The Transformation of Betty A07

What follows is a continuation of my recounting of my first visit to Alex. The events described are largely true, but I can't recall precise conversations and those you see here are intended to simply capture the mood of things as I recall them. I've also attempted to describe the feelings and emotions I experienced at the time, with the caveat that those feelings and emotions weren't necessarily confined to where I've set them in this retelling of events.

...

Following the night of raw sex Alex had arranged for me with his friends, he decided to give me a rest for a day... in relative terms ... wherein I napped, ate takeout and satisfied his sexual urges only in a muted soft way. "You'll be working at the topless club tomorrow, so you best not be too tired or sore."

In the meantime he did something I didn't ask him to do ... make a run to the mall to buy me some thong panties. I'd brought a pair with me, but he felt that for my first day on the job they should at least be new. He bought two ... a crimson red one and a shimmering gold piece. I kidded him when he showed them to me, asking how embarrassed he was buying them. It was then, though, that I realized how serious he was in having me be a whore: He was doing what he could to make certain I caught people's attention and make men hot to fuck me.

The time finally arrived for me to show up at my new job ... an afternoon shift as waitress. I won't dwell on that day as it was more work than erotic pleasure. The tips were good and one thing was obvious: the "look but don't touch" rule was vigorously enforced. More interesting were the four girls I had a chance to talk to ... in their late 20s and into their 30s. Two were divorced and none married, so it seemed I was unique not only by being the oldest, but also the sole married slut working that afternoon. I did learn several other things of greater significance. First, the girls were not merely whores at the club, but also on the side. Each was in regular contact with various patrons of the club, which the club's manager encouraged since he thought it good for business. Thus, when one of the girls said "odds are, dear, you'll be quite active as a whore in no time" as if she were revealing a secret, I didn't hesitate to say that that's what I hoped to be.

And I learned something else that had me even more intrigued. The girls socialized among themselves, all were bisexual and several lesbian relationships had developed among them. When they learned I was a sub and had been introduced to the club by someone I hoped would become my Master, their interest in me peaked with one of them commenting "Marylyn will love meeting you." Marylyn didn't work at the club and was simply friends with several of the girls who did. Thus, there was no opportunity for me to talk directly to her, but the implication was that she was interested in finding a sub slut to play with.

Before I left the club's manager approached and told me "there'll be an after hours party tomorrow night at 1:30. I've scheduled you to be there." My cunt grew instantly wet with that announcement. I'd learned from the girls that the parties gave men an opportunity to make private contact with those who specifically interested them. If during lunch or dinner a guy got the hots for one of them, he could approach the manager to express that interest. Since only regulars knew the routine, the manager would then try to accommodate him by telling him the only way to make private contact with any of his girls was to come (for a considerable fee) to the next after-hours party and he'd see what he could do to have that girl there for him. It was then up to her whether to give out her contact information. Seems this got the club off a legal hook since it wasn't directly pimping anyone, but because the girls were 'encouraged' to not refuse any 'reasonable' request, the customer at a minimum got to 'sample the merchandise.'

I was certain Alex would be delighted I'd be attending the next such party and indeed he was. But he was even more intrigued by Marylyn, saying the idea of sharing me with a lesbian Mistress would be a definite turn on. As for my attitude, I'd had a brief lesbian relationship with a stripper years ago, but there was little follow-up when she moved. Later, at my husband's urging, I'd tried to seduce the housewife across the street into having an affair, but she apparently feared her husband's reaction if he learned about it. So when Alex asked how I felt about Marylyn I told him I found the idea of being shared with a Domme intensely erotic.

"It seems as if your job at the club is going to make your life a lot more than just 'interesting'."

"Yes Sir, and it all excites me." There was no exaggeration there. As I wrote before, for two months I'd made do being fucked by only my husband. Now, only days after flying out to see Alex, a world of possibilities had opened up. You might think this was getting to be too much or ask why I could so easily submerge myself in all this sexual activity while feeling increasingly remote from my husband and the obligations I felt toward him. The answer is that to maintain the image of a proper housewife in support my husband's job, for the last four years there was little I could do of an explicit sexual nature in and around where we lived, aside from being provocative at our neighborhood parties. Everything was different at Alex's. I was free and even told to dress as a slut in public, I didn't have to worry about who might learn I was a whore, and it mattered not at all who might see me at dinner or a bar with someone other than my husband. Working at a topless club at home was an impossibility, as was being an escort, call girl or simply a whore. Add to this that Alex cared not at all about people learning he had a married slut living with him, so the freedom I'd experienced when Bill took me out of town I could now enjoy 24/7. This and the promise of new sexual adventures made it impossible for me to give my husband and our marriage much thought.

No doubt there were those who expected me to at least feel some guilt for what I was doing. Let me confront that issue directly. First, whatever guilt I might feel was tempered by the resentment I sometimes felt toward my husband for his contribution to making me what I'd become and what I could never be; namely the proper housewife leading an otherwise normal life as a member of local women's clubs with hobbies like tennis and pottery. I felt that I'd never have become a slut had it not been for the fantasies he fed me about being shared and the encouragement he gave for pursuing an affair with Bill. He was thrilled to learn that Bill was sharing me with his friends, colleagues or clients, and when Bill moved to Europe he even reinforced the idea of finding venues there where I could serve for a time as a fuck toy for whoever won me at a slut slave auction. The sexual freedom I was enjoying now, moreover, was the consequence of being taken to Vegas and my husband doing all he could to facilitate Alex making me his slut. If he was uncomfortable with me making the duration of my stay with Alex indeterminate, I reminded myself that he'd seen how I'd responded to Alex. Thus, he knew that if things worked out on this visit half as well as they had in Vegas, I'd readily surrender to whatever Alex wanted of me.

However, any resentment I felt was tempered by the fact that from day one I'd made all the critical decisions. My husband hadn't hypnotized me into doing something I didn't want to do. With harsher words I could have shut down any talk of being shared; instead I respond by letting his fantasies become mine. Having agreed to leave that New Year's Eve party with Bill knowing I was doing so in order to let Bill fuck me, I still could have treated that night as but a one-time experiment in being naughty. Instead I eagerly went to Bill's the following night and the night after that and the night after that and thereafter invited him to come to our house whenever he wished to fuck me. Of course, I wouldn't have been the first wife to have an affair, but it was my decision to let things go far beyond that. When I first met his friends, I didn't call my husband and ask for permission to let them fuck me -- I simply allowed it myself. And I did the same when Bill took me out of town and introduced me as a whore to his business clients. Once Bill left the scene I could have forced our marriage into a more conventional mold. Instead I was relentless in encouraging my husband to find venues whereby I could meet men for sex and I eagerly left for Las Vegas knowing precisely the purpose of our trip. I was what I was because I'd chosen to be what I was. And I'd chosen to be what I was because the pleasures I experienced along the way were too great for me to forego.

No regrets, then, were in my head as Alex and I headed back to his apartment ... only erotic excitement. Nothing extraordinary occurred, though, after we got home and the next day. Alex seemed to be 'saving' me for the after-hours party. Needless to say I was a ball of nervous excitement in the hours leading up to it. I'd taken a nap during and, after a late take-out dinner, went about choosing what to wear. It took me an hour to decide but I ended up wearing precisely the same dress and shoes I'd worn for the club's manager when I was being interviewed for the job. That was the easiest dress to take off me and I surely didn't want men fumbling with buttons and zippers in the lead-up to fucking me.

When Alex dropped me off after encouraging me to give whoever had asked for me a good time, I found but a few cars in the parking lot. I have no idea why that surprised me ... this was to be a private party and not one with an open invitation. I entered the club past Karl, the club's security guard and bouncer, and found myself in a room with five men and three other girls, two of whom I'd met my first day as a waitress. At that point, I was the only girl wearing anything and immediately one of the men walked up to me and said quite bluntly "you're the new whore Harry hired," with Harry presumably being the club's manager.

With such a blunt introduction, all I could say was "yes, I am." What was I supposed to do ... deny the obvious?

Looking around, I noticed that several bottles of booze and mixers were set out on the bar but the rest of the club's stock was locked up behind wire mesh doors. Harry wasn't about to let his bar be totally decimated during one of these parties. But the stark atmosphere made it obvious that I was there for only one reason -- to be fucked by whoever had requested my presence. And while there wasn't much happening when I entered, that changed quickly. One of the girls had just set herself down on one man's lap, facing him, and it was obvious that his cock was already in her. Another was quickly approached by another of the men who immediately began feeling her up. The third girl had disappeared along with two of the men and I had no idea where they'd gone. Clearly, this wasn't going to be a party with any niceties. The men were there to fuck whores, and I was a whore. "Come here," the man who first approached me commanded, "I want to fuck you."

With that he pushed me face down over one of the round stationary tables, lifted the hem of my dress, and after slipping on the requisite condom rammed his cock unceremoniously into me. Then, while giving me as rough a fucking as possible, he pushed my dress up further until it fell off in front of me and was tossed aside. Reaching around he roughly took my tits in his hand and began squeezing hard. So abrupt was his assault that I cried out "oh goddddd ..." as much from shock as from pleasure. Quite frankly, I felt as if I were being raped.

"You love it you dirty bitch, don't you," he asked while slamming into me.

You might think that being treated so crudely would be a turn off. And for the first few seconds it was, but the sensation of his cock stuffing me had its intended effect, and seconds later all I could do was moan "Yesssssssssssss ....."

"You're a fucking married whore who loves feeling raped, aren't you?"

"Yessssssssssssssss ...." I again moaned and by then he was absolutely right.

"And I'll bet you're here because you need the kind of fucking your husband can't give you."

I did admittedly have a rape fantasy wherein I was dragged into some alley and the members of some gang or biker club mercilessly fucked me and filled me with all the seed they could produce. This wasn't a rape but I was getting fucked about as brutally as I fantasized about it. So it should not come as a surprise that I cried out "YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS ....." in response and seconds later came and came hard.

My orgasm only invigorated whoever was fucking me (I still didn't know his name). Slamming into me he said such things as "you're a horny little bitch," "I'm gonna drive my cock into your stomach," and "I wish your husband were here watching you."

What could I do but grunt and moan from thrusts I thought might rip the table's base from the floor over which he had me spread. In retrospect I can say that if my assailant thought of me as little more than a slut wife with cuckold husband, the speed with which I came only confirmed his assumption that I was an under-fucked bitch. And perhaps I was since I came yet again.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught the girl riding a man's cock seeming in the midst of her orgasm, while the other girl appeared to be getting fucked in her ass. There still was no sign of the third girl and the men who disappeared with her. None of that was of much interest to me with a cock still slamming away at me. Suddenly he stopped, stiffened and came, though his condom kept me from enjoying his warm seed. Pulling out and removing the condom, he directed me to sit down so that as soon as he had put his cock back into his pants he sat next to me on the sofa. Leaning over to me he let his tongue slide over my ear and while fondling one of my tits whispered "very good, slut ... I know when a whore isn't faking it. And you are obviously a whore that likes to cum."

"Y ... Yes Sir, I am ... and thank you."

"Harry says you're married. Does your husband know you're a whore?"

"Yes Sir, he does ..." However, I knew that any good whore tries to reinforce the fantasies her clients bring with them. And since I wanted to be the best whore I could be, I acted accordingly without necessarily overstating things: "but you just fucked me better than my husband has in years. That's why I love being a whore."

"So does your husband approve of you being a whore or does he simply have to accept the fact that you are one?"

Sensing that a bit of a lie would spice things up, I answered "He knows he has no choice but to accept what I am." I didn't, though, want to get too deep into my background and have to explain about Alex or anything else, so I decided a quick shift in the direction of our conversation was in order. I asked if he was married ... he was ... and if his wife knew he was here.

Needless to say, she had no idea he was at the club ... she thought he was still out of town on business and wasn't scheduled to return home, conveniently, until morning. And then he added "I'd like to occasionally contact you so we could meet privately, in say a motel or hotel."

Frankly I was thrilled, since this was my chance to be a true working whore, a prostitute. Men might not understand this desire when one doesn't need the money, but I'd bet there are women, happily married housewives even, who would. It's dirty, depraved and perhaps the ultimate act of being a slut ... and intensely erotic. So of course I answered "I'm a whore, Sir ... you can contact me anytime you feel the urge to see me and I'll meet you wherever you want."

He told me his name ... Phil ... and I gave him my telephone number whereupon he again quickly changed the tone of the conversation, telling me "I want to fuck you again, slut ... and I want to fuck your ass."

I didn't say a word in response, but instead walked over to the same table he'd fucked me on before, bent over it, gripping the far edge while spreading my legs to give him unimpeded access. It took but a minute for him to slip on a second condom and plunge his cock into me. And I'll confess this: Although I found him only minimally attractive, an erotic thrill raced thru me the moment his cock penetrated. I was a whore about to get her ass fucked, and for me the erotic thrill was the sense I then had of being utterly depraved and shameless. He immediately began thrusting in and out with the same vigor and force as he had previously. In less than a minute he had me grunting and groaning "Oh goddddd ...," "Oh god yesssssss ..." with each thrust, and finally "God YESSSSSSSSSSSSS ..." when I came.

I frankly can't recall if he came, but thereafter he asked how I became a slut and my husband's role in things. He prefaced that by telling me something I'd heard before; namely, he wished his wife were a slut or at least would agree to let other men occasionally fuck her. I've always wondered how pervasive that fantasy is among husbands and what percentage tell their wives about their fantasies. I've also wondered what percentage of wives fantasize about becoming sluts but fail to do so because of how they think their husbands would react. I'd bet there's non- trivial percentage of marriages in which both spouses fantasize about the wife fucking other men but never make fantasy a reality because each is afraid to communicate honestly with the other. Phil confessed to envying my husband, but doubted he'd want his wife to become a working whore: "I'd simply love to see another man nail her and watch her lose all control."

"Well, that's what my husband initially wanted, but he got a lot more than that."

By this time the fourth girl had reappeared with her two 'friends'. I later learned that generally, when men ask to see a girl from the club at the next party, it's first come first serve, with one guy per girl. Harry made an exception in this case because not only were both men good friends and customers during the day, but the girl, Helen, told Harry that he should feel free to arrange for her to see as many men who ask for her. The two guys, then, had taken her into a back room to fuck.

Phil though wasn't done with me. He wanted a striptease, so he told me to put my dress back on and begin dancing in front of him. A striptease isn't easy when all you have is one item of clothing to take off, but I did the best I could. I'd lower a shoulder strap then raise it, slip the dress aside to fondle the exposed tit, feed him the tit then pull back. Since there were no constraints on how raw my dance could become, I openly fingered my cunt inches from him, then let my dress fall back to cover what I was doing to myself ... all by way of making my dance a 'tease'.

Phil apparently needed this to get his cock hard again, and frankly, I did a good job of turning myself on at the same time. When I moved up close to him he reached up and pushed a finger or two into my cunt. I just stood there, eyes closed while he finger fucked me. As my breathing got heavy and I inched closer to him so he could push his fingers deeper into me he said "you want it again, don't you slut ... you want my cock in that dirty little hole of yours, don't you."

With a burning need that wasn't for show, all I could do was moan "Yessssssss ... fuck me." I had at that point surrendered to being utterly shameless and more than anything I wanted his cock in me.

He pulled me two him with the fingers in my cunt, then taking a tit in his mouth so he could begin nibbling and biting. He had me where he wanted me and I closed my eyes, pressed my tit against his mouth and moaned "Oh god, make me cummmm ... Oh god yesssssss ..." And that's precisely what he did with his cock after again pushing me over that now well-used table.