For two months following my Las Vegas adventure with Alex, I heard only occasionally from him but without an invitation to visit. The only man I'd fucked in those months was my husband, so the fantasy of being with Alex had built up in my mind to become a burning lust. Thus, I nearly leapt from my chair when he called and finally asked "how would you like to visit and how soon can you come?"
"Tomorrow if you want me," was my instantaneous answer. Aside from occasionally letting my husband fuck me, I'd found what minimal sexual satisfaction I'd achieved for two months primarily by masturbating to the fantasy of again being Alex's slut. If I sounded over-anxious to seeing him again, I was and didn't care if he knew it.
"Great ... how long can you come out here for?"
Without a second thought I answered, "For as long as you want me." And I meant what I said ... for as long as he wanted me. After that weekend in Vegas, all I could think about was Alex. And when, during those two months, I talked to my husband about visiting Alex, I was brutally honest and told him that when and if I had the chance to fly out to be with him and if he treated me as he had in Vegas, he could keep me as long as he wanted.
"What, my cock isn't good enough for you?" my husband kiddingly asked.
"Your cock can make me cum but Alex's sends me to paradise."
"Well then, I guess you'd have no choice but to stay with him for as long as he wanted you to."
You might ask why I'd so make myself available in such an open ended way and why my husband raised no objection to me flying off to be another man's slut for an indefinite period. After all, I'd never been away from him for more than ten days with Bill. But Bill lived a mere three houses from us so there was little reason for longer absences. However, I'd crossed the psychological bridge of imagining myself wholly removed from my husband indefinitely or even permanently when Bill prepared to move to Europe. Plans were set for me to join him with no specific notion as to when I'd return or even if I'd return. Bill was brutally honest: He'd already begun making arrangements for me to work me as a prostitute, which made sense only if I stayed for extended periods ... months, even years.
Bill also briefly mentioned the possibility ... inspired perhaps by the popular novel 'Story of O' ... of selling me permanently to someone if and when he ever tired of me. The idea scared me, but I got wet fantasizing about being shipped to, say, Asia as a sex slave to work thereafter as a whore. I knew this was a crazy fantasy in light of some absolutely horrendous and life threatening possibilities. Nevertheless, I told Bill that if there were places where sluts could be permanently (and legally) auctioned to the highest bidder and if for whatever reason he chose to have me sold, I'd submit to being sold even if my ultimate fate was concealed from me.
The point of me telling this is that I'd already contemplated the idea of transitioning to being indefinitely owned by someone other than my husband and of my marriage being effectively, if not legally, at an end. While most people cannot understand this, but the need I felt to be wholly obedient for my Master knew no limits including those that might have been set by my marriage vows, and I was prepared to accept any fate Bill chose for me. To act in any other way couldn't possibly provide me relief from anything and would only yield an utterly unbearable psychological torment. Thus, since over the two months since my Las Vegas adventure I'd led myself to view Alex as I'd viewed Bill, the notion of an indefinite stay with him seemed unexceptional.
As for my husband, I can't fully explain his preferences but I do understand why the idea of sending me off to work as a prostitute with an uncertain return was acceptable to him. If it weren't for the concern that the wrong people would learn what I was, he never hid the fact that he'd have encouraged me to be a stripper at a local strip club in the expectation that it would be impossible for me to resist letting that job evolve into me becoming a whore. When Bill arranged for the bartender at a local hotel to pimp me whenever men asked if he knew where they could get some 'action', he resisted admitting that it was too dangerous for me to continue despite the fact that it was his job that would be endangered. Thus, if my being a working whore required that I stay with Bill indefinitely, that was a cost he was willing to incur.
Perhaps more surprising is that my husband was as intrigued and turned on as I was by the idea of me being sold at auction as a permanent sex slave. On more than one occasion he asked Bill if he'd yet inquired about the existence of consensual sex slave auction markets. Bill said he knew of sex clubs wherein female members were sometimes auctioned off. But they were sold only on a temporary basis ... a night or weekend ... and not as a permanent change in the slut's ownership.
Clearly, then, my husband was not about to rule out the possibility of me being permanently sold. And if you ask why, I think the simplest answer is that he'd come to view me less as a wife and more as a slut he was allowed to have access to. And like me he saw our marriage as one of mere convenience and a way to maintain an aura of normalcy and respectability. The extreme possibility, though, of having me irrevocably sold wasn't on the table with Alex. Thus, there was nothing exceptional about the idea of me being sent off with no specific return date. In fact, from my and my husband's perspective, that was ideal since it opened the door to Alex being able to pursue any and all ways I might serve him as his slut.
In any event, Alex replied to my open invitation for him to keep me as long as he wished by saying "frankly, it makes little sense, given what I'd plan for you, for you to be out here less than three or four weeks."
I had no idea what his plans might include, but I was prepared to have him say he wanted me for an even longer than a month so I enthusiastically replied by saying "if you want, I'll fly out tomorrow." Yes, I'll admit it ... I wasn't necessarily thinking objectively in my eagerness to be with him. In the erotic glow of being asked to travel to see someone I was already imagining as my Master ... a man whose cock I'd fantasized about now for two months ... I was unwilling to impose any obstacle to fulfilling whatever plans Alex might have about me.
"Tomorrow would be great ... just let me know when you'll arrive and I'll pick you up at the airport."
As you might guess, as soon as I hung up and then called to make my flight reservations, I headed upstairs to begin the process of deciding what to pack. Those might be easy decisions for a man, but for a woman, it never is. But one thing was certain. I'd pack nothing except things from my slut wardrobe. If Alex wanted or needed me to dress prim and proper he'd either have to accept what I wore on the plane or buy me something that suit his tastes. Thus, into the suitcase went several pairs of fuck me high heels, a sheer blouse, a micro mini skirt and seven or eight slut dresses plus a truly salacious full length gown. As an afterthought I also tossed in the provocatively erotic sling swimsuit I wore in Vegas when Alex whored me to the pool attendant.
I also had to decide what to pack in my carry-on since, as I'd always done with Bill, I planned on meeting Alex dressed other than prim and proper. Totally turned on by the prospect of seeing Alex again, all caution vanished and I chose to look absolutely slutty. In addition to the 6" heels I'd wear on the plane, I picked a 13" long flair hemmed skirt that barely covered my ass (and didn't if I bent forward) along with a sheer blouse with but one button at my waist. Since it fit loosely, my tits always threatened to fall out, but what kept me barely legal was the ruffled trim running the length of the neckline that covered my tits. Trying the blouse and skirt on to remind myself how I looked, I decided that adding a leather collar and large hoop earrings made me look like a whore or some hot wife traveling to see a lover. Since that pretty much described me, I zipped up the carry-on and committed to looking like a shameless hooker when greeting Alex.
When I told my husband of my plan to fly out the next morning his only comment was "Seems you can't get Alex's cock into you fast enough." And then, when told my stay would be indefinite ... that Alex wanted me with him for at least a month ... he correctly guessed "I'll give you odds he plans on having you working as a whore in some fashion. And if he succeeds, I'd expect that you'll be there for some time." The tone of his voice, though, was one of approval.
That night, perhaps as a farewell present, my husband fucked me as he hadn't fuck me in quite some time ... my cunt, my ass, down my throat. It was almost enough to make me wish I wasn't leaving the next morning ... but only 'almost'. Then, as a final act, he retrieved his whipping cane and gave me 3 or 4 searing cracks across my ass, saying afterwards "there, I hope that serves to remind Alex that he's free to whip this slut as much as he pleases."
My skin is such that the welts from the cane would be certain to persist into tomorrow for Alex's viewing pleasure, and I responded "Oh god yes, I hope he whips me as hard as he can. I want him to make this slut obey him fully."
Dropping me off at the airport the next morning, the flight was utterly normal, and boring. But as soon as the plane landed I couldn't get out of it fast enough so I could change my clothes and meet up with Alex. Admittedly, though, I did have some second thoughts after making the change, realizing I hadn't given much thought to how Alex would react to greeting someone in public who most people were likely to assume was at best a shameless wanton slut if not a whore.
It's an understatement to say I was relieved when Alex spotted me where we'd agreed to meet, at baggage claim, by rushing up to me and giving me an utterly erotic tongue probing kiss. And frankly, in those initial few seconds, I literally melted into his arms ... god I wanted him to fuck me, and when we broke from our kiss that's precisely what I said to him "God I want you to fuck me!"
Retrieving my luggage, we headed out of the terminal to his car in the adjacent parking structure, and as he had done in Vegas, he kept one hand on my barely covered ass, which only made me drip in anticipation of getting into bed with him ASAP. Alex, though, had other plans. We weren't alone in the parking garage but there was no one nearby and when we reached his car he told me "bend over the hood, slut."
I couldn't imagine he'd fuck me then and there even though by bending, my ass was totally exposed. And he didn't. Instead, without saying a word, he pulled a butt plug from his pocket and shoved it brutally up into my ass. Despite the sharp pain I nearly came on the spot ... not simply because I loved getting fucked there, but because this was Alex's signal that he intended to treat me not as a lover but as a slut and shameless fuck toy.
Alex also then took notice of the welts still criss-crossing my ass from the caning my husband had given me that night. "So has the slut been naughty and required punishment from her husband? Did he punish you because you flew out to be with me?"
"N ... noooo .. he wants me here. He wants me to be your slut. He ... he wanted to remind you that you're free to whip me whenever and as hard as you wish."
