Retiring the Wife

Carol stood silently at the open door to her husband's den, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. Dressed only in threadbare, faded cotton dress that barely covered the cleft of her bruised thighs, she stared downward, the streaks of mascara from her silent tears only partially obscured by the stringy, tangled dirty blonde hair falling over her face.

Carol's head was bowed, hands behind her, palms outward with the right hand resting in the left, precisely against the small of her back. She absent mindedly studied the position of her feet, ensuring they were exactly shoulder width apart and that tips of her toes were aligned with, but not touching, the threshold between the highly polished hardwood hall floor and the deep, plush carpet of her husband's den. She'd never seen carpet so thick and luxurious, and wondered what it would feel like under her bare feet. A useless thought, she knew; this was the one room in the entire house she was forbidden to enter, not even to clean it. Her husband had a maid a free woman who he paid to take care of that. The fact that the money he used to pay the maid was earned by whoring out his wife or daughter was immaterial.

"What is it?" her husband finally demanded, not even looking up from his computer screen. She could see that he was chatting, probably with a fellow slave owner.

"Sir, my period has started," Carol sobbed, no longer caring about the streaks in mascara. She'd not be wearing makeup after today, anyway.

"Fine," was the terse response. "Get your things moved and get her ready for me."

"Yes, Sir," she responded automatically at the command, bowing her head submissively before backing away from the door. Carol's husband heard the loud sobs as the tears flowed freely now, unhampered by the dread of having had made the announcement.

While her husband returned to his work, Carol slowly trudged down to the end of the hall, still crying softly as she walked up to the ornate, highly polishe,solid oak door separated her world from the rest of the house. She instinctively removed her dress and dropped the crumpled, stained garment on the floor. Clothing, such as it was, was not permitted on females in this wing of the residence.

Unlike the rest of the house, this area was never seen by anyone, not even the guests at her husband's frequent parties. That the interior side of the door was even painted was simple expediency; it was necessary in order to keep it from warping, for no matter how well maintained the varnished exterior was, the dank odors of the filth that lay beyond it would surely attack the wood were it not protected. Even Carol's husband rarely ventured past the heavy, ornate door; she could count on one hand the number of times he'd visited this part of the house in the twenty years they'd lived here. The door locked only from the outside, the key to the heavy lock constantly in her husband's possession. Females in this household had no right to privacy, but were often locked away, out of sight, when it suited their Master.

The appearance of this wing of the house seemed more suited to a sharecropper's shanty than the mansion in which it was situated. Completely separated from the main structure with walls that extended to the roof, it was remarkable only due to the extreme contrast with the more public parts of the well-built and immaculately maintained home. Bare, untreated wood floors that hadn't seen as much as a broom in over two years, and dingy, stained walls that hadn't been painted in longer than Carol had been alive were only the beginning. The entire wing was not only unheated, but unventilated, unless you counted the leaky roof. There was no ceiling here, just the bare beams and planking that created the underside of the roof. The windows were permanently welded shut and shuttered over from the inside. From the outside, pastel colored draperies hung behind glass panes, hiding the ugly metal covers from view and giving an appearance of normalcy. The air was permeated with the musty stench of dirt, urine, and unwashed, well-used female bodies.

She glanced at her daughter sleeping restlessly on the homemade mattress, the only semblance of furniture they had. Made from old, second hand blankets and filled with crumpled newspaper, straw, animal hair and whatever else Carol had been able to scrounge, it had been their only bed since her daughter's birth. She noticed, but with little real interest. the evidence of the abuse her daughter had received the night before: dried semen between her thighs, welts across her belly and tits from a whip or belt, and a large bruise on the side of her face, apparently from someone's fist. It wasn't the first time her daughter had been the main entertainment at a gang bang, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. At 20 years of age, Tina had more sexual experience than most prostitutes twice her age. Carol glanced upward, noticing the blinking red light on the security camera firmly affixed to the ceiling, reminding herself that her husband could be watching at that very moment, and even if he wasn't, the recorder was cataloging her every movement.

Taking another look around, her eyes focused on the bathroom entrance, examining the screw holes where hinges had once held a door. Mildew grew unhampered along the dirty tile walls and under the peeling linoleum floor. On one wall, a filthy open shower stall stood, an ancient garden hose attached to the spigot. A thick black ring ran around the inside of the rust-stained, seatless toilet. Carol noticed the brackish water contined neither urine nor feces. Tina must have flushed it recently, she thought. She'd have to find out exactly when; they were only allowed to flush their shared toilet once each day. They'd both been beaten for violating that rule before.

Carol wondered when she would next be permitted to disinfect the bathroom; the last time was nearly a year ago. A bout of illness affected both females, rendering them useless to their Owner. He'd resorted to renting a slut from one of his internet friends to tend to his needs. After Carol had become well, she'd been sent to a pimp until she earned back what her Owner had needlessly spent on the temporary replacement.

Then it struck her, and the tears began anew. She'd always known this day would come, but the implications never really hit home. Until now her first menstrual period after her fortieth birthday. She was to be displaced in her husband's bed by her own daughter, just as she had done to her own mother all those years before. While she would continue to feel the oftentimes painful bliss of sex, it would never again be with the man to whom she was wed. It wasn't that she would suffer from a lack of sex; the truth, in fact, would probably be just the opposite. Her husband would undoubtedly loan, and probably even rent, her body to friends, colleagues, acquaintances and even total strangers more often now than he had in the past. She'd probably end up getting used more now than ever before in her life. At least that was the way it was for her own mother; a seemingly endless round of orgies and abuse sessions, until she'd finally been sold to a breeder.

Sold. That would happen to Carol, too, but not for some time. Tina's baby girl had to be born first. She might end up as a wealthy person's housemaid, or maybe a sex slave in some Asian brothel. Neither of the most hopeful of options were likely, however. There was little demand for worn-out sex slaves, and while she was still fertile, breeding slaves over forty were rare exceptions. People who could afford such luxuries usually preferred young slaves, without stretch marks, scars and saggy tits. She knew she'd probably end up in a BDSM brothel, or at best, a labor slave somewhere, probably doing the backbreaking harvesting migrant workers had once performed. And when she was deemed unfit for even that work, well, her organs might still be worth something. Whatever happens, will happen, Carol thought silently, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Just like the rest of her life, she had no control over the future. Right now, she had a job to do, and she needed to maintain some semblance of control, if only for the sake of her daughter.

"Tina?" she whispered quietly, looking down at her teenage daughter laying exhausted on the filthy mattress. "It's time. You need to get yourself ready."

"Mama?" the young girl looked at her inquisitively for a moment before she understood. "Oh, Mama!" she cried, painfully raising her body from the floor and reaching to embrace her mother.

"It'll be all right, little one," Carol whispered, using the same diminutive as her own mother once used under similar circumstances. "Your life is going to change now. You're the woman of the house." The tears flowed freely from both females now. "He really is a good man; just do your best to please him."

"Oh, Mama," the younger girl wailed, "I can't do this!"

"Yes, you can, and you will!" the older woman said, grabbing her daughter forcefully by the shoulders. "You can and you will, just like I had to, and just like your own daughter will when her time comes!'

"But I'm not ready!" the girl complained, crying so forcefully that her words were barely understandable.

"Yes, you are, Tina. You're as ready - more ready- than I was. Look at me!" she demanded when her daughter tried to cover her face. The girl looked up into her mother's eyes.

"How long have you been fucking?" she asked pointedly. Women in this household weren't permitted to talk about sex in anything but the most obscenely graphic terms.

"You know the answer to that, Mama. Daddy sold my cherry on my eighteenth birthday, to that mechanic in exchange for an oil change. You helped him, remember? You tied my legs apart and then used your mouth to get him hard."

"And how many men have used your body since then?"

"I don't know, Mama. Daddy never said I had to keep count, but maybe a couple of hundred. There were eight just last night, Mama," she said sadly. "They hurt me." Carol looked down at her daughter's bruised, cum covered body and nodded her head.

"Don't you think it would be easier to please one man, to know what he likes and doesn't like, rather than having to figure out someone new every time? Or a group, like last night?"

"Yes, Mama, I suppose," she replied, wiping the back of her hand under her nose.

"Think about it, sweetheart," Carol implored. "You've always been obedient, but sometimes obedience isn't enough. Sometimes a man just expects you to do what he wants, without having to tell you. Take my word for it, it's much easier to have just one person to figure out. Lord knows, I was beaten regularly back when I was doing orgies. So were you, from the looks of it?" her mother stated inquisitively.

"Yes, Mama. Daddy rented me out to eight college guys yesterday afternoon. I accidentally scraped my teeth across one's cock when his buddy started fucking me in the ass."

"I take it they weren't pleased?" Carol grinned knowingly. They often joked after such incidents, but both knew the seriousness of making mistakes like that.

"No, Mama, and neither was Father when he found out. The college guys beat me, but when Father saw the marks and asked me what happened, I had to tell. He gave them their money back, and then said they could keep me all night, for free. He said he's inviting them back tonight, too."

"Well, you know he probably won't be renting you out much, at least not at first." Carol correctly assumed she'd now be the one entertaining the college boys tonight.

"Yes, Mama," Tina cringed, "But he IS my father..."

"Actually, sweetheart," Carol interrupted softly, "that's not true, at least not biologically," revealing the secret she'd kept all these years. "Your true father – the one who made me pregnant with you - was the man who raised me, but he wasn't really my father. After my real father got my mother pregnant, he sold us to him. The man we were sold to – who I always thought was my father – did the same thing to me. When my own mama turned forty, he got me pregnant with you, and then sold me to the man you always thought of as your father. Now it's your turn. It's our destiny, has been since at least my great-great-grandma's time."

"I don't understand this, Mama," Tina complained. "He's always been my father."

"Don't worry, just listen. After I took my own Mama's place, the man who raised me took me to his bed. I didn't have the advantages you do, though. I was still a virgin, hadn't even seen a real cock. He got me pregnant that night with you. When I was seven months along, he sold me to the man you know as your father"

"The same thing happened to your mama...and the same will happen to me?" Tina asked, wide eyed.

"Hopefully, but I was younger than you, and totally inexperienced. He tried for a year to get me pregnant, and I went through two miscarriages. My Mama had three boys to start. You won't have to worry about that. As soon as they do the tests, if they find out you have a baby boy in your belly, you'll have an abortion. Once they're sure you're having a girl, you'll be sold. It's our lot in life, and eventually, the same thing will happen to your daughter. Someday you'll be explaining all this to her, just before the man she thinks of as her father gets her pregnant."

"Oh, Mama! I knew Daddy would be fucking me, but I didn't know all this! It's a family tradition, almost...romantic...I guess!" Tina almost swooned, as if it was some sort of love story. "But what about you" she suddenly asked.

"You're the woman of the house now," Carol replied. "I need to move my things to the basement."

"Oh, Mama!" The tears started again in earnest, from both women.

"It's okay, sweetheart. It's warm down there, and I have a blanket to sleep on, next to the furnace. Besides, it's not like I'm going away, or that I'll be down there forever just until your Father finds a husband to sell you to. Then he'll buy someone else to share his bed, and I'll get to move back upstairs to take care of the house. Now, you go out into the guest room and get yourself bathed. I'll be in later to help you get prettied up, after I'm finished moving."

"The guest room, Mama? I get to use hot water?"

"Yes, baby, and a towel. Nice soap and real shampoo, too, not the little leftover slivers of bar soap we get in here."

"Oh, Mama!" Tina squealed excitedly, hugging her mother one more time before quickly scampering out the door, her naked feet padding down the hallway.

Carol smiled at her daughter's unbridled excitement, then slowly turned to collect her meager things. An old hairbrush, the broken handle reminding her of how it had snapped while she was being beaten with it. The toothbrush she'd had for how long? Four years at least? Its worn out bristles were used as often to scrub her husband's toilet as her teeth. Her diary, the one thing she could truly call her own, in which she recorded her innermost thoughts and fears. Hardly private, though, because her husband "and anyone else" had full access to it. The crude and obscene comments others had written in answer to her emotional words burned through her soul. The small bag of clothing, nothing more than rags that had been rescued from the trash, never washed, still smelling of the garbage they'd been set out with. She gathered these few belongings up and took a last look at the room she'd never again be permitted to enter. By most standards, it was a hell hole, but to Carol, it was her entire life.

While Carol was moving her few belongings to the basement, Tina was luxuriating in only the second hot bath she'd enjoyed since infancy, the first since she and her mother fell ill a year ago. Her normal method of bathing, permitted only twice per week – unless she was preparing for a "date" set up by her father – was from cold water in the filthy shower stall, and only the tiniest bits of soap salvaged by hotel maids her father paid to collect them. The soap slivers often contained bits of pubic hair and other foreign bodies she couldn't identify, but Tina had learned from a very young age to ignore such things. Daily washing involved using water from the filthy toilet bowl in their quarters. The only bath she remembered, other than when she was sick, was the night her virginity was taken. Her mother had carefully prepared it, ensuring the water was neither too hot nor too cold, adding scented oils which created bubbles. She was familiar with this bathroom, it being set aside specifically for preparation for 'dates" arranged for herself and her mother, but except that one special occasion, she'd never been permitted to use the tub.

Tonight, though, she ran the tub full of steaming hot water, dumping in a generous amount of bath oil. Now she just laid back with her eyes closed, feeling the hot water and soft bubbles sting her abused flesh, warmth permeating every inch of her body. It had been so long since she'd truly been warm, she thought, not since the previous summer. Since the wet, cold weather had set in five months ago, she had remained constantly chilled to the bone.

Tina carefully worked her hands over her bruised thighs and breasts, feeling the dried semen, blood and feces from last night's rapes coming loose. Using the fresh bar of nicely scented soap, she lathered up a washcloth and gently gave her entire body a scrubbing. The grime caked between her toes and on her soles, the dried fluids between her legs and the crack of her ass, the filth under her arms, were all washed away. Next, the shampoo again, something she'd used but once - her previous attempts at hair-washing having been restricted to the slivers of bar soap she'd been provided. She poured a capful out onto her hand, then began vigorously scrubbing it into her grimy, tangled scalp. She felt it tingle as the chemicals began to work, cleaning the greasy dirt and causing her hair to lighten several shades, to a nice, light blonde.

As Tina was rinsing her hair, she noticed that the water had turned a dirty brown color, so she drained the tub. The bottom of the tub was covered with dirt, and the recently pristine porcelain now displayed a large ring of grime where the water level had been. Tina turned the shower on, and finished rinsing off, washing out the tub as she did so. Once the dirt was rinsed away, she filled the tub again. A second scrubbing, concentrating this time on the nooks and crannies - behind her ears, between her toes, the crack of her ass, her still sore and swollen slit - and then more hot water, just to relax in. It was the first time ever she'd had no real time limit for bathing; at least, she'd not been given one. She knew better, however, than to spend too long in the tub, so quickly climbed out.

A thick, soft towel - again, something she was normally not permitted to use - hung from towel bar. Unsure whether it was for her use or not, she hesitated before taking it. She was as sure as possible that it was meant for her use; the towel rack had always been empty on her previous visits to this room.

Drying off, she then took a comb and brush to her shoulder-length hair, carefully loosening the snarls and tangles created since the last time she was permitted to brush. How long ago was that, she thought? A week? No, more like two. Just before her "date" with the lesbian, she remembered, shuddering at the memory of the beating she received that terrible night. It wasn't her fault. The bitch should have said something before she flooded the girl's mouth with piss!

Finally, she started on the makeup. Whoring for the man she knew as her father had taught her much, and she quickly camouflaged the bruises and welts on her body before tackling her face. She knew only two ways of making herself up: virginal and slut. Tonight, she assumed, her father wanted her to be a slut. She began with bright, red polish on her always-manicured fingernails. Even with the cleaning and scrubbing the two women performed, their Owner insisted on perfectly manicured, unblemished fingernails. A thick coat of mascara, carefully covering the bruised cheek, heavy eye shadow, eyeliner and a thick coat of glossy red lipstick completed her face. She remembered to rouge her nipples slightly, then spritzed herself with a heavy spray of cheap perfume – obtained from a street prostitute, she had been told, in return for her mother's services.