Delicia Ch. 01

Delicia looked at her laptop. It sat on her small PC desk, a kit desk her husband bought her at a discount warehouse. He assembled the desk. She bought the laptop.

It was 10 p.m. and she had just put her two daughters to bed. Young girls, innocents.

They were boisterous, but they had quieted down. Galeez, only 5, and Beatriz, 8. They shared a room down the hall, which was across the kitchen and living room from the master bedroom.

Her son, Noel, 15, was hard at work, struggling to finish his math assignment in the living room.

Delicia's husband, working a second shift, wouldn't be home until 2:30 a.m. at the earliest.

Delicia spent her evenings without her husband. She fell asleep alone, five nights a week. She hated it, but it was a dull hate that she was resigned to live with.

She loved her husband of 17 years, but they had drifted apart.

She had fond memories of their dating years, their honeymoon phase. He was young and fit and physically well-endowed where it counted. He had a quiet and sweet temperament and was playful in bed.

But he was undisciplined in her personal habits. He ate too much. He drank too much. He was lazy. He grew fat. He became a drunkard.

Time wasn't kind to him. He became obese and short of breath and the lovemaking changed for the worse. She did all the work in bed. Sometimes, she faked orgasms. She didn't used to have to do that.

She encouraged him, would plead with him to take care of himself. But he didn't put in the effort and as time passed, she became disappointed with him, with what she felt she was missing.

But he was a nice man, a good provider, a good father. She wanted to stick it out. But what once was something she thought was forever changed into something that made her think: "Stick it out ... for how long?"

And that thought, it was like a dagger of doubt in her heart. It frightened her. She felt vulnerable to temptation.

Then there was the affair. That one slip-up that turned into a torrid two-year, heart-pounding, gut-wrenching race into obsession and insanity.

It was behind her now. She was grateful on most days that she wasn't so out of control. But the fear of a relapse was ever-present.

She had changed. She had broken once, treated like a slut by her lover. She came away from that shattered and it had taken her years to put the pieces of her psyche back together. And something dark festered in her, always under the surface, this nagging dread of the proximity of her dark side.

So she would go to her laptop, and log into adult chat rooms. She never intended to meet any of the men she had chats with. She was careful to hide her identity.

It was just her guilty pleasure. A naughty chat, some role-play. She would masturbate. She would stay with it until she came and then, no matter where the conversation was, she would log off. She would escape back into her safe world. Her real world.

Delicia knew the difference. She knew that good women who protect their reputation wonder what it would be like to go to the dark side, to be the temptress, to be that sensuous slut.

She had a taste of that side. But it was like a mighty octopus that wrapped its tentacles around her and dragged her deeper in. It filled her with fear and self-loathing. It made her sick to hide her sins from her family, her neighbors and co-workers and her church.

She had escaped it once. She didn't want to go back down that path, but something in her kept her stuck at the crossroads of good and bad, and she was always looking at what might wait for her down the other road.

And it certainly didn't help her powers of restraint that she was beautiful.

Even at 38 years of age, she was a breathtaking vision of sexual vitality.

The daughter of a tall, athletic Puerto Rican father and a curvy Mexican mother, Delicia was a cinnamon-colored woman with thick shoulder-length dark brown hair.

She had olive-brown eyes, a broad nose on a handsome face. She carefully kept her eyebrows sleek and narrow. She had full lips that she liked to paint a dark plum.

She stood 5 feet, 8 inches tall. She weighed 165 pounds. She had a 42D-32-44 figure and she was meticulous about her wardrobe. She like her clothes to fit tight without being slutty. She wore size 16 or 18 dresses.

She was a curvy, voluptuous, athletic mama who power-walked in the park, and fastidiously kept up with her pilates exercises.

But she didn't do it all for her husband. She did it for herself. And she did it because she enjoyed the looks and compliments she got from other men.

She wasn't a flirt, but she could be coy and gracious when complimented on her body. She was as vain as any woman.

And she had a killer body. She just didn't know what to do with it.

"If I was a slut. What if I was a slut? A dirty cum bucket whore?"

This is what she asked herself, every time she turned on the laptop. This is what haunted her, the way her one affair haunted her, the way her sexual appetite tormented her.

And she would tell herself, "I can't. I can't be that. I would disappoint my parents, shock my friends, be a horrible example to my children. I would break my husband's heart. I would be so ashamed, my reputation would be shredded. I've worked so hard, tried so hard to behave, to preserve a normal family environment."

But she could be a virtual slut. She could do that. It felt safe.

So she turned on the laptop and searched for her favorite adult chat room and signed on under her username: SlutWife.

Her profile exaggerated her sexual depravity. 'Curvy latina MILF, cheating slut who fucks the men in the neighborhood when hubby is away. Here for chat, roleplay.'

And that was all she wanted. She would have been content with that guilty pleasure. But the men invariably wanted more. And as time passed she found it difficult to maintain a contact that was good at keeping her horny unless she shared more of herself.

Her first concession was to start emailing provocative photographs of herself. Darkened images of her backside naked, crotch shots of her black bush pussy. Profile pics of her pulling at her nipples.

It was naughty but it seemed safe.

But they always wanted more of her. Another pic, a nastier pic. And there were constant requests for phone sex.

That was her next concession. She gave in and had voice conversations through online messenger accounts.

The more they saw of her, the more they heard her voice, they more demanding they were for a meet-up.

Some offered her free plane tickets. Some offered her much more.

A few men turned out to be - or pretended to be - California pornography producers. One offered her thousands of dollars to go on camera for group sex. The thought both intrigued and terrified her. She turned him down, but she kept asking herself, "What if I did?"

The nights kept coming. Her loneliness kept her in front of her laptop after the children were in bed.

By day, she was up early and hurried to get the children ready for school. She went to her job. She worked in the bakery of a grocery store, making and selling pastries.

She got off her shift at 3 p.m. every day, Monday through Friday, and was home in time to greet her daughters as the school bus dropped them off at the corner of their block.

She walked them home, one and then the other.

She prepared dinner.

And on weekends, she spent time with her husband. They shopped together, ate out together, went to movies or a bowling alley or a park. They tried to make up for lost time.

Every Saturday morning, she made love to him. And every Sunday evening, she made love to him. Twice a week. It was their special time.

But Monday night came too soon.

And there they were, right in her bedroom of all places. All those other men. Those lusty, perverse, wicked men who thought she was a filthy whore. And how she tried to keep them believing it.

There were times, when she was carried away with her own lust, that she believed she was everything they wanted her to be. A cock-starved cum bucket whore.

Ten years had past since the affair ended. And seven years had passed since she had begun chatting with strange men.

Her willpower weakened with each passing month.

She kept in touch longer with the men she had in her contact list. She had become more reluctant to delete them.

And in the past year, since she turned 37, she had given in to one of the most taboo forms of media.

SlutWife's profile was updated. By age 37, she had moved past mere online chat or role-play: "Curvy latina MILF, cheating cock-loving slut. I'm fucking the neighbors, and when I'm not sucking down their cum I am here for voice sex or cam2cam sex."

She had begun to have cam-to-cam sex. Masturbating with her partners.

Not only did they have pics of her, they saw her live, heard her live. She stripped naked live and let them fuck with her head in vile ways.

Fucking herself on camera with a dildo while she professed herself a whore. Showing her backside and taking instructions to shove objects up her asshole - bottles, vibrators, beads, butt plugs, vegetables.

"Yes baby, ooooo yes, I'm a dirty whore. I'm a dirty fucking whore. Oh yes, I do need your cock. Oh my god yes. You have a fucking delicious cock," she would happily exclaim, giving in to their every on-camera demand.

Domineering perverse men of all kinds tried every trick they could think of to drive her insane with lust, to get her so hot that she would slip and give in, and finally consent to go be the whore she pretended to be.

But Delicia was well-grounded. She always had enough sense of her place to remember what she had to lose. And she cut them off before they brought her to that.

She held herself to a few strict rules.

"Never give my real name. Never give my real location. Never give my phone number."

She thought that was enough. She thought she could keep it all under control, and that she would never ever be caught.

She was wrong.

* * * * * *

Jerome was a 58-year-old, divorced auto parts store manager. His fourth wife left him nine years before he found Delicia online.

Jerome and Delicia had a two-year online relationship before she finally slipped up.

Jerome was a heavy-set, 6-foot Anglo misogynist who was interest in women too young for him. The women he did date couldn't tolerate him for more than two or three sex dates. But he kept chasing them, so he could demean them, treat them like meat.

Then he met Delicia, who surprised him by agreeing almost immediately to voice sex. By the time she encountered him in a chat room, she had gotten past that inhibition.

But it took him another year to get her to consent to cam-to-cam sex.

She was difficult to find online. But there was a pattern. She would contact him two or three times a month. And the sessions were satisfyingly long, usually three to four hours.

And she let him treat her like trash. He loved that.

He would leave his account open constantly, waiting for her to appear. Her window would pop up and the 'SlutWife' who claimed her real name was Anna would start the chat with a simple, "Hello."

Hello, Anna.

"Hey daddy," she would answer, as their relationship had developed into a pseudo incestuous sub daughter/dom daddy constant stream of oral and visual depravity.

Open your video chat, whore!

"Yes, daddy!"

She always appeared with her clothes on, slightly nervous and her voice had a tremor to it. She would often look down, timid as she began about looking into the face of an evil man, and she knew to her core that Jerome really was an evil man.

He would pant, leer and lick at his lips and grunt out orders: Show me your tits, cunt. Open that fucking blouse, you fucking whore.

"Mmmm, oh yes papa."

She unbuttoned, still looking down, her own chest jaggedly sucking in air as her bedroom got hotter. She pushed her blouse off one shoulder, then turned and stripped the other shoulder. She pulled it off and then reached behind to undo her bra. She would lift up her heavy full breasts and ask in a husky quivering voice, "Do you like my titssssssss daddy?"

Pinch your nipples for daddy, slut. Yessss. That's it. Pull them. Pull them HARDER, you fucking whore. God, what a nasty brown slut you are! You fucking horny bitch. Pull them. Pinch them. Yessss, stretch them out, make them pointy, you hot cocksucker.

You got that black dildo ready, fuck-face? Get it and show daddy how you love cock, yeah, you're a fucking whore. Daddy's gonna make you a fucking whore. Would you like that?

"Mmm oh yes daddy, I need you. I need you to make me a dirty fucking whore. Oh, I wanna be a whore so bad!"

Suck it. Yes. Mmmm, yeah baby. Daddy's going to make you a whore, just like you want. You have no idea how nasty daddy is going to make you, you cum-sucking hot nympho whore.

"Oh mmmm," she said as she slurped and sucked on the dildo. "Yes daddy!"

Stand up, cunt. Stand up and suck that dick. Suck that dirty fat black cock, you cock greedy fucked up crack whore! Oh yea. You love it, you dirty girl. You love all of that fat black cock.

"Mmmmm uh huh! Oh yes daddy. Mmmm, slurp. Oh I just can't get enough."

Jerome watched her. He pulled out his stiff white penis and stroked on camera and said: I wish I had you here so you could suck mine like that. When are you going to give in bitch? When are you going to stop playing games and come be my whore. I'll set you up, give you all the gang-banging I know you crave. You'll love it, too. I promise. I know a real slut when I see one and you're a real slut.

Delicia panted and got hotter as he pushed her to do the one thing she was tempted to do but would never, not ever give in to. She reached into her shorts and rubbed her clit.

That makes you so hot, Jerome said. I know it does. Look at you. You want to be my whore. When are you going to leave that dumb-ass husband of yours and do what you really want to do?

"Oh daddy. You know I can't. I have children. I have a life, a reputation. This is the best I can do."

Fuck all that, Jerome argued. You fucking whore. You're a whore. That is your true nature. You need to play with a lot of cock. A whole lot of cock. How many horny men do you chat with anyway? How many, besides me?

"I don't know."

Holy shit, there's so many of them that you don't know? You're a fucking whore! Just admit it!

"Mmmm nnnnnnnn yessss daddy, I'm a fucking whore! I'm a nasty whore."

Get those shorts down! Show daddy your pussy, slut! Yes, mmmm shit. God you are so fucking hot. Smoking hot. Oh my God, I want to bang all your holes so fucking bad. I'm going to get you, one of these days, I'm going to get you. You know that? I promise I'll find your damn ass and make you my whore!

That body belongs in porn movies. Oh my fucking god. Pull those hot pussy lips apart. Hold that cock in your mouth and show daddy your clit, you nasty slut! Fucking wet dirty bitch!

Now shove that black cock in your pussy. Show daddy how you love to fuck on that monster.

"Nnnnnnnn oh, yes. Thank you daddy. Mmmm thank you for letting me fuck it! Ooooo!"

And she would insert her fat black dildo in her vagina and do violence to herself. Jamming it in with rapid deep strokes. Jamming it like a woman possessed. She panted and humped her hips and smiled into the face of evil, completely unaware that she had lingered with this man too long.

He drove her to fuck herself to a hard sloppy squirting orgasm, releasing her fluids onto the tiled floor beneath her feet as he spewed filthy expletives into her ears and tattooed her heart with blackness.

Jerome was in his own state of sexual frenzy as he watched her cum.

Now I'm going to jack my jizz all over your face whore! You want me cum, slut? Want me to cum on your face, you filthy skank bitch?

"Oh yesssss daddy! Nnnnn please, please cum all over my face," Delicia said in all sincerity.

She had sent Jerome many pics of herself and their sessions usually ended with him printing one of her portraits. He would jerk off over her picture while she furiously rubbed her clit and pinched at her nipples, squirming with unbridled hot lust in anticipation of his ejaculation.

And when he showed her his fresh semen dripping on her face, it drove her to a lust so intense that at times she would nearly feint. She was always light-headed in these moments.

Their sex chats often took detours into her life and he made every effort to get her to open up about herself.

She had confessed in great detail her affair. She had told him every intimate detail about her lovemaking with her husband. He knew her medical history, her education history. He knew how often she went to church and with whom she associated by first names. He knew when her son lost interest in soccer and took up the guitar.

But he didn't know her real name, or where she lived. He knew only that she lived in Texas, and because she had once made the mistake of sending him a photo of her in a restaurant, Jerome knew by the logo on the drink at her table that she was in a southeast region of Texas because that fast-food chain didn't have restaurants anywhere else.

But tonight, he had a new piece of information. A very special piece of information.

He noticed it almost immediately. Delicia had a dresser-drawer across the bedroom. Behind her, sat upright an pamphlet.

Jerome had never seen it before. And he wasn't sure what it was exactly, but it caught his interest. When he dismissed his whore, he saved the video file. He saved all of their video chats, another piece of evidence Delicia never considered.

Jerome played the video back. He waited for a clear view. He had choreographed Delicia's movements to keep her to one side of the screen so he would record plenty of video of the pamphlet.

At one point, Jerome told her to turn on a lamp so he could see her pussy better. 'I want to watch your juices glisten in the light, you're such a wet oozing horny cock magnet aren't you?'

But the light highlighted the background. He froze the video on a frame that brought it into clarity and photographed it. He took the photo into a photo edit program and zoomed in.

Jerome grinned and said, "I've got you! I've got you, you fucking whore! Oh, you are mine! You are my little hot cunt. I'm gonna fuck that hole!"

* * * * * *