tagBDSMThe Wife's Road to Slavery

The Wife's Road to Slavery


The Monday following our visit to the underground club a small packet arrived and was sitting on our kitchen counter with the rest of the usual junk. Cyan thought it was another disc for an on-line service provider. I did too and only when I decided to separate the cardboard for recycling did I notice it was a rewritable disc with a local phone number on the front.

"Did you see this?" I asked Cyan.

She furrowed her brow as she looked it over. "No."

It was already nine o'clock and our child was asleep when we decided to insert the disc in our laptop by our nightstand.

The disc took a moment to load before a clear picture of the stage appeared.

This was a professional grade copy and the entire evening at La Muir began to unfold. From the moment we walked in until we left.

I stood up and locked the door. Cyan was sitting in her nightshirt looking intently at the screen as the entire evening played. .I could see her shift in her seat while Cat began to undress her. Her hand was firmly resting on her thigh when I whispered into her ear.

"It's okay, honey. Go ahead and touch yourself."

Cyan looked to the side to acknowledge my words but quickly back at the screen. Her hand slid up her long T-shirt and found her panties. She began slowly but started to quicken with each activity. My cock was rock hard as the assistant's cock once again entered her mouth.

Suddenly, the camera panned on me sitting in the audience with my cock in my hand. My eyes were darting around the theater as my eyes were now looking to my wife who was quietly biting her lip in amusement.

Cyan looked over at my cock growing down the leg of my pajama pants and said

"Its' okay for you, too, you know."

With her words I reached into the nightstand and took out the aqua lube. I expected her to offer her hand as she usually does but instead we both continued masturbating ourselves at the sight of us on video.

"Surreal", I whispered.

Cyan didn't seem to notice as she began to sigh heavily. She shook with her familiar trembling and climaxed as quickly as she started.

"Pause the video!" I demanded.

Cyan looked at me then clicked the pause button. I stepped over her lap and clutched her head tightly. Her mouth opened and I wordlessly drove my cock in all the way and could feel her teeth against my sack.

"Oh, you nasty little bitch!" I seethed under my breath.

Cyan's arm wrapped around me while her other hand remained beneath her shirt.

"Mmm..." was all she could mutter as I let loose my load.

I came to a rest as she continued to finger herself.

I wasn't sure where that urge came from but it felt slightly alien to me.

There was a little awkwardness as we stood up from the computer. I pointed at the computer.

"Wow! Who filmed this, do you know? It was so professional. I didn't see a cameraman."

We were both aroused by what we saw but a dark feeling of feared detachment settled over me.

My wife's interests reached beyond my expertise and, admittedly, my own interests.

It was apparent Cyan's interest in actual sex with me was waning and the moment of truth was looming.

I had only read about swinging couples and the emotional toll beyond the bedroom. Now I was feeling it. Two weeks after our sexual breakthrough and we were hardly speaking to one another. I was the one taking our child to my mom's and picking her up each evening. The single parenting thing wasn't new to us but several days had passed where Cyan had left early and arrived home late without having the chance to see our child. And it didn't seem to bother her.

A co-worker dropped by my office to tell me he had seen Cyan while he dined an out-of-town client. I was somewhat surprised especially that she was with another man at an upscale restaurant. Cyan was not at her phone or even reachable at her office for an explanation. I was now convinced there was something going on relating to our night out. When she walked in near midnight and provided no attempt at an excuse or alibi, I learned to not ask again.

It had been nearly a month since the disc arrived and our sex life was all but nonexistent. So was our usual small talk at the end of the day. It was as though Cyan had been abducted and returned empty and emotionless.

The following night she arrived home even later.

The door lock sounded and she walked in. I pretended to sleep as she opened the door quietly. She had made no attempt to change out of the clothes she had worn or the heels which gave her an extra three inches. I didn't bother to ask. She looked like a prostitute. The nightlight in the walk-in closet dimly illuminated her sleek body as she gently removed her clothing. The welts on her skin were fresh as she had been thoroughly whipped from the calves to her shoulder blades. Her gaze extended to my peering eyes as she quietly closed the closet door. I was no longer included in her newly found lifestyle. After she had gone to sleep in the guestroom, I rifled through her bag and came across the disc.

I put it in the disc drive and started to really focus on the details. I was not so much aroused by the activity any more and noticed a bag off to the side of the stage. I stopped the video long enough to notice it was filled with street clothes; most likely Cat's clothes. The logo on the side of the canvas bag was unreadable but also unmistakable.

"Rosie's." A produce store right downtown. I stopped the disc and removed it. I was a moment away from replacing it in Cyan's purse when I noticed the phone number on the side. I jotted the number down and went to bed.

The following morning, Cyan had left and I decided to call in sick. Instead, I drove down to Rosie's Produce and decided to do some shopping.

Cat was in the back wearing a smock and otherwise normal looking skirt when I approached her.

"Cat! Remember me?" I asked.

She stopped what she was doing momentarily and continued stacking avocados.

"No. I've never seen you before."

There was silence and I got in her face.

"Where's Cyan?"

Cat looked surprised and scared. She looked to her left at a video camera and told me to back away.

"You can't be talking to me" she whispered.

"Master doesn't permit conversations!"

I calmed long enough to step back and ask again. She did not reply.

Cat grabbed a pen and wrote down an address and acted as though she was no longer aware I was even there.

There was an address on it and a time. 5:00 PM.

I made my way to the high rise address. By the time I made my way to the 24th floor, I was accosted by a burly man and led to an office.

The man seemed reasonable but firm.

"Please step into this room and do not speak."

The room was dark. I could see a glass partition and Cyan sitting at a desk. She seemed to be taking a test of some sort.

I watched her for nearly a half hour before the gentleman came and told me it was through.

"What is she doing," I asked.

The man led me to the elevator without a word. By the time we made it to the lobby he replied.

"She will tell you tonight."

I went home and waited. Cyan drove up and willingly sat down at the table after hanging up her coat. I know you were there today and, yes, I was partaking in an interview.

I nodded as though I understood and then she dropped the bomb.

"I don't know how to say this but...I am no longer interested in free will. I am ready to start my life as an unpaid servant."

My eyes widened.

"You mean you would like to serve me here?" I asked cluelessly.

Cyan stood up from the table and said "No."

I looked at her with bewilderment.

"No, there is a man; an owner."

I turned my head to the side and stared at the placemat.

"An owner? You mean he owns..."

"Goddamn! He will own me. A master owns a slave, you dumbshit! I will be property."

"But not here. You will be somewhere else?" I asked.

"You don't get it. You will never see me again. I will be elsewhere, yes."

"What was the test about?" When will you know the results?" I pleaded.

Cyan looked back as if to offer consolation

"If I score below 75 on the questionnaire, they will deny me. If I score above that I will be called back. If I score a 98 or higher, they will send a car out to pick me up for phase two.

I sat in amazement and did not say anything.

"There were over 300 questions and I probably didn't pass. But either way, I am asking for a divorce."

I don't know why I always knew she would divorce me and the past three weeks had primed me for it. I just did not know I would lose her to a slave-driver.

The following morning a gray sedan pulled up in our driveway and a man came to the door. I did not even ask. Cyan was ready to go to work but she went with the man instead. She had passed with flying colors as usual.

I, too, decided work could wait and followed the car to the same address as before. This was no big mystery since someone was there to greet me as a valet took my car.

As if expected I was accompanied to a similar darkened room to wait. Ten minutes had passed and a door in the other room opened. Cyan was wearing nothing but a pair of black panties and heels as she found her way to the only chair in the room and sat with her back towards me. As my eyes adjusted to the dark I could see the outline of a man sitting in a chair no more than five feet in front of her. Somehow the darkness absorbed him and she could not see him with the only light shining on her.

A slight pop let me know the speaker had turned off. I stood to get closer to the window but could not hear a thing. I remained standing as I waited for something to happen.

I stood for an hour staring at her silent silhouette before she stood up. The heels she wore made her well over six feet in height but she parted her stance as she gathered her hair in a tight ponytail. She took a rubber band from around her wrist and once again yanked her hair tight behind her head.

Now, As if rocking back and forth to music, she slowly strutted, exaggeratedly swaying side to side as she approached the shadowed figure. Her dark brown hair shined in the light before she suddenly stopped and dropped to her knees. Then, she began rocking her hips as she crawled forward only to stop halfway into the darkness. Her sizeable butt began swaying.

She was sucking someone's cock for sure. Five minutes later I was brimming with anger and about to scream when I noticed the shadowy figure proceed to stand and walk toward the door. The figure turned out to be an older woman in a skirt that she smoothed as she left. I hadn't noticed another person had taken her place.

Nearly two hours had passed and several dozen people serviced by my wife's lips and tongue. It was all very orderly and sanitized except when I saw her begin to back her butt towards her seat. Cyan's entire front side was dripping with fluid, semen and sweat. She was hardly recognizable but sat down without wiping her eyes of the heavy goo.. We sat another half hour before the door opened and she was helped out of her chair. The lights came on in the room where she had just finished. A pool of fluid was being mopped by a bald woman in a jumpsuit. I got to watch her clean and when it was all done I waited a little longer.

This was all way too surreal. Even stranger than anything I'd seen in the preceding weeks.

I turned and pressed a button next to the door signaling I had seen enough. . But no one responded. I pressed the button several more times and began to curse out loud.

Just then, the lights came on in the next room and I waited to see who should appear again. This time, Cyan walked through the same door from which she had exited. I hardly recognized her as this time she was stark naked and her head had been shaved clean of her hair. In fact, her scalp looked rubber as though the hair had never grown there. She walked right over to the window but could not see me. She blankly stared where she thought I might be standing. Her pussy had been shaved clean, also. I could see her inner labia with the back lighting and heavy-gauged rings weighing them down.

This was no longer my wife and I knew it. She was now a built and prepared fucking machine. Her nipples stood at attention and she gasped as though to say something.

Her emotions had to be controlled in the moments following. A popping sound from the speaker told me she was ready to speak.

"I am now one step away from my life as a slave. You will be paid in full for my services by way of a monthly stipend. My death certificate has already been signed and a letter from the military along with a medal showing I had died for a noble cause will be sent to you in the two weeks." she read from an index card.

She sounded rehearsed and focused but I know it was difficult for her.

I gazed at her left hand as the diamond glistened in the light.

"Please, take my ring."

My door unlocked on cue and I was free to join my soon to be ex-wife. By the time I came around the corner, a masked woman wearing a nice tailored suit stood next to her. She held a leather and steel collar in both hands. I labored to remove my ring but hers slid off with ease. She was fit and in better shape since before we were married. Both rings were put into a small leather bag and handed back to me.

The woman turned and Cyan gracefully glided to her knees. She eased back onto her heels and raised her chin as the new collar was set in place. Her gaze never left the woman's face as I was given the so-calle honor of clicking the lock in place. The woman removed from her garter a leash and fastened it to Cyan's collar. The leather squeaked a little as the tension increased but soon Cyan was back on her feet. I stared at the woman's leather mask as she examined my ex-wife's nude body. Her dark brown eyes darted at mine and I quickly looked away. She was in charge now.

Never before did she look so sexy as she swayed behind her new and deserving master as they headed out of the room.

A guard approached me from behind and waited for me to turn. He had a look of kind understanding on his face and only spoke as we waited for the valet.

"You are a good man. Now go back to the barista. I think she loves you."

I was astonished he knew of my past affair. But then again, there's probably not much about me they did not know. I was about to deny it and then nodded.

Since we were being up front, I asked him about Cyan's future.

The guard shrugged.

"She's a slave; a piece of property. She'll be branded, tattooed, pierced...the works. She'll probably do hard labor or she might be sold at auction and sent overseas. You never know." he said as he snapped his gum.

"She scored perfectly on the exam, man. It means there is nothing she won't enjoy. Don't worry." he said as he patted my shoulder.

I cried briefly while driving back to vanilla suburbia but found my mother and our child waiting with smiles. This was where I belonged: normal, predictable and sane.

The following week was tough convincing everyone my wife had enlisted in the army and was off fighting a pointless war. Her 'death' to me would be difficult but I knew it was really a rebirth for her.

I began seeing the barista on the sly as though my wife was still in the picture. I had to laugh when she produced a set of handcuffs during sex. If she only knew.

One Saturday the mail lady dropped by the ubiquitous pile of junk mail and I nearly missed the sleeve containing a disc. I immediately recognized the phone number and waited until the evening to watch it on my computer.

Expecting the theater sex sport video, I was aghast to see my wife's test, interview and physical followed by her collaring and initiation. The video was graphic and taken from many cameras at many angles. I wondered why they were putting me through this until I saw Cyan's face as she was being whipped. One masked man on either side of her whipped her repeatedly with multi-cord lashed. The camera slowly panned in as she stood unfettered with her feet apart and hands clasped behind her bald head. One after another for five minutes the whips burned her skin. Her face was dripping with perspiration as she managed to smile. Her eyes widened with excitement as her head filled the screen. Crazy with lust she panted as the whips worked their way up her neck and face.

Her bloodied body remained after the lash stopped and she let out a blood-curdling scream. She was incredibly stoic.

The sex scenes, piercing and boob job filled the latter half of the video. I did not see even a local anesthesia as her boobs were cut and reworked into incredible round, oversized and gravity-defying firmness.

I was about to stop the video when the final scene began and the assistants actually strapped every extremity to a steel cross. My heart pounded with uncertainty. She had willingly endured everything until this point. Why would they bind her so heavily?

Because she would not remain conscious after the white-hot brands made contact. Her eyes widened as a sparking shape was driven and held against her shoulder blade. There was no holding back as she screamed and went limp - probably at the smell of her burning skin wafting by.

They waited for her to awaken before burning her left boob just to the right of her nipple.

Again, she screamed and passed out.

The final scene blew me away as she was escorted into a room with no less than twenty slaves all waiting for their destination - each with a coffin-like box stacked like cordwood. After all, they were mindless parcel waiting for distribution.

I went to remove the disk and it made an odd sound. The tray slid open and when I tried to open the video it was blank as though it was never written.

I have to convince myself this chapter never happened. Or did it?

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by Anonymous

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by Anonymous04/21/18


Ok, this happens. They end up with the uber rich.
Their brains are wired differently and it is not uncommon defect.
Over the hundreds of years this work has become an embedded industry.
Thus all themore...

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by Anonymous10/14/17

Only one answer to this crap

Have the bitch killed!

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by verbicide09/09/17

Both awful and boring

Honestly the story is both horrible and boring. As for those people who don't believe the husband has any options, it's not true. the moment the individuals put a fake death certificate in his hand theymore...

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