Journey as property and fuck toy continues
The next few months blurred into one long, dripping act of ownership.
Around the house, I was allowed only oversized thin T-shirts that barely reached the tops of my thighs, and sky-high heels. Nothing underneath. Ever. The shirt rode up whenever I bent, cooked, or simply walked, flashing my bare, freshly-waxed cunt and the tight little hole he used whenever he pleased. I existed in a constant state of readiness—nipples hard against the thin cotton, pussy lips already slick—waiting to be bent over, spread open, or dropped to my knees.
And Michael used me. Multiple times a day, every day, without fail.
He would come up behind me while I was making coffee, shove me face-down onto the counter, spit on my asshole and sink his thick cock straight into my ass until my feet left the floor. He would wake me by pushing my knees to my chest and burying his face between my legs, tonguing my cunt until I screamed, then flipping me over and fucking my throat until cum poured from my nose. He took my pussy raw and deep whenever the urge hit—sometimes slow and claiming, sometimes brutal, jack-hammering into me until my stomach bulged and I squirted down his balls. My ass was his favorite toy after a long day; he loved watching it stretch white around his cock, loved the filthy wet sounds it made when he pounded me, loved flooding it and then ordering me to hold his cum inside while I served him dinner in nothing but heels.
He signed me up for a hardcore gym two blocks away and gave me my orders: two hours every single day, no exceptions. Skimpy outfits only—tiny shorts that crawled between my pussy lips, sports bras that were really just scraps of fabric showcasing my tits. I was to flirt, smile, bend over in front of the men, let them stare at the outline of my nipples and the lower curves of my ass, but never let them touch. “I want that body one hundred percent tight for me,” he said, slapping my cunt for emphasis. “Every muscle belonging to my cock.”
He also enrolled me in hot yoga three times a week.
For the next two months I obeyed like the well-trained slut I had become. Two hours of punishing weights and cardio every day, plus yoga that left me dripping sweat and arousal onto my mat. My body transformed under the dual discipline of iron and cock. My legs grew long, lean, and powerfully defined. My stomach flattened into tight, rippling abs you could bounce a coin off. My ass became high, round, and rock-hard—perfect handholds when Michael bent me over and railed me. Of course, the second I walked through our door the athletic goddess disappeared, and the obedient fuck-toy returned: heels on, shirt only, holes presented.
By the six-month mark I had swallowed well over a hundred and fifty loads of his cum. I craved the taste—thick, salty, slightly bitter—and I moaned every time he flooded my throat. He fucked my pussy and ass so often I stayed permanently open and wet for him, my holes shaped to his cock.
Then one night he came home, loosened his tie, and smiled that dark smile that always made my cunt clench.
“We’re going out. Clothes are on the bed. Make yourself look like the expensive whore you are.”
He had laid out a tiny dark-blue micro-skirt that ended just below my pussy lips, a white midriff top so short and stretched that 95 % of my tits spilled out—only my nipples barely covered—and glossy scarlet 6-inch heels. I did my makeup heavier, sluttier: smoky eyes, cheekbones sharp, and a perfect coat of bright cock-sucking red lipstick. When I presented myself he walked around me, slid two fingers straight up my bare cunt, nodded at how wet I already was, then pushed those fingers into my mouth so I could taste myself.
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later we pulled up to a neon-lit gentlemen’s club. Bass-heavy music slammed into us the second we stepped inside. Lights strobed over stages and mirrors. On the main pole a stunning redhead was already completely naked, body gleaming with oil, tits bouncing as she spun and dropped into full splits. Michael guided me to a stage-front seat, right in the splash zone. Men around us were already tossing money; the air smelled of perfume, sweat, and sex.
The redhead crawled toward us on all fours, ass high, pussy visibly wet under the lights. Michael pressed a crisp fifty into my hand and leaned in, voice low and commanding against my ear.
“When she opens those legs in front of you, don’t put it in her G-string. Push the money inside her cunt. Slow. Make her feel it.”
She reached us, turned, squatted with her heels flat and knees spread wide, and peeled her pussy lips open with two fingers, showing us the glossy pink inside. I leaned forward, the fifty folded between my fingers, and slowly pushed the bill into her hot, slippery hole. I felt her cunt clutch at my fingers as I buried the money knuckle-deep. She gasped, eyes locking on mine, then blew me a wet kiss and mouthed, “Thank you, baby.”
Michael’s hand was already under my tiny skirt, two fingers sliding through my soaked folds, spreading my juices up to my clit.
“Good girl,” he murmured, loudly enough for the men nearby to hear. “Tonight I’m going to watch you get even filthier. And when we get home I’m going to fuck every hole you just teased until you can’t walk.”
I sat there in the flashing lights, skirt riding up, my husband’s fingers pumping slowly in and out of my greedy cunt while the naked redhead danced away with my money inside her, and all I could whisper was—
The redhead finished her set, slid off the stage still gleaming with sweat and oil, and came straight to us wearing only a tiny black bra that barely contained her full tits and a skimpy thong that disappeared between her pussy lips. Without a word, she leaned over my side of the table, slipped her hand under my micro-skirt, and pushed two long fingers straight into my soaked cunt.
“Just returning the favor, baby,” she purred, pumping them slowly, feeling how dripping wet Michael had already made me. She dragged her fingers out, shiny and stringing with my juices, then slid them into her own mouth and sucked them clean with a filthy moan.
Michael’s eyes darkened with pure lust.
“Join us.”
She sat between us, thighs parting naturally. Her name was Courtney. Two years on this stage. Michael questioned her like he was already buying me a new life: how much a dancer could pull, what the real money looked like. Courtney smiled, voice low and practical.
“On a good night—private dances plus extras—I can walk with five thousand, tax-free.”
She glanced at my tight body, the way my midriff top barely covered my nipples, the way my skirt had ridden up to show the bare slit of my pussy.
“With a body like hers? Guys will lose their fucking minds. They’ll throw money just to watch her breathe.”
Michael pressed harder. “What kind of extras?”
Courtney didn’t flinch.
“Private dance is twenty-five. Handjob another twenty-five. Blowjob fifty. Full sex—raw or covered—two-fifty and up, depending on how filthy they want it. Some girls do more. Some do everything. It’s whatever you’re willing to sell.”
Michael’s hand rested possessively on my bare thigh.
“Can you train her?”
Courtney looked me up and down like she was already imagining me naked on the pole.
“Two weeks. Every day. I’ll teach her the spins, the floor work, how to work a cock through pants, how to take money in her cunt on stage, how to give a private dance that ends with cum down her throat if the price is right. She’ll be ready.”
Michael didn’t hesitate.
“Twenty-five hundred for the two weeks. Cash. Starting tomorrow.”
Courtney’s smile turned wicked. “Deal.”
He leaned in, mouth against my ear, voice pure command while Courtney watched.
“You like her?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“When she takes you backstage and you’re alone, you kiss her hard. Then you go with whatever happens. But you will eat her pussy until she cums on your face. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Courtney took my hand like she already owned the next hour and led me through the black curtain into the backstage hallway, away from the flashing lights and staring men. The dressing room was a long row of mirrored vanities lit with naked bulbs, costumes hanging, the air thick with perfume, body oil, and the faint musk of sex. Empty. Perfect.
The second the door clicked shut I grabbed her. I yanked her against me and kissed her like Michael had ordered—hard, open-mouthed, hungry. My tongue shoved into her mouth; she sucked it immediately, moaning, one hand already under my tiny skirt again, two fingers spearing back into my dripping cunt and curling.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” she growled against my lips. “Husband’s got you trained like a perfect little whore.”
I dropped to my knees on the sticky floor, hooked my fingers in her thong, and dragged it down her long legs. Her pussy was bare, puffy, already glistening. I buried my face between her thighs like I was starving—tongue dragging flat through her slit, then spearing into her hole, nose mashed against her clit. She tasted clean and musky and expensive. Courtney grabbed the back of my head with both hands and slammed my face deeper, grinding her cunt against my mouth.
“That’s it—fuck—eat that pussy. Tongue-fuck me. Suck my clit… harder—”
I licked and sucked like my life depended on it, two of my own fingers shoving up into her while I fluttered my tongue over her swollen clit. Her thighs started shaking. She locked them around my head and screamed.
“Don’t you stop—I’m cumming—fuck, right on your face—!”
She came hard, cunt clenching and flooding. Hot, sweet girl-cum gushed over my tongue and chin; I kept licking through it, swallowing what I could, letting the rest drip down my neck and onto my tits. She held me there until the last tremor passed, then finally let me up, my entire lower face shiny and dripping with her.
Courtney’s eyes were wild. She shoved me backward into one of the vanity chairs, yanked my skirt up to my waist, spread my thighs wide, and dropped to her knees. No teasing. She clamped her mouth over my cunt and ate me like a woman who got paid to make people lose their minds—long, hard strokes of her tongue, two fingers pumping deep, then three, curling against my G-spot while she sucked my clit between her lips and hummed.
“Oh fuck—Courtney—Sir’s little slut is gonna cum—”
I exploded in under a minute, back arching hard, thighs clamping around her head, pussy squirting in dirty little spurts across her tongue and chin. She moaned and drank it, licking me through the aftershocks until I was twitching and whimpering.
She finally pulled back, lips swollen and glistening, my cum running down her chin exactly the way hers was still drying on mine. She stood, grabbed my hair, and kissed me deep so we could both taste each other.
“Tomorrow we start training,” she whispered against my mouth. “I’m going to turn you into the dirtiest, highest-earning little stage slut this club has ever seen. And every night you’ll go home and tell your husband exactly how many cocks you almost sucked.”
I looked at my reflection in the mirror behind her—smudged red lipstick, face coated in pussy juice, tits heaving, skirt still rucked up around my waist—and smiled the same obedient, cock-hungry smile Michael had taught me.
“Yes, Mistress. Teach me. Use me. I’m ready.”
We cleaned up just enough to be presentable, then walked back out to the floor. Michael took one look at my wet face and the fresh bite mark Courtney had left on my inner thigh and gave me that dark, proud smirk.
“Good girl,” he said simply, sliding two fingers through the mess between my legs and making me taste it. “Tomorrow you become a dancer. Tonight I’m taking you home and fucking every hole she just tasted until you can’t remember your own name.”
I leaned into him, cunt still throbbing, and whispered the only words that mattered.
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
We drove home with Michael’s fingers buried inside my cunt the entire way.
Two thick fingers pumped slowly in and out of my soaked hole, curling against that spongy spot that made my toes curl in the red heels, while his thumb smeared lazy, cruel circles over my swollen clit. My tiny skirt was rucked up around my waist; my bare ass stuck to the leather seat with my own juices. Every time the car hit a small bump his fingers drove deeper and I moaned like a whore.
I almost came twice—thighs shaking, pussy clenching hard around his fingers, that sweet edge rushing up—but each time his voice cut through the dark like a whip.
“Don’t you fucking dare cum. That orgasm belongs to me. Hold it.”
“Yes, Sir,” I whimpered, forcing the climax back down while fresh slick poured out around his fingers and dripped onto the seat. My tits were still half out of the midriff top, nipples diamond-hard, red lipstick smeared from Courtney’s mouth and my own juices. I was trembling with the need to squirt all over his hand.
Just as we turned onto the street before ours, he pulled his fingers out, shiny and dripping, and smeared them across my lips and tongue.
“Strip. Everything except the heels. Right now.”
I didn’t hesitate. I peeled off the tiny top and the micro-skirt while the car was still moving, balling them up and dropping them on the floorboard. Completely naked except for the glossy red 6-inch heels, I sat there with my legs spread, cunt throbbing and shiny under the dashboard lights.
He stopped the car one full block from our house, engine idling.
“Get out. Wait sixty seconds. Then start walking—very slowly—to the house. I want every neighbor who happens to be outside to see exactly what I own. Do not cover yourself. Do not rush. You walk like the proud little fuck-toy you are.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I opened the door and stepped out into the warm night air. The door shut behind me and Michael drove off, leaving me alone on the sidewalk—naked, heels clicking, pussy still dripping down my inner thighs. I counted to sixty out loud, heart hammering, nipples tightening even harder in the breeze.
Then I started walking.
The streetlights painted me in harsh yellow pools of light. My heels echoed on the pavement. Full tits swaying, tight abs flexing, freshly-trained ass rolling with every slow step, bare cunt on complete display. Several neighbors were out on their porches enjoying the night. I felt their heads turn. I felt the exact moment they realized the woman walking down the middle of the sidewalk was completely naked.
Two men who lived across the street—mid-thirties, married—stood up from their chairs when they recognized me.
“Linda… holy shit—” one of them called, voice rough with sudden lust.
They both waved, not even pretending they weren’t staring at my tits and the glistening slit between my legs.
I slowed even more, stopped right under a bright streetlight, so it lit every inch of me, turned toward them, and gave them a little wave back. Then I blew them a slow, filthy kiss, arched my back so my nipples pointed straight at them, and let one hand trail down over my stomach to casually stroke once between my pussy lips—showing them how wet I was.
My cunt was throbbing so hard it hurt. Being naked on my own street, watched, recognized, desired… while still obeying Michael’s exact orders… made fresh juices run down my thighs in visible streaks.
I continued the slow walk of shame and pride the rest of the way to our house. More porch lights came on. Curtains shifted. I kept my hands at my sides, shoulders back, heels clicking like a metronome, every step saying *this body is owned and on display because my husband wants it that way*.
When I finally reached our driveway, Michael was already standing in the open garage door, arms folded, cock clearly hard in his pants, eyes burning with dark approval. He watched me walk the last twenty steps completely exposed under the garage light.
I stopped in front of him, naked and gleaming, and waited.
He reached out, slid two fingers back into my dripping cunt, and found me even wetter than when he had left me on the street.
“Good girl,” he growled, voice thick. “They all saw what’s mine. Now get inside. I’m going to fuck you right against the front window with the lights on so anyone who followed you home can watch me claim this pussy all over again.”
I shivered hard, pussy clenching around his fingers.
“Yes, Sir. Please… use me while they watch.”
He pulled me inside by the cunt, already unbuckling his belt, and the night was far from over.
Michael dragged me inside by my cunt, two fingers hooked deep inside my dripping hole like a handle, forcing me to walk on tiptoe in the red heels so I wouldn’t slip off him. The second the garage door rolled shut, he spun me, shoved me through the house, and slammed me face-first against the big living-room window that faced the street. He flipped every light on—overhead, lamps, the bright entryway spotlight—so the entire room blazed like a stage. Anyone still on their porch, anyone who had watched the naked wife walk home, could see everything.
“Hands on the glass. Higher. Arch your back and stick that cock-hungry ass out,” he ordered, voice low and vicious with lust. “Show the whole fucking neighborhood what a trained little whore you are.”
I planted my palms on the cold window, spread my legs in the sky-high heels, and pushed my ass back. My tits flattened against the glass, nipples smearing little circles of heat. Behind me I heard his belt buckle clink, the zipper, the wet sound of him stroking his cock through the mess already running down my thighs.
He rubbed the thick head up and down my slit, coating himself, then reached around and slapped my clit sharply with two fingers.
“Look at you. My wife. Walking down our street completely naked, waving at the neighbors like a cheap streetwalker. Did you like those married men staring at this fat, dripping cunt? Did you get wetter knowing they wanted to bend you over their porch rail and fuck you raw?”
“Yes, Sir,” I moaned, forehead against the glass.
“Louder. Tell me what you are.”
“I’m your dirty little whore, Sir. I loved them watching my naked body. I loved showing them the pussy you own.”
He slammed into me in one brutal thrust—balls-deep, stretching my cunt wide around his thick cock. The force lifted me onto my toes and made my tits bounce against the window. He didn’t give me time to adjust; he started fucking me in long, punishing strokes, hips cracking against my ass, the wet filthy sound of my soaked hole being pounded echoing through the quiet house.
“That’s it—take it. Take every inch like the neighborhood slut you just proved you are. I bet those two assholes across the street are stroking their cocks right now watching me ruin this married cunt. Wave to them again.”
Humiliation burned hot in my chest and straight down to my clit. I lifted one shaky hand and waved at the dark street while Michael railed me, my palm squeaking across the glass. He laughed darkly and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so my throat arched and my face was fully visible under the bright lights.
“Good girl. Let them see the face of the woman who just blew a stranger in a club bathroom and ate stripper pussy on command. Let them see how fucking owned you are.”
He pulled out suddenly, leaving my cunt gaping and dripping, then pressed the slick head against my asshole.
“Open that dirty shithole. I’m taking your ass in front of the whole street.”
I pushed back and bore down. He forced his cock into my tight ass inch by thick inch, stretching the ring until it burned and fluttered. Once he bottomed out he started pounding—deep, merciless strokes that made my ass ripple and my empty pussy drip a steady string of cream onto the hardwood floor. Every thrust shoved me harder into the glass; my tits dragged up and down, leaving sweaty streaks.
“Fuck, look at this ass swallow me. You walk naked for the neighbors and then come home and give me this filthy hole like it’s nothing. You’re not a wife tonight—you’re a display piece. A free-use cumdump who gets wet from being humiliated.”
He reached around and started slapping my clit in time with his thrusts—wet, stinging smacks that made me cry out and clench around his cock.
“Say it. Tell the whole street what you are while I fuck your ass.”
“I’m a naked neighborhood whore!” I sobbed, voice loud enough to carry through the glass. “I’m Michael’s property—his cock-sleeve, his ass-slut, his free show! Please keep using me in front of them!”
He growled, fucked me harder, then pulled out of my ass, spun me around, and shoved me to my knees right in front of the window. The lights lit every tear track, every smear of mascara, every string of spit and cunt juice on my chin. He slapped his heavy, shit-smeared cock against my cheeks and lips.
“Open. Clean it. Taste your own ass like a good little humiliation slut.”
I opened wide. He fed me his cock and I sucked greedily—tongue working the underside, tasting my own musky ass and cunt mixed on his shaft. He held my hair and face-fucked me in short, deep strokes so the neighbors (if they were still watching) could see their neighbor’s wife gagging and drooling all over her husband’s cock.
“That’s it—choke on it. Get it nice and wet because I’m about to paint this pretty married face and make you walk back to the window so they can see my cum dripping off their favorite new slut.”
He pulled out, stroked twice, and exploded. Thick ropes of hot cum lashed across my forehead, my open mouth, my tongue, my tits. He aimed carefully, marking me thoroughly—stripes on my cheeks, a heavy load on my tongue, more dripping from my chin onto my nipples. When he finished he smeared the head across my lips like lipstick.
“Up. Hands behind your back. Face the street.”
I stood on shaky legs, completely naked, heels still on, face and tits glazed with cum, and turned to the window. Michael stood behind me, reached around, and began casually fingering my swollen cunt while we both stared out at the dark houses.
“Stay just like that for five full minutes. Let anyone watching get a good look at the cum-covered wife who walks naked on command and takes it in every hole. If you move, I’ll drag you back outside and make you edge on the front lawn.”
I stood there trembling, cum cooling on my skin, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of my pussy, the bright lights turning me into a filthy exhibit. Tears of pure, humiliating arousal slid down my cheeks and mixed with his load.
“Thank you for exposing me, Sir,” I whispered. “Thank you for making me their whore.”
Michael kissed the side of my neck and smiled against my skin.
“This is only the beginning, Linda. Tomorrow Courtney starts turning you into a stage slut. Tonight I’m going to keep fucking and marking every inch of you until you forget you were ever anything but my property.”
He bent me back over, lined up, and sank into my cunt again—slow, deep, claiming—while I stayed on full display, cum-stained and owned, exactly where he wanted me.
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