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I pulled into the driveway. My head was swimming from the events of the day. There was no denying it now--I am a REAL whore. I had just been pimped in a cheap hotel room to a gang of five black men by my coach-lover. At least, now, I was home.
I got the grocery bags out of the car and went into the house. My husband looked up from his football game in the den and asked if I could use a hand. I told him that I had it all.
I heard him get up and walk into the kitchen, where I was putting away the groceries. He stopped dead in his tracks. I looked at him, and there was a puzzled look on his face. "What's the matter?" I asked. He asked, "What have you done?" I remember thinking to myself, 'Uh-oh! How did he find out?' I tried to remain calm. "What do you mean?" I asked. He said, "You look like a ..."
Oh my gosh! In my rush to get out of the hotel room, I left the make-up on and my hair braided. And to make matters worse, I still had on the soiled merry widow underneath my clothes. I knew what he meant, but asked again anyway. "What do you mean?"
He repeated, "You look like a ..." All of a sudden, I just responded. "A whore?" "Yes!" he exclaimed. I had to think quickly, which is what I did. I walked over to my husband, and ran my fingers up and down his shirt. In the best seductive voice I could muster at the time I asked, "How would you like this whore to show you a good time, mister?" Then I looked up and smiled coyly. A wicked smile came across his lips at this point, too. That was good for me, because if he went along with this little game, I wouldn't have to tell him the truth.
"I don't know," he said. "How much is it going to cost me?" Cost? How was I supposed to know? I had just been a whore for my personal pimp, but I had no idea how much it had cost because I had not been paid. I didn't want money, I wanted cock. I had to think quickly.
"Oh, I don't know," I replied. "I like you. How about $25 for a first-time customer discount?"
"You're a cheap whore, aren't you?" he responded. "Oh, I would fuck men for nothing," I replied, "but a girl has to make a living, you know." He smiled. I continued, "I'll tell you what. Since I like you, I'll give you a money-back guarantee, being a new customer and all."
"Let's go," he said. We went upstairs. He went straight into the bedroom. I told him that I wanted to freshen up a little bit, so I went into the bathroom.
I took off my clohes, and found the stains of six other men between the legs of my panties. I was still wet with the cum these men had pumped me full of. I could feel it running down my leg, now that my panties were free.
I heard him call from the bedroom, "Don't be too long, baby." I couldn't stall much longer, or he might get suspicious. I strightened the stockings on my garter, and fixed the lingerie into place. I could feel the cum of my gangbang only an hour before running down my leg. 'Surely he won't see it,' I thought. "Coming," I replied.
Then I opened the door. I wanted to stay in charge so that I could control the conversation. "You got my $25?" I asked. He looked up and said, "Wow, you sure are a good-looking whore." "Thanks," I said, "but what about my money?"
"Oh, ok," he said. He reached onto the bedstand and took out $25 from his wallet. "Here you go," he said. "Remember, you promised a money-back guarantee." "No problem, mister," I responded. "I'll make you so happy, you won't want a penny back."
I walked over to the bed and took the money out of his hand. At this point, I remember thinking that this had ceased to be a game with my husband. Right now, I was a cheap, slutty whore who wanted money for fucking. I remember thinking, 'Why didn't you think of fucking for money before?'
As he sat up on the side of the bed, I walked over to him. I spread his legs and knelt down between them. I started rubbing on his pants. "And what have we got in here, mister?" I asked. "Why don't you take it out and find out?" he replied.
I asked him to stand up, and then took his pants off. "Oh, my," I said, "This sure is a beautiful cock." With that I started sucking on his cock right where he was standing. He was moaning with delight.
While I was blowing my husband, I couldn't help but to think that I had just lied to him. His cock was NOT beautiful, and I knew that when it got as hard as I could make it, it would only be half the size of my pimp's.
My husband's moaning brought my back to what I was doing. "You have gotten to be such a good cocksucker lately," he said. "What have you been doing, practicing on somebody?" When he said that, I almost choked!
"You know how it is for a girl in my business," I replied, hoping to stop his questions by staying in character. "A hooker like me gets several chances a night to practice blow-jobs on men." Then I went right back to sucking cock like the professional I had become.
My answer really turned him on, because I could feel him get as hard as he could possibly get in my mouth. But there was still so much room in my mouth compared to the others cocks I had in there just an hour before!
My husband grabbed my head and said, "I want to fuck you now, you dirty whore." With that, I got up. "Lay down," he said. I laid on my back, and opened my legs wide, just like I had earlier in the hotel room for my gangbang.
"Fuck me, mister," I said in my most seductive voice. "Your whore needs a good fucking. I need that big ol' cock of yours. I want to feel you explode into my hot little pussy."
He was really getting turned on now. He jumped right on top of me, and thrust his pitiful cock in between my legs. I could not even feel it after the abuse my pussy had taken earlier in the day. But he was really feeling it!
He said, "You really do want it, don't you whore?" I said, "Yes, fuck me, mister." "I can tell that you need cock because you are so wet." What did he mean by that? I wasn't wet! I couldn't even feel his cock in me! "You are so wet, whore," he continued, "but it's a cold wet. How did you do manage that?"
What did he mean? Then I thought that he must be making contact with the semen of six black men in my pussy. It had probably turned cold in the last hour.
"Oh, you know how it is for us," I replied quickly. "It's probably left over from my last job." Then I looked at him and smiled.
"Yeah, I guess you must be right, whore," he said. "I have been so busy fucking today," I replied, "that I haven't even had a chance to clean up."
"I can see why you're so busy," he responded. "You sure are pretty to be a whore." With that, I managed a smile, but my husband's words really cut to my heart. He really did think I was pretty. I was acting like a whore for him, but I really am a prostitute now. How can I ever tell my husband? What happens to me--and our family--if he does find out?
All of a sudden, I came back to reality. I felt a little drizzle in between my legs. My husband's cum had mixed in with the others. My husband had become my seventh John of the day.
"Ooooh, that was sooo good, mister" I said seductively. Actually, I hadn't even felt his cock once. "Yeah," he replied. "You were right. I got my money's worth." With that, my husband leaned over and kissed me. "Thanks for playing like that for me," he said.
He went into the shower, and I lay on the bed devestated. What have I done? I have gotten to the point where not only does my husband not satisfy me, but I can't even feel his little cock. My pussy must be so stretched out by all the big cock I have been taking lately that I cannot even feel my husband any more. What if this is permanent? How will I ever be satisfied again?
As I lay there, I felt my hands go instinctively down between my legs. I started fingering myself. Oh, yeah. THAT feels good. I couldn't even feel my husband, but I can finger fuck myself and make myself come. As I reached my own climax, I heard the phone ring.
"Hello?" I said. "Hello, whore," I heard. All of a sudden, I remembered that I could ALWAYS be satisfied by prostituting myself for my pimp.
"Yes," I replied. "I have a job for you tonight." "But there is no way I can get out of the house, tonight," I protested. "I was gone all morning. Do you want my husband to get suspicious?"
"I don't care if he DOES get suspicious," was the reply. "Maybe I will send him a copy of your tape, and let him see for himself that he is sharing his marriage bed with the town whore." "No, don't," I replied. "I will make some excuse." "That's better, you cheap hooker."
I took down the address and said that I would be there. "Remember, come looking like the cheap tramp that you are," my pimp said. "I will not disappoint you, master," was what I heard myself say.
As I hung up the phone, I heard my husband come out of the shower. "Who was on the phone?" he asked. Should I continue with the 'game,' or make some excuse. It was working, so I continued with the 'game.' "That was my pimp," I said. "He has another job for me tonight. You don't mind watching the kids, do you?" And I smiled at him. He laughed and said, "No, you go and have a good time. I can see why you are in such demand." He was laughing as he walked away.
Mu husband did not know that he had just given me his permission to be a real whore tonight for a group of men.