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My Wife. His Whore. Part IV
By Victor Mann
It’s been a few years since this story began. I always appreciate reviews, comments and communications.
VM
Leena was dressed in a ridiculous costume. She wore all black with a see-through black blouse and a black, frilly bra. She had on her black leather skirt set off by a black patent leather belt, black seamed hose and her difficult black high-heeled pumps. She had spent a lot of time on her face, but particularly unexpected were the long, false eyelashes she wore, thickly made up. The bright slash of lipslicker on her lips was almost shocking. She looked like an expensive whore.
She got in her car to go teach her Woman’s Studies course, “Patriarchy and its Effects,” at her school. Today the course topic was to be “Women’s Fashion and Male Dominance.” The students had read her full book, a comprehensive study, which had the same title as the class.
.Leena drew in the strong whiff of her pungent perfume into her nostrils. Meeting the passion in her, it seemed to nearly sear her lungs. “Fuckin’ whore,” were the words that echoed in her head and she felt wetness of her cunt, which never seemed to be dry when she dressed herself up for Alton. She realized that she had learned how to drive her car in high heels. The first time she’d done it, she felt like she was learning how to drive all over again. She had to rock her feet back on her thin heels to push the pedals with just the right force. She looked into her car mirror to see her freshly made-up face. “Face ready for cock-sucking,” she thought, involuntarily mimicking the words of Alton as He would stand over her. Tight in her womb, wet in her cunt, on a sexual edge beyond the sexual Leena reveled in the feeling. When she breathed it was sex; when she moved it was sex; when she thought it was sex. It took a true Master to take a bitch like her and make her know what she really was for. “I’m His obedient fucking servant cunt,” she thought and felt the deep tautness in her womb that made her feel like she was floating
She stopped the car in the lot next to the department and redid her face again as was Alton’s requirement. She doused herself again, also, with the strong perfume of His choice. He was the Man Who had shoved His Prick in her face and called her a whore.
He was the Man Who only wanted an “obedient bitch for fucking.” He was the Man Who took pleasure in caning her, striping her ass and back with the wounds of His power and then he had brutally fucked her and told her in no uncertain terms that no bitch was going to have rights before Him. And she had felt----just then when He had said words that ravaged and destroyed the core of the philosophy she had represented and purveyed for 25 years, words that tore apart every shred of the garment of lies that she had constructed to protect herself---an orgasmic spasm that plunged her into a maelstrom of passion. At that moment she loved Alton in the most primal and direct way. She knew too that He had exposed the secret at the core of her womanliness; the secret that she had fought to keep hidden for so long: her passionate desire for fealty and true servitude to a strong Man. In the car now, she breathed with the desire to please her Master whatever the outside world including her own husband might think.
Leena had made her plan for her class, her senior honors seminar. She loved the audacious contradiction of it. The classroom was right near the door of the building and she had arrived about 15 minutes before the students were to enter. She always stood to speak and then would walk back and forth across the front of the classroom before the blackboard. When she gave a quiz she would sit on a classroom chair with its flat attachment for writing. She pretended to be engrossed in reviewing her notes when the young women (and a few graduate students) wondered in. The young women, to a person, gaped at her when they entered the room. Most were too shocked at looking at her outfit to say anything. When a student would begin to say, “Ms. Frei, what is up…”
she would put her finger to her lips and bid them to keep quiet, as though this were part of some secret.
When the students had all arrived, murmuring among themselves, but generally keeping decorum, she came out from behind the podium and addressed them in the serious tones she always addressed them with: “Girls,” she said as though to provoke them---she had always addressed them as “women” before, though they were quite young, “I want you all to look carefully at the way I am attired today. I want to you look at every detail and aspect of my dress and make-up; then, using the knowledge you have gained from your studies in the class so far and any other knowledge that you might have gained in this program in course of your studies, I want you to write an honest feminist commentary on my ‘look.’ I know that, today, my coming into a class like this looking this way should trigger anger, repulsion and some very deep level responses. I do not want you to censor in any way the responses and thoughts that you will have in writing a five page response paper. I will walk several times up and down the aisles, adopting the walk and demeanor that I feel properly accord with this style of dress and accoutrement.”
With this, Leena passed out the blue books for a snap quiz, did her promised circuit of the classroom so that the girls could get a good look at her full garb and the “attitude” she felt appropriate to it. Then she sat down in the front of the room in the chair. Because her black leather mini-skirt was very short, most students could see that she wore thigh-high hose under them that were attached to a black garter-belt. One or two girls in the front would have been able to glimpse her crotchless black panties underneath her very, very brief, frilly, purely ornamental, black slip.
When she had walked around the classroom for the girls, she had made her heels click in the whory way that Alton had ordained for her. Her demeanor was, “submissive cunt” demeanor, as she had learned from Him---- though she really didn’t need to be taught; she had always known.
She maintained her “submissive cunt” look--- a sweet, cutesy smile on her face, an open, receptive expression on it as though always looking for an clue as to how she should feel and respond, as the girls one by one came forward to hand in their blue books and leave the classroom. Some of them thought that her dramatic appearance and unusual behaviour were simply a creative teaching tool and smiled their approval, as they walked up. Others looked simply stunned and couldn’t imagine what was going on. They looked tentative and bit fearful. A significant group looked genuinely angry and upset. Of this group, most would avert their eyes and try not too look at her one on one. One or two seemed ready to blurt out their protest and what she was doing, but decided against it.
Most of the girls responded like “good girl” students, giving rote answers that came directly from Leena’s book, which, though containing a recent forward from a prominent 1960’s feminist, was in its 10th edition without much revision. She saw the references to her high heels as “slave shoes, made by men for men,” “doll make-up” which objectifies a woman, making them less than human, her “piece of sex meat, sex object” look, “lipstick and face-paint erase a woman’s real being in favor of the man,” was a common phrase, her “pornographic look” --- pornography objectifies and degrades women… No doubt her small college department was one of the last throwback Women’s Studies Departments, one of the last bastions of old-line feminism. But they recruited as a result true believers, women who really believed in these ideas despite the fact that their own generation was quite a bit past them.
Leena saved her best students’ papers for last. They were the most thoughtful and eloquent and, one of them, Sally Leland, a new graduate student, Leena knew would not hold back; she was forthright and tended toward the scathing polemic that Leena herself had sought to bring forward in her best students. She read excerpts of Sally’s long, passionate essay,
Having my teacher standing in front of the room looking like a fucking
whore, I found personally disgusting and degrading as a feminist and as a
woman. Then she walked around the room looking like a stupid cunt as
if somehow this was a teaching method. I am going to protest her actions
very strongly to the department chair. I realize that some of the language I’m using here is not politically correct. But I must register my protest in the strongest terms. This vision of female servitude to men’s ‘ideals’ about what a ‘girl’ should look like would be infuriating in a shopping mall, but in a serious class about women’s liberation such a sight goes beneath contempt. We all know that
high heels are crippling devices meant to hobble women for the purposes of
pleasing the tastes of men. They are meant to show that women are slaves pure and simple. And the conventional, fetischistic ‘dress-up’ garments, all frilly and pointless, like stockings, frilly bras, see-through blouses, etc., simply show that women are nothing but their sexual organs--- they debase women because they present them as really only ‘made for one thing.’ Then the disgusting face-paint---lipstick and such--- along with the false lashes and false fingernails make the point clear as day that women are not worthy in and of them selves and need ‘improvement’ in styles decided by men. Such things must be opposed by
self-respecting women, if we ever want to truly be free. Add to this the hopeless
wiggling and contorting of the body as though fucking was all women were for,
the clicking down the stupid high heels as if to say, ‘here’s your Barbie doll!”
and the disgusting ‘come hither’ pursed lips… made me want to puke.
Leena read the vituperative screed closely. It made her shiver. She had come so far from this. She was going to belie all of it. But she knew that a basic level Sally was right. She, Leena, was in servitude, was a slave, and did not have any pride before Alton.
But that was why she felt, for the first time in a very long time, like an authentic woman,
and not some phony bitch who tried to deny what she was every day.
Leena drove to Alton’s house to make a present of the blue-book quizzes to Him.
After kneeling at the door to take His rude prick in her face as His greeting, she sat on the mat at His black-booted feet with a gagged and hand-bound Trina sitting prettily on a mat at the other side. Alton perused the blue-books closely.
“What they say is true, don’t you think so, cunt?” He said.
“Yes, Sir. They are absolutely true,” Leena said. There was no contradiction in her heart at this statement. She wanted Alton to understand that, not only did she renounce totally any of her previous views, but she wanted Him to know---she craved and yearned to have Him know--- that she only wanted to think His way now.
“That is why that this bitch essay is going to remain in your cunt mouth for the rest of the day,” He said as He forced Sally’s blue-book into Leena’s mouth and tied it
in place with a black velvet rope.
Tears came to Leena’s eyes now. Humiliations like this could cut anyone deeply, this was sure. But before her Master such humiliation seemed to transform in an instant of thought into a searing pleasure that racked her at her core. The building, unholy passion of the last weeks seemed to culminate now and she could not stop it. She shuddered in a paroxysm of orgasm. The tears that began from pain continued to flow from her eyes and down her cheeks as profound tears of thanks for Alton’s Mastery of her. Her cunt dripped with juice and need for Him. Her heart burst with the pure joy of her fealty. What she wanted and needed: for a Man to shove her bullshit philosophy down her throat What she wanted and need: a servile place at a Real Man’s feet, true servitude.
Alton put His hand under her chin and uplifted it so He could look more closely at her eyes awash in tears.
“Looks like you have finally got the message bitch.”
With this, He had Trina lie quietly on her back to use her like some Men might use a blow-up fuck doll. Alton used the fuck, which His slave-women so much craved,
as a point of humiliation and emphasis of His power.
“Little Trina,” He said while taking His time to pinch her tits and make sure that His large Prick would stir her passions to the boiling point. “It looks like you’re in competition with another set of holes in this house now.”
Leena smiled slightly beneath her tears.
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