadn't put my cock in her. So that's what I did ... in her reddened ass. I fucked her hard and I'll tell you, she came again at about the same time I spilled my first load of seed into her. Only then did I give her 15 minutes or so to settle down." 'So that was it' I though to myself ... 'that was how my sweet innocent wife had another man's cock in her for the first time. She had it shoved up her ass!' I understood, however, that Bill's description of the night was anything by done. He still hadn't gotten to the point of having her piss. And I was certain that he hadn't fucked her only once. So I said simply "about what time was it then?" "Probably around 2:30 or 3:00AM.." "I'm curious as hell as to what happened next. This is not only arousing, but I'll admit that I want to see all of this repeated again with her. I'm utterly fascinated to learn how slutty my wife can be." "Trust me, I'm sure you're going to see her be much more of a slut than she even was last night. I'm convinced she has all the potential to become a totally uninhibited slut – so much so that if we wanted her to be a true whore, I'd bet she could be. I think that what she ultimately becomes will depend more on us than on her. In any event, to finish up, after she rested for maybe 15 minutes or so I released her and let her lay on the floor for another 15 minutes. You're young but you'll find out eventually that the older you get the longer it takes for a man to recharge. So probably around 3:30 or so I sat where you are now and told her to stand and face me. Betty, by the way, has beautiful tits," he stated with something of a grin, "so how could I resist not clamping them? My preference here is tweezer clips connected by a chain. Not only are they adjustable, but they're not so bulky that they can't be worn under clothing. What you'll find interesting is that when I attached them, making sure they were tight enough to hurt, she simply stood there, occasionally letting out an involuntary whimper from behind her gag, but never moving away or offering any resistance." The Transformation of Betty Ch. 02 While trying to picture my naked wife allowing her nipples to be clamped for the very first time, I made a mental note to get a pair for my own use on her. However, I knew they'd only be the first of many purchases so I also made a mental note to ask Bill later what 'toys' he thought I should get. Bill continued his recounting of the night: "With her standing there naked and gagged ... a wonderfully erotic vision I must say .. I sat down and told her to finger her cunt while looking me in the eye. She did precisely as told. Clearly, after surrendering psychologically when tied over my sofa, she had decided to 'let it all go' and act without inhibition. It was wise of you, by the way, to loan her out without insisting on watching. I'd bet she couldn't reach this same state with you there." That was the conclusion I'd reached long ago and was why I arranged things as I had. If I succeeded in having her fucked the first time, there would be subsequent opportunities to watch. "Soon enough, of course, it was clear she needed to cum. And I'll admit that watching her stand there, breathing hard, fingers sliding in and out of her cunt, her eyes glazed but still focused on me gave me a rock hard erection that needed release. So I allowed her to cum, but immediately thereafter I got up, removed her gag, led her again to the back of the sofa and told her to bend over. That's when I pushed my cock into your wife's cunt for the first time." I knew Bill had phrased things to emphasize the instant my wife's cunt was his – when she became more than a woman who was being pleasured and played with but instead became a shared and fucked wife. Bill, of course, wasn't finished: "When you make someone a slut by fucking her, you should do so with a purpose in addition to satisfying your own pleasure. In was time to get your wife to admit openly that she craved being a slut and a whore. So with my cock sliding in and out of her, building up to my own climax, I made her answer questions like the ones she answered this morning – getting affirmative answers from her as to whether she wanted to be a slut, to be trained, to let me fuck her again, and to become a whore who fucked other men when told to do so." It was that last question that truly captured my attention: My wife had actually agreed to become a whore and let herself be fucked by other men in addition to Bill. Admittedly, she had agreed only in the heat of passion and I'm sure that the word 'whore' was used only metaphorically. But it was clear that if there had been other men there she would have fucked them as well. Bill, in fact, sensed that the word 'whore' and drawn my interest in some special way. "Let me tell you Peter, when she answered in the affirmative to letting herself be a whore her whole body shook in one incredible orgasmic convulsion. My cock, needless to say, exploded into her cunt. After that I knew she was drained, and so was I. So I told her to lay down on the sofa and take a nap. She readily agreed and I don't think it took 5 minutes for her to fall asleep. I then went to my bedroom and, after setting the alarm for 7:00AM, did the same. There's no point in pushing things with an exhausted slut.." "Yes," I interjected to his commonsense statement, "I can see the logic of that." "When I woke up she was still asleep with the clips attached to her tits. To be honest, I had totally forgotten about them. In any event, I left her there until I prepared a light breakfast. I woke her, however, by gently fingering her cunt. Peter, that little slut of a wife of yours nearly came ... and maybe she even did ... before she was fully awake. She was arching her hips up to meet my fingers even before her eyes opened." Of course I already knew of my wife's ability to fuck and cum when half-awake in the morning. On more than one occasion we were both too pooped for sex after spending the night out dining and dancing, but with me waking up before her horney as hell and needing to fuck her. I couldn't recall a single instance in which she didn't respond fully to my cock at times like those. "Without allowing her to get dressed I had her come to the kitchen for breakfast. Few words were spoken, but I was anticipating something that I don't think she had any inkling of – the pain she'd experience when I removed her clips. I've tried them on myself to see how they feel and I can tell you firsthand that as much as it hurts when they're first attached, that's nothing compared to what you feel when they're removed and the blood rushes back into the nipples. So once we finished up and cleared the table I made certain she knew her place by telling her to lay over the table on her back, legs spread." I could readily understand the logic of Bill's actions. By immediately commanding her to make herself available, he wanted to avoid letting her slip into the mode of 'housewife'. In retrospect, all of this now seems natural and wholly logical, but at the time I was still insufficiently experienced with treating a woman as a slut. I simply hoped that my instincts could be sharpened so that I would act as smoothly as Bill seemed to have done with my wife. "My objective was to introduce her to the pleasure of pain by fucking her and removing each clip at the point of one of her orgasms. If you simply remove the clips and nothing more, they'll only associate pain with them; but if you're timing is right, you can actually make them look forward to wearing the clips no matter what the initial discomfort. However, if I made a mistake then it was in forgetting to gag her. Fortunately my kitchen is away from the neighbors, because you're wife's screams when she came and the clips were removed were piercing. God did that little bitch cum hard, especially when I shot my seed into her! I don't suppose most husbands like having their wives referred to as little bitches, but in this context it was actually what I wanted to hear her called. I could see her milking Bill's cock with her cunt, pushing her hips up against him as she moaned and screamed in pleasure. "But now that I had her in the kitchen with her cunt on the edge of the table," Bill continued, "it was time for one additional lesson in humiliation. Stepping aside I slipped two fingers into her cum filled cunt and with her still recovering from her orgasms and the pain in her tits, I ordered her to piss. It makes no sense to order a slut to piss when they can't but she hadn't been to the bathroom since before she left the party. Peter, you'd be amazed at how docile wanton slut she was then and it didnt take a minute before I felt a warm stream hitting the palm of my hand." I had never even attempted any pee play with my wife. I was sure she'd find the idea repulsive. I had, though, been thinking about it in an entirely incorrect way. Rather than think of it as something she and I were to enjoy together, it needed to be a part of her surrender, her humiliation. At least in the way Bill had my wife perform she was, in effect, being told that she was little more than his submissive slut, his toy to do with as he pleased. Whether she enjoyed pissing for him was irrelevant. The critical thing was that she knew she had to do as she was told. "After that, of course, I sent her to the bathroom to clean up and get some towels to clean my kitchen floor. Admittedly, I was tempted then to send her back to you, but I wanted to make certain she understood fully her future. I also wanted the time to recharge so I could send her back with a load of undisturbed cum in her cunt. So after she cleaned up I told her to return to my living room, still naked and still wearing the cuffs I attached when she first arrived from the party. Curtly I told her to go to the sofa and assume the position that allowed me to attach her to it. Without a word she did precisely as told so that in minutes I had her bound to it as before. Now, with me gently running a hand over her ass and letting a finger occasionally push into her cunt, it was time for me to ask a series of questions which could only be answered in the affirmative – questions such as 'your going to be my slut, aren't you?' 'you're going to let me fuck you again whenever your husband wants me to, right?' 'you're going to let your husband watch me fuck you, aren't you?, 'you're going to tell your husband precisely how I used you, correct?' 'you like the combination of pain with pleasure, don't you?' 'you'll be a whore if that is what I want you to be, right?' and 'if your husband wishes it, you'll travel with me as my fuck toy, won't you?' What's important now, though, is to get a slut to ask to be fucked and not merely agree to be. So with my fingers playing more deliberately with her cunt and ass, I asked her 'what do you want now?' No answer was acceptable until she said simply 'to fuck me' and then to have her repeat that answer several times until she literally begged for my cock." By that time of course, I craved the opportunity to watch my wife in that circumstance ... to see her as a hot little bitch begging for a cock other than my own "Once I got the answer I wanted in the form I demanded it, I took out my cock and shoved it again into her cunt. Then for the next fifteen or twenty minute I methodically fucked her, ramming it hard into her whenever I thought doing so would send her over the edge to another orgasm. Peter, I have no idea what the upper limit is on the number of times your little whore of a wife is able to cum from a single session of fucking, but I almost certainly didn't reach that limit before my cock again exploded in her. After that, I simply released her from her bounds and told her to get dressed without allowing her to clean up. However, before sending her on her way back to you I again wanted to emphasize to her what a slut she had been by telling her to raise her skirt so I could see my cum leaking out of her cunt. Only then did I usher her out the front door to send her on her way with the words 'tell your husband how you were used and I'll see you shortly'. You know, of course, the rest of the story." Uncertain what to say next, I simply asked "you never used her mouth?" "No I didn't ... only so many things can be done in a night and there are so many more things yet to be done. But let me ask you straight out ... would you consent to letting me fuck your wife whenever I wished and whenever it didn't interfere with your plans?" There was only one possible answer to that request: "Yes, of course." "And I assume by your presence here that you agree to have her trained as a sub slut ... to take her beyond where she is right now?" "Yes, as long as her safety is assured and as long as it all occurs in a sufficiently discrete context. I wouldn't want my position at work or in my profession jeopardized by anything." "No, of course," Bill replied. "But I should tell you now that I was serious about wanting at some point in the future to whore your wife to a few of my friends. A true slut needs to learn that she must serve her owner or owners by allowing herself to be fucked by whoever they choose." "I understand that and I guess at this point the obvious question is how best to proceed." "Yes, we have to establish some rules so we don't operate at cross purposes. I'll tell you my general limits. First, I do nothing with shit, nor do I do anything with blood, needles, children or drugs. And I would do nothing that might cause any physical damage or threaten to have your wife arrested." Not only did I understand how far my wife had come in a single night, but I was beginning to understand how far I had come myself. A mere 24 hours ago the fantasy and plan was simply to have my wife fucked. Now I was sitting here designing an agenda for much more than that. "Yes," I replied as if I had already given the matter careful thought, "those would be my limits as well." "All would be fair game beyond that, although we will want to compare notes on a regular basis," Bill continued. "But if everything is agreeable to you thus far I want to tell you now that I plan on installing some hooks in my bedroom ceiling for her training." 'Wow,' I thought to myself again, 'hooks to hang her from ... I'm sure she has no inkling of what's in store for her.' And even though my own imagination could do the work for me, I still had to ask "I assume the hooks are to hang her and make her helpless?" "Yes, helpless and wholly available. There are a great many ways to train a slut and strip them of their inhibitions when their wrists are stretched out to the ceiling. It wont be long, I think, before I can give you a full demonstration using your wife." I'm not sure why Bill mentioned the hooks at that time. Perhaps it was simply a warning of sorts as to how extensively and intensely he hoped to use my wife. So even before I could fashion a clear imagine in my mind of my wife strung up as a virtual fuck toy, he continued: "However, let me make several specific suggestions. First, as soon as possible you should make sure you have some essential `equipment' of your own: a riding crop, butt plug, nipple clips, gag, blindfold, and dildo vibe. Don't get anything fancy. Simple toys are often more effective than anything else. Later we can consider things like remote controlled vibes, gags of specific designs and a leather hood that would also serve as a gag and blindfold. But for now you only need the essentials. Also, you can keep the wrist cuffs I brought to your house, but I suggest getting another pair for her ankles." Maybe I was getting carried away with the possibilities, but there was nothing in what Bill said or in its implications that didn't turn me on. "I want to learn as much as I can and I have no objection to anything you've said or suggested thus far." "A few more suggestions. Borrow my video 'A Story of O' and make Betty watch it. I suggest, in fact, that you somehow tie her helpless in front of the TV and periodically play with her cunt while she watches it. I think you'll enjoy its effect on her. Also ... and I leave it to you to offer her this command ... tell her to keep a daily diary of her sexual thoughts. Tell her that she will be punished in some unspecified way if you think she is being less than forthright in what she writes." I could already see how Bill was adding structure to my wife's descent into submission. I wish I had thought of the diary myself long ago as a way for her to communicate her fantasies and desires without having to do so face to face with me. And having read the book, I was already somewhat familiar with 'A Story of O' although I wasn't aware of the fact then that it had been made into a movie. Clearly, Bill was using the video to both arouse my wife but, more importantly, to give her a glimpse of where we planned to take her. "Finally, I want to fuck your wife again soon so she gets into the routine of being shared. We don't want this to be an occasional thing, but rather a core part of her existence." "Yes, I understand. When do you want her again?" "Today is Monday, so send her here Wednesday evening, after dinner. Don't tell her this schedule beforehand. Just make certain she has no plans for that evening and when you finish eating simply tell her to dress as a slut and to go to my house. Call me if those plans need to be changed, but otherwise I will expect her sometime around 7:30PM if that's good for you." "Excellent. We normally eat around six, shortly after I get back from my office. How long will you want to keep her then?" "Well, I unfortunately have to work for a living and must get up in the morning ready to go. So I don't think I'd keep her past midnight. Its not so much that I want to fuck her again ... which I do, for she does have a nice tight cunt and ass ... but I need her one more time alone before the weekend when I think she will be ready to accept having both of us use her together. Keep in mind that she still hasn't had you watch her being fucked. Let me ask then if the two of you will be free this coming weekend?" To say that I was already then counting the hours until Wednesday understates my enthusiasm for the plans we were laying. "We've nothing planned, and I will admit to being eager ... hopefully not too eager ... to have her trained as quickly as possible. I'll make certain she's at our disposal then. However, is there anything else I should do before Wednesday evening?" "Not really. Fuck her as you normally would and show her in your own way that nothing has happened or will happen that can damage your love for her. I'd suggest, perhaps, making love to her tonight as opposed to 'simply fucking' her, but do so without removing the plug from her ass. With respect to that plug, if and when she goes shopping ... say for groceries ... between now and Wednesday evening, insist that she wear it. That will not only keep her feeling like a slut, but will also remind her that you want her to be one." I didn't want to seem overly eager ... which I was ... but at that point I couldn't resist asking "will you have the hooks in your ceiling by Wednesday?" "Yes, definitely." "And I assume she is to not be told anything about them until she's at your house?" "Correct, although I'm sure that once she watches the video she'll have some suspicions as to what's in store for her." "You mentioned something ... I think it was in one of the questions you asked her ... about her traveling with you as your fuck toy. Is that your plan?" "Yes, if that's agreeable to you. Assuming she's available, I wouldn't necessarily take her for more than two or three days at a time when I attend some workshop or trade convention. But on those occasions I would expect her to be totally mine. I should add ... and this is thinking quite far ahead ... that on some of those occasions I'll want her as a whore with some of my business associates." Although Bill had mentioned the word 'whore' on several occasions, this explicit reference and the images it occasioned startled me somewhat. But as with everything else we had discussed thus far, those images were intensely erotic. And with my cock already hard thinking about everything, the last thing I wanted to do was to discourage Bill from contemplating my wife as a whore: "I have no problem with that as long as I have some advanced notice." Then, getting somewhat bold, I asked "I also travel occasionally on business. If I don't take her with me, would you want her for the time I was away?" "Of course. Your wife is a great fuck and I'll take her whenever you want me to. By the way, I assume she's on the pill .. I have no desire to make babies." "Yes she is. We've postponed thinking about kids until I'm more secure in my job. As a university professor I didn't want to plan a family until I had tenure." "Perfect! Let me also note that I don't know what attire she owns that would be considered slutty. The skirt and top she wore to the party were certainly sex, but she needs more than that ... especially when she travels with me." "She has a few things but nothing that is intrinsically slutty. I've pushed her on occasion to get some especially revealing clothes, with some success but not to the extent that I prefer. I know she needs a good pair of fuck me high heels and its time she got them. And her pert little tits, I suppose, are ideal for dresses that don't allow bras." "You and I will have to take her shopping then. I know a store in the city that sells precisely what she needs. Perhaps this Saturday you and I can take her there and have her model for us. The modeling alone will loosen her up, especially if there are others in the store. And Im sure we can find things that make her look every bit like an unashamed slut. I'll warn you, though, that if and when she does travel with me, I'll insist that she dress in ways that make that fact that she's my sub slut wholly obvious. Obvious enough that the men I introduce her to will assume I brought her there to be fucked." The Transformation of Betty Ch. 02 "Again, I have no problem with that," I immediately said, even though I still hadn't wholly adjusted to the idea of my wife as a whore. Despite her performance that morning, it still didn't fit with my image of her. Nevertheless, as I said to Bill, "I enjoy displaying her publicly as much as possible. Of course, we have to be discrete here, but if out of town where no one knows her I'd put no limits on how slutty she is dressed." "Great ... we're on the same wavelength. The only limits I place on how slutty I would have your wife dress is to make certain she isn't arrested for indecent exposure or turned away from any restaurant to which I might take her." Bill then added a critical addendum to our conversation: "Its my sense that you want to be more than a simple cuckold ... that you want to dominate your wife as much as I do." I immediately agreed and was somewhat surprised that we hadn't addressed this fact from the very beginning of our conversation. "Yes, that's right," I replied. "Its not easy for a sub slut to have two Masters. There is always the potential for us to work at cross purposes. So we are going to have to coordinate carefully and when one or the other of us uses her, to keep the other fully informed of everything that happened including, if necessary, any cause for punishments and the nature of those punishments." As best as I could recall, that was the first time the word 'punishment' had entered our conversation and it brought me sharply to the realization that Bill was leading my wife and I fully into the world of D/s. I realized that that had been implicit in all that had been said to this point, but still, that word pointedly underscored everything. "Yes, of course," was my simply reply. But now sensing that we had reached full agreement on the essential points and that any further planning would be superfluous to 'learning and planning by doing' I decided then that it was a good time to return home. But not before I `sealed' our agreement that my wife was to be his again Wednesday night: "I'll make certain she feels like a slut more than once between now and Wednesday and will send her to you by 7:30." "Ok, see her then ... enjoy her as you wish in the meantime." The Transformation of Betty Ch. 03 Thinking back to the plans Bill and I laid out at the early stages of my wife's transformation, I was not only intrigued at the possibilities – Bill had opened the door to a universe of fantasies – but also anxious and confused. For me no less than my wife everything had occurred so quickly. In less than a day she had not only experienced what seemed an incredulous change, but the otherwise limited fantasy of sharing her had become an unfolding scheme to enter the world of dominance and submission. Even the word 'whore' had been used with implications that still were uncertain. Had I gone too far? Had Bill stepped over the line by doing more than simply fucking her? What were the dangers of pursing things further? What would my wife's relationship with Bill ultimately become? I'd envisioned sharing her only occasionally and chose not to be there the first time only because I feared she'd freeze in my presence. Yet I had agreed to loan her out a second time without me. Might she ultimately react by rejecting everything? Had a slut within her truly been released or was last night an aberration she already regretted? These were questions that required answers. Yet seemingly overriding everything was the fact that, speaking bluntly, the idea of having my wife as a slut was an incredible turn on. Although it is difficult to recall all of my thoughts back then, we had often played BDSM games in the bedroom. Tying her, light spanking, making her beg for my cock, and fucking her ass hard were all things to which she responded. But at no point did she encourage me further. If she had any ideas about moving deeper into D/s, she kept them to herself. And while images of women tied, controlled, and made to surrender lay at the core of many of my fantasies, my boldest foray into dominating her out of the bedroom was the purchase of the butt plug and the occasional request (certainly not a command then) that she wear it when we went dining or dancing. She acceded to my requests and was genuinely turned on by her acquiescence, but I never rejected the possibility that she did so primarily to accommodate me. But now I was confronted with seemingly incontrovertible evidence that my earlier supposition was incorrect – that she wore the plug in her ass as a too-subtle way of telling me she wanted more. Still, my questions lingered, and the urgency of finding answers had only been compounded by Bill wanting another night alone with her. Was I giving away too much too quickly? Should I take him at face value or did he have a hidden agenda such as making my wife into his slut alone? I knew when I first approached him to say I wanted my wife fucked that I was playing with fire. Sharing one's wife is a bold step and I took it only when I was certain she shared my fantasy. In retrospect it might seem strange that I took that step while hesitant to explore other things in the private. Yet that's how events unfolded, and now I was confronted with the necessity of making other equally critical choices. Despite a meandering route home, none of my questions were answered by the time I arrived at my door. In fact, I had decided to not decide ... to procrastinate and first learn my wife's reactions to things. In a way I was letting her make the decision. If I sensed she was shamed or repulsed by what we had done then perhaps I'd call everything off. But if she was willing to explore further, then I'd let my cock do my thinking by sending her to Bill's Wednesday evening. By the time I got home my not-so-innocent wife was in the kitchen preparing dinner in the dress she wore before taking her nap. I recall those first few minutes clearly, for they were perhaps the most important in terms of determining what was to come. Walking up behind her as she stood at the sink, I kissed her on the neck and gave her a pat on the butt to see if the plug was in place. "I see you still have the plug in," I commented nonchalantly. "I was told to keep it in, remember?" "Yes, but I wanted to see if you had changed your mind about anything." Still focused on the salad she was preparing, she answered directly "no, I don't think so." That reply alone peaked my interest and my cock. But determined to dig deeper into her thinking, I rested my hand firmly on her ass and pushed at the plug: "How does that feel?" "It feels good ... you know I like that." "Is it keeping you wet now?" I asked, pressing against the plug a tad harder. "Yes ..." she responded, as she leaned gently back against me. "Don't stop what you're doing," I said, reaching with my other hand to fondle a tit through her dress. As her breathing grew heavy, my hard-on returned with a vengeance. I pressed it against her and felt her hand reach down to hold it. Knowing the answer to my question, I pressed her hand against my cock and whispered "you want it, don't you?" "Yes ..." she moaned with a barely discernable tremble, "I want you to fuck me.". My wife might not be a Victorias Secret model but she's sexy enough that few men wouldn't honor that request. Pulling her from the sink, I led her as Bill had described, to the kitchen table. Laying her on her back, her cunt at the edge and legs hanging over, I pushed her dress up, unzipped and lowered my pants and immediately plunged my cock into her by now dripping cunt. It was then that many of my questions were answered. As I gripped her hips and methodically pumped in and out of a hole made ever so tight by the plug in her ass, she lay there, eyes close, hands gripping the table's edge, moaning to the rhythm of my thrusts "yessss, fuck me ... fuck me .... fuck your slut ... fuck me ...." Thinking back to the alternative choices she had at the sink its easy to see the profound consequences of the choice she made. Doubtlessly she had been encouraged to say 'fuck your slut' when Bill had her, but she could have simply refused to wear her plug that evening and in that way put an end to everything. She could have worn the plug but told me to let her finish making the salad with a comment such as 'I'm too tired and sore now.' Or she could have let me fuck her but responded in ways to suggest she was allowing it only because she was my wife. She chose none of these. Instead she responded in a way to encourage whatever plans I made. If I was uncertain what choice to make, my wife seemed far less so. Having spent much of the afternoon with a cock that begged for release it didn't take long to fill her with a healthy load of my seed. Equally delicious, the intensity of her orgasm matched mine. After I withdrew and stepped away, she made another choice that emphasized her apparent commitment to play the role of slut: Rather than clean up as she usually did, she simply returned to the sink to finish there even though my cum was certain to leak down her legs. Of course, a great many questions remained unanswered. What would our day to day relationship be like when sex was not on the agenda? A husband and wife, after all, have many more things that concern them other than sex. But as we ate, even those questions began to be answered. Much to my relief, with my cum still surely leaking from her cunt, we talked as if nothing unusual had happened ... about when I had to get to the office the next day, where she planned to go for lunch, if she could stop at the hardware store and pick up some stain for a cabinet I was refinishing, and if she should plan on cooking dinner tomorrow evening. The remainder of the evening proceeded in much the same way, with the usual arguments over what to watch on TV and when we should visit her mother. But one fact stayed in my mind ... at no point did she attempt to clean the cum off her legs or change a dress that was now stained in back. It was only when we prepared for bed that she asked if she could shower ... an unusual request in and of itself since she always showered whenever she wished. I made no attempt to fuck her again that night, but I told her she could remove the plug. Too much of a good thing, I thought, might deaden its impact. Morning was again unremarkable, with but one exception: As I left for work I told her "Don't forget to wear your plug when you go out today." "Yes, I will" she dutifully replied. There's no sense in recounting my licentious thoughts that day aside from noting the one that predominated was my promise to Bill that I'd do what I could to reminded her of her role as a slut between now and Wednesday. Upon returning home I simply asked how her day had gone, and she answered with a wry smile "It was interesting." I didn't ask for elaboration but instead suggested we eat dinner at a local restaurant. There was nothing unusual in that suggestion since we frequented it often. But as we were about to leave I said "I assume your ass is plugged?" Of course, there was nothing we could do at the restaurant that would be the least bit outwardly sexual -- it was too close to home and the owners knew us. Hence, my command, though phrased as a question, caught my wife by surprise. "Oh ... no ... wait, I'm sorry ... I'll put it in." Dinner itself was wholly ordinary aside from recalling my wife's attempts at adjusting in her seat to accommodate the plug up her ass. But she neither objected nor gave the appearance of being outwardly sexual, and it wasn't until we returned to the car that the plug's full effect was revealed. No sooner had we pulled out of the parking lot than my wife blurted out "I want to suck your cock" She surely had sucked me before when I drove when in a naughty mood, but never before had she so boldly initiated it. Needless to say, I wasn't about to refuse such a slutty request, and my simple reply was "do it!" In a sense it was a shame the ride home lasted no more than 15 minutes. It certainly was a pleasure feeling my wife's warm wet mouth sliding up and down on my cock as I drove. And I should note that once again she allowed it to slide fully into her throat. On the other hand, the compensation of a short drive was to arrive home before she had completed her task so that immediately upon entering the house she turned, dropped to her knees, and proceeded to finish what she had started. To say that all of this was out of character is an understatement. And initially at least it left me somewhat puzzled: 'Surely one night with Bill hadn't so thoroughly changed her that she no longer had inhibitions'. It was only later that I understood the cool logic of her actions. Yes, she had made the momentous decision to let herself become a slut and to let Bill have her again. But she wanted me to know that she was not simply going to be Bill's slut ... she would be mine as well. People might deem this a strange expression of love, but that is precisely what it was and what I took it to be. And it provided me with the confidence to proceed with the plan as Bill and I outlined it. Indeed, it was then that I made the final decision to send her to Bill's the next night. Thereafter Wednesday couldn't arrive soon enough. Since Betty was volunteering at the local hospital gift shop that day I decided not to require anything of her as I left for work. Of course, to say that I worked would be silly since all I could think of was Bill's promise to install hooks in his bedroom ceiling. If I needed an excuse to let my imagination run wild, that certainly was it. Indeed, I arrived home earlier than usual to sure we finished dinner before 7:30. Interestingly, if one had been the proverbial fly on the wall then, it would have been impossible to guess what Bill and I had planned. But as my wife began putting the dishes into the dishwasher I disappeared upstairs to retrieve her plug. When I returned she was still at the sink, whereupon I walked up to her and issued the command "don't move." Lifting her skirt I was surprised to find that she wasn't wearing panties in anticipation of any plans I might have had for the evening. But I'll note that when I retrieved her plug, I found it modestly lubricated. She had apparently oiled it before putting it in the bedside stand, perhaps hoping I'd use it on her that night. I can't say she was surprised, then, as I pressed the tip against the puckered entrance to her ass. A few turns, a push, a pause and then a push again and it was in, held tight as the muscles of her ass gripped its stem. To this day I have no idea what she anticipated for that night, but it wasn't my next instruction: "Go upstairs and dress like a slut." Not yet trained she instinctually asked "why?" "Because I told you to." That would hardly have been a sufficient answer a few days ago, but now without a word she disappeared, only to return 15 or 20 minutes later all perfumed and looking utterly like a whore. Sans bra, she wore her semi-sheer blouse that she'd never worn before without some frilly thing to cover her tits; her skirt was one she hadn't worn in years because of how tight it fit. Nearly a micro-mini, it revealed the tops of her nylons and the garter straps attached to them -- worn more for visual effect than to hold anything up. Finally, there were her 4" high pumps, the only shoes she owned then that verged on slutty. Looking at my watch – 7:15 – I commented simply "very nice ... I'm sure Bill will like it." "Is he coming here tonight?" "No, you're going there." "Are you coming?" she asked, clearly expecting a 'yes'. "No, you are going alone." Her eyes widened: "For the night?" "No, just for the evening ... I expect you'll be home around midnight or so." Thinking back its hard to recall whether she was disappointed or relieved at my answers, but her only question then was to ask if she should leave then, to which I replied "yes." Without another word she turned and left. I watched her out the front window as she crossed the street in the dark. Bill's front door is partially blocked from view, but at about the time she would have reached it I saw his front porch light flicker on, then off a few seconds later. He had her and I could only fantasize about what he was going to do to her or make her do. For me, the evening was much like the first ... full of expectations, uncertainties, and incredibly erotic images. My wife, dressed as a whore, was across the street being used for a second time in ways I could only imagine. But if this night was different than last, it was knowing that she had gone there willingly, aware she was being loaned out for something more than a 'simple fuck'. I did learn later that she had begun to wonder whether this was to be her fate ... to be my slut at our house and Bill's at his, traded back and forth like a simple fuck toy. But if that's what I wanted, that's what she was willing to become. I won't attempt to recall my thoughts that evening. Suffice it to say that I went to bed around 11:30 and laid there awaiting her return. That return occurred shortly after midnight. When she entered the bedroom I could see her well enough to tell that she was dressed precisely as she had left. Without a word she went into the bathroom, undressed, then joined me in bed. "Are you OK?" I asked. "Yes," was her simple reply. "Did you enjoy yourself?" "Yes," she answered without a word of elaboration. "You know I'm incredibly curious as to what happened the past four hours or so." "Bill said he'll call at work tomorrow to provide some details and so the two of you can decide what you will both be doing with me this weekend." I could tell from her tone that as intense as my curiosity was, I best not press matters further. But I was taken back a bit by the words 'what you will both be doing with me this weekend'. They carried with them a number of implications. First, Bill had revealed to her that she was to be our slut this weekend. Second, we planned to use her together. And third, she was wholly acceptant of everything. Certain that Bill had used her in ways she hadn't anticipated or experienced before, it was now clear that Sunday wasn't an aberration. She seemed wholly acceptant of her fate and perhaps even anticipated the weekend as much as I now did. I lay there deciding what to say or ask next, but before I could say anything she had fallen asleep, exhausted from what could only have been an intense experience. Thursday morning was like any other again, which in itself seemed surreal given that we both knew she had been fucked intensely by Bill the previous evening. My mind, though, was focused more on Bill's call and what he would tell me. I didn't, in fact, have long to wait. He called my office even before I had finished my first cup of coffee. The conversation began matter of factly: "Did your wife say anything about what happened at my house last night?" "No, she actually fell immediately asleep after telling me you'd call today." "Well, let me just say that she's clearly decided to abandon all inhibitions. I witnessed no resistance or hesitancy at all last night." "Now you really have my curiosity up as to what happened," I replied, hoping Bill could satisfy the voyeur in me with a few details. "Actually, rather than describe anything, I think it best if I give you a demonstration Friday night as a way of introducing her to having both of us use her. I told her, in fact, to not reveal details ... that I wanted to talk to you first. So if you do talk to her, don't probe too much. I think you'll enjoy the surprises I have planned for Friday. And despite her progress I'm not sure she's prepared yet to talk forthrightly about everything." I agreed with Bill about my wife's likely reticence about recounting details. But at the same time I was intrigued as to what he meant by surprises: "What do you have in mind, then?" "After you get home from work Friday, send her to my house alone again and have her wear precisely what she wore last night. She looked every bit like a delicious whore and its good to keep her in that frame of mind. Give me an hour with her, then come over and ring the doorbell. From there on I think it will be obvious how to proceed." If Bill sought to fill me with anticipation he succeeded. There was nothing in what he said that I objected to, yet my curiosity about last night and what lay ahead were hardly sated. Still, I wondered again if he was 'playing me. Was he was less interested in teaching me about D/s than in making my wife his slut? Nevertheless, I postponed such concerns and agreed to his plan, certain that my questions would be answered over the course of the weekend.. Nothing remarkable occurred leading up to Thursday's dinner at home, whereupon I decided it was time for a frank conversation. Starting as if discussing an afternoon tea, I asked "was last night as intense as your first night with Bill?" "Yes" she said, without a hint of wanting to provide any elaboration. "So if you knew yesterday what you know today, would you have any objection to being sent to his house as you were?" I could sense a touch of embarrassment in her answer "no ... no objections." At that point I must admit I wasn't certain what to ask next, so I simply blurted out "I hope you have no regrets about what we have done." "No regrets. But I don't want to just be Bill's slut .. I want to be yours as well." "I assume, though, that you want Bill to keep fucking you?" "Yes ... yes I do. But I want you more involved in everything. That's what I'm saying" "That's my plan too," I said, attempting to offer some reassurance since in fact I hardly wanted to be merely a voyeur. "But how do you feel in general about everything?" "I'm still trying to adjust to it all. It all happened so fast, especially since I know we anticipated something far less extreme or intense. Even when I knew you were arranging to share me, I didn't think it was going to be anything more than that." The Transformation of Betty Ch. 04 It might be erotic to imagine one's wife as a stripper or whore. But both are frightening prospects if there's the likelihood that neither will remain mere fantasy. That was the case now as I looked at the hooded slut, strung up helpless with a dripping cunt that was my wife and know she willingly entered such a state. Surely she offered no resistance to attaching cuffs to her wrists and ankles. She let herself be hung by the ropes from the hooks in the ceiling. And while she might not have known on Wednesday that she would be blindfolded with a leather hood, she surely anticipated it on Friday going to Bill's dressed as a whore. Equally important, she knew that in all likelihood I'd see her as she was – Bill's BDSM slut. Could I be certain that any fantasy, however extreme, would remain so? And if I could be certain of nothing, then who had I married? Was it the demur housewife and loyal mate or someone else – someone now revealing herself to me? To be fair, my wife could have asked equivalent questions. Where was the husband who with tenderness and warmth, would comfort and protect her? Where was the man who earlier had demanded fidelity and promised to provide the same? If I had encouraged her to become a shameless slut, might I abandon all restraint and give her over to everything and anything? It was difficult to focus on such questions seeing her as an unashamed fuck toy. It was too easy, like her, to abandon all restraint and give oneself over to lust. Even if my mind wanted to contemplate deeper issues, it was immediately dragged back to the situation at hand when Bill walked to her, pulled the cover from her mouth, pushed a finger into her cunt and asked "does that feel good, slut?" "Yes Sir it does," she responded immediately. Never before had I heard her use the submissive form 'Sir'. Bill was doing more than using her as a fuck toy – he was training her as a sub. "Do you wish it were my cock instead of my finger?" "Yes Sir, I do." Bill removed his hand but only to retrieve an 8" vibe. Turning it on, a shiver ran thru her as he rested its head against her clit. Pushing it in he then asked "Do you like fucking my vibe whore?" "Y ... yesssss Sir" she replied, the sensations in her cunt now beginning to control her. "Then fuck it!" There wasn't, of course, much she could do, but as he held it firm her hips subtly moved to hump it ... a movement that grew more pronounced when he said "you can fuck better than that slut!" For no more than a minute or two he held the vibe in place as my wife's hips moved on it. Suddenly, as when my cock fucked her ass, she stiffened and released a gurgling cry "Arhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ...." "The slut cums easily," Bill coldly commented, "but we can use the hooks another time. I wanted you to see her as she was Wednesday. Now lets fuck her the way she should be fucked." The bar that kept her legs spread was released, followed by the part of her hood covering her eyes. Even now I'm uncertain as to whether she was relieved or embarrassed to see that I was in the room. Her eyes were still glazed but Bill wasn't about to allow her time to recover. "Help me unhook her wrists," he asked, whereupon, with my assistance, we carried her to the bed. "Its time your husband watched you being fucked, don't you agree?" he asked while undressing. "Yes Sir," was again her dutiful reply. Bill moved up between her legs and slid his cock in: "Feel good, whore?" "Ye ... yesssssssss" she moaned. "Yes what, whore?" "Yessssss Sir," she replied in a barely audible voice. But with Bill then exerting little effort of his own, her hips began to instinctually rise and fall as she fucked herself against him. Her eyes closed, but Bill commanded "Look at me slut while your husband watches you fuck." Suddenly, though, he changed his mind as to how he wanted her. Pulling away, he moved to the side onto his back and in a clear directive for her to mount him said "show how much you like to fuck." Without hesitation she rose, straddled him, and lowered herself onto his upright cock. Then, as she often did for me, she began to rock and fuck herself on him. "Show your husband how you fucked me before." As if following a script she looking directly into his eyes, salaciously licked her lips, and twirled and pinching her nipples with her hips continuing to move. If she looked like a BDSM fuck toy when strung up, she now seemed like an unashamed whore. For my part, its impossible to recount clearly my emotions then. Keep in mind that I was watching my wife fucking Bill for the first time -- and in a way that was deliberately slutty. This might not have been how I imagined events unfolding a week ago. I certainly had no clear image in mind when I played with the fantasy of sharing her with another man. But its an understatement to say that the scene before me was erotic. "You like my cock, don't you whore?" "Yessssssss .... Sir" she replied with what was now a familiar moaning response. "And does it excite you to have your husband watch you fuck like a whore?" Her movements visibly slowed as she tried answering, but her hands remained at her tits: "Yes Sir." "Did you know it was him watching when your hood was fully on?" "No Sir, I hoped it was but I wasn't sure." "Did you care whose cock was in your ass?" "No, not at the time Sir, I didn't" Turning, Bill directed me to the night stand next to the bed "this slut needs her tits more thoroughly used. Hand me the clips in the drawer over there." I found a pair of tweezer clips connected by a chain, and handed them to Bill while my wife's face seemed to register only pleasure as she continued to rock. Her expression changed as he attached each clip, each eliciting a gasping 'ohhh'. Her only other response was to drop her hands to her sides and arch her back as if offering Bill her tits. Bill returned to the first clip to tighten it further, followed by the second again. This time my wife's gasping 'ohhhhhhhhhhh' was decidedly more pronounced. And although she paused momentarily in her rocking, once the clips were firmly attached, her movement grew more frenzied than before. Clearly the clips and the pain had excited her further. I'd never proposed such a toy to her, yet here she was humping hard and fast in a frantic quest for an orgasm, moaning "yessssssssssssss" with each push of her hips. . "I told you she's a pain slut," Bill turned to me and said, "but watch this." Reaching for the chain, he pulled lightly then harder, and the rate at which she fucked only grew more frenzied until I though Bill's cock might slip from her. And rather than bend forward to relieve the tension on her tits, she leaned back until suddenly she let out that gutteral cry announcing another shattering orgasm. Reservations aside as to where we were going with all of this, I simply needed to fuck her after watching such a display. So with Bill's cock still in her and awaiting release, I mounted her from behind, pushed her forward and, pushing my cock up her ass, announced "let's give her a ride." I'm not sure how we did it, but we were immediately in sync. I suppose most of the work was mine, driving into her and in turn driving her down onto Bill. By this time she was in her own world consumed by lust, moaning then screaming "oh godddddd" with each thrust. Perhaps sooner than I might have wished, I exclaimed "going to cum" and Bill announced the same whereupon each of us shot our load into her. My wife's body seemed to go into spasms, but not quietly so. It began with a moan "ohhhhhhhhhhhhh" followed by a quick intake of breath, and then a loud piercing screech "Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ......" It was a sound I'd never heard her make before, but there was no doubt about its cause ... an orgasm that literally shook her to her core. Keeping my cock pressed hard in her ass I commanded "don't stop bitch. Cum like the whore you are" as her body continued to convulse. "Milk our cocks, whore ... milk them," I ordered and then again felt her shudder and the preceding orgasm was quickly followed by another. "Keep your cock in her," Bill directed, and sure enough, with a screaming wail, my wife came again. With my wife now panting, sweating and in a seemingly collapsed state, Bill and I needed our own chance to catch our breaths. I pulled out and rolled onto my back on the side. Bill gently pushed my wife aside and slipped out from beneath her. The three of us laid there for a minute until Bill and I got off the bed to put our shorts back on. My wife, however, continued to lay there, eyes closed, with a puddle of cum forming beneath her cunt on the sheet. "A great fuck, wasn't she" Bill asked, already knowing the answer. "She most certainly was, but I think the slut needs to rest" "To be perfectly honest, I do too." I then realized that neither my wife nor I had eaten dinner, and neither had Bill. Leaving her on the bed, we dressed and headed downstairs to order a pizza. I don't think we talked much prior to its arrival but as soon as the delivery boy left, Bill said he was going upstairs to remove my wife's hood and bring her down. That's precisely what he did since he, as much as I, needed a respite from sex. My wife, on the other hand, was allowed only to wear her garter and hose, with Bill at some point commenting that 'you still should shave and trim the slut's cunt as I suggested.' Throughout all of this my wife's demeanor was calm. I might have expected her to be embarrassed by all I had seen. Perhaps she was; but she made every effort at fulfilling the role of a sub – not speaking unless spoken to, and so on. Wholly out of character I'll admit. After we finished eating I decided that we should call it a night. But not before we set tentative plans for the next day. "Why don't you guys come over tomorrow around noon? I have a few errands, after which we can shop for some of the wardrobe your wife needs as our slut and whore." I readily agreed, at which point Bill interjected "I hope you don't have plans for tomorrow night?" "None at all. I cleared the deck as per our conversation last Sunday." Turning to my wife I then told her to go upstairs and get dressed so we could leave. When she returned, Bill stopped her, lifted the hem of her skirt, and remarked with approval "See how excellently trained she's becoming. She even reinserted the plug into her ass." To be honest, I'd completely forgotten about the plug, and I reminded myself that one should never fail to remember the small details that differentiate a sub slut from a wife who simply enjoys kinky sex. Bill's comment, moreover, was designed less to communicate anything to me as much as it was to remind my wife of her place and emphasize that modesty was not something she possessed, The next morning was unexceptional and found me running to the hardware store to replace the wood stain my wife bought for the one I actually wanted. I spent the rest of the morning working on the cupboard I was refinishing while she went about her usual chores. Around 11:30 I suggested that she get ready for our shopping expedition. Shortly before noon she reappeared as again the proper housewife ... a knee length skirt, pull over sweater and shoes with a heel that didn't exceeded two inches. However, as we were about to leave I checked her ass at the door to ensure that the plug was in her and to confirm that she wasn't wearing a bra. "Perfect," I proclaimed and led her out. Bill suggested we go shopping directly, but that it would be best if she removed her plug: "might be a problem given some of the things she'll try on." Going to his car he suggested that my wife take the passenger seat and I take the rear. I was somewhat relieved since if the two of them took the backseat he presumably would have wanted to fuck her, which might not have been wise in broad daylight driving thru a city where who knows who might pull along side us. As it was Bill had her hike up her skirt above her cunt, but nothing else occurred on the 25 minute drive to the slut dress shop on the far side of town. I'd known about the store, but never gone in, so my first time there was eye-opening. Aside from an assortment of scanty nightgowns, bikini panties and string swimsuits there was a vast array of dresses and evening gowns, none of which were designed to be worn at a faculty party. The three of us then separately poked thru the racks and one dress in particular caught my eye – a skin tight ankle length gown that was proper in all respects except for two things: it was semi-sheer and had a slit in back that rose higher than all the other gowns I saw. Bill appeared with a black jumpsuit and told her to try it on as well. However, he suggested that she hold off for a bit before going to the dressing room, "you still need one or two more outfits." My wife hadn't chosen anything yet, taken aback a bit by the salaciousness of the dresses there. Still she continued looking until she found one and half-kiddingly said "I bet you guys like this one." She was absolutely correct. The front had a scooped (I'm told its called 'cowel') neck while the back was backless to the extreme. I wondered in fact whether it would even wholly cover the crack of her ass. Needless to say it was added to the dresses my wife was to model. Bill then announced that he had found what he was looking for as he pulled a dress from the rack that seemed to use less fabric than most neckties. Well, so I exaggerate a little; but not much! Whatever it was – and that was difficult to determine since it was obviously ultra-tight and ultra-short and shriveled on the hanger. It too was added to the pile, but not before Bill announced "wait, one more thing". A quick trip to a nearby rack produced a skirt that even without being modeled I could tell was one only a stripper or whore could wear. "Now go try each on and model them for us." The 'us' in this case consisted only of Bill, myself and the store's manager ... a middle aged man who was clearly keenly interested in watching my wife model the dresses we had chosen. The first dress she tried was the one I found and I had to admit that I chose well. Skin tight, when stretched it was more than merely semi-sheer. But it was also a blaze of color so one had to look twice to see that she was naked beneath it with nothing hidden from view. The dress was sluttier still from the back. The slit rose up higher that I'd guessed and rode up more when she walked to reveal an inch or so of the bottom cheeks of her ass. "That's a sale" was my only comment and Bill heartily agreed. If ever there was a dress that invited men to fuck her ass, that was it. However, before she returned to the dressing room, Bill observed that we were forgetting something: "she doesn't have the right shoes for modeling the dresses here." I agreed and we proceed to the store's annex with its large selection of slut footwear. With my wife still in the dress she'd tried on, her only comment was "I usually take a size 6 ½ or 7." The selection of shoes was a erotic as the dresses. Five inch heels seemed the minimum and there were several platform boots advertised as seven. We proceeded quickly with my wife selecting a pair of black 5" pumps with an buckling ankle strap while I handed her a pair of 6" black platforms. Both fit perfectly although my wife said she hoped she didn't have to walk far in either pair. I suggested that she wear the platforms for her modeling, and I can tell you now that they added a special touch to whatever she wore ... she looked absolutely, ravishingly slutty in them and the soon-to-be-hers sheer dress. If anything, she looked as an expensive call girl might look when being taken to a party or dinner where it would be commonly known she was a whore. Returning to the dressing room, she reappeared in the black jumpsuit. Aside from also being skin tight it was modest in appearance, but again with an exception. The halter neck was loose fitting and, with a neckline that plunged almost to her waist, her tits, while covered from the front, were in effect in full view from virtually any other perspective. "Perfect for plane ride," Bill commented. "I'm sure whoever sits next to her will enjoy the view." I had to agree, but more interestingly, my wife seemed to be getting into the spirit of modeling for us. She walked around the shop, turning, posing before a mirror, checking how tightly it caressed her ass, and even affording the store's manager a close up view by asking him "does it fit me?" He, of course, readily answered in the affirmative. The next item was the dress my wife's half-serious selection, and it was even more salacious and slutty than mine. With a plunging cowel neckline, one wrong move threatened to uncover one tit or the other. But it was from the back that its appeal could be seen. Its back wasn't simply plunging ... it plunged in fact to an inch below the crack of her ass. If the shoes she was wearing said 'fuck me', this dress suggested a specific target. This time moreover she not only modeled for the manager, but walked up to him and, with a 360 degree turn, asked if he liked it on her. A second affirmative answer was immediately forthcoming at which point there was surely three hard cocks in the room. Bill then decided to turn up the heat a bit: "Come here and let me look closely," he instructed, and as my wife stood before hem, he moved to the side and slowly and deliberately slid his hand down her back until it disappeared beneath what little there was of the dress. "Very nice, very accessible" he commented, all the time making sure that the manager could see and hear everything. The final dress was Bill's infinitesimally small selection. It might have covered all that legally needed to be covered, but to say it was short and tight were understatements. It covered her cunt and cheeks of her ass, but only when she stood straight. Her platform heels stretched her legs out from her toes to her ass, and there was little doubt what it portrayed her as ... an unashamed whore! As before, she seemed to delight in walking around the shop, affording all of us a wholly salacious view. It was when she disappeared back into the dressing room to try on the last remaining item ... the skirt ... that the manager, as I recall, walked over to Bill and I and asked directly if she was 'available'. A truly evil thought flashed thru my mind: 'I wonder how many dresses we could have for free if we let him fuck her?' Quickly adding up the cost of the shoes and the dresses in my head, I admit I was tempted. But discretion compelled me to reply "not at this time," thereby leaving the door open to a future visit to his store with my wife as a whore. "Just thought I'd ask ... hope you don't mind me saying this, but she's incredibly hot." "Oh, she is" Bill answered – a reply that let him know she was fucking both of us. I stood for a second in shock when my wife reappeared wearing the skirt Bill had selected. The skirt, surely, was incredibly short and with a flair hem, showed the cheeks of her ass as she walked. But aside from the skirt and shoes, she wore nothing else. Clearly, her salacious modeling had turned her on and she decided on her own to push her limits in a way she knew would delight Bill and I. It was also evident that if we told her to fuck the manager, she would have ... regardless of how many dresses she acquired for free. As it was all she said was "I need a top to go with this skirt." With my wife's tits on display and her ass barely covered, neither Bill nor I were in a rush to find what she needed. The top she eventually chose was a sweet little number that caressed her tits nicely, tied in front and could be untied easily. Overall, her 'outfit' was what could be called 'schoolgirl' though I doubt there were any schools to which it could be worn. In fact, while I loved how she looked, I couldn't then imagine where she would wear it. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 04 I knew that this wasn't going to be the only trip we'd take to this shop, but two pairs of shoes, a jumpsuit, three dresses, a top and skirt were certainly enough for one day. As I went to the counter to pay up Bill told my wife "keep the skirt and top on ... no need to dress as you came here." 'Nice,' I thought, 'but she sure can't walk from Bill's house to ours in daylight wearing that.' The store manager, handing my credit card back to me, commented cooly and with a wink "come again and perhaps we can work out a trade. By the way, is she a stripper at one of the clubs nearby?" "I guarantee we'll be back and no, she's not ... yet," then adding in an additional act of naughtiness since the manager had seen Bill play with her ass, "she's my wife." This time, however, as we exited the shop Bill handed me the keys to the car and said simply "I want Betty in the backseat with me." The ride back was the most erotic I'd ever taken. I knew that Bill intended to play with her; but I was unsure how thoroughly he'd use her in the backseat. I drove slowly since I hardly wanted to arrive home with my wife still being fucked in the car. I saw in the rearview mirror that in less than a minute he had her top off and was sucking a tit and presumably fingering her cunt. Bill was essentially silent, but all manner of sounds came from her: 'oh god yesssssss,' 'yessssssssssssss', 'ohhhhhhhhhh', and finally a long wail as she came. In retrospect Bill was less interested then in his own pleasure than he was in making my wife a slut again. Sucking her tits and fingering her cunt was more an act of domination than anything else. She had to learn she could be had at any time, and a car was no sanctuary from being a slut. Naturally, I took the long route back to Bill's house. I surely didn't want to drive thru the center of town with my wife in the backseat, half dressed, cumming like a whore. Again, Bill's timing was perfect. As soon as it was apparent I had to exit the expressway, he sat up and commanded "put your top back on whore, we're nearly home." In these early stages of things I admittedly felt as if Bill was naturally more in command when at his house. But after their hot session in the car, I made a conscious move to assert myself as soon as we entered his living room: "Go put the plug back in your ass, slut, and change into your other clothes ... we need to go home to freshen up before dinner." "Yes Sir," was her immediate reply ... the first time she used the formalism 'Sir' with me. I asked Bill if he had any suggestions as to where to eat and he immediately replied "Yes, There's a nice place 45 minutes from here that has a lounge area with a small band and dancing. If we go there we can have some fun ... and she does need to be exposed and displayed more." I was admittedly hesitant, not wanting to meet anyone we knew. But 45 minutes seemed far enough away that I couldn't resist the desire to display my wife in one of her dresses. Still, with my hardon from the drive barely subsiding, I needed a fuck ... and what better time to assert property rights to my wife than then. When she reappeared I told her she'd been a very good slut in the store and car, but I now needed to fuck her. Leading her to the back of Bill's sofa I told her to bend over it as I lifted her skirt. As Bill approvingly watched, I slid my cock into her cunt and commenced fucking her, driving the plug into her ass with each thrust. "Do you like the dresses we bought you, whore?" I asked. "Yes Sir" "And you'll wear them whenever we tell you to, won't you?" "Yesss Sir" "And you would've fucked the store's owner if we told you to?" "Yesssssss ...." But then, even before my next question, she let out a cry that announced her orgasm. "Cum you little bitch, cum!" I commanded as I spilled my seed into her. Pulling her back up even before she had a chance to recover, I told Bill "I think we best return to our house so she can change and clean up. Why don't you come over in an hour or so." We left with my cum leaking from her and with me feeling some satisfaction at having assumed a degree of control. She too, I think, felt the change and offered no comment when I instructed her, at home, that she go upstairs and prepare for dinner. "Which dress do you want me to wear?" I was truly unsure of my preference then since I'd never been to the restaurant Bill proposed as I debated between the sheer gown and cowel neck. Both were revealing and slutty but my concern was that the cowel neck would be too much for where we were going. But in a flash of erotic excess and the thought 'you bought it, so she should wear it' I opted for the cowel neck and her 5" pumps – but made the concession that she need not wear her plug. My wife might have preferred a different choice since she'd never worn anything this revealing in public. But as with everything, she simply disappeared upstair to change. . At about the time she reappeared, Bill came to our door. "Delicious, utterly delicious" he commented registering his approval. "You don't think its too much for where we're going?" I queried. "A Vegas nightclub might be more appropriate, but we should display her starting now." Seeing my wife in that dress and fuck me heels gave me an instant hardon. Her tits came nearly into full view as she walked and the ½ inch or so of cleavage revealed at her ass made it impossible to not want to stuff one's cock in there. And though the dress wasn't nearly as short as her skirt or micro mini selection, her legs, raised up on her whore-like shoes, were fully displayed past mid-thigh. I was delighted, moreover, that on her own initiative, she accented her appearance with a pair of exceptionally large hoop earrings ... precisely the sort a whore might wear.. Bill commented matter-of-factly "there won't be a man who won't want to fuck her" and with that we headed to my car. This time my wife sat in the passenger seat while I drove, not because I'd have any objection to Bill playing with her then -- that surely turned me on when returning from our shopping. But there was no sense in mussing her hair and makeup before we arrived. The restaurant was perfect for the occasion. Out of the way and populated largely by middle-aged couples, it was evident from the conversations at the bar that is was full of 'regulars' and a smattering of young singles of both sexes. If one tried to imagine a place where two married people might meet for an illicit tryst, this was it ... or at least so it seemed. Most of the women were dressed to be sexy and attractive, though none as extreme as my wife. It soon became apparent, moreover, that if the various clusters of people weren't all couples there was indeed a considerable amount of flirting and suggestive sexual innuendo permeating the place. As we were led past the bar to our table it wasn't difficult to note the lustful stares as my wife passed. More than one man drew the attention of a companion to her, especially when given a rear-end view. That was only the beginning of the special attention we received since, needless to say, our waiter was especially attentive. It wasn't, however, until after our entre was delivered that Bill gave his first command; namely, that she slide a hand to her cunt to make herself wet. My wife's initial instinct was make certain no one could see what she was about to do, and I can't honestly say I know what she would have done if it had been publicly visible. Fortunately it wasn't and so, wholly discretely, she lowered her hand beneath the table and did as told. "Is it wet, slut?" "Yes Sir" "Keep your hand there and a finger in your cunt" and then a minute or two later "cunt feeling good, and wet?" "Yes Sir," she replied with an evident increase in her level of arousal. "Like your new dress and how the men look at you in it?" "Yes Sir, I do." "And what do you think you look like in that dress?" "A whore Sir .. I look like a whore." "A hot fuckable whore?" "Yes Sir ... a hot fuckable whore." With my wife's ardor visibly on the rise I looked to the area of the lounge to see a small band finishing their setup and about to play. "Its a pretty sedate crowd here," Bill commented. "No hard rock or disco for this crowd." And true to his word, the first song of the night was a sultry slow number, the name of which is long gone from memory. A few couples got up to dance as soon as they started, and a few more a bit later than that. In the meantime my wife kept her hand where she was told to keep it. The band's second number was no more fast-paced, and as more couples began to crowd the small dance floor Bill stood up and said "Come ... dance with me." Betty dutifully followed him and as I sat there alone there commenced yet a new form of sexual entertainment. Holding her tight against him, Bill initially kept one hand on the small of her back while tucking his other, along with hers, between them positioned to keep it resting firmly on one of my wife's tits. As they moved slowly around the dance floor, Bill incrementally moved aside the dress's fabric -- though not in a way that was apparent to anyone there -- until his hand and hers rested on the bare flesh of her tit. Bill's other hand was no less active in its own subtle way ... slowly dropping lower until the tip of his index finger rested firmly in the visible crack or her ass. They proceeded to dance in that way for the remainder of the song, sometimes disappearing into the crowd on the floor and then reappearing at its edge. I can't say what others thought who watched ... and most assuredly, there were others watching ... but my cock remained firm and throbbing. Returning to the table, Bill seemed to guide my wife to her seat with his hand at her ass in the same position as he had on the dance floor, and again any number of heads turned as she passed. Taking their seats Bill immediately asked "is your cunt still wet, slut?" "Yes Sir, it is." "If I had pushed my finger into your ass would you have cum?" "Quite possibly Sir." Bill then shifted the focus of the conversation: "Are there any men here besides your husband and I you'd like to fuck?" "Anyone you told me to Sir." "No ... look around and tell me who you'd especially like be loaned out to as a whore." I was wholly uncertain as to what, if anything, Bill was working up to, but following his instructions my wife scanning the bar and a few of the nearby tables. "The man over there talking to the bartender and the one two tables over talking to the blonde." "Very good, whore. Now go to the lady's room and take a route that passes both of them." Needless to say, the prescribed route was anything but direct. But Bill's objective was clear: He was compelling my wife to display herself to the two men (as well as any number of others) she had just admitted she'd enjoy fucking. In fact, the man at the bar made a comment to her as she passed him as well as when she returned by the same route to our table. "What did he say to you, slut?" "Only 'nice dress', Sir" My wife's cunt had to be dripping, and taking advantage of that fact I rose, saying it was my turn to dance with her. The vicarious pleasure there, of course, was letting others to see another man dance with her as salaciously as Bill had done. Once on the dance floor I did precisely as Bill had done, except that now it was my turn to ask some questions. "Wish you could get fucked right now?" "Yessssss." she replied. "No 'Sir' to your answer?" "I'll be honest," she admitted, "it feels strange using that when we are alone." I understood her completely. "Fine .. You need not use it unless we are with others who know you are my slut such as Bill or the manager at the dress shop this afternoon." "Thank you," she said in a truly appreciative way. Then, as I squeezed her tit and moved my finger at her ass in a subtle way, I announced "I'm going to let Bill fuck you in the backseat on our return home, but at home it will be my turn to use you." "Yes, whatever you wish." The remainder of our time at the restaurant was much as I have already described ... one or the other of us would dance with her to display her further, and at other times instructed to play with her cunt at the table. There was, of course, the requisite additional trip to the lady's room, and the only unique event thereafter was Bill's instruction that she 'accidentally' uncover a tit when the waiter brought us our bill. Admittedly, as much as I enjoyed displaying her, I wanted to get home so I could fuck her. Nevertheless, as we rose to leave, I fulfilled my promise and suggested to Bill that the two of them ride in the backseat. Needless to say, Bill readily agreed to this proposal. The attention my wife received from the valet attendant was no less than what she got from our waiter. And, when he first attempted to open the passenger door for her, I couldn't resist the pleasure of telling him "my wife will ride in back with my friend." A subtle smile on his part told me he got the message and knew precisely what would be happening as we drove. Naturally enough, Bill didn't want to waist any time as soon as we drove away, for surely his cock had strained at his pants as much as mine that evening. In fact, I don't think I had even reached the expressway when in the rearview mirror I could see her sitting on his lap, back to him, his hands now squeezing her bare tits. The look in her eyes and expression on her face also told me that his cock was now up in her, although it was only after he asked her "cunt feel good and stuffed now whore" that I knew which hole he was using. "Yesssssssssssssss ..." she moaned, now too hot to reply with the perfunctory 'Sir'. "Shall we take you back there someday, slut, so you can fuck some of the men at the bar?" "Yesssssssssssssss ..." "Put your hands on the back of your husband's seat and fuck me now, whore ... fuck me hard." And that's precisely what she did. Rather than simply rock on his cock as she'd done before, she rose and fell to forcefully impale her cunt on his cock. With Bill now leaning back in the seat, holding her waist, the pace of her fucking increased until with a groan, an sharp intake of breath, and a loud cry "aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" she came. "Don't stop now you bitch, lets see how many times you can cum." Immediately she resumed her frantic fucking, shaking my seat as she did. And I think it took less than a minute for her to again let out a second louder "arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" as she came again. "Your just a cum machine now, whore ... keep fucking" he commanded in a cruel tone. And indeed, she didn't stop. All that changed were the sounds she made. "Ohhhhhhh," then "ohhhhhhhhhhhhh," then finally "aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" in a piercing wail. Bill was now totally into it, and demanded "one more time, bitch ... one more time." And incredibly, that's precisely what she did except that this time Bill's cock could no longer be restrained and with his own moan of pleasure, he filled her. Pushing her off to the side, he rather nonchalantly said "I bet we can make the bitch cum nearly endlessly if we worked at it." I'm not sure how I would have reacted in the cold light of day to someone calling my wife a bitch, but at that moment at least, it seemed wholly appropriate. And all I wanted to do then is get home and fuck the bitch myself. Speeding off the expressway, I made it quickly home whereupon Bill and I helped her into the house. I needed release and I needed it fast. "On your knees whore," I ordered as soon as we got to the living room. Then lowering my pants I immediately slammed my cock up into her cum filled cunt. To be honest, the concept of 'sloppy seconds' has little appeal and under most circumstances I would have preferred fucking a clean cunt. But this was no time for niceties — I needed to fuck the whore now. If my wife had been exhausted or even semi-conscious after Bill had her in the car, she still responded fully to my cock, pushing back against me, impaling herself as much as she could. With Bill standing in front of her, watching the action, I instructed "open your mouth whore and see if Bill wants to use it." I doubted whether he could cum again so quickly, but he nevertheless wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to help me skewer her at both ends. Lowering his pants and walking up to her, he lifted her head and fed his half erect cock into her mouth. Slamming my cock then relentlessly into her, she gagged, gurgled and sucked at the increasingly swollen rod of meat in her mouth. One of those 'gurgles' was especially pronounced and I could tell she had just had yet another orgasm.'Damn,' I thought to myself, 'the bitch never came this many times when I fucked her.' But now Bill and I had achieved a coordinated rhythm, and that first orgasm was soon followed by one that caused her whole body to shake. My wife was now totally taken over by lust and I suspected even then that if there had been a half dozen or more men in the room, she could have not only fucked all of them, but would have cum at least once for each cock. 'Another time perhaps,' I thought as I looked down at my slippery cock sliding in and out of her quivering cunt and then looked over to see her, with her eyes closed tight, madly sucking at a cock doing the same to her mouth. This was no demure or naive housewife – this was a woman who now craved being a slut, and perhaps even more. Once again I wished I had the stamina to continue all night, but alas, my cock truly needed to explode. And that is precisely what it did without any further 'encouragement' from me. Bill, on the other hand, was simply incapable of cumming so soon after the last time and so when we withdrew, we both simply took note of the cum leaking from her cunt as she lay there. "I'll tell you," he said, " I can certainly use a good night's rest after today." I couldn't have agreed more, and asked only that he help me get her upstairs to bed. Which is what we did after taking her dress and shoes off since, after all, we fully intended that she wear that dress again. Returning downstairs, Bill said simply that he'd like to fuck her again during the week if that was ok with me. I readily agreed although, as I recall, we didn't settle then on a specific day. I did, however, comment that we were going to have to make a routine of this and search for additional adventures. Bill, of course, had no objection to that and simply added "yes, there's a lot more training to do ... and besides, you haven't yet had the pleasure of taking advantage of the hooks in my bedroom ceiling as I have done." I had, in fact, forgotten about those hooks and after indicating my interest in doing so in the near future, added "oh yes ... and I still have to take a trip to the sex shop to buy some essential things." I knew, of course, that this concluded only my wife's first week as a slut, and that there was much more to follow. But over the course of the week, and especially over the weekend, I had adjusted fully to the idea of my wife as a slut and even began to contemplate her as a stripper and whore. All that was required were venues that were sufficiently discrete and safe. One thing was certain ... my wife's transformation had only just begun. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 05 It would take countless pages to recount all the details of my wife's training and experiences and at this point it's probably more useful to describe its various high and low points. After her first week as a slut, perhaps the most notable events that occurred relatively shortly thereafter was when Bill and I jointly had her again at his house and a return to the restaurant we ate and danced at that first full weekend of her as a slut. Bill and I had agreed that to establish a routine for her training and use, we should spend at least one night a week at his house. And naturally, I'd spent a good part of our second week thinking about the hooks in Bill's ceiling and what my wife looked like helplessly strung up. I suppose many husbands fantasize about such things, though perhaps mostly in the privacy of their own bedrooms. Well, if that is erotic, having another man there is even more so. But I was largely a voyeur the first time and didn't truly control her myself. That was a situation I craved rectifying. So when Bill and I agreed to bring her over the following Friday after dinner I told him I wanted to take the lead. He had no objection, doubtlessly because he knew that if all went well, he'd have innumerable opportunities of his own. So Friday, after the dinner dishes were washed, I told Betty we were going to Bill's and that she could wear whatever she wished, provided that she also wear her hose, garter and 5" pumps. That requirement derived from the fact that she looked so wanton and slutty wearing only those things. When she appeared shortly thereafter dressed neither conservative or slutty I thought to myself how unashamedly she switched between housewife and whore – between asking me to help with the dishes to quietly following me to Bill's knowing she was being taken to be used and fucked as a sub slut. I on the other hand seemed to struggle more with switching between being her husband versus a Dom and I understood even then that the struggle was a sign of my inexperience in this lifestyle as well as to the fact that I had not fully adjusted to my wife being not only a willing sub slut for Bill and I but who also responded to the imagery of being made a stripper and a whore.. Because there's no point in pretending a 'normal' social mood, upon arriving at Bill's I immediately told her to remove her blouse and skirt. Then turning to Bill, asked him to help me attach the wrist and ankle cuffs he kept nearby. Neither of us played with her at then – she was required to stand submissively silent as we prepared her -- but her cunt was clearly growing wetter, especially when I pointedly stated "let's go to the bedroom, I want to string the slut up." Once there she simply walked over to stand beneath the hooks in the ceiling without even being told to do so and thereafter allowed her wrists to be attached to the ceiling with no more resistance than she offered downstairs. Even today, when I think back to that night, it all seems surreal – my wife seemingly asking to be used as a BDSM slut. Once hung, I found the image incredibly erotic. Of course, I'd seen pics of women strung up wearing heels, hose and garters, but for it to BE your own wife and for her to have so willingly surrendered to her helpless state is altogether different. I remarked to myself how much more sexy and depraved she looked with her cunt now trimmed as Bill had suggested – into a sharply defined dark strip that would certainly stand out in a white or sheer gown. I even thought then of a night when I'd take her out on display in the skin tight gown I'd bought her that became more than semi-sheer when stretched tight over her. But now the main order of business was to bring her the pleasures she so unashamedly craved. "Comfortable whore ... and cunt wet?" "Yes Sir," she replied, once again reverting to the formalism of calling me Sir. "What do you think we're going to do to you?" "I don't know, but I know you will make me cum ... Sir" I turned to Bill and asked if he would again put the hood on her with an opening only for her nose and mouth: "there's no reason you should see what will be done to you until it has in fact been done." Even as I said this, however, I knew I had no specific plan. And the question I had not answered to my own satisfaction was what I hoped would be the net result of this session. If it were training, then training to what end? My wife, after all, was not resisting anything – there were no apparent inhibitions that needed to be broken. I had to admit, then, that tonight was largely for my own pleasure – a motive that left me feeling mildly uncomfortable. Nevertheless, satisfying my own inner lust, fueled by seeing my wife as a strung up slut, was a motive I couldn't resist. I motioned to Bill to now get the tweezer clips since she had responded so strongly to them before. However, rather than attach them directly, I decided to again have her confront her surrender. I may have been inexperienced, but I did know that an essential part of a slut's training it to get them to reveal desires they would otherwise be too embarrassed to acknowledge, and to repeat that process until there is no possibility of any surviving modesty Stepping in front of her I let a finger slide slowly over her clit, then move ever so lightly around the entrance to her cunt: "Your going to be our slut again tonight, aren't you?". "Yes Sir, I am." "And I bet you're already looking forward to having Bill and I fill you with our cocks and our cum?" "Yes Sir" Then referring to myself in the third person: "Tell Bill you want him to fuck you .. Tell him you want him to shove his hard cock into you while your husband watches you cum like a whore." "I want you to fuck me Bill ... fuck me like a whore while my husband watches." "Because you are a whore, aren't you?" "Yes ... because I am a whore." Noting that her use of the word 'Sir' tended to disappear whenever she began to get hot, I asked a question I had no desire to pursue, but still wanted her to address: "Do you think we should make you a real whore and loan you out to be fucked?" "Oh god ... I don't know ... I'm not sure I can do that." "NOT SURE?" I queried, registering disapproval, while twisting two more fingers into her cunt. "Oh god, I can't .... oh, I don't know ... " I could sense a break in her resistance to the idea, but decided to turn my attention to something she might find less objectionable, "should we make you a stripper on stage for men to admire and lust for?" "Ohhh .. I don't know .. I'm not .... I don't know ... " she answered in a half-pleading voice. "Think of the men looking, lusting, fantasizing about fucking you" I said while keeping my hand and fingers at her cunt: "See yourself dancing, playing with your tits and cunt, making their cocks hard." With definitive pauses between acknowledging what she now knew to be true, she replied "I don't know .......," but then as I moved my fingers in a way I knew would excite her, she suddenly blurted "maybe ... yessssssssssss, if you want me to." "And if they wanted to touch you, you'd let them, wouldn't you?" "Yesssssssss ..." she moaned as I felt her hips and cunt begin to move on my hand. In another circumstance it might be difficult to say whether she was trying to escape the pleasure in her cunt or deliberately seeking to accelerate it. But now there was no escape and her answers made it clear that it was not escape that she sought. Bill, seeing her increased excitement, retrieved his 8" vibe while interjecting "lets get this slut really hot and see how hard she can cum." Then, with little time for her to adjust, he plunged it hard into her ass. With a guttural cry of "ohhhhhhhh god" her hips jerked forward against me. But Bill gave her only seconds to adjust before he turned on the vibe and began to slowly twist and turn it in her ass. My wife, fortunately, is one of those women who can cum when 'merely' being butt fucked without clitoral stimulation. However, at that instant she was getting both and it took less than a minute for her body to stiffen, followed by a wailing "yessssssssssssssssss ..." as her first cum of the night hit her. "Lets see how many times this whore can cum," I announced. With Bill playing with her ass and my fingers still in her cunt, I began fondling, squeezing and pinching her tits with one purpose in mind – to make her cum. And indeed in short order she let out a loud moan "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" as a second cum shook her. "The slut's really getting unleashed now," Bill observed, his hand around her waist as he slid the vibe in and out of her ass hard and deep. Pushing my fingers up hard until it seemed I was nearly lifting her off the floor, her body began to shake in what would otherwise pass for a convulsion: "Ohhhhhh goddddddddddddddddddddd" she screamed as her orgasms began to come in rapid succession. Then lowering my head to take a tit in my mouth, I licked, sucked then bit down hard until her body seemed to shake uncontrollably and a guttural moan "Arggggggggggggggggggggggggggg ..." announced yet another orgasmic convulsion. At this point it was impossible to resist wanting to fuck her, and Bill had by then already dropped his pants. Pulling the vibe out and grabbing her by the hips, he thrust his stiff cock into her. And even in her present disheveled state her body seemed to instinctually know the difference between a vibe and Bill's throbbing cock: "Yesssssssss ..." she moaned, followed quickly by another convulsive "ohhhhhhhhh godddddddddddddddd."as he pulled partially out then thrust his hips forward to ram back into her. Bill came quickly and now it was my turn. Normally it's not easy to fuck a woman when she's standing – forget about those images of a slut pinned against a wall being lifted off the floor were one's cock is as likely to slip out of her than anything else. But here's where hanging her by her wrists provides a special advantage. Stepping out of my pants, I lifted my wife by her thighs and aimed my cock into her cunt. Truly hanging now by her wrists, she instinctively wrapped her legs around me as I slid wholly into her, my hands gripping the cheeks of her ass. Rocking now into her, her head fell back as she commenced a cadence of moans to the rhythm of my hips. Clearly, this slut of a wife of mine was being consumed by the sensations in her cunt and it again took little time for another orgasm to tear thru her. Bill, however, was not about to sit idly by. Again stepping behind her, he reached around and with no delicacy whatsoever attached one clip to a nipple and the second to the other. She let out with a sharp "ohhhhh godddd" that was somewhere between a cry of pleasure and pain, followed almost immediately by the sensation of her hips bucking wildly, uncontrollably against me as she let out another orgasmic wail. Watching my wife cumming virtually out of control with her cunt holding my cock and her hips pounding against me made it impossible to maintain any degree of control. And there was, in fact, little time to announce the explosion of my cock as spurt after spurt filled her. I held here there like that for a minute or two, looking at her swollen clamped nipples. She hung there motionless for five or ten seconds, not uttering a sound, and then a small tremor would pass through her shaking her tits. Then another few seconds of calm followed by a similar tremor. This cycle continues until I pulled out and released her, whereupon she seemed to hang there by her wrists like the proverbial rag doll. Bill, on the other hand, was still not yet done with her. Handing me the vibe that he had cleaned off on a nearby towel, he said simply "shove this into her cunt and watch this." Doing as he suggested, Bill disappeared for a minute only to reappear with yet another 'toy' I had not yet seen my wife endure ... a riding crop. Letting its end slide slowly and seductively over her lips (and yes, her mouth did open instinctively as if she was going to suck it) he asked "you know what this is, slut ... don't you?" She was in fact more conscious that her appearance suggested – conscious enough at least to let her moan "Yessss." With me still holding the vibe in her cunt, Bill slowly and tauntingly let the end of the crop slide across the cheeks of her ass and then into the crack between them. "You know how this feels slut, don't you? ... you know how hard it can make you cum?" This time there was no verbal response, but I could feel the press of her hips against my hand and the vibe in her cunt. Then, a light flick of the crop against one cheek, followed by another, and her hips jerked again against my hand. "Watch, the slut loves the crop," and with that announcement Bill cracked the crop hard against a cheek. "Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhh" she grunted, jerking again, followed by a wail "Aieeeeeeeeeeeeee" as the crop landed again against her ass. And then a third crack, and a fourth when suddenly her body once again began to shake uncontrollably and nearly off the vibe I was holding in her cunt. A piercing scream, half out of pain and the other half from pleasure, announced still another surging orgasm. "I think the slut is done" Bill announced and I had to agree. After we both stepped away I siply stood there watching her watching her limp body, head hanging down, tremble, relax, then tremble again as she had done with impaled on my cock. I had, of course, heard of a thing called sub space wherein a woman gives herself over totally to pleasure and can be said to no longer have a mind of her own. I had, however, never seen such a thing, but I knew then that whatever it was, my wife had achieved it. With my cum now drying on her thighs and the clips still attached to her tits Bill suggested that we leave her there to recover. I couldn't see how she could take any more, and to be honest, in this recounting of events, I'm not even sure I've accounted for her multiple orgasms accurately. At times I couldn't even tell when one ended and the next began. Bill and I dressed and went to his kitchen for a beer, and there we talked about what we should do with her next ... not that night, but in the near future. We agreed that it was time to more publicly display her, perhaps even more so than we had done at the restaurant the previous weekend. For my part, of course, I was looking for excuses to have her wear the other slut attire I bought for her and it seemed reasonable to suggest that we take her to dinner again the next night to the same place we had visited the previous weekend. My somewhat naughty thought, I'll admit, was that if she came to be a regular there dressed always as a slut, who knows what 'opportunities' might arise. I had no concrete idea as to what those 'opportunities' might be, but if worse came to worse, it would at least be an opportunity to further erode whatever inhibitions still resided in her about exhibiting herself. Bill also suggested that I take her tomorrow to a sex shop and buy some of the 'essentials', and I readily agreed, at which point I thought it was time to see how she was doing. Returning to the bedroom, she was still somewhat drawn out but alert. Saying her wrists were getting sore, Bill and I had to agree that it was probably time to release her. Laying her on the bed, I turned to Bill and asked quite directly whether he was in the mood to fuck her. "Of course" he said while proceeding to undress. I have to admit at this point that there was a certain nasty erotic pleasure ... perhaps even the touch of the sadistic ... in simply asking someone if they wanted to fuck my wife with her laying there, alert. Although Bill had by then fucked her innumerable times, my wife never seemed more like a whore and me her pimp then than at any time before. And that feeling was a definite turn on. I suppose it was for that reason that I especially enjoyed watching him turn her over on the bed with the comment that he wanted her ass again, and immediately pressed his cock into her. Despite the intense fucking she'd experienced earlier, she immediately responded to the invasion of her butt. But after 4 or 5 thrusts, Bill pulled her hips up off the bed and asked me to shove some pillows under her to hold her ass in the air ... a request I readily fulfilled. It was then that the hard drilling began. Bill would pull back and then slam down hard into her as hard as he could, and with each drive of his cock into her she'd let out a gasp that's difficult to communicate her with any combination of English letters. Time and time again he slammed into her until he had her literally bouncing on the bed but where the timing of his trusts matched her oscillations. It was, in short, the hardest fucking I could imagine a woman getting and it was clear she was going to have one sore asshole after he was done. But sore asshole or not, it was also clear that, after 3 or 4 minutes of this hard fucking, she was again getting ready to cum. Either because Bill sensed this or because of his own needs, Bill finally simply pressed his cock up into her and held it there and told her "cum you little bitch, cum." I can't say whether it was his words or the pressure of his cock that sent her over the edge, but only seconds after the words left Bill's mouth she let out a scream "arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" as she came. Her orgasm, of course, only led Bill to fill her ass with his own cum and after he pulled out her ass had apparently been so heavily used that whatever Bill shot into her immediately began to leak out. However, I now had a raging hard-on after having witnessed this hard drilling of my wife, and while she was still attempting to catch her breath I turned her over and pressed my cock into her slick wet cunt. This time, though, I kneeled so that I could pull her ass off the sheets to impale her on me. I wanted not only to fuck her but to also play with her still-clamped tits. With me lightly pulling on the chain connecting her tits as I fucked her she seemed, amazingly, even more alert and excited than when Bill pummeled her ass. With her hands by her sides, her rocking into my cock seemed only to grow more frenzied as I increased the tension in the chain. Each time I gave the chain a tug she'd let out a cry of "ohhhhhhh yessssssss", arching her back to take as much of my cock into her as she could. The harder I pulled, the harder her hips pressed against me until it seemed the clips would literally tear from her tits. Clearly, at least then she craved whatever pain the clips brought her. Suddenly one clip did tear away and with a piercing scream, her back arched tight and and she came. I don't know about others, but when a slut cums with my cock in her, I find it virtually impossible to not follow suit. Pulling out when I was done, I barely noticed the trickle of cum leaking out of her onto the sheet – I was spent. Bill and I had had enough for the night. The question then was what do to with my wife. Trying to bring her home could take an hour or more ... unwinding, showering, dressing, etc. "Bill, I'm pooped and going to go home for the night. I'll leave her here and if you want to fuck her again or in the morning, feel free to do as you wish." Naturally, Bill had no objection to my proposal although he admitted he probably wouldn't use her again until morning. My only suggestion before leaving was that he remove the hood and the remaining clip on her tit so she could get a good night's sleep. Sleeping came easy that night with my wife at Bill's and almost certainly in line to be fucked before I saw her again. That, however, was how I wanted it ... trading her back an forth on occasion as his slut since I seemed to get off almost as much knowing she was being fucked as actually fucking her myself. I have no idea how many other husbands feel the same, but there was always a vicarious pleasure in knowing my wife was being used as someone else's whore. Imagining her thrashing about, moaning and screaming, while someone else's cock was ravaging her cunt or ass was always an instant turn on. How hard Bill would use her then wasn't my concern – all that mattered was that she would be eventually returned as a well-fucked slut. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 06 Innumerable times Bill and I promised, threatened and, in the heat of passion, excited my wife with the prospect of making her a stripper. When playing with her or fucking her we'd often talk of our intentions. if only to get her admit that the idea turned her on. Of course, pursuing such a promise anywhere near where we lived was an impossibility. One could never know who among our acquaintances or work colleagues might simply on a lark visit such an establishment and cause us unknown grief and the ruination of reputations. It was also the case, insofar as I knew, that the local clubs in the city were seedy places. Seeing my wife perform onstage might have been a delicious fantasy, but I hardly wanted to put her in a situation where she could experience physical abuse or made to fuck any men who'd threaten one disease or another. Nevertheless, the fantasy persisted and I knew that Betty was now sufficiently submissive that if we set her up to do it, she would comply. Once again, it was Bill who made the critical suggestion. After confirming that I'd allow her to stip provided her safety and anonymity were guaranteed, he recalled a relatively upscale 'Gentleman's Club' about 75 miles from where we lived. He'd brought a sub there several years ago, not to strip but rather as a step to turning her onto other women . Although the club had to abide by the state's laws about not being wholly naked onstage, he also recalled that after it officially closed for the night, there often were 'private showings'. He didn't know the owner or anyone who worked there, but he was willing to make inquiries. I gave the green light to proceed since that committed me to nothing, and a week or so later Bill reported that he'd spoken to the owner/manager who told him that if we had someone who wanted to strip, we could bring her over anytime. There was no formal audition, but if she met the 'appropriate' physical requirements he'd set aside a slot where she could go onstage. Her first public performance would be an audition after which both sides could determine if there was any interest in pursuing things further. Of course, there's no sense in fantasizing about such things if I thought my wife would freeze up exhibiting herself that way. This was not, then, the sort of thing that could be sprung on her as a surprise. So Bill and I debated two approaches: Either bring her to the club with no commitment that she dance and have her do so only if the idea turned her at that point, or talk to her beforehand about it and let her prepare herself mentally for doing so. I opted for the second approach but in a way that still made it a command. Thus, after dinner one day I simply told her "Bill and I will be taking you to a strip club soon to have you perform." "Are you serious?" she asked, but not in a challenging way. "Yes ... we've found a club where we are unlikely to meet anyone we know." "Are you sure you want me to do this?" "Why not," I answered, "after all, you've already shown nearly as much of yourself as you can in the dresses you've worn." "I suppose so, but still ... I sometimes fantasized about being a stripper, but thought it was only fantasy." "Well, if you fantasized about it, then it must be the case that the idea makes you wet. And you and I both know that Bill and I have been able to get you off harder talking about making you a stripper when we've fucked you." "Yes, you have ... but the idea also scares me. I suppose every girl at some point fantasizes about being a stripper but very few actually do it. Anyhow, do you think I can be as sexy onstage as the girls who dance professionally?" "Honey, once you get into it, I'm positive you can be as sensuous and erotic as anyone." That, in effect, concluded our conversation. She hadn't said yes but neither did she say no. I took that to be acceptance on her part to do it and I later communicated as much to Bill. Of course, I still hadn't seen the club and had to take his word for it that it was an appropriate venue for removing yet a few more inhibitions from my wife. We did agree, though, that it would be best to pick a weekday night ... Thursday ... when there wouldn't be many customers for fear that a crowded room of leering men might be too intimidating for her. Leading up to the chosen night I suspected that my wife had privately practiced her dancing ... a guess that was later confirmed. Bill had also given her several private auditions on the nights he had her alone. In fact, we had by then fallen into something of a routine over the course of her first 5 or 6 weeks as our slut: Bill got her alone at least one night a week, we shared her together either Friday or Saturday (usually at Bill's house), and on two occasions Bill came to our house to fuck her. With my consent he came when we were doing not much of anything and announced he was there to fuck her, whereupon he'd take her to our bedroom, use her for a ½ hour or so, and leave. At least two nights a week she was strictly my sub, required to satisfy me in any way I chose. That included having her spend the evening wearing a pair of fuck me heels, collar and sheer babydoll nitie or thong. I often had her fuck herself or plug her own ass in the living room while I watched. Of course, during the day, she was required to wear her plug whenever she went out. When I fucked her she would tell me how much she enjoyed being a slut, that she craved being a stripper and whore (regardless of the truth of those statements), and how Bill had last used her. Aside from spanking or having her wear her nipple clips, her experience with BDSM was pretty much limited to Bill's bedroom. For reasons I can't recall, pee play seemed to have fallen by the wayside and in the interim there was only one other trip to our favorite restaurant. Alas, our 'friend' wasn't there and nothing more happened than displaying as before. She wore her jumpsuit on that occasion and I decided it was too conservative ... appropriate for traveling on a plane perhaps but not when I wanted her displayed as an unashamed slut. And since we couldn't have her going to the same restaurant wearing one of the same two dresses I decided that another trip to our 'favorite' dress shop was in order. It was also the case that a return to that store was essential, since, if I really was going to follow up on making her a stripper, she needed something more appropriate than what she owned. She and I went alone without Bill on Tuesday ... I even made it a point of coming home a few hours early from work for that purpose. And of course the store manager, with a broad knowing smile, immediately recognized us. I'd already settled in my mind that the most appropriate outfit would be a long gown, but she needed one that was explicitly slutty and easily removable rather than 'merely' revealing. And although I didn't tell Betty that we were going shopping to find her something to stip in ... only that it was time to augment her wardrobe ... after our last conversation she had a pretty good idea why we were there. Indeed, if she didn't, that quickly became apparent by the gowns I asked her to look at, since none were of the type that could be worn at ANY restaurant or nightclub of which I was aware. It didn't take long to find one I thought was perfect. I'd seen it the first time we visited the shop, but knew then that it wouldn't be appropriate for her until and unless we had made plans to display her in places other that shopping malls and restaurants. Although actually one piece, it was almost nearly two. First there was the skirt that hung provocatively low on the hips to the point of revealing the crack of her ass with a slit up the front to above the height of her cunt. This in turn was connected by a ring to a halter top (much like the top of a slut's one-piece bathing suit) that tied around the neck and didn't quite cover her tits. Or rather, it covered them but only in a strict legal sense. The gown came with a black matching thong sprinkled with small rhinestones, which was absolutely essential since without it my wife's cunt would be plainly (and at any strip club in the state, illegally) in view. In fact, the only part of the thong that was covered in any way by the dress was the back, and there only that part of it that disappeared between the cheeks of her ass. We explored several other options, but none were to my satisfaction. Indeed, she made several more conservative suggestion, not so much I think to talk me out of making her a stripper, but I think more to test my commitment to the idea. Nevertheless, I let her take one other piece with her into the changing room as a 'back up' option, but she appeared soon thereafter modeling the gown I'd chosen. To be frank, the gown was, to put it mildly, pornographic. If ever there was something designed for a slut and stripper, that had to be it. My wife, moreover, made no pretense in the way she modeled it that it would serve any other purpose. No matter how slowly or carefully she walked, the skirt section of the dress flew open to fully reveal the thong that barely covered her cunt, while what little fabric there was to the top moved enough that her tits bounced into view with only the nipples remaining covered. Then standing before the mirror, after turning to see how it looked from behind, she seemed to adjust the halter top in a way that deliberately, for my benefit and the owner's, displayed each tit in turn totally. Finally, perhaps to excite me or to excite herself, she walked up to the owner to ask his opinion while giving him a closeup unobstructed view. There was no modesty, shame or embarrassment in her demeanor -- she could have been modeling a fur coat fully dressed. I remember thinking that if she were acting to seduce him, she would have acted no differently than she was. Hence, I wasn't in the least bit surprised when, with her back in the changing room, the owner approached me and asked "would you be interested in having that dress for free?" It didn't take genius to know what he was suggesting, but despite the gown's cost -- nearly $100 -- I was uncertain about having her fuck a complete stranger. Did I want him to fuck her; did the idea of whoring her in that way turn me on? It would be disingenuous of me to deny that the answers to such questions were a definite Yes. But if I had entered the store with any reservations, my wife's provocative modeling made it impossible for anything but my cock to do my thinking for me. Indeed, it seemed even that she was asking to be whored. So rather than a simple 'no' I hesitated and said simply "I'm not sure about that." The manager had apparently traversed this territory before and, sensing my hesitation, quickly added "I'll use a condom." With the issue of disease resolved and there being no concerns about discreetness and safety – I wondered only what would happen if someone came into the shop. Throwing all caution to the wind I said "OK". When my wife reappeared it was evident that my choice was better than this alternative. Nevertheless I let her model it as she had the first while deciding how to tell her she was about to be whored. Not seeing an subtle option, I walked up to her and said "he's going to fuck you for the first dress." I didn't have the any idea what her reaction would be, but to my surprise it was a simple "I know." And with that and without changing out of the second gown – not that there was much to change out of – she walked up to him and, like an experienced whore, asked "where should we go?" He immediately led her to a back storage room while I stayed in the shop, imagining the excuses I'd have to invent if anyone came in and heard the sounds coming from the room. My wife, in the meantime, having apparently resigned herself to being whored, exhibited little restraint. I can say this: It was a damned good thing no one did come into the shop for the next fifteen minutes or so. Her moans while he heated her up were clearly audible, and a sudden gasping 'ohhhhhhhhhhhh' told me the instant he pushed his cock into her. She may have even upped her responses for my benefit, groaning such things as 'god yesssssss,' 'fuck me harder'. And it wasn't all show: This first instance of being a whore, once it began, was a total turn on for her as well as for me, and she wasn't more than 5 minutes into it when I heard her scream "aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" announcing her first cum. The manager was clearly making the most of his opportunity and the table he'd laid her over creaked loudly with each thrust. Or at least, that's what I heard when my wife's cries of 'yesssssssssssssss' and grunts didn't drown out all other sounds. For another ten minutes he banged away at her, with her usual moans and cries f passion interrupted occasionally with such things as "yes, bite them harder" obviously in reference to her tits. She wasn't simply being fucked ... she was fucking back. Finally, there was another piercing cry announcing an orgasm, followed by a silence that told me he too had cum. I don't know how many husbands get hard fantasizing about listening to their wives being fucked by another guy, imagining them thrashing, convulsing and crying out of control as their cunt consumes some stranger's cock My reaction to the reality of the fantasy, despite already having heard and seen Bill fuck her, was a raging hardon ... not that my cock wasn't stiff even before I entered the shop. The manager's interest had been too explicit the first time we visited for me not to be confident that I'd have the opportunity to whore her. But once it began and I could listen to her respond like a totally wanton slut ... once I had the image of his mouth on her tits, her legs wrapped around him humping his cock like a wild bitch in heat ... it took all the self-control I could muster to keep my hand away from my cock and cumming myself at an inopportune time. For me at least, knowing my wife was a whore getting her brains fucked out in room not more than 15 feet away from me was indescribably erotic. In any event, the manager emerged from the back room first, clearly satisfied with his 'conquest'. My wife emerged a minute or so later, clearly more disheveled than when she had gone in. She immediately returned to the dressing room to change back into her own clothes while the manager, true to his word, slipped the dress into a bag and handed it to me "any time you'd like to come here, please do ... the price for a dress will remain the same." Exiting the shop I asked my wife "did he use a condom" and she simply nodded yes. "Good, then we'll have to come shopping here again sometime. Was it an enjoyable fuck?" "It was ok ..." she answered in a seemingly especially noncommittal way. "Yes, but you came like a hot little bitch, didn't you?" "Yes, I guess I did." "Feel like a whore?" "Yes" "Well, you are one now" I said, brandishing the bag with the dress in it. I decided, though, to probe further: "When did you know you were going to be whored?" "When you told me we were going shopping for more dresses." "Did you model that first dress in a way to make certain it happened? You certainly acted as if you were intent on seduction." "I think so ... I knew you were going to whore me as long as there was no one else in the store." "Did you get wet beforehand knowing I was going to have him fuck you?" "Yes" "And you'll fuck him again if I take you back there?" "Yes" "So you're not sorry we did it?" "Peter, I'll be honest. I really wanted it to happen. I don't know why and I don't know what its going to lead to. But I really wanted you to have him fuck me and to treat me like a whore when you did. Everything so far .. With you, with Bill, at the restaurant, here in the dress shop ... its all been so bizarre, so extreme ... but also such an incredible turn on. I can't seem to get enough. I don't know if there's something wrong with me ... I think I told you that before. And I don't know how far I can go with all of this. But if you want me to be a slut, a stripper or a whore, I will try to be one." I had to admit that that was quite an admission. And to be frank, after having spent the last fifteen minutes listening to her fucking and getting fucked I needed some relief of my own. So despite the fact it was not quite nighttime, I had the sense that there were now few if any constraints and when we got to the car and drove away I ordered "suck me slut ... suck me untill you swallow all that's in me." Which of course she did. It had, in fact, been a momentous day ... making my wife a true whore for the first time. Our friend from the dress store might have done nothing more than lay her over a table, slip on a condom and shove his cock up into her. As my wife said, there was nothing special about how he fucked her – but the fact that he fucked her for the price of a dress was special enough. Add to that the admission of her own seemingly unquenchable lust and I knew that she'd not only fuck anyone we told her to but that our sexual journey had only begun. Minimally, though, if New Year's Eve marked her transformation into the shared slut wife, that day marked her transformation into a housewife whore. Perhaps that why I bought only one dress that day -- even though I knew there would be a need for a more extensive wardrobe I also knew there would be a need and opportunity to whore her again. My thoughts thereafter focused on our plans to make her a stripper, and as with every other planned 'event' Thursday evening couldn't arrive soon enough. However, this time I told my wife in the morning that she was being taken to a strip club that evening. 'Might as well give the slut a chance to practice her dancing during the day' I thought to myself. I told my wife to eat a late lunch since we wouldn't have time for dinner. Since Bill wasn't about to miss her performance, he arrived at our house shortly after I got home. With that I told her to go upstairs and change, which, by some miracle, actually took her no more than 20 minutes. Bill's only comment when she came down the stairs was "Wow!" and I had to agree. My wife hadn't worn any special shoes when we went shopping for the dress, nor any earrings for that matter. But in her 6" platform heels and a pair of long dangling earrings it was, I'll admit, difficult to resist the temptation to forgo the trip to the club and to simply fuck her there and then. I wasn't sure, however, as to whether she should be brought directly into the club in that dress or whether it would have been more appropriate for her to change there. After raising that concern I suggested a convenient compromise ... that she also put on her crouched sweater coat which was worn much like a robe with a simple cloth belt around the waist to keep it closed. The drive to the club, which took nearly an hour and a half, was wholly uneventful and nearly devoid of conversation. Whether my wife was silent out nervous anticipation or whatever I cannot say, but that was certainly my excuse. I knew she could dance sensuously, but whether she could perform as a stripper on-stage was still unclear. Nor did I know how she'd react to lewd comments from the audience or off-stage proposals to fuck her. And needless to say, at that point I had no intention of whoring her. Sending her into the backroom of a dress shop with the owner was something I could control. But doing so in a strip club after hours ... I had no idea what that might entail although I was capable of imagining some unsavory scenarios. In any event, once we arrived and entered as mere patrons of the place, Bill immediately sought out the manager to clue him in on who we were. At that point there probably were more employees in the club than patrons, no counting ourselves – a few girls taking drink orders, a guy at the bar and one at the door, the manager himself, a rather lackluster girl on stage and the hint of maybe 2-3 other women backstage coming and going as if they knew everyone there. The girl on-stage seemed to be performing mindlessly as if she had done this 1000 times before (which was probably true). If one were to deem her performance erotic it would only be because one's libido had been turned up high by something else. The audience itself consisted of perhaps 7 or 8 guys scattered about the room, and I guessed that several were regulars (if not husbands or boyfriends of the strippers themselves) since they seemed to know everyone there on a first name basis. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 07 During my wife's introduction to being a stripper Bill had mentioned in passing an upcoming business trip to Washington DC and his desire to take my wife with him. A few days later I learned some details, but he made clear he'd take her only if I had no alternative plans, which I hadn't. He had business to conduct Friday afternoon but he'd stay until Sunday to have time to devote exclusively to her. Most husbands, even those with shared slut wives, might be apprehensive about such a scheme. But Bill and I had achieved a smoothly functioning relationship. He made clear that I set the priorities as to when and how she could be used and I, on the other hand, imposed as few restraints as possible. Nor had he sought to undermine the authority I was developing as a Dom. In fact, he seemed as interested in assisting me in that respect as he was in using her for his own pleasure. I'd also developed full confidence in him for respecting our need to be discrete and protective of her safety. Thus, though the trip opened up the possibility that others would fuck her, I knew that if he whored her he'd do so safely. I'd be one horney guy while they were away, imagining how she was being used, but I agreed to let her go and told her of the plan a few days later. Her reaction was simply "what will you do while I'm gone?" Its reasonable to ask at this point whether Betty had grown cold or hard in some way, given her experiences of the past month or so. In fact, our relationship and her overall personality hadn't changed at all. In the privacy of our own relationship she was still the same woman I'd dated and married. Both she and I kept sex separate from everything else, and she seemed to act as if there was a switch that moved her between being an everyday housewife and a wholly submissive slut. Nor had any apparent emotional attachment developed between her and Bill. For him she was a sub who needed training and ever broadening experiences; for her he was the mentor helping me become a Dom who held no inhibitions about new sexual experiences. The issue of her traveling with Bill lay dormant until 2 days before their departure, whereupon I told her she was being taken not as a companion, but as a sub slut who would be used in ways she hadn't been used before. My wife understood and accepted this. And when the three of us discussed the trip Bill admitted that he had no specific agenda. He'd play it by ear as to how she'd be used, displayed, and so on. His only suggestion was that I be near the phone Friday and Saturday nights if I wanted to listen in to anything, but he'd call ahead to give more specific times. He asked if I could drive them to the airport and pick them up when they returned, which wasn't a problem. He also wanted to make sure Betty brought the appropriate wardrobe. "You'll wear your heels, jumpsuit and collar on the plane. Pack your sheer gown, the cowl neck dress and the skirt and top you bought last month. Do not bring a bra or any other dresses, skirts or tops. Pack your other pair of fuck me heels, but no other shoes." Thus, my wife's most conservative option for the trip would be a jumpsuit that was skin tight from the waist down and that barely covered her tits. On the day of their departure Betty appeared with her small carry-on suitcase dressed as instructed. And despite my opinion that the jumpsuit wasn't nearly as salacious as what she'd worn before when on display, her appearance hardly matched that of the innocent housewife. She looked like a woman who made no apologies about looking provocatively erotic. That appearance, though, was fortunately muted when she put on her crouched coat ... something I deemed essential in the off chance we met someone at the airport who knew us. When Bill came over and moments before we got into my car for the airport, he asked "did you bring your remote vibe?" My wife raced upstairs to retrieve, whereupon Bill's only comment, offered with a wry smile, was "I won't make you insert it 'til we go through security." Airport check in proceeded rapidly and it was almost too easy to give my wife a goodby kiss before wishing her a seemingly innocuous 'enjoyable weekend'. At this point in my story its best to recount events as they were related to me upon their return along with my recollections of our several 'phone conversations' while they were gone. To begin, once through security, Bill had my wife go to the restroom and insert the egg in her cunt. and once on the plane, she had to take off her coat and store it in the overhead, which gave anyone walking past or standing above her an nearly unobstructed view of her tits. Bill made certain, in fact, that she took the aisle seat for precisely that purpose. Bill did nothing with the remote until they taxied onto the runway. Its effect was no different than before – an increasingly wet cunt, heavier breathing, and a closing of the eyes as my wife enjoyed the sensations without cumming, or at least without cumming in any outwardly obvious way. Bill admitted that he sought merely to toy with her through most of the flight, with no attempt at making her cum. There was a good reason why he kept her perched on the edge without letting her fall over it: He didn't want repercussions should a stewardess take offense at their actions. There was, though, one additional somewhat sinister reason Bill wanted her merely to be horny, frustrated even, on the plane. He knew they'd arrive in the early evening in time to catch a good deal of the traffic from airport into the city, thus making it nearly an hour cab ride to their hotel. Thus, with my wife's cunt still wet and doubtlessly craving a good hard fucking, once on the highway he again turned on the vibe. Instructing her to simply sit there, it wasn't long before he'd pushed the fabric of jumpsuit aside to give the driver a rearview mirror display of her heaving bare tits. My wife, apparently resigned to her fate and desperately in need of a good hard cum, simply leaned back and let Bill do as he wished, which consisted of little more than leaving the vibe buzzing in her cunt while reaching around with one arm so he could openly fondle and pinch those lovely globes. When Bill recounted all of this to me I was especially interested in knowing when and how the little slut came, and so in response to my often asked question 'did she cum?' I got from him a definitive 'oh yes!' She didn't necessarily cum quickly or easily, this being her first experience with being exhibited in a car in the presence of a stranger. But with Bill's hand pressed between her legs and the other playing with a wholly exposed tit, they were apparently only a third of the way to their destination when she abandoned all restraint and let out one of her unmistakable cries of pleasure. Bill, for his part, wanted to make sure the driver knew precisely what was happening in his backseat and in a voice intended for him to hear, urged her on with "cum my little slut ... cum." The driver apparently never said a word, either out of embarrassment or uncertainty as to what was appropriate. But the thought crossed Bill's mind that the driver best keep his eyes on the road as opposed to the rearview mirror lest they have an accident. At that point, however, Bill was less interested in having my wife cum as much as he was in compelling her to sit there without objecting to having her tits on display. And so, until they approached the hotel, he satisfied himself (and the driver) with simply playing with her tits while the vibe continued to buzz in her cunt. Bill turned off the vibe and let my wife pull herself back together once they exited the expressway, satisfied with having established the fact in her mind that she was a slut who on this trip could be exposed to anyone. The hour was getting late once they finished their check-in and so Bill decided they'd best eat a light dinner at the hotel's rooftop lounge ... not elegant cuisine to be sure, but convenient. And for that he was specific as to what she would wear ... her cowl neck dress that revealed both cleavages, front and back. But Bill himself needed some release and so there was to be one added touch: He fucked her quickly before they could leave and told her keep his seed in her while they dined. So after she'd changed he had her raise the dress's hem, bend over with her hands on the bed so her ass could await his cock. As Bill later admitted, after the plane and taxi rides, it didn't take him long to cum, whereupon, without her achieving orgasm, he told her to reinsert the egg in her cunt. I asked Bill why he didn't make her cum, and he had a good explanation: "A slut needs to know that sometimes she's there simply for someone else's pleasure and that and that her fulfillment need not be anyone's concern." He was also somewhat familiar with the hotel's rooftop lounge and restaurant, knew it was frequented at that hour by out of town businessmen, and he wanted my wife horney and hot in their presence. True to his expectations, that precisely who was there when they arrived – a scattering of out-of-town businessmen killing time as an alternative to watching one of those boring porno flicks one can rent in a hotel room. But there were enough to not only have my wife get a good look-over as they were led to the table, but enough also for her to know she was on display as a slut – perhaps even as a working whore or hired 'companion'. Absent any dancing, there wasn't the opportunity to display her as at the restaurant back home. So on two occasions Bill simply ordered her to the restroom. As he later recounted, "the men paid her no less attention than at our favorite dining-dancing establishment." In fact, with a thinner crowd and being the only woman there, she was in some respects even more on display. If someone missed the opportunity to admire the shamelessly displayed cleavage of her ass when she came in, they certainly were afforded that view when she walked to the lady's room. Bill even took advantage of the positioning of the hostess's podium, telling her to go there on her return to their table to ask the precise hours of the lounge, whether they served breakfast (they didn't) and if there were any nightclubs nearby with dancing (the waiter was unaware of any). His intent, of course, was to have her stand with her back to the lounge for a minute or two so everyone could enjoy a view of the pornographically plunging back of her dress. Needless to say, when they arrived at the lounge, Bill had no idea if there would be any opportunity to whore her, but at the same time he was prepared to take advantage of any opportunity that might arise. And indeed, after her second visit to the restroom one of the men sitting alone at a table said something to her as she passed ... almost a repeat of her encounter at the restaurant back home. Apparently he made a comment much like before ... too the effect 'nice dress'. However, rather than simply acknowledge his comment with a 'thank you' she obeyed a command I'd given her myself in anticipation of such an event: She was to offer the more expansive reply "thank you ... my husband chose it for me." "Is that your husband over there?" he asked, motioning to Bill. "No, he's a friend." As she later explained, she knew Bill wanted to have her fucked. Impulsively, she decided to help him achieve that end. "Does your husband know you're here, wearing that dress?" "Yes he does." "So he shares you with him?" again motioning to Bill. "Yes." "And does he share you with anyone else?" "He has a few times." My wife knew precisely where this conversation might lead ... standing there with her half-covered tits, she was whoring herself. Bill told me, though, that when he did catch her eye, he gave her a wink to indicate all was cool. It was then that her new 'friend' picked up a card on the table that asked patrons to rate the lounge's service and, after writing on it, folded it and handed it to my wife telling her to give it to Bill. Returning to the table, she handed him the note, which read 'If you're interested in sharing her tonight I'm staying at the hotel alone.' Bill's reply was immediate. Taking the same card he wrote 'We're in room ____. Come there in 20 minutes,' and told my wife to take it back to him. Bill and my wife exited the lounge for their room before this new friend finished paying his bill. Bill was uncertain as to whether anyone would show up, but he told my wife in the room to stay dressed "He might like to undress you himself." It was then that Bill called to tell me what was might happen and that I should call back in a half hour. For me it was a long half hour, and no less so for my wife who knew she was being whored. I hadn't the slightest idea what was in her mind then, but in fact her surrender was more complete than I assumed despite all that had thus far happened. Her cunt literally throbbed in anticipation of being fucked by this new stranger. He was tall, good looking, well dressed and, unless looks were deceiving, she assumed he'd fuck her with a ferocity women fantasize about. So she was neither embarrassed nor disappointed when he did knock on the door. About Bill's age with a plane to catch in the morning, he wasn't about to pass on the chance to play with a delicious morsel. He did, though, stop at the hotel newsstand for condoms since he wasn't about to take any more chances than we were. After some perfunctory introductions, with Bill explaining again that Betty was someone else's wife and was being trained as a sub, he was told I'd most likely call to listen in, but that Bill himself was, initially at least, going to sit back and watch. With that and "she's all yours now," Bill sat down to enjoy the show. The show began with my wife's new friend telling her "lift your dress so I can see what's under there," which of course was nothing at all. It was about then that I made my call and Bill told me to just relax and listen, whereupon I hear a strange male voice command "kneel on the bed." The image in my head matched what was occurring. My wife, with her dress up past her ass, knelt as told while Frank (his name) knelt behind her, lowered his pants, and let the head of his already stiff cock slide along the crack of her ass. "Feel good, whore?" he asked, knowing that Bill (nor I, listening on the phone) would raise an objecting to having her called such names. "Yes." "Do you like having your husband listen to you being a whore?" Her affirmative reply was followed almost immediately by a shocked, gasping "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." "Tell your husband what's happening to you?" "He ... he has his cock in ... in my ass ... " she replied, her breathing obviously growing heavier. Her answer was soon followed by a rhythmic sequence of grunts and moans of pleasure as Frank slowly methodically fucked her. And as the minutes dragged by the only sounds I could hear were the rhythmic slapping of his balls against her ass, the squeak of the bed and her breathless 'ohhhhhhhhhhh' each time his cock slammed home. Suddenly, there I heard her near plea "ohhhhhhh ... going ...going to cummmmmm" followed almost immediately by a gasping "arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" as she came. But Frank's assault was relentless: "You're going to cum again for me, bitch ... aren't you?" "Yesssssssssssssss ...." However, rather that hearing the sounds of another cum, I heard instead the cry "Goddddddddddddd" as Frank reached around and lifted her up by her tits with his cock still in her. Bill picked up the phone to give me a whispered description. She was, in his words, in a state of wanton ecstasy. With her dress pushed aside, Frank had her tits painfully in his grip while she pushed back with her ass against him. "The bitch is really hot now ... and she's gonna have one hell of a sore asshole when Frank's done with her." He even held up the phone to her mouth so I could hear her deep staccato breathing as Frank held her there, impaled, squeezing her tits. I was nearly there myself as I imagined what she must look like. Suddenly with Frank apparently showing no mercy in the treatment of my wife's tits harder, she cried out "owwwwwwwwwww .... oh goddddddddddd .... " and then the telltale cry of "arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" as she came. "Your wife's cumming so hard I hope Frank's cock stays in her" Bill added for effect. And I'll be honest -- I came myself then. I dare any husband to listen to his wife having her ass and tits ravaged and not get an uncontrollable hardon. Frank, however, was not done and Bill had yet to start. I only learned later how she was then fucked. Bill set the phone down, at which point with Frank still in her ass, he got onto the bed to feed her his cock. Hearing the slurping sounds coming from my wife's mouth, I could so easily visualized her on her haunches, Franks cock up her ass, Bill standing on the bed feeding her his cock. Skewered at both ends, they then proceeded to fuck her to what must have been a near continuous orgasm before her ass and mouth were fed their cum. My wife by then was a quivering mass, but Bill, for my benefit and Frank's, wanted a demonstration of what a well trained slut she was. "Off the bed slut and stand on the towels on the floor." I knew precisely what was coming next: Bill slipped her dress off and commanded "piss for Frank." For the next minute or so there was complete silence until Frank said "wow, what a whore", which told me she had done precisely as ordered. Frank then made his apology: "As much as I'd love to fuck this bitch again, I need to call home and get ready for my 6:30 AM flight. But its been a pleasure ... she's one hot little cunt." With that Bill picked up the phone and asked me to give him a minute, whereupon he apparently stepped to the door for a brief indecipherable conversation with Frank. When he returned he told me they had to clean up and get to bed ... it had been a long day and tomorrow he actually had to do a few things to earn a living. Enough time had passed, however, for Bill to recharge a bit and though he wasn't sure he could cum, he did say "Hang in there ... her cunt has yet to be used" Though absent any description, what few sounds I heard told me that Bill had put my wife back on the bed and mounted her. This time she didn't cum easily ... he must have slammed into her for a full 3 to 4 minutes before I could hear her heating up again with a rhythmic 'ohhhhhhhh' that grew louder and breathless until her final "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." "She's done for the night ... I'll call you tomorrow," he said, somewhat breathless himself from his exertions. And with that he hung up. I knew my wife, after the fucking she'd experienced, would sleep late. And since Bill's meeting had been switched to morning with a business lunch, he let her sleep – leaving a note that told her to use the hotel restaurant for lunch and that he'd be back around 2. My wife's 'problem' at that point was that she only had slut dresses to wear and 6 inch heels. Not wanting to get involved in anything without Bill's presence or permission, her jumpsuit and crochet coat were the only things she dared wear. Bill returned around 2 as promised and told her that he was taking her shopping – there was a dress store in Georgetown he wanted to visit. Nothing unusual in that except for what he told her to wear ... her skirt, tie top, heels and nothing else! Losing her place as a sub, she replied "but I'll look like a whore." "You are a whore" was his dry reply. Bill knew what he was doing. My wife to that point had been displayed only at night. The exception of the dress shop back home didn't count since the only person who saw her was the store's manager. Now he was going to display her in the cold light of day with a skirt that barely covered her ass and a top that, though it covered her tits, unashamedly displayed their full firm shape. My wife stands 5' 5" with fantastic legs. Put those legs in 6 inch heels and, in combination with a skirt that doesn't exceed 14" in length, and ... well ... you get the idea. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 08 My wife's weekend with Bill convinced me that I had best use her on my own as my slut lest she become too used to being one for Bill alone. It may have been true that Bill and I shared her extensively, but for one reason or another I had not yet had an experience with her that matched what she experienced with Bill in Washington. And it was that gap in her transformation that I sought to fill as quickly as possible. Bill, in fact, had asked if I planned on going out of town anytime soon since he had a number of out-of-town friends he'd like to invite to share her with if I didn't plan on bringing her with me. In the abstract I had no objection to that idea. But we don't live in the abstract and I decided that it was imperative that I first exert my own independent control over her training. With that in mind I told Bill that yes, I had a upcoming trip planned... and that I could leave my wife behind at his disposal then. But first I wanted to take her on my own for a week-long and long-overdue 'vacation'. I explained that the past two months had been an intense experience for both of us and that we needed some time alone, if only to make certain that the were no issues in the marriage that might threaten its viability in the long run. I explained that once I felt totally secure in my position as a Dom with her that I'd have no trouble whatsoever leaving her behind under his 'care' on occasion when I traveled on business. Bill readily accepted my thinking. Of course, when sharing one's wife one can never be certain that the unanticipated complexities of human relationships wouldn't enter to disrupt what I otherwise deemed a perfect arrangement... perfect from the perspective of having a wife who was a sub slut, who fucked other men whenever I wanted her to fuck them, who fucked Bill and who fucked both Bill and I together whenever I wished it, and who had surrendered to whatever use and humiliation pleased us. Thus, Bill's ready acceptance of my argument was, if not a surprise, at least reassuring. My plan was first to take my wife back to the strip club that had been the scene of her debut as a stripper, and to do so without Bill if only to establish my position there as her 'owner'. Thus, a week before our planned trip I arranged for a motel room in the vicinity of the club, and informed my wife that we'd be paying the slut dress shop another visit beforehand. My wife, needless to say, knew precisely what that meant... that I planed to whore her again to the store's owner. And indeed, when the time came for us to go there I specifically told her to wear the one dress she hadn't yet worn that I had bought her the first time we visited the shop... the skin tight micro-mini that didn't quite cover her ass. Of course, it and her heels were the only attire I allowed. Unlike our previous visits, there were two, somewhat younger, couples there looking thru the dress racks, and, naturally enough, they immediately took notice of my wife. Nevertheless, I assumed it would be difficult if not impossible to whore my wife to the store's owner with them there. That was indeed a source of disappointment since whoring her again was half the reason I took her to the shop. I proceeded, then, to simply find and least two new salacious items for her to model, and imagined that having her model ever more slutty attire with two other couples there was some compensation for not having her fucked. The first item was obviously intended to be worn only by a stripper... a long ankle length gown that had a slit up both sides to literally above her waist, a neckline that plunged to her waist, and a back that was wholly open so as to reveal enough cleavage of her ass that precluded the possibility it could ever be worn to any 'proper' public place. And although it came with a string thong, I insisted that she model it without the thong. Somewhat surprisingly, the two girls there with their boyfriends (or husbands... I couldn't tell) heartily approved of what they say, with comments such as 'wow, wish I could wear that,' or 'that looks soooooo sexy!' whereas their male companions feigned innocence – no doubt because they didn't want to lust too openly. The store's owner, needless to say, said she looked 'delicious' (his word) and I could only imagine how much he wished he was alone in the shop with her then. My second choice was again a blood red ankle length gown that was touch more conservative but nevertheless slutty in its own way. It fully covered all that had to be covered and offered a neckline that showed nothing more than the full cleavage of my wife's tits. However, it zippered fully in two directions from the base of the neckline to its hem, so it could be adjusted to reveal nothing or everything. But more interestingly, when fully zippered, it did more than merely fit my wife like a second skin – revealing every curve and cleavage of her body -- it did so essentially to her ankles so that she could walk in only the tiniest steps. "Ahhh... that's our hobble gown," the owner commented, approvingly. And I had to admit that despite being covered, except for the keyhole neckline, from neck to ankle, much like the training collar used on sub sluts, my wife offered the image of a wholly submissive slut encased and controlled by her gown. With two other couples in the shop I expected, naturally enough, to have to pay full price for both dresses, but the owner surprised me. "I think the first gown needs a few alterations, which I can perform quickly in the back room if you don't mind. Would you care to put it back on for me, dear?" he suggested with a wink. Alterations? That had to be about as transparent a suggestion as possible, since there wasn't that much to the gown to alter or to in any way be 'ill fitting'. Nevertheless, my wife knew what was required and she immediately returned to the dressing room to change. By then and sadly for them one of the two couples had left whereas the second continued to poke thru the clothing racks while wandering off occasionally to the store's shoe section. When my wife reappeared, wearing a gown that merely had to be brushed aside to render her wholly fuckable, the owner announced to the other couple that this would only take a few minutes, whereupon he led my wife directly to the back storage room where I doubt anything had ever been altered other than some woman's virginity. The owner, no doubt, knew that the best he could hope for was the proverbial 'quickie'... but if that was all he could have, then he would take what he could get. And judging from the moan that soon came from behind the door, he must have acted quickly in shoving his cock into my wife's waiting cunt (and yes... he didn't have to be reminded about the necessity for wearing a condom). Did the other couple in the store know my wife was being fucked in the back room? Well, I never asked them directly, but the only circumstance under which they would not have known is if they were deaf. In less than a minute I could hear my wife's rhythmic ohhhhhhh's as the owner pumped her cunt. I could tell she was attempting to be somewhat discrete and more muted than normal when being fucked, but there's only so much a woman can do in that respect until there's the unmistakable gasping "arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." Thirty seconds later they both reappeared with the owner commenting simply "the dress fits her perfectly now." What of the reaction of the other couple who, as my wife was being fucked in the back room, pretended for the most part to be wholly unaware of what was occurring? At another time and another place I might have gotten to fuck her and he my wife, which was an idea I hardly regarded as objectionable. Alas, that was neither the time nor the place. Perhaps the store's owner was able to make his own arrangements after we left. I suspected, in fact, that by making only a minimal effort at disguising the fact that he had taken my wife into the back room to fuck her, he was advertising his willingness to consider another such arrangement. I wondered then how many such arrangements he did get to enjoy in the course of his business. Minimally, that thought caused me to make a mental note to make certain that I carried a supply of condoms whenever I visited his shop. Whatever the case, when it came time to pay for the dresses, only the second was listed on the bill. The dress Betty wore when he fucked her was once again free. "Shall I change now?" my wife asked as I handed the owner my credit card. "No... wear what you've just been fucked in," I said, deliberately making reference to what had just occurred and not attempting in the least to hide my words from the other couple. Fortunate for my wife, our car was parked only a few feet from the entrance to the shop, and the drive home was largely without conversation. But once back in our house I cooly asked "tell me, how did he fuck you?" "He had me bend forward over a box." "And into what hole did he shove his cock?" "Into my pussy." "Sluts don't have pussies... that's a cat... sluts have cunts! Where did he shove his cock?" "Into my cunt, Sir" I rather enjoyed having her explicitly assume the role of sub slut, using the word 'Sir'. But I also needed my own sexual release. After all, one can hardly listen to one's wife getting fucked without needing to fuck her yourself at some point. "Bend over the table then like you did for him!" "Yes Sir," she dutifully replied, placing her hands on our kitchen table. Pushing aside what little there was to her gown, I lowered my pants to release a cock that had been throbbing and hard for far too long. Pushing her up higher onto the table and slipping my cock quickly into her, I asked "and did his cock slide in as easily as mine just did?" "Yes Sir, it did." "As was that because your cunt was wet knowing you were being fucked as a whore?" "Yes Sir, my cunt was wet." "And did you cum for him?" "No Sir.. I pretended to but he came fast and didn't fuck me long." "But you're going to cum for me, aren't you?" "Y... yesssssssssssss." "Does it turn you on to be called a whore?" I asked, thrusting my cock hard into her. "Yesssssssssssssss" Slamming into her again with each use of the word 'whore', I asked, already knowing the answer: "Does it turn you on to be a whore?" "Yessssssssssssssss." "Do you know what I'd do to you if you ever merely pretended to cum for me?" "N... no, Sir" she stuttered in response. "Good, then I won't tell you except to say you don't want to find out," I replied, not knowing the answer myself but certain I could invent something. By then, however, I could tell there wasn't going to be the need for any 'invention' as she began to moan "Oh goddddddddd... fuck me... fuck your whore..." Gripping her waist and driving my cock hard now, I commanded "Tell me you are... say it!" "I'm a whore... a whore." "Again!" "I'm a whore... ohhhh goddddddddd." "Whose whore are you?" I asked as my cock was set to explode. "I'm your... your... argggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Shooting my load of hot seed into her convulsing cunt, all I could do was add for emphasis as I came "Yes... my whore... my married whore." I planned to leave for our 'vacation' the day after next, and decided I should give Bill a opportunity to fuck her before we left since we'd be gone a week. Bill knew of my plans and was delighted when I called him the next day at work to ask if he wanted to come to the house for the evening. Naturally, no one had any illusions as to the intent of that invitation. When he did arrive shortly after dinner I told my wife "Betty, model your two new dresses for Bill." Disappearing upstair, she soon enough reappeared wearing the gown the store owner had fucked her in, and needles to say, Bill heartily agreed that it was a good choice for a stripper: "That's certainly not a dress she can wear anywhere but on stage." "Tell Bill how you got that dress for free." I thought that I detected the beginnings of a blush, but she nevertheless answered straightforwardly "I fucked the store's owner." "Ahhh... good to see your becoming a well-trained whore," Bill commented approvingly. "Now show Bill your second dress," I commanded. Returning upstairs, she soon enough reappeared wearing her zipper-up gown, but unzipped from the bottom to nearly the height of her cunt. "Very nice again," Bill commented. But to be certain he saw the dress's full potential, I got up and zippered it down fully to the hem so that it became the hobble dress it was designed to be. "Walk around the room, slut!" It's an understatement to say that walking was difficult for her, since the dress barely allowed one foot in front of the other. That and the tightness with which it caressed her ass and tits portrayed her fully as the sub she had become. Even without a bra it pushed her tits up nearly as much as her corset and from the back the stretched fabric left nothing to the imagination as to the contours of the cheeks and cleavage of her ass. "This dress will be perfect for when she's taken to a party as its sub fuck toy," Bill commented, creating a truly salacious image in my mind. Turning to my wife, Bill then asked "would you like to be taken to a party in that dress, slut?" "Yes Sir.. I guess so" she answered with a somewhat uncertain voice. "And made a fuck toy for everyone?" "Yes Sir, if that's what you wanted." I sensed from the tone of her voice that it was the dress as much as Bill's questions that made my wife feel especially sub. In fact, she told me later that it held her so firmly from neck to ankle that she felt as if she were its captive – unable to walk, wholly covered yet every curve of her youthful body fully on display. The tight slick elastic feel of the fabric made her immediately wet when she put it on and she commented that she best wear a thong beneath it lest she inadvertently soil it. Bill, however, had not come to the house merely to have her model dresses. He was there to fuck her, and as much as he enjoyed seeing her dressed as an unashamed BDSM slut, and his next words were simply "remove the dress!" I understood that Bill was then exerting his own control, and I had no objection since she was soon to be wholly mine to use as I wished. At the same time, I had in fact prepared a small surprise of my own beforehand both of them. "I suggest we all go upstairs" was met, of course, with no objection, and once in the bedroom I asked Bill to help me attach the wrists and ankle cuffs to my now naked wife along with a blindfold. "Into the bathroom, whore... on your hands and knees on the floor." Whether she guessed what was going to happen I can't say, but she wordlessly complied, resting her head on the bath mat beneath her, after which I attached her wrists to her ankles with her ass in the air. By then Bill had guessed at my plan and he nodded affirmatively when I produced the rubber enema bottle and hose. Filling it with warm water, I hung it on the hook on the door normally reserved for hanging robes and slid the still clamped nozzle into her ass. Her reaction was a simple "ohhhhhhhh" that was neither spoken in pain nor pleasure, but merely surprise. "What's in your ass, whore?" I asked, seeing if she knew what was about to happen. "Oh godddddd..." she whimpered, more out of embarrassment than anything else. "A nozzle, a hose... you're going to give me an enema?" "Yes, slut... and enema!" I replied as I suddenly unclamped the hose. "Ohhhhh... ohhhhhh, I can feel it... filling... ohhhhhh godddddd!" "If it leaks, slut, your ass and your tits are going to get the whipping of your life." "Ohhhhhhhh goddddddddddd... please... enough... no more... please..." "How much can she hold?" Bill asked. "I have no idea... this is the first time I've given her one." "Then lets find out," Bill said with a wry smile as the bag emptied. Reclamping the hose, he brought the bag over to the sink to refill it with the nozzle still in her ass. "Please... no moreeeeeee... nooooooooooo... pleaseeeeeeeeee...pleaseeeeeeee." Unclamping the hose, I let half the contents of the bag empty as she continued to plead for me to stop, until finally I closed it off with the comment "I think that's enough. We want any accidents." "How does that feel, whore?" Bill asked, although I'm sure he already knew the answer. "I... I... I can't hold it... pleaseeeeeeeee... hurts... cramps..." my wife breathlessly answered. "You will hold it, slut... hold it or get whipped." "Pleaseeeeeeee...!" We had often directed my wife to give herself a self-administered enema using one of those little kits that can be purchased at any drugstore. This, however, was her first experience with an enema in the traditional form. I knew her attitude about such things and knew she found this a truly humiliating experience. With Bill there, I had found precisely the thing to strip her of any sense of shame. "Don't move slut or it will leak." "Pleaseeeeeee... can't hold it... pleaseeeeeeee." "I think we need to give you more," I taunted her, whereupon I did precisely as promised. "Noooooooooo... oh godddddddddddddddddd... pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Unclipping her wrists from her ankles, I then asked Bill "help me put her on the toilet." Bill, of course, was eager to assist. "Sit there, slut, and keep it all in your ass," I commanded before returning to the bedroom to retrieve her nipple clips. They, of course, produced the usual cry of anguish when attached. "Very good, slut... it hasn't leaked." "Y... y... yessssssssssssss Sir" she replied almost as a sob. "Are you going to have a nice clean ass for us to fuck?" "Y... yessssssssssssssssss, Sir." "And do you want it fucked?" "Yessssssssssssss Sir." "Then you may release it now," I commanded, whereupon there was an explosive discharge of water. "Remove your blindfold, clean your ass, and come into the bedroom when your done, whore." "Yes Sir." What followed thereafter was 'the usual'... Bill and I fucking her together until we filled her with our seed. In this case Bill had her straddle and sit on him, back to him, so that I could feed her my cock. I have to tell you, though, that having done this as many times as we had, much of the novelty had worn off and I no longer regarded fucking her this way-- though surely pleasurable -- as especially kinky or unusually erotic. In these circumstances the pleasure of watching my wife being fucked by Bill, or fucking her with Bill, no longer had the forbidden naughtiness associated with it. That's not to say I wanted it to end, but only that I knew that new and different circumstances for using her as a slut and whore would have to be found. The next morning, with Bill having returned home, a relaxed interlude gave Betty and I a chance to talk over what had transpired the past several months. It was then that she admitted to having fantasized about being a slut for far longer than I had realized... even before we met. But she assumed it was an impossible fantasy to realize or experiment with given my job and our position in the community. Bill, she admitted, was as much of a godsend for her as he was for me and as soon as we met him she began wondering if he was the route to the realization of some of her fantasies. Hence, she never discouraged me from mine, especially when, on my own, I brought Bill into them when thinking I was priming her to accept being shared. She admitted, in fact, to feeling at times that she was maneuvering me into things rather than the other way around. In any event, she also admitted that in addition to being shared, she had also fantasized extensively about experiencing sex in extreme ways although she had no precise image of what that might mean. Things had gone further than she imagined, but as long as I was ok with all that was happening and we continued to compartmentalize our lives so that sex was separate from everything else, she was willing to pursue being a slut and a whore in any way that turned me on. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 09 The morning following her after-hours experience with Sally at the strip club gave me the opportunity to talk to my wife about her reaction to things. She admitted that, perhaps like most women, she'd always been curious about what it would be like to have sex with another woman. This was a curiosity, though, she repressed until last night for fear of what my reaction might be ... and perhaps fearful of how much she'd like it. But she admitted enjoying it immensely once she understood I arranged it and wasn't turned off by the idea of her being bi. She also admitted that although she hardly considered herself a lesbian ... she enjoyed a man's cock too much for that ... she would hardly object to being with other women again. Curiously, we had never discussed bringing other women into our sex life. I admitted that watching another woman use her was an incredible turn on: "I got as hard as ever watching Sally fuck you and make you cum. Seeing how hot she got you and how you surrendered to her ... wow!" I then asked her directly "what if I wanted to fuck the woman who was fucking you?" "As your sub I can't object to that." "I know that, but how would you feel about it otherwise?" "I think that would really turn me on ... to see you making another woman cum like you make me cum." And then she added, somewhat to my surprise, "especially if it were done in a context where you both were dominating me." "You need to be dominated, even humiliated, don't you .. or at least that turns you on in a way that 'normal' sex doesn't?" Somewhat sheepishly but forthrightly she admitted "Yes ... yes I do. I want to say that I'm glad we've done what we have ... I'm glad you got to share me, because I think now that I would have gotten bored eventually with sex as it was before. I think I was getting bored even." Despite this opening up to me, I wanted to push things further in terms of getting her to admit, openly and unashamedly, how much she had enjoyed her after-hours as a slut and virtual whore at the club: "You really got off having all those men cum on you? I saw you open your mouth to catch their cum." "God I felt so slutty ... like a total whore ... but yes, it was an incredible turn on ... especially knowing you were watching me be such a slut." "Were you disappointed they didn't fuck you?" My wife was now emboldened in her answers: "I wanted them to fuck me ... I wanted them to fuck me more than anything else then, and I didn't care if they used condoms or not. I wanted to be their whore and to feel their cum filling me." "And if I decided to invite Sally here to our motel this afternoon to use and fuck you ...?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "Yes ... I'd really enjoy that." "And if I told you Sally wanted to use you as her sub slut?" She hesitated a second, but since our conversation had become wholly frank, she admitted "Yes, I'd especially enjoy that ... being made to serve her, to be her slut." "Well, that's precisely what I arranged before leaving the club last night." My wife expressed no surprise whatsoever, and instead merely asked "will you fuck her?" "Perhaps ... Sally and I didn't talk about that possibility." "Do you want to fuck her?" she asked, primarily out of curiosity without a trace of jealousy. "Yes," I replied, before adding a D/s dimension to the prospect "especially if you are forced to watch. But she will fuck you, and you will be her wholly submissive slut if that's what she wishes." "Yes, I understand. I hope you get to fuck her and that you make me watch. If you do get to fuck her, I want you to tell me how good it feels. I want you to enjoy her as much as you enjoy having me fucked." Having slept until noon, I expected Sally to arrive within an hour or so, leaving only time for a late breakfast. Telling her to put on the micro mini dress she wore the last time we visited the slut dress shop, we headed out to one of those family-type restaurants that in any other context was hardly the place to take a woman dressed as a whore. Of course, I saw this as not only a way to display my wife but to do so with a touch of humiliation and as a good way to begin the day. I should add that while at the restaurant I excused myself from the table to call Sally to make certain she still planned on coming. She said she did, asking if it was ok for her to come in about an hour, adding "should I bring any toys with me?" Saying that an hour was perfect, I told her to bring anything she wanted to bring. Betty would be wholly at her disposal. "If you want to fuck me, that will be ok too," she added.. "I sometimes whore myself, but since I'll be using your wife, we can make it a no-charge threesome if you want." Taken aback a bit by her bluntness, I nevertheless said I'd be delighted to fuck her and that we should do it in a context where my wife is forced to watch. Her answer was a simple 'of course' before hanging up. Returning to the motel I told Betty that we best get prepared for Sally and that she was to put on her corset, loosely laced: "Sally will tighten it." Knowing that Sally was Domme, I also had my wife attach her wrist and ankle cuffs, and as an added surprise, I told her to stand there while I buckled a leather posture collar around her neck that I'd purchased during one of my lunch breaks at work. My wife was apprehensive about the collar since she knew its potential implications ... I was clearly preparing her to be another woman's sub slut. But my wife's only verbal response was "Oh, it feels so tight!" Anyone familiar with BDSM attire should also be familiar with posture collars. And my wife, wearing it while partially trussed up in a corset, fuck-me-heels and wrist and ankle cuffs, offered a classic image of a sub slut awaiting whatever fate her master deemed appropriate – an image I thereafter accentuated by attaching her wrist cuffs behind her back. I was, naturally, intrigued by the prospect of her being 'forced' to service Sally in a context where she was explicitly a BDSM slut. And I had cut it close, leaving myself no time to play with her before Sally knocked on the door. Outwardly, aside from her 6" spiked heels and a dress that revealed a bit more cleavage than one might suppose a 'nice' girl would show on a Saturday afternoon, Sally wore a simple button up knee length sundress. But as soon as she entered the room she turned to my wife and, making no pretense that the two of them were going to 'make love' in any tender way, said "very nice, slut ... I'm going to enjoy fucking you." Sally was also carrying an large, over-the-shoulder bag, and I could only guess at the contents. Setting the bag down she immediately commanded my wife to come to her, whereupon without any niceties she pinched a nipple with one hand while shoving two fingers of the other into my wife's cunt. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ..." my wife gasped, surprised at Sally's uncompromising action. "I see the slut is already wet ... aren't you" "Yesssssssss ...." was the grimmaced reply as she tried to stand there, immobile and submissive. Pinching harder, Sally commanded "and your going to be my slut this afternoon, right?" "Y ... yessssssssss," my wife answered, her face still reacting to the pain in her tit. Pulling her fingers out of my wife's cunt, but not yet releasing the nipple, she then commanded "suck my finger's clean, whore ... taste your cunt." My wife, of course, did as told whereupon Sally ordered "turn around!" while still not releasing the tit. My wife let out with another breathless gasping 'ohhhhhhhhhh' as Sally reached down and pushed a wet finger hard and fast into her ass. "You like being fucked in your ass, don't you slut?" "Y ... yessssssss ...." "And what did your husband do to your ass last night after you left the club?" "He fucked it." I had, however, told Sally what I'd done, and she, in turn, was going to humiliate my wife by having her say precisely what happened. "I know that, whore! What else did he do ... tell me!" "He ... oh godddddddddd ... ," was her hesitant response. Looking at me for perhaps an excuse to not answer, I nevertheless stood there staring at her until she replied fully "he ... he pissed in my ass." "And did you cum for him when you felt your ass filling with his piss?" "Y ... yessssssssssssss ... " Pulling her finger out of my wife's ass, Sally spun her around by her tit and, shoving the finger into her mouth, commanded "suck this clean, whore!" I knew how degraded and disgusted my wife must have felt then, but regardless of whatever taste the finger offered, she did precisely as told without gagging or choking. Apparently satisfied that my wife was in the proper state of mind to be her BDSM slut, Sally announced "I'm going to gag you now so that you don't disturb anyone outside of this room," whereupon she produced a ring gag from her bag and, after inserting the ring in my wife's mouth, buckled it tightly behind her head. I don't know how many readers have seen pictures of women gagged in such a way, but the image they offer is one of total surrender, though at one point she seemed to try to protest how tightly the buckle was pulling the gag into her mouth. In any event, it left her not only unable to utter an intelligible sentence, but also unable to fully control her drool, especially, as I subsequently learned, when she became fully aroused. Taunting her with an image of things to come, Sally commented when done "there, slut ... there's nothing you can do now if I decide to piss into your mouth!" Then, turning to me, she asked "would you like to fuck me now while your wife watches?" I might have refused had I not had my earlier conversation with Betty, but in this circumstance, with a cock that was already rock hard, I was only too happy to accept the invitation. I directed my wife, hands still bound behind her back, to take my place on the chair facing the bed, whereupon Sally, now acting somewhat more submissive than moments earlier, got on her hands and knees on the bed, facing my wife, awaiting me. Taking my pants off and not yet ready to throw caution to the wind, I slipped a condom over my cock, knelt behind her and effortlessly slid into her cunt. With my cock slowly gliding in and out, Sally looked up at my wife and asked in a taunting voice "don't you wish it was your cunt he was fucking, slut? ....... yessssssssssssssss ....... push it in deep!" It was difficult for me to choose between focusing on the whore I was fucking, or the one I was married to looking on from the chair only a few feet away. But clearly, Sally was going to make the most of it by making certain my wife knew how good it felt: "Yesssssssssss, fuck me .... fuck me hard ...... ," and then with a pause, "look at him slut ... look at your husband fucking another woman ........ ohhhhhhh yesssssssssss that feels goodddddddddd ... so fucking goodddddddddd." My wife sat there, motionless, watching me fuck another woman for the first time in her life. At the same time, I couldn't say whether Sally was merely acting or was as hot as her words suggested. But I was only human and could feel myself getting ready to cum, which I announced with "ok whore ... now its time to cum." "Cummmmmm ...... cummmmmm .... cummmmmmmmm ...." she cried, bucking her ass back hard against me, until her moan of "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" announced our simultaneous orgasms. One of the wonders of the female sex, of course, is that one cum is merely an excuse for others whereas men need some time to recharge. Pulling my cock out of her cunt and stepping off the bed, Sally immediately got up, walked to my wife, and buried her face in Betty's cunt. Ring gag or no, there was no mistaking my wife's guttural grunts and groans and the drool running down her chin to know she was close to cumming herself. Suddenly there was a muffled gagging scream as Sally bit down. And the biting continued as my wife seemed to writhe in a combination of agony and pleasure. With her mouth tightly gagged by the ring it was impossible for me to tell how much was pain and how much was pleasure ... not that Sally seemed to care as she continued to feast on the cunt at her mouth. By then my wife's head was thrown back, eyes seemingly glazed, gurgling cries, pleading or whatever coming from her mouth as her hips and stomach began to tremble, even convulse. Pulling her head away from between my wife's legs, Sally said simply "see, I knew she'd cum from that." Grabbing the ring of her posture collar, Sally unceremoniously pulled my wife up and threw her face forward half onto the bed so that her ass was at its edge. "Time to fuck this slut's ass and tighten that corset," she announced. And with that she retrieved a strap-on from her bag, which, unlike the one she used at the club, had a dong for her own cunt as well. However, before the fucking commenced, she announced as she released the buckle in back of my wife's head holding the ring gag in place, "I think it will be more fun if we and whoever is nearby listens to this whore's ass getting fucked." And with that my wife let go with a piercing cry of "owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww" as the dildo was driven deep and fast into her. With Sally driving the strap on as deep and hard as she could, it took less than a minute for Betty to begin her rhythmic cry "ohhhhh godddd ......... ohhhhhhh goddddddd ........... ohhhhhhhhh goddddddddddddddd ........." until a screaming "aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" announced her orgasm. Sally, however, was relentless and not about to let my wife get away with only one cum. I could literally hear her slamming into my wife, who was now crying "noooooooooo ........ pleaseeeeee ....... nooooooooooo ........ pleaseeeeee ....... noooooooooooooo" to the rhythm of Sally's thrusts. These were no longer cries of pleasure but almost a pleading for Sally's assault to end. Soon enough, however, there was another piercing cry as a second orgasm ripped thru her. Now, however and for the first time, Sally began pulling on the laces to my wife's corset, tightening it as she fucked her. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh godddddddddddd ........ ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh goddddddddddd," my wife continued to cry, but her words soon turned, as they had before when I fucked her in this way, to "noooooooo .... pleaseeeeeeeeee ... too tight ........ pleaseeeeeeeeee." Sally paid no more heed to her pleas than I had, and she continued to pull on the laces while ramming the strap on up Betty's ass. My wife was now crying ... sobbing actually ... a whimpered 'please ... no' as Sally assaulted her. But as the corset closed fully, her repetitive sobs of 'please no ........ please no .......' built to a crescendo until she wailed her telltale "aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" as yet another orgasm consumed her. Sally for her part was hardly immune to the wild abandonment of the moment, letting out her own orgasmic "yessssssssssssssssssssssssss" at the same time as my wife's wail. Having finally achieved some release of her own, Sally pulled out and removed her strap on while my wife lay there. And while I might have expected Sally to relax, she was relentless in making my wife her bitch. As soon as she shed the strap on, she returned to Betty to gag her again with the ring gag. In some respects, this left my wife a pitiful sight ... gagged, drooling, posture collar firmly in place, hands still clamped behind her back, and a corset pulled so tight her waist was unnaturally tiny compared to her now accentuated tits and ass. And, of course, one has to combine that description with eyes that have the pleading look one associates with a woman who knows her service as another woman's slut was anything but done. Sally, though, now wanted her own cunt attended to, and in her own way. The ring gag might muffle and garble my wife's moans and cries, but it did not preclude her from using her tongue. With the suggestion that I simply sit back and watch, Sally disconnected my wife's wrist clamps, but only so she could position Betty on her back on the bed. Betty seemed to relax for a minute with her new-found 'freedom', but that relaxation was short lived. With her hands resting on the headboard, Sally straddled my wife's face to feed her a cunt. Bent forward and grinding into the open-gagged mouth, Sally commanded "tongue it bitch ... tongue it good!" With Sally's cunt covering her mouth, it was difficult to gain a full sense of whether my wife was enjoying her taste of another woman. For the first few minutes she seemed simply to lay there. However, from the expressions on Sally's face there was no doubt my wife's tongue was doing what it had been ordered to do, a fact confirmed by Sally's occasional comment, now more a moan of pleasure than a harsh command, "yesssss ... tongue it .... tongue it my little bitch!" After two or three minutes of this my wife's hands reached up to grasp Sally's hips, and I knew her pleasure at being forced to tongue another woman's cunt was at least as great as Sally's. I can't say whether it was the taste of a cunt or simply the pleasure my wife derived from serving as a slut, but soon thereafter her hips were noticeably rising and falling to meet some imaginary cock. Sally herself could sense Betty's increasing excitement as she now commanded "yes bitch ... make me cum ... make me cum" until, rocking furiously against my wife's mouth, she let out her own cry of pleasure "yessssssssssssss .... ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" It was impossible to tell whether my wife came in unison with Sally, but her humiliation at Sally's hand was not done, for it was then that I was made to understand the full intent of the gag when doubtlessly the pleasure of having her cunt tongued would have been greater had the gag not been there: "Now whore, drink my piss!" As hard as my cock was once again, I was fascinated by the fact that my wife made no attempt to object. Instead, she simply lay there, her hands still on Sally's hips. But as soon as the piss began to flow, my wife's hips and legs moved as if she were seeking some escape. Gagging and coughing, though perhaps making a vain attempt to drink what she could, a good deal of golden fluid spilled over her cheeks and onto the bed as Sally commanded "drink it whore ... drink it!" Finally, Sally rose, but only so she could feast on my wife's cunt. And regardless of how degraded my wife might have felt at having Sally piss into her mouth, she responded as she normally would -- wrapping her legs around Sally's head, arching her back and moaning in pleasure. It was then, perhaps that I understood fully my lack of understanding of sub sluts. I knew my wife felt degraded, disgusted even, at having been forced to drink someone's piss. Were she like me she would have found the experience a total turn off. But it was clear that the abject humiliation she had just experienced was actually something of a turn on for her ... or at least not a turn off. As strange as it seemed to me at the time, she needed the humiliation and degradation. By then my cock was literally throbbing and I needed little additional encouragement when Sally pulled her face momentarily away from my wife's cunt and moaned "fuck me." Slipping on a condom, I my cock slit into Sally's cunt as she feasted on the cunt at her mouth. My wife by this time was making those garbled sounds only a gagged bitch in heat can make when being pleasured as she began to fondle her own tits while pushing her hips up to meet Sally's mouth. Pressing my cock up hard, I commanded "cum whore ... cum," without any attempt at distinguishing between the two whores beneath me. There followed several minutes of utter sexual abandon as Sally, with my cock slamming in and out of her, ate ravenously at my wife's cunt while my wife, with her eyes now tightly shut, continued with her garbled sounds of total surrender. Those minutes ended only when my cock exploded into the condom that sheathed it. Sally's reaction was to cum herself while biting down hard on my wife's cunt, while my wife in turn, letting out a garbled scream, came as well. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 10 Two nights in the motel near the strip club seemed long enough and I assumed my wife could use a rest after two days of intense sex in which she was introduced to the pleasures of other women. I made sure we awoke, then, in time to check out and with a tentative plan of finding a more upscale motel with a pool and simply spend a night or two relaxing without a sexual agenda. However, my parting conversation with Sally stayed in my head as a tantalizing fantasy – turning my wife over to her for a few days, as well as the image of tattoos and cunt rings. So after having my wife wear the top and micro-mini skirt she'd worn for Bill in Washington, we headed for breakfast whereupon I confronted her directly with those possibilities: "What if I told you to get a tattoo?" "Like Sally's" she asked somewhat matter-of-factly. "Yes, on your tit and perhaps your ass" I said, deliberately opening the door to the possibility of more than one wholly inconspicuous tattoo. "I wouldn't want it where anyone in the family might see it," she replied. What was interesting about this reply, of course, was that she didn't object to the idea in principle, but only wanted to be sure we could keep our sexual life style secret. But what surprised me more was my wife's next comment, which clearly encouraged me further: "Sally's tattoos are really sexy." "Yes they are," adding boldly that "I'll be arranging for you to be marked in an equally sensuous way." Having established that she had no general objection to tattoos, I opened the door to the next issue: "You enjoyed last night, didn't you ... surrendering to Sally and Nancy?" Though somewhat evasive, she nevertheless replied in a way that could only encourage me to share her further with other women: "Sally and Nancy are very sexy, aren't they?" "They didn't treat you gently, but you came hard for them" I commented, stating the obvious to gauge my wife's general reaction. Without even the hint of a blush, she answered "Yes, I know." "And the wax ... did you enjoy the wax?" I bluntly asked. "God that hurt ... that hurt a lot" she replied, not answering my question. "I don't doubt that, but did you enjoy it?" "I think I did." And then, in the spirt of complete confession: "It certainly made me cum hard." "And you drank Sally's piss again, didn't you?" This time there was a definite blush that told me she was more embarrassed by that fact than by her admission of getting pleasure from the pain of hot wax: "Yes I did." "How do you feel about being made a sub for women?" "Its different and difficult to explain. Maybe because its naughtier, more forbidden, than serving men. They are definitely rougher, less forgiving, than you or Bill." "You told me last night you'd like to be loaned out to Sally and Nancy ... to be theirs to use and train as they please without my direction or presence. Have you changed your mind?" "Oh god ... I don't know ... its scarey. I'm not sure what they'd do to me." "But if I gave you to them to be trained further as a sub slut ...?" "I'd have to comply, wouldn't I?" she answered, not so much as a question but as a statement of fact that, as with our discussion of tattoos, clearly encouraged me to pursue such possibilities.. "Yes." At that point I rolled over in my mind whether to raise the subject of cunt rings, asking myself 'Should I ask her about them or simply tell Sally to have them installed without warning my wife beforehand?' I decided not to raise the subject. If I were to give the go-ahead to have them installed, I thought it best that, like the hot wax, they should come as a surprise. I then bluntly asked my wife "If I gave you the choice between being given over to Sally and Nancy for the next few days versus, say, driving on to a motel for just a few days relaxation, what would you choose." I wasn't sure I'd give her that choice, but I was curious as to which alternative she'd prefer. Her initial response, however, was again evasive: "That's two distinctly different alternatives, isn't it?" "Yes, but which would you choose?" I had begun to learn how to read my wife when she confronted blunt sexual questions. If she didn't object outright to something, then I knew it had some appeal ... that the imagery or fantasy turned her on. She was definitely more willing to reveal what excited her, but she wasn't yet totally open. Inhibitions remained that needed to be stripped from her. She hadn't yet disallowed anything and I even wondered if there was anything to which she would object with a definitive 'no'. Sluts normally have limits, yet the only limits we'd discussed was the necessity for remaining discrete and not doing anything that would endanger her. The subject of scat hadn't arisen, if only because my wife knew my reaction to shit. Nor had we discussed drugs ... her and my objection to that was self-evident. But other things such as having her be a true whore for money or finding her a lesbian lover hadn't been discussed explicitly even though I held fantasies there. It was still 'learn as you go' for us. My wife sat there for a minute, seemingly unable to choose until she asked, in a telltale way "how would you feel if I learned to enjoy women as much as men?" That question, of course, answered mine: As much as the prospect might scare her, she wanted to be loaned out. I answered forthrightly "It would be incredibly erotic for you to be a bisexual slut." My wife continued with her questions by way of revealing her preferences: "Sally's perfect, isn't she ... she's really sexy and enjoyed fucking you? You'd like to fuck her again, wouldn't you?" Being in a conversation that sought blunt and honest answers, I answered forthrightly: "Yes, I want to fuck her again." I had in fact enjoyed fucking Sally, especially when my wife was 'forced' to watch. And not only would I want to have her again, but my wife was clearly encouraging me to do so. But I wanted her to state that fact directly: "Do you want me to fuck her again?" This time there was a discernable pause in her reply, for surely she knew the implications of her answer for our marriage. But her answer was simple: "Yes I do. It was incredibly erotic watching you fuck her. I felt maybe a small touch of jealousy wishing it was me ... but being 'forced' to watch you having sex with another woman, especially a woman who turned me on, was exciting." You might think that by now I'd be adjusted to my wife's transformation into a slut, but in fact it seemed, especially after this conversation, that she'd adjusted to it even more fully than I. Despite the equivocal way in which I'd raised certain issues, she had in so many words accepted the prospect of being tattooed, encouraged me to loan her out without supervision for further training as a bi sub slut, revealed her taste for women, and explicitly encouraged me to fuck another woman. The revelations, though, went in both directions, since I had now told her that I wanted her to be a bisexual slut with perhaps even a lesbian lover. Thus, our conversation had reached an unambiguous conclusion: I was going to loan her out to Sally. Not only that, but it was going to be largely up to Sally as to whether my wife would end the week with tattoos or cunt rings. So, stepping away from the table I announced, before heading to the restaurant pay phone, "I'm going to call Sally now." My wife sat there, expressionless, and when I reached Sally at her apartment she told me to come over anytime ... she had no plans for the day. Nancy was working as a waitress that afternoon, but would be off work herself by evening. "I was hoping you'd call ... in fact, I suspected you would." Then she asked "are you bringing your wife over to loan her out to me for several days or for simply another session like we had at your motel room?" "I want to loan her out to you ... how many days would you want her?" "I'll take her for as long as you wish. I also work part time as a waitress, but on most any weekday either Nancy or I will be here if we aren't here together." "So its ok if I left her for, say, three days?" I asked, picking three for no specific reason. "That would be perfect." After jotting down directions I told her we'd be there within the hour. Returning to our table I told my wife everything was arranged and that we'd head to Sally's after finishing breakfast. "You're going to leave me there with her I assume?" she asked, and in a way that suggested she'd be disappointed if I said anything but 'yes'.. The drive to Sally's apartment ... one of those garden apartment complexes ... took less than twenty minutes and Sally eagerly greeted us at the door. Her first words, however, immediately established why we were there: "slut, go to the bedroom, undress and stay there until I call you ... your husband and I have a few things to discuss." I handed Sally my wife's small carry-on bag that held her slut attire, some womanly necessities, and the toys I'd brought with me in anticipation of being away from home for a week (her ring gag, posture collar, remote egg vibe, corset, cuffs and nipple clips), whereupon Sally quite directly asked "have you thought any more about tattoos and cunt rings?" "Yes and you have my permission to arrange for the tattoos. My preference is for a small one like yours on a tit ... something covered by an ordinary bra but that would show with a plunging neckline. Perhaps a butterfly or some such thing." I then added "she also has some dresses that plunge in back to below the cleavage of her ass. Perhaps one there as well that would show in those dresses but would be covered otherwise." "And what of the cunt rings ... say through the inner labia?" "Hmmmm ... that's a tougher one to decide. I assume that if she has them installed, her cunt would be out of commission for a month or more." "Actually, two to four weeks. The decision is yours." "I call you in a day or two after I've thought more about it?" "No problem. You should call daily anyhow to see how things are going. Another question: I have an on-again off-again boyfriend. I can guarantee he's clean. Is he allowed to fuck her?" "If he's clean, yes, of course. You also have my permission to whore her at the club provided her safety is assured." "No need to worry about safety, but I want to emphasize that she may not be quite the same woman in three days that she is now. Once you leave she'll be my and Nancy's full time fuck toy except when allowed to sleep. We won't always be gentle and she'll perhaps experience things she might now deem degrading or disgusting." "I'm not sure I want to know everything beforehand but what, for instance, do you have in mind?" "Well, for starters I'll take pictures of her training and will give you a complete set plus the negatives. I have a friend who will do the developing ... all strictly private. Your wife, on the other hand, will be required to pose for the camera as a masturbating whore and while she is being used." I hadn't even thought of the possibility of pictures when deciding to loan my wife out. I was relieved, admittedly, to have Sally forthrightly bring up the subject since it again left everything out on the open ... no secret filming that might be used for purposes other than what I might intend. Still, a twinge of apprehension ran through me, but at this point I felt I was traveling along a one way street. I then reviewed the minimal limits my wife and I had agreed to about being discrete, scat, drugs and doing nothing that would endanger or threaten her with arrest. Sally had no objection to any of that, commenting simply "after that should I assume that she's mine to do with as I please?" With somewhat of a lump in my throat I answered "yes. Can I ask, however, what else you might have planned for her?" "To be honest, I'd like to keep a few things as a pleasant surprise for you. But you told me she's experienced a `serious' enema only once. She will experience more of the same. Also I want to probe her tolerance for pain further. She reacted quite well to the hot wax and I think she's close to being a true pain slut." I emphasized that she had my permission for all of that provided her safety was assured and that whatever pain she experienced was not to be simply gratuitous ... that its purpose was strictly training her. Understanding the role of incentives, I then emphasized "if all goes well, you'll have many more opportunities to use her as your slut and whore." Sally readily agreed, at which point she turned to retrieve my now naked wife from the bedroom. "Your husband has given you to me for the next three days to serve as my slut. Do you understand and accept that?" Sally asked, as if confirming a contract. "Yes, I understand" "Among other things you are going to be tattooed ... do you accept that as well?" My wife, of course, had already resigned herself to being marked and thus answered 'yes' without the hint of any reservation. Then turning to me Sally said simply "call tomorrow to see how things are going," which I took to mean that it was time for me to leave. And as tempted as I was to give Betty a goodbye hug or kiss, I simply exited for my car. 'Best to set the mood of her surrender,' I thought, 'by a cold exit.' I had only the vaguest idea as to what thoughts were in my wife's head as I drove away. I knew she was incredibly turned on at the prospect of being made a sub slut for another woman, but now fantasy had become reality ... a reality she knew that placed few limits on how she was going to be used.. I wasn't sure, moreover, about my own reactions to what I'd done. Surely the idea of turning my wife over to two Dommes who were lovers themselves was incredibly erotic, as was the prospect of having her finally tattooed. But I had no knowledge whatsoever of Sally's boyfriend or how my wife was likely to react to being made a true whore. I knew I was being reckless since I'd known Sally only a short time. And yet, I'd been unable to resist her invitation to take my wife for training. I worried, naturally enough, that my hormones and cock were doing my thinking. I hadn't sold my wife into sexual slavery, but I'd done the next closest thing ... and regardless of what anyone might think of me for having done that, I'll confess now to having a raging hardon as I headed home. I won't bore the reader with my thoughts and concerns over the next three days. I did call once a day, late in the afternoon, and after assuring me that my wife was doing fine, Sally put her briefly on the phone ... long enough for me to ask 'are you ok?' and for her to reply, in a stuttering but convincing voice 'yes'. On Tuesday Sally asked if she could keep her until Friday. I asked to speak to Betty and told her of Sally's request, then asked if she was ok being left there longer. I detected a moment's hesitation, but again her answer was 'yes, if that's your wish'. I told Sally I'd be back out there on Friday, around 4 PM and she said not be there later than 7 since she had to work at the club that night and I could decide when I got there whether my wife was to work as well. Of course, I told Bill everything ... her experience with Sally over the weekend and my decision to leave Betty with her for the week. He too was apprehensive and it may also have been that I detected a note of jealousy. Although we'd achieved a great working relationship in terms of sharing my wife, it wasn't so clear he liked the idea of bringing someone else into the picture. Nevertheless, it was a fait accompli and if he had serious objections he kept them to himself. On Friday I decided to drive out to Sally's in the early afternoon, if only so I'd have time to see and perhaps enjoy first hand the results of my wife's training. Sally said she was going to suggest that and that Betty would be `fully prepared for you then.' I wasn't sure what that comment meant, but figured I'd learn soon enough. So it was with an enormous sense of anticipation that I drove to Sally's after leaving my office even earlier than planned. At the apartment, Sally met me at the door wearing nothing more than a thong and heels, but as much as I admired her full firm tits and slender build, my first question was "where's Betty?" "She's in the bedroom ... I'll get her" she replied, turning around and disappearing into a nearby room. In less than a minute she reappeared, leading my wife by a leash attached to her posture collar. She wore nothing aside from collar and heels, but the change in her ... physical and psychological .. was evident. First there was the small tattoo (a butterfly as I'd suggested) that adorned the lower curve of her right tit and a golden ring that peered out between the lips of her cunt. While the ring, in my mind at least, marked her as a sub slut, the tattoo was almost like jewelry and beautifully placed: As I'd requested, it was low enough to be wholly covered by any 'normal' bra or bathing suit. But in a dress with a neckline that plunged deeply to show the full profile of her tits, it would be plainly in view. However, what especially struck me was that my wife never raised her eyes from the floor. She was, in a word, the very essence of servility. "Her tattoo and cunt ring are still healing ... she got them only yesterday and some care must be taken there. However, we didn't tattoo her ass since you should choose the design first. And since its best not to fuck her cunt for a few weeks, we wanted to leave her ass available until all else healed." My wife stood there, eyes still focused on the ground. Sally continued: "As far as I'm concerned she's a perfect slut now and I want to tell you some of the things she's experienced. First, let me say that the slut neither resisted nor raised an objection to anything." Then turning to my wife, she commanded: "Slut, tell your husband who fucked you the first night you were here, on Sunday?" My wife answered directly: "Sally and Nancy fucked me. And Sally's friend, Alan, fucked me." "And did Alan cum in your cunt?" "Yes he did ... and later in my ass." "And did he piss in your ass?" "Yes." "And did he piss in your cunt and mouth?" "Yes. But not the first night." "And did you cum whenever he pissed in your cunt or ass?" "Yes I did." "You were fucked numerous times in this apartment. Where else were you when you were fucked?" "In Alan's car, in your car, outside the apartment on the patio, in the men's room of a restaurant by Alan, in the lady's room too by you and Nancy, at the tattoo and piercing parlors last night, and I was whored at the club the night before." "How many men fucked you at the club when you were whored?" "Seven I think." "Did you cum for them or just pretend to cum when they fucked you?" "I came for them." "You've been a busy little housewife whore, haven't you?" "Yes, I suppose so." I stood there, amazed at how directly my wife answered this battery of questions. There wasn't a hint of embarrassment or shame. She'd been a whore and been fucked god-knows-how-many-times. Even if I didn't consider how often she'd been fucked in the apartment, I counted at least 14 times in which she'd been fucked by someone outside of the apartment. Sally, however, wasn't done with the questions designed to let me know how my wife had been used. "How many times and when were you given an enema, whore?" "The first night I was here and then every day after lunch." "And were any of them pleasurable?" "I cried during all of them but I understand that I must accept them." "And were you always able to hold what was fed into your ass?" "No ... I leaked twice." "And what happened then?" "I was whipped or paddled on my tits, cunt and ass." "And then what?" "The water exploded out of my ass from the pain." The Transformation of Betty Ch. 10 "And what happened those two times?" "You put clamps on my cunt lips and tits, attached weights to them, and made me clean up my mess while wearing the clamps and weights." Sally decided then to demonstrate, by way of another sequence of questions, how readily my wife surrendered to being a lesbian lover. "Approximately how often did I or Nancy fuck you each day?" "Maybe 4 or 5 times between the two of you. Sometimes of course the two of you used me together." "And did you always cum whenever we played with or fucked you?" "Yes, I did." "What did you like most when being used by Nancy or me?" "I think when you simply licked, sucked, kissed and bit me. I very much enjoy having you 'make love' to me or requiring that I 'make love' to you." "How do you feel when I tell you to tongue my asshole?" "Very dirty, very slutty ... but if I'm allowed to also play with my cunt, I cum." "Do you think you'd enjoy being a slut only for a woman if you were made to do so." "I ... I think so ... yes," she answered, not sure if she should admit the truth. Sally then commented "In my view that a slut cannot be deemed fully trained until she learns to serve women as well as men and gains equal pleasure from both. I didn't attempt to turn your wife in any direction, and for that reason I had Alan fuck her extensively and whored her thoroughly to men at the club. But she also served Nancy and I fully and would make a wonderful lesbian lover." And with that she asked Nancy, who had been silent since I arrived, to bend over the couch and lift her dress (at which point I understood that while Nancy could dominate my wife, she was submissive to Sally). She then commanded my wife "tongue Nancy's cunt and ass, slut!" Without uttering a word, my wife, taking a position on her knees behind Nancy, proceeded to do precisely as instructed ... and did so in a way the showed me how much she enjoyed pleasuring another woman. She began simply by rubbing the smooth skin of Nancy's tight ass and then slowly and sensuously licked one cheek and then the other, gradually working her tongue in closer to the cleavage they formed. Then, bending lower while spreading the cheeks, she buried her face in Nancy's ass, her tongue licking the rim of her asshole before pushing ever so slightly in. By this time Nancy was moaning in pleasure ... a moan that grew discernibly louder when my wife lowered her head to reach Nancy's cunt with her tongue. Nancy had raised herself up to give my wife better access to both her cunt and asshole, at which time Betty's tongue darted between both holes, working deliberately to make Nancy cum. Suddenly, when Nancy seemed on the verge of cumming, she moaned the command "into my ass, whore" whereupon with my wife's face buried totally between the cheeks of her ass, she came with a crashing moaning "yessssssssssssssssssssss." Immediately thereafter with my wife's face still as Nancy's ass there was a knock on the door. It was Alan who doubtlessly wanted to enjoy my wife one last time before I retrieved her. Of course, with her new tattoo and cunt ring, his use of her would be limited, but he came nevertheless for the pleasure of her ass and, at Sally's request, to demonstrate further the extent of my wife's surrender. "I see you ladies are using the slut again to best advantage" he said, before walking over to me to tell me what a magnificent slut I was married to. I was actually pleased he came since, despite what I'd been told, I didn't want to think that my wife's primary acts of submission were solely at Sally's command. It might have been true that I enjoyed watching her be a slut for other women. But I wanted her to be a slut who enjoyed men as well. After brief introductions and with my wife still on her knees, Alan said simply "I'd like to fuck your wife while you watch." At that point I decided to assert some control of my own, and, calling my wife to me, asked "do you want Alan to fuck you?" "If that's your wish." "And if I ask him to also piss in your ass ...?" "He's done that before, but if you want him to do that again ... " Despite all that had happened the past several months I was still amazed at Betty's wholly compliant responses. It was later that realized her compliance was not from fear of retribution or because, like Pavlov's dog, she'd been trained to react in a preprogrammed way. Able somehow to switch between a wanton shameless slut versus an equal partner in marriage, she genuinely enjoyed the opportunity to assume the role of the former. As she'd admitted before, she achieved true sexual fulfillment only when totally dominated. I'll admit that even today I don't fully understand the psychology here -- why some women need to be controlled, humiliated even, to truly enjoy sex. If this is perversion, there was nothing in my wife's history to suggest she'd be perverted in this way ... no child molestation, rape, or parents with any apparent unusual sexual preferences. She'd discovered something in herself when being shared with Bill that neither of us knew was there. But once uncovered there seemed no limit to her need to be dominated and 'forced' to do things others might consider perverse. My good fortune was to have married her and for her to have discovered these cravings within her. Her good fortune I suppose was to have married someone who, to put matters bluntly, got off having his wife be an uninhibited slut and whore. "Alan, I'd like to watch you fuck my wife." Alan was not about to object to that invitation, and he immediately proceeded to strip below the waist, whereupon he commanded "suck my cock, whore!" With Nancy, Sally and myself as mere bystanders, my wife walked up to him, dropped to her knees, and immediately took hold of Alan's half erect cock to put it into her mouth. She proceeded thereafter to suck it, letting it slide in and out of her, lips wrapped tightly around it, as you might imagine a child sucking a delicious candy. And with Alan now gently holding her head, the only sound in the room was the slurping noises coming from her mouth as she unashamedly sucked with abandon (and, I'd have to say, with skill). Then, taking the cock from her mouth, she let her tongue slide along the fully hard shaft until she played with its head with her lips and tip of the tongue before sucking it back into her mouth. What struck me was how deliberately she proceeded – the same as when she tongued Nancy's ass. There was no hesitation borne of modesty, and she gave every appearance of sucking Alan as much for her audience's pleasure as Alan's ... offering us unobstructed views of his cock sliding past her lips, of her tongue playing with the shaft, and the wetness of her mouth coating the hardened rod of meat she was feasting on. I felt as if she were showing me how much of an unashamed cocksucker she now was, how much pleasure she could bring a man, and how much she enjoyed having me watch her slavishly suck on another man's cock. By then, however, Alan needed another passage to fuck, whereupon he commanded "on your hands and knees bitch!" Kneeling behind her after Betty wordlessly assumed the position she was commanded to take, he slid his cock quickly into her ass. Her immediate reaction was a grimace and breathless gasp since, I hate to admit, Alan's cock was measurably longer and thicker than mine or Bill's. In fact, it gave Sally's strap on a good run for the money as to which stretched her more. "Look at your husband, whore, and don't close you eyes!" Alan demanded. "I want him to see how much pleasure you get from my cock, especially when I fill your ass with my seed and my piss!" I know I was supposed to simply stand there and watch. But I'm only human and needed some pleasure of my own. Taking off my own pants, I stood before my wife and told her to suck my cock as she had sucked Alan. A man confronts many decisions ... some of them profound and others more ephemeral. I was confronting then one of those ephemeral choices, yet one that had to be made: Should I cum in her mouth, or fuck one of the other girls while my wife, with another man's cock up her ass, was forced to watch? Having not yet fucked Nancy, my choice was for the later, but in a way that took advantage of my sense that Nancy was sub for Sally: "Nancy, get on the floor like my wife, facing her" I commanded. A broad smile came over Sally's face, signaling her pleasure at watching two women be sluts. Nancy, for her part, did precisely as told, but only after I positioned her face inches from my wife's. Then, kneeling behind her while Alan continued to slowly slide his cock in and out of Betty's ass, I plunged my erection quickly and fully into Nancy's warm wet cunt. "Kiss," I commanded ... an order directed at both women ... "suck and play with each other's tongues." The two women needed no further encouragement, and with each holding themselves up with one hand, they proceeded to slavishly kiss and suck at each other. I wondered for an instant whether each was gaining greater pleasure from the cock plowing into them from behind or from the woman sucking and kissing them. Of course, their pleasure was from an unmeasurable combination of the two ... from allowing oneself to be fucked like a bitch in heat and from the otherwise (at the time) forbidden pleasure of giving one's lust over to another woman. If only I could draw an accurate picture of the sheer eroticism of watching two women ravenously using each other's mouth until drool dripped down their cheeks. Suffice it to say this was not a scene Alan and I could watch for long without having our cocks explode into the passages of pleasure that held them. For my part Nancy's cunt was wonderfully warm, wet and tight. I had no idea how long she had been Sally's lover or how often she'd been fucked with a strap on ... but clearly nothing had been done to loosen her in the least. I can't say how many orgasms my wife and Nancy had in this process, but Alan and I had ours nearly simultaneously, with mine being explosive enough that my seed almost immediately leaked from Nancy's cunt (though I suspect she was especially wet and that what dripped was half my seed and half her juices). Pulling out, I stood back to watch the three of them, the women still madly kissing, as Alan held his now drained cock in my wife's ass, evidently preparing to fill her with piss. And it was readily apparent the instant it began to flow. My wife suddenly released Nancy's head and mouth, raised her head, eyes closed, and let out a long gasping moan as the golden fluid filled her. Alan and I might have been drained, but Sally wasn't about to let pass any opportunity to have my wife continue her performance. "Turn around Nancy," she commanded, followed by the order "Betty, suck your husband's cum from Nancy's cunt." Once again, just as she had done when told to tongue Nancy's ass, my wife did precisely as told ... and in a way, I should add, that clearly brought Nancy considerable pleasure. Indeed, Nancy lowered her head and began pressing her cunt and hips back hard against my wife's mouth while moaning "yessssssss ... suck it ...... yessssssssssss" until with a final cry of "arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" it was evident that my wife was now sucking both my cum and Nancy's into her mouth. But if you thought that Sally planned on being nothing more than a voyeur, you'd be mistaken. Pushing Nancy aside and laying down on her back, she commanded "now make me cum, bitch!" Had I not been there I would have assumed my wife was incapable of performing further, but she was inexhaustible. Driven by an unquenchable lust, she pressed her face between Sally's legs and did precisely as directed until Sally herself let go with the unmistakable cry of a woman cumming. Once all the fucking and sucking was done, Sally asked my wife a question that needed no answer: "I assume Alan's cum and piss are still in your ass?" Then, pointing to the sliding glass door and the small patio area, she commanded "go there and release it ... fertilize my plants!" "Oh god," my wife replied, but proceeded out the door anyhow. `Oh god' was my unspoken reaction as well since I had no idea whether anyone in the neighboring apartments had a view of Sally's patio. Regardless, my wife did exactly as told whereupon on her return Sally told her to go to the bathroom and clean up. That, admittedly, was a bit much for me .... it surely wasn't anything I'd require at home, even without neighbors watching. Nevertheless, I stood in awe of the fact that my wife did what she was told without objection. "Was that," I asked, "the most humiliating thing my wife has experienced this past week?" "I'm not sure how that ranks in her mind relative to having to drink my piss, but it does humiliate her to have to squat like that and release the contents of her ass. By the way, that's not the first time she's done that. That's how she's relieved herself after each enema." "One other question ... how truly hard was she paddled or whipped?" That wasn't intended as an invitation for a firsthand demonstration, but that's how Sally took it, with the comment "let me show you." Calling my wife out of the bathroom, she told her to lay over the padded footstool in the living room. I don't know if my wife knew then what was about to happen, but if she had any doubts, they disappeared when Sally produced my wife's ring gag and buckled it tightly into her mouth. "I can't let the neighbors hear her scream ... Alan, get me my flogger." The flogger was a wooden handled thick leather strap about 18 inches long and maybe two inches wide ... designed to sting and hurt but not break the skin. Again, though, in addition to showing how hard my wife had been whipped or flogged, she also wanted to demonstrate in another way her abject surrender. Without the least sign of resistance she merely nodded her head yes to Sally's question "do you know what I'm going to do to you now for your husband's benefit?" And with that, Sally brought the flogger down about as hard as she could across both cheeks of my wife's ass, whereupon my wife let out a gurgling muffled scream akin to the sound she made at the club when Sally dripped hot wax on her. In this instance her whole body seemed to react with a series of convulsions that only slowly ebbed away. But then came a second hard crack, a third and then finally a fourth ... each followed by the same garbled gurgled scream and series of convulsions. By then it was evident that my wife was in tears and beyond the point of being able to control in any way the shaking that wracked her body. Bill and I had whipped her tits and ass with the riding crop, but we always held back ... afraid, I suppose, as to what damage the crop might do. Sally held back nothing. She'd inflicted serious pain and my wife's red ass was now surely tender to the touch. But still she laid there, tears on her cheeks and drool dripping from her gag. But there was to be no sympathy for her: "If you think she doesn't crave this treatment, you're mistaken." Then turning to my wife she asked "would you be disappointed, slut, if you were to never be whipped like this again?" Shockingly (at least to me) my wife nodded her head 'yes'. And Sally's question "will you ask your husband to whip you like this at least once a week?" was again met with a nod of 'yes'. Then turning to me, she added "the slut is trained to not merely accept being whipped, but to ask for it. A true pain slut, which your wife is, craves being abused this way." Coupled with the passage of time, the convincing evidence of my wife as a pain slut again gave me a hardon that needed release. And since the same was true for Alan, I decided to avoid 'sloppy seconds' by immediately positioning myself behind her and, taking no account of the tenderness of her ass, plunged my cock into her asshole. Sally, Nancy and Alan stood about watching me fuck her, listening to her gurgling grunts and sobs as I used her for the sole purpose of pleasuring myself. There was little doubt that the slamming of my groin against her reddened ass stung, but I paid little mind until I shot whatever cum was in me. Pulling out I was immediately replaced by Alan who quickly did the same. And although I had not taken note of whether my wife herself came when I fucked her, it was clear as she raised her head to let out a gasping, gagged cry, that she came while Alan's cock stretched her tender ass. There wasn't much more to do or say after that. My wife lay there for the next 15 minutes or so recovering while I thanked Sally for having brought my wife along further in her transformation. At that point Sally produced a package of pictures and a smaller package of negatives, with the comment "these are the pics we took of her at the apartment. Unfortunately, we have none of her as a whore at the club since taking pictures there is strictly forbidden. I'd suggest that you later make your wife give you a detailed description of how she was used. She's sufficiently trained to hold nothing back in that respect." Nancy brought out my wife's carry on suitcase and asked me what I wanted her to wear for the trip home, making the side comment "unfortunately, its best with her still healing tattoo and cunt ring that she not come to the club until she's fully healed." Rather than have her wear anything 'normal' such as the skirt and top she'd originally worn to the apartment, I pulled out the stripper gown that plunged in back to well below the crack of her ass. Not only was it soft and unlikely to irritate her now reddened ass, but it offered me a delicious view of the tattoo on her tit. With legs that were still a tad shaky, Nancy helped Betty to her feet and assisted with slipping the gown on before removing the gag and dropping it into the suitcase. The removal of the gag, however, simply served as an excuse for Sally to ask one more series of questions: "Do you want your husband to send you back here occasionally to be our slut?" "Yes, if he wished it" was her honest reply. "Shall I tell Alex at the club that whenever you visit you're available as an after-hours whore?" Again, as she had answered so many earlier question without hesitation or shame, she replied "If that's what my husband wants, yes." "Look your husband in the eye and tell him you want to come back here to be a whore." "I want to come back here ... to Sally's and to the club ... so I can be a whore." With that and a final series of goodbyes my wife and I headed across the parking lot to the car. Once in the car, however, I decided it was time for a little tenderness and affection, and so leaning over to my wife I kissed her softly on the lips before telling her how much I enjoyed her both as my wife and as a slut. The kiss she returned was deep and probing ... filled with both passion and love ... as if she were trying to reassure me that regardless of what she had become sexually, nothing had changed otherwise. That was the same message I was trying to convey, but the fact remained that she was dressed as a stripper, and as long as she wore that dress, it was impossible for me to interact with her as simply the loving lovely woman I married. I had to consciously resist the temptation to fondle her tit for fear of disturbing her healing tattoo or fingering her cunt for much the same reason. Breaking the somewhat romantic or tender mood of the moment, then, I commented "Bill may be disappointed to learn that you were a whore for seven men without him there to watch." "Yes, I know." "Did you enjoy getting fucked by all of them?" I thought that out of the presence of others who knew my wife only as a slut she might revert to her otherwise modest self. But that was not to be, as evidenced by her straightforward answer: "Yes I did ... it was exhausting and I was a little sore afterwards ... but I did enjoy it." The Transformation of Betty Ch. 10 "Did they pay you?" "Yes, $350 .... fifty dollars from each of them." "So you were a true whore ... a paid whore" I said, more as a comment than a question. "Yes I was." And then she interjected "I don't want to be a full time whore at the club every week. But if you want me to occasionally be one, I'll be happy to have you pimp me." I don't think my wife ever used the word 'pimp' in her life, and up until a few months ago I might have guessed that she didn't even know the word's meaning. But here she was inviting me to make her a whore, regardless of the legality of the thing. She didn't simply say she'd accept being one as an element of her surrender, but rather that she'd 'be happy' to be pimped as one. I wasn't sure whether to attribute her change in attitude to Sally or to her experience at the club and decided to explore the issue further. "Did you find being a whore ... of being a paid to be fucked ... an especially erotic experience? Is that why you want me to pimp you?" "Yes, I did. Before Sally took me to the club she said she was going to pimp me there if there was anyone who wanted to pay to fuck me. I found myself getting wet at the idea as we drove to the club. I didn't want to get arrested, but I got wet imagining myself as a totally wanton housewife whore." Trying to understand fully, I asked why she found being a whore especially erotic. "I'm not sure myself. Maybe for the same reason I get so turned on when Nancy or Sally used me. It's so naughty and forbidden ... being a housewife who fucks men for money even when you don't need the money. If we needed the money, it might not be so erotic ... it would probably be more like work. But I wanted the men there to desire me ... to desire me enough to pay me to fuck them. And when they took me into the back room and I knew there was nothing I could do then to stop them from fucking me any way they wanted to fuck me or as hard and as long as they wanted to fuck me ... well, my cunt throbbed in anticipation." "And so I assume that once they started fucking you, there was no need for pretending ... you became a total uninhibited slut unable and unwilling to try to control anything?" "I wanted to just be used, degraded even. I got turned on even more when they called me a bitch and a dirty slut. One of the men talked about taking me outside and fucking me where people driving by could see me. I knew Alex would never allow that, but I actually wanted it to happen, I would have let it happen. I guess that's how much out of control I was." And then she added "Honey, I have a confession ...they shoved their cocks in all my holes and only some of the time did they use condoms. I honestly don't know how many times they came in me." "How long did they fuck you?" I asked, avoiding the implications of her last statement. "Alex apparently knew two of the men quite well, and so they kept me at the club until around five in the morning, and then one of them returned me to Sally's. He wanted to know if it was possible to make an arrangement whereby he could pay to fuck me on a regular basis." "What did you say to that?" "I told him it was up to you ... but that if it was ok with you, he could hire me as a whore, say, every other week." Although I wanted to return to that proposition some time in the future, I decided instead to address the bombshell she had dropped by asking a somewhat naive question: "how did it feel to have them cum in you?" "At the time it was incredible ... not only didn't I want them to use condoms because I wanted to feel their cum shooting into me, I ... oh god ... but I asked them not to use condoms! I got so hot, so turned on. When one of the men fumbled trying to open a box of condoms I told him to just shove his cock into me and cum. After that no one used them and after that I had so much cum in me it was leaking out of my cunt and ass when they were done with me." My reaction was not anger at her violation of our rules. Instead, it aroused me to think she had become so turned on as a whore that she lost control and needed to feel herself filled by the cum of men whose names she doubtlessly never learned. If I hadn't been driving on the highway, I would have fucked her right then and there on the spot. So instead, my verbal response was simply "we'll have to watch that and have you checked out." Changing the subject again, I asked her how she felt in general about being left at Sally's to be trained without me there. "It was incredibly erotic ... almost as if you had sold me as a sex slave. I thought I'd be too scared to enjoy anything if you or Bill weren't there to protect me. But knowing there was essentially nothing you could do to stop them from using me any way they wanted to use me ... knowing, for example, that I was going to be a whore at the club without you there to make sure I wasn't overly abused ... well, that added a whole new dimension to things. It was almost like being tied up helpless or hung in Bill's bedroom, knowing there was nothing I or anyone else could do to keep me from being made to service Sally, Nancy, Alan or whoever in any way they wanted me to serve them." "So you were sincere when you said that you hoped I'd loan you out again as their sex slave?" "Yes. And I have another confession: I really enjoy fucking Sally and Nancy. I hope you don't get upset about this, but they made me cum as hard as any man ever has." The truth of the matter is that I found everything she was telling me ... about her experience as a whore and her craving for Sally and Nancy ... immensely erotic. "So I gather you'd like having a lesbian lover such as Sally ... A lover in addition, of course, to Bill and myself?" "Yes I would. Is that wrong?" "Not in the least. As I think I've already told you, I find it unimaginably erotic for you to be a bisexual slut. And since Sally is a Domme, I plan on having you be her slut on a regular basis. I will, of course, fuck her and Nancy, but my principle interest is in making certain you are used in all the ways a sub slut can be used, and that includes you having another woman as a lover." And with that announcement I again changed the subject. "How do you feel about the tattoo and cunt ring?" "I like them ... I like them a lot ... especially the ring in my cunt. I guess this means, though, that I'll have to be careful what I wear when I visit my parents and yours." 'Well, I wouldn't worry about the cunt ring, but plunging necklines are out when we visit the family or go to a faculty dinner." I knew, of course, that she never wore anything then but dresses and tops that covered virtually everything of interest. And then I added "did Sally force you to get the ring?" "No, she asked me beforehand if I wanted it and I said yes. I thought you'd find it sexy." "Well, you're right about that. As a matter of fact, I find everything about you sexier than hell and I'm delighted you're a slut now ... my slut ... and a whore." And with that I told her to lower the top of her dress so that anyone driving next to us could admire her tits and that although she already had an ass full of cum, I was going to add to it when we got home. I knew then, of course, that my wife's transformation was complete ... she was now a slut who exceeded all my expectations and fantasies. But while one phase of our lives had passed, a new phase was about to begin ... one that would allow the pursuit of any and every fantasy, no matter how extreme. There no longer were any constraints except those we imposed ourselves for propriety and safety. In that sense we had completed but the first chapter of an ongoing saga of unlimited fulfilment and unrestrained pleasure. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 11 For a period of time after it seemed that my wife's transformation into a sub slut and part time stripper and whore was complete our sexual life became somewhat routine. Bill and I continued to use her, separately and together, and occasionally we'd take her to the strip club to allow her to perform with Sally and Nancy. On those occasions, Sally would take Betty as her sub slut to her apartment, letting Alan and Nancy play with her from time to time. My wife's experiences as a whore at the club, on the other hand, were more limited, especially after I learned that she'd allowed herself to be fucked without protection when Sally pimped her. Nevertheless, she was pimped a few times to remind her that she could be made a whore whenever I wished it and we acquired one additional evening gown from our favorite slut dress shop – again at zero financial cost, but a good hard fuck in the back room by the store's owner. It wasn't that my wife needed another slut gown, but I rather enjoyed bringing her to the shop to dry on dresses, knowing that the transaction would end with her being used as a whore. I suppose its difficult to imagine it becoming routine for a housewife to be a slut, stripper and whore ... especially one who otherwise maintained the image of wholesome propriety. Certainly none of my colleagues nor any of our friends ever imagined my wife was a sub slut. I often got pleasure from taking her to a faculty party knowing that no one there could possibly imagine that she had a ring in her cunt, a tattoo on her tit, and unashamedly achieved total sexual fulfillment when made a whore. If anyone had taken a poll to guess which wife was least likely to have had a man's cock up her ass other than her husband's or who got off by being abused by a lesbian lover, my wife almost certainly would have topped the list. What else could you think of a women who seemingly considered a skirt that showed a knee as daring, who never wore a blouse that wasn't buttoned to the neck, whose "high heels" never exceeded 2" and who seemed interested only in talking about the latest fashions at the mall or the quality of public education? More often than not, however, she wore such clothes and engaged in such banal conversations with a butt plug stuffed up her ass, knowing that someone, not necessarily other than myself, was going to suck on her tits and fuck her later that night. Our routine was broken, however, months after her week with Sally when I went out of town for three days. I could have taken her but Bill asked me to leave her since he wanted to arrange for some out-of-town friends to use her. In part he wanted to brag about his training another man's wife (he may have taken more credit than deserved, given Sally's contribution, but far be it for me to split hairs). And since his friends were also Doms, he wanted to share her in a context where she would be more than a 'simple' whore, as she had been when he took her to Washington. At this point she was strictly 100% sub with few limits, and Bill wanted to use her with others as someone for whom there were no lines that couldn't be crossed. I agreed to Bill's request even though I couldn't impose the same stipulation I imposed when he took her on his business trip ... namely to be fully informed over the phone as to how she was used. My business was taking me out of the country for two days, plus a day and a half of 'living' at airports so my ability to participate in any way was essentially nil. I'd have to satisfy myself with learning how she was used only after the fact. Perhaps for this reason, and unlike other instances in which she was to be shared without my presence, I told her of our plans several weeks in advance. Of course, there was a tinge of nastiness in my decision: I wanted her to let her imagination run wild as to how a sub slut might be made to serve three or four Doms simultaneously. But aside from that, nothing was mentioned of her impending service until the day of my departure, and even then all I told her as I left the house for the airport was that Bill would call to tell her what was expected of her. Bill called late that afternoon and told her to come to his house before dinner ... after bathing and giving herself an enema, naked under a coat wearing only a pair of fuck me heels. She was to bring her posture collar and corset in a bag, but nothing else. These things she did, and when ushered into his house around 6 PM, she found herself alone with him ... his guests, who were to be three in number, would be arriving shortly. "Are you prepared to be a sub slut for four Doms this weekend?" "Yes, I am," she replied, adding the obligatory "Sir" to signal her acceptance of things. She admitted beforehand to me, of course, to being somewhat apprehensive about how she would be compelled to serve a party of Doms and how she would be used. But it was apprehension mixed with an equal degree of excitement ... excitement about the prospect of experiencing new pleasures. And in any event, she had committed herself to being a wholly trained and experienced sub slut and surely she couldn't be that until she served several Doms simultaneously. "Good," Bill told her. "Now take off your coat and lie on your back on the dining room table." She followed this somewhat curious instruction, whereupon Bill, after attaching her ankle and wrist cuffs, attached each to a rope tied beneath each corner of the table. Spread eagled, vulnerable and admittedly with a dripping wet cunt with the ropes pulled tight so that she was essentially unable to move anything but her head or to raise her hips slightly off the table, Bill proceeded to set the table for four people ... knives, plates, forks, etc as if she weren't there. "You are going to be our centerpiece this evening and doubtlessly the dessert." One can safely assume that my wife's cunt began dripping almost immediately after being told her role for dinner. But no sooner had Bill completed his preliminary arrangements than the front door bell rang, announcing the simultaneous arrival of three fellow Doms. Ushering his guests into the dining room, Bill cooly announced "this is our fuck toy for the weekend. She has been loaned to us by her husband, who is out of town on business. I can tell you she's a true pain slut, although I haven't yet fully tested her tolerance there. She's also bi and on occasion has served a lesbian lover. Her sexual tastes are totally unknown to family and her husband's business associates, but she has been a stripper and a paid whore. As far as her husband is concerned, she is ours to use as we please provided only that we do no permanent damage and maintain being discrete ... no one outside of this house is to know how she is used this weekend. No pictures will be allowed and I will accept your promise that none of you will under any circumstances reveal her identity to anyone." One of the men commented that the conditions were of course wholly reasonable, while one of the men, while doubtlessly focused on my wife's wet cunt or heaving tits simply offered the lament "Delicious, though I suppose we don't get to play with the slut until after dinner?" "Yes, that's partially true ... I'm not sure my dining room table could withstand having us fuck her there. But once dinner ends, we all will have full access to her. In the meantime, pull up a chair and let me serve the dinner, which I had delivered a short while ago." At that point, with my wife's cunt continuing to drip, the men attended to their meal and only occasionally made reference to the tied and spread slut before them. Periodically one of them would touch her ... a tit or her thigh near her cunt ... but other than that their preoccupation seemed to be the food Bill had set before them. Nearing the end of the meal, however, one of the men commented "I bet the little slut would cum from this wine bottle." "You're right," Bill commented, as if offering an invitation for her to be fucked by the bottle. By this time, of course, my wife would have cum from having nearly anything pushed into her cunt. She'd laid there, largely unable to move and never talked to directly, knowing that all this was but a prelude to her being a fuck toy for four men who were planning to use her in ways she couldn't imagine. Bill's comment about being a pain slut whose limits had not yet been tested sent a shiver of anxiety through her, but aside from that she found herself becoming increasingly excited as the dinner progressed and wished only that the food would quickly disappear. The mention of the wine bottle, though, sent another shiver thru her and she let out an involuntary moan of pleasure when she felt its neck sliding into her ... into her to the point where she could feel the bottle stretching her more than even an overly large cock. "The slut likes it," someone commented as the bottle was withdrawn and then pushed back in. "She can't seem to keep from arching her back to meet it .. She surely wants to be fucked by something." By then that hypothesis was wholly true ... my wife wanted nothing more than to be fucked to gain some orgasmic release. "Should we let the little whore cum?" someone asked. "Not yet," Bill replied. "I have a special treat planned for us and for her first. Just keep her hot with the bottle while I clear the table." The next few minutes were a torment for her since it seemed to take Bill forever to clear the table and since the bottle was being slid in and out of her cunt only to keep her on the edge, pleading to be allowed to cum. "Its hard to believe this slut's married and fucked regularly," one of the men observed. "She acts like she hasn't been fucked and allowed to cum in weeks." "She can be insatiable," Bill replied as he cleared the last of the dinner from the table and turned to release my wife from her bounds. Then turning to Betty with the wine bottle half in her cunt he said "my friends here are going to fuck you this weekend and make you their whore. You will not object to being used in any way that pleases them ... correct?" "Yes Sir, it is." "And you are here with your husband's consent ... on loan as our pain slut and whore, right?" "Yes Sir ... he has given me to you for the weekend." Taking the bottle out of her cunt and helping her down from the table he then ordered "Now bend over the coffee table ... Michael has something for you." As events were described to me, Michael, whose interest in my wife's ass was apparently as great as mine, asked if he could test the capacity of that ass. Bill agreed and it was suggested that two men hold her, face down, over the coffee table. Michael then retrieved a string of five anal balls from a small carry-on bag he brought with him whose size, connected by a length or rawhide, fell somewhere between golf and tennis balls, or about 2 to 2 1/4" in diameter. Needless to say, absent lubrication, it was only with some effort that the first ball was pushed into her ass ... and not before there was considerable begging and pleading, with cries of 'oh god, its tearing me'. But one by one, each ball was pushed in until all that was visible was a length of rawhide sufficient to pull them out. Apparently none of this was accomplished without cheeks streaked with tears, but once Michael was done she stood before them ... a perfect specimen of the young sub slut housewife with throbbing ass and a cunt craving penetration. "Finger your cunt," Michael commanded, and unsurprisingly, she quickly achieved the release she'd craved from the bottle. "It's time to prepare you," Bill announced, whereupon he proceeded to complete her attire – her posture collar buckled tightly around her neck and the leather corset tied to draw her waist in as much as possible. With my wife trussed up, feeling and looking about as slutty as she could, Bill ominously announced it was time to test my wife's tolerance and craving for pain. The setting I am about to describe now comes only after having visited Bill's basement upon returning from my trip. But that basement, in addition to corresponding to the usual dark unfinished musty chambre of a home built at the turn of the century and suited primarily for the storage of garden hoses, had two jack-like devices set in the middle of the room. The best way to envision those devices, ordinarily used in construction, is to imagine two substantially oversized car jacks. Across the two jacks Bill had attached a 2" by 6" board, set on its edge at a height slightly lower than my wife's cunt. The board's upward edge was rounded and sanded smooth. Directed to straddle it, my wife's wrists were then attached to a large eye hook set in the board behind her back. Her tits were then clamped and the chain connecting them drawn tight and attached to an eye hook in the board in front of her. Thus, unable to bend forward to relieve the tension in her tits, she was also unable to bend back without threatening to literally tear the clamps off. Finally, to complete her helpless state, a spreader bar was attached to her ankle cuffs beneath the board. I'll admit that, when informed later of how my wife had been used that night, I wished I'd been there to witness her first experience on the board, although I suspect my sympathy for her plight made it best that I was absent. In any event, once she was properly attached and positioned, Bill directed one of the men to raise one of the jacks while he did the same to the other, stopping only when the board was pushed up tightly against her cunt. I cannot say whether my wife at that point could guess at her ultimate fate, but despite the fact that her feet were both still firmly on the floor, she begged for the board not to be raised any higher. It was then that Bill thought it prudent to gag her. I can imagine the sensations and apprehension that coursed thru her as Bill attached the gag. She had only been gagged in the past in anticipation of the need to muffle her cries of anguish and pain. That gag, then, could only mean that the board was about to be raised higher. And indeed, once she was adequately muffled the jacks were both slowly and somewhat sadistically raised another two or three inches until she was literally 'standing' on her toes. By then, with each 1/4 inch added to the board's height, her discomfort became nearly unbearable so that her garbled cries were only partially muffled ... muffled only enough to keep anyone outside oblivious to what was transpiring in the basement. I can't imagine the pain she experienced or for that matter the contortions of her body as she attempted to escape the pain in her cunt as well as her tits. But after a few minutes or so on tiptoes, her composure ... or lack thereof ... was such that Bill thought it wise to lower the board so she could again keep both feet on the ground. Humiliation, though, was also to be her lot, and with her making every attempt to relieve the painful pressure of the board, Bill ordered "show my friends what a dirty slut you are and piss for us, whore ... piss for us or have me raise the board again!" Again, but not without some apparent difficulty, she complied as piss flowed visibly over the board and onto the concrete floor. Bill however was anything but done with her or her humiliation: "the slut needs something in her cunt." Lowering the board further, her cunt was then stuffed with a dildo that fit fully into her (and not without some difficulty, given that the balls were still in her ass), whereupon the board was jacked back up until it again fit snugly up between her legs. Then, with her feet still on the floor Bill commanded "rock your hips, hump the board and cum for us!" As painful as that must have been, my wife again complied and, as Bill confirmed, she succeeded in bringing herself off for what seemed a considerably enjoyable orgasm. But now, after having both pissed and cum, Bill somewhat sadistic streak appeared ... or at least his desire to test, as promised, my wife's tolerance for pain ... and he asked two of his friends to keep her steady while he and his third friend raise the jacks so that my wife's feet no longer reached the floor. The pain must have been excruciating, for as Bill described it, her screams of anguish were only barely muffled by her gag. Had there not been two men at her side, she would have collapsed and fallen over regardless of the damage the clamps did to her tits. Despite this Bill was not about to let her down easily: "you're going to cum for me again, slut, before this board is lowered," whereupon Bill moved to her so that he could play with her outstretched tits while slipping a finger between the board and her clit. "You're a pain slut, bitch ... cum for me ... cum like the whore you are!" Shivering in pain as Bill continued his 'assault', and despite or perhaps even because of her anguish, she apparently soon enough stiffed and with a garbled, stuttering and incoherent cry, the slut who was otherwise my seemingly innocent wife came ... her feet hanging in the air, trembling, as her whole body participated in her orgasm. "She IS a pain slut, isn't she," on of the men commented. Bill agreed and then added "I wasn't sure the slut would cum while riding the board, but lets see if she can cum again." And with that Bill continued to play with whatever part of her cunt was available to him while gently pushing her backwards with his other hand to increase the tension and pain in her tits. Her screams by then, as Bill recalled things, had subsided to become 'merely' gasping whimpers ... similar to the sounds one might make when attempting to catch one's breath. But again, just as suddenly as her last orgasm, she stiffened and came. "Marvelous," someone remarked, "absolutely marvelous." This time, as soon as my wife's orgasm had subsided it was clear that she was no longer moaning in some combination of either pain and pleasure, but was simply whimpering and crying in anguish. She seemed, in fact, on the verge of passing out as her eyes began to roll back into her head, whereupon Bill lowered the board so that his friends could release her wrists and ankles, unclip her tits and lay her on a nearby rug. But by this time the men needed their own release and, despite my wife's continual whimper and crying, Bill suggested that she be turned over onto her stomach and that her less tormented ass be the receptacle of their pleasure. The balls stuffing her ass were unceremoniously pulled out of her, causing her body to spasm once again, but only to be followed by a hardened cock that shot its seed quickly into her. By Bill's account, his second friend chose instead to pull her up to her knees and remove her gag so she could be made to swallow all the warm creamy cum he could feed her. The third took little notice of her swollen and sore cunt and after turning her onto her back and removing the dildo, proceeded to fuck her until not just he, but amazingly enough, the two of them came together. Bill refrained from using her, and instead simply attached a leash to her collar so that, with her cheeks still stained from tears, and her cunt as ass filled with seed, he could lead her back upstairs. Once back in the living room and standing before all four seated men, one of them remarked that she was indeed a wonderfully trained sub slut. "I'm sure she knew perfectly well the purpose of the board the instant she saw it, yet she straddled it without objection." "Yes she did," Bill replied, "though I doubt she'd ever experienced such intense pain before." Then turning to my wife he asked "how did that feel, slut?" "Sir ... I thought I was going to pass out. My cunt is still throbbing in pain Sir." "And if I commanded you to return to the basement now to ride the board again ...?" "Oh god Sir ... you ... yes, I would of course obey. Oh please ... don't ask me to do that ... I beg you." The Transformation of Betty Ch. 12 Although sharing my wife with Bill on a regular basis fulfilled my (and her) need to have her treated as a slut, seeking out other adventures became, at times, difficult and time consuming. Sally at the strip club ... her lesbian Domme lover ... moved across country to go to college, and neither Bill nor I could count on going out of town for business on any consistent basis. And there's only so many times I could take her to the slut dress shop to have her whore herself for a free dress ... after all, how many dresses could she wear? But once my wife's willingness to be a whore became apparent, a new fantasy germinated in my head ... arranging somehow for her to be one on a more consistent basis. And not just some common street whore fucked by god-knows-who, but something classier and more in the mold of a call girl. I knew what I wanted, but was unsure how to set it up. My ideal was to arrange for her to be an on-call whore for a hotel. But I had to solve the problem of contacting hotel managers without knowing anyone. And I had to be concerned about being discrete. I surely couldn't have my wife taken out to dinner by some client dressed as a slut and have someone we knew see her ... especially someone at the university where I taught. At the same time, the desire to whore my wife in a consistent way had reached the point where I was willing to take some chances. I knew I was entertaining a dangerous idea, but I had become apparently like a moth drawn to the proverbial flame. Like my wife, once I started down the road of making her a slut, I only wanted more, only wanted to cross the next line. I honestly don't know if others who share their wives experience the same desire, especially if they have a wife like mine who seems to set no limits. How many husbands with slut wives push ahead like the drug addict who needs a higher dose to achieve the next high. But that seemed to characterize me, and achieving that next high required that my wife be a whore regardless of risks. I talked things over with Bill beforehand, and not having any issues of discreteness to concern him, he was all for it (with all due concern for her safety). We decided that it would be best to connect her somehow to one or two large motels in the suburbs near an extensive business complex about 20-25 miles from where we lived. Neither Bill nor I knew anyone there and most likely the majority of people staying at such places would be out of town businessmen. That seemed to solve part of my problem with respect to maintaining my wife's anonymity. The other part we'd have to confront if the men she serviced wanted to take her into the city to some restaurant or club likely to be frequented by people we knew. That's where I couldn't resist taking a chance. There remained the 'small' matter of hiring her out as an on-call whore. I wasn't even sure any of the motels used such services, but the most promising we thought would be a 12 story branch of an international chain, equivalent to a hotel. None had a nightclub, but several had sports bars that drew crowds on the weekends from local residents and guests. The bar we decided would be the route to follow in making whatever contacts we needed. We'd take my wife there, on a consistent basis if need be, dressed if not slutty then provocatively in the hopes that she'd either be noticed and contacted directly by hotel management or where we might get to know a bartender who'd provide the requisite contacts. In fact, we decided that, in the event any of those bars was frequented by someone we might know, we'd begin by merely having her dress sexy, and with each visit (each weekend), increase the sluttiness of her attire. If early on we met anyone we knew, it would seem that my wife was merely being provocative and sexy for her husband. This was admittedly a longer-term plan than we usually engaged in when setting my wife up for some sexual adventure. But I'd spent nearly three years talking her into being a slut shared wife, so a few months of work making her a call girl didn't seem excessive. And besides, she still had to service Bill and I in all the ways a BDSM slut was required to service her dual Masters (and that included Bill giving me a demonstration of my wife riding the board as a pain slut in his basement). The reader might wonder about my wife's attitude about all of this. First, it hardly surprised her ... she suspected long before we developed specific plans that such a thing would come to pass. And she readily admitted that being a true whore had long been a fantasy: "You might be surprised about this," she told me once, "but a lot more women than you suspect ... otherwise happily married housewives ... entertain the fantasy of being whores. Not street-walking or full time whores, but occasional call-girls who get to dress elegantly or super-sexy, entertain some businessman or group of businessmen, and then spend the night getting fucked ... with or without their husband's approval. I'd bet that every one of my girlfriends entertains that fantasy." Of course, like most fantasies, these ideas are rarely very detailed or concerned with practical matters. But as plans began to unfold, she too expressed concerns about the need to conceal her identity from any of the men she'd service. But she also knew that regardless of what reservations she might have, once Bill and I decided to whore her, she'd comply. So her attitude was simply to set her mind to enjoy being so utterly wanton, taking pleasure from living out the fantasy of being a TV soap opera style whore housewife. Our first two visits to the hotel bar on Friday nights were largely uneventful, although on the second we made certain we got there early enough for the three of us to sit at the bar with my wife wearing a button up blouse that she incrementally unbuttoned as the evening progressed, affording the bartender and a few patrons an increasingly more provocative view . By the second visit it was evident the bar had 'regulars' ... locals ... plus a scattering of men spending the night at the hotel. Our interest, however, wasn't in whoring her directly to anyone, but in simply becoming one of the regulars ourselves, with it evident to someone at the hotel that my wife available for 'other duties'. On the third visit ... and Bill was unable to come with us that night ... Betty wore one of her shorter skirts that fit so tight there was no mistaking the cleavage of her ass. No sheer blouse or slut dress yet, but her appearance was augmented with a pair of fuck me heels and earrings that hung the full length of her neck. It was thus evident that she was a woman who loved to be viewed as anything but prim and proper. By then, moreover, I'd developed an easy relationship with the bartender, who was increasingly comfortable commenting on her appearance. Indeed, with her in the restroom, he blurted out "sexy lady and nice tits" as if he were testing to see whether I'd get upset at such an explicit comment about my wife. "Yes, I do like her to display herself." "I noticed that and I how you and your friend ... he's not here tonight, is he? ... had her unbutton her blouse the past two Fridays. She seems to do as she's told." "Yes she does ... " I replied, still seeing myself where the conversation was headed. Then, after granting his request to ask a blunt question and acknowledging that she was in fact my wife, he asked "Are you and your friend both fucking her?" "Yes we are." "Nice ... a shared housewife, huh? Does anyone else fuck her?" Taking this as my opportunity to reveal more than perhaps he bargained for, I told him bluntly "When the opportunity arises she fucks whoever I tell her to fuck." Emboldened by my answer, he pressed on: "So she's a slut housewife?" "A sub slut housewife ... she is strictly sub for anyone who uses her" I answered, emphasizing the word 'sub'. He then asked the question I wanted him to ask: "Has she been whored ... fucked for money?" "Nothing yet professionally," I answered, now emphasizing the word 'yet'. "So you have no objection to having her be a whore?" "None at all" I said simply, letting the consequences of that reply sink in. "Are you bringing her here to pimp her?" Time, I decided to reveal my intentions: "I'm bringing her here in the hopes of making contact with someone at the hotel in the event it has a need for an on-call whore, where she can be hired out one or two nights a week." "Not sure the hotel can get involved with such a thing. By the way, I didn't think you were pimping her since I would have noticed if she had left with anyone for their room. She's a sexy looking slut and I've kept an eye on her ... its hard to keep your eyes off a woman who likes showing her tits. Would you let me fuck her if I can arrange something here at the hotel?" I didn't think my wife would be attracted to an aging bartender with a bulging stomach, but if she were a whore, that's the type she'd have to service from time to time: "Yes, you could fuck her." I sensed that he had many more questions, but my wife then returned, so I decided to demonstrate her ready acceptance of being a whore. With the bartender again staring at her tits, I said "Our friend here is going to see if he can arrange for you to be an on-call whore here." Without a hint of embarrassment or surprise she replied simply "that's what I assumed you were discussing in my absence." "Unbutton your blouse more so our friend here can see your tits fully." Taking a quick look at nipples fully on display to him, he quickly excused himself when being called to the other end of the bar, but not before saying "hold on a sec ... I'll be right back." Turning to my wife, I asked (already knowing the answer): "Is your cunt wet?" "Yes it is." "Why?" I asked if only to explicitly state the reason. "Because I know that I'll most likely be a whore here and because one way or the other I'm going to eventually fuck the bartender." "That's right ... even if he can't arrange what I want, if he makes the effort I'm going to let him fuck you. But I'm not going to tell him that now." With that the bartender returned: "How do I contact you in case I can arrange something?" "We'll be here next Friday. If you can arrange something I'll give you a telephone number then." And with that we left, since I then had a raging hard-on that needed release brought on by the prospect, now real, of making my wife a call girl. The next day Bill readily approved of the course of events, although he expressed some concern that my wife's duties as a whore would cut into his opportunities to fuck and use her. I assured Bill that he'd still have as much access to her as I, and as if to confirm that fact I gave her to him for the night, telling him simply to return her Sunday morning. The following Friday was another 'bad' one for Bill in that he was unable to go with us to the hotel. I didn't mind since I preferred being the go-between for my wife and our new friend at the bar. It was time, though, to dress her more explicitly, especially since, after three weekends, I'd developed some confidence that we'd be unlikely to meet anyone we knew. So the dangling earrings and 6" fuck me heels remained, but the skirt, blouse, bra and panties were replaced by the dress Bill chose for her some time ago that barely covered her ass and, owing to the plunging neckline, threatened to uncover one tit or the other with the slightest misstep. Not that I planned on whoring her then, but it was time to let others see she was more than just a housewife with a taste for being provocative. The bar was empty when we arrived and so the bartender immediately approached us when we sat at the bar, announcing "I think I've arranged what you want. I'll tell the night manager of the hotel you're here. He's expecting you." I think my cock stiffened instantly and I suspect my wife's cunt grew damp just as fast. And true to his word, the bartender soon returned to say that we should go to the front desk and ask to see the manager. Ushered into his office he closed the door behind us and announced simply "nothing that we discuss here will in any way be formally connected to this hotel." "Of course," I assured him, whereupon, after getting some background information, he outlined some potential arrangements. He would be largely divorced from whatever transpired since he rarely if ever got an explicit request from a guest for a whore. Those requests were much more likely to be expressed to the bartender. Thus, the bartender ... Alfred ... would make specific arrangements. The manager's sole responsibility was to cast a blind eye. That didn't preclude the possibility that he'd receive an occasional request to 'liven up a party' of out-of-town businessmen, but requests for my wife's services would most likely come from Alfred. "Alfred, I assume, is aware of all of this?" I queried. "Yes ... and you should return to him now to make whatever arrangements you think are necessary. The less I know, the better." Taking that as an invitation to return to the bar, my wife and I stood to leave, but he interrupted: "There is a cost to my complicity ... from time to time I'll want to fuck your wife. As a matter of fact, I suggest you leave her here now while you discuss things with Alfred." Considering how salaciously my wife was dressed, I'd anticipated this request. And as I learned subsequently, my wife would have been disappointed if he hadn't wanted to fuck her. So with little more than an approving nod, I exited his office, leaving my wife behind still in her seat. . With a few more patrons now at the bar, it took a few minutes before Alfred approached me. "I see by your wife's absence that our manager is extracting his fee." "Yes, he wants to fuck her now." "I don't blame him ... she's a delicious piece of ass. Let me tell you now what I need. I'll need a few pics of her,. preferably of her dressed both elegantly and as a slut. And I'll need a telephone number. I also need to know if there are any times, dates, etc where she'll generally be unavailable. Men may come in here hinting that the want a fuck or a companion that night. I won't expect your wife to be immediately available, but it wouldn't hurt if she was. Beyond that everything's up to you and we can play it by ear." "How much do you think she should charge?" I asked, my mind still groping for the right questions. I amazed myself, in fact, at how unprepared I was for everything. "If she were my wife I'd ask $100/hour and $500/night. She's probably worth twice that but lets see how things go. By the way, I won't handle any money ... collecting her fee will be up to you." What was curious about this conversation was that there I sat, making arrangements for my wife as a whore while she was doubtlessly getting fucked somewhere by the hotel manager, and the hardon I had when first learning that arrangements were afoot had wholly dissipated. It was as if I were selling apples or making arrangements to have the oil changed in my car. I agreed, naturally, to Alfred's request for pictures, saying I'd FedEx them the next day, adding the proviso that condoms be required unless permission was otherwise given and that her limits were to include the usual ... no children, drugs, permanent damage, and so on. Alfred assured me that she'd be rented out only to hotel guests and advertised simply as an escort ... he'd brief her on how to avoid illegalities and entrapment. He'd also tell her how to dress when she was called since sometimes the men who hired her would want to have her dressed elegantly as when she'd be taken out to dinner as a companion, and sometimes they'd want only an erotic fuck and would prefer that she wear only some naughty lingerie under a coat. As for his 'fee' as a 'facilitator' of things, he'd call in a week or so. After that he would ask only that I be 'fair' in my treatment of him ... money-wise or by granting him further access to her. Admittedly, his comment about entrapment set me back and reminded me of the seriousness of what I was doing. But so cool was his demeanor, I hardly has cause to rethink the scheme. "Have you done this before ... handled a whore from the bar?" "In my 30 or so years of bartending, your wife isn't my first encounter with setting someone up as a whore. What they tell you about bartenders 'hearing it all' its pretty much true. Your wife isn't the first housewife I've poured a drink for who wanted to experiment being a whore. Nor are you the first husband who encouraged his wife to be one." That last comment only confirmed my belief that beneath the thin veneer of propriety that characterized suburbia with its baby strollers, two car garages, and SUVs, there existed a far more salacious core ... BDSM in the bedroom, horny housewives exploring sex outside of their marriage, and husbands who encouraged them to do so. Society's norms and expectations might keep a lid on everything but I would have been shocked to learn that only a few housewives who lived in the vicinity of the hotel hadn't been fucked there or in some nearby motel by someone other than hubby. And not shocked either to learn that a good share of them had been fucked with hubby's enthusiastic approval. In any event, after giving him our telephone number I sat at the bar for a half hour or so before Betty finally reappeared ... a tad disheveled and obviously fucked. The manager couldn't devote an evening to her and instead had satisfied himself, as the slut dress shop owner had, with a quick encounter. He'd taken her to a vacant room and used her there rather than take the chance anyone on the staff would know what was happening. There seemed, then, little reason to remain at the bar except to review things with my wife. I began, however, again asking a question to underscore her status as a slut: "Is your cunt full of the manager's cum now?" "Yes ... yes it is." "The bartender ... Alfred ... is going to be your pimp. He'll call you at home whenever your services are required." I used the word 'pimp' deliberately, knowing it would bring into sharp focus the fact that she was going to be made a whore "All of this scares me a little," she acknowledged,. "But before you ask, yes, the prospect of becoming a real whore does excite me." One had to be sitting there, looking at her, dressed like a wanton slut, her tits nearly falling out of her dress, to not be surprised at her comment. It would, though, be a jaw-dropping statement for anyone who knew her in any other context ... our family or any of my work colleagues, who continued to see her only as a prim and proper suburban housewife. My mind flashed back again to asking myself how many other housewives who appeared utterly unexceptional also had dark sexual secrets? How many women at the supermarket were going to return home and be wanton sluts for their husbands? How many colleagues at the university have wives who otherwise seemed boring and frumpy, fuck someone other than their husbands and with their husbands' consent? The only answer was 'far more than I imagined a year ago.' We left the hotel with that thought still in my head, figuring I'd give my whore wife further details later. So the clock was running and it was only matter of time before she began this new adventure. That time, in fact, came sooner than I 'd expected ... the very next evening. The call from Alfred came around 6:30 PM: Could she be at the hotel in two hours? Bill and I had planned to take her to dinner that night, but it seemed unwise to make her unavailable the first time she was called. So we decided to forgo that pleasure. As for her attire, Alfred suggested some naughty lingerie: "She'll simply be sent to someone's room who wants a good fuck." I directed her, then, to wear her little black sheer bustier with long garter straps, black thigh high hose, fuck me heels ... and nothing else (except of course, a coat to render her legal in public). "No panties of thong?" she asked in a half pleading voice. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 13 As erotic as it might be to have one's wife be a whore who you can dress and display as you wish and have returned to you totally used, there are drawbacks. First, as a real whore, she was often called to service clients when I or Bill preferred to use her ourselves. From time to time we'd make her unavailable so she could satisfy us, but I felt obligated to make her as available as possible lest Albert lose interest in being her pimp. A second and self-evident drawback is the fact that the men who fucked her, even her regulars, were often less concerned about the issue of disease than I preferred. More times than I wanted she had a cock fill her with its seed. As much as she was told to insist on protection, she was still not a wholly professional whore ... once hot there were few rules she could follow. She wasn't letting herself be a whore for money ... it wasn't 'strictly business' ... but rather because I told her to be one and because she was turned on being one. Third, sharing her on a regular basis with Bill was in some ways taxing enough ... in all honestly, I felt at times obliged to use and fuck her lest she think I was losing interest ... but soon enough she developed a clientele at the hotel that sought to have her more often than I'd anticipated. Larry in particular, who'd fucked her with his friends seemed to be in town every other weekend asking for her. At first I didn't mind, since he used her in delicious ways. But his fetish, like mine, was to display her at the hotel bar or various restaurants, and I was increasingly concerned that he'd display her at places I didn't want her displayed. The last thing I wanted ... at least then ... was for my colleagues at the university to know my wife was a real life whore: Larry, though, cared little about that issue, and having paid good money for her services, felt it was his right to use and display her as he pleased. Thus, Bill and I agreed that her time as a whore had to be cut short. Whether she was disappointed is difficult to say, but she had many of the same concerns as I. However, I did have one worry about terminating her 'occupation'; namely, that sex otherwise, as uninhibited as it was, would become routine. She'd been a whore, a stripper, a slut for a lesbian lover, a pain slut, shared by Bill with his friends and taken out of town as his traveling fuck toy. What more was there? The answer, in fact, was subtle ... to make her more explicitly and more formally a submissive. This might seem a strange thing to those unfamiliar with D/s. But although to this point she had done what she was told to do, neither Bill nor I had set her in a context where she had to act formally as a sub 24/7 ... referring to us as Sir, wearing a collar, butt plug with tail and/or nipple clips and chain unless told to do otherwise, and greeting us (me in particular) at the door with all formalities. I hadn't honestly pushed this since the turn on for me, at least initially, was simply having her be a slut, having her fuck other men, making her submit to a lesbian lover, and displaying her publicly in the sluttiest clothes circumstances would allow. If I wanted to get hard and get off, it was sufficient to imagine her cumming, out of control, with another man's cock in her or to picture her in some public context dressed like a whore. In other words, to satisfy my fantasies, I had made her a slut and used her as a sub, but she was not yet fully trained as such. Most critically, she fucked and let herself be fucked less because she was told to do so and more because she enjoyed being fucked and used. She loved the feeling of a man's cock being slid up into her ass, relished the sensation of cum warming her cunt, got off with incredible orgasms when pain was combined with pleasure, and craved pushing the limits of legality by being displayed publicly in as revealing a way as possible. Even when we took her up to Bill's bedroom or down to his basement to use her as a pain slut, she consented because she knew beforehand that whatever we did would ultimately result in some incredible orgasms and sessions of erotic pleasure. And I, for my part, simply enjoyed watching her cum. One might say, then, that I had been a careless or sloppy Dom since she didn't submit because her greatest pleasure was to satisfy me. One of the problems one encounters, however, with a wife who allows everything and anything is, believe it or not, boredom. One needs to constantly search for new and different things, new and different ways to use her, new and different things to require of her. If your pleasure derives from variety, there is, unfortunately, only so much available. This was made all the more difficult, moreover, by the fact that Bill had moved to Europe whereas my teaching schedule made it virtually impossible to travel. Thus, I no longer had a readily available partner with which to share my wife, a man who knew what a slut she could be and who had no reservations about pushing her limits. In response to this and the desire to 'set things right' with respect to her training as a sub, I announced one day before leaving for work"when I return you will greet me wearing only your collar, heels and a plug in your ass with the tail." I stated this command without explanation and without detailing how I expected her to behave in my presence from then on. She was, though, a quick study, and the directness of my words immediately put her into 'sub mode' so that she replied "Yes Sir" without comment. Before leaving the office I called her and announced simply "I'm leaving the office. Is the plug in your ass?" "Yes Sir, it is," she unemotionally replied. "So your cunt will be wet when I get home?" "It already is, Sir." I'm not sure how my wife felt being so coldly treated. Ever since she had first been fucked by Bill I'd not played out fully the D/s lifestyle on anything approaching a 24/7 basis. She assumed the 'role' of sub only when things were explicitly sexual or when she was sent off to be fucked by others. Treating her as a sub even when I had no plan to fuck her or have her fucked was something new - a subtle, yet not inconsequential change. Among other things, I drove home with a stiff cock that needed release. Upon arriving at home she greeted me at the door 'dressed' as directed. But instead of my usual warm kiss, I commanded, "on your knees slut ... take out my cock and suck it." I can't say whether she expected this, but she immediately did as told, kneeling before me, unzipping my pants and pulling out my already stiff cock. "Finger fuck your cunt while you suck me" I ordered, and again, with her lips wrapped around my cock, she did as told until I could sense she was ready to cum (as was I, needless to say). "Cum slut ... cum," I commanded and that too she did quickly. Not wanting yet to cum, I pulled my cock from her mouth and commanded "stick your tongue out, slut, as if you were begging for my cock." I decided it was time to instill in her, with a series of questions, her status as a 24/7 sub slut housewife. "You want my cock back in your mouth, don't you?" "Yes Sir, I do." "Because it gives you pleasure to make me cum and swallow my seed?" "Yes Sir." "Hold up your tits, slut, and squeeze them around my cock." With but 34B tits, my wife wasn't endowed in a way that made it easy for her to smother a cock. Nevertheless, she put it between her firm petite globes and massaged my swollen member as best she could with them. But again, not wanting to cum too quickly, I commanded "stand up slut, get your tweezer clips." Releasing my cock, it took her but a few minutes to retrieve the clips from the bedroom, whereupon, with my swollen cock still throbbing from the control I had over her, I told her to return to her knees and attach the first clip to a nipple. But rather than simply allow her to attach it so it was guaranteed not to fall off, I commanded "tighter slut ... tighter." I could see the discomfort and then pain register on her face as she edged the bead up the clip. "Now the second tit, slut!" Despite how painfully she had clamped her nipples, I leaned forward and pushed each bead up a few millimeters further, eliciting a gasping involuntary "owwwwwwwwww". "When I tell you to tighten the clamps on your tits, slut, you will tighten them as I have just done!" With something of a pleading look in her eyes, she failed to give any verbal reply ... surprised, perhaps, by my evident insensitivity to her pain. Admittedly, it still seemed a little strange to treat her as a full sub slut slave and have her submissively respond in kind. But I enjoyed my power over her and it seemed as if she enjoyed granting me that power. Its difficult to fully describe and account for the pleasure I derived from making her a slave for my private pleasure. But I'd felt these feelings before whenever I fucked her and treated her harshly, and they were all the more intense whenever Bill and I used her in his apartment and trained her as a pain slut or when we simply made her beg to be fucked or allowed to cum. A good part of my pleasure derived from the fact that she herself enjoyed such things. She might cry, scream or beg, but her orgasms always seemed far more intense than when she was used in some softer way. Now however my pleasure came from simply extending my control over her. There she was, on her knees, my dutiful loving wife with her tits painfully clamped, submissive, subservient, yet her cunt dripping in anticipation of what I might have her do next. And therein was the problem ... I wasn't sure what I wanted to have her do. I hadn't really thought things out past this point. 'What does one do with a slave when she has for the most part done just about everything you've told her to do?' She'd allowed herself to be fucked for the sluttiest dresses, and then worn them unashamedly in public. She consented to being a whore. She'd allowed herself to become a stripper and a lesbian lover. And on any number of occasions she willingly went to Bill's apartment, knowing she could be taken to his bedroom or basement, to be used in some deliciously harsh way. Absent, then, any other ideas at the time, I decided that perhaps more subtle acts of surrender were required of her. "We're going to a university reception tomorrow night, and you, as usual, will go as the prim, proper dutiful faculty housewife." "Yes, of course" she replied, since doing so was part of our normal routine. "And you will of course wear your usual butt plug." "Yes Sir," she replied since there was nothing new in that command. "There will be one subtle change, however, in what you'll wear ... you'll wear a pair of your 5" slut pumps." Surprise immediately registered but again she dutifully answered 'yes Sir.' Her pumps were not quite as explicitly slutty as any of her 6" platforms or boots, but they were not the sort of shoe a typical faculty wife wore, where even 4" heels might be considered sexy if not a tad provocative. They were made all the more sexy, moreover, by the ankle strap that buckled in front. I had, nevertheless, always been tempted to see who among those at the university could 'read a subtle signal' and conclude that my wife was something more than a sweet innocent wife. It was true that she was far less formally educated than many of the wives who attended such receptions. Thus she never engaged in those inane pseudo-intellectual conversations that wives sometimes engaged in. And not having children removed her from any debate over the pros or cons of this pediatrician or another. More often than not, then, her conversations were with other men -- faculty or the husbands of the secretaries and staff in attendance (this, of course, was at a time when the number of female faculty at the university approached zero). It had to be the case, then, that despite her proper appearance, one or more of my colleagues had to have had an 'impure' thought or two about her. I was perhaps time to see who they might be even if they never actually were afforded the pleasure of fucking her. Her attire for the reception was decidedly conservative -- an ankle length skirt, button up and not-in-any-way-sheer blouse, matching jacket and simple diamond stud earrings. Outwardly, then, all that marked her as something other than a typical faculty wife were her shoes ... black 5" pumps with an ankle strap that, in a different skirt and top, might mark her as a whore. The reception itself was like any other ... two or three dozen couples (there were few unmarried faulty then) standing about in various clusters, drinking, conversing about who-knows-what. I can't say we knew anyone well ... surely none intimately. But immediately upon entering, I separated from my wife, leaving her to find her own social niche. That niche turned out to consist of Charles, a senior prof from the law school, his wife, and Allen, the husband of one of the older members of our department's staff. Things, admittedly, seemed wholly uneventful thru most of the evening, except when I cornered my wife alone and asked her how things were going. "Nothing exciting, but Allen did comment on my shoes ... told me they were very sexy." Recalling who she had been taking to, I asked if Charles had been there when Allen made that comment. "Yes, but not his wife. I was talking to just the two men. They seemed especially interested in how we met, when we were married, and so on." "What did Charles say when Allen made his comment?" "Nothing, he just smiled." "And what did you say to Allen after he complimented you on your shoes?" "I just smiled too, and said thank you." Devilish thoughts percolated in my head: "Find Allen or Charles again and see if you can't continue talking with either of them." And then I added "How does your ass feel?" "It feels full Sir," she replied, and I have to admit that I derived some pleasure from hearing, in the context of a university reception, her submissive response. It seemed out of context, and thereby especially erotic. "Good ... now go see if the men would like to talk again with you. And be as friendly as you dare." I had no specific plan in mind and wasn't in the least bit sure if either man had carnal interests. I did notice though that Allen's wife hadn't come to the reception. Allen was a man of accomplishment on his own ... a successful lawyer whose wife worked at the university not for the money but for the opportunity to exist in an environment different than her husband's. Nevertheless, he came on his own since he knew so many of the people there, including those from the law school. But directing her to him (and she surely knew that if the opportunity arouse, I would let him fuck her) made an otherwise boring evening a little more exciting, at least for me. Less than a half hour later I caught sight of my wife sitting on a sofa talking to Allen ... a delicious image since I knew the plug was pushing deep into her ass when she sat. I also noticed, moreover, how Allen's eyes continually drifted down to her feet, to her fuck me heels, and the buckled ankle strap that was now clearly visible when she crossed her legs. Clearly, Allen would only love to slip his cock into my otherwise prim and proper wife. Interestingly, Charles soon joined them on the sofa, sandwiching my wife between them, and I surmised that he was having thoughts that were no less salacious than Allen's, as his eyes too kept moving down to those shoes. More than I had hoped ... perhaps even more than I'd thought likely ... those shoes were telling these two men that my wife had a secret erotic side that both of them could imagine themselves exploring. All good things, though, must end and soon enough the reception began to break up, wherein Charles left my wife and Allen to escort his own wife out. Allen lingered a bit longer, and although he'd rise from the sofa to say goodby to someone he knew, he would immediately sit back down and forgo the opportunity to disengage himself from his conversation with my wife. Clearly, though, there was nothing to do or that could be done that night ... his wife was home and expected him shortly. She didn't come to the reception only so she could entertain her out-of-town sister, visiting for the weekend. Our own ride home was brief, but long enough for me to ask "you'd fuck Allen and Charles if I arranged it, wouldn't you?" "Of course ... you know I would." "In what way were you especially friendly toward Allen?" I asked out of curiosity since I was never able to hear the content of their conversations. "Well, when we were on the sofa, he let his leg move against mine, and I didn't pull back." "And did he keep his leg against yours?" "Yes he did .. I think he even pressed it a little harder over time and I pressed back against him. It was all very subtle." "So he wants to fuck you?" "Yes, I sure he does." "Good, because if he tries to arrange it or if I can arrange it, you will fuck him." "Yes Sir," was her automatic reply. "And what about Charles? Does he want to fuck you?" "I'm don't know. He surely seemed attentive and friendly. He really didn't have to come over to the sofa when I was talking to Allen, but he did. Of course, he knows Allen well and he may have wanted to talk to him." "How's you cunt now, slut?" "Its very wet Sir." "Talking to Allen and Charles with the plug in your ass keep you wet, slut?" "Yes Sir, it did." It was about then that we arrived at our house, but as soon as we entered, I commanded "On your knees, slut." "Yes Sir." "Raise your skirt up so I can see your cunt." "Yes Sir" she replied, struggling a bit to do as told. "You want Allen and Charles to fuck you?" "Yes Sir." "What do you want them to do to you?" "To fuck me ... to fuck me hard, Sir." "No slut, be more specific!" "I ... I ... I want them to shove their cocks into me and to fill me with their seed, Sir." "Do you want their cocks in your ass so you can be made their bitch?" "Yes ... yes Sir ... in my ass." 'Did you sit there on the sofa with Allen and imagine that it was his cock and not your plug fucking you?" "Yes, I did Sir ... I imagined he was fucking me or soon going to fuck me in my ass." "Show me how much you want to fuck them." "How Sir, how can I show you?" "Finger your cunt and make yourself cum ... fast" I commanded. I don't think it took my wife more than a minute for her first orgasm -- an orgasm that was strong enough that she had to use one hand to stay balanced on her knees while her other hand unashamedly pleasured her cunt. That night, of course, my wife had to be "punished" for being such a slut. So with her hands tied to her ankles, bare ass in the air, she felt the full force of the riding crop against her delicious ass. I can't say I'm a sadist, but there always was an intrinsic pleasure watching her quiver and convulse uncontrollably each time the crop landed with a crack. And this time I combined that with a bit of training. "You want to fuck Allen, don't you?" ... Crack! "Ahhhhhhhhhhh ... yesssssssssssss." "Fuck him like a whore ...?" .... Crack! "Ysssssssssssssssssssss" "You'll milk every seed from his balls, won't you? ... Crack! "Ysssssssssssssssssss." "You'll show him that you're a total slut, not some prim and proper faculty wife, won't you?" ... Crack! "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh .... yessssssssssssssssss." "And how about Charles ... you want to fuck him too?" .... Crack! "Yssssssssssssssssssssssss ..." "To be a whore, a whore for both of them?" .... Crack! "Ysssssssssssssssssssssss ..." "And if I told you to tell them that you wanted them to piss on you, to piss in you, to whip you, you would ... to let them know what an unashamed uninhibited slut you are, right?" ... Crack! The Transformation of Betty Ch. 14 It was fortuitous that Allen appeared on the scene almost immediately after Bill moved (permanently as it turned out) to Europe, and a coincidence that, as with Bill, he first met Betty at an otherwise innocuous social event. However, that’s where the similarities in circumstances ended. Allen, unlike Bill, was married. His wife was, as we learned later, aware of his dalliances with other women. She hardly approved, but the marriage was maintained as much for appearances as for any other reason. Nevertheless, unlike Bill, Allen was constrained in a way that needed to be worked around. In addition, Allen didn’t live anywhere as close to us as Bill (across the street). Thus, the ready proximity to my wife that Bill enjoyed did not apply in Allen’s case. This also meant that we no longer had access to a venue such as Bill’s house -- a bedroom with the hooks in the ceiling and a basement that could be used in all manner of ways. We could make some adjustments in our home, but, because relatives visited frequently, they could not be permanent. Finally, although Allen surely enjoyed using my wife as a sub, he had minimal experience with the D/s lifestyle or with another man’s wife (his dalliances had all been with unmarried `sweet young things’). So my wife was a new adventure for him and an opportunity to realize a fantasy or two that might otherwise go unrealized. This latter fact meant that unlike our relationship with Bill, who took the early lead in training, this time around I was much more in sole control. This suited me fine since, in the quests for new twists in our sexual adventures, I had set out to make Betty a more formal submissive at home. Allen intended to be a quick study, as that first night demonstrated (recall his instruction that my wife make herself cum in the car as he drove her to his house). This presented me with an interesting way to use her. When he had her to himself, I’d suggest to her how she should be used, and she’d have to convey those suggestions to Allen. My initial instruction, in fact, was to require that she agree with the statement: `If I tell you that I want you punished in a specific way for some offense, you will tell him precisely what I want.’ It might seem that I should prefer to punish her myself. But making her convey my wishes required that she unashamedly reveal herself as a sub slut. And if he had any hesitation about how far he could go in using her, I wanted him to know he had a relatively free hand. I also wanted him to know that my wife’s status was not merely ‘play’ but a part of a serious immersion into the dominance/submission lifestyle and that when I shared my wife, I shared her fully. At this point the reader might wonder why a husband such as myself with a young sexy wife sometimes preferred to loan her out rather than be there to watch her being used or to participate in fucking her. Don’t misunderstand me: I did enjoy watching and participating. But as a part of the variety I required in our sexual lives, I also very much enjoyed simply knowing she was being fucked and used hard. Part of that enjoyment was in the sense of control I experienced in knowing I could freely loan her out and in seeing her acquiesce to my decision. It was one way of telling her that I could have her fucked by anyone, anytime. Another part of my pleasure was in the opportunity it gave me to let my own imagination run wild, trying to picture her varied reactions to being used by whoever she was with, and imagining how she might be being used that very moment. And finally, my pleasure also derived from knowing that once she had been loaned out, her sense of her state of helplessness was greater without me there. I don’t suppose that every husband who shares, hopes to share or fantasizes about sharing his wife holds this same preference. But that, in any event, was mine. Whatever the ultimate source of my pleasure, I decided to give Allen a relatively free hand in using her. Moreover, because of his circumstances, I left it largely up to him when he could use her. In any event, after the first night he had her, we didn’t hear from him except in a cursory way for a little more than a week. Both of us were a little disappointed at first since my wife reported that while he had fucked her good that first time, he was a complete gentleman and never made her feel like a common whore or slut. But eventually he did call. I answered the phone and he asked “Is your wife available this weekend?” Perhaps I surprised him when I asked in return “Yes, of course ... do you want her for the entire weekend or just a day or so?” After hesitating for a bit, he replied “Well, if you’re willing, I’d like to have her for another night ... Friday night until Saturday morning?” Allen sounded hesitant in that request, assuming perhaps that I reserved the weekends for myself. But I answered “not a problem ... what do you plan to do with her so I can have her dress appropriately?” “I’m driving down to _____ late Friday for dinner with some of my old drinking buddies from years back when I was school. We get together several times a year, mostly to stay in touch, get away from the wives and be ‘bad boys’, which usually amounts to little more than going to a strip club to gawk. Girlfriends and mistresses, though, hardly fall into the category of `wives’ and we’ve each brought a ‘companion’ in the past. In any event, since dinner usually begins and ends late, I spend the night at a hotel down there and return in the morning. Let me suggest, then, something sexy and erotic, but not wholly slutty. She can always pack something slutty if you want in her overnight bag, but there’s no guarantee she’ll wear it.” “Ok, I think I know what would be appropriate,”I said, envisioning immediately her long slinky blood red skin tight gown that, from the front at least, covered her fully ... no plunging neckline here ... but with a slit high up her thigh on the side and a back that draped seductively to within an inch or so of the crack of her ass. Add a pair of her 6" platform heels and dangling earrings (but no bra or panties of course) and she’d be an image of erotic elegance: Not slutty, but with a strong hint of someone who could easily be judged a high priced call girl. Or, in the arms of someone nearly twice her age, definitely a mistress. As for what would go in her overnight bag, a sheer nitie would of course be essential, along with one of her ultra short cowel-necked dresses that made it virtually impossible for her to keep her tits fully covered when she sat or walked. Not to belittle the erotic quality of her gown as compared to her micro-mini, the men reading this story should be able to envision a woman with just-the-right-figure in a tight stretchy dress that clung to her figure so as to leave little to the imagination as to the form of her tits and size of her nipples. And when seen from the back, the eyes had a difficult time deciding whether to focus on a fabric that hugged her so tight it conformed fully to the shape of her ass to the back of her thighs, or to the fact that the dress’s back plunged so provocatively low. The single message given by it from the back, then, was ‘fuck me here’. Indeed, when Allen arrived Friday to pick her up, his one word comment said it all: “Delicious!” Her wardrobe, though, was missing one final touch. Unsure of when or whether he’d want her to wear it, I handed Allen one of my wife’s suede collars ... a simple one in red to match her dress that was no wider that an inch, but that nevertheless had the requisite chrome ring hanging conspicuously in front. Rather than pocket it, though, he immediately walked up to her and buckled it snugly around her neck. Allen, apparently, had no intention of letting those who saw her think she was anything but his trophy play thing, and an unashamed submissive one at that! Again I have to say how it feels to see one’s wife dressed erotically when sending her off with another man, knowing he intended to make her his fuck toy. To be blunt, it’s erotic as hell, and always left me with an instant hard on. Allen’s unapologetic intention to display her as a fuck toy added a full arousing dimension to things. In my view (based on a number of conversations with other husbands), a husband who shares or fantasizes about sharing his wife(and I exclude those couples who swing, wherein the husband fucks the counterpart of whoever is fucking his wife) generally wants her treated as a sub slut. Allen was making it clear that he wanted my wife to be seen as such by others. She wasn’t going to be presented to his buddies as some wayward housewife who was simply cheating on her husband; she was a sub and a slut whose husband wanted her fucked. I knew then that I’d most definitely be spending the night letting my imagination run wild as to how and to whom she was being displayed, and how she was being used. My mind would most definitely be occupied by images of the expressions on her face or the convulsions of her body that invariably accompanied a cock exploding inside her. And I could only guess at how she’d be treated at dinner, with everyone aware that she was a Allen’s unashamed fuck toy. No need to be subtle with her. Would Allen humiliate her in some way – perhaps suggesting to the waiter that she was there to service all of them later that night? Would her command her to finger her cunt and cum at the table so as to demonstrate her submissiveness and shamelessness to his buddies? Would his buddies fuck her, and if so, how would they fuck her? None of this ...the certainty and uncertainty ... might have afforded me the same pleasure as being there to see her treated as a slut, but the speculation and anticipation of things was always pleasurable and erotic nevertheless. I know there are a great many husbands who have a difficult or impossible time understanding all of this. Either out of jealousy of selfishness, they either want to claim their wife’s pleasures for their own or, if they can imagine having another man fuck her, they’d insist on being there to watch or participate. I can understand all of those attitudes, and I am in now way proclaiming that the lifestyle my wife and I had chosen is appropriate for any but a handful of couples. Nevertheless, one also has to understand that all of those things that made my cock hard, made my wife wet. As she prepared to leave with Allen, she doubtlessly asked the same questions and imagined the same possibilities ... not out of fear, but out of erotic expectation. Thru, she knew that by opening the door to his car and entering, she was also opening the door to the possibility ... indeed, the probability ... of embarrassment, humiliation, and being used in ways she might not be able to imagine. But that hardly dampened the growing wetness and involuntary throbbing in her cunt. Once Allen had attached the collar, he couldn’t help commenting about the rings he’d seen in her cunt (labia to be precise) the first time he fucked her: “I meant to ask, when did you have her pierced?” “A few years back ... thought it was incredibly erotic.” “It sure is and caught me by surprise when I saw the rings. Do anything special with them?” “Not really. Sometimes I’ll attach thin 6 inch chains to them which hang down and brush against her inner thighs when she shops at the mall in a long skirt, but that’s about it.” “Interesting idea ... bet that serves as a constant reminder of what’s down there for her.” “Yes it does ... tell him, slut, how it feels.” “It keeps me wet Sir and I cum very easily then,” my wife answered in an almost medical way, without showing a hint of embarrassment. “Ever think about having her nipples pierced?” Allen asked. “Yes, but decided against it. First, for whatever reason, I find the rings on her cunt much more erotic. Second, I prefer not to go thru a long period of not being able to play with her tits while they heal ... waiting for the rings in her cunt to heal was long enough. Finally, while her cunt can be hidden, that’s far more difficult with her tits and from time to time we do visit with family and I’d never want anyone there to see rings in her nipples.” “I imagine she’s had to lift her dress on occasion to show the rings to others?” “Yes, of course” I replied matter-of-factly. The drift of Allen’s conversation and knowing how he intended to display her to his buddies then led me to ask a logical question: “Will anyone besides yourself fuck her?” Allen and I had talked briefly about having him invite others to use her, but I could tell that my question nevertheless caught him by surprise. Perhaps he thought a more formal discussion would be required before he broached that subject. But I clearly wanted to leave the door open for him to use her to full advantage. I knew the social and professional circles he traveled in, which included high priced lawyers and well-to-do clients, and there was no reason to assume that she’d be anything but safe physically if shared among any subset of them, including his law school buddies. The thought, moreover, that she’d be made a slut for such a ‘clientele’ held its own erotic attraction. “To be honest, I’m not sure. But I’ll admit it would definitely be erotic to watch her being used as a total slut by all of us” he dryly admitted – a sentiment with which I could hardly disagree. “While each of us on occasion has been accompanied by someone other than our wives to our little dinners, no one has ever shared what they had. But then again, no one has ever brought someone quite like your wife!” Not wanting to drop the subject, in part because my wife was compelled to stand there and listing to us talk about her in such a straightforward way, I added ”yes, it is erotic ... the little slut loses all control when she’s shared with a group of men.” And then turning to her I added “don’t you?” “Y ... yes sir, I do,” she replied with a touch of embarrassment borne of the need to so explicitly reveal that she’d been pleasured by more than two cocks at a time. In explaining that embarrassment, one has to keep in mind that she’d only fucked Allen once ... or rather, for one night. It might seem that after all the different ways she’d been used, including being made a true whore, she’d not blink an eye at letting someone know she became a total fuck slut and had been shared among a group of men. But I suppose that someone in my wife’s situation ... a wife who has to pretend at times to be the perfect prim proper and someone naive housewife always retains some degree of embarrassment at explicitly acknowledging what they have enjoyed, what they have allowed themselves to do. It might also have been the case that her show of subtle embarrassment was for my benefit, knowing I enjoyed it. “If Allen wants his friends to fuck you, you will of course, let them, won’t you?” “Yes Sir, I will.” My final questions sought to give Allen a hint as to how far he could go in using her: “And if Allen or his buddies wanted to spank or whip your ass, you’d of course surrender to their wishes, right?” “Yes Sir, I would.” “And you’d probably cum when spanked or whipped by them, correct?” “Yes Sir, I probably would.”. As I asked and she answered those last two questions, I walked over to the diningroom sideboard and retrieved a leather leash. Clipping it to her collar, I handed the end to Allen and said simply “Here, take the slut and enjoy her ... She’s yours until tomorrow.” Without batting an eye, Allen took the leash and began leading her out the front door with a simple nod of ‘thank you’. I can’t say whether any of our neighbors saw him leading my wife to his car. I like to think that some did ... living on the edge in that way had become something I’d learned to relish. And after all, she had never fucked anyone but Bill from the neighborhood and perhaps there were others around who might like to use her. As I contemplated that possibility and with my cock still hard, Allen drove off ... but not before I saw him thru the window having her hike her gown up so that, as I later learned, her cunt and cunt rings would be in full view as he drove. As many times as I had sent her off to be someone’s slut, her time away always dragged. And no matter what else I did, my mind returned to thinking about her, with my cock staying hard as I imagined what she was doing or what was being done to her. But one thing was certain – when she returned, I’d get every detail if not from whoever had her, then from her. That was always a requirement: Who she fucked, how often they fucked her, how they fucked her, where they took her, what she wore, how much she liked it or didn’t like it, and so on. This time was no different. Allen brought her back to the house mid-morning the next day, leading her from his car as he had taken her ... by the leash attached to her collar. But now she wore the slut dress that I’d packed in her overnight bag. “Did you enjoy her?” I immediately asked as I let them in the front door. “Most definitely. She’s a fantastic fuck, a fantastic slut. I only wish my wife were like her.” Then turning to her he said “Tell your husband what I told you to tell him.” “I have Allen’s cum in my ass right now Sir. He fucked me in my ass before we left the hotel this morning and he told me to keep his cum in me until I got home.” “Very good,” but now wanting a complete description of her experience, beginning with the beginning, I asked “... and did you enjoy dinner and your night with Allen?” “Yes Sir, I did ... very much.” “Give me a few details slut” I commanded. “Well, after we checked into the hotel, we didn’t have much time and had to leave immediately for the restaurant to meet Allen’s friends ... three of them.” “And who did he say you were ... how did he introduce you to them?” My wife blanched a little then when replying: “He told them I was the married slut who’d been loaned out by her husband for the night ... his personal fuck toy for the night.” “It sounds like they already know you were coming?” I said while looking at Allen. Allen jumped in and answered, “yes, I called ahead ... didn’t want to totally surprise them. After all, it isn’t every dinner with them that I bring someone like your wife with me” he said with a grin. “So they knew you were there to be fucked by Allen and perhaps even by them?” I asked, already knowing the answer, turning back to my wife. “Yes Sir, they did.” “And their reaction when meeting you?” “They told Allen he had excellent taste ... that I looked yummy and that they were jealous.” And then with her eyes dropping to the floor, she added “... but Allen told them not to be jealous. They could have me too if they wished.” “Nice,” I replied, and turning again to Allen, asked “so you shared her with your buddies?” “Yes, later ... but not until after dinner of course.” “How was dinner, slut?” I asked. “It was very good Sir, although the men talked mostly about business ... some of the cases they were involved with at the time.” “So you just sat there not saying much of anything? How did you feel?” “Yes Sir I did ... and how I felt? I ...I don’t know Sir. At times I felt like a whore, knowing they were going to fuck me soon. But at other times ... well ... I ... I was wet ... I was horny, Sir.” I’m not sure any husband can imagine his wife in a circumstance like that, answering my questions as she did. But she was now well trained and she acted and answered accordingly. Those of you who still have a hard time imagining such things for yourself also need to keep in mind that as a well trained sub, my wife was like a lightbulb who could be turned off and on at will .. . or more specifically, who could move in and out of the role of sub slut on command. Thus, in our everyday interactions at home, she and I might appear to be a ‘normal’ married couple ... her telling me it was time to take out the garbage or chiding me for not having lifted the toilet seat earlier and me telling her to add one thing or another to her grocery list or making a suggestion, after she raised the subject, as to what gift to buy someone for a birthday. Of course, in all of this an onlooker would have seen one thing that wasn’t ‘quite normal’ – my wife would only be wearing a pair of heels, her collar and a plug in her ass with the tail hanging out of it. A simple change in the tone of my voice or referring to her as ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ would immediately put her into ‘sub mode’. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 15 Since beginning my series I've learned that innumerable husbands have either shared their wives or fantasize about doing so. And, while they may not be as numerous as the husbands who would like to have other men fuck them, a sizeable percentage of wives fantasize about being shared, trained as submissives, and allowed to act as sluts. I have no idea how representative my correspondence with husbands and wives is, but having proceeded this far into a recounting of my wife's sexual transformation, it may be useful to some husbands who have not yet succeeded having their wives exposed, trained and fucked if I retrace a few things with a more introspective view, especially the early steps I took when seeking to realize my sexual fantasies. Everything began decades ago when there was no internet. One might read letters in various sex magazines written ostensibly by husbands who shared their wives or by wives claiming to be sluts. And one heard of swing clubs and key parties where couples exchanged partners for a night. But it was impossible to tell whether the letters were real and I had no direct contact with anyone familiar with swing clubs. So I had little idea how common was the fantasy of having one's wife fucked other men. The reader can reasonably ask why I had this fantasy. Was there anything specific about our marriage, about my wife or about me that explains what I wanted of my wife sexually? To be frank, I have no explanation. It was simply something that formed in my head soon after our marriage and left me with an ongoing commitment to have realized. I suppose I could say that just as some people prefer chocolate ice crème to strawberry, I preferred a wife who was a slut to one who was prim and proper. Even today, decades after having first shared her, I've no explanation for why it wasn't jealousy but rather extreme arousal that I felt at the prospect of seeing or knowing that another man's cock was ravaging my sweet wife's cunt or ass. However, I should make one thing clear here: The fantasy excited me only to the extent that I could imagine her responding as a complete unashamed, uninhibited slut. I wanted her to lose all control and, realistic or not, to experience orgasms of an intensity and duration that exceeded anything she might have experienced previously, including with me. I did not, then, fantasize about my wife being forced, with tears of shame running down her cheeks, to accept and pleasure the cocks of different men. It was not some sado-masochistic experience that I fantasized about. Rather, the fantasy appealed only to the extent that she got as much sexual satisfaction from being fucked as I imagined she could get. However, whatever its genesis, the fantasy remained utterly vague and lacking in detail. It consisted solely of imagining the expressions of pleasure on my wife's face as she kneeled and took someone's cock in one hole or another. Whoever fucked her was faceless and without physical description. I had no clear image of where she'd be fucked -- our house, a motel, or whatever. And wholly absent were any specifics about events leading up to her seduction or what occurred afterwards. Initially at least, then, the fantasy was wholly divorced from reality. Absent a connection to reality, all the important questions remained unanswered, such as how our marriage would be affected if she ever did agree to let someone fuck her. How jealous might I become watching her cum as another man's cock slid in and out of her? How would I really feel if I saw her cry out to be fucked harder and deeper or if, once made a slut, she begged to take his cock up her ass or to swallow his cum? Should I worry that she might prefer other cocks to mine? If she responded as I imagined, would her shame at being unable to resist becoming a fuck toy affect her in some unanticipated and undesirable way? What might she think of me were I to succeed in virtually whoring her out to someone? And finally, would reality be as erotic as the fantasy or was the fantasy erotic only because it was vaguely conceptualized? There were also practical impediments to sharing her. Unlike husbands who share their wives with friends or workmates, I couldn't imagine anyone using her who I knew. Putting them in the fantasy, putting a face on whoever fucked her, made the fantasy less appealing. And I hardly wanted to contemplate the aftermath of revealing my fantasy to anyone I knew for fear they'd simply deem it perverted. Practical concerns did not end here. Having her fucked by a total stranger raised concerns about her safety, for even back then the issue of disease was not one to be ignored. And if I could identify some likely 'candidate', how would I approach him, how would I tell him I wanted him to make my wife a slut, and would I ever have the guts to initiate such a conversation? I had answers to none of these and a host of similar questions. I did give some thought to bringing her to an organized adult swing club and went so far as to check the telephone directory to see if such a thing existed where we lived (it did). But at least in the early years of our marriage, getting her to agree to go to such a thing had about as much chance of success as the proverbial snowball in hell. I wasn't in fact sure I'd want to take her myself, cold turkey, without first becoming acquainted with at least a few of the people I might meet there. So the fantasy seemed destined to remain just that. Still, I was unable to banish it from my mind and equally unable to resist tempting fate in simple non-committal ways. Whenever possible I tried to move her in the direction of dressing sexier that she might have otherwise dressed. When taking her to dinner, for example, I encouraged her to wear the highest heels in her wardrobe (which, at 3 inches or so, were hardly high enough). When shopping with her for a skirt or a dress, I drew her attention to the shortest items on the rack. If, when passing the window display of some dress shop, I saw something that was especially suggestive and sexy, I nudged her to enter the store to see what they had that might appeal to her. She wasn't a prude about this. She knew how to dress prim and proper, but she had no objection to being sexually, even erotically, appealing to the eye. Nothing extreme, of course, but as long as the skirt or dress covered what had to be covered and didn't make her look like a whore, she'd consider wearing it in the right circumstances. Those circumstances were generally quite limited: dinner at a restaurant or an occasional evening at an upscale club that provided for dancing. Early on, then, I did what I could to take her to places that combined dining with dancing since it was easier to get her to dress sexier then. And when planning vacations, I made certain we stayed at hotels that, minimally, had lounges where she'd feel comfortable dressing more daringly that usual. Unfortunately, hotels with nightclubs were a rarity, but when we were fortunate to stay at one, I made an extra effort at having her wear something she'd not wear anywhere else. Admittedly, though, in the first year of our marriage it was an uphill battle to get her to dress anywhere near as erotically as I preferred. If the neckline to a dress scooped 'too low' she'd refuse to wear it; if I asked her to unbutton one more button on a blouse, she'd tell me (with a smile) that I was a pervert; and if I pointed out how sexy she'd look in a pair of 4" or 5" heels, she'd laugh and tell me she couldn't walk in them. However, let me dissuade anyone from thinking that my wife was a prude. Although a virgin when we met, she was hardly inhibited in the bedroom. Vanilla sex was fine, but she had no objection to experimenting, which soon included taking my cock up her ass or sucking me while a vibe stuffed her cunt. She learned to love having me fuck her doggy while wearing a leather corset so I could pull on the laces as I fucked her, tightening the corset until it left her gasping for breath amid a succession of orgasms. On occasion she'd submit to letting me clamp her tits, although our tentative exploration of D/s began with spanking her ass or teasing her with a riding crop. She had no objection, moreover, to visiting sex shops with me to see if there was anything there that could further spice up our sex life. Thus, in the short span of a year the bag in our closet offered a substantial inventory of toys ... vibes of several types, both a ball and a ring gag, her leather corset, various lotions, a riding crop, a pair of nipple clamps, a small and a medium sized butt plug and a string of anal balls. That my wife had a taste for D/s, at least in a mild form, soon became apparent when I purchased a leather hood with and opening only for her mouth and nose. She loved being fucked with it tightly laced up the back of her head, her sense of hearing muted, her sense of sight wholly removed. And then there was the inflatable butt plug! I'd push it into her ass with my cock already buried in her cunt, then begin pumping it up. Initially she'd squirm a bit, then begin begging 'no more' as I continued to pump it. But once I learned to ignore her pleas and pumped it up to its maximum size, she'd invariably experience a crashing gut wrenching orgasm that had the effect of draining my cock of ever ounce of seed. Indeed, if she was more sexually adventurous than I had reason to expect when we first married it was with respect to the pleasure she got from anal sex. She not only loved having me slide my cock into her ass, she was game to try any and all toys designed for that passage. Excluding possibly only her expandable plug, her orgasms were never more intense than when I had her ride my cock as I slowly stuffed one golf-ball-sized anal ball after another (5 in total as I recall) into her invitingly tight little asshole. Doubtlessly there wasn't a person on the planet who would have guessed that my petite sweet innocent looking wife enjoyed sex in the variety of ways that she did. And it was here, in the context of her taste for anal sex, that I first saw an opening to the possibility of realizing the fantasy of sharing her. When I asked her point blank one day why she enjoyed a cock in her ass and eagerly submitted to every and any toy designed for anal play she answered without hesitation "because it makes me feel so slutty." "Feeling slutty makes you cum harder, doesn't it?" I asked. "Yes it does," she admitted unashamedly. "So would you like to explore other ways of making you feel like a slut?" "Within limits of course ... but yes, I would" she replied. I knew I was 'pushing the envelope' then when I asked her "and would you like to be a true slut someday?" but I couldn't resist hearing her answer. "What do you mean?" she replied, coyly. "Would you like to be fucked by other men, maybe several at once?" I asked bluntly. "Oh no ... I could never do that," she replied. And then she added "I could only be a slut for you." That wasn't the answer I wanted but it was what I expected. Nevertheless, I now had the first verbal indication that my wife enjoyed imagining herself as a slut, even if she intended to fill that role only for me. I took her responses, then, as an invitation to 'expand her horizons.' I began by having her wear her butt plug almost every time we fucked, and quickly moved to leaving it in her ass after we'd finished up. And it was hardly a giant step to leave her tightly trussed up in her corset with the plug firmly imbedded in her ass and requiring that she remain 'dressed' as such for the next hour or so. The incentive for her to comply was simple: She knew that if I watched her walk around the house bound tightly with her tits pushed salaciously up and out while the plug remained firmly in her, she'd invariably experience another hard and passionate fucking. And my wife was never one to refuse a good hard fuck from my cock. Admittedly, though, it took me time to build up the courage to move things up a notch by asking her to wear the plug when we went out, to dinner or one of the dance clubs we liked. Her initial reaction to this idea could at best be described as luke-warm. This was not what she foresaw when experimenting in the bedroom. Nevertheless, with minimal objection she acquiesced. I remember well the first time she wore the plug out of the house. She inserted it herself and simply answered yes when asked if it was in. She hid any effect it had on her while we dined, and I dared not ask how it felt for fear she'd say it was uncomfortable and wanted to take it out. My cock was rock hard throughout the evening, but I had no idea how it effected her until we returned to home. She immediately went to the bedroom, and reappeared wearing her corset with the plug still in her. Far be it for me to say I could resist filling her cunt then with a full load of cum while bending her over the arm of the living room sofa. Clearly, being a secret slut .. or at least secretly slutty ... turned her on. But more interestingly, so heated was our passion that neither of us had bothered to close the curtains to the living room window. It wasn't likely that anyone would have seen us. They'd have to walk up the front lawn of our apartment building and look directly into the window to see anything. But it wasn't impossible either. I was surely conscious of that possibility and made no attempt to disguise what we were doing by lowering the lights. I also determined that a replay would soon be in order. That replay came the very next weekend when she again agreed to wear the plug out to dinner. This time, though, I chose one of the restaurants that had a small area for dancing and at the same time successfully induced her to wear one of her sexier dresses ... a short little number that clung to every delicious curve. It was by now evident that my wife enjoyed being secretly slutty and liked being displayed as something other than the prim and proper housewife. This time, though, I decided to get her to openly admit to the pleasures the plug brought her. So while holding her tight on the dance floor I asked her if she was enjoying the plug in her ass. Without missing a beat she answered "yes" and answered "yes" again when asked if it was keeping her wet. To this point, however, our sexual games had been strictly private and I dared not cross that boundary in any explicit way. But clearly a replay of the prior weekend was in order, and before we left our apartment I opened the curtains to the living room window. And indeed, as soon as we returned from dinner I led her to the sofa, pushed her forward over the arm, unzipped my pants and slid my cock into her cunt while pressing my groin against her ass to push the plug deeper into her. This time I positioned her so that she looked out the living room window, making certain she knew the curtains weren't closed. "It excites you to be a secret slut, doesn't it?" I asked. "Yes it does," she replied between the soft moans and groans of an impending orgasm. "And what if someone were to look in the window now and watch you being fucked?" I took special note of the fact that instead of asking me to close the curtains, "Oh god" was her only reply. "Would it turn you on to see someone watching me fuck you?" Her inhibitions still disallowed a straightforward answer: "I ... I'd be so embarrassed." Pressing my cock harder into her, I demanded an answer "would it turn you on, slut?" That, admittedly, was the first time I'd called her a slut and in the cold light of day I'd certainly have hesitated using the word. But inhibitions disappear in the heat of passion ... and not only for me but for her as well, as revealed by her answer: "Yesssssss." No one ever looked in the window insofar as I know, but that was irrelevant. My wife had revealed a hidden naughty side of herself. I couldn't be certain she wouldn't have run from the room in embarrassment if she'd seen someone at the window, but I also couldn't eliminate the possibility that she'd have performed like a total slut. And while all of this was far removed from agreeing to let someone fuck her, the evidence was building that she wanted to be something other than a vanilla-sex prim and proper wife. I hasten to add, though, that one disadvantage of retelling events now thru the medium of a written story is that things appear to have occurred at a faster pace than they actually did. And by focusing exclusively on the sexual side of our relationship, the false impression emerges that sex and my fantasies constituted a larger share of our relationship than they did. In fact, events unfolded slowly over a period of months and then years. Moreover, our time was not spent having sex or with me constantly probing the limits of her desires. More often than not sex took a backseat to everything, and our relationship and emotional bond were utterly normal for a young married couple. It would also be a mistake for me to convey the impression that my wife was only a slut in the bedroom when it came to sex. She also liked to be cuddled, tenderly kissed, and made love to in soft ways so as to feel the reassurance of my devotion. But it would also be disingenuous of me to say that thoughts about sex and the playing out of fantasies in my mind ever disappeared for an extended period of time. Thus, it didn't take me long to decide that the next step in our evolving sexual lifestyle should focus on her evident arousal from being displayed. So skipping past the pages of the telephone directory that might list adult swing clubs, I searched instead for stores that sold explicitly slutty attire. Again, though, I was circumspect in my approach. Taking her shopping in the vicinity of one such shop and acting as if it were merely an afterthought, I suggested that we go in and explore what they sold. Initially, we laughed and giggled at some of the more outrageous items and I was careful not to suggest anything that was too extreme. But finally I found an ultra short little dress with a flair hem and a neckline nearly to her waist and told her I thought she'd look delicious in it. "Would you really want me to wear something like this?" was her first reaction. At the time I didn't fully comprehend the full meaning of her question and simply answered "let's see how you look in it." What I learned later was that she was having me take responsibility for being seen wearing it and possibly having people think she was a slut or a whore. This theme continued throughout much of the early stages of her sexual transformation and I came to understand that a fair share of wives would like to be sluts, but only if they weren't required to take any responsibility for being one. They want no part of the planning and prefer to think that the realization of their fantasies occurred accidentally or in an unplanned way. If they were to be seduced by someone, it was to be because they were put in a position of being unable to resist their innate sexual needs; if they let someone other than their husband's cock slide into them, it was because the erotic intensity of the moment had temporarily rendered them unable to resist wholly natural impulses; if they were to be shared, they'd prefer not to be involved in the planning; if another man's cock led them to a sequence of unimaginable orgasms, it was only because nature had designed them to easily cum; and if they became sluts, it was only because they were merely doing what their husbands wanted of them. So my wife's question about wearing the dress was merely a way of saying 'if anything happens, and if people think I'm a whore, it will be your fault.' That, of course, was a responsibility I was perfectly willing to assume. In any event, choosing a dress that put her on full display also required a few accessories, chief among them being a pair of fuck-me high heels. Up to this point my wife never owned heels that exceeded 3 inches. But in that same store I drew her attention to a pair of 6 inch platforms. Despite commenting that "I don't think I can walk in them", she asked the clerk for a pair her size. I succeeded, moreover, in having her try them on while still modeling the dress I'd chosen, and I'll admit, the view she offered was decidedly erotic if not pornographic. At 25, she had the nubile figure of a stripper. The dress's plunging neckline tantalizingly displayed her firm braless 34B tits and only covered her nipples in a way that constantly threatened to expose them. Weighting no more than 105 at the time, the shoes stretched her legs out invitingly nearly to the cheeks of her ass, which were covered with but an inch or two to spare by a hemline that was more appropriate for a cocktail waitress than for a wife who was not yet a slut. The Transformation of Betty Ch. 16 My husband has already largely recounted my experiences as a sub slut and, in his last chapter, how he initiated my transformation. Now he's asked me to write something from my perspective. So I'll start at the beginning -- when, seeing myself as a proper housewife and shortly after we were married, my husband began pressing on me his fantasy of sharing me with other men. First, though, let me say that my initial rejection of the idea wasn't because I didn't enjoy experimenting with sex in the bedroom or, more publicly, dressing sexy and flirting -- what woman doesn't want to be desired. But being shared was totally at odds with what I'd been taught and felt about love and marriage. However, I said 'proper', not 'prude'. I enjoyed being tied, spanked, and introduced to the pleasures of anal sex. I felt like a slut whenever hubby slid his cock into my ass, and in our bedroom at least we both got off by having me play the part. I let him tie me spread-eagled on the bed, let him play with me with one toy or another until I came, and even, when I felt especially slutty, would masturbate myself to orgasm for his viewing pleasure. However, I didn't see any of this as leading to anything out of the bedroom. It all felt good and surely kept sex from becoming routine and boring. Surely, I didn't initially see this as part of hubby's strategy to have me accept becoming a true slut. Perhaps I should have caught on earlier than I did about the seriousness with which hubby was approaching his fantasy when I saw some of the things he wanted me to wear when taking me dining, dancing or on vacation -- dresses that barely covered my tits or my ass, high heeled shoes that made me look and feel like a whore, sheer blouses, thong swimsuits, and miniskirts that were little more than belts. Nevertheless, while I might have raised an objection when he went 'too far', at age 25 or 26 it was fun to be naughty by dressing to make men lust. To be honest, I did get wet when I could get away with dressing slutty and admittedly, on more than one occasion I suggested we go someplace where I could wear something utterly shameless. Its probably correct to say, though, that nothing would have come of this if we hadn't met Bill. I was 26 then, so a man in his 40's could be exotic and sexy. However, it wasn't until the second or third meeting before I realized that my dear husband, sensing my attraction to Bill as well as his availability (he was divorced) targeted him as the man he was going to try to have fuck me. Surely we flirted, but there was nothing unusual there. And I recognized hubby's motives as soon as he started urging me to set aside the baggy sweaters and slacks when around Bill and to wear perhaps a shorter skirt, higher heels, etc. I raised no objections to that since it was a definite turn-on to be sexy for an older man ... and early on I even had a fantasy or two about Bill on my own. I knew this: If I weren't married, Bill wouldn't have had a hard time at all getting me into his bed. Despite the sexual feelings I had about Bill, I'm not really sure when I began to think seriously about letting him fuck me. I did fantasize about it, that's for sure, once Bill appeared on the scene, and placing a face on the person who was fucking me made my fantasies far less abstract and far more erotic. So when hubby began making me pretend it was Bill's cock in me instead his, it was easy to surrender to the idea in my mind and get turned on by the image he was drawing. And I wasn't above feeding his fantasies if it made sex hotter, crying out things like 'yes, watch Bill fuck me' or 'watch Bill make me cum'. That may actually have been the critical turning point since I found myself wondering in the cold light of day what it would be like to let Bill fuck me and wondering what hubby's reaction to that would truly be. However, as I learned, a quixotic idea can become subtle desire -- you begin imagining you could do it if (and here's the big one) nothing else changed. And by nothing I mean one's marriage and one's evaluation of oneself. Even a prim and proper wife can imagine being a slut if she can isolate that experience from everything else. Perhaps I was always a latent sub or slut. I don't know if hubby's drip-drip-drip strategy would work on other women, but it did on me. My responses to his fantasy when he posed it by telling me what turned him on, worded one way or another, changed slowly from 'I could never do that' to 'Do you really want me to do that'. Eventually, of course, it became 'If you want me to do it, I will'. Perhaps by then there was an element of revenge in my attitude when I first said that: If hubby truly wanted me to be a slut or a whore, then that's what I'll be! But I also know that I began looking forward to those neighborhood get-togethers with a little more than the usual interest and arranged one of our own after making certain Bill was free to attend. You could say, I suppose, that 'I'd gotten the hots for Bill.' As fantasy became desire, I found myself doing little things to actually encourage hubby, half out of curiosity as to whether he'd actually set it up. Eventually there was the heart-to-heart talk in which I told him I'd let Bill fuck me and even make me his slut. But before that, when trying on a slutty dress, I'd ask 'think Bill would like this?' or 'think I' seduce him wearing that?' In the bedroom, when being fed the fantasy, I'd moan 'yes, make me a slut' or even 'make me his slut.' At those neighborhood get-togethers, I'd dress even sexier without hubby's urging -- higher heels, dangling earrings, ¼ cup bras that didn't cover my nipples and tighter tops. So while hubby had a strategy to get me to accept being shared, I too had a strategy once I began to seriously entertain the idea of letting Bill seduce me. In fact, I stopped objecting to the idea once I could no longer suppress the desire to let it happen -- a half year before I revealed that openly. One might say that hubby succeeded more fully than he imagined in making me open to the idea of being shared, but in giving him any encouragement to proceed, it wasn't to satisfy him -- it was to satisfy me. I realize that none of this answers the question as to how a woman, who was 'as pure as the driven snow' when she met her husband, let his fantasy of being fucked by other men become her own. But it happened. And I did indeed go to the New Years Eve party intending to be fucked by Bill. Thus, while hubby assumed I wore my fuck me heels, blouse and schoolgirl mini-skirt to signal a tentative willingness to fulfill his fantasy, I was in fact determined to maximize the likelihood that the evening would end with Bill's cock in me. Indeed, since my skirt was probably no longer than 13 inches, I debated whether to wear panties. But as a way of committing myself to let happen whatever happened, I let my desires rule and chose to be wholly accessible. Let me explain the party a little. With upwards of 60 or 70 people attending (mostly but not exclusively couples), the party was an annual event at a neighbor's huge Victorian home. The dining room, study and spacious entry were set up as gambling halls ... roulette and blackjack tables for the most part ... with guests taking turns servicing the tables. Each guest bought 'shares' in the 'house' and were paid later on the basis of its profits. The kitchen was the bar and the spacious living room the 'nightclub' -- dim lights, prerecorded music, and all the furniture set aside or even moved to other rooms. I wasn't the only woman wearing fuck me heels, but I showed the most leg. If there was time to feel self-conscious, that was masked by knowing I was more than on display -- I was literally whoring myself. Hubby, of course, could read the signals plainly and knew as soon as he saw how I dressed that I was willing to finally give myself to Bill that night. I didn't check, but I'm sure he had a raging hardon as we left for the party in anticipation of that happening. And he in fact did his part soon after we got there by suggesting I ask Bill to dance -- an offer Bill happily accepted. If you ask what I thought or felt when hubby handed me over, to be honest I'm not sure. I knew the chances he might have had second thoughts about wanting me to be a slut were now zero. He was determined to have Bill fuck me, period! I also knew that by walking over to Bill, I was telling hubby I was committed to being a slut and that soon enough another man was going to make me cry and scream in passion and he filled my cunt with his seed. But as for feelings, they are more difficult to recall or describe. A sense of uncertainty, apprehension and a little scared for sure, but I was also wet in anticipation of the naughty, perhaps depraved, but utterly erotic thing I'd committed myself to. Having been literally given to Bill, I had no problem letting my husband go off on his own. Bill and I danced, taking occasional breaks to gamble, while hubby, engrossed in other conversations, was obviously doing what he could to leave us alone. So with Bill fetching drinks or encouraging me to play 'black' or 'red', it was almost as if I'd come to the party with him. I, in turn, did nothing to discourage him from assuming I was his. I remember, though, that it was around 10 PM, when dancing that my commitment to being shared was essentially finalized. Bill whispered in my ear that he was going to fuck me, and my response perhaps shocked even me. "Yes, I know" I answered. "So hubby is right ... you want to be made a slut?" I didn't know precisely what hubby told him beforehand, but apparently it was enough to invite him to call what we were about to do 'making me a slut.' In any event, with one hand caressing my ass and another squeezed tightly between us, holding my tit thru the thin fabric of my blouse, how could I say anything but "Yes, I do." With that Bill took me by the hand and, walking thru the kitchen to get a drink along the way, he led me to the back yard, which was otherwise dark and unoccupied. Turning to me, I guess he was making certain this was something I truly wanted to do: "You realize that if I take you home, you wont see hubby until tomorrow sometime?" A shiver ran thru me, and not of foreboding or second thoughts, but of knowing how utterly naughty, and slutty and incredibly erotic it was going to be for me to spend a night with him: "Yes, I know." And then almost without thinking I added, as if I needed to convey my commitment to be something other than the dutiful monogamous wife, "I'm not wearing any panties." I felt an erotic thrill the minute those words came out of my mouth, and almost immediately Bill pulled me to him, and with a deep tongue probing kiss, lowered his hand so he could raise my skirt and move a finger between the cheeks of my ass. My cunt was ready to explode and at that instant I could have cared less if anyone saw me with someone who wasn't my husband playing with my then bare ass. Clearly, hubby had pimped me with no strings attached and if that's what he was intent on doing then I was determined to let myself be the shameless whore he wanted me to be. I had to assume, even, that by leaving me alone with Bill for the evening, he could care less what any of the party's guests thought. If letting any of them think or know I was a slut wife, then if that's what it took for me to actually be one, then so be it. Then, as if to 'seal the deal', Bill commanded "reach down and feel my cock." Without thinking -- without wanting to think -- I did as he said, letting my hand rest against a hardened cock straining at his paints. Desire and raw lust now had its grip on me and when, with my hand at his crotch, he asked 'you want that in you, don't you?' and all I could do was moan "Yes." It was then that he nearly lifted me from the ground and pushed his finger into my ass, his tongue now back in my throat. Well, to make a short story shorter, I put both arms around him, returning his kiss, and as he lifted me higher, his finger left my ass and slid into my dripping wet cunt. I came almost immediately and Bill just held me as I did, releasing me only when my orgasm had passed. "My cock's going to make you cum many more times tonight," he said, leading me back to the party. Bill had succeeded in making me wish we didn't have to wait until midnight. I knew, at least for appearances, I'd have to be with hubby when the clock struck 12. And to be honest, I still felt a touch of guilt about doing what I had just done and knowing what I was about to do. That was silly, but now the guilt was not from knowing I'd committed to being shared or that I let another man finger my cunt and make me cum, but simply because I didn't want to wait until after the new year arrived. If Bill had proposed to take me from the backyard to his house, I would have eagerly gone with him. Nevertheless, he delivered me to hubby shortly before midnight. "Are you ready for tonight's adventure?" hubby asked matter-of-factly and I wordlessly nodded my head 'yes'. Then, as the clock approached midnight, he held me, kissed me passionately at the stroke of 12 and then made it quick and simple: "I love you ... You're going home with Bill now" and walked away. For an instant I felt like a whore and if there was a chance I'd chicken out it would have come then. But before I could wrestle with any thoughts, Bill appeared and without saying a word, led me in the direction of the door, retrieving our coats as we left. It all happened so fast, we were probably on the sidewalk less than 10 minutes after midnight. I didn't even have time to look back to see what hubby was doing as I was led away. Bill ushered me along to his house three doors away, and as soon as the front door closed behind us, he turned me to him, slipped the coat from my shoulders and planted another deep tongue probing kiss on my lips. I returned the kiss, pushing my tongue into his mouth. Bill unbuttoned my blouse totally so he could fondle a breast while holding my head with his other hand. Nevertheless, his first words sill surprised me: "Take the blouse off, slut ... let me see your tits." . I'd never been called a slut before except by hubby, and even then it was only when he was fucking me. But rather than be repelled, it excited me. I did as told and let Bill step back to admire my 34B tits which, at age 27, were firm and, if I must say, delicious. "Cup them in your hands, slut. Hold them out for me to see." I'd gone to Bill's to do what hubby wanted me to do. But Bill's plan was different. He used the word 'slut' with purpose. I know now that making me a slut ... a true wanton slut ... was his plan. He told me months later that he sensed the possibilities of doing more with and to me than simply fucking me. He eyed me from the start as someone he thought it might be possible to turn and was almost certain he could when hubby first revealed his desire to see me shared ... see me become an uncontrolled wanton whore as another man's cock slid in and out of me. He figured that hubby would never have talked to him about that if I hadn't already signaled my willingness to be shared. My flirting, moreover, and the increasingly sexy clothes I wore to the neighborhood get-togethers convinced him that I was a prime candidate to be trained as a sub slut. And at that moment at least, as I felt the soft flesh of my tits in my hands, my nipples now as hard as they could possibly get, I didn't want to be anything but a shameless slut. "Take off your skirt, slut, so I can see you finger your cunt." When thinking back to who I was earlier or who I thought I was, and I try to imagine doing what I was about to do -- finger fucking myself while standing naked in another man's living room -- I marvel at my lack of embarrassment then. Letting my skirt fall to the floor, I looked directly into Bill's eyes, salaciously licked my lips and slowly slipped a finger into my now well-lubricated cunt. Somehow, and I'm not sure how, I'd cast aside all shame and modesty -- I wanted Bill to see the pleasure register on my face as my finger disappear into me, and then let him see the wetness on it as I half pulled it out. Bill wasn't done making me know what I was letting myself become. Before I had a chance to cum, he pulled my hand away and made me lean with one hand against the back of the living room sofa. He then moved my other hand between my legs and commanded "put the thumb in your cunt and a finger against the entrance to your ass." By then he doubtlessly knew I was available for a lot more than a simple fuck. Indeed, I would have done anything then to pleasure myself and cum, but I was still taken aback when, standing behind me, Bill reached between my legs, directed my index finger to the entrance to my ass and commanded "Push it in, slut!" As much as I'd learned to relish anal sex, I'd never fingered my own ass. But with Bill's hand now covering mine and pressed against me, I let my finger slip in. I don't know what I said then, but it must have been the moan or cry of a slut about to explode. "Play with your cunt, slut, with your thumb, but keep that finger in your ass." I came then and all the time I was cumming, he kept his hand pressed against mine, making certain my thumb stayed in my cunt and my finger in my ass. By then, though, he wanted me as much as I wanted him and as soon as he felt my orgasm subside, he laid me down, on my back on the floor, and knelt between my spread legs. I was a virgin when I met hubby and the only cock that had ever been in me was his. But as Bill unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and lowered them to his knees, I wanted his cock more than anything. And without saying a word, he slid it in me. Pushing up as deep he could, he held his cock there while, beneath his weight, I squirmed, trying to fuck him even though pinned to the floor. I'd never had another cock in me except my husband's and I can't say whose cock was best. But if only because letting another man fuck me had been such a forbidden thing, Bill's was better, different. It seemed I could feel it in me more than I felt hubby's, creating sensations I'd never felt before. I know now that their cocks were about the same size, but then at least Bill's seemed to be reaching deeper, stretching me wider. "A married slut, a whore wife who hubby pimped. That's what you are now aren't you?" "Yesss." Partially pulling out, he then slammed back down into me: "And what your husband wants is for you to be fucked like a common slut?" I doubtlessly moaned or grunted with Bill's thrust, along with the word "yesssss". I had no idea then that Bill was talking not just about that night, but innumerable nights thereafter. My mind wasn't capable of making such distinctions while his cock plowed into me. And then, with one hard thrust, I felt my cunt fill with his seed. My thoughts and emotions about that moment are long gone. I cried and screamed and came with him, bucking and thrusting my hips up against him, wanting his cock to impale me fully. And then it was over. I lay in a state of semi-awareness as he rolled off me. We lay there for a moment before he got up and headed to the bathroom to wipe himself down. I didn't move. I couldn't move. I can't say that was the best orgasm I'd ever had to that point. Such comparisons are silly. But I can say that all the time he was fucking me, and especially when he came, my husband didn't exist. Slowly, though, I regained my senses enough to know that I'd crossed a line I never imagined I could. I'd done it. I'd let myself become a shared slut wife, let another man not only play with me and fuck me, but fill me with his seed. And more than that, I had no regrets and I knew I'd never be able to resist letting this happen again. I was still on the floor when Bill returned, wearing only the briefest of thong briefs. He was 42 and had clearly kept in shape. No developing paunch or midriff roll. He was what I thought he was when I first met him: sexy. His cock and balls strained at his briefs and I found myself able to take my eyes off them only with a conscious effort. "Do you want to go home now slut, or spend the night here as my slut?" The Transformation of Betty Again another simple drawn out "yes". Now getting fully into the mood of the situation, a pressed on: "Are you going to be a whore for both of us from now on? Are you going to let Bill fuck you whenever he wants to fuck you or whenever I want him to fuck you?" "Y ..yesssss" she moaned again, so clearly on the verge of yet another orgasm. Bill reached around to grab her other tit as he pushed a second finger hard and deep into her ass. If she hadn't been sandwiched between us with her cunt and ass impaled on our hands, I'm sure she would have collapsed to the floor. I could feel Bill pull his fingers nearly out of her and then ram them back in, commanding "Cum for us bitch ... cum for us now!" Instantly her body shook and convulsed with an orgasm she had previously reserved for my cock. At that point I simply had to fuck her. Pushing her down onto the floor with Bill stepping aside, I quickly unzipped and lowered my pants, sliding a cock that so desperately needed release into her cunt. She lay there, her hands still held by the cuffs uncomfortably behind her back, instinctually raising her hips to meet me, seemingly telling me that she no longer cared whose cock was in her. I'm not even sure now if she had stopped cumming from the finger fucking we had just given her, but now all I wanted was to fuck the whore beneath me. As my cock slid into her Bill knelt on the floor next to her head and once again, as in a process of stripping her of any inhibition or sense of shame, made her answer a series of question. "Look in my eyes as your husband fucks you and tell me what you are." Looking directly at Bill with her eyes now open wide, she responded "I'm a slut" "What else are you?" "I'm a whore" "Whose whore are you?" "I'm your whore .. I'm my husband's whore." "And you'll fuck whoever we tell you to fuck, won't you?" "Yesssssss .... Oh goddddd, please ... need to cummmmm." "My whore needs to cum? He asked rethorically "Yesssssssss .... Pleaseeeeeeee" Not yet ready to give her permission to cum, he pressed on with his questions: "Did you enjoy yourself last night as my whore?" "Goddddd yessssssss" "Did you let me fuck you every way I wanted to fuck you?" "Yessssssssss" "Are you going to let me train you as my sub slut, my anytime fuck toy?" "Yessssssssss" Then, as if he were revealing a few of the things he had done to her that night, he asked "Did it hurt when I tied you and whipped your ass last night? Did you beg for me to stop?" "Yessssssssss" "Did you nevertheless cum when I whipped you?" "God yesssssssssss" "Did I clamp your tits? "Yesssssss" "That hurt too, didn't it?" "Yessssssssss" "But did you cum again like the whore that you are from the pain?" "Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssss" she moaned, more loudly than before, so as to suggest that that had been a special pleasure for her. I had never done much more than lightly spank her and I certainly hadn't the courage to buy a pair of nipple clips for fear that she'd think me a pervert. Even the trip to a sex shop to buy her a butt plug was a walk on the wild side for me. So at that point I did little more than hold my cock motionless in her, for I knew that if I pumped away again I'd cum immediately. "Pain makes you cum harder, doesn't it slut?" "Pleaseeeeee, may I cum" was her only reply. "I'll ask you again. Pain makes you cum harder, doesn't it slut?" No longer able to utter a coherent answer, her back suddenly arched and as the convulsion of an uncontrollable orgasm ripped thru her, my cock exploded to the sound of her screeching "argghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" . With my cock now spent, I stood up and rezipped my pants. She continued to lay there in a daze with a nearly imperceptible convulsion periodically moving thru her. "She'll make a magnificent slut if you'd let me train her," Bill said and at that moment I couldn't think of anything I wanted more. "Fantastic," was my immediate reply. Bill, sill kneeling beside her and with her hands still bound behind her back, softly and with apparent affection put a hand on her tit and asked with a tone that allowed only one answer "You're going to let me use and fuck you whenever your husband and I want you used and fucked, right slut?" "Yes ..." And as if to underscore the answers she gave when on the edge of an uncontrollable orgasm, he asked again "And you're going to let yourself be trained as a sub slut, aren't you?" "Yes ..." Bill then asked if I had a butt plug, and of course I did. Racing to the bedroom I quickly retrieved it from the bedside stand. By the time I returned he had turned my wife onto her stomach. Handing him the plug, he put the tip against the entrance to her ass and slowly twisted, turned and pressed it in. She had never taken the plug before without lube, but I guess there is always a first time for everything. Rather than object, as she almost certainly would have done if I had inserted the plug this way the day before, all I heard was a deep gasping breath and a guttural "ughhhhhhhhhhhh" as he pushed it in so that the muscles of her ass could contract around its base. "Now stand up slut" he commanded, helping her to her feet since she was unable to use her hands. "You will wear the plug for the rest of the day and leave it in as well through the night. You may remove it only when you need to shit and in the morning. However, any time you are sent to my house you will arrive with it in your ass ... understood?" Meekly she replied with her now usual "Yes," only to have Bill lead her to the tiled entrance hall of the house. "I'm going to leave now. Its been a long night and morning. But before I go I want you to show your husband what a sub slut you can be. Stand there and piss for me!" A look of absolute horror came to her face. "Oh god ... please ...no" was her plaintiff reply. But again Bill was intent on demonstrating how she had been used that night, as if he were putting me on notice that he intended to take my wife to the limits of dominance and submission: "Piss for us whore ... as you did for me last night!" I must admit that I was a shocked at this command, but interested as well to see if she could obey. Like many of the other things Bill had led my wife to experience in a single night, we had never practiced any form or watersports. Up to this point pee play had never had any erotic attraction for me. But in the present context of seeing it as a form of humiliation and control ... of understanding the control Bill had and was continuing to exert over my wife ... the idea became an incredible turn on. My wife's eyes virtually pleaded from an escape from this command. But none was forthcoming as Bill simply stood there and waited for her compliance. The three of us must have stood there for a full minute or two (although it seemed longer at the time) with no one saying a word. A swirl of thoughts raced thru my mind: How was he able to so readily convert my wife to a slut, a whore even? Would she later regret what she had allowed to happen and the things she had agreed to? Was her transformation temporary or was she now truly willing, even eager, to be led into the world of D/s and trained as a slut? I'll admit, moreover, that this had all gone beyond what I had planned, which the evening before was little more that having another man fuck her. Now, instead, I was seeing my wife wholly transformed, with the possibility even (did he mean his words?) that she would allow him to make her a whore. Other random thoughts flooded my mind in no coherent order. If he whored her, who would he whore her to? Surely he'd be concerned as much as I about disease and safety. Would she really allow herself to be paid to be fucked? How many husbands are turned on by the idea of a wife who enjoyed being whipped and clamped? Did he really intend to fuck her anytime he wanted to and would she really allow herself to be fucked at will by him? What role would I play in her training? Interestingly, no issues of jealousy arose in my mind, just fascination at the sexual possibilities suddenly opening up to me and my marriage, along with the tempering concern that perhaps I was somehow letting things go to far. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when I saw a small rivlet of liquid running down her leg at the point where the hem of her skirt ended ... and then the same yellow liquid dripping off the front of the skirt as the stream of piss continued to shoot out of her. Never in my wildest imagination could I have envisioned all that had transpired in less than 24 hours. Her inhibitions were dropping away faster than I could comprehend. I would soon learn, of course that she had far to go before becoming a true sub slut and that a mountain of inhibitions remained - within me as much as her. However, the dam and been broken and now it was merely a matter of time and effort before she was taken to wherever point Bill and I chose to take her. I had never guessed before that beneath my sweet housewife's exterior was a slut clamoring to escape. Doubtlessly, she was not wholly aware of that fact either. But even before Bill reached the bottom steps of our front porch on his way home, a new series of fantasies began to form in my head as I began to imagine where we could take her. Turning once again before walking away, Bill looked up and said "Peter, lets you and I get together later this afternoon so that we can plan out how we're going to train your wife and what techniques and processes I prefer in transforming a woman into a whore." Needless to say I readily agreed as I turned to close the front door, facing my wife who continued to stand there in her puddle of piss, awaiting whatever I then had in store for her.