Retiring the Wife Carol stood silently at the open door to her husband's den, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. Dressed only in her threadbare, faded cotton dress, she stared downward, the streaks of mascara from her silent tears only partially obscured by the stringy, tangled dirty blonde hair falling over her face. Carol absent-mindedly studied the position of her feet, ensuring they were exactly shoulder-width apart and that tips of her toes were aligned with, but not touching, the threshold between the highly polished hardwood hall floor and the deep, plush carpet of her husband's den. She'd never seen carpet so thick and luxurious, and wondered what it would feel like under her bare feet. A useless thought, she knew; this was one room in the entire house she was forbidden to enter, not even to clean it. Her husband had a maid - a free woman who did so for money - to take care of that. "What is it?" her husband demanded, not even looking up from his computer screen. "Sir, my period has started," Carol sobbed, no longer caring about the streaks in mascara. She'd not be wearing makeup after today, anyway. "Fine," was the terse response. "Get your things moved and get her ready for me." "Yes, Sir," she responded automatically at the command, bowing her head submissively before backing away from the door. Carols's husband heard the loud sobs as the tears flowed freely now, unhampered by the dread of having had made the announcement. While her husband returned to his work, Carol slowly trudged down to the end of the hall, still crying softly as she opened a door and entered what she always thought of as "the girl's" part of the house. She instinctively removed her dress and let it drop on the floor. Clothing, such as it was, was not permitted to be worn by females in this part of the house. Unlike the rest of the residence, this area was never seen by anyone, not even the guests at her husband's frequent parties. Even her husband rarely ventured past the heavy, ornate door; she could count on one hand the number of times he'd visited this part of the house in the fifteen years they'd lived here. The appearance of this wing of the house seemed more suited to a sharecropper's shanty than the mansion in which it was situated. Bare, untreated floors that had not seen as much as a broom in nearly two years, and dingy walls that hadn't been painted in longer than Carol had been alive were only the beginning. The entire wing was not only unheated, but unventilated, the windows permanently welded shut and shuttered over from the inside. From the outside, pastel colored draperies hung behind the glass panes, hiding the heavy metal covers from view. The air was permeated with the smell of dirty, urine, and unwashed, well-used female bodies. She glanced at her daughter, sleeping restlessly on the homemade mattress, their only semblance of furniture they had. Made from old, second-hand blankets and filled with crumpled newspaper, straw, animal hair and whatever else Carol had been able to scrounge, it had been their only bed since her daughter's birth. She saw with little real interest the evidence of the abuse her daughter had received the night before: dried semen between her thighs, welts across her belly and tits from a whip or belt, and a large bruise on the side of her face, apparently from someone's fist. Carol glanced upward, noticing the blinking red light on the security camera firmly affixed to the ceiling, reminding herself that her husband could be watching at that very moment, and even if he wasn't, the recorder was cataloging her every movement. Taking another look around, her eyes focused on the bathroom entrance, examining the screw holes where hinges had once held a door. Mildew grew unhampered along the dirty tile walls and under the peeling linoleum floor. On one wall, a filthy open shower stall, with an ancient garden hose attached to the spigot. A thick black ring ran around the inside of the seatless toilet. The bowl was empty, Carol realized; Tina must have flushed it recently. She'd have to find out exactly when; they were only allowed to flush their shared toilet once each day. Carol wondered when she would next be permitted to disinfect the bathroom; the last time was nearly a year ago. A bout of illness affected both females, rendering them useless to their Owner. He'd had to resort to hiring a slut to tend to his needs. After Carol had become well, she'd been rented to a pimp, so she could earn back what her Owner had needlessly spent on the temporary replacement. Then it struck her, and the tears began anew. She always knew this day would come, but the implications never really hit home. until now - her first menstrual period after her thirtieth birthday. She was to be displaced in her husband's bed by her own daughter, just as she had done to her own mother over 16 years before. While she would continue to feel the oftentimes painful bliss of sex, it would never again be with the man to whom she was wed. It wasn't that she would suffer from a lack of sex; the truth, in fact, would probably be just the opposite. Her husband would undoubtedly loan, and probably even rent, her body to friends, colleagues, acquaintances and even total strangers. She'd probably end up getting used more now than ever in her life. At least that was the way it was for her own mother; a seemingly endless round of orgies and abuse sessions, until she was finally sold to a breeder. Sold. That would happen to Carol, too, but not for some time. Tina's baby girl had to be born first. She might end up as a wealthy person's housemaid, or maybe a sex slave in some Asian brothel. Neither of these most hopeful of options were likely, however. There was little demand for 40-something sex slaves. People who could afford such luxuries usually preferred young slaves, without stretch marks and saggy tits. She knew she'd probably end up in a BDSM brothel, or at best, a labor slave somewhere, probably doing the backbreaking harvesting migrant workers once performed. And when she was deemed unfit for even that work...well, her organs might still be worth something. Whatever happens, will happen, Carol thought silently, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Just like the rest of her life, she had no control over the future. Right now, she had a job to do, and she needed to maintain some semblance of control. "Tina?" she whispered quietly, looking down at her 14 year old daughter laying exhausted on the filthy mattress. "It's time. You need to get yourself ready." "Mama?" the young girl looked at her inquisitively for a moment before she understood. "Oh, Mama!" she cried, painfully raising her body from the floor and reaching to embrace her mother. "It'll be all right, little one," Carol whispered, using the same diminutive as her own mother did, under the same circumstances nearly 17 years earlier. "Your life is going to change now. You're the woman of the house." The tears flowed freely from both females now. "He really is a good man; just do your best to please him." "Oh, Mama," the younger girl wailed, "I can't do this!" "Yes, you can, and you will!" the older woman said, grabbing her daughter forcefully by the shoulders. "You can and you will, just like I had to, and just like your own daughter will when her time comes!' "But I'm not ready!" the girl complained, crying so forcefully that her words were barely understandable. "Yes, you are, Tina. You're as ready...more ready...than I was. Look at me!" she demanded when her daughter tried to cover her face. The girl looked up into her mother's eyes. "How long have men been fucking you?" she asked pointedly. Women in this household weren't permitted to talk about sex in anything but the most obscenely graphic terms. "I was eleven, Mama. You know that. You licked me until I was wet, guided Daddy's cock into me, and then watched while I cleaned it off with my mouth when he was done." "And you've been sucking cocks yourself since you were what, eight years old?" "Yes, Mama," Tina answered, for some unknown reason finding the admission of this simple statement of fact embarrassing. "And since then, how many times have boys and men used you?" "I don't know, Mama. Maybe a couple of hundred. There were eight just last night, Mama." Carol looked down at her daughter's bruised, cum-covered body and nodded her head. "Don't you think it would be easier to please one man, to know what he likes and doesn't like, rather than having to figure out someone new every time? Or a group, like last night?" "Yes, Mama, I suppose," she replied, wiping the back of her hand under her nose. "Think about it, sweetheart," Carol implored. "You've always been obedient, but sometimes obedience isn't enough. Sometimes a man just expects you to do what he wants, without having to tell you. Take my word for it, it's much easier to have just one person to figure out. Lord knows, I was beaten regularly back when I was doing orgies. So were you, from the looks of it?" her mother stated inquisitively. "Yes, Mama. Daddy rented me out to eight college guys yesterday afternoon. I accidently scraped my teeth across one's cock when his buddy started fucking me in the ass." "I take it they weren't pleased?" Carol grinned knowingly. They often joked after such incidents, but both knew the seriousness of making mistakes like that. "No, Mama, and neither was Father when he found out. The college guys beat me, but when Father saw the marks and asked me what happened, I had to tell. He gave them their money back, and then took me to The Club. They gave me to Ralphie, and said they're going to sell the video." "The Club" was a very exclusive facility catering to those into the BDSM lifestyle. "Ralphie" was the club's pig, 300 pounds of pile-driving, girl-fucking pork. Carol shuddered to think of Ralphie burrowing himself into her daughter's warm cunt, remembering the time she was forced to do the same thing for Ralphie's grandfather. "Well, you won't have to worry about being Ralphie's sow anymore, as long as you obey your father." "Yes, Mama," Tina cringed, "But he IS my father..." "Actually, sweetheart," Carol interrupted, "he's not, biologically," revealing the secret she'd kept all these years. "Your biological father was the man who raised me. You see, the same thing that is happening to you, happened to me. Just after my own mother's thirtieth birthday - I was only 13 - the same thing happened to her. She had her period, and I displaced her in my father's bed. Only just like you, he wasn't really my father. " "I don't understand this, Mama," Tina complained. "He's always been my father." "Don't worry, just listen. The man who raised me, when I was just 13 years old, took me to his bed. I didn't have the advantages you do, though. I was still a virgin, hadn't even seen a real cock. He tried for two years before he finally got me pregnant - with you. When I was seven months along, he sold me to the man you know as your father" "The same thing happened to your mama...and the same will happen to me?" Tina asked, wide-eyed. "Hopefully, it won't take so long, but yes. I was younger than you, and totally inexperienced. I had three miscarriages and a baby boy before I finally gave birth to you. My Mama had three boys to start, but she was only twelve. Once they're sure you're having a girl, you'll be sold. It's our lot in life, and eventually, the same thing will happen to your daughter. Someday you'll be explaining all this to her, just before the man she thinks of as her father gets her pregnant." "Oh, Mama! I never thought it would be so romantic! I knew Daddy would be fucking me, but I didn't know all this!" Tina almost swooned, as if it was a love story. "But what about you" she suddenly asked. "You're the woman of the house now," Carol replied. "I need to move my things to the basement." "Oh, Mama!" The tears started again in earnest, from both women. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's warm down there, and I have a blanket to sleep on. Besides, it's not like I'm going away, or that I'll be down there forever - just until your Father finds a husband to sell you to. Then he'll buy someone else to share his bed, and I'll get to move back upstairs to take care of the house. Now, you go out into the guest room and get yourself bathed. I'll be in later to help you get prettied up, after I'm finished moving." "The guest room, Mama? I get to use hot water?" "Yes, baby, and a towel. Nice soap and real shampoo, too, not the little leftover slivers of bar soap we get in here." "Oh, Mama!" Tina squealed excitedly, hugging her mother one more time before quickly scampering out the door, her naked feet padding down the hallway. Carol smiled at her daughter's excitement, then slowly turned to collect her meager things. An old hairbrush, the broken handle reminding her of how it had snapped while she was being beaten with it. The toothbrush she'd had for...what...four years? Its worn out bristles were used more often to scrub the kitchen floor than her teeth. Her diary, the one thing she could truly call her own, in which she recorded her innermost thoughts and fears. Hardly private, though, because her husband (and anyone else) had full access to it. The crude and obscene comments others had written in answer to her emotional words burned through her soul. The small bag of clothing, nothing more than rags that had been rescued from the trash, never washed, still smelling of the garbage they'd been set out with. She gathered these few belongings up and took a last look at the room she'd never again be permitted to enter. By most standards, it was a hell hole, but to Carol, it was her entire life. While Carol was moving her few belongings to the basement, Tina was luxuriating in only the second hot bath she'd enjoyed since infancy. Her normal method of bathing, permitted only twice per week, was with cold water from a garden hose, and only the tiniest bits of soap. Daily washing, when she dared, involved using water from the filthy toilet bowl in her quarters. The only other bath she remembered was the night her virginity was taken. Her mother had carefully prepared it, ensuring the water was neither too hot nor too cold, adding scented oils which created bubbles. She was familiar with this bathroom, it being set aside specifically for preparation for "dates" arranged for herself and her mother, but except that one previous occasion, she'd never been permitted to use the tub. Tonight, though, she ran the tub full of steaming hot water, dumping in a generous amount of bath oil. Now she just laid back with her eyes closed, feeling the hot water and soft bubbles sting her abused flesh, warmth permeating every inch of her body. It had been so long since she'd truly been warm; perhaps four or five months, she thought, during the previous summer. Since the wet, cold winter weather had set in, she had remained chilled to the bone. Tina carefully rubbed her bruised thighs and breasts, feeling the dried semen, blood and feces from last night's rapes coming loose. Using the fresh bar of nicely scented soap, she lathered up a washcloth and gently gave her entire body a scrubbing. The grime caked between her toes and on her soles, the dried fluids between her legs and the crack of her ass, the filth under her arms, all washed away. Next, the shampoo - again, something she'd used but once; her previous attempts at hair-washing having been restricted to the slivers of bar soap she'd been provided. She poured a capful out onto her hand, then began vigorously scrubbing it into her grimy, tangled scalp. She felt it tingle as the chemicals began to work, cleaning the greasy dirt and causing her hair to lighten several shades, to a nice, light blonde. As Tina was rinsing her hair, she noticed that the water had turned a dirty brown color, so she drained the tub. The bottom fo the tub was covered with dirt, and the recently pristine porcelain now displayed a large ring of grime where the water level had been. Tina turned the shower on, and finished rinsing off, washing out the tub as she did so. Once the dirt was rinsed away, she filled the tub again. A second scrubbing, concentrating this time on the nooks and crannies - behind her ears, between her toes, the crack of her ass, her still sore and swollen slit - and then more hot water, just to relax in. It was the first time ever she'd had no real time limit for bathing; at least, she'd not been given one. She knew better, however, than to spend too long in the tub, so quickly climbed out. A thick, soft towel - again, something she was normally not permitted to use - hung from towel bar. Unsure whether it was for her use or not, she hesitated before taking it. She was as sure as possible that it was meant for her use; the towel rack had always been empty on her previous visits to this room. Drying off, she then took a comb and brush to her hair, carefully loosening the snarls and tangles created since the last time she was permitted to brush. How long ago was that, she thought? A week? No, more like two. Just before her "date" with the lesbian, she remembered, shuddering at the memory of the beating she received that terrible night. It wasn't her fault...the bitch should have said something before she flooded the girl's mouth with piss! Finally, she started on the makeup. Six years of whoring for the man she knew has her father had taught her much, and she quickly camouflaged the bruises and weals on her body before tackling her face. She knew only two ways of making herself up: virginal and slut. Tonight, she assumed, her father wanted her to be a slut. She began with bright, red polish on her always-manicured fingernails. Even with the cleaning and scrubbing the two girls performed, their Owner insisted on perfectly manicured, unblemished fingernails. a heavy coat of mascara, carefully covering the bruised cheek, heavy eye shadow, eyeliner and a thick coat of glossy red lipstick. She remembered to rouge her nipples slightly, then spritzed herself with a heavy spray of cheap perfume - just the kind a street corner prostitute would wear, she thought. By the time Tina was finished, her mother had arrived with the clothing she was to wear tonight. Clothing was actually an exaggeration, as the outfit consisted of nothing but a red lace garter belt, red fishnet stockings, and bright red shoes with nine inch spiked heels. Tina hated these shoes because they were so uncomfortable, but she knew she wouldn't be spending much time on her feet. The only other things Carol brought were a collar, wrist bands and ankle restraints, all made of the same glossy red leather. Once fully attired, Tina looked like the consummate slutty slave whore. She looked in the mirror admiringly, not aware that any other female would be mortified. Her bare cunt -permanently denuded when she was just an infant - was displayed like a white welcome sign, framed by the red border of garter belt. Her nipples, the tips now daubed with lip gloss, shone like little beacons, staring at her, hardening even as she gazed at them. She could feel her slit responding, the moisture forming on her nether lips, while she slightly parted her legs, enjoying the feel of air on the bare lips. Her mother reached down, fondling her daughter's sex, making sure she was wet and ready. "It's time, sweetheart," her mother said quietly, a tear forming in the corner of her eye, leading her daughter back into the bedroom. Carol's husband walked in, his erect penis pointed towards the girl. "Go," he commanded, pointing to the door. "Hands and knees. You're no longer permitted to stand in this house," said. Carol obediently dropped to all fours, and slowly crawled out of the room. As she turned the corner to the basement steps, she heard her daughter cry out in ecstasy. Soon, a new baby girl would be on the way, a pregnant slut would be sold, and the cycle would continue.
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