The Transformation Of Betty Ch 15

Since beginning my series I've learned that innumerable husbands have either shared their wives or fantasize about doing so. And, while they may not be as numerous as the husbands who would like to have other men fuck them, a sizeable percentage of wives fantasize about being shared, trained as submissives, and allowed to act as sluts. I have no idea how representative my correspondence with husbands and wives is, but having proceeded this far into a recounting of my wife's sexual transformation, it may be useful to some husbands who have not yet succeeded having their wives exposed, trained and fucked if I retrace a few things with a more introspective view, especially the early steps I took when seeking to realize my sexual fantasies.

Everything began decades ago when there was no internet. One might read letters in various sex magazines written ostensibly by husbands who shared their wives or by wives claiming to be sluts. And one heard of swing clubs and key parties where couples exchanged partners for a night. But it was impossible to tell whether the letters were real and I had no direct contact with anyone familiar with swing clubs. So I had little idea how common was the fantasy of having one's wife fucked other men.

The reader can reasonably ask why I had this fantasy. Was there anything specific about our marriage, about my wife or about me that explains what I wanted of my wife sexually? To be frank, I have no explanation. It was simply something that formed in my head soon after our marriage and left me with an ongoing commitment to have realized. I suppose I could say that just as some people prefer chocolate ice crème to strawberry, I preferred a wife who was a slut to one who was prim and proper. Even today, decades after having first shared her, I've no explanation for why it wasn't jealousy but rather extreme arousal that I felt at the prospect of seeing or knowing that another man's cock was ravaging my sweet wife's cunt or ass. However, I should make one thing clear here: The fantasy excited me only to the extent that I could imagine her responding as a complete unashamed, uninhibited slut. I wanted her to lose all control and, realistic or not, to experience orgasms of an intensity and duration that exceeded anything she might have experienced previously, including with me. I did not, then, fantasize about my wife being forced, with tears of shame running down her cheeks, to accept and pleasure the cocks of different men. It was not some sado-masochistic experience that I fantasized about. Rather, the fantasy appealed only to the extent that she got as much sexual satisfaction from being fucked as I imagined she could get.

However, whatever its genesis, the fantasy remained utterly vague and lacking in detail. It consisted solely of imagining the expressions of pleasure on my wife's face as she kneeled and took someone's cock in one hole or another. Whoever fucked her was faceless and without physical description. I had no clear image of where she'd be fucked -- our house, a motel, or whatever. And wholly absent were any specifics about events leading up to her seduction or what occurred afterwards. Initially at least, then, the fantasy was wholly divorced from reality.

Absent a connection to reality, all the important questions remained unanswered, such as how our marriage would be affected if she ever did agree to let someone fuck her. How jealous might I become watching her cum as another man's cock slid in and out of her? How would I really feel if I saw her cry out to be fucked harder and deeper or if, once made a slut, she begged to take his cock up her ass or to swallow his cum? Should I worry that she might prefer other cocks to mine? If she responded as I imagined, would her shame at being unable to resist becoming a fuck toy affect her in some unanticipated and undesirable way? What might she think of me were I to succeed in virtually whoring her out to someone? And finally, would reality be as erotic as the fantasy or was the fantasy erotic only because it was vaguely conceptualized?

There were also practical impediments to sharing her. Unlike husbands who share their wives with friends or workmates, I couldn't imagine anyone using her who I knew. Putting them in the fantasy, putting a face on whoever fucked her, made the fantasy less appealing. And I hardly wanted to contemplate the aftermath of revealing my fantasy to anyone I knew for fear they'd simply deem it perverted. Practical concerns did not end here. Having her fucked by a total stranger raised concerns about her safety, for even back then the issue of disease was not one to be ignored. And if I could identify some likely 'candidate', how would I approach him, how would I tell him I wanted him to make my wife a slut, and would I ever have the guts to initiate such a conversation?

I had answers to none of these and a host of similar questions. I did give some thought to bringing her to an organized adult swing club and went so far as to check the telephone directory to see if such a thing existed where we lived (it did). But at least in the early years of our marriage, getting her to agree to go to such a thing had about as much chance of success as the proverbial snowball in hell. I wasn't in fact sure I'd want to take her myself, cold turkey, without first becoming acquainted with at least a few of the people I might meet there. So the fantasy seemed destined to remain just that. Still, I was unable to banish it from my mind and equally unable to resist tempting fate in simple non-committal ways. Whenever possible I tried to move her in the direction of dressing sexier that she might have otherwise dressed. When taking her to dinner, for example, I encouraged her to wear the highest heels in her wardrobe (which, at 3 inches or so, were hardly high enough). When shopping with her for a skirt or a dress, I drew her attention to the shortest items on the rack. If, when passing the window display of some dress shop, I saw something that was especially suggestive and sexy, I nudged her to enter the store to see what they had that might appeal to her. She wasn't a prude about this. She knew how to dress prim and proper, but she had no objection to being sexually, even erotically, appealing to the eye. Nothing extreme, of course, but as long as the skirt or dress covered what had to be covered and didn't make her look like a whore, she'd consider wearing it in the right circumstances.

Those circumstances were generally quite limited: dinner at a restaurant or an occasional evening at an upscale club that provided for dancing. Early on, then, I did what I could to take her to places that combined dining with dancing since it was easier to get her to dress sexier then. And when planning vacations, I made certain we stayed at hotels that, minimally, had lounges where she'd feel comfortable dressing more daringly that usual. Unfortunately, hotels with nightclubs were a rarity, but when we were fortunate to stay at one, I made an extra effort at having her wear something she'd not wear anywhere else. Admittedly, though, in the first year of our marriage it was an uphill battle to get her to dress anywhere near as erotically as I preferred. If the neckline to a dress scooped 'too low' she'd refuse to wear it; if I asked her to unbutton one more button on a blouse, she'd tell me (with a smile) that I was a pervert; and if I pointed out how sexy she'd look in a pair of 4" or 5" heels, she'd laugh and tell me she couldn't walk in them.

However, let me dissuade anyone from thinking that my wife was a prude. Although a virgin when we met, she was hardly inhibited in the bedroom. Vanilla sex was fine, but she had no objection to experimenting, which soon included taking my cock up her ass or sucking me while a vibe stuffed her cunt. She learned to love having me fuck her doggy while wearing a leather corset so I could pull on the laces as I fucked her, tightening the corset until it left her gasping for breath amid a succession of orgasms. On occasion she'd submit to letting me clamp her tits, although our tentative exploration of D/s began with spanking her ass or teasing her with a riding crop. She had no objection, moreover, to visiting sex shops with me to see if there was anything there that could further spice up our sex life. Thus, in the short span of a year the bag in our closet offered a substantial inventory of toys ... vibes of several types, both a ball and a ring gag, her leather corset, various lotions, a riding crop, a pair of nipple clamps, a small and a medium sized butt plug and a string of anal balls.

That my wife had a taste for D/s, at least in a mild form, soon became apparent when I purchased a leather hood with and opening only for her mouth and nose. She loved being fucked with it tightly laced up the back of her head, her sense of hearing muted, her sense of sight wholly removed. And then there was the inflatable butt plug! I'd push it into her ass with my cock already buried in her cunt, then begin pumping it up. Initially she'd squirm a bit, then begin begging 'no more' as I continued to pump it. But once I learned to ignore her pleas and pumped it up to its maximum size, she'd invariably experience a crashing gut wrenching orgasm that had the effect of draining my cock of ever ounce of seed. Indeed, if she was more sexually adventurous than I had reason to expect when we first married it was with respect to the pleasure she got from anal sex. She not only loved having me slide my cock into her ass, she was game to try any and all toys designed for that passage. Excluding possibly only her expandable plug, her orgasms were never more intense than when I had her ride my cock as I slowly stuffed one golf-ball-sized anal ball after another (5 in total as I recall) into her invitingly tight little asshole.

Doubtlessly there wasn't a person on the planet who would have guessed that my petite sweet innocent looking wife enjoyed sex in the variety of ways that she did. And it was here, in the context of her taste for anal sex, that I first saw an opening to the possibility of realizing the fantasy of sharing her. When I asked her point blank one day why she enjoyed a cock in her ass and eagerly submitted to every and any toy designed for anal play she answered without hesitation "because it makes me feel so slutty."

"Feeling slutty makes you cum harder, doesn't it?" I asked.

"Yes it does," she admitted unashamedly.

"So would you like to explore other ways of making you feel like a slut?"

"Within limits of course ... but yes, I would" she replied.

I knew I was 'pushing the envelope' then when I asked her "and would you like to be a true slut someday?" but I couldn't resist hearing her answer.

"What do you mean?" she replied, coyly.

"Would you like to be fucked by other men, maybe several at once?" I asked bluntly.

"Oh no ... I could never do that," she replied. And then she added "I could only be a slut for you."

That wasn't the answer I wanted but it was what I expected. Nevertheless, I now had the first verbal indication that my wife enjoyed imagining herself as a slut, even if she intended to fill that role only for me. I took her responses, then, as an invitation to 'expand her horizons.' I began by having her wear her butt plug almost every time we fucked, and quickly moved to leaving it in her ass after we'd finished up. And it was hardly a giant step to leave her tightly trussed up in her corset with the plug firmly imbedded in her ass and requiring that she remain 'dressed' as such for the next hour or so. The incentive for her to comply was simple: She knew that if I watched her walk around the house bound tightly with her tits pushed salaciously up and out while the plug remained firmly in her, she'd invariably experience another hard and passionate fucking. And my wife was never one to refuse a good hard fuck from my cock.

Admittedly, though, it took me time to build up the courage to move things up a notch by asking her to wear the plug when we went out, to dinner or one of the dance clubs we liked. Her initial reaction to this idea could at best be described as luke-warm. This was not what she foresaw when experimenting in the bedroom. Nevertheless, with minimal objection she acquiesced.

I remember well the first time she wore the plug out of the house. She inserted it herself and simply answered yes when asked if it was in. She hid any effect it had on her while we dined, and I dared not ask how it felt for fear she'd say it was uncomfortable and wanted to take it out. My cock was rock hard throughout the evening, but I had no idea how it effected her until we returned to home. She immediately went to the bedroom, and reappeared wearing her corset with the plug still in her. Far be it for me to say I could resist filling her cunt then with a full load of cum while bending her over the arm of the living room sofa. Clearly, being a secret slut .. or at least secretly slutty ... turned her on. But more interestingly, so heated was our passion that neither of us had bothered to close the curtains to the living room window. It wasn't likely that anyone would have seen us. They'd have to walk up the front lawn of our apartment building and look directly into the window to see anything. But it wasn't impossible either. I was surely conscious of that possibility and made no attempt to disguise what we were doing by lowering the lights. I also determined that a replay would soon be in order.

That replay came the very next weekend when she again agreed to wear the plug out to dinner. This time, though, I chose one of the restaurants that had a small area for dancing and at the same time successfully induced her to wear one of her sexier dresses ... a short little number that clung to every delicious curve. It was by now evident that my wife enjoyed being secretly slutty and liked being displayed as something other than the prim and proper housewife. This time, though, I decided to get her to openly admit to the pleasures the plug brought her. So while holding her tight on the dance floor I asked her if she was enjoying the plug in her ass. Without missing a beat she answered "yes" and answered "yes" again when asked if it was keeping her wet.

To this point, however, our sexual games had been strictly private and I dared not cross that boundary in any explicit way. But clearly a replay of the prior weekend was in order, and before we left our apartment I opened the curtains to the living room window. And indeed, as soon as we returned from dinner I led her to the sofa, pushed her forward over the arm, unzipped my pants and slid my cock into her cunt while pressing my groin against her ass to push the plug deeper into her. This time I positioned her so that she looked out the living room window, making certain she knew the curtains weren't closed.

"It excites you to be a secret slut, doesn't it?" I asked.

"Yes it does," she replied between the soft moans and groans of an impending orgasm.

"And what if someone were to look in the window now and watch you being fucked?"

I took special note of the fact that instead of asking me to close the curtains, "Oh god" was her only reply.

"Would it turn you on to see someone watching me fuck you?"

Her inhibitions still disallowed a straightforward answer: "I ... I'd be so embarrassed."

Pressing my cock harder into her, I demanded an answer "would it turn you on, slut?"

That, admittedly, was the first time I'd called her a slut and in the cold light of day I'd certainly have hesitated using the word. But inhibitions disappear in the heat of passion ... and not only for me but for her as well, as revealed by her answer: "Yesssssss."

No one ever looked in the window insofar as I know, but that was irrelevant. My wife had revealed a hidden naughty side of herself. I couldn't be certain she wouldn't have run from the room in embarrassment if she'd seen someone at the window, but I also couldn't eliminate the possibility that she'd have performed like a total slut. And while all of this was far removed from agreeing to let someone fuck her, the evidence was building that she wanted to be something other than a vanilla-sex prim and proper wife.

I hasten to add, though, that one disadvantage of retelling events now thru the medium of a written story is that things appear to have occurred at a faster pace than they actually did. And by focusing exclusively on the sexual side of our relationship, the false impression emerges that sex and my fantasies constituted a larger share of our relationship than they did. In fact, events unfolded slowly over a period of months and then years. Moreover, our time was not spent having sex or with me constantly probing the limits of her desires. More often than not sex took a backseat to everything, and our relationship and emotional bond were utterly normal for a young married couple. It would also be a mistake for me to convey the impression that my wife was only a slut in the bedroom when it came to sex. She also liked to be cuddled, tenderly kissed, and made love to in soft ways so as to feel the reassurance of my devotion.

But it would also be disingenuous of me to say that thoughts about sex and the playing out of fantasies in my mind ever disappeared for an extended period of time. Thus, it didn't take me long to decide that the next step in our evolving sexual lifestyle should focus on her evident arousal from being displayed. So skipping past the pages of the telephone directory that might list adult swing clubs, I searched instead for stores that sold explicitly slutty attire. Again, though, I was circumspect in my approach. Taking her shopping in the vicinity of one such shop and acting as if it were merely an afterthought, I suggested that we go in and explore what they sold.

Initially, we laughed and giggled at some of the more outrageous items and I was careful not to suggest anything that was too extreme. But finally I found an ultra short little dress with a flair hem and a neckline nearly to her waist and told her I thought she'd look delicious in it.

"Would you really want me to wear something like this?" was her first reaction.

At the time I didn't fully comprehend the full meaning of her question and simply answered "let's see how you look in it." What I learned later was that she was having me take responsibility for being seen wearing it and possibly having people think she was a slut or a whore. This theme continued throughout much of the early stages of her sexual transformation and I came to understand that a fair share of wives would like to be sluts, but only if they weren't required to take any responsibility for being one. They want no part of the planning and prefer to think that the realization of their fantasies occurred accidentally or in an unplanned way. If they were to be seduced by someone, it was to be because they were put in a position of being unable to resist their innate sexual needs; if they let someone other than their husband's cock slide into them, it was because the erotic intensity of the moment had temporarily rendered them unable to resist wholly natural impulses; if they were to be shared, they'd prefer not to be involved in the planning; if another man's cock led them to a sequence of unimaginable orgasms, it was only because nature had designed them to easily cum; and if they became sluts, it was only because they were merely doing what their husbands wanted of them.

So my wife's question about wearing the dress was merely a way of saying 'if anything happens, and if people think I'm a whore, it will be your fault.' That, of course, was a responsibility I was perfectly willing to assume.

In any event, choosing a dress that put her on full display also required a few accessories, chief among them being a pair of fuck-me high heels. Up to this point my wife never owned heels that exceeded 3 inches. But in that same store I drew her attention to a pair of 6 inch platforms. Despite commenting that "I don't think I can walk in them", she asked the clerk for a pair her size. I succeeded, moreover, in having her try them on while still modeling the dress I'd chosen, and I'll admit, the view she offered was decidedly erotic if not pornographic. At 25, she had the nubile figure of a stripper. The dress's plunging neckline tantalizingly displayed her firm braless 34B tits and only covered her nipples in a way that constantly threatened to expose them. Weighting no more than 105 at the time, the shoes stretched her legs out invitingly nearly to the cheeks of her ass, which were covered with but an inch or two to spare by a hemline that was more appropriate for a cocktail waitress than for a wife who was not yet a slut.