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From: maddabbler@hotmail.com (The Mad Dabbler)
Subject: New: A Husband's Journal, Part 2
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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.]

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