Two hours ago, I knelt on the floor of my owner’s office, sucking his cock and his shiny balls. I wore only a tiny pair of panties and a collar around my neck. My bra lay balled up in the corner. I hadn’t been wearing any other clothes when I entered the room. My owner was looking at porn pictures and videos on the computer. I was scrunched up under his desk, my face in his crotch, his cock in my mouth. I’d been ordered not to use my hands, I had to manipulate him completely with my lips and throat and tongue. Occasionally, and without warning, he would begin thrusting his hips against my head, fucking my face. As his thick cock found the back of my throat, I’d concentrate on making my mouth feel just like a hot pussy, warm and wet and welcoming. When it was my turn to suck on him, I’d rub my tits all over his legs, letting him feel as much of my soft flesh as possible.
I kept my otherwise unoccupied hands stuck inside my panties, busy slowly rubbing my engorged pussy. Despite his complete lack of interest in my cunt, I was still wet and desperate to have the feel of him inside me. Inspiration hit me, and I pulled aside the crotch of my panties to reveal my pussy. Continuing to suck his cock, I pulled his bare foot towards me, pressing his big toe against my pussy lips, and then finally inside me. When he didn’t pull away, I moved to straddle him, careful not to lose the rhythm on his cock. My main assignment was to suck him off. Everything else was secondary.
I slowly bounced up and down on his toes while treating his cock and balls to the best tongue lashing I could give. Sometimes his big toe plopped inside me. More often it just pressed against my clit and slit. No matter which happened, I shuddered with pleasure, both physical and mental. He turned up the sound and while I couldn’t see the dirty movie, I could imagine what was happening. It sounded like an anal fuck, maybe a dp. My favorite kind, both to watch and to be a part of. The girl’s gasps and yelps sounded real to me, and I wondered when the next time would come when I would be rewarded with a dirty, nasty ass fuck. Maybe if I did a good job on this blowjob. Maybe.
The unseen girl’s cries rose to a crescendo and the man’s grunts followed. Had he blown his wad inside her ass, coating her bowels with his delicious jizz? Had he shot himself all over her anus and pussy, branding her as a fuck whore good for only one thing? Or had he turned her around and plastered her face with his cum, giving her the honor of wearing it and scooping it up so she could eat it? I wanted to see so badly, see which way the man on the screen had used his fuck whore, and hoped that my owner had the same in mind for me.
He swiveled out away from the desk and I crawled along after him, my mouth never leaving his powerful staff of fuck meat. “You may clean my feet,” he said calmly, his eyes sweeping past mine to focus intently on my bare breasts. I expected nothing more. My mouth, tits, cunt and ass are all he cares about, as he’s told me over and over again. I bent down, onto my forearms, and raised my ass in the air in the proper position. As my tongue washed over his toes I can taste my acrid pussy juices all over his feet. There was grit between his toes. I swept that into my mouth just as quickly as anything else; I’m not allowed to stop this task for any reason, not even to remove sand from my mouth. I diligently licked in between each toe, pausing to kiss each one as it is completed. I slowly licked the bottom of each foot, gently blowing on the skin to dry it before transferring my attention to the top. After I finished my task, I remained in position, gently kissing the top of one, then the other, bobbing up and down like a hungry hen.
“You may hump my leg, bitch,” he ordered, a slight rasp of aggression in his voice. When I hesitated before beginning to rise to take my position, he grabbed my right tit and roughly pulled me to my feet. I didn’t bother to conceal the twinge of pain in my face; he wants it and expects it. And it’s far from the worst I’ve ever felt. As I stood before him, still completely submissive, he pulled scissors from the desk and deliberately cut the waistband of my panties in two spots. I spread my legs slightly and watched as they dropped silently to the floor. It’s not the first pair he’s cut off. And it won’t be the last.
I crouched down and positioned my pussy over his shin, then began humping his leg, like the bitch in heat that I am. My mind was focused on nothing but the feel of his shin rubbing against my pussy, his hairs aggravating my most sensitive spots. It’s not so much painful as it is irritating, the coarse hair sometimes getting caught in the folds of my cunt. He took the camera off the desk and began filming me, and I wondered where the footage is going to be seen. Shown to his friends? Or posted online at an adult-oriented amateur site. Either way I have no say in the matter. My job is to do as he orders. Faster! Harder! Louder! He orders me by grabbing my hair and shaking it. I slammed my cunt up against his leg and shinnied up and down it, his rough skin and hair rubbing raw against my pussy walls. I mewl though I want to weep; the friction left me in pain.
I continued for minutes that seemed like hours, clamped around his leg, humping, humping, humping him.
Some Background
My name is Karen. And I’m a real life slut wife. You probably find that hard to believe. Three years ago, I would’ve felt the same. But whether you believe me or not doesn’t change the fact that I am a slut wife. And I’m not talking about the kind of woman who simply allows her husband to call her a slut when he’s giving her a particularly hard fuck in the dark of their bedroom, but won’t let him fondle her in the daylight. Nor am I the slut wife that will try a few minor adventures, flash her tits at Mardi Gras or let her husband post nude pictures of her, and then call herself a slut, as if she’s really sacrificed anything. And I’m not the product of some guy’s imagination, sitting alone at night with his laptop and making up tales of how he wishes his wife would act, if only he could get the balls to make her do things his way.
No, I am a real-life slut wife. I’ve swallowed so much cum, from so many men, that I can tell by the taste what they’ve had for dinner. More people have watched me masturbate, live and nude, than have watched the women in the strip clubs around here. I’ve pulled a fuck train during a recent vacation, and been groped by old men while tied to a tree in the park. I’ve had my ass tanned so red I could barely sit in the pew at church, and knelt for hours to worship a line of sacred cocks.
You may doubt that I am real, and that my adventures have really happened. As I said, I wouldn’t blame you. But ask yourself this: What about all the bondage equipment that is sold online, all the lingerie and the butt plugs and the fucking machines? Who is buying all that? A small group of degenerates in the inner cities? Or people like you? Your neighbors, your bosses, that sweet couple holding hands as they walk around the block? And who is posting all those pictures online? Who is posing outdoors, their naked pussies spread open like wanton sluts? They can’t all be strippers and whores and crackheads working for their next score. They can’t all be Russian sex slaves and trailer trash. Some of them have to be middle class moms and newlyweds and women following their husbands’ orders. Some of them have to be just like me. And you.
If you saw me, you wouldn’t peg me as a slut wife. I’m five foot six, hazel eyes, with naturally blond hair that I keep cut at shoulder length. My face is a little pixie-ish, which helps me look younger than I am. My bust, which I know you’ve been waiting to hear about, is 38D, all natural. My tits aren’t as firm as they used to be, but they’re not bad for a 39-year-old with two kids. They’re more upright than saggy. And my nipples still get firm just from the thought of someone touching them. I have a flat tummy and a firm butt, the result of a ton of exercise. My legs are shapely and my cunt is still tight, so it’s a pleasure for any man to enter me. My hands are small as are my feet, so if you’re into footjobs or handjobs, I have to make up for lack of grip with a good technique.
My children both go to school away from home; one in a military academy (his choice) and one a freshman at an out-of-state college (her choice). I’m educated, with a degree, self-employed and working from home. Once or twice a week I head into my clients’ offices, so I’m not completely isolated from the rest of humanity. My colleagues don’t know that I sometimes come to work without panties under my skirt, or with a buttplug in my ass, or that I’m being forced to record myself peeing in the ladies room.
This all sounds very clinical, but it isn’t. My slut wife life is a non-stop adventure. When I’m not actually doing something crude, perverted or degenerate, I’m thinking about what it’s going to be like or remembering what it was like. What you think of as fantasy, I think of as tomorrow’s chores. What you see in a porn movie, I do in real life. Interracial. Bondage. Lesbian. Double penetration. Group fucking. Ass to mouth. Rough stuff. Submission. Gloryholes. Waxing. Just about anything except beast stuff. Although I’ve seen a few movies and been forced to masturbate to them. But, thankfully, my owner, Tom, isn’t interested in that kind of stuff.
Already I can imagine the reaction to this story or article or bio, or whatever you want to call it. “Bullshit!” will write the Literotica moral critics, in that judgmental way that some of them have. “Nobody really lives like that!” they’ll spout, sure that their way is the only way. But, I can say with confidence to anyone who thinks this is bullshit, that I don’t give a flying fuck what you think. Whether you think this is true or not makes absolutely no difference to me. It won’t change the way I live my life. And it will only make me and my owner feel pity for the close-mindedness that probably keeps you from enjoying any real variations in life. But, I hope that even if you think this is all bullshit, you’ll still enjoy it as being highly erotic bullshit. Besides, in a country where a large number of people still think the President was born in Africa, there’s probably no proof I could provide that would convince you anyway.
So, enough of that. Where to go from here? Well, you’ve got the who and the when already. The what will come in copious amounts over the next several months. Where does this all take place? In the good old USA, of course. More specifically, in the Midwest. My owner and I live in a exurb of a suburb of a medium-sized city. We have about five acres, as do most of our neighbors. You’ll learn more about them later. So, it’s fair to say that we can practice our lifestyle away from most prying eyes. You’ll learn more about that later, too.
The first question that most people ask is how we got started in this lifestyle. That question comes mostly from women, for whatever reason. Most people assume that I’ve been submissive all my life. As my past boyfriends can attest, that’s about as far from true as one can get. I’ve always been very assertive, very forthright when it comes to love and sex and getting what I want. Like any woman, I’ve used my body to get my way, and used the promise of my body to get some things. Sometimes I delivered, and sometimes I didn’t. Other times, I used my mind to get what I want. I can argue you into a pretzel, until you’re so exasperated you just give up. Being submissive is not in my natural makeup.
Nor do I have body image issues. I’m beautiful, sexy, and most of my son’s friends would say that I’m a MILF. Most of their fathers would say that too. I think many people assume that a submissive wife would have body issues because so many submissives shown on the internet seem to be overweight. But most of the real slut wives I know are average to beautiful. In fact, of the overweight ones that I know, most of those are lesbians with full-time partners. I have no idea what conclusion to draw from that. In the end though, if my husband were to leave me for some reason, I know I’d have no problem attracting another mate. Not that he would leave me. Nor I him.
Which leads to the question: How does a non-submissive woman with high self-esteem end up being a slut wife? Well, why does a man jump out of a perfectly good airplane? Or a woman risk life and limb diving on an old wreck? Why do people hang glide, or mountain climb, or race cars at crazy speeds down crowded tracks? For the thrill of it, of course. The endorphin rush, as my doctor is fond of saying. I just find it extremely, extraordinarily exciting, a huge rush, to be forced to do things I wouldn’t normally have the guts to do. And my husband has the imagination and will to push me past my limits, while still loving me enough to keep me from getting hurt. I trust my husband more than I would ever trust a parachute!
How I became a slut wife is a long story with a short summary. Soon after we were married, my husband realized that role-playing and play-acting would really amp up my sex drive. I just loved to pretend, and the more I fantasized about being forced into having sex, the hotter I would get, and the harder I would come. After a while, nearly every time we fucked we would talk about me being ravaged by a couple of strangers, me being kidnapped and raped, me being sold as a sex slave to a city gang, me being the big jackpot at one of my husband’s poker games.
Our fucking got rougher and rougher too, and I gave him my body to use any way and any time. There was nothing he would ask of me that I would deny him. I just wanted to hear the story and feel his dick in me, some how, some way. I got off on making him get off. And if he said or promised or intimated that we were going to have sex, but then we didn’t, I was always very disappointed. And I’d usually find a way to flash my tits or pussy to try and get him to change his mind.
Then one night, everything changed. I still remember it, every detail. I still masturbate to it, even after three years. Tom and I had driven out to a fundraiser in a city about an hour away. It was at a country club, semi-formal, so I’d worn my little black dress and come fuck me shoes. No bra, of course. My little black dress didn’t allow for that. As usual, I’d been the center of attention for many of the men. My husband doesn’t mind. He knows that I’m a shameless flirt, and he likes watching all the attention my tits command. Why would he care? No matter how many men flirt with me, he’s the one who gets to bang me at the end of the night.
So, we stuck around long enough to get a few glasses of champagne and bid on some overpriced stuff to help the charity. I was feeling horny and wanted to get back home and get out of those clothes, and I could tell that my husband had just about the same plan in mind. We’d just said our goodbyes to a group of friends when my husband sidled up to me.
“Take off your panties,” he said in a low, toneless voice.
“Excuse me?” I replied, unsure that I’d heard him correctly.
“Your panties. Take them off. Go to the ladies room, pull them off, put them in your purse, bring it back here, open it up and show that you’ve done what I want. Now go. Unless you want me to say it louder.”
I went, the thought of all our friends hearing such a demeaning order driving me straight into the ladies room. I was so frazzled I struggled to get them off over my shoes, finally opting to sit on the toilet and pull them down as if I had to pee. All that went through my mind was wondering how drunk he really was, why he’d decided to do this right now, and what he had in mind after this. Then, with the silk panties wadded up in my purse, and feeling completely naked even with my dress on, I headed out into the lobby to find my husband waiting impatiently for me.
“Show me,” he ordered, his voice flat and toneless, not slurred or amused or displaying any of the other signs that he’d had too much to drink.
Wordlessly I opened my purse and watched in terror as he reached in and fingered the wadded up garment, fearful that he’d pull them out and inspect them in the crowded lobby. Instead, he simply nodded and, taking me by the elbow, guided me out the door, through the parking lot and to our car.
Once inside, he turned off the radio while I strapped on my seat belt, and we slowly and deliberately headed out onto the main highway. Which, in our neck of the woods, is a two-lane blacktop that stretches two hundred miles east and west, with nothing but trees, cornfields and the occasional five-house village to break the monotony. Who knew what he would want to do in the 45 minutes it took to drive home?
I didn’t have to wait too long to find out. Once out of the range of the few streetlights in the area, he had his next instructions.
“Pull up your dress and let me see your slutty pussy,” he ordered, again in that almost dead tone. My hands seemed to act of their own accord as I grabbed each side of my dress and, hunching up against the pressure of the seat belt, I pulled my dress up until it was around my waist, leaving my ass and pussy fully exposed. I had just finished the thought that at least it was dark in the car when he reached over and turned on the under dash lights, illuminating not only my legs, but also the shaved bald mounds of my now shivering pussy.
Without taking his eyes from the road, he reached over and began stroking my full mounds, his fingers rough against the tender skin. Instinctively, I pressed my hips upward, sucking in a breath when one of his fingers slipped between my folds.
“My, you’re a horny bitch tonight, aren’t you,” he commented, his voice holding just a touch of a smile.
Horny? No, that didn’t quite describe it. I was fucking on fire! I was ready to jump any upright phallic object in a ten mile area — his cock, the stick shift, a fence post. I needed something inside me right away.
“Hmmmmm,” was all I was able to murmur as his fingers skated across my pussy flaps. What was this cruel game he was playing? And why now, here, racng along at high speeds, when neither of us could go much farther?
“Expose your breasts,” he said suddenly, his eyes locked on the road.
Expose them? That was an odd choice of words. Give me a quick peek, he’d said a few times, when we were hidden from view in the woods near the house. Show me your tits, he had playfully suggested a few time previously, when we were fooling around on the living room sofa. But ‘expose’ them? That wasn’t the kind of language he usually used. But just that little change in language was enough to amp up my desire.
The shoulder strap on the safety belt kept me from pulling my dress up any further, so I pulled the straps on my dress down over my shoulders. After a bit of maneuvering, my tits were out, the safety strap nestled between them.
“You are one slutty bitch,” he said, with nothing more than the barest hint of a smile in his voice. No, this wasn’t how he normally talked to me at all. What had gotten into him?
The cabin grew brighter as we slowed to roll through one of the several small towns between here and home. I saw myself reflected in the window, dress pushed down, tits hanging out, blatant look of desire scrawled across my face. A look that turned to shock and embarrassment in less than a breath. Could any people outside the car look in here to see my bare breasts? Could they see how slutty I was being? As if in reply to my evident consternation, he reached over and fondled my left tit, squeezing it, rubbing it, then pinching and pulling my nipple until I had to whimper.
We stopped at the town’s only stop light. If anyone was going to see me, it would be here. But thankfully, the streets had been empty; the shops had closed hours earlier. The light lasted an interminable amount of time. And my husband continued to play with my tits as openly as if we were at home in our bedroom. And still I didn’t object.
Why not? I’ve asked myself that dozens of times. Part of it was that despite the painful way he was grabbing my boobs, it still felt good. The rush of feeling back into my nipples was pleasurable, and if it took a little shock of pain to make that happen, I was willing to pay that much. And it felt dangerous and good to be that naughty, driving down the road with my big tits hanging out and my pussy exposed. I didn’t want anyone to see me, but secretly I thought I might enjoy it. Just like at the fundraiser, when I knew that so many men were looking down my cleavage, hoping to get a look at my brown nipples and wondering what it would be like to get their lips and tongue on them.
Mercifully, the stop light finally changed and we were back up to high speeds, leaving the lights behind and with only dark farm fields surrounding us.
“Open up your pussy and rub it,” he ordered. I did as I was told, though it was clear that he couldn’t spare more than a glance at my slit, as the road had become very curvy. But I was grateful for the chance to touch myself. I’d wanted to do it at the light, but it was crystal clear that he didn’t want me doing anything without his ordering it. And I didn’t want to provide any reason for this magic spell of nasty behavior to unwind.
I used two fingers to spread open the lips and one to lightly stroke the inside of my pussy lips, lightly grazing over my clit with every stroke. The odor of my cunt juices thickly filled the car. I hoped he would allow me to finger fuck myself. I needed something in my hole. And right away.
I’d been doing that for several minutes when I finally opened my eyes to look at him. He wasn’t even paying attention to me! “Um, anything else?” I prompted meekly.
“What? Oh, yeah, next suck the cunt juice from your fingers,” he said distractedly. His eyes weren’t on me. They were on the GPS.
I lifted my fingers to my mouth and seductively licked each digit, but it was clear that he wasn’t paying attention. He’d said ‘next.’ Which got me to wondering. Had he planned this out in his head before we even left the fundraiser? Or even earlier than that? What was his game here?
The car slowed, turned sharply, and the headlights illuminated a little-used dirt road. We jounced along it for a minute or so, the gravel crunching under the tires and the safety strap cutting a wedge into my breasts. Then he turned off the headlights and we drove another minute, maneuvering only by the soft orange glow of our parking lights. Another turn onto an even smaller track that I hadn’t seen, and then he extinguished the lights altogether, and we went another fifty or sixty yards ahead in complete darkness. He stopped, turned off the ignition, and we sat in silence, listening to the engine ticking as it began to cool down.
I was suddenly aware of how vulnerable I was. Naked from the neck down and the waist up. Out in the middle of nowhere, with no one knowing where we were. And with a man who, although he was my husband, had evidently had a complete personality change and was now ordering his wife around in a way he’d never done before. This was a lot more ominous than a game of grab ass in the basement.
Without warning, he reached over, pulled me toward him by the hair on the back of my head and kissed me violently, so hard that our teeth grated against each other’s. I was amazed at the violence of the gesture and submitted to it without question. He grabbed my tits as he tongue-raped my mouth, squeezing them as if to milk them like udders. Then his hand found my cunt, his fingers forcing themselves between the wet lips and down into my spastic hole. I tried to push my hips upward, to give him even greater access, but the safety belt held me back. I was locked in place like bondage whore in one of his porn movies.
He looked at me, the under dash lights reflecting the dark menace in his eyes. “You will serve me,” he stated flatly, as if there could be only one answer. I was overcome by the sudden power in him, the way I wanted to do whatever he said, without question, just to have that menace focused somewhere else. But part of me liked it focused on me. Both fearful and thrilled, I could only nod tentatively in acceptance.
He got out of his side of the car, leaving the door open so the dome light illuminated the whole interior. I watched as his shadow passed around the front bumper, then he was at my door, yanking it open. As he leaned across me to undo the safety belt, he took my tit in his mouth and bit the nipple, shaking it back and forth like a small dog with a toy, while I could only whimper with pain and pleasure.
“Get out,” he ordered tightly, and he waited impatiently while I tried to leave the car with my dress scrunched up around my waist. “You won’t be needing this,” he said as he roughly pulled it up over my head, not even attempting to unzip it so it would come off easier. Then he tossed it disdainfully into the back seat. Now I was completely naked, with only my come fuck me high heels on my feet.
“Kneel and suck my cock, you filthy bitch,” he growled, leaning against the side of the car. His tone was menacing, so different from anything I’d ever heard from him. I could feel myself trembling. What had changed him into this?
I looked down at the patch of ground below me. “Right here? In the dirt?” It came out before I could stop it. My heart was pounding with excitement and fear. Had I just ruined everything?
His response was harsh and guttural. “Yes, you little slut. Right here. In the dirt. On your knees. Suck. My. Cock. Unless…”
He left it hanging. I didn’t want to ask. I wanted to get his cock out. To see what he would do next. To see what would happen to this thrill pulsating through me. But just like my body was reacting of its own accord, so was my mouth.
“Unless what?” I asked meekly, my head bowed and my eyes on the ground.
“Unless you want to be spanked first, which you clearly do,” he replied, even as he took me roughly by the arm and swung me to face the side of the car. “Put your hands on the hood and press those slutty tits down. I wanna see them squashed flat. Hard against the hood. Do. It. Now!” His shout startled me into position, and I could feel the heat of the engine beneath the hood, and the cool night air against my ass cheeks.
Slap! The sting of his hand meeting my butt was sharper than he’d ever done it. Sure, we’d played at spanking in bed before, but that was a mere love tap next to this. Slap! The crack of flesh on flesh echoed through the night. Slap! I could feel my ass heating up fiercely. But when I imagined what I must look like, my nude body bent over the fender, my tits smashed against the metal, my ass invitingly canted up in the air, I felt an even hotter liquid begin flowing inside my cunt. I tightened my cunt muscles. I didn’t want to squirt, right there. It might ruin his nasty plans.
When he finally finished tanning my ass, I quickly dropped down on my knees and frantically fumbled with his belt and zipper, wanting to get his cock in my mouth as fast as possible. That spanking was something new, but not something I wanted to repeat just then. His cock, surprisingly, was only half hard when I finally got it out of his trousers, though it had the salty taste of pre-cum. I wasted no time trying to suck it into full extension, and was just beginning to tug on it when he grabbed my hands and raised them up.
“No hands, bitch. Do it like the whore you are.”
Suddenly, his dirty talk didn’t scare me. It just made me hornier. I slurped at him as much as I could, nuzzling his ball sack with my nose and cheeks, licking his balls as if they were the best tasting candy in the world. I could feel the dirt and pebbles grinding into my knees, and I wondered if I’d end up with an ass full of dust if he decided to fuck me right on the ground.
At a cue only known to him, he grabbed me by the hair and yanked me upright. I squealed in pain, but he didn’t pause a moment before pushing me face down over the fender, smashing my tits against the hood. I thought for sure he was going to spank me again. Instead, I momentarily felt the top of his rod probing between my legs, before suddenly slamming inside my dripping cunt. I squealed again, this time in pleasure, my voice echoing through the wilderness.
Then all I heard was the slap, slap, slap of his thighs slamming against mine, and the sticky wet sounds of his thick rod ramming in and out of me. He held back nothing. He wasn’t having sex with me. He wasn’t making love to me. He was fucking me, flat out raping me, taking his pleasure from me without giving anything back. Occasionally he would grab big handfuls of hair and yank my head back, sending sparks of pain through me. Mostly, though, he kept his hands clamped around my waist and held me still while he slammed his cock inside and ravaged my pulsing cunt.
I lost track of time, lost track of where I was, of how I was standing naked in a field being fucked like a wild animal, my hair stringy with sweat, juices dribbling down my legs, my knees scraped and my tits rubbed red from getting dragged back and forth across the car hood. I lost track of who was fucking me. Was it some farmer who found me on the side of the road and forced me to give him a fuck in exchange for some help? Or a farmhand who just decided to rape a white woman for the hell of it? It didn’t matter, because all I could feel was a hard rod punching into my hole again and again, varying its rhythm only enough to slam inside harder and more brutally than the stroke before. I lost track of who I was, all my senses focused on the insistent cock penetrating me, stabbing inside of me and ripping apart my identity.
Suddenly my cunt was empty and I was halfway through a cry of dismay when I felt the mushroom head pressing into my butt crack, just a little higher than my swollen slit. I tensed against the invasion; he’d never taken me without a sheen of lubricating oil. Then I heard him spit and felt the saliva trickle into my butt crack. He spread it across my anus impatiently, then kicked my legs farther apart so my ass was down farther. I tried to will myself to relax, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be denied, and didn’t wait until I was ready. The small bit of pain was quickly overwhelmed by the familiar feel of having a nasty cock shoved up my tight ass. He crammed it in there just as brutally as he’d taken my cunt, and I could feel every ridge, every vein in his shaft as he screwed my ass. I was being well and truly fucked.
After forever and no time at all, his cock was missing from my anal canal and he was once more wrenching me into a kneeling position. My knees hit the ground hard and I would’ve fallen if not for his strong hands on my shoulders. But he turned even that small gesture of assistance into a carnal act, reaching down to grab and squeeze my breasts, slapping them again and again until they bobbed to a demonic rhythm, the sting exceeded only by the fire in my recently spanked ass.
Brutally he forced his cock into my mouth and fucked my face, pulling out only often enough to let me barely catch my breath before once again slamming his cock back inside, pressing it deep into my throat and holding my head still until I gagged, the spasms of my throat giving him the kind of squeezing that he evidently craved. Again and again he forced me to deep throat him, until I was drooling thick spit all over my face, and long tendrils of it covered my shuddering tits.
Finally, after raping my mouth repeatedly, he pulled out and began jerking off his cock. “Open your mouth and take your master’s cum, you fucking whore,” he rasped, aiming his cock right at my face. I had barely parted my lips before he was shooting his load all over me. Most splashed over my cheek, ear and hair. I caught one spurt in my mouth. And the rest he aimed down at my heaving body, marking my neck and tits with his fiery jizz.
As he leaned back against the car, he pulled me forward by my hair, positioning my mouth to catch the remaining drops of his pearly white sperm.
“Now clean it,” he growled menacingly. Obediently I bent forward and took his cock into my mouth, using my tongue to lick every drop from him, and even licking around his balls in case any splattered there. I had just released his cock from my lips when he pushed me back onto my heels and pointed down. For a moment I couldn’t see what he meant, and then I noticed: a few drops of cum had dripped onto his shoe. I looked up at him as if to appeal my sentence, but it was like looking into a face carved of stone. I didn’t want to do this, but I didn’t want to feel his hand spanking my bare ass again, either. So, crouching down in the dirt on all fours, I bent my face and licked the cum off the top of his shoe, being as careful as I could not to lick up any of the dust and grime that had fallen on it.
I only knew I was done when he started to walk away, leaving me bent over like a dog in the dirt. Then he came back, lifted me up under the armpits and unceremoniously dumped me on the car’s hood, making my ass sting when it hit the cold metal.
“I suppose you did and adequate job and you deserve some sort of reward,” he said in that same menacing voice. “Spread your legs and we’ll see just how much of a slut you are.”
I did as he ordered, spreading wide, my pussy an alarming red from where he had punished it with his fuck stick. He reached down and penetrated me with three fingers, using his thumb to simultaneously rub my enflamed clit. It took only a few seconds of finger fucking before I was writhing and yelling in orgasmic ecstasy, all my limbs quivering and my head lolling back and forth on the car hood, as if I was having some kind of a seizure. I didn’t even mind sucking my pussy juices off his fingers. The orgasm was that good.
Finally sated, at least for a little while, he bundled me into the passenger seat and we headed back to the highway. I wasn’t allowed to get dressed again, and in my numbed state I was only barely aware of the cum and spit drying on my skin and hair, and the way my pussy seemed to gleam in the car’s interior light. I knew I was nude and we’d soon be rolling through more small towns, where any inhabitant might see my well-fucked body through the window. I knew that my husband had just spanked and practically raped me. I knew all that, but it didn’t matter. I was in a haze and a daze. And worse, I was wondering when it would happen again.
That was just the beginning of the beginning. There’s a lot more to come…