BDSM Library - Slave Wife

Slave Wife

Provided By: BDSM Library

Synopsis: A married couple\'s adventures after the husband discovers his wife\'s need to be dominated, degraded and abused. Story codes may change as the plot thickens.
Slave Wife


Due to considerable criticism, I have made a few revisions to the first chapter of this story.  To those who were critical of my writing skills in the first version, I hope you find this more to your liking.   If, however, your complaints centered on the abusive and harsh treatment involved, you’re out of luck.  Not only that, but it will become much more intense in future chapters.


As with all my stories, this is pure fiction, drawn from nothing more than my own warped and depraved mind.  In the world I’ve created here, there is no such thing as HIV, AIDS or any other STD, and the only risk from unprotected sex is unwanted pregnancy. 


Slave Wife

Chapter 1


Life at home sucked.  Although we’d been married nearly 20 years, it hadn’t been a true marriage for a very long time.  My wife wasn’t particularly interested in sex, and thought doing it any way except missionary style, in bed, with the lights out was perverted.  She never even let me finger her or play with her titties, and just making her think I wanted oral sex was enough to shut her down for six months.  I’d actually moved out of our bedroom five or six years earlier, and could count on one hand the number of times we’d had sex since then.  Not that any man really needs an excuse, but I really believe that was one of the reasons I started gravitating towards porn sites.  If I couldn’t get what I needed from my wife, then I would experience it vicariously, though the online postings of others.


At first, my focus was on relative soft core stuff, what might today be called erotica.  However, I soon discovered the plethora of hardcore porn sites and quickly had several gigabytes of stories, photographs and movies hidden on the hard drive of our home computer.  I found my interest was in the dark, almost evil aspects of BDSM, slavery and sexual abuse.  Before long, I had several thousand downloaded photographs which I categorized for easier retrieval of whatever particular kink piqued my interest on any given day:  piercings, whippings, pregnant bondage, women in cages, pony girls, even a bit of bestiality thrown in for good measure.  I found this wasn’t necessary with most of the stories I enjoyed; they were generally available on free web sites, though I did have a collection of about two hundred.


Unfortunately, we only had one computer connected to the internet (this was before broadband and wireless home networks were readily available), and one day my wife stumbled on my stash.  She’d found bits and pieces of it before, usually because I forgot to clear the cache or empty the “Recent Documents” folder, but never the entire thing.  We had the worst fight of our marriage that night, with both of us saying mean, hateful things.  No physical blows were struck, but you would have thought I had slapped her in the face when I screamed that maybe I wouldn’t have to get my pleasure from porn if she would act like a wife and learn to fuck.  Her eyes welled up with tears and she ran to the bedroom, locking herself in and effectively ending the argument.


The next month was pure hell for me.  I stayed away from home as much as I could, working extra hours and volunteering for every one of the overnight business trips.  On the few occasions that we were home together, we ignored each other as much as possible.  I honestly expected to come home one day and find that she had either moved out, or had the locks changed and left divorce papers taped to the door.  I knew my life was going to change drastically; I was just completely wrong about how it was going to change.


I can still vividly remember when it happened.  I was in my room, working on a report using a laptop I had brought home from work, when I heard a soft tapping on the bedroom door.


"Yes?" I said rather gruffly, irritated at being disturbed.  My work was all I had now, and I had become immersed in it.


"We need to talk," my wife answered from behind the closed door.  "May I come in?"  Her voice was strangely soft and mild, almost timid.


AWait a minute and I’ll come out,@ I replied.  Pulling some jeans on, I walked out into the kitchen where my wife was waiting.  She was holding a large folder in her hand, which I assumed were divorce papers.  I looked at her, then down at the sheaf of papers.  She blushed, something I hadn't seen since before our marriage.


AUm...this is difficult for me,@ she stammered.


ALet=s get it over with.  You want a divorce, fine.  I'll sign the papers.  I=m tired of living like this, too.  I don=t get the kind of sex I need from my wife, but I=m not willing to go out and have an affair, so my only option is to take care of my needs online.  If you can’t deal with that, fine.  At least a divorce would allow me to go find someone else.  Give me the papers,@ I said.


ANo, you don=t understand,@ she started to say, as I grabbed the sheaf from her hand.  She plopped down in the chair opposite me, holding her head in her hands and sobbing softly as I opened the folder.


I was wrong.  They weren't divorce papers, but copies of the files I=d downloaded.  Even one=s I hadn't.  I recognized some of the stories immediately as those I'd written and posted on a BDSM web site, but there were a lot that I was totally unfamiliar with. What the hell???


AThis is so difficult.  I=m so embarrassed,@ she whimpered.  I’d never heard her voice sound like that.


AWhat=s so embarrassing?@ I asked, looking up. 


AI read everything...all the files.  I saw myself in them.  I found where you=d published your own stories. I figured out it was you by the places you describe.  I...I don=t know why, but they excited me.  I played with myself while I was reading them.  I played with myself a lot,@ she confessed.  AI want to be that woman for you.@


ASay what?@ I said, shocked.  We=d dabbled in bondage right after we were married, but she never seemed to like it, so I stopped even suggesting it.  Now she wanted to be my slave, or at least a sexual submissive?


AI want to try this out,@ she said in a stronger voice, almost pleading.  AA trial period, maybe a week, with limits.  I need a safeword.  No piercings or anything like that unless I agree.  And nobody else gets involved.  This stays just between the two of us” 


Safe words?  Piercings?  I could see really had done some reading.  I just sat silently for a moment, taking this all in.  She could just be jerking me around again, just like all the other times when she made me think we were going to have sex, and then backed out at the last minute.


AI don=t know...this is quite a shock.  I don=t know whether to believe you or not,@ I replied slowly.  “I mean, this is a pretty big change for both of us, you know?”


ASir,@ she responded, AIt came as a shock to me, too.  I never realized...@ Her voice broke.  AI never realized how much I could enjoy reading and seeing those things.  The stories about women forced to... .to humiliate themselves, to do all those things.  Please?  Please may I be your slave?@ 


She was nearly in tears, but I still wasn’t sure if I could believe her.  The deciding factor was that she called me “sir.”  She’d never called me that before.  Maybe she was serious about this.  If not, I would find out by calling her bluff right away.


“You want to be a slave, fine.  When I get home from work tomorrow, I want you kneeling naked at the door,  nipples pierced,  pussy bald, and  cunt full of cum.  Prove to me that you’re willing to go that far and then maybe I’ll think about taking you on as my slave.”


“Cum?” she asked, wide-eyed.


“Cum,” I responded.  “Semen.  Dick snot.  I don’t care who it comes from.  I’m sure you can find someone hard up enough to stick his cock in you.”


“Sir,” she said in a shocked voice, “What you’re asking…that means no condom, and it’s…I mean…the time of the month…I’m fertile.  What if I get pregnant?”


“Not my problem,” I answered, turning tail and walking back towards my bedroom. “Besides, I kind of like the idea of some bastard brat growing in your belly!” I said over my shoulder.


Of course, I didn’t really want her to get pregnant, but I needed to make sure she was serious about this.  If she was playing with me – as I still suspected – she wouldn’t go through with it anyway.  If, however, she was being truthful, then whatever happened with a pregnancy would be my choice.  An abortion would be against her beliefs, but she never wanted kids anyway.  Then again, it might be fun to have her carry the brat to term, then make her give it to someone else.  Hell, I’d never porked a preggo before.  That might be worth it in itself.


I guess now would be a good time to describe my wife.  We started dating in high school, just at the end of her sophomore year and just before I graduated.  She was a gymnast back then, thin but with muscular legs that seemed to go on forever.  Today, she’s almost 25 years older than when we met, but hasn’t added any weight to her 5’8” frame.  Her breasts are still the same magnificent 36C that  they were at our wedding, and while she probably couldn’t pass the pencil test today, it wouldn’t be by much.  She’s always been obsessed with her appearance, constantly watching her weight and spending more money on cosmetics and stylish clothes than I care to think about.  To all outward appearances, she was a true trophy wife.


Her only fault was her attitude about sex.  She apparently thought sex was what you did when you wanted to make a baby, and she had absolutely no desire to have one of those crawling around.  Well, it didn’t really matter whether her attitude changed or not; if she really wanted to be my slave, then her desires would come second.  Or maybe third or fourth, if I decided to expand her horizons with a little group sex.


We were sitting at the kitchen table having coffee the following morning when I set the newspaper down and looked over at her.  She fidgeted nervously, finally clasping her hands in her lap and looking down at them.


“Do you remember what I told you I expected done by the time I get home?” I asked pointedly.


“Yes, Sir,” she replied, blushing.


“Tell me,” I prompted.


“I’m to be shaved, have rings in my nipples, and…and…” she stuttered, “…and have sex with someone.”


“That’s not what I told you, is it?  Tell me exactly what I told you to do, cunt!” I demanded angrily.


“You want me to have a bald pussy, my nipples pierced, and a load of cum in my cunt, Sir,” she blurted in staccato fashion, almost sobbing as she did so.


“Very good for such as stupid cunt,” I replied condescendingly.  Now, I have a few other rules and tasks for you.”


“First thing, I want you to take all your panties, bras, slacks and jeans and give them away.  Same thing with every dress and skirt you have that goes below your knees.  Take them to a thrift store, I don’t care which one, but get a receipt.  Depending on how obedient you are, I might eventually let you buy a pair of second hand panties to wear them during your period.  Effective immediately, you will wear neither panties nor a bra, ever, unless I tell you otherwise.”


“Yes, Sir,” she answered almost gaily.  I saw her eyes light up, and knew going without underwear was one of those things she’d fantasized about.


“Second, whenever you’re in this house, you’re naked.  It doesn’t matter whether we’re alone or not, you are not permitted clothing inside this house.”  She nodded, and l stared harshly at her until she got the message and began undressing. 


“Third, whenever you’re in my presence, you’ll kneel with your knees spread as far apart as you can get them.  If you need to enter or leave any room I’m in, you’ll ask for permission first, and you’ll crawl on your hands and knees unless I say you can walk.  Understand?”


“Yes, Sir,” she replied, falling to her knees and spreading them, displaying her now-soaked, hairy crotch.  The view gave me one more idea.


“I just decided I want more than just a shaved cunt.  I want you to go to that salon of yours and have your cunt hair waxed off.  Your regular salon and your regular beautician.”  So far, everything I’d told her to do would be involving strangers and nothing was overtly sexual.  She looked up at me in mild shock.  I stared her down, and she lowered her head.


“Yes, Sir,” she said quietly, her entire body shaking.


“Good.  Well, you have a lot of things to take care of today, and I have to get to work.  Remember, if you decide you don’t want to go through with this, quitting is easy.  All you have to do is skip one task, and it’s over.  The next step will be a divorce attorney.”  With that, I grabbed my brief case and walked out of the house.


When I arrived at work, my partner saw the change in my demeanor.  For the first time in weeks, I was smiling. 


"I'm going to need a couple of weeks off, as soon as we can work it in," I told him.


"Things are pretty slow right now," he replied, "so any time shouldn't be a problem."  We agreed that I'd finish out the week, and then take two, maybe three weeks, off.  I didn't get much done that day, preoccupied as I was with my upcoming vacation. 


I had to make a couple of  stops on my way home that evening, and got home late.  She was waiting, naked, as per my orders.  I could see she’d followed at least two of my commands; her red, swollen nipples were now adorned with tiny gold rings, and her pubes were as smooth and hairless as the day she was born.  As she waited, kneeling in front of me, a blob of semen plopped onto the floor between her splayed knees.  Well, I grinned, three for three.  I’d have to get the details form her later.  For now, I just pointed to the floor and told her to lick up her mess, while I walked into her bedroom to see what remained of her wardrobe. 


Her dresser drawers were empty of panties and bras, and the closet was nearly as bare.  The only clothing she had left were some stockings, a few pair of shoes, and two short cocktail dresses.  On the bed was a receipt from Goodwill for several bags of clothes, and an itemized list of exactly what she’d donated. 


She’d prepared a nice dinner for me, but it was now overcooked from her attempts to keep it warm for me.  She tried to explain that she hoped to please me with dinner, but didn’t know I’d be getting home late.  When she started in with the “If you’d called” crap, I told her to shut the fuck up.  What time I get home is none of her business, and as for my dinner, she could go order me a pizza because her cooking sucks anyway.  She started with the crying crap again, but I just left her kneeling on the floor and ignored her while I went to work on a few things I had to finish up for work.  About 45 minutes later, I heard the doorbell ring.  My pizza was here, and it was time for another test.


“Go answer the door and bring my dinner to me, bitch!” I ordered.


“Sir, may I please put a robe on?  And I need some money, too,” she asked politely.  I could see the trepidation on her face, and she knew what was coming next.


“You know the rules,” I said, grinning.  “No clothes in the house, and if you don’t have any cash, figure out some other way to pay him.  Suck him off, fuck him, I don’t care, just bring me my pizza.  Oh, and you’re forbidden to stand.”  I was being a bit harsh, but I still had doubts about how far she was willing to go.  After all, the “semen” that plopped out of her earlier could have been sour cream for all I knew.


It’s a good thing Domino’s uses insulated sleeves to deliver pizza, because it was another twenty minutes before Donna crawled back into the den with my dinner.  There were red marks from where her breasts had been mauled, and her face was covered with a wet sheen.


“Did you enjoy giving the very first blow job of your life to a  stranger?  Looks like he decided to cum on your face, so I guess you’ve still never swallowed cum, have you?” I asked, more to humiliate her even more than out of true curiosity.


“It was a girl,” she replied quietly, her entire body turning beet red.  I couldn’t help but laugh as I pulled out the first slice of pizza and began eating.  I told her to go to her room and leave me alone, and I’d call for her if and when I wanted her presence.  Until then, she could go kneel in front of the toilet and consider what it means to be a slave.


I called her back several times, always making sure I had some graphic BDSM image or video file on the screen.  Each time I called her into my presence, I told her what I wanted,  and then once she fetched it I’d send her back to her waiting area on the bathroom floor.  Get me another beer, fetch a napkin, throw my empty beer bottle away, clean up the scrap of pepperoni I dropped on the floor, bring me my slippers, take my shoes and socks off and put them away.  Give my feet a tongue bath.  I’d drop pieces of crust and make her eat them off the floor.  I don’t think she stayed in the bathroom for more than three minutes at a time, but I eventually tired of this game.


“Get your skanky ass back in here!” I yelled finally, having had her clear the remains of my dinner only a minute before.  When she crawled in, I told her to position herself on the floor, feet tucked under her ass with her knees spread as widely as she could force them.  “I want to see your cunt lips flapping open,” I told her, waiting until she finally reached down between her legs and used her fingers to open herself for my viewing pleasure.


“Now, tell me about your adventures today.  While you’re telling me all about how much fun you had, I want to see you finger-fucking that sloppy hole, too.”   Although I knew she masturbated regularly, she’d never done it in front of me before.  “All you have to do to find out what a beating feels like is to stop fucking yourself or cum without me telling you to.”


Slave Wife

Slave Wife

Chapter 2




“Now, tell me about your adventures today.  While you’re telling me all about how much fun you had, I want to see you finger-fucking that sloppy hole between your legs, too. ”  


Although I knew she masturbated regularly, she’d never done it in front of me before.  “And you don’t stop and you don’t cum, unless you want a beating.”  She turned bright red, but her fingers began flying over her swollen and inflamed slit.


“Sir, right after you left, I gathered my clothes like you asked,” she began.


“Wrong, cunt!” I bellowed, accentuating my displeasure with a backhand across her face that knocked her over.  “I didn’t ask you do to anything, I fucking told you!  And just for lying like that, from now on you don’t use the word I.  You have no right to think of yourself as a person.  You’re property, not a person.  A thing, and it.  You speak in the third person, and you call yourself…let’s see…I know, you’ll refer to yourself as ‘this stupid cunt,’ got it?”  She crawled slowly back to her knees, an angry red mark on her face where I’d struck her.    “And get those cum-covered legs spread and those fingers back to work, bitch!”


“Yes, Sir,” she answered, crying softly but obeying regardless.  “Sir, this stupid cunt gathered her…”  I frowned, shaking my head.  “…it’s clothing as you…as its Master ordered.  It dressed as its Master commanded, in a short dress and heels, and took the clothing to the thrift store.  


“After that,  this stupid cunt went to its regular beauty shop.  Felicia – the stupid cunt’s regular beautician – was surprised to see me…it…because I…because this stupid cunt didn’t have an appointment until next week.  When this stupid cunt told Felicia what she…it…wanted, Felicia’s eyes got all funny, and she grinned at me.  At it.”


“You can stop using third person speech now.  Just tell me what happened,” I said.  Having Donna stumbling over words and phrases while trying to speak properly was ruining the story for me.


“Thank you, Master.  Anyway, she took me to the back room, where I knew they did stuff like bikini waxing out of the public view.  She asked me what was going on, and just the way she said it made me want to…it was like I had to…tell her that I wanted to submit to you as your slave, and you were testing me.  She told me that she’s been in in the D/s scene for a long time, and that she is her boyfriend’s submissive but enjoys dominating other women.  I told her I wasn’t sure if you’d approve of her being that way to me, but I’d ask.”  Donna looked up at me with expectant eyes, hoping I’d agree.


“We’ll see,” I said.  “Continue.”


“Yes, Master.  Felicia asked if there was anything else I was supposed to do, so I told her about the piercings, and about…the sex.”


“You mean about me telling you to come home with a load of cum in your cunt?”


“Yes, Master, about me having to have a load of cum in my cunt, Master.”


“What did she say?”


“She said she could take care of everything for me, right there.  First, she made me strip and lay back on the chair they use for bikini waxing.  It’s almost like a dentist’s chair, Master, so she was able to adjust it so I was laying almost flat on my back.  Before she did that, though, she strapped my ankles to the sides of the chair so that I couldn’t close my legs, and then she did the same thing with my wrists, fastening them to the headrest.  First she waxed me…it hurt like hell, and it still hurts a bit…and then while I waited, she called her boyfriend up.  She left me there, strapped to the chair, for like ninety minutes until her boyfriend arrived.  All the beauticians came in to look at me while I was tied like that, too.”


“How did that make you feel, everyone in your beauty shop knowing you’re just a bondage-loving cock slut?”


“Horny, Master,” she answered.  “Without any hair down there, I could feel how wet I was it would seep out of me and drip down my ass.  Some of the beauticians commented about how wet I was, too, and played with my tits just to get me wetter.  Two even told me that they hoped my Master wouldn’t let me get off for another week, just because I was such a needy, horny slut.”


“Hmmm, that might be an idea,” I teased.  “But continue.  What about the boyfriend?”


“Master, Felicia’s boyfriend owns a tattoo and piercing parlor, so he brought his tools with him.  When he came in, I got scared and started struggling, so Felicia tried to calm me down.  She hugged and caressed me, then showed me her own piercings.  Master, she has bars through her nipples, and rings on her labia and clitoris!”


“Interesting.  I wonder what you’d look like in those?  Maybe later.  Continue with your story.”


“Yes, Master.  Because I was so scared, Felicia calmed me down with hugs and stuff.  Then she started kissing me, and worked her way down to my…to my nipples, Master.  When she started sucking on them, I almost came right then.  But she wasn’t doing it for my pleasure, Master.  It was to make them erect so her boyfriend could pierce them.  He grabbed them with these forcep things…it hurt so bad…but when he put the rings in, he said he was going to do is slowly so I could experience the maximum pain.  That’s when I passed out, Master.”


“And when you woke up, your nipples were pierced?” I asked.


“No, Master,” she answered.  “Carlos – that’s Felicia’s boyfriend – stopped and had Felicia spray cold water on my face until I woke up, and then he continued to shove the needle through my tit, Master.  He told me I’d better not pass out again, and that’s when Felicia wadded my panties up in my mouth and told me to bite down.”


“Your panties?”


“Yes, Master.  She rolled them up, so they were like a hard tube, and put them between my teeth.”


“Continue,” I ordered.


“Yes, Master.  After the piercing was done, Felicia suggested that I could ‘kill two birds with one stone.’  Carlos needed to be paid, and I needed to get fucked, so she said if I begged enough, he might accept my…slutty whore cunt is what she said…as payment.”


“And I suppose that’s what you did, right?” Of course it was, considering the congealed proof that had dripped out of her, and was now dried on her bruised thighs.


“Yes, Master, and Felicia taped it on video.  She said she would be happy to give you a copy, but told me to ask if she could have an evening with me as payment,” Donna replied, blushing.


“You’ve never been with a woman, have you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.


“No, Master.  Felicia said she’d make sure she was freshly fucked, so that I could beg to eat Carlos’s cum out of her ass, Master.”


“One question before I throat-fuck you, slut,” I said.  “If Carlos fucked your scummy cunt – what, five hours ago – why was it still dripping out of you?  It should have been nothing but dried cum on your thighs.”


“Master, after Carlos came inside me, Felicia plugged my…my cunt…with a large butt plug and then used duct tape to hold it in place.  I spent the rest of the day like that, and took it out just before you got to the door.”


“I’m beginning to like your friend Felicia.  Perhaps I’ll give you to her and Carlos for a weekend sometime.  But enough about you getting your jollies, get your skanky ass over here and suck me off, bitch!” I commanded harshly.


Donna shuffled over on her knees, positioning herself under my desk and carefully untied my robe so she could get at my cock.  While she made herself useful, I clicked on a particularly graphic, noisy video of a slave bitch being fucked up the ass for the first time.  While Donna slurped away, I turned the volume up so she could hear it, and began making comments about how the bitch on the screen was prettier, had nicer tits, and was probably a better cock-sucker than the pathetic bitch kneeling between my feet.  I looked down a couple of times to find Donna’s hands working feverishly at her own fuckhole, covered in cunt slime.  Another time and I’d punish her for masturbating without permission, but this time I wanted her to cum down her throat.  She’d never really sucked cock before, and so when she finally exploded in orgasm, I grabbed her head and forced my dick down her throat, choking her nearly to unconsciousness before I finally spewed the fluid that was churning in my nuts down her gullet.  She struggled mightily against me, which just excited me further, and when I pulled out and started wiping my wet cock on her face, she began to wretch and cough.


“You’ll be taking bigger cocks than mine down your throat before long, bitch,” I told her.  “Just be thankful I was gentle this time.”  I could almost hear her thoughts; if this was gentle, what would rough be like?

Slave Wife



Slave Wife

Chapter 3:  Becoming Property


The rest of the week was, to say the least, enlightening for Donna and gave her a considerable amount of insight as to what she had to look forward to if we both went through with this.  Unless I had somewhere for her to go, she spent her time naked and chained to the toilet by a leather collar I’d padlocked around her neck.  When I was home, she spent her time either working – cooking, cleaning and the like -, or sucking my cock, getting fucked, or diddling herself while I watched.  Mostly diddling herself, since I’d decided that whenever her hands weren’t occupied elsewhere, they’d be busy playing with the swollen, wet slit between her legs.  That week, I made sure her sexual horizons were expanded considerably, though not as much as they would be later on.


The first night, I invited her cousin – who she detested with a passion – over for dinner.  Donna hated him because he’d tried to get in her pants when they were in high school – he was older by two years – and when he was rebuffed, lied to all his friends how he’d fucked her.  High schools being what they are, word got around almost immediately, and even though there was no truth to Will’s claims, many of her fellow students began treating Donna like a slut, either making crude, hateful comments or avoiding her altogether.  Will would be the perfect person to help me start Donna on her long road to slavery.


I said I invited Will over, which is the truth, but I let Donna make the actual phone call.  Okay, I didn’t really let her…more like made her…but only after the first of what would be many beatings on her bare ass with a chunk of 1”x4” pine I made her go fetch from the shed. 


“Hello, Will?” she said on the phone while I listened in on her side of the conversation.   “Um…I was wondering if you’d mind coming over for dinner tonight?  I have something to tell you…actually, to show you, and it’s important.  Well, really, Mike has something to show you, actually.  No, it’s no joke.  Mike asked me to call and invite you.  Just the three of us, and I’d really appreciate it.  Yes, I know we’ve never really treated each other nicely, but it’s no trick, I promise.  I mean, we’re family, and I think it’s time to forgive and forget, and start being a family again.  Yes, about seven would be great.  No, you don’t need to bring anything.  Okay, see you then,” she finished, hanging up the phone. 


“You did a good job, slut,” I said, patting my little slave on the head.  She was almost in tears, knowing I was going to force her to humiliate herself before the one person she hated the most.  I then put her to work cleaning the house and preparing dinner, finally stopping her about a half hour before Will’s expected arrival in order to get herself ready.


“Red fishnets, garter belt and your fuckme heels,” I ordered, pointing to the “clothing” I’d laid purchased that afternoon for her.  “Just a hint of makeup.  I think your dear cousin would  like the idea of seeing an innocent face wearing slut clothing.”


“Please, Master…” she began to beg.


“Do it,” I said coldly, “Unless you want another beating first?  One way or the other, you’re going to show your cousin that you really are the slut he wanted you to be.  The only question is how red your ass will be when he gets here.”  She looked up at me from her place on the floor – she’d fallen to her knees at my ankles – and nodded resignedly.  I left her there and went out to the living room, made myself a drink, and relaxed to await Will’s arrival.  Donna stayed in the bathroom until the doorbell rang.


“Answer the door, slut!” I ordered from the couch. 


I half-expected more protests from Donna, but surprisingly, she walked out of the bathroom erect, mustering whatever pride she had left, and strutted across the floor.  She looked like the perfect slut, lights gleaming off the shiny gold rings in her nipples. The “fuckme’s” I’d referred to were a pair of red patent leather shoes with eight inch spiked heels, and she tottered precariously on them, the backs of her calves straining with each step.  The fishnet stockings and matching garter belt served to accentuate her bald pussy, which was already visibly wet.  She walked straight to the door and opened it widely, greeting her cousin who just stood there dumbfounded, staring at her naked body.


“Welcome.  Please come in, Sir,” she invited with a gracious sweep of her arm, as though standing in the doorway like a whore peddling her wares was the most common thing in the world.


“What the fuck is this?” Will asked incredulously.  “Shaved cunt, tit rings?  What the fuck is going on?”


“Sir, I’m sure my Master will answer all your questions but please come in first?  Please, so I can close the door?”  The neighbor across the street had just pulled up into the driveway, and Donna was looking over Will’s shoulder, hoping nobody would glance her way.


“Yeah, sure,” he replied, shaking his head incredulously as he walked in.


“Please, sir, may I remove your shoes?  I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable,” she said, kneeling down.  Will had come straight from a business meeting, and was still dressed in a suit and wingtips.  Donna carefully untied the shoes and slipped them off one at a time, then knelt down and gently kissed her cousin’s feet.


“Hi, Will.  Glad you could make it,” I said, walking into the foyer with a scotch in my hand.  “Can I have my slut make you something?”  Donna blanched at my words, but knelt back and looked up at her cousin.


“Uh…yeah, I guess.  Whatever you’re having,” he said, almost stuttering.


“Scotch, soda, rocks, now, slut,” I ordered, watching Donna scamper into the living room.


“What the fuck is going on, Mike?” he asked again.


“Why don’t we just relax on the sofa, and let Donna explain it all to you?”  I motioned towards the living room.


“Slut, explain to Will what’s going on,” I instructed her once she’d returned with the drink.  “Speak properly,” I added, meaning that she would be permitted to talk only in the third person once again.


“Sir,” she began, kneeling her nearly naked form in front of her cousin, “This slut has asked to become its husband’s property, to become his slave, Sir.  Its Master has agreed to a period of training, and has invited…Master, this slave doesn’t know how to address its cousin, Master…”


“You may refer to him as Sir, and to me as Master, just so we both know who you’re addressing.”


“Yes, Master, thank you, Master.  Sir, this slut’s Master has agreed to test it to see if it would be a suitable slave, Sir, and has invited Sir to assist in its training, Sir.”


“Are you shitting me?” Will asked skeptically.  “I mean, she hates me.”


“Yes, she told me all about that, and the reason why you two never got along,” I explained.  “She said you cornered her at a family party and gave her a French kiss, tried to feel her up.  She slapped your face and told your parents about it, didn’t she?”


“Yeah, she did.  She was always a little cock-tease, even back then.”


“Well, she wants to make amends tonight.  Actually, I don’t think she really does, but I want her to as part of her training.  She’s going to beg your forgiveness, accept your punishment, and give you what she wouldn’t back then.  Isn’t that right, slut?”


“Master, yes, Master.  Sir, this slut begs forgiveness and is willing to do whatever Sir believes necessary to make amends, Sir,” she whimpered.


“Exactly what does that mean?” Will asked, still somewhat unbelieving.


“Sir, Sir may do whatever he wishes with the slut, Sir.  If he wishes to punish it with a beating, or use its body or any purpose, or humiliate it however he wishes, the slave will accept and obey.”


“This is an interesting turn of events,” Will commented.  “Well, I think you can start by giving me that kiss I wanted.”


“Sir, yes, Sir,” she said, getting up from her knees and approaching him.


“Wait!” I ordered.  Donna halted halfway up, and Will looked at me questioningly.


“I suggest you have the slut remove your pants first, Will, unless you want them to end up stained.  The little slut tends to leave slime trails, if you know what I mean.”


“Gotcha,” he replied, grinning.  “Well?  Get to it, slut!” he ordered, finally getting into the game.


Using only her mouth – Will ordered her hold her hands behind her neck – Donna scooted forward and carefully bent over Will’s lap to unfasten his trousers.  Then, taking the waistband in her teeth, she gently pulled them down over his hips while Will raised his ass up off the couch slightly.  Finally, she got them down far enough so that he could raise his feet while she took each cuff and pulled them completely off.


“Stand and go hang them up, slut,” I ordered, waiting while she scampered to the closet and carefully smoothed the pants over a coat hanger and then returned to Will’s feet.


“Well, where’s my kiss, whore?” he asked, patting his thigh to indicate she should straddle his leg for the kiss.  Their make-out session lasted about ten minutes, during which Will’s shirt became unbuttoned so Donna could lavish kisses on his bare chest while he played with her newly-pierced nipples.  It would have lasted longer, but the timer went off in the kitchen, indicating that dinner was ready.  Donna had worked most of the day on it, and I didn’t feel providing anything but the best for our guest would be appropriate, so I broke the loving couple apart.


Dinner was fantastic; roast beef with a thick gravy, homemade mashed potatoes, and fresh vegetables, followed by fresh, homemade cherry pie for desert.  Well, for the first desert anyway.  Or maybe that was just was the second desert, since Donna spent the entire time kneeling under the table with Will’s dick in her mouth.  I have to admit that boy had fantastic staying power, because we sat there for nearly an hour with Donna sucking frantically on his cock, but he wouldn’t cum.  I knew she was trying to bring him to orgasm, because she hadn’t eaten all day and knew I wouldn’t let her until she ate his cum.  I told Will this, and he just laughed.


“Well, I guess she’ll go hungry then, because I have no intention of cumming in her mouth.  At least not until I’ve shoved my cock up her ass, anyway.”


“No, that’s okay.  She’ll just have to wait until after we’re through with her for her dinner, then,” I replied, grinning.  “Okay, cunt, unhook your slutty mouth from that cock and get this shit cleaned up!” I ordered.


Will and I had a great time that night, though I can’t say the same for Donna.  She didn’t seem to be enjoying herself at all, particularly when her cousin tried to teach her the old ass-to-mouth trick.  I’m not all that certain that she wanted to be ass-fucked at all, but she really didn’t have much of a choice, either.  We made her splay herself out on a dirty towel on the living room floor (I didn’t want my carpet stained) and diddle herself until she needed to cum so bad that she was begging to be fucked up the ass.  Will finally acceded to her request, however, to ensure she was lubed up enough, had her slather saliva on his dick while covered her own fingers with cunt juice and then crammed them up her ass.  Will took her slow at first, making her moan in pain as the head of his rather largish dick slowly forced its way past her anal ring, and then, when he impaled her fully with a single forceful shove, she screamed like she’d never done before.  I nearly came on the spot as she flopped around on Will’s cock like a rag doll, bellowing out moans of pain and pleasure simultaneously as she finally achieved the orgasm that had been denied her through so many hours of abuse.


After Will finally shot his own load, Donna balked at sucking him clean.  I couldn’t really blame her, since the dick being waved in front of her face was covered in cum and streaked with shit.  Just because I didn’t blame her for not wanting to do it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to make her anyway, and after a very short session with a metal yardstick, she was begging to be permitted to take Will’s cock in her mouth.  She still showed some recalcitrance, though, and clamped her mouth shut once his cock – now with the shit starting to dry on it – touched her lips.  The problem was quickly solved, though, once I took my place behind the slut and rammed my own cock up her ass.  Her mouth opened in a scream, and Will quickly took advantage of it, pulling on her hair and warning that if he felt her teeth so much as scrape him, she’d wish she was never born. 


I found the act of ass-fucking my slut of a wife - something I hadn’t done since a trip to a Thai whorehouse many years earlier, and never with my wife – an extremely enjoyable experience.  Her cunt had become loose over the years, and she’d never been all that responsive in bed.  However, with Will throat-fucking her from the front, her gags and gasps as she struggled for air caused her back door to spasm and squeeze my cock like a baby suckling at her mama’s tit.  And, although I’d never done sloppy seconds with anyone before, having her asshole pre-lubricated with Will’s load made it nice and slippery, yet still among the tightest holes I’d ever fucked.   All three of us came nearly simultaneously, Donna with a strange gurgling sound and a huge full-body spasm, Will’s cock imbedded deeply in her throat so that her face actually turned purple.  Strangely enough, she wasn’t nearly as reluctant to clean my cock off as she was Will’s.  Perhaps that’s because I gave her the option of gently licking and sucking it, or being brutally throat-fucked again.


Once the second part of desert was done, we allowed Donna to scrape the uneaten portions of our dinner plates onto the kitchen floor and watched in amusement as she slurped and sucked the remains of our meals up as her dinner, her ass stuck up in the air as cum dripped out of her and onto the floor (we made her lick that up, too, as her own desert).  There really wasn’t much there for her; some congealed gravy and a few bits of gristle and fatty meat, but she devoured it like she was starving.  In reality, she wasn’t, but I’m sure she felt like it.  As my wife, Donna had eaten heartily, at least three meals a day and several snacks (but still managed to retain most of her figure for some reason); the way I estimated it, she’d been permitted maybe 500 calories each day since becoming my slave.  That didn’t include the caloric content of the semen she’d been swallowing, of course.  I’d only learned recently learned that cum had just five calories per load.  I’d wondered about that, because I thought it would be fun to see what would happen if she were fed nothing but cum.   A 2,000 calorie diet would mean sucking off 400 men a day, though, which equated to one blow job every 3.6 minutes, around the clock.  An interesting thought, and something I’d like to try, but not at all practical for anything but a day or so..


We each fucked Donna’s cunt twice that evening, me going first this time.  It wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as her asshole, but much nicer than when she’d been my wife.  Now, as my slave, she was much more responsive probably owing in part to the fact that I told her she’d get another beating if she came without permission – which neither of us were about to give her.  Then, after we both came inside her for the second time – or fourth, if you include each of us cumming in her ass and mouth once – I allowed her to slither on the floor, rubbing her wet cunt on the filthy towel until she finally came.  By that time, we were all exhausted and neither of us could get it up again, so Will got dressed and left, saying he enjoyed the visit and hoped he’d be able to stop by often.  I assured him that he was welcome to come by and use the slut whenever she was available.  As for Donna, I just wrapped a length of chain around the base of the toilet and locked it to her collar, leaving her to sleep on the cold bathroom floor for the night.


I guess I must have felt sorry for my wife the next day, because I hardly abused her at all.  I even let her eat a full breakfast – a large bowl of cold oatmeal – which I set on the floor between my feet while I sat on the toilet taking my morning crap.  I don’t really think she enjoyed it all the much (she hated oatmeal anyway), but she managed to gobble it all down before I was done.  I’d warned her that she might not get anything else to eat that day, except maybe what she could suck out of me.  I think that helped, you know? 


I would have enjoyed staying home, but I did have a lot of work to finish up before the end of the week, so I decided Donna could spend the day cleaning the garage.  There was so much clutter in the garage that there wasn’t room to park a car.  The floor was covered with boxes and tools that I’d used and neglected to put away, and it hadn’t been swept out in over a year.  So that would be Donna’s chore for the day: to stack everything neatly, clean my tools and put them away, sweep and mop the floor, and make sure I had a safe place to park my car by the time I got home.  To that end, I chained her by the ankle to my work bench, making sure the chain was long enough so she could cover the entire garage, and gave her the necessary tools for cleaning.  I also spread the day’s newspaper out in one corner, telling her this was her toilet if she needed it.  She was, of course, naked.  The ambient temperature in the garage couldn’t have been above 50 degrees, and I left her no food or water.  When I returned home that evening, I found a clean garage and a cold, hungry, thirsty slave who was completely compliant.


The rest of our evening was fairly uneventful, as far as things had been going lately.  Donna scampered around the house on all fours, taking care of chores like cleaning the toilet, scrubbing the kitchen floor on her hands and knees (using a pair of her old panties as a rag), and hand-laundering my soiled undershorts.  Whenever I felt like a blow job – just three times that evening – she’d find herself kneeling between my feet with her mouth filled with cock.  I ordered Chinese that night, making Donna answer the door naked and on her knees, but this time at least gave her enough money to pay for it.  The young man who delivered my dinner was wide-eyed, to say the least, but kept his composure and simply handed her the boxes, took his money and left.  I thoroughly enjoyed my dinner, eating leisurely while Donna licked my toes and the occasional bit of rice that I dropped on the floor.


It wasn’t until later that night, while I was browsing porn sites on the web, that I realized what a money-maker my new slave slut could become for me.   At worst, there were a few pay-sites who would give me free access in return for photos or videos of my slave; at best, I could set up a site of my own and just let the money roll in.  Unfortunately, I had no idea how to build a web site.  I still thought the idea had merit – I could either learn how to do it myself, or find someone who could – so I went ahead and registered a domain name,  I told Donna about my plans the following morning, as I gave her the day’s instructions.


“I’m not going to leave you chained up today, cunt,” I told her.  “Consider this a test.  If you fail, it’s over.  Failure constitutes not doing everything I’ve given you to do, or doing anything that I didn’t specifically say you could do.  For instance, if I don’t say you can use the toilet during the day, that means you can’t.  Understand?”


“Yes, Sir,” she mumbled around my cock, the tip of which she was licking lightly.


“I’m going to give you one of our credit cards to use today, a shopping list, and enough cash so you can take the bus to the mall and back.  You’ll bring receipts for everything, including the bus, and you’re not to purchase anything I haven’t listed.  Here are your instructions and shopping list,” I said, handing her a folded sheet of paper.  “Now lets go pick out something for you to wear.”


Donna crawled quickly across the floor to the tiny guest room which I’d now designated as hers – and which she’d not been in since the few belongings I’d allowed her to keep were moved into it.  For today’s adventure, I picked out a pair of pink spandex shorts, a cropped white tee shirt, and a pair of flat sandals.  Dressed, she looked absolutely obscene.  The top hung straight down from her breasts, barely covering them, while the shorts were so tight that the outline of her cunt was clearly visible.   I’d already checked bus fares, and handed her a clear sandwich bag containing her identification, a single credit card, and the three dollars she’d need for her round trip transportation.  She’d worked in that mall until about a year ago, so I was certain someone would recognize her.  If anyone asked her about her appearance or what she was doing, she was simply to tell them that she’s embarked on a new lifestyle and was doing some shopping for her Master.  Once I was sure she understood exactly what was expected of her, I left for work.


It was a tedious day, like most of them, making phone calls and taking care of the little wildfires that occur in any business on a daily basis.  Twice I had to intervene in squabbles among staff, and all I could think about was how nice it would be if I could just order people around like I did my wife.  There wouldn’t be any problems, and arguments would be settled with the person who started it getting a sound, bare-bottomed spanking.  That’s not how life works in the business world, though, at least not in most businesses, so I spent my day mediating.


When I got home, Donna was waiting for me, kneeling naked just inside the door, and greeted me with a gentle kiss on each shoe while I set down my briefcase.


“Did you get everything on the list?” I asked.


“Yes, Master,” she answered.  “It’s all in your study, Sir.”


“Good.  Did you do everything I asked?  Did you obey me exactly?”  She hesitated a moment before answering.


“Yes, Master,” she said, averting her eyes.


“Are you sure, or do I need to check the receipts?”  I saw her face blanche.  She’d obviously done something.


“Master, I’m sorry,” she started to bawl, “But I was so hungry!  I knew you’d look at the receipts, so I used your credit card at McDonald’s and threw away the receipt!”


“I see,” I said, to the quivering woman who was now hugging my ankles.  “What exactly did you eat?”


“Just a Big Mac and a soda, Master. Please don’t punish me, I was so hungry!”


“Oh, you’ll be punished.  It’s just a matter of how I decide to do it.  For tonight, you go hungry, though, and you’ll sleep chained to the toilet for the rest of the week.  Go crawl into the bathroom and wait for me.”


“Yes, Master,” she sobbed, slowly crawling away.


I’d actually expected something like this, so already had a plan of sorts.  First, though, I’d let Donna stew for a while I got out all the items she’d purchased and set them up.  There was a compact digital video camera – the kind that uses mini-DVDs, so there’d be no problems uploading videos to her new web site; a state-of-the-art digital still camera; a web cam and a video surveillance kit that would be installed in her room, giving viewers a complete view, 24/7; and commercial-quality video imaging software suite that I could use to edit the movies she’d be making.  When I’d inventoried everything and compared them to the receipts, I called Donna into the living room again.


“Get your driver’s license and keys,” I commanded brusquely.


“Are we going somewhere?  Shouldn’t I get dressed?” she asked.


“Yes, we’re going somewhere.  No, you won’t be getting dressed.  This is part of your punishment.”


Her car was in the garage – a Mustang convertible I’d given her as a birthday gift two years ago.  She’d be driving,  so I got in the passenger seat and buckled up. 


“Where should I go, Master?” she asked.


“Well, since you like McDonald’s so much, how about the drive-through?  Unless you’d rather go order from the lobby?” I added when she appeared to hesitate.


“No. Master, the drive through will be fine,” she mumbled.


There were several McDonald’s in the area, all about an equal distance from the house.  As I expected, she selected the one in the least populated area.  It didn’t really matter to me, because the drive wasn’t really part of her punishment.


“Order forty Big Macs,” I told her as I climbed out of the car.


“Forty, Master?”


“Forty,” I reiterated, reaching over to the dashboard and pressing the button to lower the top.  “And don’t you dare put the top back up,” I warned.  “Pick me up on the street when you’re done.”  She just looked up at me horrified at what I was making her do.


From my vantage point on the sidewalk, I could see the pick-up window clearly.  Work must have completely stopped, because it appeared every employee was gathered around it, gawking at the totally naked woman in the convertible while she waited for her order.  I know Donna wanted to just curl up and die, but she kept her composure, and from what I could see, made it seem like being naked in public was as natural an act as breathing.  She was obviously upset, though, because she stalled her car twice while trying to pull away from the window.


“I can’t believe you made me do that!” she exclaimed angrily as I got back in the car.  It was her first outburst of this nature since she’d asked to become my slave.  I was willing to let her get it out of her system first, though, since it was her first actual public display of nudity.  Not that she wouldn’t be punished for it later, though.


“I’m willing to bet it got you excited, though,” I replied, pressing the button to raise the top back up.


“Like hell,” she retorted.


“I think you’re lying,” I said.  “I think displaying your body to those teenagers got you all hot and bothered, and your cunt is soaked from it.”


“Bullshit.  I hated it.”


“Fine.  Spread your legs and I’ll check.  If you’re not wet, then you can sleep in the bed tonight.  If you are, though, you get another punishment for being a lying bitch.”  I had her, and she knew it.  My fingers came up gleaming with cunt juice.

“I guess this means another punishment,” I commented almost absentmindedly.


I let her drive to the edge of our housing development – about six blocks from home – and told her to stop the car.


“Get out,” I ordered.  “I’ve decided that as punishment for lying to me, you can walk the rest of the way home.  After that, we’ll deal with your little outburst and lack of respect for me.”  It was well after dark, but the streets were fairly well lit, so it would be interesting for her.  I turned off the headlights and slowly followed her, watching her crouching along in the shadows, jumping behind bushes and trees every time a car approached.  It took her nearly an hour to make that half mile or so, but she did, and nobody apparently discovered her.


Once we were safely inside the house, I took half the hamburgers – there were eight bags of them – and laid them out in a row on the kitchen floor.  I left them there for a few minutes while I went into the bathroom, turned off the water supply to the toilet and flushed it twice to empty the tank.  Then I sat down and took a shit in the nearly empty bowl before returning to the kitchen.


“Eat,” I commanded.  “Since you like Big Macs so much, you get twenty for dinner tonight, and the rest you can eat for breakfast over the next few days.”  I was using the same sort of psychology as a parent would when their kid got caught smoking.  After I was through with her, I doubted she’d ever want to see a McDonald’s sandwich again.


She did the best she could, starting to look ill after the fifth, and finally running to the bathroom to puke about halfway through the seventh.  I didn’t let her off the hook though, and made her come right back and continue eating.  This was punishment, and she was going to take the full measure of it.  It took her nearly three hours and two more bouts of vomiting, but she finally finished.  She looked pleased, until I reminded her that there were still 20 burgers left, and until they were all gone, they were the only thing she’d be eating other than semen.  That comment caused one last bout of retching, and she ran into the bathroom once more, holding her hands over her mouth.


I didn’t use her at all that night, nor did I allow her to masturbate.  She spent the night chained to the toilet, but not simply by her collar as she’d been before.  Oh, no.  This was meant as punishment.  First I had her sit on her ass facing the toilet and wrap her legs around the base while I bound her ankles together with leather restraints attached to each other with a strong steel cable.  Then I made her hug the toilet so I could handcuff her wrists together between the tank and base.  In this position, she was bent forward with her face directly over the open bowl, and would remain there, breathing the mixed odors of my shit and her own vomit until I decided it was time to release her.  That wouldn’t be until after I woke up the next morning – at the earliest.



Slave Wife

Slave Wife

Chapter 4


When I woke up the next morning, I immediately went into the bathroom to both check on my slut and take care of my morning needs, which basically consisted of taking a shit and getting my dick sucked again.  The stench in the bathroom made my stomach turn, so I quickly flushed the toilet and opened the window to let the room air out.  Neither of these actions helped Donna at all; after nearly ten hours of having her face inches from vomit and shit that was fermenting in the toilet, she was oblivious to the smell.  Flushing the toilet caused the contents of the bowl to splash on her face, and opening the window allowed the brisk morning air to make her just that much more uncomfortable.  So sad, too bad, bitch.  She’d soon wish she was just uncomfortable.


I released Donna’s wrists and pushed her back a bit so I could sit down, but left her collar chained to the toilet.  Sitting with my knees spread, I shoved my cock in her mouth and held it there, mashing her face against my groin  while I took my morning dump.  Of course, I also had to deal with my morning piss – or rather, Donna had to – so I just held her in place and pissed down her throat.  She struggled, but after an uncomfortable, sleepless night and very little food over the past two days, there wasn’t much fight left in her.  When I finally released her head, she made sputtering sounds, a mixture of snot and piss dripping out of her nose. 


I thought about having her lick my asshole clean, but decided I’d wait for another time to introduce her to the taste of shit.  Instead, I simply ordered her to latch her lips around my cock while I face-fucked her until I came, pulling out as I did and splorking over her face.


Donna was pretty rank herself, so I let her take a three minute, cold water shower, mostly to rinse the crap off her body than to really get clean.  Even when she was done showering, she still had dried cum on her thighs and face.  She still didn’t smell very good, though, so I grabbed a spritzer of her favorite perfume and liberally doused her body with it.


After that, I decided to let up on her a bit.  It was obvious that her spirit was fairly well broken; not as much as I eventually intended it to be, but enough for now.  Besides, it was breakfast time and she still had the rest of her Big Macs to eat.  However, I was willing to give her an option.


“Would you like the rest of your hamburgers for breakfast, or just one?” I asked sweetly.  She knew by my voice that I had an ulterior motive, but she also knew she’d never be able to eat the remaining 20 Big Macs.


“Just one, please, Master,” she said quietly, barely successful in holding down the bile that was filling her throat now.


She watched in silence as I took one of the neatly-stacked sandwiches from the refrigerator and dropped it – wrapper and all – into the blender.  Then, while she watched with her stomach doing flip-flops, I added a few more ingredients: potato peelings that I’d saved just for her; a soft, nearly rotten carrot; the contents of the living room ashtray; and finally, a long drool of saliva that I let drip slowly into the container.  After thirty seconds at high speed, I poured Donna’s breakfast – now a gelatinous, putrid-looking mush – directly onto the floor.


“Eat up, sweetie pie!” I gaily announced.  “If it’s not all gone in five minutes, you’ll be having the rest of your Big Macs for breakfast – out of the toilet,” I added.


I couldn’t help but burst out laughing as Donna crawled to the mess on the floor and began slowly lapping it up.  The look of distaste on her face was just precious; if she only knew that this would be nothing compared to what was to come.  I even told her that when she slowed down once, that if she thought this was bad, maybe she needed to reconsider wanting to be my slave.  She eventually did finish, though, just barely under the time limit I’d set.  As I said, I was feeling rather kind, so I even let her lap up some water out of her doggie bowl before I presented her with her tasks for the day.  She wouldn’t even need to leave the house, for today she was going to prepare her new living quarters.


As a slave, I explained, she had no right to privacy at all.  Everything she did was subject to inspection and viewing, from taking a shit to sleeping.  Therefore, I told her, her first task would be to remove the doors and window coverings from what had been a tiny, third bedroom and attached bath, and would now be slave quarters.  Since a slave also has no right to comfort, let alone personal property, everything would be removed from the former bedroom:  furniture, lamps, even the carpeting.  If she some day earned it, I explained, I might allow her to have a blanket, a small pile of straw to sleep on, or if she eventually became an extremely obedient slave slut, a thin, second-hand mattress currently stored out in the shed.  Until then, she’d be sleeping on the concrete slab that formed the bottom floor of our – now solely my – home.  That is, unless I decided to leave her chained at the foot of my bed in case I wanted to use her scummy body during the night.


Donna’s personal bathroom would also offer her little in the way of human comfort.  I’d already turned off the hot water, and among Donna’s tasks were the removal of the sink, shower curtain, and toilet.  She had nothing but the open hole in the floor to shit or piss in, and not even that unless she earned it.  Until then, she’d be chained to a heavy bolt in the corner of her room, with a bucket to do her business in.  A steel prison-type mirror was nailed to the wall, and the shower head had been replaced with a length of used, grimy garden hose.  I had other plans to modify Donna’s new home, but those would wait until we returned from the “vacation” I had scheduled to begin at the end of the week. 


Anyway, I gave Donna her instructions for the day and headed out for a very boring, uneventful day at work.  Upon my return home, I slapped her around a bit – just because I could, not because I was angry or anything – and then unceremoniously flipped her over the back of the couch and gave her a quick fuck, leaving her in a heap on the floor, cum dripping out of her hole, while I checked her work.


“Get prettied up, we’re going out.  Don’t bother cleaning that loose hole of yours, because it’s going to see more use tonight.  Just put on some makeup, and make it quick,” I ordered after completing my inspection tour of her newly redecorated hovel.  “Make your face up like a whore.  Bright red lipstick, lots of makeup.  Come upstairs when you’re ready to get dressed,” I commanded before retiring to my recliner to watch the news with a nice glass of Chianti.


Donna didn’t really have much experience with makeup; she often went without, and even when she did wear it, the amount was miniscule.  Those days were over.  I had to send her back twice; once for more eye shadow, and the other time for a brighter, redder lip gloss.  Finally, though, her appearance was almost acceptable.


“Put those on,” I told her, pointing to a tiny black dress, fishnet stockings, and a pair of 6” stiletto shoes.  The dress was so short that it barely covered her ass cheeks, with a v-shaped neckline that plunged nearly to her waist and left most of her breasts – as well as a goodly portion of her belly – exposed to view.  With the heels on, she could barely keep everything covered.


We took the convertible again, this time with me driving.  Our ultimate destination – hers, really, since I wasn’t going in - was a club in an adjacent city, but we had to make one quick stop first.


“See the kid wiping down the tables?” I said, pointing through the McDonald’s window – the same McDonald’s she’d visited naked the night before – at a geeky-looking, pimple-faced, somewhat chubby teenaged boy.  “Go suck him off.  Don’t swallow, either.  I his cum coating your mouth when you return.  Oh, and get his phone number while you’re at it.  I might want to invite him over for a return performance”


This time she didn’t even glare at me, just nodded submissively and carefully stepped out of the car, teetering awkwardly on the unfamiliar heels.  I watched as she walked up to her target and talked to him for a moment.  I could see his eyes light up, then he motioned for her to follow him towards the restrooms.


She was back five minutes later, her hair mussed and lipstick smeared, but otherwise no worse for the wear.  She  had to look around for a minute before finding me; I’d made myself comfortable in a quiet corner booth.  After making her show me the copious amount of cum the boy had deposited in her mouth, I had her hold her head back and gargle a bit before finally allowing her to swallow. 


“Phone number?”  She reached into  the top of one of her stockings and pulled out a soiled scrap of paper.  “Bobby Hendrix, 555-5486,” I said.  “Did Bobby have a nice cock?” I asked.


“Um…I guess so, Sir,” Donna answered.   I glared at her for a minute before she continued.  “Um…I mean, all cocks are nice, Sir.   Bobby’s cock was nice, Sir. “


“How was it nice?” I asked.


“Um, I’m not sure what you mean, Master.  Nice in what way?”


“Exactly.  Describe it and tell me what you liked most about it, you stupid slut!” I spat.


“Um…it was soft, Master.  I mean the skin, because by the time we got into the restroom it was as hard as any cock I’ve seen.  It was kinda long, but skinny, so even though he went into my throat, it wasn’t too uncomfortable for me.  He had big balls, but not a lot of hair.  I think what I liked most about it, Master, was that it was just…well, I know ‘cute’ isn’t a word most men would like to be used when talking about their cocks, but that’s what it was. Cute.”


“I’m glad you liked it, but it really doesn’t matter to me whether you do or not.  You’ll have to call him up for a date later in the week, maybe see if he has eight or ten friends to join in.  Oh, and who gave you permission to use his first name?  He’s ‘Mister Hendrix,’ or ‘Sir’ to you, slut.”


“Yes, Master,” she replied, chastised and resigned to the fact that she’d be fucking not only the pimple-faced kid, but also all of his friends.


As I pulled out of the parking lot, I told her to pull her dress up and finger-fuck herself until I said to stop.  We had a long way to go, I said, and I expected the smell of wet cunt to permeate my car by the time we got there.  However, I warned her, if she came without my permission – and I wasn’t going to give it – I’d leave her on the side of the road naked, with her hands tied behind her back, and let her find her own way home.


It wasn’t a simple task for her, because the drive to our destination was nearly two hours, but I was sure she’d cheated.  Not by cumming without permission, but by pretending to finger herself when she was sure she couldn’t handle it any longer.  It didn’t really matter, though, because my objective was to ensure she smelled of wet, needy cunt.  As we drove, I had her occasionally changed hands, wiping her juices on her face, neck and hair.  Two hours of this and she reeked of sex.


Our destination was a BDSM club I’d discovered from perusing the internet.  I’d never been there before, but thanks to the contact I’d made with the management, was readily accepted along with my slut.  I led her in, leash in my hand.


“Welcome!” the manager warmly greeted me, doing nothing to acknowledge Donna’s presence except giving her a quick look.  “Since you’re here as a guest, the rules for your slave won’t apply tonight.  If, however, you decide to become a member, they will.”


“What rules might that be?” I asked.


“Quite a few, actually,” he responded.  “The most important ones are that slaves are not permitted to speak without permission, is required to remain on its knees except when being used,  and that until you’ve been a member six months, your slave remains naked and is subject to use by any member or guest.”


“I can live with that,” I answered, watching Donna blush as he explained the basics.  “I’m still not sure about membership, though, but could we go ahead and follow those rules anyway?  Just to see how it –“ I motioned to Donna “- responds?”


“Certainly, Sir,” he replied with an exaggerated bow.


“You heard him, whore!” I snapped.  “Get naked, now!”


I’m not sure whether Donna had finally accepted her position, or was just startled and stunned by the evening’s events, but in less than thirty seconds – twenty of which was taken up rolling the stockings down her legs – she knelt on the floor, naked.  The manager – who said his name was Rocco – kicked her knees apart, then reached down and helped himself to a couple of handfuls of tit.


“Big tits, but kinda saggy,” he commented.


“Not big enough, though,” I replied.  “I’m thinking fifty-fours, with enough packing material to make ‘em stick out more, you know?”


“That’d be pretty nice, particularly if you can work some of the fat off her ass and belly.  She’d be walking sex in a corset, with tits that big.  Only problem is you have to be careful with the abuse; no pins in the tits, that sort of thing.”


We continued talking about Donna’s body as though she were nothing but an inanimate object – which, for the moment, she was.  Just a thing, owned property, existing for the sole purpose of serving and amusing others.


It seemed that new slaves were usually assigned to restroom duty, which meant either serving as urinals or kneeling next to the commodes and wiping asses.  Rocco mentioned that there were a few Mistresses here tonight, so I decided to start by having Donna put to work in the ladies’ room.  She crawled reluctantly behind me as Rocco showed us the way through the club, displaying he naked body for everyone to see.  While the restrooms were ostensibly uni-sex, none of the several women acted as though having males walk in on them was unusual; in fact, a naked man knelt next to one of the toilets.  Given the choice of stalls for Donna to service, I elected to put her in the largest, chaining her collar to the base of a toilet and her wrists behind her back.  Each stall had several cameras strategically positioned inside and above it; depending on the desires of the woman using the stall, the cameras could be temporarily shut off.  When unoccupied (except for the slave, of course), the view of each stall was shown on several large-screen televisions on the walls.  There was a smaller monitor on most of the tables, from which any of the camera views could be selected.


As a guest, the other slaves would normally be off-limits to me, but because of my special situation, I was treated as any other slave owner.  I had full rights to any new slave, and could use any other slave with permission from its Master or Mistress. I sat at the bar, sipping a snifter of cognac and smoking a nice cigar while a new slave orally ministered to my cock.   A slave’s status was easily determined; new slaves wore bright red collars and were otherwise naked; slaves of higher status wore different collars and various articles of clothing.


While I sat there relaxing and having my dick sucked, I flipped the small video monitor to a view of Donna’s stall.  She was, at the moment, kneeling with her chin resting on the edge of the seat while a large woman dressed in black leather sat and did her thing.  I wasn’t sure whether she was pissing or shitting, but when she was finished, she used Donna’s tongue as her toilet paper, grabbing my wife by the back of the head and forcing her face deep into her hairy crotch.  I watched as the women reached down and cruelly shoved several fingers up Donna’s cunt, the fact that she was sopping wet made obvious by the sheen as she held them up to the camera.  Lowering her hand to Donna’s face, she grabbed her by the hair and forced her to lick the scum off her fingers.


Over the next hour or so, Donna became a bathroom favorite, receiving more “guests” than even the young male chained in the next stall.  While she cleaned pissy cunts and reamed out dirty assholes, I chatted amicably with a number of other slave owners.  Most were interested in my training methodology, and a couple offered suggestions of their own.   One, who had his own 19-year-old slave at the end of a leash, even offered a one-night swap.  It seemed he was tired of his slave’s complete obedience and devotion, and wanted a session with one not fully trained.  I told him I’d think about it.


After 90 minutes, I had Donna released and cleaned up – there were “house sluts” who took care of chores like this – and brought back into the main room.  Rather than bringing her to me, however, she was taken to a raised, padded platform against one wall, where several other women were bound in a variety of positions.  In Donna’s case, she was positioned on her back with her ankles spread and pulled over her head, so that her knees were above her face, leaving both her cunt and asshole spread and accessible.  Her head hung precariously over the side of the platform.


Over the next few hours, several men took advantage of her invitingly available holes, but – at my request – anyone who fucked any of the other bound women got their wet cocks washed off in Donna’s mouth.  At first she was reluctant and refused to clean a cock that had been up another woman’s ass, but a cock being slammed up her own ass fixed that problem.  Her clenched jaws popped open, and the shit-covered cock slid in quite nicely.  After that, she didn’t struggle at all, and submissively accepted everything placed against her lips.


Even though I’d already cum three times that day, I was ready for another go.  I didn’t feel like fucking Donna, or any of the other bound slaves, though.  The idea of sloppy thirtieths didn’t really appeal to me.  Instead, I asked the Master with the cute teenager if his offer was still open, and in a flash, I was in temporary possession of fresh teenage pussy, while he led my cum-filled, fucked-out wife out to his van.   We exchanged cell phone numbers, as well as driver’s license information, just in case. 


From an assortment of “clothing,” and I use the term very loosely, I selected a pale blue baby doll negligee for my new slave to wear on the trip home.  Her bare ass peeked enticingly from the bottom of the outfit; I’d declined the offer of the ensemble’s panties.


The drive home took quite a bit longer than the drive out; I had to stop three times, once to splay girl – that was the name her Master had given her – over the hood for a quick fuck, and twice more for blow jobs.  When we got home, I was exhausted, and took her straight to bed.  After cumming one more time – this one in her cute, tight ass – I’d had enough for one day.  With her mouth engulfing my now-soft cock – I warned her I expected her to suck me all night long – I went to sleep.  Her Master told me how well-trained she was, so when I awoke in the middle of the night with my bladder bursting, I wasn’t surprised to find her lips still wrapped around my dick.  I nudged her slightly, letting a tiny amount of pee dribble into her mouth so she knew what was coming before I let loose.  Immediately awake, she tightened her lips around me, making a tight seal.  I let loose a long, hard stream of urine, feeling the muscles in her throat flex as she swallowed quickly. When I was done, she gently worked her lips up to the end of my cock, carefully cleaning off the last of the pee.  My dick was sore from the use I’d given it already, so as much as I wanted to get sucked off again, I just patted her on the head and went back to sleep thinking about how convenient having a toilet-trained slave would be.


In the morning, girl gently extricated herself from my cock, crawling out of bed without waking me.  The first think I was aware of was the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee; I looked over the side of the bed to see the naked slave kneeling there, holding a steaming cup.


“Thank you,” I said, taking the cup and sitting upright.


“Sir, if Sir has no need of girl at the moment, may girl please begin girl’s daily chores, Sir?” she asked quietly. 


“Chores?” I asked.  “I didn’t bring you here to do chores, girl.”


“Sir, girl understands girl was brought here because Master has loaned girl to Sir, but girl always does chores in the morning, Sir.  Sir, girl would feel…unfulfilled…if girl did not complete girl’s chores, Sir.”


Damn, I thought, how submissive can you get?


“Okay, I guess.  What chores did you have in mind?”


“Sir, girl’s first chore is to clean the bathroom, Sir, followed by the rest of the house, Sir.  Sir, girl is required to sweep, mop and vacuum the floors, dust, polish the wood furniture, and ensure the windows are spotless, Sir. Sir, after that, girl makes the bed with clean linen, then is required to wash all the clothes, and prepare and serve the meals, and clean the dishes afterwards, Sir.  Sir, girl’s job is to ensure the home in which girl is residing at any moment is immaculately clean, and to make girl’s holes available to anyone who wishes to use them, Sir.”


“Well, in that case, girl, I think you should get to work!” I said, playfully slapping her on the ass as she scrambled on all fours to the bedroom door.


I spent the morning propped up in bed, watching television, calling girl whenever I wanted a fresh cup of coffee or to play with her sexy teenage body.  By the time I finally got up – so that she could strip the sheets and make my bed – it was early afternoon.  I’d not cum since the night before, and watching her naked body scampering around the house was having an effect on me.


Girl was bent over, putting a pot away under the kitchen counter, her legs spread as always (her Master required that she keep her knees at least a foot apart at all times), her hairless, pink cunt peeking out.  Without a word, I just walked up behind her, kicked her feet apart and slipped myself into her warm, wet folds.  She simply maintained her position, bent double, responding to my thrusts by pushing back at me.  She had excellent control of her vaginal muscles, milking my cock and making me cum with a grunt and a final, hard thrust.  Just as quickly, she pulled herself off and squatted in front of me, her tongue catching the long string of cum hanging from the head of my dick.  While she lapped and sucked my cock clean, globs of semen plopped from her gaping cunt onto the floor.  As soon as she was done cleaning me, she lowered her face to the floor and licked them up.  As I watched, I wondered how much training girl’s Owner would be able to give Donna in the short time he had with her.


I had girl prepare lunch for both of us, telling her she could have whatever she liked.  She told me that the only thing she was allowed for lunch was fresh vegetables, but she could prepare whatever I desired.  I told her to surprise me, just help herself to whatever was in the kitchen, as long as she could have it ready in thirty minutes.  She acknowledge the order and scampered – that’s the only way I can describe how she consistently moved – back into the kitchen.  Less than a half hour later, she crawled out to let me know luncheon was served. 


She’d prepared a simple, yet very nice meal of a small salad and Reuben sandwich.  An icy bottle of beer sat next to the plate.


“Master, girl hopes girl has pleased Master, Master.  Master, girl saw the food Master had in his refrigerator and assumed they were foods Master liked, Master.  Master, girl apologizes and begs to be punished if girl assumed wrong, Master,” she said, kneeling with her head on the floor between my feet. 


“You did fine, girl,” I assured her, patting her softly on the head.  “What about your lunch, though?”


“Sir, girl’s lunch is here, Sir,” she answered, pointing to a small saucer on the floor.  On it was a small leaf of lettuce and a single slice of tomato.  “Sir, may girl eat lunch now, Sir?” she asked respectfully.


“Yes, but are you sure it’s enough?  You’ve worked hard today, and with no breakfast.”


“Sir, girl will still be hungry, but girl is just a slave, and a slave’s needs and desires are of no importance, Sir.”


I told girl to go ahead and eat, but felt guilty about the amount of food she’d prepared for me.  I was sure hunger would cause her stomach to rumble and ache, and she was such a good girl.  She was completely submissive and totally obedient.  I knew that her Master had told her to obey me as I were him, and that no matter what I told her to do – even cause harm to herself – she’d do it.  Girl had displayed for me the sort of total obedience that I now knew I wanted from Donna.  I couldn’t let the education she’d given me go unrewarded.


“Girl, does your Master ever feed you from his hand?” I asked.


“Sir,” she replied, “Master does, on occasion, permit girl to eat his leftovers, but only as a reward, Sir.”


“Well, I’m kind of new to this Master thing, girl, and you’ve taught me a lot in the past few hours, so I think that’s deserving of a reward.  Do you like Reubens, girl?  Please answer me truthfully.”  She looked up, confusion apparent on her face.


“Sir…um…what girl likes is of no consequence, Sir.  Sir, girl is but a slave girl, and a slave girl’s desires do not matter, Sir.”


“Maybe not in normal situations, girl, but this isn’t like that.  I want to reward you.  What is your favorite food, girl?”


“Sir, girl’s favorite food is…um…chocolate, Sir?” she admitted, a questioning tone in her voice.


“I don’t think I have any chocolate around the house, so while you were checking out the stores, what did you see that you’d like to eat?”  She looked up at me, tears in her eyes.


“Um…Sir?  May girl please have a taste of peanut butter, Sir?”


“You like peanut butter?  It’s been a while since you’ve had any?”


“Sir, girl loves peanut butter, but it has too many calories for girl, and Master requires that girl not become fat and lazy, Sir.  Sir, girl has not eaten peanut butter in…um…girl believes it has been over two years, Sir.”


“Well, in that case,” I said, getting up and walking over to the cupboard, returning with a large jar of Jif, “enjoy yourself!”  I opened the jar and watched as she tentatively stuck her finger in the goo, popping it into her mouth with a grin.  I watched as she sensually sucked and licked the food off her finger.   That gave me an idea.  I took the jar in my hand and ladled a large spoonful into my mouth.


“Climb up and get your snack,” I mumbled while holding the peanut butter on my tongue, patting my lap.  Girl scrambled onto me, draping her legs over either side of my hips, her lips embracing mine as her tongue fished the food from my mouth.  The feel of her naked body against me, of her tongue worming into my mouth, was indescribable.  I grasped the back of her head and kissed her firmly.


“Sir, may girl try something, Sir?” she gasped.  “Sir, girl thinks Sir will like it, Sir,” she coaxed.


“Okay,” I answered, allowing her to climb down from my lap.


Girl quickly pulled my pants off, her need apparently as strong as my own, stroking my flaccid cock to full hardness.  Giggling, she then took a handful of peanut butter, spread it on my cock and balls, and then began gently licking it off.  My cock twitched each time she lapped at it, and her own need was becoming more and more evident.  Not only was her breathing becoming more ragged, but her nipples were sticking out like gumballs and the scent of her wetness filling the room.  She was right, I was liking it, but her mouth wasn’t what I wanted right now.


“On your back, girl!” I commanded, pushing her head off my cock.  She immediately flopped backwards, assuming a supine position with her legs spread widely.  I grabbed her ankles and pushed them over her head, not unlike the position Donna was bound in.  Unlike my wife, however, the position did not seem to be causing girl any pain.


“Ass or cunt, girl?” I asked, looking deeply into her eyes.


“Sir, please cum in girl’s cunt, Sir!” she begged.  “Sir, please fuck girl hard, Sir!”


Now, how could I turn down an offer like that?  As wet as she was, my rigid tool slid easily into her, while her well-toned cunt muscles tightened down on me so that it was almost like fucking a virgin.  She let out little squeaking noises, like a puppy’s chew-toy, each time I shoved into her, fucking her mercilessly. 


“Sir, may girl cum, Sir?” she screamed after just four or five strokes.


“You can cum as many times as you want!” I answered, increasing both the pace and force of my thrusts. 


“Girl is cumming!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, the first of three times she’d do so before I finally shot my load deep inside her wet, hairless, experienced hole.  When I was finished, we both lay there, panting.


“Sir, thank you, Sir!” she nearly cried.  “Sir, that was wonderful, Sir!”


As soon as I recovered enough to sit up, I pulled my now-shrunken cock out of her.  Under her ass was a large puddle of our accumulated juices.  True to her training, she immediately knelt over the puddle and began using her talented mouth to clean my cock off, then lapped up the mess we’d made on the floor.


“Girl, does your Master permit you to cum often?” I asked, curious about the power he had over this young slave.


“Sir,” she said, raising her head from the floor where she’d been licking up the last of the cum, “Master allows girl to cum only when his hard cock is fucking girl’s ass, Sir.  Sir, girl has not been permitted to cum with a cock in any other hole in…since girl became a slave, however long ago that was, Sir.”


“You don’t know how long you’ve been owned?”


“Sir, girl only knows the last time girl came with a cock in her cunt, girl was still in high school, Sir.  Sir, it was when girl lost her cherry, Sir.”  I pondered that for a moment, thinking of the number of times this sweet slut must have been fucked as a slave, never having been permitted a single orgasm while cock after cock penetrated that wet, warm hole I’d just enjoyed.


I was definitely interested in hearing more about this slave’s background, so I asked her for details.  She was raised in a typically upper-middle class home, and both her parents were professionals with full-time jobs.  There was nothing special about her upbringing; she was the middle child, with two brothers, one two years older and the other two years younger.  She explained that she’d always had submissive feelings, though until her latter high school years, she didn’t understand anything about them.  It was when she was a junior that she stumbled onto a BDSM internet site – one that was geared towards submissives and their feelings, not just prurient porn – which brought her to her first epiphany, that she was truly submissive.


This knowledge brought forth a major change in her outlook on life.  She adjusted her school courses as a result, dropping many of her college preparatory and advanced placement academic classes and replacing them with programs in home economics and physical education.  She felt it was now more important to be able to cook well – a skill neither she nor her mother had – keep her home clean, look attractive and act properly.  She instinctively knew that the more attractive and sensual she could become, the better her prospects of finding a mate, particularly one who understood her needs.  To this end, she enrolled in several dance classes at the local community center, and ultimately, using false identification that reflected her age as 18, obtained employment as an erotic dancer at a men’s club, where she worked on Saturday nights.


Amy – girl’s legal name – quickly became a popular attraction at the establishment, usually attired in a costume consisting of a white, lace-bordered bustier with matching garter belt and stockings.  I could only imagine the picture she must have made, her young, virginal face complimented so well by her wardrobe.  She told me she never stripped, just performed a pole dance, while men ogled and cheered.  After a few months, she began doing lap dances as well, letting men feel her up for a few more dollars.  At times, she could earn as much as $600 a night, most of which – except for that needed for wardrobe and makeup – went into the bank.


It was at the club that she met her current Master.  She’d never seen him before, but noticed him immediately when he sat down at a corner booth, his blue eyes staring intently at her, exuding an aura of self-confidence.  When her routine was over, he beckoned her to his table. 


“You’re not old enough to work here legally, are you?” he said, staring intently into her eyes. 


“No, Sir,” she answered truthfully.  She didn’t understand why, but she couldn’t’ lie.


“Have you ever been fucked?” his next question came out bluntly.  Amy was taken aback, but stammered her answer.


“N-n-no, Sir,” she said.


“Show me,” he commanded.


“Sir?” she asked, confused.


“Spread your legs and stand still so I can check to see if you’re really cherry.”  She didn’t even think about disobeying, wincing painfully as he thrust his thick fingers deeply inside her virginal hole.  She squirmed on his hand, receiving a reproachful look as a result.  She stood still while his fingers worked their way up her tunnel, winching again when he found her hymen.  He pulled his fingers out, holding them up to her face.  Amy knew instinctively that he wanted her to clean her juices from his hand, and immediately sucked his fingers into her mouth, washing them gently with her tongue.


“You have potential,” he commented, “But there’s still a lot of training needed.  I’ll be waiting in my car out front after the club closes.  If you show up, you won’t be a virgin in the morning.”


“I…I’ll be there, Sir,” her voice trembled.


“Good girl,” he answered.  “Now, get back to work.  The more tip money you bring me, the happier you’ll make me.  The happier you make me, the better you’ll be treated.”


She finished her shift that evening, and found the stranger waiting out front just as he’d said.  She got into the car without a word, handing over the roll of fives, tens and twenties that men had stuck in her panties and stocking tops.  He thumbed through it briefly, nodding with satisfaction before shoving it into his coat pocket.


“Get naked,” he commanded, giving Amy her first orders as a slave.  “Toss your things out the window,” he ordered as he sped down the road.  “You won’t be needing them any more.”


In moments, she was sitting naked in the passenger seat of her new Master’s BMW, her knees spread widely as his hand played with her sopping cunt.


He took her to a cheap motel that night, enjoying himself in each of her holes, and making her lick his cock clean after each fuck.  Once he was through, he got on the phone and called a number of his friends; before the night was over, the once-virginal Amy was an experienced whore, having had twenty men sample her wares.  She never went home, dropped out of school, and willingly submitted herself to become the property of her Master, whose name she still didn’t know.  In the ensuing two years, her name had been legally changed to “girl,” her breasts had been augmented with hormone therapy, and she’d been fucked by so many men that she couldn’t remember them all.  Sometimes she was beaten, either for some transgression or for no apparent reason at all.  Her Master regularly loaned or rented her out to others, so the overnight stay with me was nothing unusual for her. 


When she was finished with her story, I asked her if she was happy, whether she wished she’d never gotten involved in this lifestyle.


“Yes, Sir, girl is happy, Sir,” she answered truthfully.  “A slave is what girl was meant to be, Sir.  Girl didn’t understand this for a long time, but girl wouldn’t change anything, Sir…except maybe realizing girl’s true status earlier in girl’s life, Sir.”


“Thank you for telling me your story, girl,” I said, looking at my watch.  “Your Master will be here soon, so we’d better get you cleaned up.”


“Sir, girl is permitted to bathe only outside with a garden hose, or  a sponge bath using the toilet, Sir,” she replied.  I thought about it for a moment before answering.


“Not even a warm shower, as a reward?  I thought you’d like a nice, hot bubble bath.”


“Sir, girl was already given more reward than girl deserved, Sir.  Sir gave girl peanut butter and three fantastic slave cums, Sir,” she replied.  “Girl must either bathe from the toilet, or outside at the faucet, Sir,” she insisted. 


“Well, owing as you did such a good job on the toilet, it’s probably clean enough.  Go ahead,” I said, resigned to the fact.


“Sir, thank you, Sir,” she answered, crawling off to the bathroom.  A few minutes later she called out, asking for permission to use some of Donna’s cosmetics.  I told her it was okay.


When she returned about thirty minutes later, I was surprised at how well she’d cleaned up.  Her body shone a pale pink, as though the skin had been thoroughly scrubbed.  He’d managed to make herself up nicely, too, even with the cheap and minimal cosmetics my wife had.  Wearing the tiny negligee, she looked almost virginal, and cute enough to rape.  Not that she wouldn’t willingly give herself to anyone who wanted to fuck her.


“Girl, you know my wife isn’t as well trained as you, right?”


“Sir yes, Sir,” she answered dutifully.


“Do you think you could take charge of her, become her Mistress for a little while?  You’d still be your Master’s slave, but Donna would be your slave.  I want you to help me train her.  Could you do that?”


“Sir…” she hesitated.  “Sir, girl will try, Sir, if Master permits it,” she finally announced.


“Good girl,” I praised, patting her on the head once again.


Girl and I relaxed for the next hour, just watching television with girl cuddling at my feet.  I asked her to join me on the couch, but she apologized, explaining that the only times she was permitted to so much as touch furniture was while cleaning it or when someone wanted to use her.  I was in no shape to take her up on the offer, so I just relaxed while she nuzzled against my legs and massaged my feet.


Girl’s Master showed up a little while later, his arrival being announced by sound of the garage door opening, followed by a sharp squeal I recognized as Donna’s voice.  I’d asked him to come in through the garage to avoid the neighbors’ prying eyes.


He stepped through the doorway first, followed by Donna, who was limping painfully on all fours as he tugged forcefully on her leash.  Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and her hair was filthy, tangled and matted.   What caught my attention, though, was her mouth; a gleaming steel dental gag had her jaws held wide – more widely than I thought possible – with small alligator clip on the end of her tongue attached to a wire, causing her tongue to hang painfully out of her mouth.  She was wearing a choke collar – the type with blunt steel barbs on the inside – and winced in agony each time the leash was yanked.


“I take it you weren’t pleased with my slave?” I commented, stating the obvious.


“Actually, for being as untrained as you described, I was pleasantly surprised.” 


Shit…if this was what he did when a slave was pleasing, what would he do if one wasn’t, I thought.


“I don’t really get much pleasure in using a novice like this one,” he continued, “But a hole is a hole is a hole, as they say.  So, after a couple of quick fucks, I put it to work. “


“Work?” I asked.


“Well, I have a rather large yard, and a bit of work needed to be done.  For instance, there was a truckload of fresh manure delivered the other day that needed to be moved from the driveway to the compost pile out back, but first, last year’s compost needed to be spread.  The plot for my vegetable garden needed to be tilled, too, and a few other things done.  Washing the cars, for example.  Don’t worry, though.  I didn’t keep the slave outside all the time.  The oven needed cleaning, as did the exhaust vent over the stove.  I’m afraid it didn’t get any sleep, though, nor any food.  It seemed…reluctant…when I offered it my standard slave fare of Purina Pig Chow.”  We both laughed at that one.


“Anyway, thanks for loaning me your slave.  I really hated the thought of putting girl to such work; her skin is so soft and supple,” he said, stroking the kneeling girl’s head,” and I really want to keep it that way.” 


Although I invited him and his slave to stay for a while, he insisted that he had business to attend to, and had to leave.  I was disappointed, but understood.  I had things to take care of, too.


“It sounds like you’re probably hungry, bitch?” I asked.  She responded with a moaning sound, unable to do anything but make nonsensical noises, still gagged with her tongue sticking out.  I led her downstairs to “her” bathroom and showed her the remaining hamburgers, now positioned in a circle on edge of the open pipe where the toilet once stood.  “Eat up!” I gleefully commanded, removing the gag and clip.


I still had work to do, and not just at work


Slave Wife

Chapter 5


Although my subjugation of Donna was going well, I still had a lot to do before I took my vacation, and not just at work.  I needed to plan the trip more carefully than I’d planned any other.  Where to go, and how to get there.  What to do at our destination.  How to completely break Donna, and make her a totally submissive slut? 


I considered a number of destinations and means of arriving there, finally deciding on a true cross-country trip:  Bangor, Maine to San Francisco.   Having decided that, I sat down and devised the actual trip. 


I knew that Donna detested riding busses, because she’d grown up in a family with little money and Greyhound was their primary mode of transportation when visiting relatives.  A quick check online showed it was a three day trip, with several transfers.  Perfect for my plans.  I also decided that because I wanted to witness the first part of what was becoming known in my mind as “Donna’s Slutty Adventure,” we’d fly to Bangor on the same plane, only separately.


 I told Donna nothing of my plans, keeping her completely ignorant about the fact that she would be going on a trip at all.


The morning of the trip, I provided Donna with the only things she’d be taking with her:  A plastic child’s purse with Barbie logos emblazoned on it, containing nothing but her driver’s license (she’d need it to get through airport security) and two dozen condoms.  Her “traveling clothes” consisted of a black leather mini-skirt; a stained, threadbare cropped tank top that was several sizes too small; and a pair of cheap, red plastic heels.  She wore no makeup, and in preparation for the trip, I prohibited her from bathing that morning, after having thoroughly used her the night before.  Once fully dressed, she presented exactly the appearance I wanted:  A cheap, trailer trash slut.  When Donna saw herself in the mirror, she began crying, but stopped after I threatened to send her as cargo in a dog crate.  I’m sure after the trip started, she wished she’d taken me up on the offer.


The fun (for me, anyway) began with the trip to the airport.  I had her sit up front with the taxi driver, having her lift her skirt and pull the skimpy top off so the driver – a chain-smoking, heavyset man with a Turkish accent who was wearing a pair of slacks, a stained white undershirt shirt, and loafers without socks – could take liberties with her slutty body while he drove.  At one point, it seemed like he was having troubles concentrating on his driving, so I asked him to pull off into a wooded area for a quick fuck.  He did so obligingly, wasting no time spreading Donna face-down over the hood of his taxi, not wasting any time before he began reaming her dripping hole, cumming quickly and then grinning from ear-to-ear as my wife knelt in front of him and gently sucked his unwashed, cum-covered cock clean. 

Once that business was taken care of, we resumed our ride to the airport.  I told him to pull off the road for a minute, as there was one more bit of business to attend to, and I would like his help with it.


“Since my slut and I won’t be sitting next to each other,” I explained, showing him the stainless steel butt plug and ben wa balls from Donna’s purse, “I need something to keep her occupied.  I need to go check in, but if you could make sure these get where they belong, and then send her to the ticket counter, I’d appreciate it.”


He nodded at me with a grin, while Donna’s horror-filled eyes moved back and forth between us.  He then handed me his business card, telling me that if I ever need a ride, he’d be more than willing to accept the use of my slut in lieu of cash.  I left with my luggage, barely glancing as the taxi drove off with Donna sitting naked in the front seat, heading for a slightly more private location than the airport terminal loading zone.


It was still early when we got to the airport, and the lot was deserted.  Since Donna had left a puddle of cunt snot on the seat of the cab, I had her bend over beside the open door and lick her mess up while I gave the cabbie one more shot at my slut, this time standing behind her and taking her right up the cunt while I stood watch.  When he came, he shoved the side of Donna’s face into what remained of her mess, smearing her makeup and covering it with girl juice.  The cabbie just zipped himself up and handed me his business card, saying that if my slut and I ever needed a ride anywhere, another piece of ass would be all he would need as payment.  I promised him I would, and that I hoped the next time we wouldn’t be in so much of a hurry so he’d be able to enjoy himself a bit more.  He opened the trunk, and I had my slut – with cum now dripping down the inside of her thighs and a sheen of cunt juice on her face – carry my bags to the terminal doors.


After checking in, I got a nice latté at the Starbucks concession and sat watching the goings-on at the ticket counter.  Donna showed up about twenty minutes later, walking rather stiff-legged – sort of like she had a pipe stuck up her ass, which she did – her lipstick once again mussed.  It appeared our taxi driver decided he should get paid for his last task with a blow job.  Not that I minded at all.


I could see the look of disgust on the ticket clerk’s face when Donna walked up to her, and it got worse when she got close to the counter.  With a sheen of cum on her face and more dripping down her thigh, she looked and smelled like a freshly-fucked whore.  The clerk gingerly took Donna’s drivers license between two fingers, setting it immediately down while she input the passenger information into the ticketing computer.  As she handed Donna her boarding pass, I could clearly see her point towards the restrooms and mouth something about how Donna might want to get cleaned up before boarding.  Donna just blushed and walked away as quickly as she could, holding her short skirt down as much as she could to avoid exposing her nearly naked body any more than it already was.


I already knew she’d have problems getting through security, and that her ticket had been flagged because she had no luggage.  The other problem was that she’d would never make it through the metal detector carrying all the metal inside her holes.  I watched her attempt to make it through the screening, squirming uncomfortably as a matronly TSA agent took her away by the arm.    Donna told me later that she was subjected to a strip search, and that the middle-aged security agent made no attempt to hide her disgust, muttering about sluts and perverts.  Donna told me the security officer had apparently told her colleagues, because she saw them pointing her out and staring while she stood in line.


I waited a few minutes before clearing through security myself,  and went straight to my gate.  Although we were booked on the same flight, I’d purchased the tickets separately and arranged for us to not sit together.  In fact, Donna had an aisle seat in the first row of economy class, while I sat a few rows further back, also on the aisle, so I could keep an eye on her.  I noticed quite a few uniformed soldiers in the waiting area, and that gave me an idea.


Where Donna was seated, there was no way she could keep anyone walking past her from realizing she wasn’t wearing panties, and since this particular airline didn’t board by seat number, I made sure she was standing at the front of the line.  By the time I got on board, she was already seated, her bare slit on display for anyone who happened to look down.  As I passed her, I surreptitiously passed her a note I’d written while waiting to board.


“Take your butt plug and the benwa balls out, and  set them on the seat next to you.  After the seat belt sign goes off, find one of the soldiers, take him to the restroom and let him use your slutty body any way he wants.   When he’s finished, ask him to send his buddies, and that you’ll do whatever any of them want as your way of thanking them for their service.  You will not ask any of them to wear a condom, but if they do, you will provide one.  You may not use anything but your hands and mouth to clean yourself between customers, and nothing after the last one.  When they are finished using you, you will return immediately to your seat.”


Donna blanched when she read the note, but when she turned to look back at me, I pretended I wasn’t paying any attention.  I wanted her to think I was treating this like a normal event, just a Master telling his slave to spread her legs for strangers, as though it were an every day, common occurrence.  It just wasn’t all that common for her…yet.


The seatbelt light went out about fifteen minutes into the flight, and a moment later, I saw Donna stand up and walk down the aisle.  She stopped at the row directly in front of me and leaned down to the soldier who was sitting there.  I heard her whisper that she needed some help, and would he mind giving her some assistance.  I think the only person grinning wider than me was the soldier, as Donna led him back to the restroom.  Heads turned as she made her way down the aisle, everyone knowing what was going to take place.


I counted a total of nine soldiers – eight men and one woman - who made their way to the back of the plane before Donna returned, her makeup mussed and the distinct smell of freshly-fucked pussy wafting down the aisle with her.  She’d obeyed me by not cleaning herself, and I could see drying cum not only on her face, but dribbling down the insides of her thighs as well.  It was obvious to everyone that she’d just sucked and fucked every one of those soldiers.  With an almost nonplussed expression, she got to her seat, reached up to the overhead to retrieve a blanket – exposing her naked backside to the entire cabin in the process – and snuggled down for a nap.  I suppose she deserved it, having worn herself out expressing her appreciation to our fighting men and women.


The rest of the trip to Bangor was fairly uneventful, other than the repugnant looks she got every time one of the flight attendants walked by.  When the plane finally landed, she stood up and got a standing ovation from the soldiers, as well as more than a few of the passengers.  I know she’d have been at least felt up by several of them if she’d had any luggage to retrieve, but I’d given her instructions before we boarded to go get herself cleaned up in the ladies room as soon as we landed, and then to meet me inside the lobby doors.


I hailed a cab, and off we went to our accommodations.  My slut paid for the trip the same way she’d paid the last cab driver.  The only difference was this guy was skinnier, a local college student, and insisted on taking her up the ass.  By now, Donna was so inured to this sort of treatment that she simply bent over, lifted her skimpy, cum-stained skirt, and spread her legs for him.


I’d had two thoughts about a place to spend the night, since neither of us were scheduled to leave until the next day.  The first was to reserve the nicest suite in the nicest hotel in town.  Unfortunately, there aren’t any really great hotels in Bangor…three stars is the best, and the reviews on even those weren’t all that satisfactory.  So I went with my second choice, and took a room in the cheapest, grungiest motel I could find. 


I’d reserved the room for one, so the clerk was a bit surprised when I showed up with my slut in tow.  He mentioned that the only room they had left – the one I’d reserved several days earlier - was a small one, with just a twin bed in it.  I replied that was okay, because my pet slut would be sleeping on the floor anyway.  When I invited him to stop by a bit later for some entertainment, he shook his head and said he wouldn’t touch the skanky bitch with a ten foot pole, but if I wanted a REAL whore, just to let him know.


I had Donna strip off her skimpy clothing as soon as she entered the room, not even waiting for the door to close before ordering her to undress.  I left her kneeling on the floor for a few minutes while I quickly inspected the room.  It was exactly what I’d hoped for; tiny and smelly, with a filthy carpet and even filthier bathroom.  Not only was there a ring around the bathtub, but one in the toilet as well, evidence that it had been weeks – if not months – since it had been properly cleaned.  I tossed Donna a stained but clean washcloth and told her to get washed up…using water from the toilet.  She looked mortified, but obeyed, scrubbing the caked-on semen from her pussy and thighs, and then the girl cum still dried on her face.


The bed wasn’t all that comfortable, but I’m sure I slept better than Donna did.  After I brutally fucked her ass (making her suck me clean afterwards, of course), I tied her face down on the floor, legs spread apart and bound to the old steam radiator against the wall, wrists behind her back.  She spent the night in this position, the stench of the filthy carpet constantly in her nostrils as she tried to sleep.


I woke up not quite refreshed, and after my morning blow job, introduced Donna to the “joy” of being a human urinal.  I did have some pity on her, however, since it was her first time as a piss drinker, and emptied myself slowly into her open mouth, filling it and then waiting for her to swallow, taking several times before I finally emptied my bladder.  As a reward, I let Donna diddle herself to a quick orgasm and then lick her fingers clean.  Then I took a nice, hot shower wile my slave wife cleaned up with a quick sponge bath from the toilet.


I checked out, having the cab drop me off at the airport before taking Donna to the  bus depot.  She had no money, but I knew she’d figure out a way to pay for the ride.  It was, of course, the same way she’d paid for the last two taxis she’d ridden in. 


What happened to Donna during her trip was…well…interesting, to say the least, and something I had her relate to me in detail once we met up again.

Slave Wife

Chapter 6

  Authors Note:  In attempting to write this segment, I found it more effective to present Donna’s point of view.  This chapter, therefore, is in her words.

  I was scared.  Really scared.  I mean, I know I asked for this…or at least some of it…but my mind was reeling with thoughts of all the horrible things that could happen to me while traveling alone, and dressed the way I was.  Being arrested for indecent exposure or something was probably the best of those thoughts, which ran from that to being kidnapped, gang raped, and even murdered. 

Bus rides, particularly long ones, had always scared me.  We hadn’t had a lot of money when I was growing up, and since we never had a decent car, the only way I could ever visit my grandparents was by spending five hours on the bus.  They were always uncomfortable and stuffy, but at least I was always with my mom and two older brothers.  Until that time I was sent to grandma’s on my own.  I never liked riding the bus, but traveling alone was the most terrifying thing I’d ever been forced to do (at least up to now).  I was twelve years old, and mom thought it would be easier if I took the overnight bus, so that I could sleep.  Instead of the normal five hours on the express we’d always taken as a family, this was a nine hour ride, stopping in every little town along the way.  I was dressed as pre-teens generally were in that era, a knee-length cotton dress, slip, white cotton panties, white ankle socks and black patent leather shoes. 

At twelve, I was still just a kid, although puberty was just starting to hit.  What I knew of sex wasn’t much – there wasn’t an internet back then, but I’d glimpsed my dad coming out of the shower once.  Some of my friends had older siblings who talked about this thing called “fucking.”  It sounded pretty yucky at the time, but  I knew guys especially seemed to like it.  One of my friends told me about her brother paying her five dollars to take her clothes off in front of him, and how he’d put his fingers inside her and even made her suck his dick.  I didn’t dare tell her how the story made my tummy quiver.  I’d also seen a few photos – from the stash of magazines my brothers had hidden in the garage - of women being fucked or on their knees, taking dicks in their mouths.

  So there I was, twelve years old and unaccompanied on the bus, with visions of being abused like the women in those magazines streaming through my head.  Everyone was a potential molester, and I just knew that I was going to be grabbed by someone and forced off the bus at one of the numerous stops we made.  They’d never find my body, buried in some farm or orchard, or devoured by dogs or wild animals.  My imagination was running wild, causing terror and excitement at the same time.  I was never so thankful when the bus pulled into the depot and I saw grandma waiting patiently.  I made a promise to myself that I’d never ride a bus again, and until now, I’d been able to keep it.

  There were a few differences between that last bus ride and this one, though none for the better from my point of view.  When I was twelve, I had a few dollars in my pocket and a sack lunch, on a much shorter ride.  When I was twelve, I wasn’t dressed like a slut.  When I was twelve, I wasn’t actually expecting to be fondled, used and abused by complete strangers.  When I was twelve, I wasn’t under orders to let anyone do anything they wanted to me.  The difference between when I was then and now was that I knew my worst fears could very well come true.  At a minimum, I knew I was going to be raped, used and abused.  At worst, I could be kidnapped, raped, and then murdered.  My worst nightmares from my childhood were about to become real.

  I was permitted only one decision that day, to continue on my current degrading path, or to call it off and face a humiliating divorce.  Given that I was now standing nearly naked in a bus terminal, the option I’d chosen was obvious.  I wasn’t even permitted to chose my own clothing for this trip, nor anything else I’d be carrying.

As we were riding towards the motel the night before, Master (that’s how I thought of my husband now) spotted a seedy-looking strip mall, and after I had my breakfast (a load of my Master’s cum spurted directly into my belly), we checked out and walked the block and a half to it.

   At the time, I wasn’t wearing much – a tank top, spandex running shorts that were so tight the outline of my cunt was visible, and a pair of plastic sandals.  Master took me by the elbow and guided me into a thrift store.  After having me model several “outfits,” (I use the term loosely, because nothing matched), he finally settled on a short pink and white skirt that looked like it was once part of a high school cheerleader’s uniform, a denim vest, and a pair of blue plastic platform shoes that were once probably part of a Halloween costume.  Nothing fit; the skirt was too short, the vest too tight, and even the shoes were a two sizes too big, causing me to wobble and teeter as I walked.  Master also found  plastic purse with a Barbie logo emblazoned on it, and a steel choker collar.  Paying for my purchases, he made me wear them out of the store, dropping my other clothes in the trash after the cashier refused to taken them in trade.

  Our next stop was an adult novelty store with painted-over windows.  Master didn’t go into the store, but handed me my identification and a credit card, and gave explicit instructions on what I was supposed to buy.  Entering the shop – the first time I’d ever been in one – the first thing I noticed was the smell.  There was a thick odor of disinfectant air freshener in the air, and it me wonder what went on in this place that they needed something so strong.  The store was nearly deserted, just the cashier (a scrawny-looking twenty-something who smelled as though he hadn’t bathed in a week…perhaps that was the reason for the air freshener, I thought) and two older, businessmen-looking guys who were browsing the magazines.  All eyes turned to watch me as I half-stumbled in on the too-large platform shoes.

  “I need a vibrator, a butt plug, some lubricant, and two dozen neon-colored condoms, please,” I mumbled to the clerk.  He grinned at my discomfort, claiming he couldn’t hear me and asked me to speak louder.  I repeated myself a little louder, and could tell the other men had heard.  Then the clerk began asking me questions like did I want a corded or battery-powered vibrator, what size butt plug, and discussing the advantages and disadvantages of the different selections.  I was mortified as the three men crowded around the counter, grinning lewdly as the different options were handed to me.  I quickly made my selections, running out of the store in tears after signing the credit card receipt. 

Master saw my tears and knew what they were for.  He just told me to get used to it, because humiliation and abuse were going to be a major part of my life from now on.  I used the back of my hand to dry my eyes off, smearing my mascara in the process.  At that point, I didn’t really care, though.  When I’d regained as much composure as I could, Master led me behind the strip mall and had me squat down and insert the plug up my ass while he assembled the contents of my purse.  In it went the condoms, my bus ticket, and itinerary.  The tube of lubricant was left on the ground where I’d used it, Master saying that if I needed to take it out, I could lubricate it with saliva or cunt slime.

  It was only two more blocks to the bus station, so after giving me instructions – which included bringing home all 24 condoms filled with semen and not denying anyone access to my body if they wanted it – he gave me one last slap on my bare ass and sent me on my way.  By the time I arrived at my destination, I could almost walk without wobbling on the oversized platform shoes.

  The bus depot was pretty much like every other one, tired and worn out, with the usual assortment of students, the unemployed, winos, and financially challenged folks hanging around.  The floor had been recently swept and mopped, but looked like that was about all the maintenance that had been done on it in a very long time.  The molded plastic seats weren’t exactly clean, either, covered with so much rubbed-in grime that I doubted even the best of scrubbings would ever make them clean again.  I had nearly two hours before my bus, and surely wasn’t going to wait in the lobby.  The way I was dressed, I’d already had to fend off two would-be admirers (both drunken winos) before I even entered the station doors..  There was only one location I could be relatively safe, so I picked up a discarded newspaper and headed to the ladies room hoping to hide there until it was time to board.  Unfortunately for me, there were no doors on the stalls, and sitting on a toilet would only ensure every woman who entered saw that I wasn’t wearing panties.  In the end, I found a corner between a wall and the vending machines that I was able to wedge myself in to.  I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but at least nobody could walk up behind me or anything.  That knowledge didn’t really help much, as my mind was still filled with thoughts of all the terrible, disgusting things that could happen to me.  I found myself shivering; it had to be from fear, because it wasn’t at all cold inside the terminal.  Nervously, I tugged at the hem of my too-short skirt, furtively glancing at my reflection in the plate glass window as I tried to make sure my bald slit was covered.

  While I waited, I read my itinerary and was shocked to see how long the trip would take.  Today was Sunday, and even without any delays or missed connections, I wouldn’t reach San Francisco until Thursday afternoon.  I had to make five transfers, too, which meant I wouldn’t be able to just hide in a seat somewhere while everyone else got off during stops.  Stops when they’d surely get out and stretch their legs and get something to eat, I thought.   Food.  I’d have to find some way to get someone to buy me something, probably a few times, since there was no way I could go almost five days without eating.  I knew this was what Master wanted, though, and I began planning how best to manage it.  The itinerary showed a layover of almost four hours in New York, so maybe I could get someone to trade a meal for a quickie.  With only four hours, there wasn’t a real possibility that we’d be able to find a room, but if I could find someone on the bus and maybe suck him off or get him to fuck me in the restroom….then I stopped and realized what I was actually doing, planning how to prostitute myself for nothing more than a sandwich and a bag of chips.  At least true whores got paid for their efforts; here I was willing to trade my body for maybe a five dollar meal.  Maybe that made me a real whore, though,  just of the cheapest kind.  The thought of what I was quickly becoming shamed me beyond tears.  Master’s final instructions to me kept flowing through my mind: I could not object to anything anyone wanted to do with me.  I was not to mention the rubbers unless my “partner” brought up the topic first, and then could offer one.  Under no circumstances, however, would I require anyone to use one.

  Although there was still some time before my bus was ready for boarding, I teetered on over to the gate so that I would be among the first in line.  I remembered from my childhood that the rear seats provided a modicum of privacy, and thought that I might be able to sneak back there and hide in the corner, unnoticed.

  I was lucky enough to be third in line, just in front of two pimply-faced teenage boys who weren’t at all covert about how they undressed me with their eyes.  Not that there was much left to the imagination, considering there was probably a total of eighteen inches of my body covered.  I had already pulled the tiny skirt down as low as I reasonably could, the elastic waist actually below my hips in order to keep my ass cheeks and slit covered.  The boys made no attempt to hide their lust, examining my nearly naked body with their eyes, whispering comments to each other.  When we finally boarded, I breathed a sigh of relief when they took seats up front; I walked as quickly as I safely could, huddling down in the corner of the back bench seat.  I had second thoughts about sitting as Master had directed – he wasn’t present, after all – but knew I’d have to confess to him and be punished afterwards, so I sat upright with my hands clasped behind my back, my legs bent at the knee and slightly spread.  I could feel the air swirling around my bald pussy, knowing it was completely exposed and visible to anyone who happened to look.  I hoped – prayed – that no one would join me in the back of the bus.  I hadn’t prayed in a long time, though, and suppose I was out of practice, because just as the bus motor started, I got company:  The two pimply-faced teenage boys who’d been staring at me in line.

  “Scoot to the middle seat, slut,” one of them ordered unequivocally, sliding past my legs and sitting down, positioning me between the two of them.   The one on my left – next to the window – had dirty brown, mussed hair.  His clothes were dirty, a pair of jeans and soiled tan tee shirt with a crude graphic on it.  The other had stringy blonde hair that hung down past his shoulders, and a tattoo of a marijuana leaf on his arm.  I slid over as ordered, keeping my hands behind me and my knees apart, but closing my eyes and wishing this wasn’t happening.  They each grabbed a knee, spreading my legs lewdly apart.

  “You selling it, or what?” the blond asked, his hand stroking my exposed belly.  When I didn’t answer, he grabbed my breast and squeezed.  “I asked you a question, whore!” he whispered angrily into my ear.

  “No, Sir,” I mumbled quietly.  “I’m not selling anything.”

  “Then why the fuck are you dressed like that?” the other one demanded.  “Fuck, we could see your gash standing in line.”  I felt my body turning bright red as his hand slipped under the hem of the spandex shorts, his fingers entering me easily.

  “It’s…um…a dare,” I quickly said.

  “A dare?”

  “Um, yeah.  A bet.  A friend…bet me…that I wouldn’t ride the bus to New York dressed like this,” I lied. 

“Bullshit,” the brown-haired one answered, grabbing my chin and squeezing my face painfully.  “Tell us the truth, cunt!” 

So I did.  I told them about becoming my husband’s sex slave, and how as a test, he was making me take the bus all he way to San Francisco dressed like this, and what he expected me to do. 

“So basically, we can do whatever we want with you, make you do whatever we want, sexually or otherwise?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said, blushing again.

  “Well, I think the first thing is to get out of that slutty outfit,” he said.  “After all, you have a long ride ahead, and it wouldn’t do to get cum stains on it right from the start, would it?”

  I stripped my clothes off without a word, handing them to the scruffy-looking one, who folded and stuffed them in the seatback pocket in front of him.  They then began roughly molesting me, one attacking my tits while the other crammed two, then three, and finally four fingers up my sopping hole.  Every few minutes they’d switch positions, and the fingers that had been crammed up my cunt moments before would be shoved into my mouth for me to clean off.  It’s difficult for me to describe how it felt, emotionally, but I don’t remember ever being so humiliated - or sexually aroused - at having these two teenagers pawing at my naked body.    Fifteen minutes after the bus pulled out of the station, I was a sopping mess and the air around me was filled with the odor of wet pussy.

  It wasn’t long before  one of them grabbed the back of my head and forced my mouth onto his filthy, sweaty cock.  I nearly gagged at the taste – he obviously hadn’t bathed in days, if not weeks – and the acrid odor of piss and unwashed ass assaulted my senses so forcefully that it was all I could do to keep from vomiting.  When he suddenly mashed my face into his putrid-smelling pubic hair, smashing my nose against his pubic bone and filling my throat with his filthy cock, only the abusive training I’d received over the past weeks kept me from retching. 

During the ensuing hour, they did everything but actually fuck me.  I sucked them both off twice, fingered myself to an orgasm while they watched, and even allowed myself to be fisted for the first time, licking the hand clean after it was removed from my womb.  I gave silent thanks to whatever God there might be when they told me they had to get off at the first stop.  However, I still had over nine hours to go, but at least I had two condoms full of cum in my purse, only because they wore them the final time I sucked them off.

  I had about thirty minutes before our next stop, and managed to get some sleep huddled against the bulkhead.  It wasn’t a rest stop or anything, so I didn’t wake up until I felt the cushions move as someone sat down next to me.  Even then, I wasn’t fully aware until I heard quiet giggles.

  I opened my eyes and saw a young boy and girl sitting next to me, wide-eyed.  I’d slumped down some and cocked my leg, so my skimpy skirt was up around my waist and my entire lower body was exposed to their view.  I blushed before regaining my composure and straightening myself up.

  “She ain’t wearin’ no pants, Hank!” the girl said.  She couldn’t have been ten years old.

  “Tha’s cause she’s prolly a skanky ol’ whore, ain’tcha?” he said.  I stared into his deep green eyes.  “Remember when daddy brought that whore home, Sissy?” God, he was barely older than his sister – about twelve, my brain registered – and he knows about prostitution?

  The girl giggled. 

“Yeah, she was lots of fun, wasn’t she?  ‘Specially when you and me peed on her, remember that?”

  “Shore do,” he answered, rubbing his crotch.

  Both children looked like homeless waifs, skinny and dirty, wearing filthy clothing.  The girl was barefoot, her long, blonde hair dirty and tangled.

  “So what’cha think we oughta do with her?” she asked.  “We can’t pee on her here, can we?”

  “No, but remember when that ol’ whore daddy rented got down and put his wiener in her mouth?  We could make her do that.”  He looked back up at me, “Unless she wants us to tell the police she tried to molest us.”  I bowed my head in resignation, watching the eyes of both children light up.

  “Then afterwards, she could do me, like you do?” the girl asked.

  “Yup,” he answered, pulling his jeans down.

  That he really was a child – his dick was only about four inches long when it finally got hard – made it even worse for me.  I was no longer a slut, a whore, and a perverted sicko, I was now a child molester and baby rapist.  All I could do at the moment, though, was suck for all I was worth, until he finally spurted a couple of teaspoons of cum into my mouth.  Then it was the girl’s turn.

  When she pulled her dress up and panties down, I could see dried, crusty flakes on the insides of her thighs.  I looked up at her in horror, only to have her hands force my face down between her legs.

  “Yeah, Hank fucked me last night.  I been fuckin’ for years,” she proudly announced.  “One day I’m gonna have me a baby, and then Hank can fuck her, too!”

  Fuck!  What kind of perverts would raise their children to think like this!  I didn’t have time to think myself, though, as she grabbed my hair in her little fists and smashed my face into her filthy, hairless cunt, forcing me to lick and suck until her legs finally shot straight out over my shoulders and she gave a little shudder as her orgasm hit.

  The two kids were on their way to Boston, and I was stuck with them for the next several hours.  All they wanted to do, though was explore my body.  Their dirty little fingers went in my cunt, up my ass, squeezed my tits, twisted my nipples, and even made their way into my mouth as they spread my lips apart and peered into it.  Their filthy fingers tasted of my own ass, cunt, and whatever else they’d been into.  For once, I felt absolutely no sexual arousal at all, just disgust at what these children were doing to me.

  Boston wasn’t just my abusers’ destination, but a meal stop.  It was now late afternoon, and the only thing I’d eaten all day had been a few loads of cum.  I had no money and little time, but I needed to find someone willing to buy me some food…even if it meant degrading myself yet again in return.  I stepped off the bus and immediately began scanning the crowd for likely prospect, when I saw him.

  Master.  He was standing against a bench, his arms folded, as though waiting for me.  I’d never been so thankful in my life, running towards him with my arms outstretched, not caring if the whole world was watching as my skirt flew up around my waist.

Master was here, and now we could go home!

Slave Wife

Chapter VII

  I couldn’t believe how happy Donna seemed to see me, but after she told me all that had happened, I wasn’t surprised.  The past day had been quite difficult for her, but she passed that part of the test with flying colors.  Not that I told her that, though.  I chastised her for only getting two of her condoms filled, warning her that she’d be punished for her disobedience.  She should have done everything possible to get all 24 filled as quickly as possible, I said.  She blushed, but nodded in agreement.

  I took her to a nice downtown hotel that night, allowing her time to bathe and get cleaned up before putting her to bed.  I even permitted her to sleep on the fairly comfortable sofa bed, complete with a blanket and pillow.  I wasn’t quite ready to allow her to share my bed, but felt the impact of what I had planned for the next day would be only increased by showing a bit of kindness.

  After dressing the next morning – I gave her a sleeveless, knee-length dress and a pair of sandals to wear – we went downstairs for breakfast.  I had a nice sirloin, eggs, potatoes and toast.  She got corn flakes and skim milk, two foods she absolutely detested.  She ate with a smile on her face, though, evidently thankful for anything, since she hadn’t had any food in about 30 hours.

  After checking out of the hotel, we caught a cab to the airport – this time, I paid for the ride in cash, rather than with Donna’s ass – and after a short wait, boarded our plane for San Francisco.  The flight was uneventful for both of us; Donna sat demurely in the window seat not doing anything, while I read a couple of magazines I’d brought.  The flight was a little over six hours long, and she complied with my instructions to just sit and remain silent.  Towards the end of the flight I could see her wiggling a bit and figured she needed to pee, but she never said anything at all.

  After debarking, I told Donna to go retrieve the luggage while I got the rental car.  I was just finishing up the paperwork when she showed up, struggling under the weight of my three bags (none of which were equipped with wheels, for just that reason).  This being San Francisco, the rental agent didn’t even blink when I took a collar out of one of the bags, buckled it around Donna’s neck, and attached a leash to it.  In fact, she gave me a little grin and a sly wink.

  “She’s a bit retarded, and I need to make sure she doesn’t wander,” I explained, grinning back.  The agent just gave me a dubious look, knowing I was bullshitting her.  I led Donna, struggling under the burden of my bags, out of the terminal at the end of the leash, giving it a sharp tug a couple of times when she lagged behind. 

The car I reserved was a new Mustang convertible, and I was pleased to see that it was parked by itself, near the back of the rental lot.  I opened the trunk and waited while Donna struggled to lift each bag into it.

  “Go ahead and put your clothes into it, too,” I said, stepping back and crossing my arms to see if she’d obey.  She hesitated, then looked around furtively before lifting each foot to the rear and slipping the sandals off.  After dropping the footwear into the trunk, she looked around again, then hunched down and pulled the dress off.  She remained in a semi-squatting position, looking up at me with a fearful expression on her face.

  “We’re not going anywhere until you stand up,” I said impatiently.  “With your legs spread and your hands clasped behind your head,” I added almost as an afterthought.

I waited while she complied, tears welling up in her eyes as I made her stand there, exposed to the world.  Then, without a word, I unlocked the driver’s door and got in the car, leaving her standing there.  I let her sweat it out a bit, testing her fortitude, while I tuned the radio and lit a cigar.  Finally, I reached over and unlocked her door.

  “Get your ass in here, stupid, or do you like showing off your skanky body to the world?”  She literally jumped into the car, slamming the door shut so she’d have some protection from prying eyes.  I backed out of the parking space, waving at the lot attendant on my way out. 

I’d reserved a suite at an upscale hotel in Sausalito, which meant a drive through San Francisco and across the Golden Gate Bridge.  Donna had just begun to relax when, as I was detouring through Golden Gate Park (I hadn’t visited it since my youth), I reached over and pressed a button on the dash, retracting the vinyl top.  Although it was now after dusk, Donna’s nakedness was exposed with every streetlight we drove under.  She could only sit there, shivering in the damp air and hugging herself, as I slowly drove through the nearly deserted recreation area, then back on to a main thoroughfare which took us to the bridge.

  The bridge’s toll booths are on the south (San Francisco) side, and I wasn’t sure how the booth operator would react to a naked passenger, so I put the top back up just as we approached and let Donna slide to the floor where she probably wouldn’t be seen.  I knew the California Highway Patrol always had vehicles on the bridge, and didn’t need to take any risks at this point.  Even though she was my wife and at least a semi-voluntary participant in this, I’m sure they could have found some reason to arrest us both.  Once we got back onto the bridge itself, though, the top came back down.

  Upon arriving at the hotel, I left Donna sitting in the car while I checked in.  The parking stall I selected was in an unlit area of the lot, so I left the top down, telling Donna that I expected her fingers to be covered with cunt slime when I returned.  I waited beside the car, staring at her until she understood what I was waiting for and began diddling herself.  Only then did I walk into the lobby, holding back a chuckle as I thought of her obviously embarrassing discomfort.

  After retrieving the room key (I told them we’d only need one), I returned to the car and retrieved Donna’s crumpled and now-dirty dress for her.   I gave her the room number, removed the leash from her collar, and told her to bring the luggage to the room.  With that, turned and walked away.

  The suite was on the fourth floor, and I’d already told Donna she was forbidden to use elevators (the better to work the excess fat off her ass, I said), so it took her two trips to lug everything up to the room.  Both times, the door was closed when she arrived, and she had to knock to request entry.  I laid naked on the bed, watching some mindless pay-per-view porn movie while she scurried around the room, putting everything away.  When she was done, I had crawl up onto the bed and use her mouth on my cock while I made comments comparing her appearance and lack of skills to those of the porn actresses I was watching.  After an hour of this, I finally grabbed her by the ears and forced her to deep throat me, finishing off in short order, and snuggling down for a good night’s sleep.  Donna had been fairly obedient, so her punishment for hesitating when I told her to strip in the airport parking lot was a night spent sleeping on the cold, hard bathroom floor.  Her uncomfortable night’s “rest” was just a harbinger of things to come.

  After a refreshing shower and shave, we went to breakfast.  I’d given Donna the choice of wearing whatever she wanted in return for no breakfast, or wearing what I chose, for which I’d let her order whatever she wanted.  With no substantial meal in almost three days, she chose the latter.  I handed her a tiny yellow string bikini top, a black leather micro-mini skirt, and a pair of clear plastic 5” heels.  She blanched, but knew better than to argue.

  The dining room was most interesting…or rather, the other diners (and the staff) found the view most interesting.  The bikini top was little more than an inch across at the front, barely covering her nipples, which were visibly erect thanks to the excitement she was obviously feeling.  The skirt revealed more than it hid, barely covering her bald slit when she stood motionless and revealing all if she took more than tiny, mincing steps.  The spiked-heel shoes didn’t help, as her bare ass was clearly visible with each wobbly step. I could smell the scent of her need standing next to her, and wondered how far the odor would exude. One of the wait staff, seeing us enter, quickly grabbed a towel and covered her chair seat for her.  She smiled at him, not realizing it wasn’t meant for her comfort, but to keep her from staining the upholstery.

  I told Donna she could have anything on the menu, but it really wasn’t very extensive.  She ended up with a cheese omelet, toast, and coffee.  I was planning on something more substantial later, so just had a bagel to go with my coffee.

  We drove back into the city after breakfast, this time letting Donna remain dressed (as skimpy as her outfit was), and keeping the top up.  I hadn’t clued her in yet as to why we were going back across the bay, but I had a feeling she knew she wasn’t going to like it.

  She didn’t.

Our first stop was a seedy-looking tattoo and piercing shop down on Haight Street.  Although her nipples were already pierced and decorated with tiny gold rings, I wanted to “decorate” my property even more.  I led her through the door on her leash.

  Inside, the establishment was pleasantly clean and had a hygienic quality about it.  I didn’t realize this was the norm, even for the extreme shops like this one, probably due to a combination of licensing and liability insurance reasons.  The walls were covered with photographs of tattoos and piercings on every imaginable part of the body.  I caught Donna looking around fearfully.

  “May I help you?” the young girl at the counter asked.  “Maybe an ownership tattoo or piercing for your slave?”  Donna blushed when she said that, looking sheepishly at the floor.

  “Well, do you have a place where we can secure her while we talk about exactly what I want?”

  “Certainly, sir, just bring her this way,” she answered, guiding us behind a curtain to a large room where several men were receiving ornate tattoos.  She led us to a contraption that looked like a cross between a dental chair and a gynecological examination table, with stirrups and straps for ankles, legs, torso, arms and forehead.  She started to pull the curtains around it.

  “There’s no need for that.  My slave doesn’t mind being exposed…do you?” I asked pointedly.

  “No, Sir,” Donna mumbled.

  “We get that sometimes,” the girl said, “but I need her to sign a waiver.”  She pulled out a pad of pre-printed documents off the counter and handed it to me.  It was a basic release of liability, ensuring no legal action against the owner, operator or artists for any body exposure.  There was also a photography release, which if signed, would could mean up to a 15% savings.  I asked her about that.

  “Oh, we have a web site where we publish photographs of our work.  We don’t usually offer it, but when we have a particularly unique work or a slave, we do.”  She went on to explain that the discount began at 2% for relatively innocuous tattoos.  For 15%, they could photograph and post anything they wanted to.  I checked the 15% block and told Donna to sign the forms.

  “Okay, let’s get you set up then” I said, holding my hand out for the bikini.  Without losing a beat, she stood erect, head high and proud, and stripped in front of everyone there…me, the young clerk, three tattoo artists and the three clients.  She then gracefully sat down on the cold vinyl contraption, holding her arms and legs in place while she was securely strapped down.  Once again, she was completely helpless and totally exposed to a number of men she’d never met, but she was beginning to act as though being naked and spread out like this was the most natural thing in the world for her.  I actually felt some pride in how my slave was responding, smiling to myself as the receptionist led me back to the lobby, to a desk filled with photo albums.

  “So were you primarily interested in tattoos or piercings?” she asked politely.

  “Both, actually.  We’ve been married over 20 years, but now she tells me she wants to be my slave.  I’ve been putting her through a rather rigorous test of her desire, so to speak.  I’m actually hoping she’ll object to whatever I decide today, just to prove my point, but I expect her to leave here totally humiliated and changed forever.”  The girl just grinned.

  “I couldn’t help but noticed the piercings.  They look new,” she commented.  “A part of the test, I presume?”

  “Yeah, about three weeks ago.  A long story, but when she begged to become my slave, I sent her out to get shaved, pierced and fucked.  She did, too.”  It was my turn to grin.  I don’t know why, but I felt completely at ease talking about my wife’s sexuality in front of this girl, who couldn’t be half my age.

  “Okay, let me show you some options….”

  A half hour later, we returned to where Donna was bound, our plan of attack in hand.  Just to increase her discomfort, I told my slave wife exactly what we were going to do to her.  At least some of it.

  “Angel here tells me that the piercings I want will put you out of commission for several weeks, but there’s a way around that.  Instead of just piercing you, she’s going to punch holes in your skin and insert steel grommets.  That way, they can be used as soon as the swelling goes down.  We talked about it, and…you think you can do it, Angel?”  The girl was between my wife’s legs, spreading and tugging at her labia.

  “Yeah, I can do three in each outer lip, one in the inner.  There’s enough meat here for that.”

  “…so you’re going to get eight holes in your cunt lips.  Oh, and a big one though your septum…a nose ring.  A big one, so big it’ll smack into your teeth while you’re being butt-fucked.”  I just loved the fear-filled look on Donna’s face when I told her that.  “Any problems, cunt?” I asked.

  “No, Sir,” she answered quietly, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “Good, because that’s not all.  Show her the rest, would you, Angel?”

  “Sure,” she said, holding out a few glossy photographs of previous work.  “First, your Master took the time while we were talking to get you signed up at an online Slave Registry, and they were nice enough to send him a bar code with your registration number on it.  So this is going on the back of your neck.”  She held up a graphic she’d printed off the computer.  “Next, I’m going to tattoo this on your ass cheek.” She showed another photograph, this of simple block letters reading, “Property of Master (followed by my name).  Please return after fucking.”  “Then, across your abdomen just above your slit, I’m going to tattoo your registration number again, this time without the bar code.”  She waited for a moment, allowing Donna to take it all in.

  “You should really feel lucky, because your Master initially wanted me to tattoo a butterfly on your cunt, using your lips as the wings.  When I told him it would take a month to heal, he changed his mind.  So, do you agree to this?”

  “Yes, Miss,” Donna answered after only a moment’s hesitation.

  “Good, let’s get started.”

  Several hours later, it was over.  Local anesthesia was offered, but I decided to give Donna the full experience of being pierced in several of the most nerve-filled locations on the human body.  Each time the punch was used to create a hole in her tender skin, she screamed in pain.   

  At the last minute, I also decided on a nice faux pearl stud in the center of her tongue, and another grommet about a half inch from the front of her tongue.  The stud would, I was told, enhance the feeling of any blow jobs, and the grommet meant I could just clip her tongue to her nose ring (or anything else) whenever I wanted to.  Angel used what looked like a pair of Kelley forceps to grab Donna’s tongue and pull it out as far as it could before clipping the handles onto a small chain hanging from the wall.  This not only immobilized Donna’s tongue but freed up Angel’s hands for her work.  Donna moaned when the stud pierced her tongue, but when Angel punched the hole for the grommet, the sounds that came from my wife’s throat were unworldly, like those of a wounded animal.  She was unable to do anything, though, bound as she was, but endure.

  After the piercings came the tattoos.  They weren’t nearly as painful, though still uncomfortable.  Almost as an afterthought, I had “I (heart) ass fucking” tattooed on her right butt cheek, opposite the ownership notice.  Once the work was done, I allowed Angel to photograph the work for the company’s web site, let Donna have a few sips of water, and then had her get dressed.

  I figured Donna would need some time to recuperate, so before I took of to take care of other business, I paid for three nights in a cheap, run-down hotel off Polk Street, in area notorious for “alternative lifestyles.”  The clerk took my money without saying a thing about the nearly naked woman with the leash attached to her nose ring.

  The neighborhood wasn’t one you’d want to spend much time in, but Donna wouldn’t have to worry about that.  I was restricting her to the room, making sure she didn’t leave by not only chaining her ankle to the toilet (with enough slack to give her full movement through the room) but taking her clothes with me when I left.  Assuming she was able to get out of the chains, she’d be naked unless she used one of her sheets as a toga.  And if she tried that, she’d probably get raped before she left the floor.

  I had some business to attend to and Donna needed some time to recuperate, so planned on leaving her along for at least three days.  I wasn’t totally heartless, though, as I left her six cups of instant oatmeal to keep her nourished.  There was no microwave oven, though, so she’d have to mix it with hot tap water.  Flatware wasn’t a concern, either; that’s what she had fingers for.

  My business only took a few hours, but I decided to spend a couple of days relaxing and taking in the sights.  I left Donna to her own thoughts (and worries), as I strolled through town, stopping at Fishermen’s Wharf for a sidewalk crab salad, visiting the Maritime Museum, and even taking a trip out to the old abandoned prison on Alcatraz Island.  Each evening, I returned to my comfortable hotel room after dining on a nice, tasty meal, and slept like a baby.  Whether Donna slept well or not, I cared less.

  On the fourth morning, I called the hotel and had them connect me to Donna’s room.  I’d instructed them previously that I didn’t want any outgoing calls, giving the clerk an extra fifty just to make sure.  When I asked, he informed me that she’d picked up the receiver twice (or so their computer said), but hadn’t attempted to call anyone.  I thanked him for his time, and had the call transferred.

  “Get showered, slut.  You have a medical appointment this morning,” was all I said, hanging up the phone immediately.  One more thing for Donna to worry about…what kind of medical appointment?  Well, she’d soon find out!

Slave Wife

Chapter VIII

When I opened the door to the tiny, unkempt room in the run-down hotel, the first thing I noticed was the stench:  wet cunt, sweat, and unwashed ass.  The long chain still securing her ankle to the base of the toilet, Donna stepped out of the filthy bathroom, a wet washcloth in her hand, when she heard the door open.  Seeing me, she breathed a sign of relieve and dropped to her knees. 

I quickly looked around the room, immediately understanding how my slave wife had kept her self busy during my absence.  Her breasts and cunt lips were swollen and red, more than they would have been just from the piercings and tattoos.  There was also a large wet spot on the gray, stained bed sheet.

“Piss yourself in your sleep, bitch?” I asked, pointing at the damp sheets.

“Uh…no, Master…I…uh….” she stammered.

“Oh, so you spent your time entertaining yourself, is that it?”

“Yes, Master,” she said balefully.

“Well, no more of that.  From now on, you dont cum until youre told to.  I dont care of youre fucking a train of 100 porn stars, if I dont tell you to cum, youd better not.  Unless you want to earn a beating.”

“Yes, Master,” she responded, getting up from her knees when I motioned.  At least she got that part of the equation right.  I reached down between her legs and played with her swollen gash for a moment, watching her wince as my hand tugged at the rings.  She was healing nicely.  I raised my hand to her face, and without a word, she began lapping the thick, copious juices from it.

When my hand was clean, I ordered her back to her knees while I unlocked the chain from around the base of the toilet and attached it to her other ankle, wrapping the excess around and around so she had no more than eight inches of movement.  After handing her the crumpled, stained dress I carried, I once again restrained her wrists behind her back.

“Master, may I ask a question, please?” she said in a quiet voice while I applied the now-familiar handcuffs  I knew the idea of seeing a doctor was worrying her, but I wasnt going to tell her anything yet.

“No,” I answered.  “Unless someone gives you the impression they want to hear your skanky voice, you keep that cock-sucking pie hole of yours closed unless someone is stuffing a dick in it.  Understand?”  Her mouth flapped open for just a fraction of a second, until I raised my hand as though to slap her, then she just nodded her head.

“Good.  Now, the first thing youre going to do when we go downstairs is thank the desk clerk with a nice, sloppy blow job. “  I attached the loose end of the chain around her other ankle, then a leash to her nose ring before leading her down the stairs. 

The clerk was the same one as when we arrived, and Id cued him in on my plans three days ago, after I locked Donna in her tiny room.  Hed managed to get himself laid by one of the other guests a few hours earlier, and his dick was covered in dried fluids.  Donna found this out as she knelt behind the counter, releasing her users cock using only her teeth.  I could only imagine what it smelled like for her, or how his cock must have tasted.  I heard Donna gag a couple of times as he shoved his filthy member down her throat, but she managed to avoid vomiting.  When she was finished, I had her thank the “gentleman” with a couple of nice, juicy kisses right between his hairy ass cheeks before giving a gentle jerk on the leash and leading her out to the car.

A short drive later, and we arrived at our first destination, a cluttered alley behind a large, nondescript office building.  Leaving Donnas skimpy dress behind, I led her naked into the building through a small loading dock,  then up several flights of dimly-lit, seldom used stairs.  The stairwell was littered with trash and smelled of urine.  Donna was sweating from the exertion, having to literally bunny-hop with her ankles bound as they were.  Three, four, five floors we slowly climbed, a small whip I carried lashing down on Donnas unprotected body every time she tried to stop.  By the time we reached the fifth floor, she was covered in a sheen of perspiration and welts, her ankles bleeding from the chaffing of the chains.  She was unable to manage the doorknob with her hands bound behind her as they were, so I chivalrously opened the door for her.

Once out of the stairwell, we entered a brightly lit, plushly carpeted hallway.  One wall was lined with offices, the other with a glass wall that provided a stunning view of the bay.  Due to the nature of the reflective glass, nobody could see in, but I wasnt so sure Donna realized that at the time.  She tried to cower down as if hiding herself, but a sharp upward jerk on the leash forced her head and body upright.  Leading her down the hall, I glanced at the names on the doors, finally finding the one I wanted.  Without knocking, we entered.

The office belonged to my attorney, who was waiting behind his desk for us.  He was a large black man, muscular, with a shaved head.  He was the sort of lawyer who worked on the fringes of society and didnt care whether his client was guilty or innocent, as long as the check cleared.  As a result, he knew people with the skills I was seeking.  A single chair was positioned opposite him, and after nodding at him, I  sat down.  I motioned for Donna to stand next to me, her legs spread as far as possible given the chains around her ankles.

“Youll have to release its hands if you expect it to sign,” the attorney said.  Wed gone over this before; he assured me that even though the entire event was being recorded, her signature was necessary.  I unlocked the handcuffs and ordered Donna to kneel with her tits resting on the table. 

“Sign these, everywhere theres a red X,” the attorney said, sliding a sheaf of paper across the table so it rested between her naked globes. 

Donna took the pen he offered, and moved the papers to where she could read them.   The attorney lashed out, striking her left tit with a wooden paddle from his desk.  She yelled out in surprise and pain.

“I said sign the fucking papers, not read them, you stupid cunt!” he said dramatically, landing an additional stroke on her other udder.  “If anyone had wanted you to fucking read them, we would have said so!”

“It is rather stupid, even for a bitch, isnt it?” the lawyer commented, shaking his head sadly as Donna grabbed the pen and began scribbling her name.

“Hell, not only is she a stupid cunt, shes not even a halfway decent fuck,” I replied.  “You should have seen her the first time someone throat-fucked her, and when I told her to suck her own shit off my cock after Id fucked her ass, she puked!”

Most of the documents wouldnt hold up in court hell, slavery is illegal, after all but those that were valid annulled our marriage, gave me complete and sole control over all her belongings and our joint property, and began the process to have her declared my legal ward.  I would drop the incompetency papers off with a friendly judge, and in a few days, I would have the legal right to make all decisions for her including determining what medical treatments she might need.

“Now that thats over,” the attorney said after Donna literally signed her life away, “I suppose I should get paid.”  He grabbed Donnas collar and literally dragged her out of the office and into an adjoining room.  Shed be “busy” for the next 24 hours.  I didnt bother following; the attorney and I had discussed this earlier, and Id be receiving a video of everything, anyway.   Suffice it to say that the attorneys teenage son was about to learn all there was about the female anatomy.

I picked her up the next morning, and she looked like shed been through the ringer.  Ah, if we could have the recovery time of a teenager for our whole lives!  It turns out sonny took her nine times three in each hole, though you couldnt really count the times she licked and sucked his cock clean without making him cum (which was each time he took her cunt or ass) daddy did her twice, and each of the two cameramen took a few turns each, too.

I had her put her torn, filthy dress back on, and after clipping the leash I held to her ever-present nose ring, led her out of the building and onto the bustling street.

Since it was Sunday, the downtown area was filled with shoppers and sightseers, most of whom, Im sure, never expected so see a sight like they were viewing a barefoot, nearly-naked, obviously well-fucked female with dried cum on her face, hair and thighs, being led with a leash attached to a nose ring by a well-dressed, confident man.  As we stepped out into the daylight, I could hear the gasps of shock from elderly women, the derisive comments of younger ones, and the clicking and whirring of cameras and video recorders.  I was sure Id find at least some of these on the internet soon..

There was plenty of footage (is that the correct phrase for digital movies?), as we waited a full seven minutes before the next bus came by.  Sure, I could have easily taken Donna to our next destination in my car, but the primary purpose of this trip was to degrade and humiliate her.  I knew how she hated busses, and those of the municipal transit system were a step down from even that.

Ninety minutes and four transfers later because I wanted to take the scenic route we arrived at our destination.  Donna looked surprised when I started up the steps to the forboding edifice the county courthouse because she knew they wouldnt be open on a weekend.  Her surprise, however, turned to something resembling fear when a security guard met us at the door, escorting us right in and showing us to the chambers of a judge who “just happened” to be in that day…thanks to a phone call from me, a college classmate, before the weekend.  Once inside the elevator, I had Donna drop the dress to the floor.  She was now completely naked…a common state for her recently.

“I think we should do this right, dont you?” my classmate the judge said, standing as we entered his office, slipping on his robes and motioning us to follow him.  We entered an expansive courtroom through his private entrance.  He motioned for me to sit at the table usually reserved for the prosecution, and had the guard now apparently serving as bailiff escort my soon-to-be former wife to the other side of the room.  The chair a defendant would normally sit in had been removed, as had the table, so Donna simply stood there, eyes downcast, while the “bailiff” secured her.  First, so she could not audibly object, an overly-large ball gag, which stretched her jaws to their limits, was shoved into her mouth and fastened behind her head.  Then, after fastening a chain around her torso, he handcuffed her wrists, securing them to her sides.  Finally, although her ankles were already restrained, he locked yet another chain to her hobble.  The other end was fastened to the base of the banister separating the viewing gallery from the front of the courtroom. 

As a webcam broadcast it around the world, Donna found out what the documents shed signed the previous day were.  Shed agreed to have our marriage annulled which would mean no right to alimony or other financial consideration; shed petitioned to have her name legally changed to fuckmeat, and shed signed a permanent, general power of attorney authorizing me to act on her behalf in all aspects of her life.   Finally, the judge declared, anyone who wanted to change their name to fuckmeat was obviously no of sound mind, so he declared her incompetent and awarded me unsupervised guardianship. 

I thanked the judge for his time and shook his hand while fuckmeat sobbed and lavished kisses over his finely-polished shoes.  She was, Im sure, surprised that he wasnt interested in a more tangible means of payment for his work, but he had his own stable of slaves waiting for him.  It was time for our next appointment.

I didnt bother having fuckmeat get dressed this time.  As a slave, I explained, she wasnt permitted to sit on furniture, and that included my car seat.  Instead, she knelt on the floor of the passengers seat and alternately diddled herself and licked her fingers clean while I drove. 

Our next stop, as I promised her, was a medical clinic.  Not an ordinary one, however; this clinic was housed inside an old warehouse on what was formerly a military installation across the bay in Oakland.  Located on the waterfront, it had once been a staging area for supplies going off to various wars, but had been deactivated years earlier during the defense drawdowns of the 1990s.  Although the physicians working here were licensed, and many were well-known in their professions, the clinic itself was more secretive, unknown to all but a select few within the BDSM world.  Some of the procedures performed were experimental, usually on “throw-away” slaves who had outlived their usefulness to their Owners, but most often, patients were here simply for unusual or unethical body modifications.

I could see the fear in fuckmeats face as soon as we entered the building.  The clinic was actually a building within a building; the inside of the warehouse was lined with cages, most with little more than a single mattress inside, but about a dozen of which contained naked women.  While their ages and ethnicity were all different, one thing was the same about each of the caged slaves:  none of them appeared happy with their current living conditions.  Fuckmeats eyes glanced furtively around as she took in her surroundings, assuming correctly that shed soon join these forlorn women awaiting whatever abuses were in store for them.

A door at the end of the long hallway opened into a typical medical office waiting room, complete with white-capped nurse receptionist who dutifully took my name and invited me to have a seat.  She even offered to cage my slave for me, but I was enjoying the look of fear fuckmeats eyes, so declined.  It was only a few moments before a doctor, wearing the obligatory lab coat, invited us into an exam room.

The room itself was not unlike those Id seen in the offices of other doctors, but there were several differences.  Most striking were the video cameras hanging from all four corners of the ceiling, all aimed at the exam table.  However, there were other obvious differences.  For instance, the exam table itself was simply a grey steel mechanism, without the padded mattress and roll of paper so common elsewhere.  The stirrups, where a normal woman would put her feet for an obstetrical examination, held heavy straps and, as Id seen in an internet video, could be separated far enough to dislocate the patients hips.  Additional straps hung from the sides of the table, as well as an extension where the slaves hands would be bound.  For now, though, we were both content to have fuckmeat kneel at my feet while the doctor examined her mouth.

“Hand me that syringe, would you?” he said, after sliding some sort of rubber blocks between fuckmeats molars to keep her mouth open.  He took the syringe, and with a laryngoscope in one hand, peered deeply into my slaves throat, carefully positioning the needle before depressing the plunger.  Fuckmeat was too scared to move, though I did hear her utter a low moan as the needle struck home.

“That should do it,” the doctor said.  “Have your slave try to speak,” he suggested a few moments later, after removing the rubber blocks.

“Tell the doctor thank you,” I commanded.  We both laughed as her mouth moved, but not a sound came out.

“You wont be talking for quite a while,” the physician said.  “Ive paralyzed your vocal cords with Botox.  Its not permanent, though…it should wear off in a few months.”  Donna looked up, tears in her eyes.

“Its more convenient to keep them quiet, you know,” he commented, looking at me.  “All the chatter, and then theres the extra work of punishing them when they say anything out of line, like refusing an order.  So, I know we had some preliminary talks, but have you decided exactly what you want done?”

Donna fuckmeat knelt there silently while the doctor and I talked about what was going to happen to her, knowing she had no way of stopping it or even expressing an opinion verbally.

“The first thing Id like is for her to have a set of huge tits cow udders, if you will.”

“Yes, you mentioned that,” he said, reaching down and pinching various parts of her body.  “She does have a bit of flab, and hormones would probably help somewhat.  We have a new procedure, almost like liposuction, where we remove fat cells from one part of the body and inject it into the breasts.  Much less to worry about than implants, particularly if youre going to continue abusing them.  From the looks of her, Id say we could easily get her to a 52DDD, maybe as large as a 56H.  You should know that its difficult to find brassieres in those sizes, and they tend to be expensive.  Walking with the additional weight will be difficult, and may cause considerable back strain.”

“Not to worry, she wont be wearing bras anymore…nor much of anything else.  And I dont really care if her back hurts.  Besides, shes going to be crawling most of the time anyway.”  I looked down at my kneeling slave, imagining what shed look like with tits that would be so large her arms would bow outward at the sides and shed never be able to see the ground. 

“And the other things we talked about?”

“Well, I liked the idea of clitoral enlargement, but Im concerned that shell get off just by walking around.  I want to keep her in need, but without having her cum all the time.”

“Oh, thats easy,” the doctor laughed.  “It takes some time, but we have a conditioned reflex program here.  Well fix things so she cant cum until she hears your voice tell her to, and as a side benefit, youll also be able to make her cum on command, whether she wants to or not.”

We talked for about an hour, fuckmeat crying in enforced silence as we discussed the procedures that were going to be performed.  I decided to have her teeth yanked out so I wouldnt have to worry about her biting any more cocks. Theyd also do an experimental form of gastric bypass surgery, making her stomach 25% the size of the patients who normally have the procedure, and resulting in her eating nothing but a bland paste diet for the rest of her life.  A few snips on her leg tendons and her feet would be forced into a permanent tiptoe position, requiring her to wear nothing with less than a six inch heel or risk toppling over.  Laser surgery on her eyes would reduce her vision to well below legally blind, making anything more than three feet away an indistinct blur.  And finally and this was the one that caused her to break removing her uterus altogether would not only solve the problem of unwanted pregnancy (I had no desire to breed her, even though she was still fertile), but also those messy menstrual cycles.  Injected hormones would replace those that now-unnecessary organ had previously provided.  Fuckmeat just collapsed in a heap on the floor when that was discussed.

The entire process should take between four and six months, the doctor explained, during which time fuckmeat would need to remain in the clinic.  Her living accommodations would be one of the cages we saw coming in, but her days would be much more than laying around waiting for another operation.  No, the doctor explained as he strapped fuckmeat into the examination table, there would be much more.  When not actually in recovery, shed be expected to perform tasks suitable to her station in life, including scrubbing floors, providing tongue baths to other patients, and learning how to truly fuck and suck. 

It would all be expensive, he said, but there were ways to recoup at least some of the money.  This piqued my interest, so I asked him to explain.

“Well, theres always folks willing to pay for a quick piece of ass, or more,” he said.  “For instance, on Wednesdays, the group home for mentally disturbed teens brings their clients here to get laid.  It helps keep them under control, relaxes them, and they know that misbehavior means they dont get their weekly fuck.  We can also rent out our patients for anywhere from a few hours to a week or more.  We have an exclusive list of clients, all of whom have been specially screened and are willing to pay exorbitant fees for a slave.  We also use them as mannequins for a local tattoo and piercing school, but I see youve already marked your slave, so that probably wouldnt be of much interest.  Whatever fees we receive, we split with the slaves owner.  Now, yours isnt much to look at, but we could probably get $5,000 a week rental fee; more if youd allow events to be recorded.”

“Allow?  Hell, I insist on it!” I exclaimed. 

“Good.  Then just sign here, and check the options youd like us to consider,” he said, handing me a form.  I looked it over and checked everything except snuff, dismemberment, and permanent physical harm. Signing it, I returned it to the doctor.

“Well, that should take care of everything,” he said to me.  “Would you care for one last fuck in her old body?”

“Nah,” I said.  “Shes too easy, not to mention loose.  I cant even feel it when I fuck her, and she gives crappy head.  No thanks, I think Ill go pick out a young teen from your rental area.”

And, with that, I turned on my heels and walked out, leaving my former wife stretched out, naked, on the examination table with the doctor who was going to transform her into a living, breathing sex toy.

Review This Story || Email Author: Rocky