My Wife. His Whore.

My Wife.  His Whore.  Part V.

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       When Leena did not return that night, Lon knew where she had gone. She was at the house of her “Master” Alton Drave. Leena  was now a submissive “whore” for  Alton Drave insofar as and as long as he wanted her, most likely.  Where the ordinary man would be feeling fury beyond limit because of what had eventuated here, Lon’s feelings had twisted into a passion of a most unusual sort. He could not himself believe how a prick that barely  got hard once week before was now stiff and aching day and night as he thought of the illicit passion that his wife shared with Alton Drave.

       When day turned to evening and then night and he realized it was unlikely that Leena was going to return that night (if at all) he found himself nearly crazed with searching through her letters back and forth to Alton.  He even began to take out the new garments she had acquired for Alton, one by one,  to look at them and feel them.  He was overwhelmed and carried away by a deep, voyeuristic passion.  It was clear that somehow he deeply wanted his wife to be like she was for Alton Drave, but not being capable of effecting  this in her himself, instead he reveled, second-hand, in her humiliation and degradation.  And his nauseating state of arousal was certainly fed in no small part because this humiliation was his own humiliation also as a husband.. He had spent some time torn and heartsick at this incredible bombshell to his life.  But now he found himself only wanting to see how Leena was with Alton, every detail, every move.  He knew that he was the third wheel in a relationship far beyond him, but craved to be near to it, to see it, to… revel in it. .   

       Having no real clue of his role and only going now by his instinct for his own perverse pleasure, Lon spent some time cleaning out Leena’s closets.  Perhaps there was an element of spite in him removing every dress-down garment and shoe that Leena possessed from her closet, putting them all in boxes and putting them in the basement.

If she was a whore let her be a whore! In her closet room/dressing room he arranged something of an obscene display of her kinky underwear neatly folded on a medium sized table just to the side of her dresser. To make a point only he could fully understand he also took out the 7 pairs of new, stilletto high heels and stood them up in various places in the room: most of them in front of her closet in a neat row, but also on top of her dresser, and on the floor by the door.  He even put a pair of them together next to the computer where he seemed to spend more and more of his time searching the obscene websites in her files, obsessively tracking her new course of thought.  He would go into that room, lonely, on the next two nights and sniff at her panties and masturbate thinking of her cunt being rudely fucked by Alton Drave.  He found himself thinking that Alton Drave was right about women: they were cunts to be used.  And the fact of his wife being another man’s whore--- for real, with no holds barred was fuel that drove his fantasies.

       Lon heard nothing from Leena for three days. He did hear from friends that Leena’s classes were being taught for the rest of the term by a hired lecturer.  Somehow he had expected as much and this did nothing to alter his helpless, impassioned daze.  He really needed to hear from her, but he wasn’t going to call Alton Drave’s house again.  It had been too frightening.

On Friday afternoon Lon received a long, typed letter from Leena.  The contents seemed calculated to drive him to further frenzy.  She gave no salutation in the letter; it began abruptly.

i write this letter at the command of my Master. Most of the words and thoughts in this letter are mine, but you should know that Master now edits and rewrites to His liking any correspondence that i do.  Of course, for this i am deeply thankful, as i think now only of His pleasure. (But whether I like it or not is really not the issue is it?  As my Sir says: “MY whores do what they are fucking told whether they like it or not.”)

My cunt mouth is gagged shut now, as i write this, as is His whim. The large, shiny-red ball-gag does force my nicely lipsticked lips into an artful splay, which is pleasing to Master. (And here I have been permitted to add: i think this makes my face, my visage itself, look very, very beautiful.)  Sir is teaching me His “aesthetic for women” which i learn in slow, often painful lessons each day.  (Lessons that i deeply love and savor.) i am dressed as you could imagine most perfectly femininely. (i should note that I am being “corset-shaped” to the hour-glass figure that pleases Sir.) i feel the pain and pleasure now of the cane stripes He gives Me on my ass and my cunt is raw from His frequent, proud use. i AM Alton Drave’s slave whore now, without reservation.   You should know this, Lon.

To be clear: Master graced me this week with humble residence in His house.  A house where at long last i can be with a REAL Man. i shall be staying here as long as it suits Him. i am praying that it will be permanent, as I have never truly loved any man as i do My Master.  (By the way that big-titted, little bitch Trina is sleeping on the floor now next to the bed.  Master says He likes His, “new piece of meat,” better and so i have a place now, however humble it may be, at His side in bed each night. i welcome the extensive and difficult preparations that He requires for Me to get ready for that place each night. i don’t think there is a paid whore in America who does more in advance to go to bed with a Man.)

i do want to say praise in this letter, for you to clearly hear and know, to the Prick and Will of my Master.  He has skewered me on that harsh, potent spear of His, where i squirm and twist with love and need. i had waited all my life for a Man not just to fuck my body (which you never really even did, Lon) but to fuck my soul and make it His. i wanted a Man to stick His Prick right through me, as though my being itself were nothing but a cunt for Him, and fill that bitch void in me that had yearned so long to know true meaning.    Bitches will lie about cocks and say that, “size doesn’t matter,” but there isn’t a woman in the world who doesn’t want her womb really challenged by a large prick.  Your five inches never did it for me, Lon, and i cannot describe to you how good it feels to have a long, thick, harsh Prick fill me completely and bump against my cervix in the fuck.  When Sir fucks me, His size is such that He can actually hurt Me with His Cock alone while thrusting deep. It may sound simply kinky or even sick to you, Lon, but i need this pain and crave it.  For me this is part of what it truly means to be a woman, though it is true that it makes me subject in the most direct way to this Man’s Prick-hard Cruelty and Whim.  Last night i was pretty as i could be, my corset pulled extra tight, when Master put me over His modified saw-horse in His downstairs room. i was bent over forward, gagged and tied at the hands and chained at my high-heeled feet.  He had clamp-weights on my tit nipples that hurt and stretched them terribly.  He took His cane and put His Stripes on my buttocks so the marks would show really red and be clear today. i was in orgasm from just the caning and the pain in my tits alone and heard Him telling Me that this kind of pain is what a bitch deserves.  How could i explain to you the exquisite pleasure i feel when My Sir is obscene with Me and uses degrading language for me that only HE has made true.  And then that long, thick, relentless Prick was shoved in me and My craven cunt seized it like a lost treasure. i throbbed and ached and literally spurt pussy juice from my cunt and soaked His whole Cock, as He called Me every obscene name and MANNED me. God!  When a Man knows what He is for real, and knows what a woman is for!  He has made me a slavering servant whore with that huge Prick and Will of His. i  do His Will now and do as i am fucking told. i suck His Scepter, lick His boots and kiss and clean out with my bitch tongue His Man-ass and revel in it! i   feel like a real woman now, for the first time in my life. i am truly at peace with My low position and place, a place i could never have with you, Lonny.  You have neither the Prick nor the Will to put me in my fucking bitch place, as Sir does. It’s just a fact.  And that is what i’ve always needed, having spent a lifetime pretending.  And the pretence is really fucking over, Lonny.  The cunts in my department can do what they want, but I’ve sent in my resignation letter. i told them: “i resign from my academic position and i resign from bitch ‘femiinism’ i’m sorry, i’ve found a MAN.”

As i said before, Master does take pleasure in letting the men from whom He’s taken a cunt see what they “might have had.”  Pictures of Master’s training of Me will be regularly posted on His website in the “My Whores” gallery.  You might enjoy the essay i wrote in that section entitled, “Misogyny.” i’m sure i’ll see you again in not too long in whatever shape i happen to be in!

Your wife.  His whore,

slavecunt leena

Lon dove deeply into “leena’s” (without a capital letter at the beginning now) provocative letter and studied each line.  Every adjective that pertained to “Master” was capitalized in an almost formal way to show her deep obeisance to “Him.”   The capital “i’s” that Leen used for the first person pronoun, referring to herself, were all made lowercase in the letter so as to emphasize her “lower” status as a woman before Alton Drave.  Lon could see that Leena’s mindset was now very deeply reflective of Alton Drave’s male supremacist ideology.  But he knew that this was not mere brainwashing. In looking through her correspondence with “Sir” Drave he had found that the extremely “politically correct” manner and rhetoric that Leena had had for more than 20 years was underlain by a deep masochism and need for domination.  She was right.  He would never have been able to do it. 

His cock rigid and hard, his mind racing, his belly churning with this unholy voyeuristic passion that had engulfed him, Lon went to Alton Drave’s website and to the gallery, “My Whores.”  There were dozens of recent pictures of Leena and Alton Drave posted there.  Perhaps because she had now resigned her faculty position, her face was now visible in many of the pictures.  All of the pictures that showed Leena had been given captions and sections of the pictures too had captions on them.  He had no doubt that these had been written by Leena herself. 

The first section of pictures was entitled, “Whore grooming and packaging.”  It showed Leena naked, early in the morning, coming to an elaborate dressing room with a very large mirror.  Garments, shoes and boxes for jewelry were shown in the background.  Sitting on a small metal stool in a tiled and drained area in one corner of the rather large space which had a faucet, the section showed Leena in graphic pictures, shaving her already nicely bald cunt in the morning.  Next she carefully shaved her legs and then her armpits.  Striking in the pictures was Leena’s demeanor.  There was a languid docility to her actions that communicated to the camera a sense of deep devotion to her tasks, clearly ordained by her harsh Master.  Where the Leena he had known almost all his life, was assertive and forthright nearly to ferocity at times, this woman offered herself authentically as a docile, servile, subservient slave doing her Master’s bidding. 

Lon stroked his hard cock as he flipped through the dozens of pictures that constituted, in effect, a reverse strip-tease. There were small captions, written by Leena, at each step, e.g.,“she removes bitch, offensive hair each day to show that she has no desire for assertion.”  The final pictures showed Leena facing the camera, standing so that all the details of her dress could be seen.  The harsh corset that she now wore under her dress changed her waist contours considerably.  Besides that, she looked not much different than when he saw her leave the house for the last time, but somewhat more elegant.  She wore a black satin dress, set off by her black seamed hose and rigid, pointed black leather pumps with what seemed to be nearly five inch heels.  Her red, painted fingernails now seemed a bit longer (as they were false, the length could be changed quickly (though not without difficulty).) She wore somewhat more elaborate, glamour style earrings that nearly touched her shoulders.  Most significant again were the full-face pictures of Leena which, because there was no gag to disguise it, showed her expression.  Never in his life had Lon seen this expression on Leena. Her eyes had an almost vacant, docile, placid look that seemed a caricature of what Leena once was.  Lon nearly came to orgasm playing with himself in looking at these pictures.  He had to stop stroking himself or he would have come.  Lips lightly curled in a pleasant, passive, very, very feminine smile, Leena’s eyes offered a beautiful, open, receptive gaze that any man in the world would want to see on a woman.  But there was no doubt about it, this was a gaze that communicated a deep, committed subservience in her role as woman.

The next pictures were taken of  Leena, gently mincing across the floor—and Lon found that this sequence was actually videoed and could be activated for the viewing audience. It showed Leena approaching Alton who was still asleep, lying on his bed, apparently dressed in soft black leather for the night.  Gently, Leena removed the light blanket upon her Master, showing that he had slept the night in his shiny black boots.  Alton stirred as Leena gently and systematically licked his boot bottoms and proceeded to kiss and lick his boot tops, kneeling on the bed over them. Her gently lisped words, in the sweetest most feminine tones came from her lips: “your obedient whore offers her obeisance to you this morning, Master.”

Master Drave was wearing leather pants in bed, with a cut-out area for his crotch which gave Leena immediate access.  After her subservient morning greeting, Leena put her lips to the awakening Alton’s large cock and began to kiss it into turgidity.  The many video cameras made it possible to see clearly that she was leaving lipstick lip prints systematically on Alton’s cock as she brought it to

full tumescence. “Fuckin’ whore,” were the first words from Master Drave’s lips,

as he interrupted her obeisant ministrations with a reach for her pretty, curled hair so as to get a grip on it and control her.  The sheer obscenity of the gross assault of  Leena’s face by Alton’s large swollen cock made Lon ejaculate after heavily stroking his cock.   Alton was “taking head” as he called it and seemed extraordinarily callous in the way he satisfied himself with Leena’s obedient mouth.  At last Lon could hear Leena choking on the spurt of Alton’s essence in the back of her throat--- Lon could see Leena with great effort suppress her gagging, and Leena’s swallowing, in several difficult gulps, the spill of semen that Alton had forced down her throat.  “Fix your fucking lipstick, cunt,” was Alton’s command as somehow Leena cleaned every drop of semen from his prick without disturbing the lipstick lip prints she had left there.  Alton, Lon learned, would, in the shower room count those prints carefully to make sure that there was one for each inch of his very large cock: 9 lipstick prints were required. (For an 8 ˝ inch cock.)

Thus ended the posting of Alton Drave’s, “My Whores,” gallery for that day.  Lon, who usually would have to sleep for an hour after sexual intercourse, found himself with a new hard-on.  He scrolled down to read the former feminist Leena’s obscene essay called  “Misogyny.”  It was a shocking repudiation of her radical feminist views, but done with the same eloquence and intellectual focus that all of her writings had.

While clearly betraying everything he had ever known about Leena; at the same time it was “so Leena.”:

       

When  a woman is commanded by a dumb society to bow to

       the conventions of a foolish equality, that is the true misogyny.

       When she is forced into the brutal, mindless mold of “independence”

       and “autonomy,” that is the true misogyny.  Lies and pretence

       in this world force a cunt to pervert and distort her being

       to conform to a false sense of what a woman is—that is the

       true misogyny.  Forcing a good, fuckable bitch to fear the

garments and demeanor that are true for her and binding her

into  a drab, dress-down, flirt-less straitjacket is misogyny.

It is only hate that prevents a woman, who needs it, from being

the slave to her Man Master she was born to be. When a woman is

flapping her bitch mouth, spewing out vapid cunt nonsense

that betrays her core and begs for serious correction for her

own good, it is misogyny that says that her cunt mouth

should not be gagged good and shut. It is pure hate that

deigns that a set of holes for prick, a woman, should

spit and assert and act out against men, when, in her soul

she craves to have those holes filled authentically, and perfectly

by that very Prick and those very men. 

Evening was beginning to fall on this Friday.  Lon decided he needed to take a shower before dinner--- perhaps he’d go out to eat tonight.  He needed to calm himself some.

But how could he be calm when his wife was another man’s submissive whore and

he had elected himself to be the scorekeeper, counting the red welts on his dear wife’s ass that had come from the ministrations of her Master, counting the fucks she’d take in a day, counting….  He after all was an accountant.