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My Wife's Hospitality, Part Two, by Joe Doe

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My Wife's Hospitality, Part Two, by Joe Doe

Post by imreadonly2 »

The line moved slowly.  Once at the counter, I decided to celebrate by ordering my demanding wife's favorite order.   
A salted caramel mocha latte  
2 pumps of vanilla  
1 pump of classic  
1.5 pumps of hazelnut  
a splash of soy almond milk  
extra foam  
light ice  
well stirred  
with a dash of cinnamon, just for fun  
I knew my control freak wife, sans clothing and ID, was becoming more unglued with each passing second as she waited my return.  But as a hospitality executive, I knew she appreciated the importance of getting all the little, tiny details right, no matter how long it took.  
I handed the cup back.  "Could I get a sprinkling of mocha powder, too, if it wouldn't be too much trouble?"  
"Not a problem, sir."  
Indeed. No problem at all.  
I walked over to the showers, enjoying my carefully coiffed beverage.  Rounding the corner, Margot, front and center, was easy to spot.  I walked in front of the bleachers, to give myself the best view possible of her shame.   
Seeing my grin, my embarrassed wife tried to move back into the showers.  But the other slave girls, enjoying the free woman's obvious embarrassment, pushed her back into place.   
Grabbing her wrists, two of the girls turned her to face the audience, while some of the other giggling girls soaped her up.  I stopped to watch, sipping my coffee, as Margot, her face beet red, glared daggers at me.  
Margot gasped as another giggling girl soaped up her pussy in a way that made it clear cleanliness was not her main concern.  I could tell the gritty, disinfectant soap burned, from the way Margot winced and stomped her little feet.  The girl laughed, holding a handful of the stinking lather up to Margot’s face as she tried to turn away, before going back to her crotch to give her a good scrub.  
I watched my wife’s ordeal with little sympathy.  The delousing soap stood in harsh contrast to the sweet smelling and expensive perfumes and lotions my wife normally pampered herself with, but it was Margot herself who had assured me the burning chemicals were absolutely necessary.  
“I’m glad they shower the girls regularly,” she’d often say.  “Like any livestock, you need to keep them clean. They’re pleasure holes are always hot and skanky, and the disinfectants kill the crotch crickets, too.”  
Glancing at my fitness tracker, I noticed that the shower time was nearly ending.  I looked over my shoulder, and saw Perkins, the tubby slave wrangler, chatting with two other wranglers and a guard as they watched the slave girls jill off my naked wife. Nobody seemed to be in a rush to hurry things along.  
Deciding not to block the view, I sat down in the front row between two of the regulars: Ajay, the Indian who worked in IT, and Tom, a fat bespectacled, blogger who ran a popular travel website.  
"I was wondering where you guys were," Tom said.  
"Where's Margot?" Ajay said.  "She coming today?"  
"Naw, you know women. I think she's washing her hair," I said, watching as the other slave girls lathered up my blushing wife's squirming, naked body.  
Deciding to tempt fate, I pretended to check my phone, while hitting the RECORD button.  "So what do you think of the one in front?"  
"The ditzy blonde, getting the scrub down?" Tom asked.  
"Yeah, her," I replied, trying not to look too interested as I stirred my coffee.   
"Too fucking stupid to wash herself," Tom replied.  
"Yeah,” Ajay agreed. “Her brains are in her tits."  
"She's not a real blonde, either," Tom said critically.  "That's why they shaved her sheath."  
"I like bald beaver," Ajay countered.  "You can really get a look at her pussy, all puffy and pouty."  
“Yeah, and red from the chemicals.”  
“Must be a new bee.”  
"Maybe that’s why she isn't she wearing a collar?" Tom asked. "That's weird."  
"Yeah, it is," AJ agreed. "See how stupid she looks?  Maybe she lost it."  
Tom laughed.  "Yeah, she's too much of a fucking bimbo to even wear a slave collar.  It just keeps falling off, like her clothes."  
AJ and Tom both laughed.  Holding up my phone, I made a quick movie of her. Held in place by the laughing slave girls around her, Margot was humping the hand of the slave massaging her clit.  Other girls soaped her tits.  My wife's quizzical expression, alternatively turned on, angry, and utterly mortified, was quite comical.  
"So would you hump her?" I asked.  
"In a second," Ajay replied.  "I mean, a steel collar locked nice and tight around her throat would make her even hotter, but being uncollared only makes her like 1% less fuckable."  
"I might, if the price was right," Tom said, appraising her like the professional social media critic he was.  "But I'd definitely let her suck my cock."  
"Okay, let's wrap it up, LAY-DEES," the Perkins said, clapping his hands. "Shows over.  Rinse off, and back to the kennels." There was a collective, teasing whine from the girls as Margot was released and the slave girls quickly rinsed off.  Margot, disappointed not to have come, dutifully rinsed off the stinking, burning soap.  
She didn’t have long to rinse, as the overhead water was turned off.  Security was notified, and the side door was opened.  Once again Margot disappeared into a sea of naked slave girl backs and bottoms as she crowded her way back through the door.  
The crowd in the bleachers quickly began to dissipate. I noticed the waiter from Seasons 52 who had served Margot and I lunch was sitting in the stands, wearing sunglasses, enjoying his break.  Catching his eye, I waved at him, and he waved back.  I wondered if he realized that the icy blonde who had spent 5 minutes explaining EXACTLY how she wanted her Cosmopolitan mixed and her spinach and strawberry salad prepared had just flicked her little love boat in front of him.  Apparently not.   
I chatted with Ajay and Tom briefly, then excused myself.  I hadn't been particularly worried that she'd get into much trouble showering, but I wasn't TOTALLY sure of how Slave Smart might choose to handle an unregistered girl standing buck naked in the middle of their store.  Imagining of all the possibilities and thinking of how her immediate fate was really in the hands of Perkins, or whatever recently promoted team lead happened to be in charge that day, I nearly blew a load in my pants.  
Exciting as it was to think of her with a rope around her neck, standing on the gallows of slavery, I also knew that it was dangerous to leave her standing on that shaky trap door for TOO long.  Still, even walking briskly, it took me a good five minutes to work my way back to the side door.  Fortunately, Margot was still there, talking to Perkins when I arrived.  The other girls had been kenneled, so it was just my naked wife and her handler.  They were talking, with Margot batting his hands away every time he tried to playfully cop a feel.   It was sort of cute, like two teenagers on a first date.  
"Let me use your phone," my wife pleaded.  "I need to call my husband."  
"Let me squeeze your tits," he replied, reaching for her breasts.  
"You were looking for me?" I said, appearing like the cavalry charging over the hill.  
"Where the fuck have you been?" Margot snapped.  "And where are my fucking clothes?"  
"Right where you put them.  In your bag."  
"Where's my bag?" she demanded.  
"In the trunk."  
"Why is it in the fucking trunk? Go get it!" she ordered.  "I want to get dressed and get out of here."  
"I like what you're wearing now," I said, leering at her as I let my eyes roam over her naked body.  "Besides, you're all wet.  Walking back to the restaurant will give you time to dry off."  
"Where did you eat?" the slave wrangler asked.  
"Seasons 52," I responded.  
"Why the fuck do you care where we ate," she said, rudely cutting him off.  

I breathed in deeply. “I like the way you smell.”

“I smell like chlorine and bug spray!”she snapped.
“Exactly. You smell just like a slave girl should. Nice and pungent,” I chuckled. “But it’s for the best. Slave girls are naturally filthy, and we needed to kill any crotch crickets, and scrub out your hot, stinky holes. That’s what you always told me, remember?”
“Fuck you!” she yelled.  
"She's got quite a mouth on her," the tubby wrangler said.  
"Tell me about it," I said.  
"Want me to take care of it?"  
"Sure," I said.  
My wife was unimpressed.  "Fuck off! I'm not going anywhere until I get some clothes, and furthermore..."  
My wife stopped midsentence, coughing as the wrangler sprayed something in her mouth.  She tried to spit it out but couldn't.  
The wrangler took his hand-held prod off his belt.  Digging the metal prongs into the fleshy part of her butt cheek, he said, "Are you going to behave yourself, or do I get to see how high you can jump?"  
Seeing Perkin’s trigger finger on the red power button, Margot calmed herself, and nodded.  
"Present," he ordered.  
Margot looked to me for help.  I stared back at her, and shrugged.  She was the one who wanted to surrender control.  
Margot spread her legs to shoulder length, and put her hands on top of her head, her fingers in her long blonde locks.  Her uplifted arms also caused her ample boobs to rise and stick out—I noticed her nipples were already fully erect. Damn!  She looked deliciously hot, and totally vulnerable.  
"Thanks," I said.  "Can we go now?"  
"You can't stroll out of here with a naked, uncollared girl. Security will go nuts. I'll need to get her prepped."  
"Maybe I should just get her clothes," I suggested.  
"Fine, but I'll need to collar and kennel her while you're gone. That means entering her into the system."  

“She’s not registered,” I explained.

“I can take care of that,” he said nonchalantly. “Tattoo will just take a couple of minutes.”
Margot's eyes went wide with panic.  
"Can we just go out the side door?" I said, indicating the door leading to the outdoor shower.  
"If security sees you on camera, they'll release the slave hounds on her.  She’ll be dog food."   
Margot was panting, and it was sexy as hell. Her breasts bobbled as she shifted her weight, and her mouth opened wide.  She tried to say something, but no sound emerged.  
"We can package her up, and I'll walk you out to your car," Perkins suggested.  “You’ll need me to get through security.”  
"Gosh, I don't know to thank you,” I said.  
"Well, you can give me a free feel."  
Margot shot him a dirty look, then turned to me. I smiled, relishing my new found position of power, and enjoying the scared look on her lovely face.   
"You're the one who wanted to give up control," I reminded her.  
I turned to the fat boy in the coveralls.   "If it will help get us out the door, sure," I replied casually, as if having a total stranger fondle my naked wife was no big deal, which, as she was now presenting herself as just another slave girl, it really wasn’t.  
Perkins didn't stand on ceremony, and grabbed her breast with one hand, and her pussy with the other.  "Nice and wet," he said. "And I don't mean just the water."  
Taking the hand off her tit, he lifted up her lip.   
"It's crazy not to register gash like this."  
"She doesn't want to be registered," I explained.  
"Fuck that," he said.  "She's wet-and-ready.  If you don't register her, some drug cartel will.  Letting pussy like this run around loose, without anyway to track it, is asking for trouble."  
"I see your point," I admitted. "How much would registering her cost?"  
"You're in luck.  We have a Two-fer Taco Tuesday Special.  For $20, you can register her sweet little taco.."  Margot gasped as he jerked her fingers inside of her.  "... and you get a free taco at Taco Express two stores down.  It includes a free grading, too."  
I let out a low whistle.  "Wow, that is a good deal!" I said.  "Professional or amateur grading?"  
"Amateur, but you get a little paper certificate with stars and balloons and confetti on it.  Real colorful. We even put a cartoon picture of the Governor on it, with a big smile, so it looks official.  You can put it on the fridge, like she just won the spelling bee.  If you want a professional grading, we'll need to keep her overnight."  
Margot hated the Governor of Florida, and called him a buffoon, so the idea of his grinning face on a piece of paper declaring her to be a Prime Pleasure Slut would certainly be a hoot.  I looked over at Margot.  She was riding his hand now, pumping up and down on his fingers as she gasped for air, actually enjoying her helpless exposure.  I could tell she was close to coming, and I knew a big part of the turn-on for her was having to helplessly listen as we chatted about what she'd have to do to earn a free taco and a cartoon grading certificate with the Governor's picture.   
"Will the grading take long?" I asked.  
"No, I'm already doing it. Look at her, titties bouncing, riding my hand.  She's slave hot, and this is wet, prime taco meat. Crazy not to register her.  Won't take long.  I'll probably just have her suck my cock and base her grade on how hard I shoot my load in her mouth."  
Margot closed her eyes and let out a soundless whimper.  I smiled at the thought of my prissy wife earning her gaudy paper certificate by letting some fat teenager spurt his filthy, disgusting spunk into her delicate mouth.  
"What about a professional grading?" I said.  
"That will cost more, since we'll need to schedule a grader.  She'll need to stay overnight.  But we'll do it for free if you put her in a Tag Tail Sale."  
"What's a Tag Tail sail?" I asked, intrigued.   
Margot, bouncing up and down on the wrangler's hand, quickened her pace at the magic word that every potential slave feared, "sale."  
"We punch a pink tag through her ear, and then sell her skanky off the auction block. BANG! The gavel falls!

Margot winced at the bang, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“It's a real, binding auction, but the pink tag lets the buyers know you have 24 hours to reject the sale price."  
"What if it's a good price?" I asked, enjoying the horror on Margot's gasping, grimacing face.  "What do I do then?"  
"Nothing.  After 24 hours, we take the tag out of her ear.  She gets a new master, and you get new money for old rope. I mean, she's hot, but variety is good, too.  Am I right?"  
I nodded in agreement.  "Easy as tagging-her-tail-for-sale," I said, chuckled.   
That did it.  Margot, realizing how easily she could be sold, nearly fell over as she orgasmed… no SLAVE-gasmed - on the fat teenager’s hand.  
"See?" the teenage said, laughing.  "She wants it too.  It's a waste not to at least put her on the block, and see what she'll get. And our service fee is only ten percent of her sale price."  
"Sweet. Maybe next week Tuesday," I said. "Right now, I just want to get her home."  
"You're the boss," he said, popping his hand out of Margot.  Seeing that she was close to falling, I held her in my arms as he left for a moment.  
"Shhhh!" I said, whispering in her ear.  "Steady, girl.  Behave yourself, and we'll be home soon."  
The slave wrangler returned with a length of rope, and a zip tie.  Margot, still dazed from her life altering slave-gasm, didn't resist as he zip tied her hands behind her back and knotted a quick noose around her neck as a leash.   
"Let's go," he said, handing me the end of Margot's rope.  
The walk through the store was brisk, and Margot, barefoot and still stupefied from her predicament, had trouble keeping up. Delightful, as my jock wife always took great pride in running faster than me.  
It was still a Tuesday, and the store wasn't crowded.  We passed a few people, but as this was a slave market, the naked girl on the rope only drew modest attention.  
Turning to Margot I teased, "I wonder if Tom or Ajay are still here?  That'll take some explainin', ha-ha!"  
Margot was lovely when she blanched.  Unfortunately, she also stopped, a rebellion I ended by yanking hard on the rope and snapping her head forward.  
We approached the exit.  Seeing Margot, the German Shepard slave hound at the front of the store went berserk, pulling so hard on his leash that a second officer came by to hold him.

"Why isn't she collared?" the security guard demanded.  
"She's not inventory," the fat wrangler said.  "She's just some bimbo who lost her clothes."  
The fat wrangler held up the inside of her lip, revealing the lack of a tattoo.  "She's not even registered slave pussy.  See?"  
"Get her ass out of here, then," the guard ordered.  “This is a business, and the boss doesn’t like games.”  
The slave wrangler slapped Margot's ass hard with his hand as I yanked the rope around her neck.  Clearly, this was all HER fault, and so I half hanged her as he spanked her ass out the door.  
Being an Orlando afternoon, it had just rained, so the asphalt wasn't as hot as it might have been. Still, it was a long walk back to the car.  I could tell that my wife was not having a good time hotfooting it across the mixture of asphalt and concrete, but it made her bottom and breasts bounce nicely, earning us several wolf whistles along the way.  I laughed, and gave her admirers the thumbs up.  
When we finally reached the car, I popped open the trunk.  Taking money out of my wife's bag, I tipped our new friend Perkins $100 of my wife’s cash.   
"Good service deserves to be rewarded," I said, echoing one of my wife's favorite phrases, as she glared at me.  
Margo stuck her head in the trunk, rubbing the top of bucket bag with her nose, like a dog trying to get a treat.  She was still voiceless, unable to articulate what she wanted.
"I think she wants her clothes back," Perkins said.  "Should I cut the zip tie?" he asked.  
"No. I kinda like the way she's dressed," I said. "Put her in the front seat, just like she is."  
Soon, Margot was belted in, and I was waving goodbye to Perkins as we pulled away.  Feeling mischievous, I decided to give Margot something fun to listen to.  Soon my voice, Ajay's voice, and Tom's voice came over the car's speakers.  
"So what do you think of the one in front?"  
"The ditzy blonde, getting the scrub down?"  
"Yeah, her."  
"Too fucking stupid to wash herself."  
"Yeah.  Her brains are in her tits."  
"She's not a real blonde, either. That's why they shaved her sheath."  
"I like bald beaver. You can really get a look at her pussy, all puffy and pouty."  

In a day filled with surprises, Margot once again surprised me.  It took only seconds for the first few stages to play over her face:  shock, denial, anger...and arousal.  
Putting her bare feet up on the dashboard, my nimble monkey of a wife managed to get her cuffed wrists down to her pussy. I kept the recording playing in a loop, as she rubbed her hot, wet pussy for all it was worth.  She didn't even stop at the light, when the guys in the pickup truck honked at us.  
"So would you hump her?"  the voice on the car speaker asked.  
"In a second.  I mean, a steel collar locked nice and tight around her throat would make her even hotter, but no collar only makes her like 1% less fuckable."  
My wife came all over the faux leather seats.  Between the bug spray and her juices, I wondered if I'd ever get the smell out.  I hoped not.  
“Dirty little slave girl!” I scolded.  “Coming all over my seat.  I may need to get the toilet brush, and scrub your filthy holes again when we get home.”  
Using her nose to unbuckle her belt, the little monkey turned her attention to me, unzipping my pants with her teeth.  She put my dick in her eager mouth as we barreled down I-4 at 70 MPH.  
"Geez, wait until I pull over!" I said, complaining for the first time ever about her power sucking my dick.  "It's not safe."  
The naked, cuffed Pleasure Slut wouldn't stop, she just kept bopping her head up and down as I groaned with pleasure.  I tried to pull off the main road, looking for an exit.  
I blew my load in her hot, wet mouth as I drove under the sign for TYPHOON LAGOON.  
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Re: My Wife's Hospitality, Part Two, by Joe Doe

Post by jeepster »

Love it! You just keep impressing me with your writing!
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Re: My Wife's Hospitality, Part Two, by Joe Doe

Post by dtrelsky »

Loving the story! I thought she was gonna find herself tipped into the trunk for the ride home there for a bit, but her time in the frontseat proved to be an adventure! I'm looking forward to find out what happens at Typhoon Lagoon. I'm assuming its a water park and I find myself immediately wondering if there is some sort of special they have for bringing a slave girl along or maybe even for free girls using the park slave naked. If all they have on is a collar provided by the park that acts as their pass for the rides, they don't have to worry about losing anything in the water! Only for those with high self confidence of course! The park would certainly be sure to push the idea that it is about empowerment or something :)
Who knows though, anything could happen!
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Re: My Wife's Hospitality, Part Two, by Joe Doe

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Typhoon Lagoon was Disney's second attempt at a water park. It's not going to play a central role in the story, as I'm just using Orlando as a backdrop, as I like to set my stories in real locations.

Interestingly enough, in early editions of The Official Guide to Walt Disney World, the author said that the park designers had noticed that guys often congregated around the base of large water slides to see the girl's bikinis ripped off when they came down the slide. Ever thoughtful, Disney put in a bleacher and a refreshment stand so the guys would have somewhere comfortable to sit to watch the festivities.

Splash Mountain is sometimes called "Flash Mountain" because girls like to bare their breasts for the photos.


I imagine a non Disney water park might have some special slave girl features, like a mechanical slave wash where girls could be hung up and given a good mechanical scrub down (to spectators delights) or maybe some for of Sybian saddle, where girls who didn't ride hard enough or orgasm enough got a good dunking. There might also be an option for wives or girlfriends who wanted to strip, and put on a "guest collar", which allow them splash around naked or play volleyball with the slave girls. Or maybe a 'seal show" where girls bounce balls on their noses or compete in various water races with the winners getting orgasms and the losers getting spanked. Fun for all!

I hadn't thought of any of this, Doctor, but your post inspired.
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