My husband has already largely recounted my experiences as a sub slut and, in his last chapter, how he initiated my transformation. Now he's asked me to write something from my perspective. So I'll start at the beginning -- when, seeing myself as a proper housewife and shortly after we were married, my husband began pressing on me his fantasy of sharing me with other men. First, though, let me say that my initial rejection of the idea wasn't because I didn't enjoy experimenting with sex in the bedroom or, more publicly, dressing sexy and flirting -- what woman doesn't want to be desired. But being shared was totally at odds with what I'd been taught and felt about love and marriage. However, I said 'proper', not 'prude'. I enjoyed being tied, spanked, and introduced to the pleasures of anal sex. I felt like a slut whenever hubby slid his cock into my ass, and in our bedroom at least we both got off by having me play the part. I let him tie me spread-eagled on the bed, let him play with me with one toy or another until I came, and even, when I felt especially slutty, would masturbate myself to orgasm for his viewing pleasure. However, I didn't see any of this as leading to anything out of the bedroom. It all felt good and surely kept sex from becoming routine and boring. Surely, I didn't initially see this as part of hubby's strategy to have me accept becoming a true slut.
Perhaps I should have caught on earlier than I did about the seriousness with which hubby was approaching his fantasy when I saw some of the things he wanted me to wear when taking me dining, dancing or on vacation -- dresses that barely covered my tits or my ass, high heeled shoes that made me look and feel like a whore, sheer blouses, thong swimsuits, and miniskirts that were little more than belts. Nevertheless, while I might have raised an objection when he went 'too far', at age 25 or 26 it was fun to be naughty by dressing to make men lust. To be honest, I did get wet when I could get away with dressing slutty and admittedly, on more than one occasion I suggested we go someplace where I could wear something utterly shameless.
Its probably correct to say, though, that nothing would have come of this if we hadn't met Bill. I was 26 then, so a man in his 40's could be exotic and sexy. However, it wasn't until the second or third meeting before I realized that my dear husband, sensing my attraction to Bill as well as his availability (he was divorced) targeted him as the man he was going to try to have fuck me. Surely we flirted, but there was nothing unusual there. And I recognized hubby's motives as soon as he started urging me to set aside the baggy sweaters and slacks when around Bill and to wear perhaps a shorter skirt, higher heels, etc. I raised no objections to that since it was a definite turn-on to be sexy for an older man ... and early on I even had a fantasy or two about Bill on my own. I knew this: If I weren't married, Bill wouldn't have had a hard time at all getting me into his bed.
Despite the sexual feelings I had about Bill, I'm not really sure when I began to think seriously about letting him fuck me. I did fantasize about it, that's for sure, once Bill appeared on the scene, and placing a face on the person who was fucking me made my fantasies far less abstract and far more erotic. So when hubby began making me pretend it was Bill's cock in me instead his, it was easy to surrender to the idea in my mind and get turned on by the image he was drawing. And I wasn't above feeding his fantasies if it made sex hotter, crying out things like 'yes, watch Bill fuck me' or 'watch Bill make me cum'. That may actually have been the critical turning point since I found myself wondering in the cold light of day what it would be like to let Bill fuck me and wondering what hubby's reaction to that would truly be.
However, as I learned, a quixotic idea can become subtle desire -- you begin imagining you could do it if (and here's the big one) nothing else changed. And by nothing I mean one's marriage and one's evaluation of oneself. Even a prim and proper wife can imagine being a slut if she can isolate that experience from everything else. Perhaps I was always a latent sub or slut. I don't know if hubby's drip-drip-drip strategy would work on other women, but it did on me. My responses to his fantasy when he posed it by telling me what turned him on, worded one way or another, changed slowly from 'I could never do that' to 'Do you really want me to do that'. Eventually, of course, it became 'If you want me to do it, I will'. Perhaps by then there was an element of revenge in my attitude when I first said that: If hubby truly wanted me to be a slut or a whore, then that's what I'll be! But I also know that I began looking forward to those neighborhood get-togethers with a little more than the usual interest and arranged one of our own after making certain Bill was free to attend. You could say, I suppose, that 'I'd gotten the hots for Bill.'
As fantasy became desire, I found myself doing little things to actually encourage hubby, half out of curiosity as to whether he'd actually set it up. Eventually there was the heart-to-heart talk in which I told him I'd let Bill fuck me and even make me his slut. But before that, when trying on a slutty dress, I'd ask 'think Bill would like this?' or 'think I' seduce him wearing that?' In the bedroom, when being fed the fantasy, I'd moan 'yes, make me a slut' or even 'make me his slut.' At those neighborhood get-togethers, I'd dress even sexier without hubby's urging -- higher heels, dangling earrings, ¼ cup bras that didn't cover my nipples and tighter tops. So while hubby had a strategy to get me to accept being shared, I too had a strategy once I began to seriously entertain the idea of letting Bill seduce me.
In fact, I stopped objecting to the idea once I could no longer suppress the desire to let it happen -- a half year before I revealed that openly. One might say that hubby succeeded more fully than he imagined in making me open to the idea of being shared, but in giving him any encouragement to proceed, it wasn't to satisfy him -- it was to satisfy me.
I realize that none of this answers the question as to how a woman, who was 'as pure as the driven snow' when she met her husband, let his fantasy of being fucked by other men become her own. But it happened. And I did indeed go to the New Years Eve party intending to be fucked by Bill. Thus, while hubby assumed I wore my fuck me heels, blouse and schoolgirl mini-skirt to signal a tentative willingness to fulfill his fantasy, I was in fact determined to maximize the likelihood that the evening would end with Bill's cock in me. Indeed, since my skirt was probably no longer than 13 inches, I debated whether to wear panties. But as a way of committing myself to let happen whatever happened, I let my desires rule and chose to be wholly accessible.
Let me explain the party a little. With upwards of 60 or 70 people attending (mostly but not exclusively couples), the party was an annual event at a neighbor's huge Victorian home. The dining room, study and spacious entry were set up as gambling halls ... roulette and blackjack tables for the most part ... with guests taking turns servicing the tables. Each guest bought 'shares' in the 'house' and were paid later on the basis of its profits. The kitchen was the bar and the spacious living room the 'nightclub' -- dim lights, prerecorded music, and all the furniture set aside or even moved to other rooms.
I wasn't the only woman wearing fuck me heels, but I showed the most leg. If there was time to feel self-conscious, that was masked by knowing I was more than on display -- I was literally whoring myself. Hubby, of course, could read the signals plainly and knew as soon as he saw how I dressed that I was willing to finally give myself to Bill that night. I didn't check, but I'm sure he had a raging hardon as we left for the party in anticipation of that happening. And he in fact did his part soon after we got there by suggesting I ask Bill to dance -- an offer Bill happily accepted.
If you ask what I thought or felt when hubby handed me over, to be honest I'm not sure. I knew the chances he might have had second thoughts about wanting me to be a slut were now zero. He was determined to have Bill fuck me, period! I also knew that by walking over to Bill, I was telling hubby I was committed to being a slut and that soon enough another man was going to make me cry and scream in passion and he filled my cunt with his seed. But as for feelings, they are more difficult to recall or describe. A sense of uncertainty, apprehension and a little scared for sure, but I was also wet in anticipation of the naughty, perhaps depraved, but utterly erotic thing I'd committed myself to.
Having been literally given to Bill, I had no problem letting my husband go off on his own. Bill and I danced, taking occasional breaks to gamble, while hubby, engrossed in other conversations, was obviously doing what he could to leave us alone. So with Bill fetching drinks or encouraging me to play 'black' or 'red', it was almost as if I'd come to the party with him. I, in turn, did nothing to discourage him from assuming I was his. I remember, though, that it was around 10 PM, when dancing that my commitment to being shared was essentially finalized. Bill whispered in my ear that he was going to fuck me, and my response perhaps shocked even me. "Yes, I know" I answered.
