The Transformation of Betty Ch. 03

It was still the case that her straightforward admission about knowing beforehand that I planned to have her fucked surprised me. Why that was the case I have no idea. "Yes, I'll admit, the intensity of it all has caught me by surprise too. But do you have any regrets?"

"I don't think so ... not yet. I just pray that no one we know ever learns what we're doing."

As tempted as I was to probe deeper into what had happened the previous night with Bill, I thought it best to maintain the conversation along the lines we were pursuing. "Don't worry. Neither Bill nor I have any incentive to mess things up by being indiscrete. In fact, I felt a little anxious yesterday sending you out, even in the dark, dressed as you were for fear you might encounter a neighbor."

"I thought of that too," she admitted, "but I'll dress however you tell me to."

I could see in that statement, of course, the signal that she was accepting her role. "I take this all to mean that you are willing to proceed further and to see where it goes?"

It was then that she revealed more about her thoughts than previously. "I haven't sorted out everything. I don't know if there's something wrong with me or the two of us. But since New Year's Eve I haven't been able to think about anything but sex. I've been more turned on this week than ever before, both with you and Bill. Maybe its wrong, but I can't seem to get enough of it. Maybe I'm shocking you in how easily I've accepted everything. I'm also shocking myself. Am I the proverbial moth drawn to the flame? I don't know. But I want to experience it all, even though I don't know what 'all' means. If you want me to be a slut, I will be. And if you want me to be ... if you want me to be a whore, I will be that as well."

My only coherent thought following that statement was 'Wow!' My 'prim and proper' wife had at that moment opened the door to everything and anything. Bill was right, she was a natural sub slut. Who could have guessed, who could have known? Certainly not I, and certainly not Betty herself. Yet Bill had sensed it, seen it, and proceeded to draw it out of her.

Following that admission I felt it was important that I register approval. And although I'm not sure how most husbands would react to hearing their wives say they are willing, even eager, to become a slut and a whore, I experienced a raging hard-on that needed release. And what better way to release it than by treating my wife as the slut she said she was willing to be? So with our dishes still on the table I suddenly commanded "stand up slut and face me."

I think my wife was not merely surprised at this sudden shift in tone, but also relieved.

"Strip below the waist."

Immediately and without hesitation she did as told, revealing to me that once again she wasn't wearing panties beneath an otherwise conservative skirt.

"Now let me see you finger your cunt ... show me how much you enjoy playing with a cunt that loves having Bill's cock shoved into it." I thought at the time that the reference to Bill was a nice touch ... a way to underscore the fact that she was a shared slut.

Deliberately changing the language I used, "make that fuck hole wet ... show me how wet you can make it." It was still a surprise how readily and quickly she could change from the sweet dutiful housewife to unashamed slut. How many husbands failed to realize the hidden whore in their wives, never imagining them as shameless sluts when in fact that was precisely what they craved becoming? Not wanting this to be simply another session of masturbation and fucking, I decided to try something I'd only read about. "Keep fingering yourself," I said as I rose and walked to the fridge. Getting a small bowl from the nearby cupboard, I put three ice cubes in it and set it on the table next to her before returning to my seat. "Pick up a cube and rub it over the entrance to your cunt, slut."

I had no idea what her reaction to that command would be or to the cube itself, but she did as told, opening her mouth, closing her eyes, and letting out a whispering whimper as the cube touched her. "Now push it in ... push it in fast."

"Oh god ... "was all she said as the cube disappeared.

"Now the second cube ... put it in."

This time she made no sound. Whether the first cube had numbed her enough that the second held no surprise, or whether she was in fact enjoying the sensations ... I couldn't tell. But as soon as the second cube disappeared, I commanded that she insert the third.

"Push them in deep and hold them in with your finger" I directed. Leading her into the carpeted living room, I had her to lay down with her finger in her cunt and legs spread. "Do you want my cock and cum to warm your cunt, whore?"

"Yessss ...." she moaned in reply.

Just as I was uncertain about how she'd react to the ice, I was uncertain how my cock would feel in her. But lowering my pants so that my throbbing erection could spring to attention, I slid up between her legs and told her to direct my cock into her cunt with her hand.

I have to say, the sensation of pushing into a cunt filled with melting ice was both different and entirely pleasurable ... with the eroticism of the moment magnified by having just watched my wife shamelessly stuff her own cunt with the cubes. Pushing carefully up into her, I asked "how does that feel ... do you like my cock and the cubes in that cunt of yours?"

With her hands at her sides, squeezed into tight fists, I could see that the answer was in the affirmative even before she moaned "Yesssss ....."

Pressing my hips harder against her, I asked "what are you?

"A slut."

"Whose slut are you?"

"Your slut."

"What else are you?" uncertain as to what answer she would give, but in the heat of the moment hoping she would answer in a specific salacious way..

"A whore," she replied, in accordance with what I hoped she'd say.

"A whore who will fuck whoever I tell you to fuck?"

"Yesssssssssssss ..."

At this point, of course, my questions were no longer designed to elicit honest answers as much as they sought to ignite lust: "You like the idea of being a whore, don't you ... a well-fucked, shameless whore?"

"Yessssssss ... ohhhh godddddddddddd .......ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" she screamed as she crashed over the edge, her hips bucking wildly as I thrust down onto her.

I wanted, however, to prolong the pleasure of fucking a cold wet cunt. Turned on by my own questions and her shameless answers, I paused only to keep from cumming, while continuing with my salacious interrogation: "You'll make a good whore, won't you?" as if that were a settled issue.

"Yessssssssssss ... "

"And you'll dress like a whore whenever I tell you to, right?"

"Yessssssssss ..." she replied in the breathless, gasping way that signals a woman near orgasm.

"You'll display your tits, cunt and ass whenever I want them displayed, won't you?"

"Yesssssssss ... ohhhhhh god ... let me cum ..."

Ignoring her plea, I continued with the same theme: "It keeps you wet dressing like a slut, doesn't it?"

"Yessssssssss ... you know it does ... pleaseeeee ..."

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum ... tell me I can cum ... "

It was evident that Bill had practiced orgasm denial with her, for she had never asked to cum ... she simply did. "Not yet, slut ... tell me again what you want to be."

"A whore ... I want to be your whore ..."

"Did you also tell Bill you wanted to be his whore?"

"Yesssssssssssss ..."

Tempted as I was to let her cum upon that admission, there was nevertheless one series of questions I couldn't resist asking: "Did Bill whip your ass last night?"

"Ya ... yesssssssssssssssss" she stuttered, seemingly embarrassed to admit the truth.

"Did he whip it hard?"

"Pleaseeeeeeeee ... "she gasped, before telling me "Yessssssssss."

"And did you cum when he whipped you?"

"Yessssssssssssssssssssssssss ..."

"Your going to be a slut who craves having her ass whipped, aren't you?"

"Yessssssssssssssssssssssssss ..."

"Then cum my little pain slut, cum now!" I commanded as my own cock began to erupt.

As she bucked and humped, wrapping her legs around me, I let her cunt milk every drop of seed from me before pulling out. Standing up I looked down at the puddle of water mixed with my seed wetting the carpet. I didn't see a wife as much as I saw a fuck toy still breathing heavy – a fuck toy who, at least in the heat of passion, was willing to be a whore and who had obviously experienced the pleasures that come when pain is mixed with lust.

Kneeling next to her I reminded her of her status: "You did well ... precisely as I wanted you to," and while stroking her hair, "you'll make a superb slut and whore."

Of course, whether I wanted her to be a real whore was anything but certain. Its far easier in the heat of passion to think you want something than to actually pursue it. But the word 'whore' set a mood. I wasn't certain what images it conjured up in her head, but one thing was clear: The word excited her as much as it did me. Deciding then that one good hard fuck was enough for the night, I stood up and told her, before leaving the room, "go put the plug in your ass and wear it tonight."

The next morning I let her remove it for the day, adding ominously and without explanation "I don't want your ass sore for tonight."

Returning from work that evening, I greeted her with a warm kiss but immediately directed her to "dress as you did Wednesday."

I can't say whether I startled her with that command, but she immediately went to change and when she reappeared, looking again like a whore with the straps to her garter peering out beneath her skirt's hem, I said simply "now go to Bill's"

"What about you?" she asked with a quizzical look on her face.

"Don't worry about me ... go to Bill's" I repeated in a tone that would leave any sub no alternative but to comply. And that she did, dutifully leaving without saying another word.

Sending her to Bill's in the early evening was especially daring. It was dusk and anyone at a window or meeting her on the street would have seen her, looking like a whore. Needless to say, I took special note of the fact that my wife raised no objection. That fact alone made the hour I'd agreed to wait before joining her drag seemingly forever. And when the time to leave did arrive I left the house with every emotion imaginable coursing thru me.

Bill greeted me at the door, but in a whispered voice told me not to say a word and to follow him upstairs to his bedroom. I can't honestly say I hadn't anticipated the scene that greeted me. Yes, I had imagined such things when I let my fantasies run wild, but to see it first-hand with my wife as the centerpiece was something else again. There she was, as if in some BDSM website, legs on the floor spread wide by a bar, her arms outstretched held in place above her head by rope attached to her wrist cuffs and hooks in the ceiling. She still wore her garter and nylons, but nothing else ... except for one thing that set a wholly sinister mood to the room. Tightly laced and wholly covering her head to her neck was a leather hood with an opening only for her nose. With her mouth and eyes covered by removable attachments to the hood, she could only guess that it was I who had just arrived.

It was also clear she had already cum several times. Perspiration covered parts of her and her cunt was swollen and wet. Its funny what can draw one's attention. Looking at the slut who was my wife and who had allowed herself to be taken not simply into the world of D/s but of BDSM as well, I noted for the first time that I'd forgotten to have the hair at her cunt trimmed as Bill had suggested.

Bill motioned to me not to utter a word, and then cooly announced "this is what the slut enjoyed Wednesday, and as you can see she returned for more of the same of her own free will."

I understood why Bill hadn't encouraged her to tell me how she'd been used. Almost certainly she wouldn't have been able to convey fully the sense of what I was witnessing. But regardless of whether she might or might not have been too embarrassed to reveal everything, in returning to Bill's she knew the extremes to which she would be taken ... and knew as well that I'd most likely see her as she was then. Yet as with everything else to this point, she never objected nor indicated in any way that she wasn't fully acceptant of all that was happening.

If one knew my wife then, her transformation would have been unimaginable. She was nothing other than the proper faculty spouse. Whether shopping, dining, or a faculty party, her demeanor and attire were strictly correct. She knew how to be attractive, but not conspicuously so. Yet there she was, a hooded BDSM slut strung up, helpless, spread wide, cunt and ass fully accessible. Unmoving except for the firm tits that rose and fell with each breath, who would have known who she was -- a middle class college-educated housewife who had surrendered to a situation in which she couldn't possibly know who would see her or fuck her.

My own thoughts, as best as I can recall them, were a confused mix between shock and arousal. Yes, the image she offered was deliciously and incontrovertibly erotic. Fantasy is one thing but Bill was making fantasy reality; and rarely if ever does reality ultimately measure up to fantasy. Were my wife and I being led into some dark sinister realm out of which escape would ultimately prove impossible – a realm into which neither of us wished to enter?

Even before I could give such concerns the thought they require Bill motioning again for me to remain silent, and, moving to her while reaching for her cunt, stated boldly "let me show you how easily this slut can be made to cum."

His words were accurate, for soon after he began fingering her, she stiffened and, tossing her head back with a muffled moan, shook and came. "Here, try it yourself" he said.

Stepping up to her I'll admit that despite any misgivings I might have had then about where all of this was going, I couldn't keep myself from taking special pleasure in sliding my fingers hard and deep into her. She wasn't my wife then as much as she was simply a fuck toy to be played with and used. And again it took less than a minute for the next convulsion to ripple thru her as she let out a muffled guttural scream of pleasure.

It was then that Bill made a comment intended to lead her to believe that I was someone other than who I was or at least to doubt that the fingers in her cunt were mine: "The slut is married, but her husband wants her trained to be a whore. He even suggested," he added, without us ever actually having discussed the subject, "that we take her out of town and make her a part time stripper." Then pausing for a moment to let those words sink in, he added "I've already fucked her cunt. Would you like her ass?"

I had no idea at the time what thoughts swirled thru her head. She knew I loved her, but could she also think I wanted her as both a whore and a stripper? Surely she knew the value I placed on anonymity, not to mention her safety. I had to ask myself if it would turn me on to know she was stripping on stage for men she didn't know who would later fuck her? I had to admit that it would, but even in my aroused state, the practical considerations of safety, disease and the need for discretion intervened. Setting such thoughts aside, I also knew I hardly wanted to resist Bill's invitation. Silently stepping behind her, I lowered my pants and let my stiffened cock push between the cheeks of her ass. Holding her around the waist with one hand, I guided my cock into that rearmost passage until it was buried in her.

I must tell you that as pleasurable as it is to fuck your wife's ass, it doesn't compare to the eroticism of doing it while she thinks of herself as a whore with some stranger's cock stretching her. Add to that her muffled moans and grunts each time I pushed up into her. If one can grade the stiffness of a cock on a scale of from 0 to 100, it seemed that mine had achieved a score of 110.

Soon enough, of course, I exploded to the sensation of yet another orgasm ripping thru her. `The little bitch likes this,' I thought to myself, 'and she almost certainly is going to get more of it.'

"She does like it up the ass," Bill commented from the side. "She even came here tonight wearing her plug. She'll make a whore men will certainly pay to watch and to fuck."

I still didn't know whether Bill's words were a proposal or merely intended to underscore my wife's current helpless state. Even if she understood in the cold light of day that a professor's wife couldn't allow herself to become a stripper and whore, at the moment she was in no position to preclude any possibility. In fact I suspected that, hanging there with her cunt and ass still throbbing, she assumed that was now the plan.

All of this, however, was only a prelude to the night and our weekend.