The Transformation of Betty Ch. 08

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His wife learns the pleasures of lesbian sex.
7.1k words
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Part 17 of the 25 part series

Updated 11/01/2022
Created 05/06/2006
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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.

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