The Transformation of Betty A06

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My slut wife's account of her first visit with Alex.
7.8k words
4.06
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Part 7 of the 25 part series

Updated 11/01/2022
Created 05/06/2006
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For two months following my Las Vegas adventure with Alex, I heard only occasionally from him but without an invitation to visit. The only man I'd fucked in those months was my husband, so the fantasy of being with Alex had built up in my mind to become a burning lust. Thus, I nearly leapt from my chair when he called and finally asked "how would you like to visit and how soon can you come?"

"Tomorrow if you want me," was my instantaneous answer. Aside from occasionally letting my husband fuck me, I'd found what minimal sexual satisfaction I'd achieved for two months primarily by masturbating to the fantasy of again being Alex's slut. If I sounded over-anxious to seeing him again, I was and didn't care if he knew it.

"Great ... how long can you come out here for?"

Without a second thought I answered, "For as long as you want me." And I meant what I said ... for as long as he wanted me. After that weekend in Vegas, all I could think about was Alex. And when, during those two months, I talked to my husband about visiting Alex, I was brutally honest and told him that when and if I had the chance to fly out to be with him and if he treated me as he had in Vegas, he could keep me as long as he wanted.

"What, my cock isn't good enough for you?" my husband kiddingly asked.

"Your cock can make me cum but Alex's sends me to paradise."

"Well then, I guess you'd have no choice but to stay with him for as long as he wanted you to."

You might ask why I'd so make myself available in such an open ended way and why my husband raised no objection to me flying off to be another man's slut for an indefinite period. After all, I'd never been away from him for more than ten days with Bill. But Bill lived a mere three houses from us so there was little reason for longer absences. However, I'd crossed the psychological bridge of imagining myself wholly removed from my husband indefinitely or even permanently when Bill prepared to move to Europe. Plans were set for me to join him with no specific notion as to when I'd return or even if I'd return. Bill was brutally honest: He'd already begun making arrangements for me to work me as a prostitute, which made sense only if I stayed for extended periods ... months, even years.

Bill also briefly mentioned the possibility ... inspired perhaps by the popular novel 'Story of O' ... of selling me permanently to someone if and when he ever tired of me. The idea scared me, but I got wet fantasizing about being shipped to, say, Asia as a sex slave to work thereafter as a whore. I knew this was a crazy fantasy in light of some absolutely horrendous and life threatening possibilities. Nevertheless, I told Bill that if there were places where sluts could be permanently (and legally) auctioned to the highest bidder and if for whatever reason he chose to have me sold, I'd submit to being sold even if my ultimate fate was concealed from me.

The point of me telling this is that I'd already contemplated the idea of transitioning to being indefinitely owned by someone other than my husband and of my marriage being effectively, if not legally, at an end. While most people cannot understand this, but the need I felt to be wholly obedient for my Master knew no limits including those that might have been set by my marriage vows, and I was prepared to accept any fate Bill chose for me. To act in any other way couldn't possibly provide me relief from anything and would only yield an utterly unbearable psychological torment. Thus, since over the two months since my Las Vegas adventure I'd led myself to view Alex as I'd viewed Bill, the notion of an indefinite stay with him seemed unexceptional.

As for my husband, I can't fully explain his preferences but I do understand why the idea of sending me off to work as a prostitute with an uncertain return was acceptable to him. If it weren't for the concern that the wrong people would learn what I was, he never hid the fact that he'd have encouraged me to be a stripper at a local strip club in the expectation that it would be impossible for me to resist letting that job evolve into me becoming a whore. When Bill arranged for the bartender at a local hotel to pimp me whenever men asked if he knew where they could get some 'action', he resisted admitting that it was too dangerous for me to continue despite the fact that it was his job that would be endangered. Thus, if my being a working whore required that I stay with Bill indefinitely, that was a cost he was willing to incur.

Perhaps more surprising is that my husband was as intrigued and turned on as I was by the idea of me being sold at auction as a permanent sex slave. On more than one occasion he asked Bill if he'd yet inquired about the existence of consensual sex slave auction markets. Bill said he knew of sex clubs wherein female members were sometimes auctioned off. But they were sold only on a temporary basis ... a night or weekend ... and not as a permanent change in the slut's ownership.

Clearly, then, my husband was not about to rule out the possibility of me being permanently sold. And if you ask why, I think the simplest answer is that he'd come to view me less as a wife and more as a slut he was allowed to have access to. And like me he saw our marriage as one of mere convenience and a way to maintain an aura of normalcy and respectability. The extreme possibility, though, of having me irrevocably sold wasn't on the table with Alex. Thus, there was nothing exceptional about the idea of me being sent off with no specific return date. In fact, from my and my husband's perspective, that was ideal since it opened the door to Alex being able to pursue any and all ways I might serve him as his slut.

In any event, Alex replied to my open invitation for him to keep me as long as he wished by saying "frankly, it makes little sense, given what I'd plan for you, for you to be out here less than three or four weeks."

I had no idea what his plans might include, but I was prepared to have him say he wanted me for an even longer than a month so I enthusiastically replied by saying "if you want, I'll fly out tomorrow." Yes, I'll admit it ... I wasn't necessarily thinking objectively in my eagerness to be with him. In the erotic glow of being asked to travel to see someone I was already imagining as my Master ... a man whose cock I'd fantasized about now for two months ... I was unwilling to impose any obstacle to fulfilling whatever plans Alex might have about me.

"Tomorrow would be great ... just let me know when you'll arrive and I'll pick you up at the airport."

As you might guess, as soon as I hung up and then called to make my flight reservations, I headed upstairs to begin the process of deciding what to pack. Those might be easy decisions for a man, but for a woman, it never is. But one thing was certain. I'd pack nothing except things from my slut wardrobe. If Alex wanted or needed me to dress prim and proper he'd either have to accept what I wore on the plane or buy me something that suit his tastes. Thus, into the suitcase went several pairs of fuck me high heels, a sheer blouse, a micro mini skirt and seven or eight slut dresses plus a truly salacious full length gown. As an afterthought I also tossed in the provocatively erotic sling swimsuit I wore in Vegas when Alex whored me to the pool attendant.

I also had to decide what to pack in my carry-on since, as I'd always done with Bill, I planned on meeting Alex dressed other than prim and proper. Totally turned on by the prospect of seeing Alex again, all caution vanished and I chose to look absolutely slutty. In addition to the 6" heels I'd wear on the plane, I picked a 13" long flair hemmed skirt that barely covered my ass (and didn't if I bent forward) along with a sheer blouse with but one button at my waist. Since it fit loosely, my tits always threatened to fall out, but what kept me barely legal was the ruffled trim running the length of the neckline that covered my tits. Trying the blouse and skirt on to remind myself how I looked, I decided that adding a leather collar and large hoop earrings made me look like a whore or some hot wife traveling to see a lover. Since that pretty much described me, I zipped up the carry-on and committed to looking like a shameless hooker when greeting Alex.

When I told my husband of my plan to fly out the next morning his only comment was "Seems you can't get Alex's cock into you fast enough." And then, when told my stay would be indefinite ... that Alex wanted me with him for at least a month ... he correctly guessed "I'll give you odds he plans on having you working as a whore in some fashion. And if he succeeds, I'd expect that you'll be there for some time." The tone of his voice, though, was one of approval.

That night, perhaps as a farewell present, my husband fucked me as he hadn't fuck me in quite some time ... my cunt, my ass, down my throat. It was almost enough to make me wish I wasn't leaving the next morning ... but only 'almost'. Then, as a final act, he retrieved his whipping cane and gave me 3 or 4 searing cracks across my ass, saying afterwards "there, I hope that serves to remind Alex that he's free to whip this slut as much as he pleases."

My skin is such that the welts from the cane would be certain to persist into tomorrow for Alex's viewing pleasure, and I responded "Oh god yes, I hope he whips me as hard as he can. I want him to make this slut obey him fully."

Dropping me off at the airport the next morning, the flight was utterly normal, and boring. But as soon as the plane landed I couldn't get out of it fast enough so I could change my clothes and meet up with Alex. Admittedly, though, I did have some second thoughts after making the change, realizing I hadn't given much thought to how Alex would react to greeting someone in public who most people were likely to assume was at best a shameless wanton slut if not a whore.

It's an understatement to say I was relieved when Alex spotted me where we'd agreed to meet, at baggage claim, by rushing up to me and giving me an utterly erotic tongue probing kiss. And frankly, in those initial few seconds, I literally melted into his arms ... god I wanted him to fuck me, and when we broke from our kiss that's precisely what I said to him "God I want you to fuck me!"

Retrieving my luggage, we headed out of the terminal to his car in the adjacent parking structure, and as he had done in Vegas, he kept one hand on my barely covered ass, which only made me drip in anticipation of getting into bed with him ASAP. Alex, though, had other plans. We weren't alone in the parking garage but there was no one nearby and when we reached his car he told me "bend over the hood, slut."

I couldn't imagine he'd fuck me then and there even though by bending, my ass was totally exposed. And he didn't. Instead, without saying a word, he pulled a butt plug from his pocket and shoved it brutally up into my ass. Despite the sharp pain I nearly came on the spot ... not simply because I loved getting fucked there, but because this was Alex's signal that he intended to treat me not as a lover but as a slut and shameless fuck toy.

Alex also then took notice of the welts still criss-crossing my ass from the caning my husband had given me that night. "So has the slut been naughty and required punishment from her husband? Did he punish you because you flew out to be with me?"

"N ... noooo .. he wants me here. He wants me to be your slut. He ... he wanted to remind you that you're free to whip me whenever and as hard as you wish."

"And did you cum when he whipped you?"

"Y ... yes I did."

Stepping up to me, he then pressed his hand tightly against my plugged ass and all I could do was lay against his car and moan "Oh god yessssssssssssss." If he wanted to fuck me then and there, in full view of whoever passed by on the way to their car, I wouldn't have and couldn't have stopped him. I'd waited two long months to feel his cock inside me again, and I desperately wanted to feel it again as soon as possible.

But he didn't fuck me, and instead from the garage we drove in the direction of his townhouse apartment. However, we didn't go directly to the apartment. Instead, driving down an upscale street lined with a variety of sidewalk restaurants and cutsie shops, he pulled into a parking space and told me to get out of the car. From there we walked perhaps two or three blocks, which surely put me on display to a good many people. At that point, though, if I had one thought it was a prayer that the plug in my ass stay firmly in place. Suddenly Alex directed me into a quiet bar with painted windows. It was hardly seedy ... in fact it was quite upscale ... but being early afternoon, it was nearly empty. We took a seat at a table near the entrance whereupon Alex told me to take a walk to the ladies room at the far end. Then, upon my return he told me "unbutton the button on your blouse and expose your tits."

My lust at that point was such that despite the muted upscale surroundings I immediately did as told, not caring a twit who'd see me sitting there with my tits uncovered. My cunt was literally throbbing in anticipation of being fucked by him. I did though grow apprehensive when the bartender, with no customers to attend to, walked over to us. I wasn't sure whether he'd ask me to cover up, leave, or invite me to a back room to be fucked. Instead he simply said to Alex while staring at my tits "So this is the married slut you said was coming to stay with you?"

With a comment like that I couldn't help but feeling somewhat uncomfortably embarrassed. He knew I was married, he knew I was with Alex and he knew I was a slut. Alex had clearly told him a good bit about our encounter in Vegas ... surely enough so that he felt comfortable calling me a slut despite never having met me before.

Alex, in turn, didn't blink an eye in responding "Yes, I just brought the slut in from the airport."

I had the sense at that moment that Alex was deliberately using the word slut not merely to convey to his friend who and what I was, but to let me know that my status as a married slut was going to be relatively widely known.

"Well I must say, based on what I saw of her ass when she walked past me and sitting there now what I see of her tits, you weren't exaggerating in your description. She looks absolutely delicious."

'Oh god,' I thought to myself, 'what had Alex told them about me, how had he described me, so that his friend felt when first meeting me that he could talk about my ass and my tits so openly and freely?'

"Of course I wasn't exaggerating. I take that to mean I'll be seeing you tomorrow night?"

"You can bet on that, and I'll be certain to tell the guys about her." Then, with a grin and a chuckle he turned to me and said "you have a great ass and tits, honey ... it will indeed be a pleasure fucking you."

So there it was. Neither Alex nor the bartender said how many 'guys' there were but clearly Alex had arranged to have a group of his friends fuck me the second night I was there. Moreover, given how bluntly and explicitly the bartender had talked about and to me, he'd clearly been told some of my history as a slut and had surely gotten a graphic description of Alex's experience with me in Vegas. I had no doubt, in fact, that his friends already knew my husband had been instrumental in making me a slut and that he wanted me made or at least treated as a whore. The prospect of a gang bang in combination with the ongoing sensations of a plug in my ass and my tits on display had my cunt nearly dripping down my legs and so I decided there was no sense in pretending to be something the bartender knew I wasn't, so I replied "Well, I very much look forward to having you fuck me tomorrow and I hope I live up to expectations."

"Oh honey, I'm sure you will."

If Alex had told me to go to the backroom of the bar so his friend could fuck me, or even if he had told me to bend over the table so he could fuck me then and there, I'd have offered no objection. Nevertheless, his friend immediately returned to his duties at the bar, and Alex led me back out onto the street after I rebuttoned the solitary button to my blouse.

As soon as we got into the car and pulled out of our parking space Alex commanded "now take off your blouse, slut."

It took only seconds for me to comply with that command whereupon came the second "now your skirt."

"Yes Sir," I replied as I lifted my ass to slide the skirt to my ankles. I suddenly realized then that for the first time I'd referred to Alex as 'Sir', and with that realization came a second: I had quite naturally assumed the status of being Alex's sub slut and he my Master. I had, then, just crossed a line that was easy for me to step over with Bill but had never quite done so with my husband and therein had committed myself to Alex as only a collared sub slut can commit herself to a man. I didn't know if Alex understood the full meaning of 'Sir' then, but a shiver or erotic anticipation nevertheless surged thru me.

Alex though wasn't content to merely have me sit next to him naked. "Undo your seatbelt, slut, and suck my cock."

My response was immediate and in seconds I was bent over, face down in his lap, his swollen manhood deep in my mouth and into my throat. With his free hand he reached over, gave the plug in my ass a hard push before reaching further so he could push fingers into my throbbing cunt. It was all too much for me and my muffled moans and groans announced my first orgasm of the day.

I don't know about other women, but when I'm sucking a man's cock and cumming, I suck even harder. That in turn made it impossible for Alex to not cum himself. "Swallow it all, bitch ... all of it."

Hot cum filled my mouth and throat, which only caused me to press my face harder against him as I literally tried to consume his cock. I lifted my head for an instant but only so I could catch a breath and moan "Ohhhh god ... ohhhhh god," before pressing my face down against him again. I wanted his cock down into my throat as far as it could go; I wanted it in my ass, I wanted it in my cunt.

Our timing couldn't have been better if it had been scripted by Hollywood. The moment Alex's cock stopped shooting its seed, he pulled the car up to the door of his first floor garage and pressed whatever button needed to be pressed to open it. I was by then a breathless mess, but conscious enough of my duties to suck and lick his cock clean before returning it to its place in his pants. "Oh god I want you ... I want you so bad," I shamelessly told him.

"Soon my little slut ... soon."

For the next half hour or so after leaving the car there isn't much to report. Alex carried my bag up to a second floor bedroom, told me to unpack and clean up. In the interim he went down stairs and I heard him make a call to my husband: "She here, safe and sound, and she's already had her first orgasm on the drive from the airport. She's obviously no less of an eager slut now than she was in Vegas. So don't expect to hear from her for some time to come." That was it! In other words, my husband apparently wasn't going to get reports of any sort during my stay as to what I was experiencing. In fact, he also didn't know when or even if I'd be returned to him.

Alex hadn't given me any instructions as to how I should dress after I was finished upstairs, so I decided to continue wearing the fuck me shoes I'd worn on the plane along with a sheer baby doll nitie that hung from my tits but didn't quite reach down to the level of my cunt.

"Very nice," Alex commented when he saw me, "but now slut I need more than merely being sucked off." And with that he took me into the living room and for the next half hour he fucked me with the same vigor as he had that first time I was with him in his hotel room.