Earlier submissions under The Transformation of Betty surveyed the main events of my wife's transformation into a sub slut. But there are events and scenarios that were erotic as stand alone vignettes and here are a few of them:
Vignette 1, The Window: Unlike couples who limit sex to the bedroom, my wife and I relished playing in our living room. She loved being bent over the sofa and fucked, but soon enough I took advantage of the fact that the room allowed us to play out our shared exhibitionist fantasy. A large window faced the street, though intervening shrubbery made it nearly impossible to see much of anything from the sidewalk at night. That our exhibitionist tastes could be fed here, though, notice I said 'nearly' since we couldn't preclude being seen if someone stopped and stared and if the lights in some nearby room were 'accidentally' left on. A shared pleasure, then, was for me to assault her from behind as she leaned on the sill or with her bare tits pressed against the glass. I'd then feed her fantasy by suggesting the possibility of being watched, asking what she'd say or think if a neighbor saw her or boldly telling her that I'd love it if someone was watching us.
That last statement was true since I was already immersed in the fantasy of being shared. More interestingly, I noted that from the very beginning she never asked to move from the window and when asked if she like being seen, her answers were simply moans of pleasure as one orgasm or another hit her. Clearly, the threat of being exposed as something other than the sweet and innocent wife had its appeal even when all her inhibitions were alive and well.
Of course, she'd long had an exhibitionist streak judging by the clothes she wore when dating -- skirts an inch or two shorter than what her friends wore, heels when others wore flats, or sometimes provocative necklines or deliciously tight sweaters. So I hardly took her initial reactions at the window as a signal she was close to surrendering to my fantasy of letting other men fuck her. However, things changed once we'd met Bill. As noted in earlier chapters, she found him not only engaging, but, with an air of experience, he projected an ability to satisfy a woman that most 20+ year old females would find enticing. In short, he turned her on and his flirting fed her feminine ego. So it didn't take me long to focus on him as part of my strategy to getting her to agree to being shared, using his name at the window and asking if it would turn her on to have him in particular watching her.
Initially she feigned indifference to such suggestions as if, consumed by passion, she hadn't heard me. But soon enough I began eliciting positive responses ... Generally a simple moaned 'yes' when asked if she'd enjoy having Bill watch thru the window. I knew, though, that she was not yet a slut who lost all control in the heat of passion, so that 'yes' told me a lot about her fantasies at the time. I'd then escalate matters by telling her, after one of those 'yeses' that I'd love to ask him to join us. Her initial reactions were again to ignore me, but I took note of the fact that she didn't say anything that precluded the possibility that the idea turned her on. In fact, after a few more flirting encounters with Bill her words at the window changed to moans of acceptance and ultimately to an outright admission that the idea turned her on.
It's one thing, though, to surrender to a fantasy with a cock in you, but quite another to accede to it otherwise. Initially she may even have assumed she was merely feeding my passion by playing along with my fantasies. But the fantasy of letting Bill fuck her took root. Her moaning 'yeses' were not involuntary responses when cumming, but became what they seemed: expressions of her own developing fantasies that morphed into a way of telling me she had developed a burning desire to fuck Bill. Once again, the living room and its window played a crucial role in having her communicate that fact.
Miscommunication is doubtlessly rampant in many marriages. But my wife knew that if we fucked in the living room, I'd heat things up using Bill's name at the window and provide her with an opportunity to state her otherwise hidden desires. So it was hardly innocent when the frequency with which she encouraged having sex there increased. More than once, as I sat reading the paper, she'd saunter in wearing only heels and a sheer babydoll. It was her wordless way of saying that she was horny, knowing full well that I'd to 'compel' her to admit to wanting to fuck Bill.
In fact, our living room window was more successful at leading her to fantasize about being shared than I'd initially hope. Whenever she and Bill met, he'd suggest with undisguised licentious intent that she come to his house 'for a cup of coffee.' Initially, of course, she'd politely refuse, but I'd told her more than once that I wouldn't mind in the least if she accepted his invitation. A typical 'conversation' at the window, for instance, might go something like this as I pushed my cock into her:
"Maybe you'd like for Bill to see you now?"
"Oh .. oh ... yesssss," she'd moan, though she'd utter the same words and moans at that point if I'd said nothing.
"And if he came to the door, should I let him in?"
"Oh god ... fuck me ... harder."
"And if I let him in, should I let him fuck you?"
"Ohhhhhhhhh ..."
Sliding my cock in and out I'd ask "you'd want him now, don't you ... you'd let him fuck you now, wouldn't you?"
"Ohhh ... fuck me .... yesssss ... fuck me!"
Sensing her approaching orgasm while gripping her hips so my cock pushed deep and hard into her, I'd ask "you want his cock now, don't you?"
Inevitably, as her orgasm hit her, she'd cry out "Yes, yes I do .... yesssssss ..."
But with my cock still in her and she was catching her breath, I'd ask "has he invited you to his house again?"
Breathlessly, she'd answer a simple definitive "yes."
"And you're tempted to accept his invitation, aren't you?" I'd say, pressing my hips again against her.
"Oh ... I ... I don't know .. I ... Yes."
"You know he's inviting you to seduce and fuck you, right?"
"Yesssss."
"And you know I want you to accept his invitation, don't you?"
"Yesssss, I know."
"And you're going to accept his invitation someday, aren't you?"
"Oh god ... I ... I ... Yesssss."
"You're going to accept his invitation so he can do what, slut?" I'd ask finally as my cock banged away at her and another of her orgasms approached.
"So he ... so he can fuck me ... oh god ... ohhhh ... ohhhhh I'm cumming ...."
"So he can fuck you and make you his slut .." I'd conclude as my seed shot into her.
"Yessss ... yessssssssss."
To say that I have fond memories of that window is an understatement.
Vignette 2, Halloween: Although our most memorable party was that New Years Eve in which Bill took my wife to his house for the first time, that was not the only landmark local get-together. There was also the Halloween party across the street following that New Year's Eve. By then my wife was being fucked and trained by Bill regularly and had been shared among his friends more then once. That, however, didn't make Halloween any less interesting since such a party was yet another opportunity to have her dress sexier than usual around the neighborhood.
In terms of choosing a costume for her I readily rejected school girl outfits and the classic French maid as too ordinary. But this was pre-internet, so having websites to peruse alternatives wasn't an option. I decided, then, to dress her for what she was with clothes in her wardrobe: A leather collar with a large chrome ring in front, a black leather corset that pushed her tits up and out but covered her nipples and a short black flirt skirt that barely covered the cheeks of her ass. Thong panties were essential, but her 'costume' was completed by black sheer & seamed thigh high nylons and black 5 inch stiletto heeled pumps.
She was erotic as hell, and surely left people wondering if she was as slutty as she looked or taking an atypical walk on the wild side. But as an added touch (it was Halloween after all) she came disguised with a simple black mask around her eyes. You'd be amazed at how hard it is to identify someone when you can't see their eyes, so unless you knew her, the mask provided some anonymity. The party's hosts and other neighbors knew who she was, but since she'd agreed to remain masked throughout the evening, she was a mystery to everyone else ... someone's wife or date whose costume boldly advertised wanton sexuality.
After the usual drinks and polite conversation, the living room furniture, as it had been for New Years Eve, was pushed aside for dancing. Bill, though, was out of town so she was in a sense free to make 'new friends.' I took the first few dances, then, under the guise of wanting a drink, left her alone. I wasn't gone more than 30 seconds before someone asked her to dance, and after him came another. Fortunately, not everyone came as a couple and with my wife dressed as she was, she was clearly a target of opportunity.
It wasn't long, though, before a dance partner asked if her husband minded that her costume put her on such erotic display, and she assured him that I'd chosen it. He then wondered if I got upset when she flirted and she invitingly said I encouraged it. Conscious of the hint being offered, he shot back the question that was a prelude to what followed: "Does he get upset when men hit on you with serious intentions?"
I think it was when she forthrightly and unashamedly said "not in the least" that his hand traced a path down to rest on her barely covered ass.
"And has he let those 'serious intentions' achieve fruition?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you enjoy being with men other than your husband?"
"Yes" she replied with complete honestly.
"And if I told you I wanted to fuck you?"
"I know you do" she replied in a way that invited a pursuit of things to their logical conclusion.
Its one thing to be told that the salaciously dressed woman in your arms has been put on display by a husband who encourages or allows others to fuck her. Confirming that fact is another thing and my wife's new friend wasn't about to avoid learning the truth. Wordlessly leading her from the dance floor, through the kitchen and into a dark and chilly back yard, he pulled her to him, slipped his hand under her skirt until he had two or three fingers deep in her and gave her a deep tongue probing kiss ... a kiss she returned in kind.
I knew where they'd gone but made no attempt to play peeping Tom. As she later recounted, as soon as his fingers found their target, one orgasm and then another hit her. Her orgasms, though, could hardly satisfy him, but fucking there on the cold damp ground was impractical. So down on her knees she went, unzipping his fly to take his throbbing cock in her mouth. It didn't take long before his cock was down her throat. If there was one thing she did in world-class fashion it was sucking a man off and swallowing all that was fed her.
"You are a little whore, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"And if your husband were to see us now ...?"
"I'd have to suck him off too."
