The S Club - Chapter 2 - Pig Training

Saturday 8:00 a.m. text from unknown number:
Clubhouse. Now. Bring Pig. Leash provided.
I woke Claire by dragging her to the edge of the bed, spreading her thighs, and sucking her clit into my mouth until she woke up screaming and squirting down my chin. Her taste was sharper now, muskier, like she’d been marinating in arousal for days.
“I have to be a good Pig today,” she panted, eyes wild. “Don’t make me late.”
Pool deck. Sun already brutal. Twenty residents pretending to read the paper while they waited for the show. In the center: stainless dog bowl full of water, pink leather leash, fat black Sharpie.
Victor in pristine golf whites. “Pig. Strip.”
Claire’s sundress hit the tiles. Tits heavier than they were at thirty, nipples dark and stiff, cunt lips visibly swollen and glistening in the sunlight. A soft collective inhale from the crowd.
Victor clipped the leash to her new collar. “Crawl.”
She dropped to hands and knees, ass rolling with every move, knees already pink against the rough stone. He led her twenty feet to the bowl and stopped.
“Pigs don’t use hands.”
Claire lowered her face and lapped, tongue flat and desperate, water spilling over her chin, running in rivers between her swinging tits, dripping off her nipples, tracing the curve of her belly to her clit. By the time the bowl was half-empty her entire front was soaked and shining.
Victor yanked the leash up so her face tilted toward the crowd. Water cascaded off her chin onto her tits. He took the Sharpie and wrote PIG in thick block letters across her chest, right over the nipples, then spun her and wrote it again across the top of her ass like a brand.
“First lesson,” he announced. “Pigs come when called and only when called.”
He looked at me. “David, make your Pig come. No hands on her cunt. Words only. If she fails, she drinks another bowl and we start again.”
Twenty phones were already recording.
I crouched beside her ear.
“Look at you, Claire. Crawling naked for strangers, drinking out of a dog bowl like it’s Perrier. Your married cunt is dripping down your thighs and every man here can smell it. You love this, don’t you? You love being watched while you humiliate yourself for cock.”
Her breath hitched, a desperate whimper.
“Spread your knees wider, Pig. Show them how soaked you get when you’re treated like meat.”
She did, instantly. Her lips parted, slick and flushed dark.
“You’re going to come right now, standing here dripping in front of all these people, because your husband told you to. And when you do, every one of them is going to know exactly what a filthy desperate Pig you are.”
Her whole body seized. A choked scream tore out as she came, thighs shaking violently, a hard clear jet squirting three feet across the tiles and splashing the shoes of the front row.
Victor smiled like I’d just aced an exam.
“Good Pig.”
He handed the leash to Marlene, current Whore #9, naked except her platinum choker and a glaze of dried cum on her inner thighs.
“Public walk. Every resident may touch, inspect, or make her present. David, you follow ten yards back. You watch. You do not interfere.”
Marlene tugged once. Claire dropped to hands and knees and crawled after her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They took the lake loop. Every few houses someone stepped out, couples on lanais, gardeners, the mail lady. Marlene announced each time: “New Pig. Feel free.”
Hands everywhere. A seventy-year-old in a visor cupped Claire’s tits, weighed them like melons, twisted the nipples until she moaned. A woman in yoga pants slid three fingers into Claire’s cunt, pumped twice, pulled them out glistening, and wiped them across Claire’s lips. Claire licked them clean without being told.
By the ninth hole Claire’s knees were raw and bleeding, her cunt lips swollen purple, clit poking out like a second tongue. Marlene finally stopped at a bench, had Claire kneel, and casually finger-fucked her to another screaming orgasm while a foursome of golfers watched and applauded.
I stood the whole time with my cock leaking into my boxers, fists clenched so hard my nails drew blood.
At noon Marlene delivered her to our driveway on the leash, handed it to me, and said, “Very good Pig today. Reward her however you want. Tomorrow we start oral grades.”
Claire crawled inside without standing. The second the door shut she looked up, eyes glassy, mouth slack.
“Please,” she rasped. “Please fuck my mouth, David. I need to taste cock so bad I’m going to die.”
I didn’t take my shoes off. Grabbed the leash, yanked her face into my crotch, and fed her every inch while she gagged and drooled and cried with relief. When I came she swallowed like she’d been starving for years, then licked the floor clean where I’d dripped.
Afterward she curled naked at my feet, collar locked to the coffee table leg, and whispered, “Thank you, sir.”
I looked down at my wife, my Pig, and knew the marriage we’d had was already dead.
Something much, much better had taken its place.

This is good. Looking for more.

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