It would take countless pages to recount all the details of my wife's training and experiences and at this point it's probably more useful to describe its various high and low points. After her first week as a slut, perhaps the most notable events that occurred relatively shortly thereafter was when Bill and I jointly had her again at his house and a return to the restaurant we ate and danced at that first full weekend of her as a slut.
Bill and I had agreed that to establish a routine for her training and use, we should spend at least one night a week at his house. And naturally, I'd spent a good part of our second week thinking about the hooks in Bill's ceiling and what my wife looked like helplessly strung up. I suppose many husbands fantasize about such things, though perhaps mostly in the privacy of their own bedrooms. Well, if that is erotic, having another man there is even more so. But I was largely a voyeur the first time and didn't truly control her myself. That was a situation I craved rectifying. So when Bill and I agreed to bring her over the following Friday after dinner I told him I wanted to take the lead. He had no objection, doubtlessly because he knew that if all went well, he'd have innumerable opportunities of his own.
So Friday, after the dinner dishes were washed, I told Betty we were going to Bill's and that she could wear whatever she wished, provided that she also wear her hose, garter and 5" pumps. That requirement derived from the fact that she looked so wanton and slutty wearing only those things.
When she appeared shortly thereafter dressed neither conservative or slutty I thought to myself how unashamedly she switched between housewife and whore – between asking me to help with the dishes to quietly following me to Bill's knowing she was being taken to be used and fucked as a sub slut. I on the other hand seemed to struggle more with switching between being her husband versus a Dom and I understood even then that the struggle was a sign of my inexperience in this lifestyle as well as to the fact that I had not fully adjusted to my wife being not only a willing sub slut for Bill and I but who also responded to the imagery of being made a stripper and a whore..
Because there's no point in pretending a 'normal' social mood, upon arriving at Bill's I immediately told her to remove her blouse and skirt. Then turning to Bill, asked him to help me attach the wrist and ankle cuffs he kept nearby. Neither of us played with her at then – she was required to stand submissively silent as we prepared her -- but her cunt was clearly growing wetter, especially when I pointedly stated "let's go to the bedroom, I want to string the slut up."
Once there she simply walked over to stand beneath the hooks in the ceiling without even being told to do so and thereafter allowed her wrists to be attached to the ceiling with no more resistance than she offered downstairs. Even today, when I think back to that night, it all seems surreal – my wife seemingly asking to be used as a BDSM slut. Once hung, I found the image incredibly erotic. Of course, I'd seen pics of women strung up wearing heels, hose and garters, but for it to BE your own wife and for her to have so willingly surrendered to her helpless state is altogether different.
I remarked to myself how much more sexy and depraved she looked with her cunt now trimmed as Bill had suggested – into a sharply defined dark strip that would certainly stand out in a white or sheer gown. I even thought then of a night when I'd take her out on display in the skin tight gown I'd bought her that became more than semi-sheer when stretched tight over her. But now the main order of business was to bring her the pleasures she so unashamedly craved. "Comfortable whore ... and cunt wet?"
"Yes Sir," she replied, once again reverting to the formalism of calling me Sir.
"What do you think we're going to do to you?"
"I don't know, but I know you will make me cum ... Sir"
I turned to Bill and asked if he would again put the hood on her with an opening only for her nose and mouth: "there's no reason you should see what will be done to you until it has in fact been done." Even as I said this, however, I knew I had no specific plan. And the question I had not answered to my own satisfaction was what I hoped would be the net result of this session. If it were training, then training to what end? My wife, after all, was not resisting anything – there were no apparent inhibitions that needed to be broken. I had to admit, then, that tonight was largely for my own pleasure – a motive that left me feeling mildly uncomfortable. Nevertheless, satisfying my own inner lust, fueled by seeing my wife as a strung up slut, was a motive I couldn't resist.
I motioned to Bill to now get the tweezer clips since she had responded so strongly to them before. However, rather than attach them directly, I decided to again have her confront her surrender. I may have been inexperienced, but I did know that an essential part of a slut's training it to get them to reveal desires they would otherwise be too embarrassed to acknowledge, and to repeat that process until there is no possibility of any surviving modesty Stepping in front of her I let a finger slide slowly over her clit, then move ever so lightly around the entrance to her cunt: "Your going to be our slut again tonight, aren't you?".
"Yes Sir, I am."
"And I bet you're already looking forward to having Bill and I fill you with our cocks and our cum?"
"Yes Sir"
Then referring to myself in the third person: "Tell Bill you want him to fuck you .. Tell him you want him to shove his hard cock into you while your husband watches you cum like a whore."
"I want you to fuck me Bill ... fuck me like a whore while my husband watches."
"Because you are a whore, aren't you?"
