My Wife the Womanizer

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I went to the bedroom, opened up the trunk and got out my ‘boyfriend’. Amazing it could still make me blush. It wasn’t just the size, but the shape. Twelve inches long, so wide that I couldn’t close my hand around it. Flesh colored with realistic bumpy veins and a large bulbous head. I went to the bathroom, took out the KY, and lubricated my rear passage. Happy-eager-submissive-bimbo-fucktoy, I repeated as I went back to the living room to face the consequences of my past life.

When I came in the room with the strap-on dildo in my hands, Stacy’s eyes opened wide in shock and panic.

“Don’t worry Dear,” Amanda consoled her. That’s *my* Stacy’s boyfriend, and I don’t think she wants to share, do you dear?”

“Oh no Mistress,” I said, falling into my role easily, as I had done so many times before. Always the same. Always having to beg. I begged even when I used to hate it. I begged even now, even when it terrified me that I was beginning to crave it. “Oh please Mistress, Slut Stacy’s pussy is so horny. Her little girl needs a good fucking. Please Mistress, please fuck Slut Stacy with her boyfriend.”

Mistress Amanda smiled wickedly taunting me. “I don’t believe you even like your boyfriend. Maybe we should give him to Stacy?”

“Oh no! Slut Stacy loves her boyfriend.” I kissed the head of the latex cock. I could taste and smell myself on it. I used to hate it, but I didn’t mind so much now. Next, I turned it to the side, pushed it in and out of my mouth, knowing full well how much of a slut I looked like with the cock pushing though the wall of my cheek. I refused to look at Stacy. I could only imagine what was going through her mind.

Mistress stood up and turned around. I knew what was next. She spread her legs slightly and stuck out her arse. “Beg me for it bitch,” she said.

I fell to my knees. I pulled down her panties with my teeth. While she held the hem of her skirt up, I pushed apart the cheeks of her bottom and planted a kiss of respect on her arsehole. Then I tried to push my tongue as far up her rear tunnel as I could. Humming happily and making sucking sounds as I did so. I tried my best to forget about Stacy witnessing my debasement. Happy, eager, submissive fuck toy, I repeated in my mind. You’re just a maid. Your Mistress’s lesbian slave lover.

Most mornings, I would wake Mistress in the mornings by making love to her arse. I did it gently and then with more passion as she grew aroused. That was for her pleasure. But now I was begging, and expected to act like the deprived slut I was, and Mistress took great pleasure in my humiliation. “Oh yeah, that’s it. Get it on up in there,” she said. “You love it don’t you bitch?”

I moaned my response.

“Uh, I think I better leave,” I heard Stacy say.

“Sit!” my Mistress commanded. Then she realized she wasn’t talking to me, but to someone was wasn’t quite so eager or submissive, and then her tone softened. “Just a few minutes more Stacy. If you leave, I’m going to do something to hurt this little bitch, and you don’t want that to happen now, do you?”

“Sorry,” Stacy said, giving me a look of concern, but not that much concern. “B-but I gotta go.”

“Convince her slut.” Amanda said.

I peeked around Mistress’s arse. “Please Stacy. Please don’t go. She’ll hurt me. She will.” My eyes welled with tears and my chin trembled. I could play the part of victim as easily as I could play bimbo. Stacy eased back into her seat. She still looked over toward the door to make sure the path was clear. I couldn’t blame her. I wish I had been able to leave long ago.

“Strap it on me Slut,” Mistress commanded.

I picked up the strap on, inserted the smaller end, into Mistress’s sex. I buckled the straps around her thighs and waist; I could do it in my sleep.

“Come here slut.” Mistress pointed to the floor at her feet, directly in front of Stacy. “Down here in front of me.”

I dropped to my hands and knees in front of her and in front of Stacy. I gazed down at her shoes – sensible sandals that matched her sundress. I would never be allowed to wear either. My heels were always impossibly high. My dresses short and tight. My outfits were anything but sensible, I was only allowed to wear maid’s outfits, schoolgirl uniforms, nurse’s uniforms, nun’s habits with the back cut out. These were my clothes. And you know what they say . . . the clothes make the person.

Mistress knelt behind me and pressed the head of the dildo against my opening. “Do you want it slut?”

“Oh yes Mistress. Slut Stacy’s little girl needs her boyfriend’s big fat dick. Slut Stacy needs to be fucked. Fuck her little girl. Fuck her hot twat.”

She drove it into me then and there. Fucking me. Fucking me right in front of Stacy. I was so close to her, my head would occasionally bounce into her knee. She looked at the door, trying to ignore what was going on right in front of her.

I grunted and groaned. I rutted. I sucked my fingers. I squealed. I pulled on the rings that pierced my nipples. I was an eager, happy, submissive fuck toy. To listen to me, you would think I was multi-orgasmic. However the cold truth was, I hadn’t cum for quite some time – a very long time. Yet, occasionally it felt like I would be able to and this was one of those times. However, I couldn’t quite make it happen.

I wiggled my ass and pushed back against my Mistress, meeting her stroke for stroke. Meeting her eagerly. I curled my toes and bit my lip, putting on my best orgasm face. “Ugh-ugh-Slut Stacy’s gonna cum. Oh fuck – oh fuck, gonna cum so hard!”

Amanda slapped my ass and pulled my head back by my hair. “You love it don’t you Slut. You love getting fucked, don’t you? I said *don’t you*?”

“Slut Stacy loves it. She loves it so much. Oh God-god Hu-hu-hu-here it cums. The biggest cum ever . . . fuck – oh fuck – it’s killing me. Mmmm-mmmm—mmmmppph- cumming.” I was faking of course. But, I was good at it. Meg Ryan was a fucking amateur. If they gave out academy awards for faking orgasms, I would be a sure winner. Mistress made sure of it, made sure I could fool anyone. I learned that trick the first time she sent me away. By now I could almost fool myself.

I arched my body one final time and kissed Stacy’s knee. She pulled it away from me.

“Can I go now?” she said.

“Just one more moment Stacy,” Amanda said, as she grabbed me under my arms and pulled me up against her. My breasts had been bared during my fucking. She hooked her fingers in the rings through my pierced nipples and pulled until I moaned. I held my hands laced behind my neck obediently. I didn’t need to be told.

Her hand traveled down my stomach and moved to the hem of my skirt. The blood pounded in my ears. Then she did it. She raised my skirt and displayed me to Stacy.

“Are you sure you don’t recognize anything?” Amanda asked, squeezing my balls and pulling my sleeved cock away from my body.

“Oh my God,” Stacy gasped. “She has a penis. She is a . . .she is a he!”

I could my heart pounding as the blood flowed to my blushing cheeks.

“More than that,” Amanda laughed. “You’ve slept with her. You used to be lovers.”

“Adam?” Stacy looked at my face, searching and unable to find any trace of my former existence, except for my tears. “Oh my God. Adam! But that’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Amanda said. “I’m a plastic surgeon and I’ve had quite a lot of time on my hands. Time enough to change Adam into what you see here.”

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