The Transformation of Betty A05

Following my husband's account here in Literotica of my Las Vegas experiences with Alex and thereafter, several people asked that the series include an account of things from my perspective, including perhaps some insight on why a married woman who entered marriage as a virgin and a strictly traditional view of her marriage vows would allow herself to become the shameless slut I became. So with the assistance of his editing, here it is as best as I can recall (with, as he has done, some embellishment in the form of conversations that, frankly, I cannot recall in detail).

Let me start by saying that I am not ashamed to admit what I am (or was, since the recounted events occurred quite awhile ago) ... an occasional whore and wanton slut who eagerly sought men to fuck. For those of you who disapprove of me, if there's a fault to be found, it lies with me as well as my husband. When, soon after our marriage, he revealed his fantasy of watching me have sex with other men, like most new brides, I was appalled. I wasn't a prude, but the idea someone other than my husband fucking me ran counter to everything I'd been taught about marriage. For me, wives who fucked other men were 'sluts' in the full negative sense of that word. What I didn't realize then, though, was that the seed of the idea had nevertheless been planted and the fantasy of being a 'hot wife' slowly, with my husband's prodding, took root.

Maintaining my views of marriage was partially undermined when, in the apartment complex we lived in prior to buying our own home, we met a couple with whom we socialized a few times and who, it seemed to me, hinted at being interested in swinging. When I mentioned that to my husband he told me I was imagining things, and I took his response to mean that he wasn't really serious about pursuing the fantasy of sharing me. Nevertheless, the fact that I did find the other husband attractive ... sexy even ... made it impossible for me to resist thinking about the possibilities and fantasizing further. I had never had sex with anyone but my husband and I couldn't help wondering what it would be like with another man.

Nothing ever developed between us and that couple because, as we later learned, each of s was afraid to make a specific proposal to experiment with swinging. It was, perhaps, the classic case of two people failing to effectively communicate out of fear as to the other's reaction. That fear, though, fell to the wayside and and my fate as a slut determined when I met Bill, an older unmarried neighbor who lived a few houses down from our newly purchased home. Finding myself strongly sexually attracted to him, I began masturbating in private to the fantasy of being fucked by him. I had always been a bit of a flirt, and when my husband watched Bill and I openly flirt at various neighborhood get-togethers, he began more forcefully pressing on me his fantasy of sharing me, with Bill now the focus of that fantasy. My resistance to the idea of being shared grew increasingly feeble since, frankly, I truly did want to fuck him and it was only the hangover of moral precepts learned as a young girl that kept me from surrendering to the fantasy sooner. Ultimately, of course, I did surrender to the temptations of extra-marital sex even if, as I told myself, it was on an experimental basis. Agreeing to leave the annual neighborhood New Years Eve party with Bill rather than my husband, I was scared, ashamed and yet excited. But shame and fear went up in smoke when I realized a level of sexual fulfillment that night I never imagined possible.

When my husband and I fucked, I was lucky to experience a single orgasm and only in exceptional circumstances did I experience two. But that first night with Bill became a blur of intense and ongoing orgasmic pleasures. It should come as no surprise to anyone, then, that in combination with my husband's encouragement, I made that night more than a mere experiment and quickly vanquished all moral reservations. Sex with my husband was adequate, but sex with our neighbor was something totally different: Wild, erotic, unrestrained. And yes, I found that adding to the raw eroticism of everything was that fact that what I was doing was so socially forbidden, immoral and dirty.

Once 'the line' had been crossed, it became impossible for me to resist letting Bill fuck me on a regular basis. Bill, though, planned more than merely having an affair. Sex with him quite literally became like a drug wherein the stronger the dose, the more I needed, and he took advantage of early on in our relationship by having me stay with him for weekends ... not leaving his house and often not even leaving his bed. That progressed quickly to letting him invite his friends over to fuck me, followed soon thereafter by taking me out of town so he could share me as a whore with his work colleagues and business clients.

There were, moreover, no apparent negative consequences from any of this, so with my husband's ongoing approval and encouragement, I committed to become Bill's eager and wholly compliant and collared sub slut, living a life of sexual pleasures few women can even imagine. If rationalizations were necessary I adopted the view that I was merely taking advantage of a body, mine, that was designed by nature to give and receive sexual pleasure. For nine years, then, if any constraints were imposed on my actions, they'd be those only my Master, Bill, set.

Aside from the cravings that developed within me for raw physical pleasure, I'm not sufficiently introspective to understand fully why I so readily became a slut nor can I explain the source of my husband's eagerness to become what most people would deem a cuckold. But at least we were 100% compatible in the lifestyle we found ourselves in. My life as Bill's collared slut, though, had an unfortunate end with his premature death. I was devastated by the loss but my craving for sex, and sex with other men didn't end. It thereafter became my husband's responsibility to arrange for my needs. Unfortunately, my husband had neither the colleagues nor clients he could, as bid had, share me with. Nevertheless, my craving then was such that he knew that if he failed to find venues in which I could meet men, I'd do so on my own.

We'd thus far been especially cautions as to what we did in and around where we lived (with the exception of our small neighborhood) for fear that if the 'wrong' people learned I was a slut and put his job in jeopardy. But with Bill no longer available as someone who'd take me out of town on his business trips as his personal slut and sometimes whore, the care I was willing to take in satisfying my needs was rapidly receding. I even went so far as to tell my husband that I was thinking about working as a whore by finding employment at one of the local escort services. That wasn't a threat as much as an expression of what I truly wanted to do. Hence, our occasional trips out of town, labeled 'vacations', were in reality opportunities for me to pursue being the slut I wanted to be and was unable to resist being.

There was no pretense between us, then, as to why we were flying to Las Vegas, and no need for me to hide the fact that I packed clothes that would advertise me as a slut ... dresses that verged on the pornographic along with a swimsuit that did more than merely 'verge'. Vegas was the perfect vacation venue: I loved satisfying my husband's desire to have me dress as erotically as circumstances allowed and Vegas allowed a lot. I had, moreover, long overcome whatever inhibitions or embarrassment other women might feel from having complete strangers look at me either disapprovingly or with lust. Over the years Bill had fitted me out with a substantial wardrobe of slut and stripper attire, and had prohibited me from wearing anything else whenever he took me out of town as his private slut or as a whore for his clients and work colleagues. I was self-confident enough to know I had a body men desired ... long legs, narrow waist and firm perky tits ... and quite frankly it turned me on to think I was encouraging them to fantasize about what it would be like to fuck me.

Upon arriving at the airport in Vegas, as had become my routine with Bill, I went to a terminal restroom and changed into something inappropriate for the plane but intended to display me as something other than a prim and proper wife. In addition to a pair of 6" fuck-me high heels and a skirt that barely covered my ass, I wore a semi-sheer blouse that displayed my tits nicely and rendered my nipples hard and erect. To say I enjoyed wearing tops, sheer or opaque, that let people know how hard my nipples were was, I suppose, an understatement and frankly, in addition to encouraging men to fantasize about me, it led me fantasize about anyone who took notice. I was utterly shameless in all of this, and thus at the hotel check in counter, I made no attempt to hide behind my husband as he signed in ... rather, I did what I could to stand apart from him so as to let anyone and everyone see me.

The same was true after we'd deposited out luggage in our room and, undoing a few of the buttons to my blouse, we headed down to the casino floor. There was intense anticipation on both our parts and since our purpose was, you might say, single-minded, I heading directly to the blackjack tables. If there's a gambling venue where conversations can become quite animated and friendly, and where men feel free to flirt with and seduce a seemingly unattached woman, it's there. The trick was to find a seat between or next to a man I found attractive and seemingly unattached (i.e., unaccompanied by a woman). Since it was early afternoon, I had several options and it was then my supreme good fortune to choose a seat next to Alex. Reasonably well-dressed and, I guessed, a few years younger than me, he had a decent pile of chips in front of him, suggesting he'd either had a bit of luck and would be in a good mood, or wasn't some desperate gambler betting the next month's rent in pursuit of an elusive score.

Not wanting to scare men away, I entered the casino as if unattached, and upon taking my seat, my husband sat at the slots to observe from a distance. It was thereafter evident that Alex took immediate note of me. Self-confident enough to think it would be natural for any man to flirt, especially with my blouse falling open as I leaned to place my bets, I made no effort to adjust my blouse. Indeed, I wanted it to be obvious that I was putting my tits on display. A man could interpret this to mean I was simply a whore looking for business, but the more likely assumption was that I was someone's wife (or recent divorcee) in search of 'adventure'.

I don't know what assumption Alex made in those initial minutes, but he immediately started a conversation with some innocuous questions about where I was from, how much I liked Vegas, gambling, etc while providing some minimal information about himself that seemed to say he was there with no constraints whatsoever (i.e., that he was unmarried and visiting Vegas for a convention he had little intention of attending). Naturally his eyes kept dropping to my tits, whereupon I'd position myself so as to give him the best views possible. If it was obvious that I was deliberately displaying myself, then so much the better since I wanted him to know I was looking for sex. Of course, it didn't occur to him then that I had a husband nearby, but he did correctly surmise I wasn't simply a flirt and that if he 'played his cards right', there was a good chance he'd get me up to his room.

Now if you're wondering what's going thru my mind during this mutual seduction, I can tell you that I was elated to so quickly finding a seemingly available guy who turned me on, and I became exceedingly wet in anticipation of being fucked by him. He was young, attractive, well kept and easy to talk to despite the evident sexual undertones to everything we spoke about. And the longer I sat there the more turned on I became. I learned he'd be in Vegas for three days unencumbered by any apparent restrictions, and so I immediately began fantasizing about spending the weekend with him if he wanted me. And when I learned he was there with some friends it was impossible not to add them to my fantasy.

Keep in mind that I cared not at all if everyone at our table knew I was brazenly making myself available to Alex. Under Bill's the guidance, I'd pretty much had my inhibitions stripped from me. He introduced me countless times to men as a married slut, his collared fuck toy, and on occasion I'd be given to them with the words "she's a whore who will satisfy all of your fantasies." Having allowed myself to be owned and trained as a slut by him, it was his prerogative to present me as he chose and stripping me of inhibitions and and sense of shame was part of my training. Over time, in fact, I found myself turned on by his sexually explicit introductions, especially those that emphasized that I was someone's wife. Thus, rather than being embarrassed to let people know I was inviting Alex to fuck me, my actions at the table simply made me wet.

Too all of this, I should add an additional motive: I wanted my husband to see me shamelessly flirting so he'd know that if Alex and I left the blackjack table together, we most likely were going to his room to fuck. He might see us stop off at a lobby bar for a drink, but he'd know that was merely a prelude to another of my sexual adventures. It turned him on to know someone had his cock in me and I surely wanted to turn him on in that way. However, I have to be honest here: I was also telling him "You wanted me to be a slut and arranged for me to leave that New Years Eve party with Bill knowing I'd spend the night fucking him. Well, now you have what you wanted ... a shameless wanton slut for a wife and if that makes you think of yourself as a cuckold, then so be it." I wanted to later to tell him how fantastic Alex was in bed without having to embellish on a thing, all with an element of vindictive pleasure ... a form of payback for him having encouraged me to become something I'd never intended to become when I married him.

Yes, I'll admit it: I wanted my husband to feel a bit like a cuckold despite his being an eager and willing one. This was not an attitude I held when I was Bill's collared slut, but once I had to be more active in finding men to fuck, I found myself getting pleasure out of thinking of my husband as a cuckold and on occasion getting a measure of pleasure from telling him that he was one. I also sometimes enjoyed telling men that my husband was a cuckold who I'd allow to stay married to me only if he raised no objection to letting other men fuck me. In fact, there was a strong element of truth to this and a part of me that wanted him to change his mind about having a slut for a wife. There was no way I could ever return to being the prim and proper faithful wife so a part of me fantasized a bit about making him a cuckold in the traditional sense of an unwilling one. I cannot say why I fantasized about this, but I did and he knew and accepted it.

In any event, if my husband could get the message at a distance that I was eager for sex with Alex, Alex had to be getting that same message. Unsurprisingly, then, our conversation eventually got to the point. He asked if I was married and instead of simply saying 'yes' I added "but my husband encourages me to have all the fun I want or can get when I visit Vegas." I didn't immediately tell him that my husband was there watching everything; I simply gave that response with a not-very-subtle move that made certain he had an unobstructed view of my tits. I then decided to cut to the chase and asked Alex if he'd like to buy me a drink.

Alex knew precisely what I was suggesting and instead invited me to his room, saying he has a bottle there. Naturally, I told him I'd love to go. But then, on a virtual whim, and a strong belief that nothing at that point would scare Alex away, I walked over to my husband and told him not to expect seeing me again until 5:30. I picked that time out of the air, but with the assumption that it gave Alex a bit more than two hours in his room with me. It wasn't, though, that I wanted to keep my husband updated on anything. He knew what was happening as soon as Alex and I left the table. Rather, it gave unambiguous notice to Alex that despite being married I was indeed free to fuck other men. I don't know if Alex then assumed my husband encouraged me to be a slut or was simply resigned to being a cuckold. But in either case, he now knew that my marriage placed no constraint whatsoever on me.

Neither Alex nor I said much riding up the elevator, but in a sense our sexual relationship began then when he rested his hand on my ass and essentially kept it there when we walked down the hall to his room. Things heated up immediately when the door closed behind us. Spinning me around, he gave me a deep tongue probing kiss while a hand reached up under my blouse and gave one of my tits a gentle squeeze. Needless to say I resisted nothing, but as soon as his mouth broke away from mine I said "fuck me ... oh god, fuck me hard."

Tossing me onto the bed, he pushed my skirt up to my waist, realized I was wearing nothing beneath it, released his gorgeous rock hard cock and in seconds had it buried deep inside me. With a throbbing dripping wet cunt, I didn't want a soft loving fuck ... I wanted to be ravaged, raped even. And I let Alex know it: "Fuck me ... fuck me like a whore ... fuck me like you've never fucked anyone before."

My words had the effect I wanted. He began slamming into me, driving me hard against the bed. I began moaning in pleasure while egging him on: "Fuck me like a whore ... make me your whore ... " whereupon my first orgasm with Alex took control. Oh god it was wonderful and my passion only led Alex to bang me harder. Frankly, I don't know how many times I came, nor can I recall precisely when Alex's cock exploded and filled me with his seed. All I know is that he gave me a fucking that made me want more and committed me to being his for the weekend if he wanted me.

My pleasure didn't end even after he pulled out. He thereafter commenced nibbling and sucking on my tits while sliding his hands deliciously all over me. Naturally this kept me hot and in need of more hard fucking and while Alex needed a bit of time to recover, he used this opportunity to find out a bit more about me while keeping me on the edge of cumming: "So your husband likes the idea of you being here getting fucked? He likes it when other men use you as their fuck toy?"

"Yessss ... yesss he does" I moaned, "he wants me to be a slut."

A few additional questions along the same lines followed, leading me to briefly outline how I became a slut, who my Master had been and what happened to him. Recounting the past turned me on further until I simply cried out "oh god ... just fuck me ... no questions, just fuck me ..."

Alex didn't have to be asked twice but instead of sliding up between my legs, he turned me over, told me to raise my ass in the air, and proceeded to fuck me like the bitch in heat I was. He began fingering my ass. I'd known Alex at that point for little more than an hour, but my response was simply to moan and beg him to fuck my ass. There may be women who don't like being sodomized, but I wasn't one of them. Pulling out of my cunt, he rammed his cock hard into my ass and, reaching around to take a firm grip of my tits, proceeded with another merciless fucking. Squeezing my tits hard, I'm not sure what I said but I know I gave him every signal possible that I wanted my tits to fully feel the vice-like grip of his hands. I should add here that while it may not be the case for everyone, I can cum from a good hard ass fucking and painfully squeezing my tits only adds to the likelihood of my having a great orgasm. And that's what I did ... cum.