Chapter 7
"From Slave Wife to Slut Wife"
My name is Karen. I'm a slut wife. A real one. The kind who will do whatever my husband orders, whenever he orders it, to whomever he orders. Some on this forum have called me a fake. Some think I'm the work of a guy, just getting his jollies by pretending to be a woman who acts out his fantasies. I'm not. I am a married woman living in the Midwestern part of the United States. I have given birth to and raised two children. I have a job that allows me to work from home. I have two advanced degrees from respected universities. I am not fat, physically or mentally deformed, do not have low self esteem, and do not believe that I must subject myself to deviant behavior in order to keep my husband. I have selected this lifestyle because of the excitement it holds, the rush I get from extreme sex, and the satisfaction I get from satisfying my husband.
I have neighbors who know of my self-selected situation, and believe as I do, that what happens between consenting adults, as long as it is not harmful to themselves or to others in the community, is really none of their business. My children are grown and at college. As we live in a relatively small community, it's not unlikely that they know of my situation. If they do, they don't speak of it. We do not perform any of our sexual lifestyle in front of them, just as people who practice traditional sex would not do so in front of their children. We have raised our children to be tolerant of the beliefs and lifestyles of others. If they do know, and they are not mentioning it, then my husband and I are very proud of them. That is the essence of tolerance. The world could do with more of it.
My husband and I began practicing this lifestyle nearly two years ago. The first weekend, when he asked me to join him in this adventure, was a total surprise to me. I didn't know that he was interested in having me be a real slut wife. Not the play-acting kind, for which I have nothing but respect. But the kind that would be expected to submit to his orders at a moment's notice, with no hesitation, regardless of the humiliation it might cause me. During our first weekend, he had me do many things that left me embarrassed, humiliated and extremely horny. I came harder and more frequently than at any time in our marriage. The anticipation of knowing what was about to happen at times, coupled with the fear of not knowing what was about to happen, create in me the ultimate aphrodisiac. Just writing these words, I'm wet just thinking about what he may have in store for me this evening. It may be brutal. It may be tender. It may involve just us. It may involve friends, neighbors or strangers. I may end up helping someone to cum. Or I may end up cumming myself. Or even cruelly being denied an orgasm. My whole cunt is blazing hot.
So, believe me. Or not. Laugh at those who do. Or pity those that don't. There is little proof that I can give you. My husband takes photos and videos of my adventures all the time, but he only shares those with select friends and acquaintances. Unlike the rest of the world, people around here understand the benefits of relative secrecy. If I'm outed on Jerry Springer or whatever passes for confessional TV today, it's likely to mean the end of all the fringe benefits they enjoy. Like walking through the woods and coming across a nude woman who is eager to suck your cock. Or having a ready-made, safe-from-disease whore to give to your son on his eighteenth birthday as a special gift and rite of passage. Or even just having a willing ass for your husband to fuck when you're not in the mood for anal sex. I've done, and will likely continue to do, all of those.
A word about my relationship. I'm not a slave in the classic sense of the word. My husband is not my Master, though I sometimes call him that. We know some couples who are in Master/slave relationships and that is not how we live. There are many different types of Dominant/submissive relationships, just as there are many types of other relationships. If you think you're normal, I defy you to define what normal is. And then I defy you to find even 10 couples who have sex lives exactly like yours. Normal doesn't exist. But I digress. For the purposes of our sex lives, my husband is my Owner. I am his property. He uses me much like he would use any kind of property, like a watch or a shovel or a pencil. Like a shovel, sometimes he uses me in the regular way. Like shoving his cock in my pussy. (Sorry for the bad pun.) And like you might use a shovel to lever something out of the ground, or to pound in a fence post, he sometimes uses me in ways that are a little irregular. Like making me service a cock with each of my holes, at the same time.
I'm getting sidetracked again. I get so horny thinking about it, sometimes it's hard to concentrate. Anyway, the point is, he's only my Owner some of the time. When I'm not catering to his every whim, we have a normal marriage. We make decisions together. We go out to dinner. I mostly take care of the inside of the house, while he mostly takes care of the outside. I do the gardening. He fixes things. We skype with our kids at college. I make cookies, when asked, for the church and other organizations. We both work, pool our money, pay our bills, go on vacation when able, sit and read when we have a chance, watch sunsets and generally enjoy life as much as we can. Together.
If you've read my story from the beginning, you know all this. But sometimes it's worth getting the newbies up to speed. I'm real. I have a social security number. I pay taxes and grumble about it. The stories you're about to read are as real as I am. I'm writing them down because my Owner thinks it's a good idea. Maybe it will inspire someone to break the chains of their conformity. Maybe you'll read this and try something new. Or maybe my Owner knows that writing this gets me extra hot, so I'll be in a better place when he torments me next. You never know. He's really good at getting inside my head.
I tell most of the stories from my point of view. But sometimes I try and tell them from an outsider's view. Or even my Owner's. Or one of his friends. I'm trying new things with this because I think it would get boring to hear over and over about how it feels when I orgasm, or the way that cum drips down my tits, or what it tastes like when I lick his ass. So maybe setting the scene a different way helps tell the story. Or maybe not. Feel free to tell me what you think in the comments section. Prior to this, the most I'd ever written was academic papers to get my degree. This whole autobiography thing is still new to me.
So let's get started with a few key events that happened in the last two years...
I'M SITTING ON A KITCHEN CHAIR a few weeks after my Owner's failed experiment with the bondage coach. OK, so not entirely failed. He pushed us to try things that made me feel more vulnerable and helpless. But he was a creepy guy and I'm glad he's gone. So, I'm sitting on a kitchen chair, completely nude, my butt uncomfortable on the wooden seat. My hands are tied together behind me, behind the back of the chair.. My ankles are tied to the chair's front legs, and ropes run around my thighs to the stiles under the chair, ensuring that my legs are held wide apart. I have a gag in my mouth. They call it a cleave gag. It's really nothing more than one of my Owner's ties, knotted tight through my mouth and around the back of my head. I can talk, a little, though it sounds like when the dentist has his fingers in your mouth. I don't talk, however, because that would earn me a punishment. And I have no interest in having my Owner come over and swat my sensitive tits with a crop for such a breach of his orders.
It's broad daylight outside, and I'm seated next to the doorwall. Anyone who comes to the doorwall would easily see me bound to the chair, my nipples erect with excitement, my crotch wet with desire. I try not to think about this but my mind keeps returning to it. My half-step-brother is due over sometime that day. If he saw me like this, I would die of embarrassment. Then, given the kind of pig he is, he'd probably demand to take pictures of me to wank over. At this point, I'm not sure what my Owner would say to that. It worries me enough that I can't stop thinking about it.
Also, behind our house is a big stand of trees, with a few hiking trails in there. Though only a few people know of my exploits as a submissive wife, they may have told others. The woods are sufficiently close that a person with binoculars could see inside the door wall. See me sitting there naked. See my breasts fully exposed. See that I'm tied to a chair. And watch my Owner do to me whatever he has in mind.
What did he have in mind? He was putting it together right in front of me. It was diabolical. It would have me screaming in pleasure, and for mercy, for hours on end. He'd taken a sawzall, a portable reciprocating saw, for those of you who don't have a house with thousands of dollars worth of tools in it. He'd take the blade out and replaced it with a short pole. As I watched, he was attempting to attach a thick, long, rubber dildo to the end. He was having some trouble getting the dildo to stay on the pole. That would be important. Because, if I wasn't mistaken, once he figured it out, he would be sticking that dildo in my cunt, turning on the machine, and fucking me mechanically as I came over and over and over, until my pussy was sore and dry and ravaged. And then he would oil it up with lube and do it some more, letting the mechanical dildo pillage me at a pace his hand or cock could never keep up to. It was pain through pleasure, torment through orgasm, and one of the things he really, really enjoyed. My muffled, strangled screams coming through the gag would only add to his enjoyment.
Tied as I was, I wouldn't be able to stop him in any way from assaulting me with his handmade fuck machine. I would be totally at his mercy. And he knew enough about me, about my sounds and the look in my eyes, to know how far past my limits he could push me without doing any lasting damage. We have a safe word. Everyone should. But every time I've been close to using it, just ready to scream it out, he's always backed off. He knows my limits. And my limits were getting broader and broader every day.
I looked out the door wall again and saw movement in our neighbor's yard. Part of the view is blocked by pine trees, but from our deck and door wall you can see into the rear of the yard. The neighbor's chubby wife was crawling on her hands and knees through the grass, naked, her tits dangling and swaying. We found out that first weekend that the couple next door had been practicing hardcore D/s for some time now. Every weekend, on sunny days like these, he does something vile and perverted to her. She seems to like it. Or at least tolerate it. I think she deserves it. She's always been a bitch to me. In my head, I call her a fat cow. They don't have to worry about someone spying on them from the woods because they have a large shed blocking the view. I shudder every time I think of that shed and what's in there. I shudder and get incredibly horny.
A knock on the door startled me out of my reverie. It came from the screen door leading from the garage to the kitchen. I looked wild-eyed at my Owner who just shrugged. It wasn't something he'd set up. I heard the sound of the door opening and almost broke my silence with a scream. Few people knocked on that door instead of the front door. The UPS man. A neighbor. For the first time ever, I found myself hoping that it was the Dom neighbor from next door. He at least would understand why I was naked and tied to a chair.
It wasn't him. It was my husband's friend of 20-some years, Todd. I caught the look of shock on his face, the widening of his eyes, the drop of his jaw, before I shut my eyes in dread of what was to come.
