Message-ID: <1866eli$9707021212@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1866.txt> From: maddabbler@hotmail.com (The Mad Dabbler) Subject: New: A Husband's Journal, Part 2 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> A Husband's Journal Part Two humbly submitted by The Mad Dabbler [An illustrated version of this tale with eight images is available upon email request to maddabbler@hotmail.com. Compressed file size is 306k. See end note for further data.] ***** "As I write this, my wife Helen's getting ready for a date." If you read the first piece I posted, perhaps you'll remember that fateful phrase. It's pertinent because it applies to the present as well. Things have changed a bit since then, and the comparison - or contrast, I should say - is remarkable. Then, she was getting ready for a not so innocent night out with one of her lovers. Mike was a black businessman she'd gone out with a couple of times before, built line a linebacker and with an attitude to match. Helen had a thing for well hung black men. Nearly a dozen times, I'd watched from a table as she was kissed and fondled on a club dancefloor. Nearly that many times, I'd gotten to witness her wide, narrow mouth wrapped around her lover's cock and seen him eventually slide his meat between her furry pussy lips. As it turned out, Mike was a little different from her other men. He took her to physical and emotional places she'd never been. He revealed a shape of ecstasy she'd never dreamed of. He transformed her from a slim, brunette upper class housewife with a hearty sexual appetite and a few kinks, into a lewdly painted gloryhole slut, a pool hall hooker, a no-tell- motel whore. To be more honest, she did it to herself. No coercion of any sort had been used. Once shown her cunt's "On" button, she'd pressed it hard and held it down. She kept her hair the henna- black Mike had temporarily given her. She obsessively polished the long ceramic nails he'd paid for the same sinful scarlet as her soul. She secretly continued to smoke, as Mike had demanded of her. If Mike had taught her to think with her cunt, she was the one who crawled inside her eager holes and chose to live there. Lust visibly tinged nearly every hour of her days. She loved it. I loved it, too. So much so that I took the next, rather extreme step. When Helen had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that this "rebirth" was indeed what she wanted, and not just a passing lark, I helped her complete herself. Without discussing it or asking her permission, I spirited her to my medical clinic and gave my wife a body to match the inner vision she had of herself. Were her parents still alive, they'd probably recognize her, but would most certainly not approve. Gone is their lean, slightly sharp featured thirty-something year old beauty. In her stead stands Everyman's wet dream. Five-feet six inches - six feet tonight - of total slut. Braless, heavy tits with pronounced nipples swelling electric turquoise halter top. A waist that verges upon too small, compressed as it is by the wide belted black leather miniskirt. No garter belt or panties, but stay-up mesh hose and gleaming black stiletto sandals. A crown of cave black hair framing a face fit for Babylon's whore. Thick, surgically enhanced red lips that never seem quite closed above a defined button nose. Huge blue eyes, slightly slanted, built to hold the mass of mascara and shadow they support. Facial complexion a flawless tan - as is everywhere else - and made poreless by powder. "Are you ready?" I asked her as she made her early entrance. "It's only seven." She stood in the doorway of my study, leaning against the frame, no longer the woman I married. "I know. I couldn't wait. I need you, honey. Real bad. Right now." I pushed my chair away from the computer and held my arms open in a way that said, "Here I am." I watched her sway across the room, her eyes hooded, locked with mine. "You shouldn't smoke in the rest of the house, slut." "Whatever you say, lover." She ground her half-smoked cigarette into the empty coffee cup on my desk as she settled onto my lap. "The customer's always right." I slowly slid my hand up her bared thigh. Her legs parted. "Is that what I am? Another trick?" "No," she moaned, her lids fluttering as I found her pussy. "It's just that this is so fucking intense I can't stand it. You know what I've been doing the whole time I was getting ready? I've been fucking myself with my black rubber dick, thinking about what's going to happen." My fingers were evoking wet sounds as they moved past her inner lips. "Tell me," I said. "Tell me what's going to happen." She was rocking on my lap. Her hands found my zipper and were inside my slacks in only moments. She hissed and stared down at her find. As she dragged my erection out, she smiled wickedly and slid to her knees between my legs. "Would you like me to show you, instead? Would you like your slut to kiss it for you, baby? Leave a big smear of lipstick all the way down to your balls?" I nodded, pulled her raven hued mane toward my groin. She licked and kissed and teased, then took me nearly all the way down in one plunge. Her gaze stayed on my eyes. I watched as hers clouded with raw need. She wasn't ready to stop when I pulled her head off my cock. It was, indeed, lipstick red. But not for long. Her already elevated skirt, and her eagerness, made her pouting pussy an easy target. We bounced and slammed together with a violence sure to bruise. Her kiss was so forceful that it hurt. She threw her head back and clawed at my chest. "Cum!" she shrieked. "Now! Do it, bastard! Slime my cunt!" When I complied, she went ballistic, pinching her nipples viciously through her blouse and screaming to make a banshee proud. She seemed to be moving in every direction at once. As she settled down, I could feel powerful inner muscles milking the last of my sperm deeper within her. She sighed, settled her face onto my shoulder. "There. That's much better." Her familiar neck nibbles and soft kisses were that of my oldest and best lover. She was warm and fragrant and we were both in love all over again. "You weren't serious," she murmured. "About thinking you're just another cock?" She sat up, stared down at me solemnly. "You're not, you know. Ever." "I know," I told her, nuzzling her cleavage. "But it was a real rush to imagine." "Really?" she laughed, some of her just relieved throatiness already starting to return. "Really. Maybe I should make an appointment for tomorrow night with Mike." She shivered. "Ooh, that's nasty." "Nasty? Shit, woman, you're the one who told me she had an orgasm on a bar's pool table just from licking a cock that'd just come out of her ass." "Well," she said, leaning toward the desk for her purse, "it wasn't exactly from that all by itself." She found her compact and easily opened it, despite her long gleaming nails. "After all, I did still have another one in my pussy." She made a face as she carefully blotted her sweat away. "And a couple of guys jacking sperm onto my back." She turned away to grab her lipstick. "So, are you going to do it?" "What?" I'd been entranced. She swung back so I could watch her re-shape her heavy lips. "Make a date with me." "And pay, just like everyone else?" I dipped two fingers between her leaking cunt lips, unshielded by even a trace of pubic hair. Her hips rocked as she gasped. "Yes," she hissed. "Do it. You can do whatever you want to me." "Shit, baby, anybody can do whatever they want to do." She bounced on my hand. "I won't kiss anybody else on the lips except you and Mike. The rest have to wear rubbers, too." I extracted my fingers and raised them to her mouth. I fed her some of the cum I'd spewed within her. She groaned around my fingers as she licked and sucked them clean. Impossibly, I felt a deep twinge in my loins. "Right now," I growled, "I want you to suck me hard again and lube me up and put my cock up your ass." I didn't have to ask twice. Again my prick was tinged with red froth. As per request, she jacked me greasy with lubricant from her purse and took me easily up her hot, clinging rectum. Her eyes rolled back in their gaudily painted sockets and her improved, fat lips shaped a wide oval. "Oh, shit! Yeah!" she purred. I noticed the cigarettes had fallen from her purse. I slammed hard into her. "Smoke another cigarette for me, whore." Her nails dug like claws into my buttocks and she lifted her head, biting my nipple through my shirt. She shook under me, seemed to stop breathing for a moment. Gasping for air, she collapsed in the oak. Her hips rolled gently. "Umm. Whatever you say. Fuck. You're so damned hard. I love the way you feel in my ass." I extended the pack. She picked one. I lit it for her. She inhaled deeply. "You love it as much as I do, don't you. The way I look." She started fucking up at me. "What I'm going to do." "Yeah. I feel like I could fuck you all night." "That'd really cost you, stud. I don't come cheap." "Easy, but not cheap. A thousand bucks and I could do whatever I wanted, all night long." "You and all your friends. Anybody you wanted, as many times as they wanted." Her voice was a raw grating noise, made grey with smoke. Her hips were sledge hammers. Mine made loud slapping noises against her tight ass cheeks. "We'd tie you up. Maybe use clips of your long fat nipples. Fuck you with wine bottles. Maybe use a riding crop on your cunt." I truly lost sight of Helen around that point. The woman below me was finally reduced, in my mind, to the fuck toy she craved to be. The bitch was cumming. With one set of claws, she pinched her swollen red clit. The other held her cigarette, waving it wildly overhead. My vision swam and darkened as the explosion of my orgasm ripped through me. She chuckled lewdly as I filled her intestine with sperm. She gentled her fucking to time with my spasms. "Um, that feels wonderful, love. That's it. Relax. Let me hold you and feel you shrink inside me." We'd barely recovered and cleaned up when Mike arrived. They've been gone for an hour. I can't keep my eyes open any longer. That glorious slut fucked me blind. ***** Just back from my "date" with my wife, and I'm still shaky. Seeing her like that in her workplace - a bar, then a hotel room - was even more intense than I'd imagined. There was no doubt what she was. As we walked from the lounge to the elevators, she betrayed no shame or discomfort with her blatantly whorish red knit dress, dark stockings and blatant makeup. Everyone who saw her knew. She didn't cringe from stares, be they lustful or laden with disgust. She bore her identity with ease. I've only been with two call girls - other, call girls, that is. Once at a bachelor party, the other in Rome - both well before we were married. Helen, or Madelaine, as she introduced herself in the bar, was vastly better than either. Part of it, I'm sure, was because we knew one another's "right" spots so well and were sharing a mindblowing fantasy. But another part of it - a large part - was something I was instantly positive all her tricks benefited from. She loved taking money for sex. She tucked my two hundred dollars into her purse and stripped me, whispering wicked things all the while. It was one of the wildest rides of my life, nothing at all like making love to my beloved Helen even at her most slutty. Even different from taking her in the den had been. I was just a cock for her, no matter what she'd said. I know that she comes even better while whoring than she does normally. It's as if her orgasms are cumulative - the more she fucks, the better it gets. Perhaps it's the degradation that makes it so powerful. The same thing that makes it so addictive for me. ***** I was vaguely anxious about her return last night even though I had a much better idea of what to expect. I was fairly certain that nothing terrible had happened, or someone would have called. Under my nearly torturous arousal lurked a cold fear I couldn't name. I was restless. I drank more than I should have. I found myself playing some of my son's less offensive hard rock CD's. Mike's car turned in the drive promptly at eight. They sat there for a half hour before she swung her legs onto the driveway. She wore a black dress which sculpted her flawless body in wet look vinyl. Her mincing strut up the sidewalk was all ass and tits, dancing to the beat of her metal capped heels. She swung the door open and paused theatrically to light a cigarette with a zippo she'd hadn't left with, take a hard double hit from it, then grind it out on the stoop. It was a very effective move, which she followed by a heavy exhale straight into the porch light. Then, this consummate slut, my wife, came in and closed the door. "Honey," she purred, "I'm home." She made her approach through the living room an erotic voyage. I mentally placed the memory of the girl I'd married beside her. There were no visible similarities left. Not in the way she moved, or her gestures. Not even deep in her eyes could I find a remanent of Helen. Their blue seemed icier, though that could have been her makeup. She straddled me, teased me by tugging the ebony vinyl up first one leg then another, revealing the cum trickling down her right thigh before the swollen reddish folds from which it seeped. Her cunt left a slimy trail as she rubbed it up my leg. She stretched the scooped bodice down and lifted her left tit free. Her nipple seemed an eighth inch longer than before. The inside slope of her mound bore bite marks. She was sliding the length of her slit up and down my erection without letting it penetrate her, making sounds somewhere between a whimper and a moan. I claimed the offered tit and sucked as much as I could into my mouth. She violently clasped her hands behind the back of my head and shuddered for a few moments before forcing my mouth away. Her voice was hoarse, her eyes glittered. "Fuck me. I need you to fuck me. Can I put your dick in my pussy? Please?" I grabbed her hips and lifted her. Both her hands gripped my rod and touched it to her sagging labia. I impaled her with enough force to rattle her teeth. She was so lubed by cum I felt almost no friction, though her inner walls gripped me tightly. She grunted, a quick expression of pain quickly replaced by a feral pleasure. "Yeah. That's it, baby. Do me hard. I like it when you get rough." I slapped her ass. "How many, whore?" She yelped. Her cunt squeezed my cock even harder. She started pumping up and down. "Four Friday night. Not counting you and Mike." She gasped, humped me faster and harder. "Ten Saturday - eleven if you count the guy's wife who ate me after her old man filled me up. Five," she wailed unevenly, "today. Two of them at the same time." I jerked her down by a lock of curled hair. I ravaged her gleaming mouth with mine. She seemed to freeze for a split second before voraciously returning the kiss. After perhaps a minute, during which neither of us moved anything but our heads and lips, she suddenly ended it. There was a tear in each eye. "Nobody but you," she whispered with intensity. "Mike doesn't want to kiss me anymore, but you still do." "Mike doesn't love you," I said, petting her powdered cheek. "Neither do the johns. I do." Her azure and silver lids fluttered. So did her pussy walls. The tears made runnels in her makeup as she gently rose and fell on my dick. "I love you, too. Oh, god, I love you so much. I love the way your cock feels inside me, the way you know exactly what feels the best. Oh, honey, nobody fucks like you." When we came in unison, she screamed. I quickly clamped a hand over her smeared lips and reminded her the kids were asleep upstairs. She looked resentful for an instant, then her expression cleared and she giggled slightly. "Jesus! Can you imagine what they'd think if they saw me like this?" "Jimmy and the other seventh-graders would start saving their milk money." "It'd take them a while," she chuckled. "Do you know how much I grossed this weekend? Including tips, over five thousand fucking dollars." I whistled. "Mike took his cut?" She came down for another, much gentler kiss. "Two thousand. The rest is yours." I felt myself grow a notch harder. The cum squeezing past my dick was cooling on my lower belly. "Keep the tips. We'll invest the rest." She'd noticed the stiffening in her hole. She grinned wickedly, licked my mouth and rocked her hips from side to side. "Be careful. I read that a lot of pimps and call girls get busted by the IRS for not paying taxes." "Maybe we should move across the state line where whoring's legal," I said, pushing into her eager cunt. She stiffened, throbbed on my pole. "Everybody'd know," she groaned. "You could fuck them in our bed while I was at work, take calls on the home phone." "Every day," she choked out as she shook through another orgasm. "Fuck all day long." ***** It's finally Friday. Helen went upstairs right after dinner. It's been difficult week for my darling wife though she at first claimed there was nothing wrong. She'd been irritable with the kids, late for work twice, and seemingly unable to concentrate. She wasn't returning her friends' calls, though she jumped every time the phone rang. After she caught herself asking, for the third time, if it was Mike on the line, she kept quiet, but that told me all I need to know. Last night after Paul and Sarah were upstairs, I confronted her with her behavior and gently demanded that she open up about it. She was at her vanity, moodily doing her nails with a cigarette burning in the ashtray. She laughed bitterly and picked it up, staring at me via the mirror with a challenging expression on her face. "Smoking," she said exhaling thickly, "isn't the only bad habit I've picked up." "Explain, please." "I'm addicted. To tobacco. To fucking." "To whoring, you mean." She nodded, put the cigarette down, and went back to her nails. "Remember my promise? The one I made while you fucked me in the den last Friday night?" "Sure. You said you'd never let one of your tricks kiss you or fuck you without a rubber." "Unh huh. Well . . ." "Is this about Mike not wanting to kiss you anymore?" The way her hair hung forward made her face invisible . Her voice was strained, though. "I never really told you about that, did I?" "Now's a good time." "It was in the car, on the way back here." She grabbed her cigarette, but deliberately kept her head down. "I made the same promise to him. We were at a stoplight. I leaned toward him for a kiss, but he pushed me away. 'You want to kiss something with that mouth, whore, you kiss my cock.' I was a little hurt, because he's always loved to kiss me." "And?" I prompted. There was a pause. "And I was instantly a lot turned on. I asked him if he meant forever, and he nodded. 'No telling where those lips have been,' he said. I asked him if that meant I was nothing more than a hooker, and he my pimp. He shrugged and grinned kind of mean. He . . ." This time I said nothing. Helen was is tremendous pain, and it wasn't yet time for a hug. She violently ground out the cigarette and instantly lit another, all with her face still hidden. "I lied to you, honey. About the money. About other things, too. Mike told me that he wasn't even going to be my pimp any more. That from then on, he was going to pay just like everybody else did. So what basically happened is that in a little over an hour, I earned that two grand I gave him back. He was my last trick of the night." I was stunned. She interrupted anything I might have said. "Be quiet. That's not all. I broke the other half of my promise, too. That couple that I doubled with Saturday. I deliberately let him cum in my ass without a rubber so she could eat it out. They paid extra. And I, uh, kissed her, too." I swallowed a lump in my throat. "So what you're saying is . . ." She looked up again. Raw anguish radiated from her entire face. "You can't trust me, honey. When I'm out there with them, I lose control. I'll do anything." I went to her, cradled her as she sobbed, and tenderly led her to the daybed. "I can't help it," she choked out. "It's just too good. Better than I knew it could ever be. Better than anything's supposed to be. I can't stop thinking about it. I remember everything they did to me, and everything I did to them, and I want more. I cum a dozen times a day. I can't get enough. My cunt's always wet. I'm going crazy. What am I going to do?" I could smell her. Not just the perfume of her blue-black hair. But also the reek of her arousal. The very act of her humiliating confession turned her on. "I can smell you," I whispered. "You're ready to cum right now, aren't you?" "Um hum," she whined after a breathy pause. Her hips started to squirm slightly on the vanity's bench. "You feel completely degraded. You lied to me about money you made selling your cunt. I bet you count it every day, don't you? It excites you, doesn't it?" There was a wet nibble at my neck and another soft, "Um hum." "And you'll do whatever it takes to do it again, won't you? No matter what you promise. If I threatened to divorce and expose you as a whore unless you quit, would you be able to?" She panted and began to rub her nipples on my chest. "I don't know. Would you? Do you want me to?" Her legs were parted. I ran my hand up her thigh, and two fingers straight into her thoroughly lubricated slot. My thumb found her asshole already slick and open. She'd been assfucking herself with a dildo. I chuckled into her hair. "But what about the kid's education?" "Fuck," she grunted at the double invasion. "You're as sick as I am." And I took her there, in ass and cunt, while she alternately cried and came, crudely describing her weekend in vivid detail. So, here we are. "As I write this, my wife Helen's getting ready for a date." Sorry. I couldn't resist. So now she's upstairs putting on her finishing touches. No need to lie to the kids about a business trip, because she'll be doing her sleeping here this weekend - though little else. Since I'm her only pimp now and without Mike's connections, we're going to check out some upscale hotel bars, to start with. Helen - Madelaine, that is - wants to try the airport area tomorrow. She spent over a thousand dollars of her money on clothes this afternoon, and ordered still more from catalogues she got somewhere. Seems she was well prepared for this. She's refused to model any of it for me. I've been toying with the idea of paying her to put on a show for me and demonstrate what the well dressed prostitute wears these days. ***** [Note concerning graphics: The images used in the illustrated version have been altered in order to better reflect the text - which has also been edited with the graphics in mind. All scans were downloaded from various newgroups. In order of appearance, original filenames (although such things are relative) follow: bam02.jpg; venile08.jpg; zn24-82.jpg; leigh07.jpg; purp07.jpg; kari3.jpg; 0485098a.jpg; and short13.jpg.] -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /