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.