My Slut Wife Life - Given Away

So much to tell and so little time to tell it. My Owner suggests that I shorten my reports to you. That those who wish to learn of my adventures already know all they need to know about my motivations, and his as well. And that I'm spending far too much time worried about who believes me and who doesn't. "Forget about not feeding the trolls," he says. "Instead, just don't notice them and they'll eventually go away." He's right, of course. Though I find it kinda funny that trolls are named after an imaginary character, but on Literotica they're most notable for suffering from a lack of imagination.

Anyway, you know how I got to this point, whether you believe it or not. And it occurs to me that so many of my adventures involve other people, specifically not my husband, that before I tell you about those events, you'd probably be interested in hearing about my first time with another couple.

Even after 6 months I was still pretty new to the Owner/Slut Wife thing. I'd learned and experienced the bliss that can come from completely submitting your body for the use and pleasure of another person - in this instance, my husband, also known as my Owner. And along the way, I'd experienced levels of pleasure I'd never achieved at any point in my marriage - mind-blowing orgasms, quivering anticipation that lasts for hours, being filled and fulfilled in ways never occurred to me. And I'd wrestled with, and usually overcame, the societal obstacles that delineated some choices as wrong and some as being acceptable. Together my Owner and I had begun creating a new moral code for ourselves, one that was less strict and far more malleable than the one we'd operated in for so long. One based on our needs and our absolute trust in each other. One that allowed a great deal of latitude to explore new adventures and make our fantasies come true.

It's that last part that leads directly to our next step. During the beginning of our D/s explorations, my Owner had asked, nay, demanded, that I come clean and tell him about all of my fantasies. He quickly realized there were two recurrent themes: 1) to be fucked in a submissive way by dominant men and women, and 2) to have other people watch me be fucked, or to order me around in a sexual setting. We'd already taken the first step on theme number one when Todd, my husband's best friend, fucked me a couple of times while my Owner took pictures of it. Which had left me giddy with excitement and hungry for more.

I thought that taking the first step on the second theme, the one where other people watch me fuck and suck and debase myself, would be much harder to begin. Sure, in the fantasy world, there's always someone nearby who's ready to discard their moral compass and participate in a sexually explicit scene. Some guy who's not in a relationship. Or some free-thinking, sexually uninhibited couple wandering through the woods who appear on cue to bring everything to a massive climax.

But that's the fantasy world. Here, in real life, most people worry about AIDS, STDs, getting caught, sin, religious values, getting outted, pictures getting posted on the internet, statutory rape and a whole other host of concerns. Single guys who are over 18 and unattached are amazingly hard to find. Couples who are disease-free and trustworthy are even more rare. You might suggest that we could've found some swingers to play with, but even that had its worries. One, my Owner didn't want to start out with anyone who was experienced; he wanted to be able to direct the action himself. And two, we assumed that out where we live it would be very difficult to find real swinging couples. We learned differently, but not until much later.

Which left us with people we knew. We had a wide circle of friends. And, in keeping with his personality, my husband had already identified two couples who were good prospects to join our adventures. In my view, the reasons for selecting them were entirely too cynical. But there's no arguing with the results.

* * * * *

I was naked, kneeling before my Owner, my bare tits resting on his legs, my mouth obediently sucking on his dick, my fingers massaging his thighs, when he declared that he planned to display me to another couple. My heart immediately began pounding and a spark of excitement shot down my spine, causing my already hot pussy to burn with anticipated pleasure. Oddly, I at first imagined that display as being pictures of me appearing on the internet for lonely men and horny couples to masturbate to. But that's not what he meant at all.

As I continued to pleasure his cock with my mouth, he tugged on my dangling nipples and explained his plan. "I've given this quite a bit of thought, and though there's lots of couples on the forums that are willing to get together with us, I think we can better trust someone that's close to home. I think I found two couples that might want to help us out. First, there's Jim and Heidi. They seem like they'd be up for something like this. Ya think?"

It was a trick question. He wanted me to answer, but he hadn't given me permission to stop sucking his cock. So I just nodded my head up and down, letting the motion talk for me. Jim and Heidi were deeply, passionately, madly in love with each other. At parties they were the ones who never separated, who always flitted from conversation to conversation joined at the hip, holding hands, laughing at the other's jokes, and generally pushing everyone into a diabetic coma. They had two wonderful, perfect children, a wonderfully perfect house in a new subdivision, and led what could only be described as a wonderfully perfect life. Why them, then? Both were also flagrant flirts and continuously dared other couples to bare some skin, commit some outrageous act, or to flagrantly break some long-standing taboo. They were instigators, almost always in a sexual way. They were our good friends but not particularly close friends.

"But then I thought of someone even better. I'll betcha that Eric and Kristal would love to be part of our little experiment. I mean, it's not like they have anything else to do. And I can tell that they're looking for something, anything, to make things more interesting. That has to be why they're always talking about going to one of those couples resorts. And I don't think either of them cares all that much about what the other one does in their spare time, if you get what I mean. So I think they're our best bet. Right?"

Eric and Kristal were staying together for the sake of the children. The love and passion had drained out of their marriage just as soon as their third child took his first breath. Bitter and barely even friends, they were going through the motions of marriage, struggling to find some equilibrium or common interest on which to focus for the next 20 years. My husband and Eric were buddies in passing, brought together by events rather than a real friendship. Kristal, though, was one of my best friends and I was her confidant. But both of them had a mean streak that could come out at any time. And I knew, from many girl-to-girl talks, that Kristal was indeed interested in 'exploring new sexual avenues' as long as Eric was already dipping his wick into another pot. His cheating would make hers acceptable. And cheating that she could document would give her even more leverage.

My heart went straight up into my throat as the implications of his suggestion became clear. I'd be exposed, deliberately and intimately, to two relative strangers. They would see me at my most vulnerable. They would, probably, even get the chance to tell me what to do, to be their entertainment, like an interactive porno movie.

The idea nearly paralyzed me with fear and trepidation. This would be real life. This would change our friendship forever. From that point on, whenever they looked at me, they would recall my naked body, splayed out in front of them for their erotic enjoyment. No. No, I didn't want that.

But then I remembered a fantasy that I'd run through every so often. The one where Eric would catch me on the bed, my panties pulled down to my ankles and my fingers deep inside my cunt. He'd stand in the doorway and watch as I finger-fucked my pussy, thumbing my clit. Writhing on the bed, my hips rolling and my tits quivering, I'd put on a show for him, my eyes never leaving his, daring him to come closer. Sometimes he would and I'd pull my cunt lips apart, showing him my dripping fuck hole, inviting him to memorize the sight of me so horny, wet and vulnerable. A big-breasted, curvaceous whore when compared to his wife's lithe figure and small hard tits. A slut who didn't care who saw her, just as long as he didn't stop her from wantonly pleasuring herself.

In my fantasy Eric would stand there, either hovering over me or remaining in the doorway, his eyes raking up and down my body, memorizing every curve, every valley, every gasp and every moan. And I would perform for him, using nothing but my fingers to bring myself to the precipice, remaining there until his cock created a tent in his pants, until his own desire to plunge his shaft deep into my steaming hole was nearly too much to deny, before taking myself over the edge, moaning and mewling as streams of pleasure rushed throughout my body, wave after wave releasing me from the ties that had strictly bound me. And then he would disappear, the memory of my slutty, sweaty body emblazoned on his soul, to be used as fantasy fodder whenever he needed an image to jack off to.

I returned to the present, my mouth still mindlessly massaging my owner's dick, lubricating his hardness, lashing his sensitive spots, kissing the mushroom head and slit, where his cum erupts from to mark me over and over as his personal property. Yes. Yes, I would like to have people watch as I debase myself for their pleasure. Yes, I would like to have their eyes on me. The thrill, the anticipation swept through me. I redoubled my efforts to pump my Owner's cum from his bulging balls. I threw myself into it with a desperate passion, grinding my cunt against his shin, rubbing my tits against his leg, pulling him against my face until his cock was deeply rooted in my throat. Yes, I silently moaned, trying to get as much of him inside me as possible. Yes, I'll do it, I pleaded through my actions where words would never do.

My Owner read me perfectly. "So, I'll put you down as an emphatic 'yes'."

* * * * * * *

I stood in the hallway near the living room nearly dancing with anticipation. Although, truth be told, many times the anticipation has more of an effect on me that the actual act. This time, I was awash in a wide array of contradictory emotional states. Fear and curiosity. Anticipation and dread. Love and hate. Readiness and delay. Confidence and timidity. Thoughts and fears surged through me as they had for much of the past few days, ever since I learned that my Owner had asked Eric and Kristal to come over for a few drinks. And a surprise, too.

I'd spent much of the time since that announcement wondering what their reaction would be. Shock? Most assuredly. Disgust? Maybe. But hopefully not. Curiosity? Probably. Interest? Hopefully. Whichever I landed on, I always changed my mind moments later. I was sure that my Owner had told me so early as a way to torment me. I obsessed over it. Worried about it. Played and replayed every possible scenario in my head. I was so consumed by the whole idea of it, he ended up spanking me as punishment several times during the week because I wasn't paying the correct amount of attention to his needs. The extra sting on my ass only served to heighten my awareness that soon two of our friends would have a clear and unhindered view of that very same ass.

Standing in the hallway I checked myself in the mirror yet again. I'd obsessed over my makeup, changing it three times, trying to get the right combination of innocence and decadence. I'd done my hair so it was half cascading over my shoulders and half down my back, letting the dark lines frame my chest so the eye would be naturally led to my cleavage. Not that I normally needed any help in that respect. I have big, firm boobs that men always notice. But I didn't want to appear too aggressive. That might inhibit their first reaction to me.

My Owner had selected a white satin blouse for me to wear, accompanied by a short tan skirt. But it underneath it all was the outfit designed to make the biggest impact - a sheer black bodystocking that hooked around my neck, plunged deep between my breasts, left my back bare down to the cleft of my ass, covered my legs and feet, and revealed my precisely shaved pussy, leaving it completely uncovered. Around my neck I wore a black choker, and three-inch stiletto heels completed the ensemble. I was dressed for sex and lots of it.

Trying to calm my rebellious mind, I eavesdropped as my Owner "explained" the situation to Eric and Kristal. "Explained" is in quotes because he was really just feeding them a pack of lies. About how the doctor had diagnosed me as a nymphomaniac. About my addiction to exposing myself to strangers. About how, in the midst of trying to cure these debilitating ailments, he and the doctor had discovered my hidden submissive personality. How the only treatment, short of drugging me into a stupor, was to address my failings in a controlled setting. How I'd become a true submissive and how he'd heroically sacrificed his part in our loving marriage to attend to my needs. And how, today, he was coming to them for their help in my treatment.

Their part, if they agreed to it, would not only be observing but also participating. I needed to be subservient to as many people as possible. Together, they would help in stripping me down to my most basic emotional levels, down past even the primal urges, stripped bare until only the core of me remained. Only then could he and the psychiatrist begin building me back up. My Owner put it into terms that Eric as a computer programmer could connect to: I had to have all my data dumped, we had to sift through all that data, and only then could my clean hard drive be reprogrammed.

What an unbelievable load of crap! I mean, literally unbelievable. I thought that he was laying it on way too thick. That there was no way this educated couple could fall for such a preposterous story. That was before I came to understand one of the fundamental truths of our age: People will believe anything about someone else's sex life. Especially if it seems more exotic, erotic or kinky than your own.

To their minor credit, both Kristal and Eric asked a few intelligent questions: Was this just a put-on? Where are the hidden cameras? If all this is true, why hadn't they seen any signs of it earlier? My Owner, of course, had answers prepared for all their questions. And, most believably, admitted to not having answers to questions that no one could possibly know, such as what affect this might have on my psyche, how long it might take for me to be reprogrammable, and whether I had more than one personality living in me.

I heard whispers then, as they presumably discussed it amongst themselves and came to a conclusion.

"We're ready for you slut," my Owner announced in a demanding voice that seemed to cut clear through my head. Gathering up all the courage I could muster, I walked unsteadily around the corner and into the living room, stopping in front of the sofa which held all three of them. The first thing I noticed was that Kristal was sitting far closer to Eric than she normally did, with her hand resting atop his thigh. The second thing I noticed was the hard-on clearly evident beneath my owner's pants; he'd gotten turned on just by misleading our two friends! And the third thing I noticed was the cool calculation in Kristal's and Eric's eyes. It was very possible they hadn't bought a word of my Owner's explanations yet had decided to go forward anyway. The thought made me tremble.

"So, you're a nymphomaniac slut," Eric said, as coolly as if he was describing my shoes as black.

I didn't trust myself to speak, so I simply nodded.

"And, if I'm to understand this correctly, what you want to do more than anything is to strip off all your clothes and be our sexual, um, toy, I guess it would be? And that will give you pleasure?" His questions were dry and unemotional, like a scientist interrogating a student.

I nodded again, though I could feel my face and ears flush as I thought about the potential meaning of the words 'sexual' and 'toy.'

Kristal took over the questioning. "Karen, honey, I'm only going to ask you this once. Because we're friends and I care for you. Is this really what you want? You're not being forced to do this because of some dumb bet or something? Because in all the times we've talked, I've never seen this side of you."

I had to give the girl credit for asking. And would've given her more credit if I hadn't seen the slight flush on the side of her neck, or the way her hand was almost imperceptibly inching towards her husband's clearly engorged groin, or that the nubs of her nipples had grown just a little bit more noticeable under her clingy blouse. She was turned on. Turned on by the thought of me being in a subservient position to her. Subservient to all of them.

Did I want this? My thoughts skittered away from me. I felt like that kid in that Christmas movie who couldn't remember what he wanted from Santa Claus. What did I want? I remembered sitting naked before Todd, tied to the chair, helpless, vulnerable. And the electric thrills of being his to enjoy. A stranger suddenly in charge of my body. And the differentness of his cock spearing my cunt, his shaft pinning me down, the way he took his pleasure in me with no thought to what I wanted. Domineering. Rough. Carnal. And I remembered all those other things my husband, my Owner, had recently been doing to me. The cruel fuckings. The sadistic spankings. The afternoon in the milking shed where I traded in my humanity for degrading pleasure, where I turned into a cow with teats and udders, grateful for every kinky moment of cruel treatment at the hands of the man I'd married and pledged my life to.

And that's when I made my decision. Like those memories, this moment would never come around again. Never would my Owner try this again. Never would he arrange events and put his credibility on the line again. Eric and Kristal would never again hold out the hope that this was real, that they'd have such an intriguing opportunity again, so fraught with the possibility of being new and different and exciting. And I would not have this chance again, to submit to the fantasies in my heart, or to refuse it all and enter a period of stasis. Of spending each day hoping my Owner could come up with something new and different for me. And of having my only other option being Todd, with his leering grin and his probing fingers and his dripping cock.

That was what finally decided it. I could broaden my horizons. Or I could settle for being Todd's anytime fuck toy. Because there was no putting that genie back in the bottle.

I nodded my answer to her question, then realized that I should say something. Anything. "I want..." I said softly. I cleared my throat, tried again, "I want..." I couldn't finish it.

"You want what, slut?" Eric prompted, shifting in his seat so that his wife's hand was near, oh so near, to the bulge in his pants. I flashed on my fantasy, of him standing above me while I played with myself, his cock within reach of my fingers, my digits slick with my juices. And my mouth, just a few inches from his groin... his dick and balls were right there, I could've sucked them and licked them and ground my face into them. Why didn't I fantasize about that? Why was I so obsessed with it right now? What did I want? I wanted to eat his dick and I wanted to suck her pussy and I wanted to be their sex slut and keep him wet while he fucked her and lick her ass while he fucks her and be his fuck toy while she rests and be his cum dump and wear his cum and curl in a naked ball and sleep on the floor next to their bed, their submissive bitch...