Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, NonConsensual, Rape, Coercion, Blackmail, Heterosexual, Fiction, Slut Wife, MaleDom, Rough, Light Bond, Humiliation, Gang Bang, Oral Sex,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - An unfaithful wife is taught to fulfill her wifely duties by members of a religious organization with unusual doctrines and practices, to say the least. Then she is returned to her husband with instructions for proper use. When he learns the truth of her infidelity, he takes pleasure in reminding her who is in charge.

"Eyes forward," he barked. I didn't dare look at him or the officer who'd approached my car on the passenger side.

"But, officer..."

"No talking." He opened my car door. "Step out, eyes forward. Hands behind your head!"

"I don't know what I've done. I wasn't speeding-"

"I said... no talking." Suddenly I felt something slip over my head; it was cloth and almost opaque, but not quite. I could still see shapes, but nothing clearly. There seemed to be a hole in it near my mouth. The cloth tightened around my face with the noise of Velcro straps being fastened.

"Put your hands behind your head." I knew what the cold metal on my wrists must be, and then I heard them ratchet closed. "That's much better," he said. "Now come with me."

He dragged me around to the front of my car and leaned me against it, with my back to it. "Let's see what you're hiding."

Large, ungentle hands gripped my breasts so hard I cried out for him to stop. Then I felt his breath near my ear. "I told you not to talk."

"But you're the police, you can't do this!"

"If you say one more word, you will be very sorry. Whether you leave here relatively intact, or in extreme discomfort is entirely up to you. I don't like it when a cunt talks back to me. And, besides, we're not the police. These costumes are a convenience. You jight say we're collectors of lost souls, the scourge of wanton sinners like you."

"What are you talking about? I'm not a sinner."

"Of course you are. Look at you in that lewdly tight blouse, breasts half exposed to everyone you pass. Brother Smith knew immediately what sort of Jezebel you were and pointed you out. No better than a prostitute."

"I'm not a prostitute!"

"No, you're worse. You deceive others into believing you're a righteous woman. The members of my congregation would rightly label you a cunt. And I would agree. Besides which, you ought to be more careful to see who's behind you before you pull over on a deserted road. Anyone can buy a red flasher and some uniforms. And that makes you a stupid cunt as well..." he leaned ever closer. "So don't... talk."

He resumed his groping inspection of my breasts with one hand, and slid his other up inside my skirt to grip my pubic mound. "Let me be clear. Brother Smith and I are going to administer your proper punishment, which is defilement. This will also teach you a valuable lesson in humility. We are blessed with this task and we take great satisfaction from it. I suggest you cooperate in every way, do exactly as you're told. We don't intend to cause you permanent harm, but if you anger me, or try to get away, or disobey anything I tell you, then the outcome is entirely your fault."

"How are those?" I head another voice beside me.

"As whore tits go... not bad. Large and firm. Notice it takes very little rubbing to make the nipples stand up, again an indication of her naturally licentious nature. Shall we inspect them?"

"By all means, Brother Jones."

Fabric shredded, buttons hit the ground. I felt something metal in my cleavage, and then my bra separated in front. The chill in the air instantly made my nipples harder. The man in front of me twisted them. I tried desperately not to make a sound.

"I think this one's happy to meet us," said the so-called Brother Jones, as fingers probed between my legs. "Unfortunate display of sluttiness. She knows what's going to end up inside her whore cunt, and yet the orifice is already wet."

"Wedding ring," said Brother Smith. "Maybe her husband does not care to satisfy himself with her."

"More likely she does not serve him adequately. And I'm quite sure she is not faithful. Such wantonness always seeks unholy satisfaction."

My insides clenched. No one knew about the affairs. They were just flings, nothing serious, and hadn't lasted long. In six years of marriage, I'd only cheated on my husband twice and only in moments of weakness. These lunatics were guessing.

"Certainly he has not properly disciplined her. And the spawn of Satan is everywhere. It is great blessing that we can punish and take our natural male pleasures at the same time." Brother Jones' voice was suddenly much harsher. "Could it be, bitch, that you need to be fucked? Don't reply. Simply nod."

Desperately afraid, I nodded. These two were obviously insane. Who knew what they might do.

"Good. The only time you are to open your mouth is to service Brother Smith or myself. You can then show your proper gratitude for this much-needed punishment. Keep your hands behind your head, and your chest out. This position is exactly the sort of wantonly sluttish display that no doubt excites you."

"This one would look good on the cruciform, you know," said Brother Smith.

"True, she would. It is quite awe-inspiring to tie one of these demons to it, upside down of course, as they cannot be allowed to emulate the sacrifice of the holy ones. And the entire congregation enjoys the service when they can gaze upon such a perfect example of sin."

Other hands pawed at my breasts. "It would be a pleasure to rope those tits, spread her on the frame, and watch the succubus machine punish her," said Brother Jones.

"Yes, but for now this one will have to settle for our cocks instead of the penis piston."

"Then let's get on with it."

"Patience, brother, I enjoy exploring the extent of her wantonness. And exposing them in public is most appropriate. I've always thought we should bring back the pillory and stocks in the town square. It would be perfect for our needs. And in keeping with our philosophy."

Now I was quite sure these men were completely nuts. They acted as if what they were doing were perfectly all right. This was some kind of cult or freaky religion obviously, but I didn't relish the idea of being their altar piece or worse, some sort of cult sacrifice. I dared not move at all.

The two men got on either side of me and practically carried me to their vehicle, which turned out to be a rather plain white panel van with the flashers sitting on the dashboard. I can't believe I hadn't even noticed the lack of markings on the truck.

I heard the sound of the door opening, and they dragged me inside, and tossed me on my back on something that felt sort of like a mattress.

"Hands above your head!" The sound of zippers and belt buckles was unmistakable and I knew I wasn't getting out of this.

"Strip the bitch," said Brother Smith. "I want to fully inspect it."

Without regard for comfort or damage to my clothes, Brother Jones yanked everything off, but without comment, as if he were performing a necessary task. I lay there shivering with my arms stretched above me. Once the van door was closed, I could barely see anything at all.

"Ah, yes," said Brother Smith with what I can only describe as satisfaction. "This is something I must admit I enjoy, because it is so suited to the purpose of humiliation." He roughly spread my legs. "Do not close them," he warned. "You realize of course that your cunt is on display now." I felt his hands between my legs. "I am spreading the lips of your cunt very wide so we can both simply look at you in disgust for what you are. And I remind you that we can do anything we wish, penetrate you in any hole."

I had to admit he was right about one thing. It was humiliating to lie there being inspected like a prize cow.

"You see, Brother Jones, how a whore's cunt is just this shade of dark pink on the inside." He slide a finger into me harshly. "And the wetness, it's an abomination really-proof that she's been the devil's fucktoy. But it will make our task easier. First, if you will be so kind as to get the camera, so that we may share this latest accomplishment with our flock."

After a few seconds, Brother Jones apparently had the camera ready. "Spread the whore's legs wider." A flash went off. "Now the cunt... open it up more." Another flash. "Legs back over the head, so we can view the other orifice."

I was almost smothered as my legs were shoved up and back, and I sensed that he was standing above my face while holding me so wide it ached. "Excellent. These photos will be most pleasing, especially displayed beside the ones we took earlier at the gas station with her flaunting her sluttishness."

My heart really almost stopped. It was bad enough they would have pictures of my private parts, at least they were not identifiable, but they had pictures of all of me, of my face.

As if reading my mind, Brother Smith said, "Does that embarrass you, bitch? That your body will be displayed in full. That everyone in our congregation will know your name, your face, and the color of your pussy?"

"Yes," I said, without thinking.

Brother Smith tightened his hold on my ankles. "Now you've done it. I told you not to speak. Thus additional punishment will be administered. The whip, brother." He had my legs so high, my ass was actually off the floor.

I didn't even have time to process the word "whip" before I felt a streak of fire go across the back of my thighs. I started to cry out, but Brother Smith anticipated, and pressed his foot over my mouth. "Silence, bitch. Not a sound."

There were four more lashes that found my ass cheeks and thighs. Brother Jones paused and I was desperate for it to be over. It wasn't, not quite.

"I think you missed one appropriate target," said Brother Smith, trying to spread me even wider. And before I could form the protest, the whip came down squarely on my wide open pussy. I did scream, but I'm sure no one heard me.

"Well placed," said Brother Smith. "Shall we continue the defilement of this whore?"

"Indeed. My manhood is quite engorged, very hard." I felt him kneel between my legs.

Brother Smith adjusted my position slightly. "Let me get that cunt arranged at a comfortable angle for you."

My rapist did not waste time on preliminaries. I felt the head of his cock stretching me open, and in one full thrust, he rammed himself into me. I was so taken shocked I groaned out loud.

"Clearly you have no sense of discipline," said Brother Jones, slapping one of my breasts. "But I have something that will prevent more outbursts." A powerful hand squeezed my jaw until my mouth opened, and Brother Smith dropped his cock down my throat. "Now you may worship my manhood until I choose to fuck you."

I don't know how long they took, because it all became a blur. At some point, I inhaled something sharp and pungent, and my brain started to float in circles. Every sense was heightened, and I could think of nothing but the cock pistoning in and out of my pussy, and the silky texture of the cock I was licking and sucking.

They changed places, and the rhythm resumed. But every time I felt myself on the very verge of climax, ashamed as I was to admit that my body responded to their abuse, they stopped. Just stopped. One of them would pinch a nipple, or pull my hair hard, and the moment passed. They they'd begin again. I must have drifted off somewhere, because my next thought was that they had left me alone somewhere. But there was a noise nearby, and I felt a pair of hands on my face.

Brother Jones' voice low and menacing. "I'm going to remove the hood, but if you open your eyes, you will not be going home again. Do you understand?"

I nodded. I had no intention of trying to see their faces and give them a reason to kill me.

"Good." He untied the hood and slid it off. I kept my eyes squeezed shut. "Now I'm going to put my cock back in your mouth. I want you to reach up and wrap your hands around the shaft. Now suck me, and do it with great enthusiasm. Wait, one more thing." He wiggled my wedding band of my left finger. "It will be returned. Now suck!"

I had no choice. I did exactly as he said, even when the camera flash went off again. I kept sucking him, even though Brother Smith had once again impaled my cunt on his hard tool.

More flashes. "A few from your angle? Then I think that will do it," said Brother Smith.

Both cocks were withdrawn and within moments, hot wetness began spurting onto my face and tits. "That would be the final baptism, whore," said Brother Jones. "We have a few details to take care of?"

"According to the mail I saw on the car seat, her husband's name is Jack," I heard Brother Smith.

"Good, then we can complete our task."

They stood me up, hands cuffed behind my back. Brother Smith kicked my legs apart. I could still feel their cum running down my thighs. I only prayed they were finally going to let me leave. Instead, something cold and hard slid in to my pussy. I felt something around my waist, and another length of cord or leather between my legs, effectively trapping inside whatever they'd inserted in me. Then there was a strange sensation of something small and pointed moving across my chest and then on my belly, and down to my pubic hair. A few moments later, the flash of the camera lit up the inside of the van for a split second.

"It's almost time to take you back where you belong, bitch. I'd love for you to see yourself as we can see you right now, but even if you looked into a mirror, it would be difficult for you to appreciate. So let me describe what we see."

It was about this moment that the phrase, "take you back," finally sank in. Take me back where?

"You felt the dildo we inserted in your whore cunt. And there is a strap around your waist that connects to the one between your legs. The metal rings in the straps are padlocked together. Your cuffs are attached to the ring in the back. On your chest are the words, 'These tits belong to my husband.' On your belly we have written: 'Property of Jack. If found, return to owner.' And just below that, 'Jack's pussy.' It is quite an amusing sight. I'm sure your husband will find it fascinating."

"No," I gasped.

Brother Jones sighed. "This is indeed the stupidest cunt we've had lately. Still talking without permission."

Brother Smith sighed. "She will require much discipline in the future. I hope her husband is prepared to take a firm stand." Again the iron grip on my jaw, but this time it was a short length of rubber stuffed into it, and then strapped to stay in. "Not as long as the real thing, of course," he chuckled, "but as effective. Now, while we tidy ourselves up and dress, let me tell you what happens next. You can be thinking about it as we drive."

I was quaking with fear, waiting to learn what horrible plan they had cooked up. There was rustling of clothes and the sounds of zippers.

"It is our custom to return used property to its owner. When we arrive at your house, we will quietly reconnoiter to make sure your husband is home. Then we will take you to the front door, dressed, or should I say undressed, exactly as you are. We will ring your doorbell and quickly make our exit. Your husband will see all that I have described. And, in case he is puzzled by your condition, we have a standard little letter we leave in an envelope around your neck, which also contains the key to your padlocks. It will be clearly addressed to your husband, and the outer print warns him to read it before allowing you to say anything. Will you read the letter aloud, Brother Jones?"

"Certainly. It says,

'Dear Sir, It is our unfortunate duty to inform you that your wife has been unfaithful in every way. The enclosed photographs are not intended to embarrass you but rather to prove that this assertion is true. As you can see, your wife allowed herself to be photographed in various and sundry sexual acts with two strangers she met in a bar in the middle of the day. She was under the mistaken impression that the photos were to be sold to a pornographer, and that she would receive money in return. Her licentious and despicable behavior on other occasions had already attracted the attention of the wife of one her many lovers. That wife hired us to put a stop to it. We provide a very specific kind of service.

'This afternoon we observed her servicing these two men, and acted accordingly. The men are not identified in the photos as they had no way of knowing she belonged to someone else. As you see in the pictures, she is not wearing her wedding band. She is being returned to your for whatever action you deem suitable. We arranged her in this fashion so that she might feel the proper shame and humiliation over acting like a whore. And you will note the tawdry evidence on her face and thighs. We do suggest, however, that you consider discipline of some sort. If, as we suspect, she has not of late been performing her rightful wifely duties in servicing your natural needs, when you wish, and as you wish, this would be an excellent opportunity to remind her of those duties. You may keep the accoutrements as our gift, and you will find that the key in the envelope fits the padlocks. The object we place in her mouth to silence her ridiculous protests, and the object in her whore cunt to remind her of her shameful behavior. They also serve to protect your rights to these openings until you choose to use them.'

Brother Smith cupped one of my breasts, and leaned in close. "You may think your husband will be shocked, and grieved to see you like this, that he will immediately unlock your restraints and comfort you. Perhaps even call the police on your behalf. That does happen," he paused, "But not as often you would think." We stay to watch, of course, and it is our experience that easily more than half the men who find their wives that way, and read the letter, and look at the photographs, are not very sympathetic. And the sight of a slut chained up and labeled is rather arousing. So, if you haven't been attentive to Jack lately, you may find he likes you just fine this way."

The ride to my house was excruciating. My mind was whirling with terrible scenarios of how Jack might react. Sometimes he had a short fuse, especially if he'd had a bad day, though he'd certainly never laid a hand on me in anger. But I also knew that there'd been a certain tension between us lately. I'd made a comment about one of his more crass friends, one of the guys who worked at the trucking company where Jack was a manager. My husband said I was being a snob, and even accused me of thinking I'd married beneath me. That wasn't true, even though Jack wasn't quite as polished as the men in my own family. He'd worked his way up through the ranks, from driver to dock supervisor, and finally management, but he never forgot his roots, and never lost the strong, aggressive edge that set him apart from most men.

It was just about dark, but not quite. Brother Smith drove my car, and placed me in the passenger seat just as I was, completely naked. I assume Brother Jones was following behind us in the van. Too soon, the car slowed and in moments I was being marched up to my front door. At least I assumed it was my front door. In one swift move, he yanked the hood off, rang the bell and darted away. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't go toward the street and be seen. At least on the porch I wasn't right in the open. And while I was thinking, the door opened. Jack stood there, a drink one hand, shirt collar unbuttoned, tie askey. His mouth gaped open as his eyes wandered down my body from head to toe and back again.

"What the hell... ?" And then he saw the envelope. He pulled the string that held it up over my head and opened the seal. The key fell out, and he automatically bent down and picked it up. I was trying make sounds that were sensible, but I couldn't. I just wanted inside, quickly! But he was staring at the photographs in shock. Then he began reading, ignoring my muffled pleas.

By the time he'd scanned the letter, and riffled through the photos, his anger was palpable. I could actually see the veins bulging in his neck. He stood there looking at me with contempt. "So this is what you do while I'm working my ass off," he said. "How many guys you fucked? Ten, twenty?"

I shook my head frantically, but he snorted derisively. "Oh yeah, like I don't have the proof right in my hand. I oughta just slam this door and leave your ass on the porch. Let someone else have a poke at you. But then you'd probably like that, wouldn't you? Seems your such a cockslut, you'll let people take pictures of you. And you always telling me you're tired, you're not in the mood, you're whatever!" He looked at the pictures again. "And you never wanted to swallow 'cause you're too good for that. Right!."

He moved closer to me and held up the photos. "See... there's you, sucking some guy's fat dick with your hands wrapped around it. You think you could convince me you didn't want to do this?"

I understood now the purpose of the elaborate posing and the removal of the mask. I would have looked like a victim with a hood over my head, but even I could not deny that in the photos I looked as if I were having one hell of a good time.

Jack scanned the street, then tossed the envelope and its contents inside the door, keeping only the key which he stuck in his jeans pocket. He stared at me for a moment, then grabbed my breasts and squeezed. "What you did for them you're going to do for your husband... from now on, whenever I want it. You don't, I swear I'll make sure everyone you know in this town, in this whole fucking state, gets copies of those pictures. I mean it! What do you think your big-shot daddy would think of them?" He pinched my hard nipples between his fingers. "I'm gonna fuck you so often, and fill you with so much cum, you're not going to have time to cheat on me ever again."

He dragged me into the house by the tits and slammed the door before pushing me ahead of him into the master bathroom. "Stand in the shower!" He turned on the water, not caring it was freezing cold, and used the handheld showerhead to wash the dried cum off my body. Then he stuck it between my legs, blasting the spray into my pussy until I yelped. Jack pressed harder. "You think I want sloppy seconds, bitch? Or is it thirds?"

He didn't bother drying me off, simply flung me on the bed. He didn't remove the handcuffs until the next day, but he removed everything else because it was in the way. I'd never known my husband's cock could get so hard, and cum so much, or so many times. And despite my shock at the way he treated me, I could not resist him, nor did I want to. This was a new husband, and some part of me, no doubt the part that had one orgasm after another, was not unhappy to discover the master in him. At first I would have compared it to being treated like a bought-and-paid-for whore, but actually a whore would have been treated with more respect, as a professional doing her job, with choices as to what she would or would not do. I, on the other hand, was Jack's chattel, and he loved it. Late that night, as he lay on the bed, arms above his head, while I knelt between his legs, trying to service his cock with my hands behind me, he had a look of immense satisfaction. "You can do better... I want every inch down your throat. You need to try harder to please me."

A week later, Jack got another letter. He read it aloud to me with unsettling enthusiasm.

Dear Sir,

We are the ones who returned your property to you. We hope you have exacted restitution for its behavior. On this occasion, we would like to invite you to a type of support group for men who find themselves shockingly betrayed by their supposedly loyal wives. Our members meet to discuss the ways in which they turned these sluts into obedient, cooperative wives, as nature intended. The wives attend, kneeling beside their husbands during the discussion. We do discuss every detail of their former behavior and share techniques and strategies for discipline and what types of usage most enhances our pleasure. We should of course inform you that some of our members find it necessary to discipline or shame their dependents during meetings.

Also, for the purposes of well-deserved humiliation, some wives are required to disrobe, or perform certain services in plain view of the meeting, either for their husbands, or for anyone the husband designates. We would welcome you to our support group. Please call the number below to RSVP. If you are interested, we also have a fascinating worship service on Sundays wherein we teach proper doctrine concerning the ascendancy of the male over the female, and the way man can best utilize his worldly possessions, including his wife. These services include various forms of entertainment as well as the teaching. Once you get a feel for our congregation and its beliefs, you may wish to submit your wife as part of that entertainment. We will be happy to discuss further details when you call.

Kindest regards
Brother Smith

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