Torments Of The Widow Mcworter Ch 07 10

This is a story of one woman's odyssey of sexual submission. The previous episode opened as Mary Beth McWorter, the widow of a prominent television preacher, suffered thru a frustrating lunch with the Alabama Governor and her current master Jimmy Carson who has seized control of both she, and the profitable TV ministry she inherited from her deceased husband. Chapters 2-6 of that initial episode follow Mary Beth's early submissive experiences, first to her father, and later to Miss Maebelle, her college roommate. Chapter 7 of this episode picks up her story once again during those college years. In Chapters 8-10 the Reverend McWorter enters her story.

--------------------------------

7. My College Years.

School days, slave days, Miss Maebelle's golden rule days! For the next two years I was Miss Maebelle's servant, her sex slave, and her whore. As my mistress and pimp, she controlled me every minute that I wasn't in class, and used me in what ever degrading manner that struck her fancy. It was a hell of a way to go to college. You might say I was working toward a dual major, one in English literature and the other in female slavery and abuse.

I was Miss Maebelle's servant. I made her bed, and cleaned our room. I washed her clothes and her car. I brushed and set her hair. I bathed her, brushed her teeth, and shaved her arm pits, legs and pussy every a week. I cooked the meals for she and her black boyfriend, Alcee, then washed the dishes, and scrubbed his kitchen.

I was Miss Maebelle's slut. When no one else was in her bed I was the mouth that ate her cunt, the lips that teased her clit, the hands that squeezed her tits, and the tongue that licked her nipples. Even when she was having sex with Alcee, or with Monica and Monique, I would be there with my breasts, pussy, and mouth, a spare sex machine always available, always ready, to pleasure her.

I was Miss Maebelle's whore. From time to time, my mistress would sell me to some stranger and send me off to service his cock. Often, but not always, my body was offered as a package with that of Monique. Selling their female slaves was an easy way for Miss Maebelle and Miss Monica to earn a few extra dollars. There was always some horny lawyer, businessman, doctor, or politician willing to pay hard cash to have a pretty young girl ride his dick or treat it to a blow job.

You would think the sex she enjoyed with me, with Alcee, and with Monica and Monique, would have been enough for her. Not so! Miss Maebelle's sexual appetite was insatiable. Always on the hunt for more cock, I was her bait. Regularly she would send me to walk the streets of the campus and town flaunting my body like a common whore to lure the young studs she called her "man meat" into her bed.

To insure my success, Miss Maebelle would have preferred that I wore only the tight T-shirts and short shorts that would advertise me as a slut on the make, but that was not always practical because of the school dress code. Under those vigorously enforced rules I was required to wear a full blouse and lengthy skirt to every class.

Miss Maebelle, however, was adept at sidestepping authority, and the limitations of the dress code were just another challenge to her. She insisted that all my blouses and skirts have buttons that were easily opened to expose my body in vital places, and I was not permitted to wear panties or a bra at any time. Miss Maebelle laughed when she told me that she doubted very much if any of our Pentecostal professors would dare to check the absence of my undies.

As I left my classes, I was required to buckle my slave collar around my neck, and unbutton both my blouse and my skirt far enough to tease the boys with a good look at the bare flesh of my breasts and upper thighs. She checked on me too. If I didn't open enough buttons, and expose enough lily white skin, Miss Maebelle would march me to our room, bend me over the edge of my bed, and spank my bare tush with a ping-pong paddle.

It probably doesn't surprise you that a coed wearing a wide black dog collar around her neck, and a blouse and dress that popped open with every step, attracted considerable attention and talk around the campus. That I was Miss Maebelle's lesbian love slave was pretty much common campus gossip.

Whenever I passed a group of students, male, female, or mixed, their voices would drop into an embarrassed whisper. The coeds generally snubbed both Miss Maebelle and I, and very few would even say good morning to me. The men students, however, were something else entirely. Wherever I went on campus or downtown, the staring eyes of horny male students followed my every move hoping for a revealing flash of bare female skin. That they were almost always lucky was no accident. Miss Maebelle insisted that I periodically reward their attention by showing off my legs and tits, and occasionally, even give them a quick glimpse of my nipples and shaved pussy.

I was simply female chum spread to attract male fish into my mistress's net. Only a whore trolls her body as bait like that. I was so ashamed, but any protest would have been pointless. The more blatantly I prostituted myself, the more "man meat" I brought in to service Miss Maebelle's greedy pussy. Why should she care that I was exposing myself like a streetwalker hooking for Johns? My guilt and humiliation didn't bother her any.

Whenever Miss Maebelle spotted likely "man meat" in my gawking audience, she would send me to set the hook. Demurely I would introduce myself as required. "My name is Mary Beth. I am a slut. May I suck your cock?"

If the stunned young man managed to stammer "yes," I would take him into the bushes, or down an alley, open my blouse all the way to show him my tits, and drop to my knees to give him a blow job. Are you surprised to learn that less than half the time I was refused, even on a college campus where young men were being trained for a career as evangelical preachers? More often than not, when offered a blow job even these seminary students were surprisingly quick to lay down their Bibles and unzip their flies.

The 'Bill Clinton theorem' was very popular. Surely you know the one! A blow job is neither "sexual relations" nor adultery, thus it is not a biblically prohibited sin.

After he finished in my mouth and I had swallowed his cum, I would invite the young man I had just sucked off to visit Miss Maebelle and I in our room. In fairness to the religiously faithful, there were those so stricken with remorse at having just shot their load down my throat that they would turn me down. More often, however, the prospect for more fun and sin with two hot-to-trot sluts was too tempting to be refused even by a soon to be ordained minister of the gospel.

Once I had Miss Maebelle's "man meat" in our room, my final task was to help the young man undress while Miss Maebelle did a striptease to a hard-metal rock record. Only if his pecker seemed a little soft was I allowed to hand jack his rising erection to insure he was ready to perform for my mistress. Ordinarily, with that, I was done. Once Miss Maebelle had finished her dance she would take over the hard penis I had brought her.

Miss Maebelle would begin by wrapping her arms around the neck of her "man meat", and hugging his naked body tight to hers. With her ample breasts crushed against his chest, and his hard-on pressing enticingly against her cunt, she would slowly move her feet, dancing with him, belly to belly, thigh to thigh, crotch to crotch. As the tempo of the music increased, she would thrust her hips at him, dry humping the end of that cramped erection against her clit.

Teased by this wanton woman, her stud-for-the-night would soon be hunching his hips back against hers to the beat of the music. With this sure signal that he was cooked and ready for her plate, Miss Maebelle would to drag him into her bed. If his hard-on did not slip inside her as he fell between her spread knees, it was my job to reach into his crotch and insert his loose penis into her sex.

Many of these boys were quite inexperienced, and some were even virgins. Nevertheless, it didn't take long for them to get the hang of what my mistress wanted from them. In only minutes they would be meeting every thrust of Miss Maebelle's ass with one of their own, driving their hard masculine shafts to the bottom of her cunt. If you had seen the way these wanna-be preachers performed you would have thought they had fucked a woman every single day since the hair had sprouted around their pricks.

Occasionally, however, our chosen "man meat" wouldn't be able to get it up. That was understandable. Aside from the shock of the Miss Maebelle's blatant seduction, in the usual order of things, my blow job had emptied the guy's balls down my throat less than an hour before. Whatever the cause it would be my job to bring the young man's failing masculine equipment back up to par.

What a golden opportunity for me to share in Miss Maebelle's "man meat"! I would kneel before the limp member that had betrayed my mistress and press it gently between my breasts. Closing my tit flesh around that flaccid tube, I would jack him inside the tunnel of my soft of bare skin until his erection began to rise. As blood refilled that recalcitrant penis and returned it to its rightful masculine rigidity, I would add the final touch by dropping my head to lick the swelling crown.

In the most severe cases where the massage of my breasts, and the touch of my tongue, were not enough, I was allowed to take him into my cock hungry mouth. Oh how good that was! I had so enjoyed sucking him earlier, and I could still taste him on my lips. It was likely I had orgasmed when he was in my mouth earlier, and as he grew hard in my mouth once more, I was almost sure to do so again.

I am such a slut!

Unfortunately, those occasions were all too rare. Usually, once Miss Maebelle took over the stud I brought her, I could only sit beside the bed and watch as she stuffed her pussy with "man meat". With no orgasm of my own, and frustrated by listening to my mistress scream dirty words about how good his prick felt inside her, I hated her more with every thrust. Yet, what else could I expect? I was only a slave girl, and as Miss Maebelle often had to remind me with her whip, my first and only concern should be only the pleasure of my mistress.

Most rare of all was "man meat" with enough pecker left to stick me after my mistress was finished with him. As a matter of fact, this is how I met Jimmy Carson for the first time. He was the very first one with the stamina to fuck both Miss Maebelle and myself, one after the other. Miss Maebelle said he was a good lover, and she invited him back from time to time, but not nearly as often as I would have liked because Jimmy was as reliable as he was horny, and he never failed to service us both quite deliciously.

Jimmy fucked Miss Maybelle because he was a tomcat and fucking women is what tomcats do. It was me, however, that he was always after, and persistently so. I would be having coffee in the Student Union minding my own business. Jimmy would bring his tray to my table and sit down beside me. Under the table he would run his hand up and down my leg. If I didn't stop him, he would soon be playing with my pussy.

Oh God! What he did to me was so hard to resist! As often as not, I couldn't bring myself to make him quit. I would sit there with his finger inside me searching for my G-spot, on fire, and trembling with my need for him to dick me. It was so terribly humiliating to be in heat and hanging on the end of man's finger like that in a public place. I hated myself for being so weak. I hated Jimmy for taking advantage of the fever in my cunt. Nevertheless, before he quit I would orgasmed like a street whore.

When the big O would hit me, I did my best to keep a straight face and not scream. As hard as I tried tho, sometimes a distressed moan would escape my lips, and the people seated at nearby tables would stare at us quizzically. I was mortified. Had they guessed that Jimmy's finger was buried inside my pussy masturbating me?

Nor could I escape him. Everywhere I went, Jimmy was there too, grabbing a breast, or feeling my leg or ass. I couldn't keep his hands off me, and may God help me, I suppose that down deep I didn't really want to. Of course Miss Maebelle was jealous of Jimmy's attention to me. I am sure she would have invited him to our room more often if only it hadn't been so plain that he preferred my pussy to hers.

Considering the way Jimmy has used me since my husband died, however, perhaps jealousy wasn't the only reason Miss Maybelle kept a careful distance. As much as she enjoyed having his penis buried in her pussy, she never did like Jimmy, nor did she trust him. My mistress was an astute judge of people, and looking back, I now suspect she simply understood what a cruel and dangerous bastard he was.

She laughed at the idea that Jimmy Carson was studying to be a preacher. "He's a whole lot better suited to run a whorehouse," she would say and then add something like, "but then he would also make a great confidence man selling swamp land in Florida. Come to think of it, I guess he has what it takes to be a preacher after all."

She had Jimmy pegged exactly right, and in later years after my husband, the Reverend McWorter, hired Jimmy as an associate preacher, I often recalled her wisdom. If only the Reverend had been as foresighted as Maebelle, I would not be in the hapless bondage that I am today. Yet, the Reverend was a very devious man. It is just possible that he understood from the beginning how evilly flawed Jimmy was, and hired him for exactly that reason. Or perhaps, it was all simply written in the stars that one day Jimmy Carson would one day be my sex master.

The "man meat" I brought to our room for Miss Maebelle was by no means sufficient to quench her sexual appetite. Once or twice a week, she and I would visit her black boyfriend Alcee at his place, or he would spend the night with us in our room. If I was lucky, and that was about half the time, Alcee would invite me into bed with he and Miss Maebelle.

Notably, the invitation was always Alcee's idea, never Miss Maebelle's. She didn't want to share her boyfriend with me, and she made no bones about it. She would pout and say nasty things about me whenever Alcee would set me down on his cock. She never had the courage, however, to directly challenge the decisions of her big black buck lover whose word was absolute law to her.

Still, I was never the main attraction. Miss Maebelle always saw to that much, even though I did so look forward to those nights when I was included. For sure it was frustrating to be a spare wheel, but at least there were those times when Alcee would fill my pussy with his tongue and/or his dick, or even if he didn't eat or fuck me, I was at least allowed to suck him off and swallow his cum.

Not always, however. There were also those nights when Miss Maebelle's angry funk would be so fierce that to keep the peace Alcee would leave me on the floor. I would lay there on my back with my arms stretched over my head and handcuffed around a leg of the bed. With my hands unable to reach my wet and aching pussy, I could only suffer in silent frustration as I listened to the raw sounds of sex coming out of the darkness above me.

About as often as Miss Maebelle would have sex with Alcee, we would also visit Monica and Monique in their apartment. On some of those nights, our mistresses would swap Monique and I, and I would have the dubious pleasure of licking Monica's ugly cunt. Indeed, nothing about sex with Monica was as pleasureful as that I enjoyed with Miss Maebelle. My own mistress would play with my tits and pussy, and sometimes eat me as well, but Miss Monica never returned anything but pain in exchange for the orgasms I gave her.

Other nights the four of us would have sex together in one great tangled pile of female flesh. I particularly enjoyed those lesbian orgies, because Monique and I were usually able to grab the opportunity to enjoy and satisfy each other. More frustrating were the nights our mistresses chose to be alone in bed together. Then, as when Miss Maebelle refused to share Alcee, I would left on the floor with my arms handcuffed over my head around a leg of the bed. Monique would be similarly cuffed to a leg at the other end.

It was a devilish torment for Monique and I to be so close but unable to pleasure each other. Of course, frustrated is exactly how our mistresses meant us to be. Cunning slaves that we were, however, in time we learned how to at least partially defeat our awful captivity. We would scoot our legs toward each other until they overlapped, then each slide a foot into the other's crotch, and "toe fuck" each other to orgasm.

Eventually our mistresses caught us at our little game, as we were also so often caught sneaking off to pleasure each other. Always, a slave discovered stealing her own selfish pleasure meant punishment, severe and painful. As at Alcee's house, there were hooks set in Monica's ceiling. Monique and I would be hung there by our wrists, our feet dangling and kicking not quite able to touch the floor, as our mistresses took turns beating us with a riding crop. The strikes across our bellies just above our clits, and those across our nipples were the worst. The pain was excruciating and sometimes it took weeks for the welts on our bodies to disappear.

We were also punished while locked in a set of eighteenth century wooden stocks Monica had bought from some antique shop. Kneeling naked with our necks and wrists captive in the appropriate holes of that awful device, of course our bodies would be strung out behind us with our buttocks, pussies, and ass holes, on display and vulnerable.

After we were soundly spanked, the pre-fuck teasing began. Our mistresses would kneel behind us and press their nipples and soft tit flesh between our shoulder blades. At the same time, cruel hands would reach around our ribs to maul our defenseless breasts that were dangling under us like ripe fruit hanging from a tree.

What could Monique and I do but beg to be fucked? That would be when our mistresses would each buckle a strap-on dildo to their crotch and fuck us the way a stallion mounts a mare helplessly confined in the chute of a breeding shed. And oh yes, if he happened to be home, our mistresses would invite the well hung and muscular body builder who lived in the apartment next door in to see us suffer in the stocks. For variety, sometimes they would even have him play the part of the stallion while they watched and made fun of us.

The neighbor was every bit as cruel as our mistresses He would begin by plundering our pussies until his huge sex organ was slick with our juices. Once well lubricated, he would use that awesome woman-tamer to cruelly stretch our little puckered assholes. I must admit, however, even as oversized as he was, I much preferred his warm blood filled penis to the cold plastic dildos of our mistresses.

Our mistresses regularly sent Monique and I to provide the entertainment at stag parties. There we were exhibited in the nude, and made to perform a sexy dance, and then a lesbian 69, before servicing a couple of lucky men from our audience with our mouths and pussies. To have sex with a stranger that way was sometimes satisfying, even enjoyable, if he was young and not too drunk. At a stag given by a bunch of fat old fart businessmen, however, too often the men could not get it up and keep it up, or if they could, they would shoot their wad the first time they were touched. No wonder their wives cheated on them.

Once a month our mistresses would drive Monique and I about a hundred miles down the Interstate to a truck stop honkytonk on the outskirts of a mill town. Our appearance there was very regular, always on the second Friday of every month. I assumed Miss Maebelle and Miss Monica had a standing deal with the owner to provide a regularly scheduled sex show for his customers.