Since beginning my series I've learned that innumerable husbands have either shared their wives or fantasize about doing so. And, while they may not be as numerous as the husbands who would like to have other men fuck them, a sizeable percentage of wives fantasize about being shared, trained as submissives, and allowed to act as sluts. I have no idea how representative my correspondence with husbands and wives is, but having proceeded this far into a recounting of my wife's sexual transformation, it may be useful to some husbands who have not yet succeeded having their wives exposed, trained and fucked if I retrace a few things with a more introspective view, especially the early steps I took when seeking to realize my sexual fantasies.

Everything began decades ago when there was no internet. One might read letters in various sex magazines written ostensibly by husbands who shared their wives or by wives claiming to be sluts. And one heard of swing clubs and key parties where couples exchanged partners for a night. But it was impossible to tell whether the letters were real and I had no direct contact with anyone familiar with swing clubs. So I had little idea how common was the fantasy of having one's wife fucked other men.

The reader can reasonably ask why I had this fantasy. Was there anything specific about our marriage, about my wife or about me that explains what I wanted of my wife sexually? To be frank, I have no explanation. It was simply something that formed in my head soon after our marriage and left me with an ongoing commitment to have realized. I suppose I could say that just as some people prefer chocolate ice crème to strawberry, I preferred a wife who was a slut to one who was prim and proper. Even today, decades after having first shared her, I've no explanation for why it wasn't jealousy but rather extreme arousal that I felt at the prospect of seeing or knowing that another man's cock was ravaging my sweet wife's cunt or ass. However, I should make one thing clear here: The fantasy excited me only to the extent that I could imagine her responding as a complete unashamed, uninhibited slut. I wanted her to lose all control and, realistic or not, to experience orgasms of an intensity and duration that exceeded anything she might have experienced previously, including with me. I did not, then, fantasize about my wife being forced, with tears of shame running down her cheeks, to accept and pleasure the cocks of different men. It was not some sado-masochistic experience that I fantasized about. Rather, the fantasy appealed only to the extent that she got as much sexual satisfaction from being fucked as I imagined she could get.

However, whatever its genesis, the fantasy remained utterly vague and lacking in detail. It consisted solely of imagining the expressions of pleasure on my wife's face as she kneeled and took someone's cock in one hole or another. Whoever fucked her was faceless and without physical description. I had no clear image of where she'd be fucked - our house, a motel, or whatever. And wholly absent were any specifics about events leading up to her seduction or what occurred afterwards. Initially at least, then, the fantasy was wholly divorced from reality.

Absent a connection to reality, all the important questions remained unanswered, such as how our marriage would be affected if she ever did agree to let someone fuck her. How jealous might I become watching her cum as another man's cock slid in and out of her? How would I really feel if I saw her cry out to be fucked harder and deeper or if, once made a slut, she begged to take his cock up her ass or to swallow his cum? Should I worry that she might prefer other cocks to mine? If she responded as I imagined, would her shame at being unable to resist becoming a fuck toy affect her in some unanticipated and undesirable way? What might she think of me were I to succeed in virtually whoring her out to someone? And finally, would reality be as erotic as the fantasy or was the fantasy erotic only because it was vaguely conceptualized?

There were also practical impediments to sharing her. Unlike husbands who share their wives with friends or workmates, I couldn't imagine anyone using her who I knew. Putting them in the fantasy, putting a face on whoever fucked her, made the fantasy less appealing. And I hardly wanted to contemplate the aftermath of revealing my fantasy to anyone I knew for fear they'd simply deem it perverted. Practical concerns did not end here. Having her fucked by a total stranger raised concerns about her safety, for even back then the issue of disease was not one to be ignored. And if I could identify some likely 'candidate', how would I approach him, how would I tell him I wanted him to make my wife a slut, and would I ever have the guts to initiate such a conversation?

I had answers to none of these and a host of similar questions. I did give some thought to bringing her to an organized adult swing club and went so far as to check the telephone directory to see if such a thing existed where we lived (it did). But at least in the early years of our marriage, getting her to agree to go to such a thing had about as much chance of success as the proverbial snowball in hell. I wasn't in fact sure I'd want to take her myself, cold turkey, without first becoming acquainted with at least a few of the people I might meet there. So the fantasy seemed destined to remain just that. Still, I was unable to banish it from my mind and equally unable to resist tempting fate in simple non-committal ways. Whenever possible I tried to move her in the direction of dressing sexier that she might have otherwise dressed. When taking her to dinner, for example, I encouraged her to wear the highest heels in her wardrobe (which, at 3 inches or so, were hardly high enough). When shopping with her for a skirt or a dress, I drew her attention to the shortest items on the rack. If, when passing the window display of some dress shop, I saw something that was especially suggestive and sexy, I nudged her to enter the store to see what they had that might appeal to her. She wasn't a prude about this. She knew how to dress prim and proper, but she had no objection to being sexually, even erotically, appealing to the eye. Nothing extreme, of course, but as long as the skirt or dress covered what had to be covered and didn't make her look like a whore, she'd consider wearing it in the right circumstances.

Those circumstances were generally quite limited: dinner at a restaurant or an occasional evening at an upscale club that provided for dancing. Early on, then, I did what I could to take her to places that combined dining with dancing since it was easier to get her to dress sexier then. And when planning vacations, I made certain we stayed at hotels that, minimally, had lounges where she'd feel comfortable dressing more daringly that usual. Unfortunately, hotels with nightclubs were a rarity, but when we were fortunate to stay at one, I made an extra effort at having her wear something she'd not wear anywhere else. Admittedly, though, in the first year of our marriage it was an uphill battle to get her to dress anywhere near as erotically as I preferred. If the neckline to a dress scooped 'too low' she'd refuse to wear it; if I asked her to unbutton one more button on a blouse, she'd tell me (with a smile) that I was a pervert; and if I pointed out how sexy she'd look in a pair of 4" or 5" heels, she'd laugh and tell me she couldn't walk in them.

However, let me dissuade anyone from thinking that my wife was a prude. Although a virgin when we met, she was hardly inhibited in the bedroom. Vanilla sex was fine, but she had no objection to experimenting, which soon included taking my cock up her ass or sucking me while a vibe stuffed her cunt. She learned to love having me fuck her doggy while wearing a leather corset so I could pull on the laces as I fucked her, tightening the corset until it left her gasping for breath amid a succession of orgasms. On occasion she'd submit to letting me clamp her tits, although our tentative exploration of D/s began with spanking her ass or teasing her with a riding crop. She had no objection, moreover, to visiting sex shops with me to see if there was anything there that could further spice up our sex life. Thus, in the short span of a year the bag in our closet offered a substantial inventory of toys . vibes of several types, both a ball and a ring gag, her leather corset, various lotions, a riding crop, a pair of nipple clamps, a small and a medium sized butt plug and a string of anal balls.

That my wife had a taste for D/s, at least in a mild form, soon became apparent when I purchased a leather hood with and opening only for her mouth and nose. She loved being fucked with it tightly laced up the back of her head, her sense of hearing muted, her sense of sight wholly removed. And then there was the inflatable butt plug! I'd push it into her ass with my cock already buried in her cunt, then begin pumping it up. Initially she'd squirm a bit, then begin begging 'no more' as I continued to pump it. But once I learned to ignore her pleas and pumped it up to its maximum size, she'd invariably experience a crashing gut wrenching orgasm that had the effect of draining my cock of ever ounce of seed. Indeed, if she was more sexually adventurous than I had reason to expect when we first married it was with respect to the pleasure she got from anal sex. She not only loved having me slide my cock into her ass, she was game to try any and all toys designed for that passage. Excluding possibly only her expandable plug, her orgasms were never more intense than when I had her ride my cock as I slowly stuffed one golf-ball-sized anal ball after another (5 in total as I recall) into her invitingly tight little asshole.

Doubtlessly there wasn't a person on the planet who would have guessed that my petite sweet innocent looking wife enjoyed sex in the variety of ways that she did. And it was here, in the context of her taste for anal sex, that I first saw an opening to the possibility of realizing the fantasy of sharing her. When I asked her point blank one day why she enjoyed a cock in her ass and eagerly submitted to every and any toy designed for anal play she answered without hesitation "because it makes me feel so slutty."

"Feeling slutty makes you cum harder, doesn't it?" I asked.

"Yes it does," she admitted unashamedly.

"So would you like to explore other ways of making you feel like a slut?"

"Within limits of course . but yes, I would" she replied.

I knew I was 'pushing the envelope' then when I asked her "and would you like to be a true slut someday?" but I couldn't resist hearing her answer.

"What do you mean?" she replied, coyly.

"Would you like to be fucked by other men, maybe several at once?" I asked bluntly.

"Oh no . I could never do that," she replied. And then she added "I could only be a slut for you."

That wasn't the answer I wanted but it was what I expected. Nevertheless, I now had the first verbal indication that my wife enjoyed imagining herself as a slut, even if she intended to fill that role only for me. I took her responses, then, as an invitation to 'expand her horizons.' I began by having her wear her butt plug almost every time we fucked, and quickly moved to leaving it in her ass after we'd finished up. And it was hardly a giant step to leave her tightly trussed up in her corset with the plug firmly imbedded in her ass and requiring that she remain 'dressed' as such for the next hour or so. The incentive for her to comply was simple: She knew that if I watched her walk around the house bound tightly with her tits pushed salaciously up and out while the plug remained firmly in her, she'd invariably experience another hard and passionate fucking. And my wife was never one to refuse a good hard fuck from my cock.

Admittedly, though, it took me time to build up the courage to move things up a notch by asking her to wear the plug when we went out, to dinner or one of the dance clubs we liked. Her initial reaction to this idea could at best be described as luke-warm. This was not what she foresaw when experimenting in the bedroom. Nevertheless, with minimal objection she acquiesced.

I remember well the first time she wore the plug out of the house. She inserted it herself and simply answered yes when asked if it was in. She hid any effect it had on her while we dined, and I dared not ask how it felt for fear she'd say it was uncomfortable and wanted to take it out. My cock was rock hard throughout the evening, but I had no idea how it effected her until we returned to home. She immediately went to the bedroom, and reappeared wearing her corset with the plug still in her. Far be it for me to say I could resist filling her cunt then with a full load of cum while bending her over the arm of the living room sofa. Clearly, being a secret slut . or at least secretly slutty . turned her on. But more interestingly, so heated was our passion that neither of us had bothered to close the curtains to the living room window. It wasn't likely that anyone would have seen us. They'd have to walk up the front lawn of our apartment building and look directly into the window to see anything. But it wasn't impossible either. I was surely conscious of that possibility and made no attempt to disguise what we were doing by lowering the lights. I also determined that a replay would soon be in order.

That replay came the very next weekend when she again agreed to wear the plug out to dinner. This time, though, I chose one of the restaurants that had a small area for dancing and at the same time successfully induced her to wear one of her sexier dresses . a short little number that clung to every delicious curve. It was by now evident that my wife enjoyed being secretly slutty and liked being displayed as something other than the prim and proper housewife. This time, though, I decided to get her to openly admit to the pleasures the plug brought her. So while holding her tight on the dance floor I asked her if she was enjoying the plug in her ass. Without missing a beat she answered "yes" and answered "yes" again when asked if it was keeping her wet.

To this point, however, our sexual games had been strictly private and I dared not cross that boundary in any explicit way. But clearly a replay of the prior weekend was in order, and before we left our apartment I opened the curtains to the living room window. And indeed, as soon as we returned from dinner I led her to the sofa, pushed her forward over the arm, unzipped my pants and slid my cock into her cunt while pressing my groin against her ass to push the plug deeper into her. This time I positioned her so that she looked out the living room window, making certain she knew the curtains weren't closed.

"It excites you to be a secret slut, doesn't it?" I asked.

"Yes it does," she replied between the soft moans and groans of an impending orgasm.

"And what if someone were to look in the window now and watch you being fucked?"

I took special note of the fact that instead of asking me to close the curtains, "Oh god" was her only reply.

"Would it turn you on to see someone watching me fuck you?"

Her inhibitions still disallowed a straightforward answer: "I . I'd be so embarrassed."

Pressing my cock harder into her, I demanded an answer "would it turn you on, slut?"

That, admittedly, was the first time I'd called her a slut and in the cold light of day I'd certainly have hesitated using the word. But inhibitions disappear in the heat of passion . and not only for me but for her as well, as revealed by her answer: "Yesssssss."

No one ever looked in the window insofar as I know, but that was irrelevant. My wife had revealed a hidden naughty side of herself. I couldn't be certain she wouldn't have run from the room in embarrassment if she'd seen someone at the window, but I also couldn't eliminate the possibility that she'd have performed like a total slut. And while all of this was far removed from agreeing to let someone fuck her, the evidence was building that she wanted to be something other than a vanilla-sex prim and proper wife.

I hasten to add, though, that one disadvantage of retelling events now thru the medium of a written story is that things appear to have occurred at a faster pace than they actually did. And by focusing exclusively on the sexual side of our relationship, the false impression emerges that sex and my fantasies constituted a larger share of our relationship than they did. In fact, events unfolded slowly over a period of months and then years. Moreover, our time was not spent having sex or with me constantly probing the limits of her desires. More often than not sex took a backseat to everything, and our relationship and emotional bond were utterly normal for a young married couple. It would also be a mistake for me to convey the impression that my wife was only a slut in the bedroom when it came to sex. She also liked to be cuddled, tenderly kissed, and made love to in soft ways so as to feel the reassurance of my devotion.

But it would also be disingenuous of me to say that thoughts about sex and the playing out of fantasies in my mind ever disappeared for an extended period of time. Thus, it didn't take me long to decide that the next step in our evolving sexual lifestyle should focus on her evident arousal from being displayed. So skipping past the pages of the telephone directory that might list adult swing clubs, I searched instead for stores that sold explicitly slutty attire. Again, though, I was circumspect in my approach. Taking her shopping in the vicinity of one such shop and acting as if it were merely an afterthought, I suggested that we go in and explore what they sold.

Initially, we laughed and giggled at some of the more outrageous items and I was careful not to suggest anything that was too extreme. But finally I found an ultra short little dress with a flair hem and a neckline nearly to her waist and told her I thought she'd look delicious in it.

"Would you really want me to wear something like this?" was her first reaction.

At the time I didn't fully comprehend the full meaning of her question and simply answered "let's see how you look in it." What I learned later was that she was having me take responsibility for being seen wearing it and possibly having people think she was a slut or a whore. This theme continued throughout much of the early stages of her sexual transformation and I came to understand that a fair share of wives would like to be sluts, but only if they weren't required to take any responsibility for being one. They want no part of the planning and prefer to think that the realization of their fantasies occurred accidentally or in an unplanned way. If they were to be seduced by someone, it was to be because they were put in a position of being unable to resist their innate sexual needs; if they let someone other than their husband's cock slide into them, it was because the erotic intensity of the moment had temporarily rendered them unable to resist wholly natural impulses; if they were to be shared, they'd prefer not to be involved in the planning; if another man's cock led them to a sequence of unimaginable orgasms, it was only because nature had designed them to easily cum; and if they became sluts, it was only because they were merely doing what their husbands wanted of them.

So my wife's question about wearing the dress was merely a way of saying 'if anything happens, and if people think I'm a whore, it will be your fault.' That, of course, was a responsibility I was perfectly willing to assume.

In any event, choosing a dress that put her on full display also required a few accessories, chief among them being a pair of fuck-me high heels. Up to this point my wife never owned heels that exceeded 3 inches. But in that same store I drew her attention to a pair of 6 inch platforms. Despite commenting that "I don't think I can walk in them", she asked the clerk for a pair her size. I succeeded, moreover, in having her try them on while still modeling the dress I'd chosen, and I'll admit, the view she offered was decidedly erotic if not pornographic. At 25, she had the nubile figure of a stripper. The dress's plunging neckline tantalizingly displayed her firm braless 34B tits and only covered her nipples in a way that constantly threatened to expose them. Weighting no more than 105 at the time, the shoes stretched her legs out invitingly nearly to the cheeks of her ass, which were covered with but an inch or two to spare by a hemline that was more appropriate for a cocktail waitress than for a wife who was not yet a slut. Once again, it pays to catch all the signals a woman gives in such situations. Although she uttered a few complaints about how hard it was for her to walk in the shoes, she wasn't the least bit hesitant to model the dress and shoes for me while posing such questions as "are you sure I look good in this?" and "this isn't too extreme, is it?"

Clearly, my wife was enjoying our little shopping expedition, and I know she turned herself on admiring her attire in front of the shop's mirror. After finalizing the purchases, she asked something to the effect of where I expected her to wear what we'd bought. Once again, she was putting all the responsibilities on me, but I was prepared with an answer: "I'm taking you dancing tonight to after dinner."

No objection whatsoever was raised to that proposal and indeed, when it came time to dress that evening, there was no need for me to ask her again to wear what we had bought that afternoon: She simply appeared wearing only thong panties, the dress and her new fuck me heels. As for the ubiquitous butt plug, I had plans for that too. Secretly slipping it into the car's glove compartment, I fully intended to ask her later to wear it.

Dinner was uneventful, though I could tell that my wife enjoyed the occasional stares from the men. The restaurant was one that, after 9 PM, ushered in a small live band in an adjacent lounge and that's where we went early on to make sure we had a table. It was when I excused myself to go to the restroom, however, that I made a side trip to the parking lot to retrieve the plug. I knew, though, that it couldn't remain there long. I might disguise the bulge in my pocket by keeping my hand strategically placed, but as soon as we got up to dance my wife would see or feel it against her.

When I did hand it to her, her reaction was one of surprise: "When did you get that?" followed by the compliant comment "I'll have to go to the lady's room to put it in." And without saying another word, she stood up and left the table.

She looked stunningly sexy and slutty. The shoes accentuated not only her legs but also the sway of her hips. The loose fabric of the dress's flair skirt, in turn, magnified every movement of her ass. Whether she wanted to or not, she looked every bit the part of the seductive slut, the unashamed libertine wife. More than one man turned his head to admire the view.

Immediately upon her return I led her to the dance floor thinking 'Good thing she's wearing her thong panties. It would be quite an experience to have the plug slip out onto the floor.' Of course, absent the panties I'd never have asked her to wear the plug. I wasn't quite that adventurous . yet.

As we slowly danced I recall saying "you realize that any man who sees you now almost certainly wants to fuck you?"

"Yes, I know that," she answered softly.

I need to interject here that I'd brought her to the restaurant dressed as she was for two reasons. The first was that, as an extension of my ultimate fantasy, it was always a turn on to display her. Taking her out in public dressed as a slut surely wasn't equivalent to having another man fuck her, but it was a form of sharing her. And even back then, if I could have talked her into being a part time stripper at some upscale gentleman's club, I would have eagerly done so. The second reason was that I wanted to slowly strip her of her inhibitions and get her used to the idea of being shared in some way. So my next question was "what would you say if I told you I might want them to fuck you?"

"I couldn't do that," was her immediate reply.

"Are you so sure you couldn't . especially if you were already hot?"

"I don't think so," she said, unsure what the correct answer was, but not yet willing to admit that she might be unable to resist surrendering to her passion.

I was not, however, prepared to leave things at that, especially with the stiff erection that strained in my pants. Moving my hand down a few inches below her waist, I lifted her dress no more than an inch . certainly not enough to uncover any part of her ass, but enough to make the threat of doing so real: "What if I lifted your dress here on the dance floor to uncover the bottom of your ass?"

"Oh god . you wouldn't do that, would you?" she asked, aghast at the suggestion.

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no," I answered. "But what would you do if I did?"

"I'd die of embarrassment."

"Perhaps. But would your cunt get wetter than it already is?"

"I . I don't know . possibly . yes . probably," she finally admitted.

That answer was a major admission. She was, in effect, admitting that not only was she turned on by being displayed in a way that encouraged men to speculate that she was a slut, but that she was also turned on by being a slut. Nevertheless, I wasn't prepared to push things further. So I resisted any temptation to follow through on my 'threat' and instead, when the music ended, led her back to our table.

I don't want to disappoint the reader here, but nothing much happened as a result of our conversation and this little experiment in public display. Surely the fucking she got later that night at home was intense. If there was a consequence, it lay in the fact that I now knew of her willingness to tempt fate with her appearance and how turned on she became when she slipped away from the role of the proper wife.

She too was learning about herself and about how erotic it can be to be something other than what she had been taught to be when growing up. She was surely correct to say that if I had exposed her ass, she'd have been incredibly embarrassed. But she now knew in no uncertain terms that being displayed as a slut excited her. And she also realized that there might be a circumstance in which she'd want me to display her ass to other men.

Fundamental attitudes about sex and a woman's right to experience pleasure were clearly undergoing a significant change within her. But change is intimidating, especially when it runs counter to years of training and socialization. She had to learn not only that she could enjoy 'naughty' things, but that being naughty need not be dangerous. If there was a danger she wanted to avoid then it was losing control. She might not have wanted to be responsible for anything that happened, but she also needed to feel she could say No.

I refrained, then, from pursuing any further adventures for a time because I wanted to let her adjust to things and to not think I was rushing her into anything in a mindless way. I also needed time to survey my own thoughts as to where we were going. Admittedly, we hadn't yet done much, but I was surprised . surely in a pleasant way . as to how much the eroticism of reality had thus far matched my fantasies. To say that my cock was hard when seeing her try on slutty dresses or watching her walk across the room of a restaurant in something that barely covered her tits is an understatement. Moreover, I felt not an ounce of jealousy when men looked at her, knowing they were most likely fantasizing about what it would be like to fuck her. If anything, it all made the fantasy of sharing her more compelling, and heightened my determination to make it happen somehow, somewhere, with someone.

Once again, though, I saw no simple way to accomplish that goal. It was one thing to get her to dress slutty wherein the primary adjective that could be applied to what she was doing was 'naughty'. It's quite another thing to have her do something that she had up until then labeled perverted or immoral. Thus, things remained as they were for six months or so. In that time I visited the slut dress shop on my own and bought her one additional slut dress . one she had looked at when I first took her there and which was no more revealing than the one she already owned. She had no hesitation, moreover, about wearing it on several occasions that were not too different from her first experience with being displayed. Clearly, she enjoyed being provocative, loved the stares and attention she got from men, and relished the effect all of this had on me and how hard I fucked her afterwards. I wondered, though, if her pleasure from being displayed derived primarily or even solely from a belief that our adventures would go no further than they had wherein the primary consequence was the intense sex we enjoyed at home.

I'll admit that since I saw no clear path to having her used as a slut by another man, I could have been satisfied with the sexual state of our marriage. My wife, after all, was anything but conservative in our apartment and I'd fucked her more than a few times in the living room with the curtains open. In fact, she readily admitted that being watched was a definite turn on. Nevertheless, we rarely discussed sex in the cold light of day. Everything was more or less by innuendo. The few times we did talk openly it was about something we had done and not something we planned to do. We certainly did not confront directly my fantasy of having her shared. Like most couples, then, our conversations were uninhibited only in the heat of passion. It was at those times, and with my cock usually buried deep in her cunt or ass, that she'd admit to being turned on by the prospect of being accidentally watched, that her cunt got wet whenever she dressed provocatively and slutty and made men want to fuck her, that she enjoyed her butt plug because it made her feel like a slut, or that she looked forward to having her ass spanked or whipped. And always those 'conversations' took the form of me asking salacious leading questions, and her giving simple responses such as 'yes', accompanied by moans and groans of pleasure as my cock stuffed her.

But with the fantasy of having her fucked still alive in my head, I wanted to ignite similar fantasies in hers. I began buying sex magazines on a monthly basis that contained a variety of erotic letters and stories written ostensibly by husbands and wives on a range of subjects including slut housewives, BDSM, D/s relationships, exhibitionism, and so on. If I encountered something I deemed especially erotic that pointed in the direction of my fantasies, I'd highlight it and leave it on the bedside table for my wife to read. She, in turn, read every highlighted letter, but rarely provided me with any commentary unless I explicitly asked for it. And even then her responses were non-committal comments such as 'Yes, that was erotic,' 'I'm not sure I'd like that,' 'That could be fun in the right circumstance,' or 'I'm not sure what they did is really possible.' Her most suggestive response would simply be something like 'I did get wet reading it.'

I took careful note of the fact, though, that she never raised specific objections to letters recounting the experiences of wives who'd been shared or made a slut. And as time went on I began focusing on those letters by asking her pointed questions about them whenever we fucked - questions such as 'you'd like another cock in you, wouldn't you?' or 'bet you'd love having another cock to suck on now?' Eventually my 'questions' became simple declarative sentences designed to reveal my fantasies . fantasies tied to whatever we had last read: 'I'd love to see you fucked like she was,' 'I'd love watching you take a cock up your ass like she did' or 'I bet you'd cum harder than you've ever cum if you were made a fuck toy like her.' My wife was no dummy. She knew I fantasized about other men fucking her, and she played along with that fantasy as long as it was confined to our bedroom. She had no way yet of knowing how serious that fantasy was.

I suspected nevertheless that the fantasy was beginning to take root in her mind when she stopped raising specific objections and instead would say only something like 'I don't know if I could do that.' But again, I couldn't preclude the possibility that I was hearing only what I wanted to hear. I was certain that reading the stories and letters I gave her had to have some effect on her. But it was also possible that she saw things as merely another form of play in the privacy of our apartment. And I was not willing to test the hypothesis that she was beginning to wonder what it would be like to be shared since I still had no way of implementing my fantasy even if she gave me the green light to do so.

The big break came when we bought our first home and moved out of our apartment. As I indicated in the first chapter of "The Transformation of Betty," the neighborhood into which we moved was quite social with at least four or five barbeques per year plus the New Years Eve party the couple across the street held annually. We moved in the spring, and within a month we were invited to one of those barbeques. It was there that we first met Bill . our unmarried older neighbor from down the street. Nothing, however, occurred that gave the slightest hint of what was to come. In fact I don't think my wife or I exchanged more than a few words of greeting with him at the time.

Bill, however, stood out somewhat from the rest of our neighbors in that he was unaccompanied by a spouse, and we learned in the course of the usual gossip that he was divorced and living alone in one of the smaller houses on the street. But for the next several months sex took a backseat to furnishing and decorating our new home. Trips to sex and slut dress shops were supplanted by visits to drapery, furniture and hardware stores while evenings out to restaurants or dance clubs on Friday or Saturday nights were replaced by wallpapering or painting some bedroom or hallway. Indeed, after a month or two it seemed that our sex life had reverted back to what it had been when we were first met . occasional sessions of intense but nevertheless unexceptional fucking. I had even forgone several issues of my favorite sex magazine with explicit letters and stories.

My fantasies were reawakened at the next neighborhood get-together where Bill engaged my wife in a long conversation. It seemed from a distance that they were flirting, but if so, it was in a purely innocent form. Nevertheless, it was then that my fantasy of having my wife fucked focused on Bill. He was available, easy to talk to, and, despite the 15 year gap in our ages, unquestionably attractive to women like my wife. Later that day I talked with my wife about the people we met at the barbeque, and she admitted finding Bill an engaging 'fun guy' and, though hesitant to admit it, sexy.

My wife had almost never hesitated to give her views of various men as to whether or not she thought them attractive, handsome or sexy, and so I took her initial hesitancy about admitting that she found Bill attractive as a signal that she found him something more than merely sexy. This is an important lesson for any husband who wants to talk his wife into allowing herself to be shared and fucked. One needs to carefully read all the subtle signals a woman gives as to her own fantasies and desires. I suspect that few women, even those who crave being used as sluts, are willing to openly reveal that fact. Instead they engage in a subtle game of signaling their desires without committing to anything. It may or may not have been the case that my wife already had begun to imagine what it would be like to let Bill fuck her, but she never would have admitted to anything more at that point than to say simply that women in general (as opposed to her specifically) were likely to find him 'interesting' and sexy.

Her real thoughts and fantasies, though, were revealed the next time we fucked. With my cock once again stuffing her cunt, I asked as she moved to the edge of cumming "I bet you'd love having Bill's cock in you, now?"

"Oh godddd ." was her simple reply.

But I pressed on "I bet he knows how to fuck a woman," I said, more in the form of a question than an observation.

"M .maybe" she whimpered as my cock pushed in deeper.

"I bet you'd love to find out . love to feel him stretching your cunt, wouldn't you?"

"Ohhhhhhhh," was again her only response.

". love feeling his seed filling you?"

"Ohhh . yessssss," she finally moaned as her orgasm overtook her.

Although it wasn't clear whether her moaning 'yes' was in response to my question or simply to her orgasm, I nevertheless took it as an opportunity to probe further. "I'd love to watch him fuck you and make you his slut."

"Yesssssssss ." she moaned again as her hips bucked up to meet my thrusts.

"I'd love watching him make you cum, watch him make you as his fuck toy."

And as she gasped and cried out "yessssssss ." while her orgasm continued to ravage her, I knew that the fantasy of becoming a shared housewife . of being fucked by Bill in particular . was now alive and well in her head.

It was alive and well in my head too as I fucked her as hard as I could, doing what I could to convey the message that the idea of having Bill fuck her turned me on as much as anything could. Slamming my cock harder and deeper into her, I said to the rhythm of my thrusts "He'd fuck you so hard . he'd make you a slut . he'd make you cum again and again ." Then, as I allowing my cock to explode, she let out a long wailing scream and a gasping 'yessssss . oh goddddd yesssssss.'

The subject of Bill didn't arise after we were done. I knew there was a world of difference between what a woman would agree to once her lust has been satisfied versus what she'd say in the heat of passion. It was surely premature to proceed with any explicit scheme to get her in bed with him. But at the same time, I began to see that the realization of my fantasy could be engineered, provided I didn't screw things up by rushing matters and scaring my wife with the prospect of making her a true slut. We'd finally met someone who I could incorporate into my otherwise vague fantasy of having my wife being fucked, someone who my wife found attractive and sexy, someone who was available, and someone with whom we were guaranteed to have repeated interactions. And all of this at a time when she was clearly warming to the idea of being sexier and sluttier than she had allowed herself to be at any other time in her life.

So I took a more cautious path - that of fortifying whatever beliefs she already had as to how enjoyable it was to be a slut. A week or so after she'd last seen Bill, I found an excuse to drive up the coast on business, and I took her with me. We stayed at a somewhat upscale motel, where I specifically requested a ground floor room. That first evening, after an otherwise uneventful dinner, we settled back to relax in our room, which overlooked the motel's parking lot. But while she freshened up in the bathroom, I opened the window's curtains. When she returned, I turned down the lights but made sure the bathroom door remained open with the light on, thereby casting the room with a warm indirect glow. Making no excuses, I directed her immediately to the bed and proceeded to strip and play with her. At some point she protested that the curtains were open and that people in the parking lot could see us, but I responded with "you know you want to be watched!"

She offered no objection to that assertion, since it stated a fact. And although I cannot say whether anyone did see us, the evening was nevertheless productive. With my cock once again enveloped by the warm wet tight caress of her cunt, I asked her "You'd love it, wouldn't you, if Bill were watching outside the room right now?"

I'd actually expected an ambiguous reply despite her state of arousal, but instead I got a simple moaning "yesssssss."

I interpreted her response to suggest that she was already accommodated to being seen or used as a slut by him in some fashion. And so I became even more aggressive and explicit in what I asked her: "And if he were out there, you'd want me to invite him into the room so he could fuck you too, wouldn't you?" "Oh goddddd . I don't know," she gasped as her body trembled as a prelude to her impending orgasm.

"Wouldn't you?" I asked again, demanding an answer.

"Yessssssss ." she finally cried out as her orgasm took control of her.

As always, there was virtually nothing she wouldn't agree to once hot and cumming - and virtually nothing I wouldn't ask or suggest to her when I was hot - and so I pressed on with my questions: "You've fantasized about fucking Bill, haven't you?"

"Yessssssss."

"Fantasized about having him make you his fuck toy, letting him use your cunt and your ass for his pleasure?"

"Yessssssss."

Finally, proceeding to the main point, I asked "And you wouldn't mind at all if I arranged to have him fuck you . right?"

"Oh godddddddd," she gasped as her body convulsed from yet another orgasm.

"You want to fuck him, don't you?"

"Yessssssss ."

Driving my cock hard into her, I demanded an answer: "You want me to arrange to have him fuck you, don't you?"

"Yessss . yesssssss . oh god yessssssss," she cried out as her body shook and convulsed in orgasmic ecstasy.

At that point my own cock exploded and all questions ended. She laid there for a time, catching her breath, letting her convulsions slowly subside. But once again, after we'd recovered, neither of us had the nerve to discuss what had been said only minutes earlier. She didn't ask me if I really wanted to have Bill fuck her and I didn't ask if she was ready to be shared. Thinking back, even today I'm not sure why that was the case except to say that for my part, I didn't want to have her tell me she agreed to things only because she was hot and cumming. So I knew that before I could really plan anything . before I could approach Bill and offer my wife to him . things still had to be openly discussed, questions had to be answered, and rules and limits had to be established.

I should summarize my thoughts when it became increasingly certain that I'd be sharing my wife with another man. It was, in a word, scary. All the unanswered questions became much more poignant, and all the uncertainties loomed larger. There had been no need earlier to contemplate what having one's wife fucked and even made into a slut might actually entail. Now I had to be something more than a fantasizing voyeur. Minimally, I had to make certain that there hadn't been some fundamental misunderstanding between my wife and myself. Was it possible, for instance, that she took our bedtime conversations as mere foreplay and never intended that I take any of her answers at face value? I had to have a frank conversation with her about everything, and I still didn't know when and how I'd approach that discussion.

Once again fate took a hand. Still another neighborhood get-together was scheduled soon after we returned from our mini-trip north. She and Bill, of course, saw each other from time to time on the street or at the grocery store, but their interactions, insofar as I was told, were mere polite 'hellos' (I did learn later, however, that Bill had engaged my wife in some lengthy conversations when they'd met at the neighborhood store, including helping her load her groceries into the car). But another barbeque would be the perfect occasion to move things closer to a definitive conclusion. So as a test of my wife's thinking, I suggested that instead of her usual daytime jeans, sweater and sneaker ensemble, she wear 'something sexy,' leaving it up to her what that might entail.

I was concerned, admittedly, that she'd ask me why, which would then force my hand at discussing Bill. However, she said nothing, largely, as it turned out, because like me she was afraid of having a conversation that would result in a definitive decision. I was right, though, in assuming that she knew why I made my suggestion about what she should wear. Of course, the response I wanted would necessarily be a muted one. A neighborhood barbeque is hardly the place to wear a slut dress or fuck-me heels. But I was more than pleasantly surprised and turned on when I saw what she chose to wear. She appeared shortly before it was time to leave wearing a pair of her tightest fitting jeans and a sweater that was far more revealing than sweatshirts she'd worn before. The sweater had a properly scooped neckline that revealed a cleavage accentuated by the bra she wore beneath it. But the bra she'd chosen was a cup shelf bra that didn't cover her nipples and thereby left a clear outline against the sweater's tight thin fabric. Completing her ensemble was a pair of ankle high boots with 3 inch stiletto heels.

I was, admittedly, initially a tad apprehensive about her attire. She might not have looked slutty; but it would be evident to everyone that she had dressed to be explicitly sexy. One might say she even communicated availability, for her attire hardly matched what any of the women wore (which consisted mostly of middle-aged dowdy housewives and husbands) and stood in sharp contrast to anything the neighbors had seen her in previously. Nevertheless, despite any reservations I might have felt about things at that point, my cock grew instantly hard when I saw her, for there seemed no way to interpret what she had chosen to wear other than that she was giving me a clear signal as to her willingness to be seduced and fucked by Bill.

Her behavior at the barbeque removed any residual uncertainty. She spent most of the afternoon chatting with Bill while he in turn made little effort to talk with anyone else. I noted that she had worn a sweater coat over everything and could have used it to mute her suggestively erotic appearance. But she made no attempt at doing so. Indeed, when she sat next to Bill with a paper plate full of food on her lap, she let the coat slip from her shoulders as if to give him an unimpeded view of her tits and the nipples pressing hard against her sweater.

That might not have been the time to try to arrange anything with any finality. I still had to talk things over with her in a forthright and unambiguous way. Nevertheless, what she chose to wear was too much of an unambiguous signal for me to ignore. One way or another I was determined to have Bill fuck her and so I decided to begin closing off her exit routes. She left for a time to help clean up, disappearing into the host's kitchen, whereupon I walked up to Bill and boldly told him that I wanted him to seduce and fuck my wife, and that I'd asked her to dress sexy today with the implication that her compliance would signal her availability. He wasn't surprised in the least and without hesitation, he told me he'd wanted to fuck her the first time he saw her. I quickly explained, though, that I hadn't yet elicited from her an explicit willingness to be shared - that I planned to have a serious talk with her about everything soon - whereupon he said that he'd leave it up to me to arrange things or to otherwise signal when he should attempt to seduce her. "Just let me know when you think she's ready to be fucked."

So there it was . I had essentially whored my wife, which had the effect of making it imperative that I have that talk with her as soon as possible. I decided not to tell her, though, of my conversation with Bill even though our talk came later in the evening when we returned home. With of a lump in my throat, I opened the conversation a blunt "I guess you know that I want to share you with Bill and have him fuck you?"

"Yes, I know that" she answered in a totally non-committal way.

"And I assume you dressed as you did today because you want the same thing . you want him to fuck you?" I said, as much a statement of fact as a question.

"Well, I thought it would be fun to dress sexy and I was curious what your reaction to seeing me suggestively flirt with him would be."

That response, of course, didn't answer my question. She was being coy and evasive, so I pressed on: "Well, I certainly enjoyed watching you and hoped he was seducing you . but still, did you dress the way you did to signal that you are willing to let him fuck you?"

"Do you really want to share me with him?" she asked, once again evading my question.

Clearly, she was still putting the onus of responsibility on me. If things turned sour, it would be my fault. Women, I suppose, do that. But what stood out in my mind then, was that she didn't say No. So I asked again: "If I say Yes, will you fuck him if I arrange it?"

"If you really want me to, I will" she answered, finally.

I understood why she wanted me to bear all the responsibilities and potential blame here. But I still wanted an unambiguous answer from her. So, rephrasing my question, I asked "No, I need to know if you want to fuck him . not because I want you to, but because you want to?"

Perhaps she too decided it was time for a definitive resolution of things and so her answer was blunt: "Yes I do . I want him to fuck me . I want to fuck him."

Upon hearing those words, the question that flashed thru my mind and that I hadn't anticipated wanting to ask was 'why . why do you want to fuck him?' This perhaps was the manifestation of the jealousy I didn't think I'd feel. But rather than pursue such a question and possibly reveal my insecurities, I decided instead to ask some of the erotic questions I'd asked before in the heat of passion. "Have you fantasized for a long time about letting Bill seduce you?"

"Yes, I have" she answered as if I were merely asking her what time it was.

"And I assume that the prospect of having me arrange for Bill to take you to bed turns you on?"

She hesitated at first, then answered "It embarrasses me to say so, but yes, it does turn me on to imagine you arranging that."

If my cock wasn't hard when we began this conversation, it surely was then. Despite the signal she gave by how she dressed for the barbeque, I anticipate greater reluctance on her part to opening the door to being shared. Now, however, I got greedy in wanting to explore her thoughts: "How long have you fantasized about being fucked by Bill?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe when you first talked about him when we had sex." And then she admitted "Of course, I did think a lot about it after you told me to dress sexy for today."

"So you knew I asked you to dress as you did because I wanted you to signal to him that you might be available to be fucked?"

"Yes, I knew that."

"And you must have known that you'd also be signaling to me your willingness to be shared?"

"Yes, I knew that too."

I then decided that to be fair I should tell her that ever since I first saw her with Bill I'd fantasized about sharing her with him and that much of what I'd done sexually since then was intended to get her to agree to letting him fuck her.

"I sensed that early on," she replied, and then, turning utterly serious, she added "I want say that although I never thought I'd want to fuck anyone but you, having me dress slutty in public and all your suggestive leading questions when we fucked changed my attitude somewhat about things and made the idea of fucking other men seem, if not normal, then at least I suppose acceptable. I still want to think about all of this, but if you enjoy living with and loving a wife who lets herself be fucked by other men, then I suspect I can live with and love a man who lets me enjoy the sexual pleasures of submitting to them."

I was struck by one aspect of her words: Her willingness to be shared wasn't being limited specifically to Bill. It was almost as if she were telling me that she'd fuck anyone I asked her to fuck. As I later learned, that was precisely the message she intended. If she was going to agree to being a shared housewife, then she wanted to go all the way and be as slutty and wanton as I'd allow her to be. If she was going to let Bill fuck her, she saw no reason to not let anyone else who appealed to her have her as long as everything met with my approval. In this respect, then, she seemed to be suggesting that she wasn't like those shared wives who insisted on limiting their adventures to a few specific men.

All of this, of course, was wholly out of character for her, and so I ignored the potential implications of what she had said, and instead chose to press the issue further as to precisely what I expected of her if and when I arranged to have Bill fuck her: "If I told you to go to Bill's house so he could spend a night fucking you, what would you do?" The clear implication of that question, of course, was that I might not choose to watch the first time she was shared.

She immediately caught the meaning of my question and asked, with a puzzled look, "you don't want to watch?"

"Yes, I do. But I'm still curious as to what you'd do if I simply loaned you out to him for a night?"

Her answer grew hesitant, and she seemed to backtrack on her commitment to letting herself be shared: "I . I'm not sure . I don't know . I . Oh god, I can't believe I'm agreeing to let another man fuck me."

This was the time, then, for some gentle reassurance: "It's what you want though, isn't it . and you already know it's what I want, don't you?"

"Yes . yes it is," she replied.

"So I'll ask again . if I arranged to loan you out to Bill for a night to be his fuck toy, would you agree to go with him?"

I had, in fact, already decided that the first time I arranged to have Bill fuck her, I'd try to do it in a way where I wouldn't be there to watch. As much as I might prefer otherwise, I feared she'd freeze up in my presence. Perhaps she sensed that, but still she hesitated: "Is that what you plan to do?"

Seeing her hesitancy, I backed off, fearing that any incontrovertible indication that I was, in effect, whoring her out to Bill . which, of course, is precisely what I planned . might scare her off from everything: "I'm not sure yet how I'd want to arrange it. This all is as new to me as it is to you."

Her tone suddenly softened: "All of this, you realize scares me and I'm not sure we know what we're doing. But I'll do whatever you tell me to do." Then, having explicitly agreed to something she dared not even discuss before except in the heat of passion, she asked a question that put the final seal of approval on everything: "When do you plan to have Bill fuck me?"

I was caught off guard by her question, which made everything real. We'd suddenly moved beyond exploring the general issue of her willingness to be a slut to the more substantive issues of when and how I'd arrange it. This time it was my turn to give an evasive answer: "I'm not sure . I haven't thought things thru that far yet." I definitely wasn't prepared to tell her I'd already whored her to Bill.

There nevertheless remained one final matter that needed to be discussed - the limits, if any, on how she could be used. I must say, though, that by this time our conversation at times almost took on the air of discussing what kind of car to buy. Nearly all apprehensions had disappeared, so it was easy for me to be open about what I'd fantasized about and what I wanted when she became another man's fuck toy: "I'll make certain Bill understand that there are some practical limits to how he can use you, but I want you to be a total slut for him. I want you to let him use and fuck you in any and every way he chooses. More importantly, I want you to try to let it all go, to try to proceed without any inhibitions so that you enjoy the experience fully. Having you fucked by another man won't fulfill my fantasies unless you enjoy it totally."

"Yes, I understand," she replied in a wholly compliant tone.

I realized that I was perhaps jumping the gun here since I had no idea what Bill's preferences might be. I had no idea he was a Dom and that once he had access to my wife, he had already established an agenda of trying to train her as a sub slut while leading her formally into the world of D/s. Nevertheless I told her "since you're on the pill, if we in fact follow through on what we've talked about, I want you to discourage Bill from using any protection. I want you returned to me with his cum in you."

This last comment perhaps stepped over the line, for her response was simply "oh god, you really do want to make me a slut, don't you?" And then, perhaps to emphasize how far I was asking her to go, she added "Ok, if you want him to make me his slut, I'll let him."

Despite the tone of her voice, her reply made my cock rock hard. It wasn't the prospect of having Bill fill her ass and cunt with his seed that turned me on. Rather, her response brought home, as much as anything, her accede to the status of a slut housewife. "And when he returns you to me, I want you to give me a complete description of how he used you, all the things he did to you and made you do."

My comments were, of course, telling her that I had fantasized about her being more than 'merely fucked'. I'd fantasized about her being a total slut, a whore even. I feared that this was all much more than she had bargained for, but in fact her cunt was throbbing and dripping at the apparent inevitability of becoming a fuck toy for Bill, and so she simply answered "Yes, of course I will."

I learned later that there was an ulterior motive behind her compliant answers. She had committed in her mind to fucking Bill and that was something, at least at that moment, she sincerely wanted to do. My fantasy had become hers. But despite all my words and efforts at getting her to allow herself to be shared, she still imagined that I might chicken out. So she determined to convince me somehow not only of her willingness to be shared, but also of the fact that she now literally craved having Bill fuck her. If that required saying she'd be a total slut for him, then she'd be one. As it turned out, I didn't know my wife quite as well as I thought I did. Years later she admitted that if I had chickened out, she almost certainly would have let Bill fuck her without my intervention or permission. She also told me that she came within a hair's breath at the barbeque of boldly offering herself to him, offering to visit him some afternoon with the presumption that he'd try to seduce her and that she'd submit to him. As she put it later, if she had a fantasy that paralleled mine it was that she wanted to be fucked by someone who thought of her and used her as nothing more than a slut, a cunt to be filled, a wanton unashamed whore.

There was one final issue to be discussed. I hadn't actually intended to raise it, except that our conversation was going so smoothly it seemed appropriate to address it: "You realize that once Bill fucks you, he'll almost certainly want to fuck you again. Are you prepared to be shared on an ongoing basis . to, in effect, cuckold me and perhaps even become his mistress and whore?"

If anyone was surprised at that question it was me for having asked it, for I surely could be accused of putting the cart before the horse . or at least accused of focusing on overly extreme possibilities. And she in fact looked surprised when she answered "Is that what you want me to do, want us to become?"

Not only had I opened the door to making my wife a slut, I was now threatening to literally rip it from its hinges. Surely I'd once again let my hormones do my thinking and talking, and so I backed off "I'm not sure what I want and how far I want things to go." Then, sincerely expressing what I thought at the time, I admitted that I did find it erotic to imagine her as someone's mistress and whore.

It was evident that both of us were becoming increasingly turned on by the conversation, so neither of us could exclude the possibility that we had inadvertently slipped into the mode of salacious talk as a part of foreplay: "Well, if you decide that you really want me to be Bill's mistress and if that's what Bill wants, then I want it too." Readers might wonder why in this frank and admittedly salacious conversation there was so little discussion of love . of my wife asking whether I'd still love her after she allowed herself to be fucked by another man, or a statement by me assuring her that regardless of how much of a cuckold I became, I'd continue to love her and would feel no jealousy about no longer being the sole 'owner' of her sexual favors. I've since concluded that my wife and I had arrived at the same point in our relationship whereby, despite any discussion of me as a cuckold or of her as Bill's whore and mistress, we both had somehow psychologically separated sex from love. Just as I didn't feel that her love for me was diminished when one of her toys made her cum, I didn't feel any different about the prospect of another man's cock doing the same. And for her part, letting another man make her his fuck toy didn't endanger the love and affection we felt for each other any more than when she brought herself off by stuffing her cunt with a vibe. I appreciate that all of this might seem strange and even unbelievable, and perhaps my words fail me here in terms of my ability to express our state of mind about things. But the separation of sex from love was real and made it possible for both of us to pursue our now shared fantasies however extreme they might be or become.

That sex and not love was the topic of our conversation was underscored by what happened when we finished talking. Briefly, we fucked! And we fucked hard, with me calling her a slut and a whore, and her responding with cries of 'yes I am' as each orgasm swept through her. There is, though, a warning here for husbands who want to share their wives. The fantasy of having one's wife fucked is intoxicating, and once it moves close to being realized, its easy to take things to extremes. My initial fantasies of sharing my wife had never included seeing her as someone's mistress or me as a mere bystander and cuckold. Yet once my wife had agreed to letting Bill fuck her, that's where I found myself wanting to go. This isn't to say that I have any regrets. Indeed, I sincerely relished the prospect of having my wife be another man's mistress even to the point where he had the right to fuck and use her on a regular basis. The danger here, though, and one that my hormones didn't let me think clearly about yet, was that I'd lose all control, including the right to fuck her myself or to decide who else would be allowed to fuck her. Fortunately, that was a danger that in my case was never realized. But it is something that others should give some thought to.

In any event, plans still had to be made. Despite her sometimes tentative tone, she had for all intents and purposes committed to letting herself become Bill's fuck toy. What remained was to finalize things with Bill and choose an appropriate venue for having her fucked. I had in fact decided that the upcoming neighborhood New Years Eve party would provide the perfect opportunity. The party would surely be a chance for my wife to dress more provocatively than usual. This wasn't yet the time to have her wear one of her slut dresses or fuck me heels, but surely she should wear something that hinted at her availability no less than what she wore at the last barbeque. Bill had concluded even before the barbeque that it was only a matter of time before he got my wife into his bed. Given how she'd dressed then and my offer to let him fuck her, he probably assumed that she was already fucking around with and without my permission. So surely once he learned we planned to attend the party, he'd attend unencumbered, prepared to seduce her. I was, of course, wholly correct.

The plan, then, as I envisioned it, was to make certain she dressed with an 'I'm available' look so that regardless of what transpired at the party, her attire would let him know that I was committed to making her available to him and that she had, in effect, agreed to be shared. Of course, I'd talk to him beforehand, telling him that shortly after midnight, I'd direct her to go home with him. I also decided that if any of the neighbors concluded that Bill was leaving with her in order to fuck her, then so much the better. In all honesty, I'd become wholly unrestrained in my desires, and it excited me to think that our neighbors might learn that my wife was a slut. After all, the other women in the neighborhood would most likely only be jealous that Bill was fucking her and not them while their husbands secretly wished it were their cocks in her cunt.

I realized, of course, that she could still change her mind. But I also knew that if I got her to leave the party with Bill, she'd instantly become the slut I wanted her to become. I also knew that once Bill got his cock in her, every inhibition, every reservation she might have about being a shared slut housewife, would quickly vanish. Fantasy was indeed about to become reality.