The Transformation of Betty Ch. 15

Once again, it pays to catch all the signals a woman gives in such situations. Although she uttered a few complaints about how hard it was for her to walk in the shoes, she wasn't the least bit hesitant to model the dress and shoes for me while posing such questions as "are you sure I look good in this?" and "this isn't too extreme, is it?"

Clearly, my wife was enjoying our little shopping expedition, and I know she turned herself on admiring her attire in front of the shop's mirror. After finalizing the purchases, she asked something to the effect of where I expected her to wear what we'd bought. Once again, she was putting all the responsibilities on me, but I was prepared with an answer: "I'm taking you dancing tonight to ____ after dinner."

No objection whatsoever was raised to that proposal and indeed, when it came time to dress that evening, there was no need for me to ask her again to wear what we had bought that afternoon: She simply appeared wearing only thong panties, the dress and her new fuck me heels. As for the ubiquitous butt plug, I had plans for that too. Secretly slipping it into the car's glove compartment, I fully intended to ask her later to wear it.

Dinner was uneventful, though I could tell that my wife enjoyed the occasional stares from the men. The restaurant was one that, after 9 PM, ushered in a small live band in an adjacent lounge and that's where we went early on to make sure we had a table. It was when I excused myself to go to the restroom, however, that I made a side trip to the parking lot to retrieve the plug. I knew, though, that it couldn't remain there long. I might disguise the bulge in my pocket by keeping my hand strategically placed, but as soon as we got up to dance my wife would see or feel it against her.

When I did hand it to her, her reaction was one of surprise: "When did you get that?" followed by the compliant comment "I'll have to go to the lady's room to put it in." And without saying another word, she stood up and left the table.

She looked stunningly sexy and slutty. The shoes accentuated not only her legs but also the sway of her hips. The loose fabric of the dress's flair skirt, in turn, magnified every movement of her ass. Whether she wanted to or not, she looked every bit the part of the seductive slut, the unashamed libertine wife. More than one man turned his head to admire the view.

Immediately upon her return I led her to the dance floor thinking 'Good thing she's wearing her thong panties. It would be quite an experience to have the plug slip out onto the floor.' Of course, absent the panties I'd never have asked her to wear the plug. I wasn't quite that adventurous ... yet.

As we slowly danced I recall saying "you realize that any man who sees you now almost certainly wants to fuck you?"

"Yes, I know that," she answered softly.

I need to interject here that I'd brought her to the restaurant dressed as she was for two reasons. The first was that, as an extension of my ultimate fantasy, it was always a turn on to display her. Taking her out in public dressed as a slut surely wasn't equivalent to having another man fuck her, but it was a form of sharing her. And even back then, if I could have talked her into being a part time stripper at some upscale gentleman's club, I would have eagerly done so. The second reason was that I wanted to slowly strip her of her inhibitions and get her used to the idea of being shared in some way. So my next question was "what would you say if I told you I might want them to fuck you?"

"I couldn't do that," was her immediate reply.

"Are you so sure you couldn't ... especially if you were already hot?"

"I don't think so," she said, unsure what the correct answer was, but not yet willing to admit that she might be unable to resist surrendering to her passion.

I was not, however, prepared to leave things at that, especially with the stiff erection that strained in my pants. Moving my hand down a few inches below her waist, I lifted her dress no more than an inch ... certainly not enough to uncover any part of her ass, but enough to make the threat of doing so real: "What if I lifted your dress here on the dance floor to uncover the bottom of your ass?"

"Oh god ... you wouldn't do that, would you?" she asked, aghast at the suggestion.

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no," I answered. "But what would you do if I did?"

"I'd die of embarrassment."

"Perhaps. But would your cunt get wetter than it already is?"

"I ... I don't know ... possibly ... yes ... probably," she finally admitted.

That answer was a major admission. She was, in effect, admitting that not only was she turned on by being displayed in a way that encouraged men to speculate that she was a slut, but that she was also turned on by being a slut. Nevertheless, I wasn't prepared to push things further. So I resisted any temptation to follow through on my 'threat' and instead, when the music ended, led her back to our table.

I don't want to disappoint the reader here, but nothing much happened as a result of our conversation and this little experiment in public display. Surely the fucking she got later that night at home was intense. If there was a consequence, it lay in the fact that I now knew of her willingness to tempt fate with her appearance and how turned on she became when she slipped away from the role of the proper wife.

She too was learning about herself and about how erotic it can be to be something other than what she had been taught to be when growing up. She was surely correct to say that if I had exposed her ass, she'd have been incredibly embarrassed. But she now knew in no uncertain terms that being displayed as a slut excited her. And she also realized that there might be a circumstance in which she'd want me to display her ass to other men.

Fundamental attitudes about sex and a woman's right to experience pleasure were clearly undergoing a significant change within her. But change is intimidating, especially when it runs counter to years of training and socialization. She had to learn not only that she could enjoy 'naughty' things, but that being naughty need not be dangerous. If there was a danger she wanted to avoid then it was losing control. She might not have wanted to be responsible for anything that happened, but she also needed to feel she could say No.

I refrained, then, from pursuing any further adventures for a time because I wanted to let her adjust to things and to not think I was rushing her into anything in a mindless way. I also needed time to survey my own thoughts as to where we were going. Admittedly, we hadn't yet done much, but I was surprised ... surely in a pleasant way ... as to how much the eroticism of reality had thus far matched my fantasies. To say that my cock was hard when seeing her try on slutty dresses or watching her walk across the room of a restaurant in something that barely covered her tits is an understatement. Moreover, I felt not an ounce of jealousy when men looked at her, knowing they were most likely fantasizing about what it would be like to fuck her. If anything, it all made the fantasy of sharing her more compelling, and heightened my determination to make it happen somehow, somewhere, with someone.

Once again, though, I saw no simple way to accomplish that goal. It was one thing to get her to dress slutty wherein the primary adjective that could be applied to what she was doing was 'naughty'. It's quite another thing to have her do something that she had up until then labeled perverted or immoral. Thus, things remained as they were for six months or so. In that time I visited the slut dress shop on my own and bought her one additional slut dress ... one she had looked at when I first took her there and which was no more revealing than the one she already owned. She had no hesitation, moreover, about wearing it on several occasions that were not too different from her first experience with being displayed. Clearly, she enjoyed being provocative, loved the stares and attention she got from men, and relished the effect all of this had on me and how hard I fucked her afterwards. I wondered, though, if her pleasure from being displayed derived primarily or even solely from a belief that our adventures would go no further than they had wherein the primary consequence was the intense sex we enjoyed at home.

I'll admit that since I saw no clear path to having her used as a slut by another man, I could have been satisfied with the sexual state of our marriage. My wife, after all, was anything but conservative in our apartment and I'd fucked her more than a few times in the living room with the curtains open. In fact, she readily admitted that being watched was a definite turn on. Nevertheless, we rarely discussed sex in the cold light of day. Everything was more or less by innuendo. The few times we did talk openly it was about something we had done and not something we planned to do. We certainly did not confront directly my fantasy of having her shared. Like most couples, then, our conversations were uninhibited only in the heat of passion. It was at those times, and with my cock usually buried deep in her cunt or ass, that she'd admit to being turned on by the prospect of being accidentally watched, that her cunt got wet whenever she dressed provocatively and slutty and made men want to fuck her, that she enjoyed her butt plug because it made her feel like a slut, or that she looked forward to having her ass spanked or whipped. And always those 'conversations' took the form of me asking salacious leading questions, and her giving simple responses such as 'yes', accompanied by moans and groans of pleasure as my cock stuffed her.

But with the fantasy of having her fucked still alive in my head, I wanted to ignite similar fantasies in hers. I began buying sex magazines on a monthly basis that contained a variety of erotic letters and stories written ostensibly by husbands and wives on a range of subjects including slut housewives, BDSM, D/s relationships, exhibitionism, and so on. If I encountered something I deemed especially erotic that pointed in the direction of my fantasies, I'd highlight it and leave it on the bedside table for my wife to read. She, in turn, read every highlighted letter, but rarely provided me with any commentary unless I explicitly asked for it. And even then her responses were non-committal comments such as 'Yes, that was erotic,' 'I'm not sure I'd like that,' 'That could be fun in the right circumstance,' or 'I'm not sure what they did is really possible.' Her most suggestive response would simply be something like 'I did get wet reading it.'

I took careful note of the fact, though, that she never raised specific objections to letters recounting the experiences of wives who'd been shared or made a slut. And as time went on I began focusing on those letters by asking her pointed questions about them whenever we fucked -- questions such as 'you'd like another cock in you, wouldn't you?' or 'bet you'd love having another cock to suck on now?' Eventually my 'questions' became simple declarative sentences designed to reveal my fantasies ... fantasies tied to whatever we had last read: 'I'd love to see you fucked like she was,' 'I'd love watching you take a cock up your ass like she did' or 'I bet you'd cum harder than you've ever cum if you were made a fuck toy like her.' My wife was no dummy. She knew I fantasized about other men fucking her, and she played along with that fantasy as long as it was confined to our bedroom. She had no way yet of knowing how serious that fantasy was.

I suspected nevertheless that the fantasy was beginning to take root in her mind when she stopped raising specific objections and instead would say only something like 'I don't know if I could do that.' But again, I couldn't preclude the possibility that I was hearing only what I wanted to hear. I was certain that reading the stories and letters I gave her had to have some effect on her. But it was also possible that she saw things as merely another form of play in the privacy of our apartment. And I was not willing to test the hypothesis that she was beginning to wonder what it would be like to be shared since I still had no way of implementing my fantasy even if she gave me the green light to do so.

The big break came when we bought our first home and moved out of our apartment. As I indicated in the first chapter of "The Transformation of Betty," the neighborhood into which we moved was quite social with at least four or five barbeques per year plus the New Years Eve party the couple across the street held annually. We moved in the spring, and within a month we were invited to one of those barbeques. It was there that we first met Bill ... our unmarried older neighbor from down the street. Nothing, however, occurred that gave the slightest hint of what was to come. In fact I don't think my wife or I exchanged more than a few words of greeting with him at the time.

Bill, however, stood out somewhat from the rest of our neighbors in that he was unaccompanied by a spouse, and we learned in the course of the usual gossip that he was divorced and living alone in one of the smaller houses on the street. But for the next several months sex took a backseat to furnishing and decorating our new home. Trips to sex and slut dress shops were supplanted by visits to drapery, furniture and hardware stores while evenings out to restaurants or dance clubs on Friday or Saturday nights were replaced by wallpapering or painting some bedroom or hallway. Indeed, after a month or two it seemed that our sex life had reverted back to what it had been when we were first met ... occasional sessions of intense but nevertheless unexceptional fucking. I had even forgone several issues of my favorite sex magazine with explicit letters and stories.

My fantasies were reawakened at the next neighborhood get-together where Bill engaged my wife in a long conversation. It seemed from a distance that they were flirting, but if so, it was in a purely innocent form. Nevertheless, it was then that my fantasy of having my wife fucked focused on Bill. He was available, easy to talk to, and, despite the 15 year gap in our ages, unquestionably attractive to women like my wife. Later that day I talked with my wife about the people we met at the barbeque, and she admitted finding Bill an engaging 'fun guy' and, though hesitant to admit it, sexy.

My wife had almost never hesitated to give her views of various men as to whether or not she thought them attractive, handsome or sexy, and so I took her initial hesitancy about admitting that she found Bill attractive as a signal that she found him something more than merely sexy. This is an important lesson for any husband who wants to talk his wife into allowing herself to be shared and fucked. One needs to carefully read all the subtle signals a woman gives as to her own fantasies and desires. I suspect that few women, even those who crave being used as sluts, are willing to openly reveal that fact. Instead they engage in a subtle game of signaling their desires without committing to anything. It may or may not have been the case that my wife already had begun to imagine what it would be like to let Bill fuck her, but she never would have admitted to anything more at that point than to say simply that women in general (as opposed to her specifically) were likely to find him 'interesting' and sexy.

Her real thoughts and fantasies, though, were revealed the next time we fucked. With my cock once again stuffing her cunt, I asked as she moved to the edge of cumming "I bet you'd love having Bill's cock in you, now?"

"Oh godddd ..." was her simple reply.

But I pressed on "I bet he knows how to fuck a woman," I said, more in the form of a question than an observation.

"M ...maybe" she whimpered as my cock pushed in deeper.

"I bet you'd love to find out ... love to feel him stretching your cunt, wouldn't you?"

"Ohhhhhhhh," was again her only response.

"... love feeling his seed filling you?"

"Ohhh ... yessssss," she finally moaned as her orgasm overtook her.

Although it wasn't clear whether her moaning 'yes' was in response to my question or simply to her orgasm, I nevertheless took it as an opportunity to probe further. "I'd love to watch him fuck you and make you his slut."

"Yesssssssss ..." she moaned again as her hips bucked up to meet my thrusts.

"I'd love watching him make you cum, watch him make you as his fuck toy."

And as she gasped and cried out "yessssssss ..." while her orgasm continued to ravage her, I knew that the fantasy of becoming a shared housewife ... of being fucked by Bill in particular ... was now alive and well in her head.

It was alive and well in my head too as I fucked her as hard as I could, doing what I could to convey the message that the idea of having Bill fuck her turned me on as much as anything could. Slamming my cock harder and deeper into her, I said to the rhythm of my thrusts "He'd fuck you so hard ... he'd make you a slut ... he'd make you cum again and again ..." Then, as I allowing my cock to explode, she let out a long wailing scream and a gasping 'yessssss ... oh goddddd yesssssss.'

The subject of Bill didn't arise after we were done. I knew there was a world of difference between what a woman would agree to once her lust has been satisfied versus what she'd say in the heat of passion. It was surely premature to proceed with any explicit scheme to get her in bed with him. But at the same time, I began to see that the realization of my fantasy could be engineered, provided I didn't screw things up by rushing matters and scaring my wife with the prospect of making her a true slut. We'd finally met someone who I could incorporate into my otherwise vague fantasy of having my wife being fucked, someone who my wife found attractive and sexy, someone who was available, and someone with whom we were guaranteed to have repeated interactions. And all of this at a time when she was clearly warming to the idea of being sexier and sluttier than she had allowed herself to be at any other time in her life.

So I took a more cautious path -- that of fortifying whatever beliefs she already had as to how enjoyable it was to be a slut. A week or so after she'd last seen Bill, I found an excuse to drive up the coast on business, and I took her with me. We stayed at a somewhat upscale motel, where I specifically requested a ground floor room. That first evening, after an otherwise uneventful dinner, we settled back to relax in our room, which overlooked the motel's parking lot. But while she freshened up in the bathroom, I opened the window's curtains. When she returned, I turned down the lights but made sure the bathroom door remained open with the light on, thereby casting the room with a warm indirect glow. Making no excuses, I directed her immediately to the bed and proceeded to strip and play with her. At some point she protested that the curtains were open and that people in the parking lot could see us, but I responded with "you know you want to be watched!"

She offered no objection to that assertion, since it stated a fact. And although I cannot say whether anyone did see us, the evening was nevertheless productive. With my cock once again enveloped by the warm wet tight caress of her cunt, I asked her "You'd love it, wouldn't you, if Bill were watching outside the room right now?"

I'd actually expected an ambiguous reply despite her state of arousal, but instead I got a simple moaning "yesssssss."

I interpreted her response to suggest that she was already accommodated to being seen or used as a slut by him in some fashion. And so I became even more aggressive and explicit in what I asked her: "And if he were out there, you'd want me to invite him into the room so he could fuck you too, wouldn't you?"