The Whore Wife Chronicles Ch. 04

An hour later, bags packed, semen trickling down Mia's thighs from John's use of her tight cunt, John led her down the hallway. She'd fixed her hair and makeup, and was dressed in the thin white sundress he'd selected for her. It came all the way from Italy and cost nearly a thousand dollars. No bra, no panties. She looked like a very rich whore. The bellman, not the same as the man who'd delivered breakfast, carried their bags behind them, no doubt eyeing the length of her toned legs under the short dress.

When they got on the elevator, John watched as the bellman's eyes lingered on his wife's hard nipples. From the way he looked, John had to guess that word had spread about his wife's performance that morning.

Mia's face turned red under the scrutiny.

"Turn around, Mia. Lift your skirt and show him the plug."

A tear trickled down her cheek, but Mia lifted her skirt, bent forward. John's cum trickled out thick and white between her pussy lips.

John poked at the plug, making her groan. The horny cunt still hadn't come yet today.

"Very nice," said the bellman, a chubby, pimpled man in his mid-twenties, and Mia dropped her skirt and turned around.

"Would you like to touch her tits?"

"Yes." The bellman set down the bags and reached out with both hands to cup Mia's tits, her face heating bold red.

For the duration of the elevator ride, she submitted to his groping. When the doors slid open in the lobby, the bellman dropped his hands and picked up the bags. "Your wife is beautiful."

"I know," said John, and Mia followed him humbly through the lobby and into the waiting car. Maurice sat in the drivers' seat.

She slid inside and waited while John paid the bill, shifting uncomfortably under the steady gaze of the driver watching her in the mirror. The plug was a constant weight in her ass, a steady reminder of what she was. Humiliation simmered, but so did a deep realization that she deserved this. She'd been a bitch her whole life, and somehow now, John had done something to her. All she wanted was an orgasm. It took the pressure off. Her mind had quieted. Her nipples got harder and she squirmed, desperate to touch herself, show herself to this driver. But not without John's permission.

He might let other men touch her, but she wouldn't invite it. He hadn't let her come earlier. Had told her to ride his cock in the chair in the hotel room, but the second he'd cum inside her, he'd told her to get off, and clean him with her tongue. She'd have been so quick, if only he'd let her.

John got in and the door slammed. The driver took off for the airport, his gaze returning frequently to her in the mirror.

"How are you this morning, Maurice?"

"It's a good day, John. And you?"

"Can't complain." John pulled the newspaper from his briefcase. It was a long ride to the airport. "Show him your tits."

Her face heated and she hesitated. That look crossed John's features, the one that promised punishment, the one that spoke of displeasure. She didn't want Maurice to see her breasts, but she did want to please John, and she didn't want him to spank her, or worse make her wear the larger plug.

She lowered the straps of the dress down her shoulders and the dress dropped down so her small breasts popped into view.

"Rub your nipples."

She didn't even question that one. It was exactly what she wanted to do. She was so horny. Maurice's eyes stared at the mirror. She tugged on her sensitive nipples.

"Spread your legs, lift up your skirt, show him your pussy."

Maurice adjusted the mirror slightly, and even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she parted her legs wide.

"Rub your pussy."

She slid her fingers down, deep inside, rubbing her clit. "Can I come?"

John made a face like he was thinking hard about that. "I don't know."

"I did everything you said. Please."

"You have been a very good girl this morning. You sucked off that server so well, and rode my dick like a champ."

"Please," she slid her fingers deeper, stroking over the slick cum.

"Oh, very well."

She moaned with relief. It took less than thirty seconds for her to buck her hips on her fingers, the plug in her ass, her eyes glued to the mirror where Maurice watched. The orgasm came on fast, and hit like a ton of bricks, left her feeling sleepy and heavy.

"Scoop up all my cum from earlier, and eat it," John said and she didn't even blink, just scooped up the thick globs of it and licked it from her fingers. Salty, clumpy cum. It tasted awful, but so damned right, sliding down her throat and clinging to her tongue.

"Climb through the partition now and suck Maurice's cock while he drives us to the airport. When you're done thank him, crawl back here and you can lick my balls until we get there."

It was a relief to have something concrete to do. When her mouth was full of cock, she couldn't think, she couldn't doubt, she couldn't feel the usual worry that controlled her mind and made her lose sleep at night. With a cock in her mouth, she could relax. Maurice's cock was an ugly thing, short and fat with a head like a torpedo, but his cum was thin and easy to swallow. He filled her mouth and she didn't even have to question it, just gulped down the offering as if that was her job.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're very welcome, ma'am."

It took an hour to get to the airport and she spent most of that time with John's balls in her mouth. Only at the very end, did he bend her over the seat and fuck her hard, like an animal while Maurice watched, which was how she ended up passing through security with yet another load of cum trailing down her thighs.

She could swear everyone saw. It felt as if every set of eyes landed on her, saw her hard nipples in the sheer dress, lingered between her thighs, saw the cum trailing down her legs. At security, the guard had to use a wand and her face blazed so hot she wanted to cry, when the guard hesitated between her legs, clearly realizing what a whore she was, pantiless and filled with cum and a plug, but she didn't stop her, merely sent her on through.

The flight to Shanghai was a long one, she was horny the entire time, uncomfortable from the plug in her ass and the cum tingling inside her cunt, and unable to do anything except relive the strange first day of her married life, wondering and worrying about what John would do to her next, but he merely settled into his seat and watched movies or read, acting for all the world, as if it were perfectly reasonable for her to be flying across the world with the cum of two strangers in her belly, a plug in her ass, and his cum up her cunt.

Finally, when she couldn't take it, she turned to him. "May I go make myself cum in the bathroom?"

His eyes crinkled like they did when he was very pleased. "Eat my cum out of your cunt first, film it with your phone. I want to see it later."

She nodded humbly and wobble-walked to the bathroom, where she scooped the cum eagerly up from her thighs, licking her fingers, filming it one handed, desperate for the cum to ease the burn.

She came again hard, thinking about how she felt when John made her wait on the bed as the server came in, imagining what he must have thought of her, what a whore she'd been, what a whore she'd continue to be, when he fucked her ass. And god, what would he do with her in China? An image flashed of him whoring her around to his business partners there. Her whole body shook and an unladylike grunt tore from her throat as she came hard enough to shake the plane.

But it did little to end her torment.

By the time they arrived in Shanghai, Mia was pretty much used to life with a butt plug. She had not gotten used to the stares of fellow passengers, however. She looked the part of a whore, the sheer dress, the hard nipples, even the little gold sandals on her feet and the wild look in her eyes when she saw her face in the bathroom mirror made her look like some sort of ancient pleasure slave.

It was bad enough being blonde in China, but the way she was dressed caused everyone, male and female alike, to stare.

John draped an arm around her shoulders as they walked toward baggage claim. "I'm looking forward to fucking you, beautiful cunt. Something about flying always makes me horny."

Her pussy clenched in response.

"Where do you want my cum?"

She went through the options. "I don't know."

He squeezed her bottom. "I haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll cum on your face and make you wear it around all day."

She shivered at the thought, part arousal, part terror. What would happen to her then? What would people think? What would they say about her, the blonde whore covered in cum. Would he make her sit at the dinner table, all dressed up, with a clump of white cum dangling from her chin, like a scarlet letter, a mark for all the world to see.

He turned her to face a group of men while they waited for their luggage, so her back pressed against the warmth of his chest. While the men looked on, he cupped her breast idly, trailed his thumb along her nipple. "Look at them. What would you do if I ordered you to fuck them all."

"No. John, please."

The grip on her breast tightened, almost painfully. "You would fuck them if I ordered it."

"No."

The grip got so tight, she knew she'd have bruises later. "I told you not to say that word to me. I'll have to think of a suitable punishment. Maybe I should make you fuck them. One after another, in the bathroom like a whore, bent over the sink, dress flipped up, ass out, taking sperm deposits like an inverse cash machine."

Against her will, her pussy spasmed and she couldn't help but rock her hips back against the bulge at the front of his pants. There were eight of them, dressed in suits, westerners of varying heights and skin tones. She could see it so clearly, how her pussy would juice up for them, how they'd fuck her without regard for her own pleasure, treat her as if she were nothing more than a receptacle for their cum.

John's lips touched her ears. "You would scream out as they rammed their cocks inside you, treated you like the filthy whore you are."

He closed his fingers around the hem of her dress and slowly drew it upward. The men leered openly as the dress lid up, baring the bottom of her pussy lips to them. People were sending them filthy looks. An older lady shook her head. Shame had her cheeks flaring with heat.

"Would you do it?"

"Please, John. Please don't make me."

"But you would?"

She closed her eyes tight. Dear god, she would. If he asked, she would. "I would. But please don't."

He dropped the hem. "I won't. It's enough to know that you would."

She sighed with relief, and turned into his waiting arms, burying her face in the warmth of his chest muscles. The hard bulge pressed against her belly.

They took a private car to the hotel, and she kept expecting John to open his pants, gesture her to put her lips to use. She half wanted it, half craved it, but he didn't. Just sat beside her, a possessive grip on her thighs, keeping her legs open, and said nothing. The driver's eyes might find the mirror. If they did, he'd see her bald pink pussy, wide open. She watched as the through the windows, as the city grew denser, and they made their way to the hotel where they'd spend the next three days.

The hotel was nice, with dark floors, soaring vaulted ceilings, lush silk rugs, and a suited staff that bowed low as they approached.

The doorman took their bags, and Mia headed for the reception counter. Before they got there, John wrapped a hand around her upper arm.

"Go into the men's bathroom, bend over the sink, pull your skirt up and wait for me."

She sucked in a breath. "What? N—I...You can't...what if someone else comes in?"

His eyes hardened. "If someone else comes in, you will not say no to them either."

Her pussy clenched. She could practically feel it dripping. She sent a pathetic look at the receptionist, a tall man who stared at her as if she were a bug, as if he knew she was nothing but a filthy whore, and skulked off toward the bathrooms at the rear of the space.

The men's room was empty when she entered. Her shoes clicked on the black floor tiles as she crossed to the sink, staring at her whorish face in the mirror, and lifted her dress, baring her ass, presenting her cunt for fucking. Anyone who came in, would not just see her wet pussy, they'd see the plug in her ass and know just how pathetic she was.

She dropped her head low and waited.

When the door opened a few moments later, she couldn't bring herself to check and see if it was John, just kept her eyes squeezed tight shut, and waited.

Whoever it was, their footsteps echoed across the tiles, and the sound of a zipper unzipping filled the space. A second later, a cock brushed against the quivering lips of her pussy, and pressed inside. She hissed out with relief, backing up into it, taking it deeper, still refusing to look. What if it was a stranger? What if it was that tall receptionist? What if it wasn't John?

It felt like him though, the familiar, fat length of his cock. She peaked and recognized his shoes on the dark tile. Oh, thank god.

The moans that left her mouth sounded like the birth of a whore, she pressed back, taking him deeper, asking with her body for more. He closed a hand around her tit.

The door opened, but he didn't break stride. Two men in business suits walked in, local men rom the looks of them, and froze when they saw her, a bent over whore, braced on the sink, with a man pounding into her.

She watched in the mirror as John nodded at them. He came to China often for business and spoke a bit of Mandarin. He greeted them with a formal head bow, not bothering to slow his pace. "Ni hao."

The men bowed somberly back. "Ni hao."

"Don't mind us," he said. "My whore wife was in need of some dick."

The pair blinked, but after a moment, continued across the floor toward the urinals. "Let us know if she needs some more dick," one of them said with a strong Chinese accent.

"I'll do that," said John, slamming in harder, as the sound of men pissing filled the air.

Mia wanted to die.

"Touch your clit, Mia. Make yourself cum all over my dick."

He wouldn't give her a break, could he? She touched her finger to her aching clit and it took barely a few seconds, before she was belting out a rough one, her cries rising to the ceiling.

"On your knees."

She realized that still had an audience. The two business men hadn't left.

She dropped to her knees.

"Gentleman, would you care to cum on my wife's face?"

They didn't need to be asked twice. Two cocks appeared through their flies.

"Do you know what bukkake is?" John went first, baptizing her face with hot thick spurts off his jizz.

"Yes," she said. She'd looked it up on her computer, in the dark of the night sometimes, masturbating to the images, imagining how it would feel, the hot, sticky blasts of cum on her cheeks. How did John know? It was as if he'd tapped into every single one of her dark and lurid fantasies.

Then the two businessmen jerked their smallish cocks, grunting and saying things in Chinese that she imagined must mean whore or slut.

"It's Japanese," John said musingly. "But still appropriate, no?"

The Chinese men spoke some more, wanking furiously on their penises, before spraying their cum over her lips and cheeks. Hot and sticky. It dripped down her neck, pooling down the neckline to drip down over her breasts.

She rubbed her lips together, licked at the bitter cum. She wanted more. She wanted it dripping over her nipples, sliding down her belly, coating the skin between her thighs. Dripping, hot and sticky over her clit, filling her, mouth and cunt and ass.

She met John's eyes and knew he saw the need inside her. How had he known?

"Good girl. My good little cum whore. I knew you'd like that. Thank the nice men."

She forced herself to smile at them. "Thank you."

John corrected her and taught her the Mandarin words. She repeated them back.

They all made a big show of washing their hands, smacking each other on the back, offering to help John service his whore anytime, when it was over, John told her to stand.

"Don't touch it. Leave the cum on your face. Walk beside me to reception. Wear that cum with pride."

Shame burned her cheeks, in part because her pussy clenched with pleasure at the idea.