My Wife's Hospitality, Part Five by Joe Doe

[imreadonly2]

(Brian’s Point of view)

Taking Margot’s leash, I led her out the door. The Orlando sun was literally blinding for her, as her sunglasses were in the property bag we had left with the nice girl at the counter. With her hands and elbows neatly cinched behind her back, she had no way to cover her eyes, and had to lower her head and turn her face toward the building to avoid the blazing brightness.

I kept her on the sidewalk in the shade of the building, but I knew that the sidewalk must have felt hot on her bare feet. Robbed of her voice, all she could do was SQUEAK, and I wasn’t sure if her silly, squeaking whimpering qa due to her hot feet, blindness, bondage, public nudity, or all of the above, not that I really cared.

The harsh reality was Margot didn’t need to see where she was going or understand what was going on around her. She had been consigned to me, and for all intents and purposes I was her master now. She didn’t need to understand. She simply needed to obey.

When I had added the extra security of the elbow zip tie, I had toyed with the idea of asking for iron leg shackles as well. As fun as it might have been to see the look on her face when the rivets were pounded flat and the shackles locked “permanently” around her slender ankles, seeing her stumble blindly toward her fate I was glad that I did not. She could barely walk as it was, and 2 pounds of iron around her feet would have made transporting her uncaged nearly impossible.

As she couldn’t see where we were going, I think she was surprised when she heard the tinkle of a little bell and stepped onto cold cement. “Welcome to Taco Tuesday!” a male voice said cheerfully.

Opening her eyes, Margot realized to her horror that I had decided to use my free taco coupon now, while she was collared, leashed, and slave naked. She let out a little SQUEAK, and tried to pull back, but two quick spanks across her luscious ass ended that rebellion quickly.

Ahead of me, a teenage girl with a Valencia College T-shirt was on her phone. wrapping up her order. Seeing my naked wife, she giggled, and explained what was happening to her phone buddy.

“Like, STFU, a naked slave girl just came in. No, really, she’s like birthday bare and on a leash. Even her snatch is shaved. I bet she’s not a natural blonde... No, she’s really old, like 30? Nice tits though.”

“What sort of salsa do you want?” the Mexican.

“Mild, and put more lettuce on it,” she replied. Turning her attention back to my naked wife, she continued her appraisal. “No, she’s definitely fuck-able, in a MILF kind of way. Wait, I’ll send you a snap.”

As the girl held up her phone to frame her, Margot tried to turn away. Another sharp slap on her ass made it clear that, as the saying goes, “modesty is not for slave girls.” I don’t know how to describe Margot’s face, except to say that she looked red and green at the same time. I added some slack to the leash, stepping well to the side so that I wouldn’t be in the humiliating full-frontal nudity shot.

“Thanks, Mister!” the girl said cheerfully, ignoring Margot entirely in her thanks. Why thank her? After all, she was only a slave girl.

Margot looked like she wanted to disappear, but I knew that this stop was for her own good. She had been pissed at me after the showers, even as I repeatedly explained to her that being the slave-girl-in-charge was an oxymoron. Margot used her slave girl fantasies to relieve the stress of her managerial job, but she couldn’t be both a naked Pleasure Slut and in total control of everything that happened to her. As bright as she was, no matter how often I explained it to her, she couldn’t – or refused to – understand.

My wife had decided she was going to surprise me at the counter. She at least had the good sense to ask my mother for her advice, and she had tipped me off that “something was up” even though she deliberately didn’t give me any details, so as to not spoil the surprise. But it was Margot, relying on an out-of-date blogger, who was surprised when she had been stripped naked at the counter and had her snatch verified as 100% hot slave meat by the cold nose of a police slave hound.

The slave hound’s verdict both surprised and intrigued me. On the force, we are taught that slave hounds have a near perfect record in identifying slave pussy. Had the dog made a mistake? Or had Bonkers, with one raised paw, told me more about my wife than I ever suspected? It certainly gave me a lot to think about.

“My boyfriend’s dad wants to know if she’s for sale,” she said. “He’s like, super rich, and he’ll give you a really good price.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said, causing Margot to let out two SQUEAKS of protest. “I’ll give you my e-mail, and you can send me the photo, and your boyfriend’s dad’s bid.”

“Bet’s on,” the girl replied, as we quickly exchanged information. Margot looked dizzy, and I kept close to her, ready to catch her if she fainted. The photo of her was priceless. It was high resolution, which allowed me to zoom in on all the good parts! She stood naked, legs slightly spread, fully exposed. Her nipples were rock hard, and I could see the wetness from her pussy glimmering in the light. She had the dumbest, Bambi-in-the-headlights (and boy did she have headlights!), slack jawed expression, and she was standing under a sign that promised, “Hot and Juicy!” Talk about truth in advertising. I texted the photo to my mom, knowing it would give her a laugh.

The girl rang up the sale on her phone, and I handed the Latino teenager behind the counter my coupon from Slave Smart. He looked to be about 19, and had a little pencil thin beginner’s mustache. “Grading her taco meat, eh?”, he said, reading my Twoer-Taco-Tuesday special. “You are a lucky master, my friend. I wished I could have a serving of what you’re having.”

Margot frowned. She didn’t have a high opinion of Hispanics, referring to the illegal immigrants who worked in her hotel as “fence jumpers”, “beaners” and (her favorite) “short browns”. As in, “the short browns aren’t tall enough to properly dust the top of the bookcase in my office.”

Now Margot’s wet, juicy taco meat had earned me a free taco, and she had to stand naked in front of the Latino teenager. Enjoying her helplessness, I reached between Margot’s legs, rubbing her clit as I ordered my burrito. She was wet and ready, and squirmed on my fingers, SQUEAKING, and hopping from foot-to-foot, much to the teenage clerk’s delight. The manager, working the grill, decided to refill the ice in the soda machine, giving him an excuse to come from behind the counter and get a better look at my naked wife’s charms.

“I’ll take double steak,” I explained. “We had lunch at Seasons 52, and I don’t think the whole meal was 300 calories.”

The teenager behind the counter laughed. “Yes, we get a lot of business from pussy-whipped men who are forced to go there by their wives, and then come here for a MEAL. But you don’t have that problem, boss. You keep your pussy right in the palm of your hand, where it belongs.”

Margot, responding to both the boy’s teasing voice and my teasing fingers, humped my hand faster. The short brown teenager had nailed it. A few minutes before I had been the pussy-whipped husband. Now I had her pussy in the palm of my hand. My hoity-toity wife was being jerked off in front of the despised Hispanic help at Taco Express because she had forced me eat at her overpriced, no calorie “fresh ingredient dining experience”. Isn’t karma a wonderful thing?

My mom texted me back.

HOT AND JUICY HA HA! GLAD YOU MADE IT TO THE SLAVE MARKET. SEND MORE PICS AND GET OFFERS. CALL ME B4 YOU SELL. XXX HAVE FUN B SAFE.

I smiled. My mom always sent texts in all caps, not realizing she was screaming at me. HAVE FUN B SAFE had been her message to me since I was 8 years old, which in her mind, I still was. My mom’s joke about selling Margot was on brand, for she often suggested I could make more money selling Margot than “kowtowing to her” and I’d be happier living with her. After all, a boy’s best friend is his mother.

I hearted Mom’s message.

The older Latino manager filling the soda machine stopped at the register as I prepared to ring up the sale. “I’ll give you your Mountain Dew for free if you give me a free feel,” he said.

“It doesn’t get much cheaper than free!” I said, smiling at my wife as I threw one of her favorite catch phrases in her face. “Be my guest, Sir,” I said removing my hand from Margot’s snatch.

The Taco Express Manager wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t have to be, given how wet and ready Margot was. The amazing thing was, although she clearly despised the fat fast food worker who as so rudely violating her, she humped down on his hand harder than mine. I was both surprised and jealous, as clearly he was giving my wife something I could not. Perhaps it was just the feeling of being manipulated by someone she considered to be inferior.

He stopped just short of her orgasm, causing her to whimper and stomp her feet. He put his fingers in his mouth, tasting my wife’s juices.

“Is she finger-licking good?” the teen behind the counter cackled.

“That’s the Colonel,” his boss replied. “although I imagine that old geezer would have been happy to buy her ass off the block. But that is some tasty taco meat.”

“The tastiest”, I agreed, squeezing my wife’s ass.

There was no need to ring up my sale, as both my taco and Mountain Dew were free. “Come again!” the clerk behind the counter called out.

“Yeah, and bring your slave slut. She can cum on my hand,” his boss added, laughing.

Margot was relieved to be out of Taco Express, even though it meant blindness and a trip across the hot coals of the sidewalk. She was practically skipping in place as we neared the loading dock, but I knew it was for her own good. She would have to get used to walking barefoot (Hell, bare everything) on all kinds of surfaces if she wanted to play slave girl.

As we rounded the corner and walked toward the main entrance of the loading dock, we passed a half dozen homeless guys leaning against the wall. My wife pulled away and blanched, as much from the smell as from their presence.

“Nice slave pussy,” one commented.

“Free fuck, Mister?” another asked.

“I’m a vet. I could really use a blow job,” another offered.

My wife’s turned even whiter at the thought of what she was suggesting. My wife was a better liberal in theory than in practice, and as a hotel manager considered the homeless the bane of her existence. When she had worked in New York, she often told stories about calling the police to remove them from the front of her property or having them arrested when they tried to sneak in and use the bathroom.

The homeless were the antithesis of everything her brand was selling, but for my prissy wife the revulsion went much deeper. She always made a face when she saw them, and complained about the smell, and suggested that they should be “arrested, and put… SOMEWHERE”, in a way that made it clear she didn’t care where as long as it was away from her.

It wasn’t uncommon for the homeless to congregate outside of places where slave girls were processed, in the hopes of getting a “free sample”. It was a win-win for the slave trainers.

As my mother explained, “Having a soccer mom or an honor roll student suck off a bum is worth a week a slave training. Hard to be full of yourself with a mouth full of bum scum.”

I brought Margot to the front counter, where a middle aged man in SLAVE SMART coveralls was busy on his computer.

“Hi, this is my wife, Margot Th-“

BEEP! The man scanned in her collar, cutting me off. “Got her. We don’t use names from this point on. I’ll call the tattoo artist. We got all the information, if you’re ready for her registration number.”

“Let’s do it,” I said emphatically. The leash was trembling, and beside me I could hear Margot gasping for air in short bursts.

He hit the enter key, and waited. After the longest 30 seconds of Margot’s life, he spoke. “Congratulations. She’s uploaded to the national registry, and is uploaded to the Florida Department of Ag. Her SIN number is USA-FL56-F8J3.”

Margot SQUEAKED sadly. She was ignored.

“Do we need to upload any pictures of her?” I asked.

“You mean naked pictures?” he said, not looking up. “We’ll get those as soon we get her lip tatted. We like to get the girls marked as soon as possible. We also have her registered for a free branding. Do you want that before or after the photos?”

“After,” I said, relishing the trembling of the leash as I discussed branding Margot’s luscious ass with the same tone of voice she had used to tell the waiter to bring her salad before the meal.

The printer whirled, and he handed me a sheet of paper. It had my smiling’s wife headshot and her new slave identification number. I showed it Margot, who stared at it in disbelief. I could tell she was genuinely scared at how fast this was progressing, but I also noticed that the little slut was rhythmically clenching her thighs. And dripping.

Just when you think it can’t get worse, it does.

“Hey, Brian! Is that you!” a familiar voice called out.

From the other side of the dock, my former partner, Harry Gannon, waved at me. Harry had transferred to the slave police division, which explained why he was holding the leash of a large German Shepard.

Margot was horrified, and I watched her jerk against her bonds in a futile attempt to cover herself. Harry and I were good friends, and Margot didn’t have a gaggle of showering slave girls to blend in with. She squeaked frantically as Harry and his canine partner sauntered over.

Margot looked at me with desperate, pleading eyes. “You’re the one who wanted to surprise me,” I reminded her. “You can say hello to Harry, or, if you prefer, help the homeless.”

Margot looked at the bums sitting against the wall. It was clear from her sea sick expression that she did not want to help the homeless! But what choice did she have?

Margot made her way to the wall as I walked toward Harry. “Harry, you old dog!” I said. “You got a new dog.”

“Yeah, I asked for someone better looking than you,” he joshed. “His name is Sniffer. He can smell slave pussy from two miles away.”

“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?” I said, kneeling down and scratching him behind his ear.

Sniffer ran his nose all over my hand, the same hand I had used to paddle Margot’s little canoe. After a thorough smell, he raised his paw.

“You’ve been feeling up some slave pussy, my friend!” Harry said, laughing. “Does Margot know what you’ve been up to?”

Glancing over toward the wall I spotted Margot, on her knees, rapidly bobbing her head up-and-down as she sucked on the grizzled old penis of a bald, toothless, unshaven senior. She must have been doing a good job, because his dick was standing tall and sometimes triggered her gag reflex. The best thing I could say about him was that the guy next to him looked worse. He already had his large, vein filled cock out, and was stroking it as he waited his turn. His underwear was a brownish yellow, and his pants were badly stained.

I toyed with the idea of brushing Harry off and saving Margot from her fate. My mother’s voice played in my head. “A mouthful of bum scum is worth a week of slave training.”

Turning back to Harry I smiled. “So how do you think the Magic is going to do in the draft?” I asked cheerfully.

Karma is a wonderful thing.

[Carl Bradford]

As usual, you're doing a fantastic job of punching all her humiliation tickets, including mother-in-law sneering and being forced to service those whom she normally disparages. Can't wait to have her shipped to her own hotel as a slut to service her husband, which is what she wanted, right?

[butterballgurl]

This is an amazing story, love the storyline so far. Please keep going!!

[Belinda]

Tremendous story. Mother in law hopefully becomes involved personally. You have made her such an exquisitely devious character.

[lovethissite]

Great chapter Joe. Margot is slowly falling into a slave lifestyle and it seems to suit her. Thank you.

[reddbunnz]

Interesting. Hopefully Brian will figure out how to own both his wife and his mother as his personal sex slaves. Just a thought.