The Transformation of Betty Ch. 16

My husband has already largely recounted my experiences as a sub slut and, in his last chapter, how he initiated my transformation. Now he's asked me to write something from my perspective. So I'll start at the beginning -- when, seeing myself as a proper housewife and shortly after we were married, my husband began pressing on me his fantasy of sharing me with other men. First, though, let me say that my initial rejection of the idea wasn't because I didn't enjoy experimenting with sex in the bedroom or, more publicly, dressing sexy and flirting -- what woman doesn't want to be desired. But being shared was totally at odds with what I'd been taught and felt about love and marriage. However, I said 'proper', not 'prude'. I enjoyed being tied, spanked, and introduced to the pleasures of anal sex. I felt like a slut whenever hubby slid his cock into my ass, and in our bedroom at least we both got off by having me play the part. I let him tie me spread-eagled on the bed, let him play with me with one toy or another until I came, and even, when I felt especially slutty, would masturbate myself to orgasm for his viewing pleasure. However, I didn't see any of this as leading to anything out of the bedroom. It all felt good and surely kept sex from becoming routine and boring. Surely, I didn't initially see this as part of hubby's strategy to have me accept becoming a true slut.

Perhaps I should have caught on earlier than I did about the seriousness with which hubby was approaching his fantasy when I saw some of the things he wanted me to wear when taking me dining, dancing or on vacation -- dresses that barely covered my tits or my ass, high heeled shoes that made me look and feel like a whore, sheer blouses, thong swimsuits, and miniskirts that were little more than belts. Nevertheless, while I might have raised an objection when he went 'too far', at age 25 or 26 it was fun to be naughty by dressing to make men lust. To be honest, I did get wet when I could get away with dressing slutty and admittedly, on more than one occasion I suggested we go someplace where I could wear something utterly shameless.

Its probably correct to say, though, that nothing would have come of this if we hadn't met Bill. I was 26 then, so a man in his 40's could be exotic and sexy. However, it wasn't until the second or third meeting before I realized that my dear husband, sensing my attraction to Bill as well as his availability (he was divorced) targeted him as the man he was going to try to have fuck me. Surely we flirted, but there was nothing unusual there. And I recognized hubby's motives as soon as he started urging me to set aside the baggy sweaters and slacks when around Bill and to wear perhaps a shorter skirt, higher heels, etc. I raised no objections to that since it was a definite turn-on to be sexy for an older man ... and early on I even had a fantasy or two about Bill on my own. I knew this: If I weren't married, Bill wouldn't have had a hard time at all getting me into his bed.

Despite the sexual feelings I had about Bill, I'm not really sure when I began to think seriously about letting him fuck me. I did fantasize about it, that's for sure, once Bill appeared on the scene, and placing a face on the person who was fucking me made my fantasies far less abstract and far more erotic. So when hubby began making me pretend it was Bill's cock in me instead his, it was easy to surrender to the idea in my mind and get turned on by the image he was drawing. And I wasn't above feeding his fantasies if it made sex hotter, crying out things like 'yes, watch Bill fuck me' or 'watch Bill make me cum'. That may actually have been the critical turning point since I found myself wondering in the cold light of day what it would be like to let Bill fuck me and wondering what hubby's reaction to that would truly be.

However, as I learned, a quixotic idea can become subtle desire -- you begin imagining you could do it if (and here's the big one) nothing else changed. And by nothing I mean one's marriage and one's evaluation of oneself. Even a prim and proper wife can imagine being a slut if she can isolate that experience from everything else. Perhaps I was always a latent sub or slut. I don't know if hubby's drip-drip-drip strategy would work on other women, but it did on me. My responses to his fantasy when he posed it by telling me what turned him on, worded one way or another, changed slowly from 'I could never do that' to 'Do you really want me to do that'. Eventually, of course, it became 'If you want me to do it, I will'. Perhaps by then there was an element of revenge in my attitude when I first said that: If hubby truly wanted me to be a slut or a whore, then that's what I'll be! But I also know that I began looking forward to those neighborhood get-togethers with a little more than the usual interest and arranged one of our own after making certain Bill was free to attend. You could say, I suppose, that 'I'd gotten the hots for Bill.'

As fantasy became desire, I found myself doing little things to actually encourage hubby, half out of curiosity as to whether he'd actually set it up. Eventually there was the heart-to-heart talk in which I told him I'd let Bill fuck me and even make me his slut. But before that, when trying on a slutty dress, I'd ask 'think Bill would like this?' or 'think I' seduce him wearing that?' In the bedroom, when being fed the fantasy, I'd moan 'yes, make me a slut' or even 'make me his slut.' At those neighborhood get-togethers, I'd dress even sexier without hubby's urging -- higher heels, dangling earrings, ¼ cup bras that didn't cover my nipples and tighter tops. So while hubby had a strategy to get me to accept being shared, I too had a strategy once I began to seriously entertain the idea of letting Bill seduce me.

In fact, I stopped objecting to the idea once I could no longer suppress the desire to let it happen -- a half year before I revealed that openly. One might say that hubby succeeded more fully than he imagined in making me open to the idea of being shared, but in giving him any encouragement to proceed, it wasn't to satisfy him -- it was to satisfy me.

I realize that none of this answers the question as to how a woman, who was 'as pure as the driven snow' when she met her husband, let his fantasy of being fucked by other men become her own. But it happened. And I did indeed go to the New Years Eve party intending to be fucked by Bill. Thus, while hubby assumed I wore my fuck me heels, blouse and schoolgirl mini-skirt to signal a tentative willingness to fulfill his fantasy, I was in fact determined to maximize the likelihood that the evening would end with Bill's cock in me. Indeed, since my skirt was probably no longer than 13 inches, I debated whether to wear panties. But as a way of committing myself to let happen whatever happened, I let my desires rule and chose to be wholly accessible.

Let me explain the party a little. With upwards of 60 or 70 people attending (mostly but not exclusively couples), the party was an annual event at a neighbor's huge Victorian home. The dining room, study and spacious entry were set up as gambling halls ... roulette and blackjack tables for the most part ... with guests taking turns servicing the tables. Each guest bought 'shares' in the 'house' and were paid later on the basis of its profits. The kitchen was the bar and the spacious living room the 'nightclub' -- dim lights, prerecorded music, and all the furniture set aside or even moved to other rooms.

I wasn't the only woman wearing fuck me heels, but I showed the most leg. If there was time to feel self-conscious, that was masked by knowing I was more than on display -- I was literally whoring myself. Hubby, of course, could read the signals plainly and knew as soon as he saw how I dressed that I was willing to finally give myself to Bill that night. I didn't check, but I'm sure he had a raging hardon as we left for the party in anticipation of that happening. And he in fact did his part soon after we got there by suggesting I ask Bill to dance -- an offer Bill happily accepted.

If you ask what I thought or felt when hubby handed me over, to be honest I'm not sure. I knew the chances he might have had second thoughts about wanting me to be a slut were now zero. He was determined to have Bill fuck me, period! I also knew that by walking over to Bill, I was telling hubby I was committed to being a slut and that soon enough another man was going to make me cry and scream in passion and he filled my cunt with his seed. But as for feelings, they are more difficult to recall or describe. A sense of uncertainty, apprehension and a little scared for sure, but I was also wet in anticipation of the naughty, perhaps depraved, but utterly erotic thing I'd committed myself to.

Having been literally given to Bill, I had no problem letting my husband go off on his own. Bill and I danced, taking occasional breaks to gamble, while hubby, engrossed in other conversations, was obviously doing what he could to leave us alone. So with Bill fetching drinks or encouraging me to play 'black' or 'red', it was almost as if I'd come to the party with him. I, in turn, did nothing to discourage him from assuming I was his. I remember, though, that it was around 10 PM, when dancing that my commitment to being shared was essentially finalized. Bill whispered in my ear that he was going to fuck me, and my response perhaps shocked even me. "Yes, I know" I answered.

"So hubby is right ... you want to be made a slut?"

I didn't know precisely what hubby told him beforehand, but apparently it was enough to invite him to call what we were about to do 'making me a slut.' In any event, with one hand caressing my ass and another squeezed tightly between us, holding my tit thru the thin fabric of my blouse, how could I say anything but "Yes, I do."

With that Bill took me by the hand and, walking thru the kitchen to get a drink along the way, he led me to the back yard, which was otherwise dark and unoccupied. Turning to me, I guess he was making certain this was something I truly wanted to do: "You realize that if I take you home, you wont see hubby until tomorrow sometime?"

A shiver ran thru me, and not of foreboding or second thoughts, but of knowing how utterly naughty, and slutty and incredibly erotic it was going to be for me to spend a night with him: "Yes, I know." And then almost without thinking I added, as if I needed to convey my commitment to be something other than the dutiful monogamous wife, "I'm not wearing any panties."

I felt an erotic thrill the minute those words came out of my mouth, and almost immediately Bill pulled me to him, and with a deep tongue probing kiss, lowered his hand so he could raise my skirt and move a finger between the cheeks of my ass. My cunt was ready to explode and at that instant I could have cared less if anyone saw me with someone who wasn't my husband playing with my then bare ass.

Clearly, hubby had pimped me with no strings attached and if that's what he was intent on doing then I was determined to let myself be the shameless whore he wanted me to be. I had to assume, even, that by leaving me alone with Bill for the evening, he could care less what any of the party's guests thought. If letting any of them think or know I was a slut wife, then if that's what it took for me to actually be one, then so be it. Then, as if to 'seal the deal', Bill commanded "reach down and feel my cock."

Without thinking -- without wanting to think -- I did as he said, letting my hand rest against a hardened cock straining at his paints. Desire and raw lust now had its grip on me and when, with my hand at his crotch, he asked 'you want that in you, don't you?' and all I could do was moan "Yes."

It was then that he nearly lifted me from the ground and pushed his finger into my ass, his tongue now back in my throat. Well, to make a short story shorter, I put both arms around him, returning his kiss, and as he lifted me higher, his finger left my ass and slid into my dripping wet cunt. I came almost immediately and Bill just held me as I did, releasing me only when my orgasm had passed. "My cock's going to make you cum many more times tonight," he said, leading me back to the party.

Bill had succeeded in making me wish we didn't have to wait until midnight. I knew, at least for appearances, I'd have to be with hubby when the clock struck 12. And to be honest, I still felt a touch of guilt about doing what I had just done and knowing what I was about to do. That was silly, but now the guilt was not from knowing I'd committed to being shared or that I let another man finger my cunt and make me cum, but simply because I didn't want to wait until after the new year arrived.

If Bill had proposed to take me from the backyard to his house, I would have eagerly gone with him. Nevertheless, he delivered me to hubby shortly before midnight. "Are you ready for tonight's adventure?" hubby asked matter-of-factly and I wordlessly nodded my head 'yes'. Then, as the clock approached midnight, he held me, kissed me passionately at the stroke of 12 and then made it quick and simple: "I love you ... You're going home with Bill now" and walked away.

For an instant I felt like a whore and if there was a chance I'd chicken out it would have come then. But before I could wrestle with any thoughts, Bill appeared and without saying a word, led me in the direction of the door, retrieving our coats as we left. It all happened so fast, we were probably on the sidewalk less than 10 minutes after midnight. I didn't even have time to look back to see what hubby was doing as I was led away.

Bill ushered me along to his house three doors away, and as soon as the front door closed behind us, he turned me to him, slipped the coat from my shoulders and planted another deep tongue probing kiss on my lips. I returned the kiss, pushing my tongue into his mouth. Bill unbuttoned my blouse totally so he could fondle a breast while holding my head with his other hand. Nevertheless, his first words sill surprised me: "Take the blouse off, slut ... let me see your tits." . I'd never been called a slut before except by hubby, and even then it was only when he was fucking me. But rather than be repelled, it excited me. I did as told and let Bill step back to admire my 34B tits which, at age 27, were firm and, if I must say, delicious. "Cup them in your hands, slut. Hold them out for me to see."

I'd gone to Bill's to do what hubby wanted me to do. But Bill's plan was different. He used the word 'slut' with purpose. I know now that making me a slut ... a true wanton slut ... was his plan. He told me months later that he sensed the possibilities of doing more with and to me than simply fucking me. He eyed me from the start as someone he thought it might be possible to turn and was almost certain he could when hubby first revealed his desire to see me shared ... see me become an uncontrolled wanton whore as another man's cock slid in and out of me. He figured that hubby would never have talked to him about that if I hadn't already signaled my willingness to be shared. My flirting, moreover, and the increasingly sexy clothes I wore to the neighborhood get-togethers convinced him that I was a prime candidate to be trained as a sub slut. And at that moment at least, as I felt the soft flesh of my tits in my hands, my nipples now as hard as they could possibly get, I didn't want to be anything but a shameless slut.

"Take off your skirt, slut, so I can see you finger your cunt."

When thinking back to who I was earlier or who I thought I was, and I try to imagine doing what I was about to do -- finger fucking myself while standing naked in another man's living room -- I marvel at my lack of embarrassment then. Letting my skirt fall to the floor, I looked directly into Bill's eyes, salaciously licked my lips and slowly slipped a finger into my now well-lubricated cunt. Somehow, and I'm not sure how, I'd cast aside all shame and modesty -- I wanted Bill to see the pleasure register on my face as my finger disappear into me, and then let him see the wetness on it as I half pulled it out.

Bill wasn't done making me know what I was letting myself become. Before I had a chance to cum, he pulled my hand away and made me lean with one hand against the back of the living room sofa. He then moved my other hand between my legs and commanded "put the thumb in your cunt and a finger against the entrance to your ass."

By then he doubtlessly knew I was available for a lot more than a simple fuck. Indeed, I would have done anything then to pleasure myself and cum, but I was still taken aback when, standing behind me, Bill reached between my legs, directed my index finger to the entrance to my ass and commanded "Push it in, slut!"

As much as I'd learned to relish anal sex, I'd never fingered my own ass. But with Bill's hand now covering mine and pressed against me, I let my finger slip in. I don't know what I said then, but it must have been the moan or cry of a slut about to explode. "Play with your cunt, slut, with your thumb, but keep that finger in your ass."

I came then and all the time I was cumming, he kept his hand pressed against mine, making certain my thumb stayed in my cunt and my finger in my ass. By then, though, he wanted me as much as I wanted him and as soon as he felt my orgasm subside, he laid me down, on my back on the floor, and knelt between my spread legs.

I was a virgin when I met hubby and the only cock that had ever been in me was his. But as Bill unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and lowered them to his knees, I wanted his cock more than anything. And without saying a word, he slid it in me. Pushing up as deep he could, he held his cock there while, beneath his weight, I squirmed, trying to fuck him even though pinned to the floor. I'd never had another cock in me except my husband's and I can't say whose cock was best. But if only because letting another man fuck me had been such a forbidden thing, Bill's was better, different. It seemed I could feel it in me more than I felt hubby's, creating sensations I'd never felt before. I know now that their cocks were about the same size, but then at least Bill's seemed to be reaching deeper, stretching me wider.

"A married slut, a whore wife who hubby pimped. That's what you are now aren't you?"

"Yesss."

Partially pulling out, he then slammed back down into me: "And what your husband wants is for you to be fucked like a common slut?"

I doubtlessly moaned or grunted with Bill's thrust, along with the word "yesssss".

I had no idea then that Bill was talking not just about that night, but innumerable nights thereafter. My mind wasn't capable of making such distinctions while his cock plowed into me. And then, with one hard thrust, I felt my cunt fill with his seed. My thoughts and emotions about that moment are long gone. I cried and screamed and came with him, bucking and thrusting my hips up against him, wanting his cock to impale me fully. And then it was over. I lay in a state of semi-awareness as he rolled off me. We lay there for a moment before he got up and headed to the bathroom to wipe himself down. I didn't move. I couldn't move. I can't say that was the best orgasm I'd ever had to that point. Such comparisons are silly. But I can say that all the time he was fucking me, and especially when he came, my husband didn't exist. Slowly, though, I regained my senses enough to know that I'd crossed a line I never imagined I could. I'd done it. I'd let myself become a shared slut wife, let another man not only play with me and fuck me, but fill me with his seed. And more than that, I had no regrets and I knew I'd never be able to resist letting this happen again.

I was still on the floor when Bill returned, wearing only the briefest of thong briefs. He was 42 and had clearly kept in shape. No developing paunch or midriff roll. He was what I thought he was when I first met him: sexy. His cock and balls strained at his briefs and I found myself able to take my eyes off them only with a conscious effort. "Do you want to go home now slut, or spend the night here as my slut?"