The Whore Wife Chronicles

It was cold, the day they were married. The sky was so dark, one might almost think it was night though it was only 3 in the afternoon, and the sun's weak light barely lit the stained-glass windows of the church as John stared down at his new wife's beautiful, delicate face--a face he would delight in defacing.

She was a beautiful woman, with the face of an angel, and the soul of a whore, and now she belonged to him.

"I do." Her words rang across the church and no one spoke for a long moment. Then applause rent the air, and it was done. He closed his hand around her waist, pulled her close in a chaste kiss and escorted her along the aisle past their smiling, clapping guests, down the church steps and into the limousine.

"What's the rush?" she asked sotto voce, but climbed willingly into the back of the limo, lifting the long, wide bell of her white lacy dress. "The guests will think we're rude."

He nodded at the driver and climbed in after her, but didn't answer her question. Instead, he eyed her tits, pushed up high by the tight bodice.

"Pull up your skirt."

Her brows lifted high, now, as she scooted across the leather seat, smoothing down silk and lace to avoid wrinkles. All snooty, she'd been raised to behave a certain way. She wasn't used to taking orders. "Excuse me?"

She had so much to learn, and he would relish teaching her.

The driver sat in his seat but didn't close the privacy partition. Maurice had been with John for years, since he'd graduated college and taken his position at hisf ather's company. Maurice would bear witness to his wife's undoing. "Take us to the hotel," John said.

They had about ten minutes to get there for the reception, and already his dick was so hard in his pants it felt as if it might snap off. "I said, pull up your skirt. Don't make me repeat it again."

Her jaw dropped, patrician brows lifting even higher up to her blonde hair, the perfect pink of her tongue glistening in the dim light.

He tisked and, careful not to ruin her carefully coiffed hair, he wrapped his hand around her thin, elegant neck, forcing her forward, onto her knees on the limo's floor, a position to which she would soon become well acquainted. "We have a marriage to consummate, Mia."

Moving beside her, he lowered his lips to his ear. "Lift your skirt for me."

She shivered.

Maybe it was the position, maybe it was the dominance in his voice, maybe it was just his will subduing her, but she didn't struggle. No one had ever treated her like this in her entire rich and spoiled life. She was probably too shocked to resist.

"Do it."

"J-John? Honey? I'm glad you're so...eager...but can't this wait until after the reception?"

"No."

He rucked her skirt up around her waist, baring her luscious thighs and ass. Garters around her thighs, pale white stockings, and a tiny scrap of a thong. She trembled in his hands.

Anyone who looked through the windows would see a small, slender woman, naked below the waist, on the floor on her hands and knees.

Hooking a finger through the waist band, he yanked the thong down her thighs. Her perfectly waxed asshole and the cleft of her cunt came into view.

As the limo took off down the streets of downtown, he reached for the small black bag on the seat. Inside was a 6" anal plug. She wasn't ready for his dick. Not yet. not there. But she would be. Soon. By the end of their honeymoon he'd have her ass well trained. She'd be taking a daily load there as part of their morning regimen. She'd be begging for it. Instead of coffee as a pickmeup, she'd need an assload of cum to greet the day.

He touched his thumb to the puckered opening, imagining the day she presented herself to him, of her own accord, and begged for his dick.

Not yet.

But it would happen.

She did struggle against the pressure. She was an anal virgin. It had been on her list of things she'd never do. A long list. No anal, no oral, no doggy, no morning sex, no public sex, no threesomes, no period sex, no rough sex, no dirty sex. He was going to take a wrecking ball to that list. Fuck that list. She was his wife now, he loved her, he knew what was best or her, and this was what she needed. To be put in her place.

"The driver can s--"

"I know." He spat on the plug, spreading the spit around the shaft, then spat again right in the center of her round, pink asshole. Her back bowed. "Don't you dare!"

He didn't give her time. Just shoved the pointed head of the anal probe straight into her tight, untried asshole.

"No!" She groaned and twisted, trying to get away, fight against it, drawing up from her hands, but he held her still with a firm grip on her upper arm.

"You will not say that word again to me."

"What's come over you? You can't do—"

"I can." He got his rock-solid dick free of his pants, and shoved it against the opening of her smooth, slippery cunt.

She was wet already, so he slammed inside, looped a hand around her waist to hold her still and fucked her fast, gasping as the walls of her tight cunt clung to him.

She was so wet, dripping. She might pay lipservice to not wanting to be treated like a whore, but her body said otherwise.

"From this day forward, you are open to me. Always. This cunt..." He slammed in so deep she screamed. "This ass..." He slammed in again, making sure his pelvis rammed the plug deeper, and she screamed again. "This mouth..." he stroked his fingers over her lips, worming his way inside, until he stretched two fingers down the back of her throat, filling all her holes.

When she resisted—and she did—he spanked her. When she complained—and she did, loud and irate, mumbling around the thick fingers that stroked the smooth skin at the back of her throat—he spanked her harder. Fast, sharp slaps that silenced her protests, until she just hung there, limp in his arms, taking his cock inside, a plug in her ass, his fingers in her throat, his balls swaying with the motion and slapping against her pussy lips, and the driver looking on.

She moaned and garbled around his fingers, and her hips—the told the truth of what she was. The rocked and moved against him, chasing her own pleasure. She was built for this.

"This is how it will be, Mia. You will do as I say."

The tone of her grunts shifted, the anger giving way to something else. She was getting close. "Look up at him, Mia."

Slowly she raised her eyes, and John watched in satisfaction as her gaze connected with the driver's in the mirror.

"You're a whore, Mia. A whore on her knees taking a dick. A beautiful whore, but a whore no less. My whore."

Maurice watched it all through the mirror and that in its own way did more than anything else to reduce her down to her core.

"Say it, Mia. Tell me you're my whore. Tell him. Tell us what you are." He pulled his fingers from her mouth, closing them around her neck now, shaking her. "Say it."

"I'm a whore! I'm a whore. I'm a whore." It came out in a high-pitched whining keen, as if she was getting close, almost there. She thrust her hips back against him, meeting his thrusts, taking him deeper, the walls of her cunt tightening.

He came hard, exploding inside her, busting a week's worth of saved up cum deep in her cunt. She didn't have time to cum herself. She'd be more docile if he kept her right on the edge. She'd come when he decided she was ready.

She didn't protest as he drew her around to face him, giving the driver an unimpeded view of her bare cunt, already oozing with his cum, and the black plug in her ass. "Open wide."

She didn't, so he used his thumb to part her pretty lips and feed his still-stiff, cum-slick dick into her mouth. "Clean me."

Her eyes narrowed, but she took him all the way in until the head of his cock bumped against the back of her throat. They'd work on that too, by the end of the honeymoon, she'd be swallowing his cock like a seasoned whore. "You liked that, Mia. You juiced all over my dick. It's okay to like it. This is who you truly are. A dirty little whore."

Her throat opened wider at that and her eyes drifted shut. A small moan sounded in the back of her throat.

It was with some regret that he pulled out of her beautiful, wet mouth, and swiped his thumb along the corner of her lips. The limo pulled up at the steps of the hotel where their reception would be held. "Well done, sweetheart. Did you like that?"

She stared up at him, face empty and confused, then reached to pull her panties up her thighs.

"Leave them here."

He waited, expecting her to protest, but she was more submissive than he'd expected. She slid them over her heels. The scrap of white sat in the center of the floor like a victory flag.

"Don't wipe off my cum. I want it dripping down your thighs all night."

"My butt hurts. I can't walk like this."

That made him smile. "Good. It will remind you what you are now." He pulled her to her feet just as the driver opened the door.

"What am I now?"

He helped smooth down the rich skirts of her white gown. "You're my whore."

Something moved across her face, a strange expression of fear coupled with relief. "I thought I was your wife."

He smiled grimly and stepped out of the limo, pulling her up after him. "Same thing. Now thank Maurice for watching."

Her jaw hardened, her skin flushing pink, but she met the driver's eyes. "Thank you for watching."

Maurice's eyes twinkled. "A pleasure, ma'am."