Slave Wife

Slave Wife

Chapter 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “It’s…um…a dare,” I quickly said.

  “A dare?”

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

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

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

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

  “Yes, Sir,” I said, blushing again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The girl giggled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Master was here, and now we could go home!