The Transformation of Betty

It might be erotic to imagine one's wife as a stripper or whore. But both are frightening prospects if there's the likelihood that neither will remain mere fantasy. That was the case now as I looked at the hooded slut, strung up helpless with a dripping cunt that was my wife and know she willingly entered such a state. Surely she offered no resistance to attaching cuffs to her wrists and ankles. She let herself be hung by the ropes from the hooks in the ceiling. And while she might not have known on Wednesday that she would be blindfolded with a leather hood, she surely anticipated it on Friday going to Bill's dressed as a whore. Equally important, she knew that in all likelihood I'd see her as she was – Bill's BDSM slut. Could I be certain that any fantasy, however extreme, would remain so? And if I could be certain of nothing, then who had I married? Was it the demur housewife and loyal mate or someone else – someone now revealing herself to me?

To be fair, my wife could have asked equivalent questions. Where was the husband who with tenderness and warmth, would comfort and protect her? Where was the man who earlier had demanded fidelity and promised to provide the same? If I had encouraged her to become a shameless slut, might I abandon all restraint and give her over to everything and anything?

It was difficult to focus on such questions seeing her as an unashamed fuck toy. It was too easy, like her, to abandon all restraint and give oneself over to lust. Even if my mind wanted to contemplate deeper issues, it was immediately dragged back to the situation at hand when Bill walked to her, pulled the cover from her mouth, pushed a finger into her cunt and asked "does that feel good, slut?"

"Yes Sir it does," she responded immediately.

Never before had I heard her use the submissive form 'Sir'. Bill was doing more than using her as a fuck toy – he was training her as a sub. "Do you wish it were my cock instead of my finger?"

"Yes Sir, I do."

Bill removed his hand but only to retrieve an 8" vibe. Turning it on, a shiver ran thru her as he rested its head against her clit. Pushing it in he then asked "Do you like fucking my vibe whore?"

"Y ... yesssss Sir" she replied, the sensations in her cunt now beginning to control her.

"Then fuck it!"

There wasn't, of course, much she could do, but as he held it firm her hips subtly moved to hump it ... a movement that grew more pronounced when he said "you can fuck better than that slut!"

For no more than a minute or two he held the vibe in place as my wife's hips moved on it. Suddenly, as when my cock fucked her ass, she stiffened and released a gurgling cry "Arhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ...."

"The slut cums easily," Bill coldly commented, "but we can use the hooks another time. I wanted you to see her as she was Wednesday. Now lets fuck her the way she should be fucked." The bar that kept her legs spread was released, followed by the part of her hood covering her eyes. Even now I'm uncertain as to whether she was relieved or embarrassed to see that I was in the room. Her eyes were still glazed but Bill wasn't about to allow her time to recover. "Help me unhook her wrists," he asked, whereupon, with my assistance, we carried her to the bed.

"Its time your husband watched you being fucked, don't you agree?" he asked while undressing.

"Yes Sir," was again her dutiful reply.

Bill moved up between her legs and slid his cock in: "Feel good, whore?"

"Ye ... yesssssssss" she moaned.

"Yes what, whore?"

"Yessssss Sir," she replied in a barely audible voice. But with Bill then exerting little effort of his own, her hips began to instinctually rise and fall as she fucked herself against him.

Her eyes closed, but Bill commanded "Look at me slut while your husband watches you fuck." Suddenly, though, he changed his mind as to how he wanted her. Pulling away, he moved to the side onto his back and in a clear directive for her to mount him said "show how much you like to fuck."

Without hesitation she rose, straddled him, and lowered herself onto his upright cock. Then, as she often did for me, she began to rock and fuck herself on him.

"Show your husband how you fucked me before."

As if following a script she looking directly into his eyes, salaciously licked her lips, and twirled and pinching her nipples with her hips continuing to move. If she looked like a BDSM fuck toy when strung up, she now seemed like an unashamed whore. For my part, its impossible to recount clearly my emotions then. Keep in mind that I was watching my wife fucking Bill for the first time -- and in a way that was deliberately slutty. This might not have been how I imagined events unfolding a week ago. I certainly had no clear image in mind when I played with the fantasy of sharing her with another man. But its an understatement to say that the scene before me was erotic.

"You like my cock, don't you whore?"

"Yessssssss .... Sir" she replied with what was now a familiar moaning response.

"And does it excite you to have your husband watch you fuck like a whore?"

Her movements visibly slowed as she tried answering, but her hands remained at her tits: "Yes Sir."

"Did you know it was him watching when your hood was fully on?"

"No Sir, I hoped it was but I wasn't sure."

"Did you care whose cock was in your ass?"

"No, not at the time Sir, I didn't"

Turning, Bill directed me to the night stand next to the bed "this slut needs her tits more thoroughly used. Hand me the clips in the drawer over there."

I found a pair of tweezer clips connected by a chain, and handed them to Bill while my wife's face seemed to register only pleasure as she continued to rock. Her expression changed as he attached each clip, each eliciting a gasping 'ohhh'. Her only other response was to drop her hands to her sides and arch her back as if offering Bill her tits. Bill returned to the first clip to tighten it further, followed by the second again. This time my wife's gasping 'ohhhhhhhhhhh' was decidedly more pronounced. And although she paused momentarily in her rocking, once the clips were firmly attached, her movement grew more frenzied than before. Clearly the clips and the pain had excited her further. I'd never proposed such a toy to her, yet here she was humping hard and fast in a frantic quest for an orgasm, moaning "yessssssssssssss" with each push of her hips. .

"I told you she's a pain slut," Bill turned to me and said, "but watch this." Reaching for the chain, he pulled lightly then harder, and the rate at which she fucked only grew more frenzied until I though Bill's cock might slip from her. And rather than bend forward to relieve the tension on her tits, she leaned back until suddenly she let out that gutteral cry announcing another shattering orgasm.

Reservations aside as to where we were going with all of this, I simply needed to fuck her after watching such a display. So with Bill's cock still in her and awaiting release, I mounted her from behind, pushed her forward and, pushing my cock up her ass, announced "let's give her a ride."

I'm not sure how we did it, but we were immediately in sync. I suppose most of the work was mine, driving into her and in turn driving her down onto Bill. By this time she was in her own world consumed by lust, moaning then screaming "oh godddddd" with each thrust.

Perhaps sooner than I might have wished, I exclaimed "going to cum" and Bill announced the same whereupon each of us shot our load into her.

My wife's body seemed to go into spasms, but not quietly so. It began with a moan "ohhhhhhhhhhhhh" followed by a quick intake of breath, and then a loud piercing screech "Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ......" It was a sound I'd never heard her make before, but there was no doubt about its cause ... an orgasm that literally shook her to her core.

Keeping my cock pressed hard in her ass I commanded "don't stop bitch. Cum like the whore you are" as her body continued to convulse. "Milk our cocks, whore ... milk them," I ordered and then again felt her shudder and the preceding orgasm was quickly followed by another.

"Keep your cock in her," Bill directed, and sure enough, with a screaming wail, my wife came again.

With my wife now panting, sweating and in a seemingly collapsed state, Bill and I needed our own chance to catch our breaths. I pulled out and rolled onto my back on the side. Bill gently pushed my wife aside and slipped out from beneath her. The three of us laid there for a minute until Bill and I got off the bed to put our shorts back on. My wife, however, continued to lay there, eyes closed, with a puddle of cum forming beneath her cunt on the sheet.

"A great fuck, wasn't she" Bill asked, already knowing the answer.

"She most certainly was, but I think the slut needs to rest"

"To be perfectly honest, I do too."

I then realized that neither my wife nor I had eaten dinner, and neither had Bill. Leaving her on the bed, we dressed and headed downstairs to order a pizza. I don't think we talked much prior to its arrival but as soon as the delivery boy left, Bill said he was going upstairs to remove my wife's hood and bring her down. That's precisely what he did since he, as much as I, needed a respite from sex. My wife, on the other hand, was allowed only to wear her garter and hose, with Bill at some point commenting that 'you still should shave and trim the slut's cunt as I suggested.'

Throughout all of this my wife's demeanor was calm. I might have expected her to be embarrassed by all I had seen. Perhaps she was; but she made every effort at fulfilling the role of a sub – not speaking unless spoken to, and so on. Wholly out of character I'll admit. After we finished eating I decided that we should call it a night. But not before we set tentative plans for the next day.

"Why don't you guys come over tomorrow around noon? I have a few errands, after which we can shop for some of the wardrobe your wife needs as our slut and whore."

I readily agreed, at which point Bill interjected "I hope you don't have plans for tomorrow night?"

"None at all. I cleared the deck as per our conversation last Sunday." Turning to my wife I then told her to go upstairs and get dressed so we could leave.

When she returned, Bill stopped her, lifted the hem of her skirt, and remarked with approval "See how excellently trained she's becoming. She even reinserted the plug into her ass."

To be honest, I'd completely forgotten about the plug, and I reminded myself that one should never fail to remember the small details that differentiate a sub slut from a wife who simply enjoys kinky sex. Bill's comment, moreover, was designed less to communicate anything to me as much as it was to remind my wife of her place and emphasize that modesty was not something she possessed,

The next morning was unexceptional and found me running to the hardware store to replace the wood stain my wife bought for the one I actually wanted. I spent the rest of the morning working on the cupboard I was refinishing while she went about her usual chores. Around 11:30 I suggested that she get ready for our shopping expedition. Shortly before noon she reappeared as again the proper housewife ... a knee length skirt, pull over sweater and shoes with a heel that didn't exceeded two inches. However, as we were about to leave I checked her ass at the door to ensure that the plug was in her and to confirm that she wasn't wearing a bra. "Perfect," I proclaimed and led her out.

Bill suggested we go shopping directly, but that it would be best if she removed her plug: "might be a problem given some of the things she'll try on." Going to his car he suggested that my wife take the passenger seat and I take the rear. I was somewhat relieved since if the two of them took the backseat he presumably would have wanted to fuck her, which might not have been wise in broad daylight driving thru a city where who knows who might pull along side us. As it was Bill had her hike up her skirt above her cunt, but nothing else occurred on the 25 minute drive to the slut dress shop on the far side of town.

I'd known about the store, but never gone in, so my first time there was eye-opening. Aside from an assortment of scanty nightgowns, bikini panties and string swimsuits there was a vast array of dresses and evening gowns, none of which were designed to be worn at a faculty party. The three of us then separately poked thru the racks and one dress in particular caught my eye – a skin tight ankle length gown that was proper in all respects except for two things: it was semi-sheer and had a slit in back that rose higher than all the other gowns I saw. Bill appeared with a black jumpsuit and told her to try it on as well. However, he suggested that she hold off for a bit before going to the dressing room, "you still need one or two more outfits."

My wife hadn't chosen anything yet, taken aback a bit by the salaciousness of the dresses there. Still she continued looking until she found one and half-kiddingly said "I bet you guys like this one." She was absolutely correct. The front had a scooped (I'm told its called 'cowel') neck while the back was backless to the extreme. I wondered in fact whether it would even wholly cover the crack of her ass. Needless to say it was added to the dresses my wife was to model.

Bill then announced that he had found what he was looking for as he pulled a dress from the rack that seemed to use less fabric than most neckties. Well, so I exaggerate a little; but not much! Whatever it was – and that was difficult to determine since it was obviously ultra-tight and ultra-short and shriveled on the hanger. It too was added to the pile, but not before Bill announced "wait, one more thing". A quick trip to a nearby rack produced a skirt that even without being modeled I could tell was one only a stripper or whore could wear. "Now go try each on and model them for us."

The 'us' in this case consisted only of Bill, myself and the store's manager ... a middle aged man who was clearly keenly interested in watching my wife model the dresses we had chosen. The first dress she tried was the one I found and I had to admit that I chose well. Skin tight, when stretched it was more than merely semi-sheer. But it was also a blaze of color so one had to look twice to see that she was naked beneath it with nothing hidden from view. The dress was sluttier still from the back. The slit rose up higher that I'd guessed and rode up more when she walked to reveal an inch or so of the bottom cheeks of her ass. "That's a sale" was my only comment and Bill heartily agreed. If ever there was a dress that invited men to fuck her ass, that was it.

However, before she returned to the dressing room, Bill observed that we were forgetting something: "she doesn't have the right shoes for modeling the dresses here."

I agreed and we proceed to the store's annex with its large selection of slut footwear. With my wife still in the dress she'd tried on, her only comment was "I usually take a size 6 ½ or 7."

The selection of shoes was a erotic as the dresses. Five inch heels seemed the minimum and there were several platform boots advertised as seven. We proceeded quickly with my wife selecting a pair of black 5" pumps with an buckling ankle strap while I handed her a pair of 6" black platforms. Both fit perfectly although my wife said she hoped she didn't have to walk far in either pair.

I suggested that she wear the platforms for her modeling, and I can tell you now that they added a special touch to whatever she wore ... she looked absolutely, ravishingly slutty in them and the soon-to-be-hers sheer dress. If anything, she looked as an expensive call girl might look when being taken to a party or dinner where it would be commonly known she was a whore.

Returning to the dressing room, she reappeared in the black jumpsuit. Aside from also being skin tight it was modest in appearance, but again with an exception. The halter neck was loose fitting and, with a neckline that plunged almost to her waist, her tits, while covered from the front, were in effect in full view from virtually any other perspective. "Perfect for plane ride," Bill commented. "I'm sure whoever sits next to her will enjoy the view."

I had to agree, but more interestingly, my wife seemed to be getting into the spirit of modeling for us. She walked around the shop, turning, posing before a mirror, checking how tightly it caressed her ass, and even affording the store's manager a close up view by asking him "does it fit me?" He, of course, readily answered in the affirmative.

The next item was the dress my wife's half-serious selection, and it was even more salacious and slutty than mine. With a plunging cowel neckline, one wrong move threatened to uncover one tit or the other. But it was from the back that its appeal could be seen. Its back wasn't simply plunging ... it plunged in fact to an inch below the crack of her ass. If the shoes she was wearing said 'fuck me', this dress suggested a specific target. This time moreover she not only modeled for the manager, but walked up to him and, with a 360 degree turn, asked if he liked it on her. A second affirmative answer was immediately forthcoming at which point there was surely three hard cocks in the room.

Bill then decided to turn up the heat a bit: "Come here and let me look closely," he instructed, and as my wife stood before hem, he moved to the side and slowly and deliberately slid his hand down her back until it disappeared beneath what little there was of the dress. "Very nice, very accessible" he commented, all the time making sure that the manager could see and hear everything.

The final dress was Bill's infinitesimally small selection. It might have covered all that legally needed to be covered, but to say it was short and tight were understatements. It covered her cunt and cheeks of her ass, but only when she stood straight. Her platform heels stretched her legs out from her toes to her ass, and there was little doubt what it portrayed her as ... an unashamed whore!

As before, she seemed to delight in walking around the shop, affording all of us a wholly salacious view. It was when she disappeared back into the dressing room to try on the last remaining item ... the skirt ... that the manager, as I recall, walked over to Bill and I and asked directly if she was 'available'. A truly evil thought flashed thru my mind: 'I wonder how many dresses we could have for free if we let him fuck her?' Quickly adding up the cost of the shoes and the dresses in my head, I admit I was tempted. But discretion compelled me to reply "not at this time," thereby leaving the door open to a future visit to his store with my wife as a whore.

"Just thought I'd ask ... hope you don't mind me saying this, but she's incredibly hot."

"Oh, she is" Bill answered – a reply that let him know she was fucking both of us.

I stood for a second in shock when my wife reappeared wearing the skirt Bill had selected. The skirt, surely, was incredibly short and with a flair hem, showed the cheeks of her ass as she walked. But aside from the skirt and shoes, she wore nothing else. Clearly, her salacious modeling had turned her on and she decided on her own to push her limits in a way she knew would delight Bill and I. It was also evident that if we told her to fuck the manager, she would have ... regardless of how many dresses she acquired for free. As it was all she said was "I need a top to go with this skirt."

With my wife's tits on display and her ass barely covered, neither Bill nor I were in a rush to find what she needed. The top she eventually chose was a sweet little number that caressed her tits nicely, tied in front and could be untied easily. Overall, her 'outfit' was what could be called 'schoolgirl' though I doubt there were any schools to which it could be worn. In fact, while I loved how she looked, I couldn't then imagine where she would wear it.