Learning Her Place Ch. 01


Melanie sat in her kitchen, drinking coffee and playing games on her phone. The sink was full of dishes and laundry had piled up, but she didn’t care. She was sick of playing housewife to her timid little nerd of a husband, even if he did pay the bills, and take her on expensive vacations, and buy her clothes. He shouldn’t expect her to cook and clean! She was better than that!

Well, she HAD been better than that. Once upon a time, Melanie had been a knockout, with a beautiful face and the body of a model. Every head used to turn when she walked into a room, and she could have any guy she wanted, any time she wanted, and they would beg for the privilege. She’d dated rich men, had flings with CEOs and minor celebrities, and had once been offered a job posing for Playboy.

But that was then, more than twenty years ago. Now, Melanie was old. Her face was lined and blotchy, and her formerly luxurious blonde hair had turned to straw. Breasts that were once firm and perky had become a pair of drooping tits, and the perfect round ass that once drew the eye of every man (and many women), was saggy and wrinkled.

She’d also gotten fat. Once she’d barely topped 120 pounds, now she was just over 200. Her sagging breasts sat atop a flabby protruding belly, rolls of thick fat circled her waist and rippled up her back, and her thighs were thick messes of cellulite. Her double chin was nearly a triple and hanging jowls blurred a once-elegant jawline.

She could still manage some semblance of her old self. With the right clothes, a good bra, and plenty of support garments – not to mention copious amounts of makeup and a talented hairstylist – she could manage to look “handsome for her age”, but her days of living off her looks were long gone. She was never very smart, but she was clever – clever enough to know she was on her way down, and needed to find someone to catch her before she hit bottom.

She’d found him, three years ago. He was a few years younger than her, but the years had been much kinder to him. He’d been a late bloomer, which meant that at 42, he could still pass for mid-30s, even younger if he shaved his beard, which was the only grey hair he had, whereas the hair on his head was still dark and very thick. He also kept himself in good shape. Where she was flabby and fat, he was lean and cut. A lifetime of being the smallest, and a savage bout of teenage acne, had left him very insecure about his appearance, with the result being that he didn’t really appreciate how attractive he really was. He’d never been popular, particularly with women. She figured that out right away, and she knew just how to play that to get what she wanted.

She didn’t have many talents or skills, but one thing she was good at was sex. She’d looked like a porn star for years, and it didn’t take her long to learn how to fuck like one. One night with her, despite her sagging tits and flabby belly, and he was hopelessly infatuated. He proposed six months after their first date, and they married a year later.

At first, she’d been a doting girlfriend, fiancé, and wife, feigning interest in all the stupid things he enjoyed, even consenting to dressing up for some idiotic nerd convention he liked going to. She pretended to encourage his hobbies, and made all the right “fascinated” noises when he talked about his job in IT.

Now, she was fed up and sick of pretending. She was tired of hearing from everyone about how smart he was, how talented he was, and she was not happy about being married to a man who weighed over 20 pounds less than her. She’d begun to nag him about spending so much time with his friends – who she’d once claimed to adore, but secretly couldn’t stand – and recently threw a fit over how the attention he paid to his hobbies made her feel like she wasn’t important. Where once she was a laid-back, fun-loving woman, now she was a joyless scold, whose mood could change at the least provocation. It was to the point where he was afraid to even speak to her – most of his words came out in a nervous stammer. He’d always feared confrontation, and she knew how to use that too.

But, she always made sure to give him just enough sex, at just the right times, so he never felt inclined to stray, or let his fear turn to anger. He was hers, and all she had to do to get what she wanted was keep him off-balance, so he never knew what would set her off. “I may be old and fat,” she said to herself, smiling, “but I still know how to control a man – or at least a spineless weakling like him.”

But she was wrong, and she was about to discover just how wrong she was.


It all started innocently enough. He came home from work the same time he usually did, saying nothing of the state of the house, or the fact that she was still unshowered and wearing the ratty t-shirt and threadbare sweatpants she’d slept in. He never complained, and he never expected anything from her. Tonight, however, he did make one request.

“I’d like you to put on your sexiest outfit,” he said, leaning manisa escort in to kiss her. “I want to take you out to dinner.”

“Really?” she smiled. He tended to take her to nice places with really good food, and she loved to eat. It hadn’t been a problem when she was younger, but after 30 her metabolism slowed down and her appetite didn’t.

He nodded. “I made reservations for 8, so go get ready.” He stepped back, holding up his hands and stammering, “If-if-if you w-want to, I mean. We-we don’t have t-t-t-t-to go anywhere if…”

“No, I want to go,” she said, keeping her voice a mixture of casual and slightly annoyed. “And stop stammering. When you get all nervous like that you make me feel like I’m some kind of horrible bitch.”

“N-no,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

“It’s okay.” She smiled and kissed him, keeping him confused. “I’ll go get ready.”


They arrived at the restaurant a little early, and their table wasn’t ready. The place was crowded, and they decided to wait at the bar. The bartender came around and asked for their drink orders.

He ordered a cola. “I’m driving,” he said with a smile. Then he winked at her. “So you can have whatever you like.” She had to admit, he was kind of cute when he was trying to flirt.

She ordered a glass of wine and they chatted while they waited for their table. She chatted, at least. He didn’t say much, seemingly content to listen. She was almost done with her second glass of wine when their table was ready. She wasn’t drunk, just a little dizzy. She drained her glass and left it on the bar and they followed their waiter to their table.

He left them with menus and glasses of water, but when he returned to take their orders, he’d brought another glass of wine for her. She was halfway through it by the time she was done with her salad.

“I’m a little buzzed,” she said, smiling.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” He smiled. “Drink as much as you like. I’m driving, and I’ll take good care of you.”

She finished her wine and ordered another.

By the time she was done with her meal, she’d polished off that glass and was very solidly buzzed. She got up to use the bathroom, and was just a little unsteady on her feet. When she got back, there was another glass of wine waiting, along with a shot glass filled with a clear liquid. Probably vodka. It was her favorite.

She sat down, just a little unsteadily, and took a long sip of her wine. She grinned, her cheeks flushed. “A shot?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, finishing signing the check. “Why not?”

Why not? The four glasses of wine sloshing around in her brain were making the idea of shots seem very appealing. She lifted the shot glass, toasted him with it, and tossed it back. It was vodka, and top shelf, at that. She chased it with the rest of her wine.

“Let’s move over to the bar,” he suggested, standing up.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, and she was making an effort to enunciate. She could feel a pleasant warmth spreading out from her belly from the shot. She stood up and stumbled a bit, but he was there to steady her, and he led her to the bar.

Once there, he ordered her another glass of wine and another shot. She did the shot, drank half the glass of wine, and went to the bathroom again. This time it was a bit harder to navigate the restaurant, and her clothes gave her more trouble as well. This time she didn’t bother putting the girdle and other support garments back on, no longer caring if her fat rolls showed. She stuffed it all, including her panties, into her bag, and stumbled back to the bar.

She found three shots lined up in front of her stool, and another glass of wine next to the one her husband had ordered.

“Wha… what’s this?” It was getting difficult to speak without slurring, and it took her a couple of tries to get onto her stool. A young man seated to her right had to help her.

“These young men,” he husband said, gesturing to the man who helped her and two of his friends, “wanted to buy you drinks.”

“Oh?” she smiled prettily at them. “Well thank you. Thass- that’s very nice.”

One of the young men gestured held up a shot glass. She could see that they were all holding shot glasses. “Drink up,” he said.

She lifted her first shot and knocked it back with him. Then it was his friends’ turn.


She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, or how many drinks she’d had, but she was well and truly drunk now. Things were happening in flashes, and there were long gaps between. She remembered doing shots, then maybe drinking her wine? Someone said something funny. She’d laughed a lot. Did she… yes, she’d fallen off her barstool at some point. She looked down at the bar. It was blurry, and swam in her vision. The sounds of the bar were both loud and quiet. It was hard to follow what anyone was saying. And was that her bra on the bar?

“You maraş escort gave it to the bartender,” one of the young men said, “as a tip.”

She laughed. That was so funny! He was so funny. “Thass… thass funny! Where’s…” she squinted, finally closing one eye to try to bring things into focus. It only partially worked. “Where’s my… my husb’n…” She looked around and swayed, barely able to stay in her seat. Everything was swirling around her, but not spinning, like it should be from being drunk. This was something else. She couldn’t even think, and moments were getting more disjointed. She suddenly realized one of the young men had his hand down the front of her dress, slowly massaging her left breast, and one of the others was sliding his hand up her leg and along her inner thigh. She could feel herself getting wet. She could see, in a very blurry distant way that others at the bar were staring. She didn’t care. She wanted to get fucked right here. The thought shocked her a little. She was no prude, but… “Did you… you put somethin’… my drink?”

“Of course they didn’t sweetie,” and suddenly her husband was there, and the men weren’t touching her. “I was right here the whole time, and I’d never let anything happen to my dear sweet wife.” Part of her, the very small part of her mind not completely smashed, told her that she really didn’t like his tone of voice, or the way he was smiling, but it was a very small part of her mind, and she ignored it.

“I know, baby…” she slurred, leaning against him.


She was in the car, in the back seat. When she opened her eyes, she could see her husband driving. She was leaning against someone, and someone else was sitting on the other side of her. It was two of the young men from the bar. The other was in the passenger seat, pointing a phone at her. The man she leaned against had his hands on her breasts, and this time, he’d just pulled her dress down to her waist. He was kneading her tits and pinching her nipples. Every so often, he leaned over to kiss her neck. The other man had his hand all the way up her skirt, and was sliding his fingers in and out of her dripping wet pussy.

“Babe,” her voice was a murmured whisper. “Whasss…”

“It’s okay, honey,” he said, looking back at her in the rearview mirror. “You passed out at the bar, and these nice men helped me get you to the car.”

“But, they…” she moaned. She thought she was going to cum.

“Yeah,” her husband said. “You just lie there and enjoy it, you fat slut.”

The words, and his tone, were like ice water in her face. If she hadn’t been so wasted, she would have sobered up. As it was, she had a brief moment of complete clarity. He’d never spoken to her like that before, but something told her he’d been wanting to, for a very long time. Before she could think about it, the fog rolled back over her mind, and she sank into it, reveling in the feeling of hands on her tits, and fingers in her hot pussy. She passed out again before she could cum.


She was walking. Or was she being carried? She opened her eyes and saw her feet on the ground, one moving in front of the other, but they didn’t feel like her feet, and her legs were moving around on their own. She was being held up between two men.


She was in an elevator. She could tell her dress was just barely covering her, and someone was holding her up while cupping and groping her breasts. Her head lolled back against his shoulder. Someone else was between her legs, his face buried in her pussy. She knew she shouldn’t, but she loved it. She had one of the most intense orgasms of her life right there in the elevator, and knew it wasn’t her first of the night. Her husband was there, and he had his phone out.


She was being carried/walking again, this time over carpet. When they stopped moving, she looked up and caught a glimpse of her husband unlocking a door. This was a hotel. Why were they at a hotel? And why were these men still here? One of them, the one not holding her, was pointing a phone at her.

She tried to speak, but all that came out of her mouth was a slurred jumble of nonsense.

“That’s right,” her husband said. “The party’s just getting started.” He opened the door and gestured inside. “Bring her in.”

They were inside. She couldn’t hold her head up very long, but she saw a bed, tables, and a desk. It was definitely a hotel room.

“You want her on the bed?” one of the men holding her asked.

“Not yet,” her husband said. “Just drop her on the floor for now. You’ve been carrying her since the car, and I know how heavy she is, the fucking pig.”

She felt herself dropped to the floor and she laid there, everything swirling around her.


She was in a chair. Her dress was torn and barely hanging off her. One of the men had her head back and was pouring beer down her throat. Something else was in her throat, it felt like a pill. She had to swallow to keep from choking on it. mardin escort He pulled the bottle away from her mouth and poured the rest over her. She laughed.


Light. Dark. Swirls of color. Voices. Her husband’s face, laughing at her. She was being held up. There was music, and they were taking turns dancing with her. She was naked. One of them had a phone and it was pointed at her.


She was kneeling on the floor, and one of the men was shoving his cock in her mouth, deep into her throat. She was awake just long enough to swallow his cum.


She was on the bed, face down, being fucked from behind. She didn’t know who it was, but it didn’t feel like her husband. She felt him cum inside her, and then he pulled out of her dripping wet pussy.

Someone else, still not her husband, began fucking her ass, while another cock was shoved in her mouth. They came together, filling her mouth and ass at the same time.


She was on the bed, on her back. Everything ached. Her pussy throbbed, her tits were bruised, and her ass was gaping and sore. She was sticky with cum from her face down across her tits and all around her pussy. She’d been fucked in every hole and she could remember, just vaguely, begging for it each and every time.

She saw her husband. He was naked, his cock fully erect.

“They’re gone,” he said. “Now it’s my turn, whore.”

When he fucked her, it was with a savagery and brutality she’d never experienced. Every thrust was agony for her raw pussy and ass. When he finally came, it wasn’t inside her. He pulled out of her ass at the last moment and shot his load on her back.

He grabbed hold of her sticky tangled hair and made her look at him. “Tomorrow, we talk about your new role, and what your place is in this marriage. Understand, you fucking cow?”

All she could do was nod. He grunted and threw her to the floor, tossing the comforter from the bed at her.

“You sleep on the floor tonight, pig,” he said. “Tomorrow we talk about how you earn your way back into a bed.”


A blast of cold water woke her up. She was in a shower, but it was one she didn’t recognize. Then, she remembered the night before. The hotel. She was still in the hotel room. She lay in the tub and looked up at her husband, who was fully dressed.

“Clean yourself up,” he said. “When you’re done, we’ll talk.”

Her head was throbbing, and she was nauseous. She threw up once in the shower before she even stood up, and it took more than one try for her to stand. Eventually, the water warmed up, and she took a very long shower, trying desperately to scrub the previous night off of her.

When she stepped out of the shower, she found a few hand towels but nothing else. She dried herself with them as best as she could, then walked naked out into the room. Her husband was seated at a small table in the corner. A breakfast tray was in front of him, laden with her favorite foods. He sipped at a cup of coffee, and she saw another cup in front of the empty chair.

“Sit,” he said.

“What’s going on?” she asked, not moving. She shivered where she stood. The hand towels hadn’t done a very good job of drying her off and she was cold. She didn’t see towels or a robe or any clothes at all. She could feel her anger rising, through the headache and the numb grogginess left over from last night. “What did you do to me?!”

“I gave you what you deserved,” he said, his voice sharp. She had never heard this tone from him before. He pointed at the chair. “I told you to sit.”

She crossed her arms and stood there, trying to be defiant and angry, but finding it hard while naked, wet, and shivering. “Do you think I’m going to let you get away with-?”

“Do you want to eat?” he asked.

“I…” she hadn’t expected that.

“If you want to eat,” he said, his voice the same even tone, “you’ll shut your fucking mouth and sit down.”

Now she was angry. “Fuck you!” she shouted. “Who do you think you are?!”

He stood and walked around the table. As he walked toward her, he removed his belt.

“I really wanted this to be a calm, rational discussion,” he said with a sigh. “I didn’t want to have to do this. I’d hoped this could all be settled with talk, but then,” he looped the belt once, and snapped it tight, “you’ve never been all that bright.” He stepped forward, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her over to the bed. “I’m your husband, you fat sow,” he growled in her ear. “Now I’m going to teach you what that means.”

He threw her onto the bed, face down, and before she could move, he’d smacked her across the ass with the belt. She screamed and tried to crawl away. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back to the edge of the bed.

“You stay still and take this,” he whispered in her ear, “and it will be over very quickly. If you have to scream, you scream into the bed. I don’t want any interruptions. If you fight me,” his tone became menacing, “it will be much worse. Now,” he asked, “what do you choose?”

Her ass was stinging from that one blow. She couldn’t imagine more. “Puh-please,” she whimpered. “Please don’t do that again. Please. I’ll sit, I promise!”

“You’ll do what I say, when I say it?” he asked.

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