The Transformation of Betty

Two nights in the motel near the strip club seemed long enough and I assumed my wife could use a rest after two days of intense sex in which she was introduced to the pleasures of other women. I made sure we awoke, then, in time to check out and with a tentative plan of finding a more upscale motel with a pool and simply spend a night or two relaxing without a sexual agenda. However, my parting conversation with Sally stayed in my head as a tantalizing fantasy – turning my wife over to her for a few days, as well as the image of tattoos and cunt rings. So after having my wife wear the top and micro-mini skirt she'd worn for Bill in Washington, we headed for breakfast whereupon I confronted her directly with those possibilities: "What if I told you to get a tattoo?"

"Like Sally's" she asked somewhat matter-of-factly.

"Yes, on your tit and perhaps your ass" I said, deliberately opening the door to the possibility of more than one wholly inconspicuous tattoo.

"I wouldn't want it where anyone in the family might see it," she replied. What was interesting about this reply, of course, was that she didn't object to the idea in principle, but only wanted to be sure we could keep our sexual life style secret. But what surprised me more was my wife's next comment, which clearly encouraged me further: "Sally's tattoos are really sexy."

"Yes they are," adding boldly that "I'll be arranging for you to be marked in an equally sensuous way." Having established that she had no general objection to tattoos, I opened the door to the next issue: "You enjoyed last night, didn't you ... surrendering to Sally and Nancy?"

Though somewhat evasive, she nevertheless replied in a way that could only encourage me to share her further with other women: "Sally and Nancy are very sexy, aren't they?"

"They didn't treat you gently, but you came hard for them" I commented, stating the obvious to gauge my wife's general reaction.

Without even the hint of a blush, she answered "Yes, I know."

"And the wax ... did you enjoy the wax?" I bluntly asked.

"God that hurt ... that hurt a lot" she replied, not answering my question.

"I don't doubt that, but did you enjoy it?"

"I think I did." And then, in the spirt of complete confession: "It certainly made me cum hard."

"And you drank Sally's piss again, didn't you?"

This time there was a definite blush that told me she was more embarrassed by that fact than by her admission of getting pleasure from the pain of hot wax: "Yes I did."

"How do you feel about being made a sub for women?" "Its different and difficult to explain. Maybe because its naughtier, more forbidden, than serving men. They are definitely rougher, less forgiving, than you or Bill."

"You told me last night you'd like to be loaned out to Sally and Nancy ... to be theirs to use and train as they please without my direction or presence. Have you changed your mind?"

"Oh god ... I don't know ... its scarey. I'm not sure what they'd do to me."

"But if I gave you to them to be trained further as a sub slut ...?"

"I'd have to comply, wouldn't I?" she answered, not so much as a question but as a statement of fact that, as with our discussion of tattoos, clearly encouraged me to pursue such possibilities..

"Yes." At that point I rolled over in my mind whether to raise the subject of cunt rings, asking myself 'Should I ask her about them or simply tell Sally to have them installed without warning my wife beforehand?' I decided not to raise the subject. If I were to give the go-ahead to have them installed, I thought it best that, like the hot wax, they should come as a surprise. I then bluntly asked my wife "If I gave you the choice between being given over to Sally and Nancy for the next few days versus, say, driving on to a motel for just a few days relaxation, what would you choose."

I wasn't sure I'd give her that choice, but I was curious as to which alternative she'd prefer. Her initial response, however, was again evasive: "That's two distinctly different alternatives, isn't it?"

"Yes, but which would you choose?"

I had begun to learn how to read my wife when she confronted blunt sexual questions. If she didn't object outright to something, then I knew it had some appeal ... that the imagery or fantasy turned her on. She was definitely more willing to reveal what excited her, but she wasn't yet totally open. Inhibitions remained that needed to be stripped from her. She hadn't yet disallowed anything and I even wondered if there was anything to which she would object with a definitive 'no'. Sluts normally have limits, yet the only limits we'd discussed was the necessity for remaining discrete and not doing anything that would endanger her. The subject of scat hadn't arisen, if only because my wife knew my reaction to shit. Nor had we discussed drugs ... her and my objection to that was self-evident. But other things such as having her be a true whore for money or finding her a lesbian lover hadn't been discussed explicitly even though I held fantasies there. It was still 'learn as you go' for us.

My wife sat there for a minute, seemingly unable to choose until she asked, in a telltale way "how would you feel if I learned to enjoy women as much as men?"

That question, of course, answered mine: As much as the prospect might scare her, she wanted to be loaned out. I answered forthrightly "It would be incredibly erotic for you to be a bisexual slut."

My wife continued with her questions by way of revealing her preferences: "Sally's perfect, isn't she ... she's really sexy and enjoyed fucking you? You'd like to fuck her again, wouldn't you?"

Being in a conversation that sought blunt and honest answers, I answered forthrightly: "Yes, I want to fuck her again." I had in fact enjoyed fucking Sally, especially when my wife was 'forced' to watch. And not only would I want to have her again, but my wife was clearly encouraging me to do so. But I wanted her to state that fact directly: "Do you want me to fuck her again?"

This time there was a discernable pause in her reply, for surely she knew the implications of her answer for our marriage. But her answer was simple: "Yes I do. It was incredibly erotic watching you fuck her. I felt maybe a small touch of jealousy wishing it was me ... but being 'forced' to watch you having sex with another woman, especially a woman who turned me on, was exciting."

You might think that by now I'd be adjusted to my wife's transformation into a slut, but in fact it seemed, especially after this conversation, that she'd adjusted to it even more fully than I. Despite the equivocal way in which I'd raised certain issues, she had in so many words accepted the prospect of being tattooed, encouraged me to loan her out without supervision for further training as a bi sub slut, revealed her taste for women, and explicitly encouraged me to fuck another woman. The revelations, though, went in both directions, since I had now told her that I wanted her to be a bisexual slut with perhaps even a lesbian lover. Thus, our conversation had reached an unambiguous conclusion: I was going to loan her out to Sally. Not only that, but it was going to be largely up to Sally as to whether my wife would end the week with tattoos or cunt rings. So, stepping away from the table I announced, before heading to the restaurant pay phone, "I'm going to call Sally now."

My wife sat there, expressionless, and when I reached Sally at her apartment she told me to come over anytime ... she had no plans for the day. Nancy was working as a waitress that afternoon, but would be off work herself by evening. "I was hoping you'd call ... in fact, I suspected you would." Then she asked "are you bringing your wife over to loan her out to me for several days or for simply another session like we had at your motel room?"

"I want to loan her out to you ... how many days would you want her?"

"I'll take her for as long as you wish. I also work part time as a waitress, but on most any weekday either Nancy or I will be here if we aren't here together."

"So its ok if I left her for, say, three days?" I asked, picking three for no specific reason.

"That would be perfect."

After jotting down directions I told her we'd be there within the hour. Returning to our table I told my wife everything was arranged and that we'd head to Sally's after finishing breakfast. "You're going to leave me there with her I assume?" she asked, and in a way that suggested she'd be disappointed if I said anything but 'yes'..

The drive to Sally's apartment ... one of those garden apartment complexes ... took less than twenty minutes and Sally eagerly greeted us at the door. Her first words, however, immediately established why we were there: "slut, go to the bedroom, undress and stay there until I call you ... your husband and I have a few things to discuss." I handed Sally my wife's small carry-on bag that held her slut attire, some womanly necessities, and the toys I'd brought with me in anticipation of being away from home for a week (her ring gag, posture collar, remote egg vibe, corset, cuffs and nipple clips), whereupon Sally quite directly asked "have you thought any more about tattoos and cunt rings?"

"Yes and you have my permission to arrange for the tattoos. My preference is for a small one like yours on a tit ... something covered by an ordinary bra but that would show with a plunging neckline. Perhaps a butterfly or some such thing." I then added "she also has some dresses that plunge in back to below the cleavage of her ass. Perhaps one there as well that would show in those dresses but would be covered otherwise."

"And what of the cunt rings ... say through the inner labia?"

"Hmmmm ... that's a tougher one to decide. I assume that if she has them installed, her cunt would be out of commission for a month or more."

"Actually, two to four weeks. The decision is yours."

"I call you in a day or two after I've thought more about it?"

"No problem. You should call daily anyhow to see how things are going. Another question: I have an on-again off-again boyfriend. I can guarantee he's clean. Is he allowed to fuck her?"

"If he's clean, yes, of course. You also have my permission to whore her at the club provided her safety is assured."

"No need to worry about safety, but I want to emphasize that she may not be quite the same woman in three days that she is now. Once you leave she'll be my and Nancy's full time fuck toy except when allowed to sleep. We won't always be gentle and she'll perhaps experience things she might now deem degrading or disgusting."

"I'm not sure I want to know everything beforehand but what, for instance, do you have in mind?"

"Well, for starters I'll take pictures of her training and will give you a complete set plus the negatives. I have a friend who will do the developing ... all strictly private. Your wife, on the other hand, will be required to pose for the camera as a masturbating whore and while she is being used."

I hadn't even thought of the possibility of pictures when deciding to loan my wife out. I was relieved, admittedly, to have Sally forthrightly bring up the subject since it again left everything out on the open ... no secret filming that might be used for purposes other than what I might intend. Still, a twinge of apprehension ran through me, but at this point I felt I was traveling along a one way street. I then reviewed the minimal limits my wife and I had agreed to about being discrete, scat, drugs and doing nothing that would endanger or threaten her with arrest.

Sally had no objection to any of that, commenting simply "after that should I assume that she's mine to do with as I please?"

With somewhat of a lump in my throat I answered "yes. Can I ask, however, what else you might have planned for her?"

"To be honest, I'd like to keep a few things as a pleasant surprise for you. But you told me she's experienced a `serious' enema only once. She will experience more of the same. Also I want to probe her tolerance for pain further. She reacted quite well to the hot wax and I think she's close to being a true pain slut."

I emphasized that she had my permission for all of that provided her safety was assured and that whatever pain she experienced was not to be simply gratuitous ... that its purpose was strictly training her. Understanding the role of incentives, I then emphasized "if all goes well, you'll have many more opportunities to use her as your slut and whore."

Sally readily agreed, at which point she turned to retrieve my now naked wife from the bedroom. "Your husband has given you to me for the next three days to serve as my slut. Do you understand and accept that?" Sally asked, as if confirming a contract.

"Yes, I understand"

"Among other things you are going to be tattooed ... do you accept that as well?"

My wife, of course, had already resigned herself to being marked and thus answered 'yes' without the hint of any reservation.

Then turning to me Sally said simply "call tomorrow to see how things are going," which I took to mean that it was time for me to leave. And as tempted as I was to give Betty a goodbye hug or kiss, I simply exited for my car. 'Best to set the mood of her surrender,' I thought, 'by a cold exit.'

I had only the vaguest idea as to what thoughts were in my wife's head as I drove away. I knew she was incredibly turned on at the prospect of being made a sub slut for another woman, but now fantasy had become reality ... a reality she knew that placed few limits on how she was going to be used.. I wasn't sure, moreover, about my own reactions to what I'd done. Surely the idea of turning my wife over to two Dommes who were lovers themselves was incredibly erotic, as was the prospect of having her finally tattooed. But I had no knowledge whatsoever of Sally's boyfriend or how my wife was likely to react to being made a true whore. I knew I was being reckless since I'd known Sally only a short time. And yet, I'd been unable to resist her invitation to take my wife for training. I worried, naturally enough, that my hormones and cock were doing my thinking. I hadn't sold my wife into sexual slavery, but I'd done the next closest thing ... and regardless of what anyone might think of me for having done that, I'll confess now to having a raging hardon as I headed home.

I won't bore the reader with my thoughts and concerns over the next three days. I did call once a day, late in the afternoon, and after assuring me that my wife was doing fine, Sally put her briefly on the phone ... long enough for me to ask 'are you ok?' and for her to reply, in a stuttering but convincing voice 'yes'. On Tuesday Sally asked if she could keep her until Friday. I asked to speak to Betty and told her of Sally's request, then asked if she was ok being left there longer. I detected a moment's hesitation, but again her answer was 'yes, if that's your wish'. I told Sally I'd be back out there on Friday, around 4 PM and she said not be there later than 7 since she had to work at the club that night and I could decide when I got there whether my wife was to work as well.

Of course, I told Bill everything ... her experience with Sally over the weekend and my decision to leave Betty with her for the week. He too was apprehensive and it may also have been that I detected a note of jealousy. Although we'd achieved a great working relationship in terms of sharing my wife, it wasn't so clear he liked the idea of bringing someone else into the picture. Nevertheless, it was a fait accompli and if he had serious objections he kept them to himself.

On Friday I decided to drive out to Sally's in the early afternoon, if only so I'd have time to see and perhaps enjoy first hand the results of my wife's training. Sally said she was going to suggest that and that Betty would be `fully prepared for you then.' I wasn't sure what that comment meant, but figured I'd learn soon enough. So it was with an enormous sense of anticipation that I drove to Sally's after leaving my office even earlier than planned. At the apartment, Sally met me at the door wearing nothing more than a thong and heels, but as much as I admired her full firm tits and slender build, my first question was "where's Betty?"

"She's in the bedroom ... I'll get her" she replied, turning around and disappearing into a nearby room. In less than a minute she reappeared, leading my wife by a leash attached to her posture collar.

She wore nothing aside from collar and heels, but the change in her ... physical and psychological .. was evident. First there was the small tattoo (a butterfly as I'd suggested) that adorned the lower curve of her right tit and a golden ring that peered out between the lips of her cunt. While the ring, in my mind at least, marked her as a sub slut, the tattoo was almost like jewelry and beautifully placed: As I'd requested, it was low enough to be wholly covered by any 'normal' bra or bathing suit. But in a dress with a neckline that plunged deeply to show the full profile of her tits, it would be plainly in view. However, what especially struck me was that my wife never raised her eyes from the floor. She was, in a word, the very essence of servility.

"Her tattoo and cunt ring are still healing ... she got them only yesterday and some care must be taken there. However, we didn't tattoo her ass since you should choose the design first. And since its best not to fuck her cunt for a few weeks, we wanted to leave her ass available until all else healed."

My wife stood there, eyes still focused on the ground. Sally continued: "As far as I'm concerned she's a perfect slut now and I want to tell you some of the things she's experienced. First, let me say that the slut neither resisted nor raised an objection to anything." Then turning to my wife, she commanded: "Slut, tell your husband who fucked you the first night you were here, on Sunday?"

My wife answered directly: "Sally and Nancy fucked me. And Sally's friend, Alan, fucked me."

"And did Alan cum in your cunt?"

"Yes he did ... and later in my ass."

"And did he piss in your ass?"

"Yes."

"And did he piss in your cunt and mouth?"

"Yes. But not the first night."

"And did you cum whenever he pissed in your cunt or ass?"

"Yes I did."

"You were fucked numerous times in this apartment. Where else were you when you were fucked?"

"In Alan's car, in your car, outside the apartment on the patio, in the men's room of a restaurant by Alan, in the lady's room too by you and Nancy, at the tattoo and piercing parlors last night, and I was whored at the club the night before."

"How many men fucked you at the club when you were whored?"

"Seven I think."

"Did you cum for them or just pretend to cum when they fucked you?"

"I came for them."

"You've been a busy little housewife whore, haven't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

I stood there, amazed at how directly my wife answered this battery of questions. There wasn't a hint of embarrassment or shame. She'd been a whore and been fucked god-knows-how-many-times. Even if I didn't consider how often she'd been fucked in the apartment, I counted at least 14 times in which she'd been fucked by someone outside of the apartment.

Sally, however, wasn't done with the questions designed to let me know how my wife had been used. "How many times and when were you given an enema, whore?"

"The first night I was here and then every day after lunch."

"And were any of them pleasurable?"

"I cried during all of them but I understand that I must accept them." "And were you always able to hold what was fed into your ass?"

"No ... I leaked twice."

"And what happened then?"

"I was whipped or paddled on my tits, cunt and ass."

"And then what?"

"The water exploded out of my ass from the pain."