Another tale about my wife’s party punishment
I couldn’t believe how perfect Amber looked that afternoon as we pulled up to Sarah’s sprawling backyard pool party. My wife, at just 5’1″ and barely tipping the scales at 104 pounds, was a vision of teasing allure with her long, full blonde hair cascading in waves down her back and those huge blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. She was a flawless 10, the kind of woman who turned heads without even trying, and I loved dressing her up to flaunt it. As a wimpy accountant with a soft belly and zero assertiveness, I got off on watching her flirt and tease, knowing she always came home to me—though our sex life was as vanilla as they come.
I’d splurged on a new bikini for her, neon green that glowed against her sun-kissed skin. The top was a skimpy triangle style, unlined so her perky nipples poked through the thin fabric like invitations, dark pink tips straining against the material. The bottoms were even more daring—a tiny thong that rode high on her narrow hips, the front panel sheer enough to outline her smooth, shaved mound and the delicate lips beneath. To top it off, I made her wear those ridiculously high stiletto heels with two-inch platforms, strappy black ones that I buckled extra tight around her slender ankles, forcing her to mince with that exaggerated sway in her step. She complained a little, calling them ‘slutty,’ but I could see the thrill in her eyes—she loved the attention.
The party was buzzing when we arrived. Sarah’s place was the envy of the neighborhood, with a massive pool, lounge chairs everywhere, and what looked like all her neighbors milling about—mostly young couples, fit guys in board shorts and their wives or girlfriends in modest one-pieces, shooting side-eyes at Amber’s outfit. Music thumped from speakers, grills sizzled with burgers, and the air smelled of sunscreen and chlorine. I handed Amber a drink right away, watching her light up as she started working the crowd. She was shameless, leaning into conversations with the husbands and boyfriends, her laughter tinkling like bells as she tossed her hair and arched her back just so, making those nipples dance under the neon green. ‘Oh, you’re so strong,’ she’d purr to some gym rat, touching his arm lightly, while I hovered nearby, nursing a beer and feeling that familiar mix of jealousy and arousal twist in my gut.
The women noticed, of course. Sarah, Amber’s so-called friend—a sharp-tongued brunette with a fake smile and a body honed by spiteful Pilates—glared daggers from across the pool. The other wives clustered around her, whispering, their faces souring every time Amber giggled at a compliment. I should have seen it coming, but I was too busy imagining what those guys might do to her if I wasn’t around, my cock twitching in my swim trunks.
It happened fast. Sarah sidled up to Amber during a lull, all false sweetness. ‘Come on, girl, let’s freshen up in the pool house. You look like you could use a break from all this heat.’ Amber, tipsy from her third cocktail, followed without a second thought, her heels clicking unsteadily on the stone path. I lost sight of them amid the crowd, chatting awkwardly with some guy’s wife about spreadsheets. Minutes stretched into unease, but before I could check, Sarah emerged alone, waving me over with a smirk. ‘Jamie’s little princess had a bit too much to drink. She’s resting it off inside. Why don’t you head home? We’ll take care of her for the weekend—girls’ night, you know?’
I blinked, confused, but the way she said it, laced with that mocking edge, made my stomach drop. ‘Is she okay?’ I stammered, but Sarah just laughed and shooed me away. The other women nearby snickered, and one muttered something about ‘cock-teasing bitches getting what’s coming.’ Reluctantly, I left, my mind racing with worry and a perverse curiosity. The drive home was a blur, my phone silent until dinnertime, when the first video pinged through from an anonymous link.
I clicked it immediately, heart hammering, and there was Amber—my prissy little tease—stumbling out of the pool house on those sky-high heels, giggling like a schoolgirl, her huge blue eyes glassy and unfocused. Sarah had her by the arm, dragging her toward a fenced-off area at the edge of the yard, away from the main party but still in view of a few lingering neighbors who’d been let in on the ‘fun.’ The video was shaky, phone footage, but clear enough to see the betrayal unfolding.
‘You like puppies, don’t you, whore?’ Sarah’s voice sneered from off-camera, wicked and triumphant. Amber nodded dumbly, her long blonde hair swinging as she hiccuped a laugh. She adored dogs—always had, cooing over strays and volunteering at shelters. ‘Come on, you tramp. I want you to meet my puppies,’ Sarah growled, yanking her harder. The group of women—Sarah’s clique—trailed behind, phones out, cackling as they reached a row of outdoor kennels. Two massive Great Danes paced inside: Bella, sleek and black, and Max, even bigger, a brindle beast with muscles rippling under his coat.
Sarah didn’t waste time. She unlocked Bella’s cage and shoved Amber inside, the door clanging shut. Amber teetered on her platforms, nearly twisting an ankle, but caught herself on the wire mesh. ‘This is Bella,’ Sarah announced to the filming women. ‘She loves attention just like you, you slut.’ Laughter erupted as Amber, doped up and oblivious, dropped to her knees in the straw, reaching out to pet the dog. What Sarah hadn’t mentioned—and the video’s subtitles cruelly pointed out—was that Bella was in heat, her swollen vulva dripping with slick pheromones that saturated the air and the bedding.
My wife, high as a kite, started rubbing Bella’s flanks, cooing nonsense words, her tiny hands stroking the dog’s glossy fur. The Great Dane leaned into it, whining softly, and Amber, lost in the haze, rolled onto her side, wallowing against the bitch like they were playmates. Her neon green bikini smeared with dirt and fluids, the unlined fabric turning translucent where Bella’s juices soaked through. Amber’s thighs glistened, her exposed lips parting slightly as she giggled and nuzzled closer, inhaling the musky scent without a clue. For fifteen agonizing minutes, she frolicked, coating her petite frame—her flat belly, her perky tits, even her face—in the fertile bitch’s essence, the women howling with delight outside the cage.
Finally, Sarah hauled her out, Amber limp and euphoric, blonde strands matted. Without pause, Sarah jabbed another syringe into her arm—more of that potent heroin laced with fentanyl, the rush hitting like a freight train. My wife’s giggles turned to dazed moans, her body swaying as Sarah dragged her to the next kennel. ‘It’s time to spend some time with Max, you doped-up little bitch,’ Sarah taunted, unlocking the gate. Max was a monster, easily 150 pounds of raw power, his massive frame dwarfing even Bella. He paced frantically, nostrils flaring at the scent of his mate on Amber’s skin, his sheath swelling, that thirteen-plus-inch cock starting to emerge—thick, red, veined, and already leaking.
Sarah produced a three-inch-wide black leather collar, wrapping it around Amber’s slender throat and cinching it brutally tight. My wife’s huge blue eyes bulged, a flicker of panic cutting through the fog as she clawed at it, gasping. ‘Shut up, slut,’ Sarah snapped, clipping a heavy chain leash to the O-ring. She yanked hard, forcing Amber to her knees, then led her into the pen like a prize heifer. Max growled low, circling, his cock fully unsheathed now, slapping against his belly with each step.
The women crowded the fence, phones capturing every angle. Sarah screamed obscenities—’You fucking tease, this is what you get for shaking your ass’—as she positioned a padded bench in the center, a low wooden thing with restraints at the base. She bent Amber over it roughly, my wife’s tiny body folding like paper, her face pressed toward the dirt floor. The leash looped through a D-ring at the bench’s foot, yanked taut until Amber’s cheek ground into the grime, her neck strained, those stilettos kicking futilely behind her.
‘It’s time to breed, you slut,’ Sarah hissed, delivering sharp slaps to Amber’s face—left cheek, right, over and over until red welts bloomed and tears streamed from those huge eyes. Max stalked closer, mounting the bench in a fluid leap, his front paws bracketing Amber’s hips. She squirmed, terrified mewls escaping around the collar’s bite, but Sarah was merciless. With a vicious tug on the thong, she exposed my wife’s pristine, shaved pussy—pink and untouched, lips puffy from the drugs’ heat.
Max thrust wildly at first, his hips pistoning, cock prodding her thighs and ass. Sarah reached under, grasping the beast’s fat shaft—girth like my wrist, slick with pre—and lined it up with Amber’s entrance. ‘Take it, you worthless cunt,’ she spat, guiding the pointed tip past the resistance. Amber screamed, a raw, piercing sound that cut through the women’s cheers, as the dog drove in. Brutal didn’t cover it—Max fucked like a machine, violent slams that rocked the bench, his weight pinning her down. The tip battered her cervix, forcing through into her uterus with each savage plunge, stretching her tiny channel impossibly wide.
Sarah berated her nonstop: ‘Scream all you want, bitch—your wimpy hubby’s probably jerking off to this already. Filthy dog-fucker, that’s all you’re good for.’ Amber’s cries twisted into sobs of pain, her body jolting, the neon bikini top slipping to bare one breast, nipple scraping the padding. The knot at the base swelled, a baseball-sized bulge hammering her labia, bruising the tender flesh. Sarah pushed on Max’s haunches, urging him deeper—’Knot the whore, boy!’—until with a wet pop, it lodged inside, sealing her ruined pussy. Amber’s belly distended visibly, the intrusion so deep it felt like it rearranged her insides.
They stayed locked for over twenty minutes, Max’s hips twitching in shallow pumps, flooding her womb with rope after rope of hot, thick seed. Her tummy swelled slightly, like she’d swallowed a water balloon, the overflow trapped by the knot. The women filmed obsessively, zooming on the tie, Amber’s tear-streaked face, the way her body shuddered in defeated spasms.
When Max finally yanked free with a gush, Sarah was ready with a shallow bowl, catching the torrent of canine cum mixed with Amber’s blood-tinged fluids. My wife slumped, whimpering, but Sarah hauled her up by the collar, forcing the bowl to her lips. ‘Drink it, you disgusting pig—every drop.’ Amber gagged, the salty, musky flood pouring down her throat, some dribbling over her chin onto her heaving chest. She swallowed convulsively, eyes rolling back from the overdose of sensations and drugs.
The videos went viral that night—posted to every dark corner of the web, tagged with Amber’s full name, our address, everything. Comments flooded in: ‘What a pathetic slut, loving that dog dick,’ ‘Bet her beta hubby thanks Sarah,’ ‘More breeding sessions, please—fill that tiny whore up.’ I watched them all, alone in our bed, hand flying over my cock. There were follow-ups too: Amber, still collared and leashed, on her knees later that evening, eagerly—drugged haze turning to broken submission—sucking Max’s cock into her throat, gagging on the length as he humped her face, knot bumping her chin. She gulped down his load like nectar, blue eyes vacant but compliant.
I came harder than ever, spurting over my stomach to the sight of her degradation, the vile praise from strangers fueling my shame-laced lust. Sarah texted updates through the weekend: more injections, more mountings—Max knotting her three, four times a day, Bella even getting a turn with a strap-on assist from the girls. By Sunday, Amber was ruined, addicted, begging in slurred whispers for the next fix and fuck. When they finally sent her home, stumbling through the door in tatters, cum-crusted and collared, I didn’t ask questions. I just pulled her to the couch, videos playing on loop, and let the new dynamic unfold—my perfect tease, now the neighborhood’s breeding bitch.
Tags: Max has a new Bitch