My Boss' Slut Ch. 9

As always when she nursed, Becky was naked except for the diaper used as a wiping cloth which was across her shoulder. Becky and Trudy looked up at Mrs. Williams. For a second, they both look frightened and gave Mr. Williams and me a questioning look. Since Mr. Williams appeared unconcerned, so was I. He had been right about a lot of things so far. I suspected he knew his wife.

"May I sit down?" Mrs. Williams asked. Becky nodded.

Gracefully, she sat. As we all waited for her to speak, I saw the loving and gentle expression on her face as she looked at Becky.

"I know all about you, Becky. I know about you being my husband's slut. I know about the club and the bet and the babies. I know about you, too, Trudy." She slowly turned to look at her husband. "And I know about the blonde bimbo in accounting, Arthur."

Mr. Williams blushed and shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"I said nothing for two reasons. My husband is a stud, which is the names males gave themselves when they call women sluts for the identical behavior. Like sluts, studs need plenty of sex and they need variety. I'm happy my husband is sexually active. I know he keeps me satisfied."

Mrs. Williams looked away, her eyes sad, seeing some sight in her mind.

"More than that, we lost a child."

Becky sobbed audibly. Trudy whispered "I'm sorry."

"He died three years before Arthur met you, Becky. I was hoping you could bear him another son. I was very disappointed he has not fathered any of your four."

Becky looked up at Arthur Williams, my boss. She had emotion in her face for the first time in a long time. That emotion was sweetness and caring and, probably, love.

"Why didn't you tell me? You could have fathered them all," she said softly.

He shifted feet again and mumbled as his face turned crimson. He didn't respond before Christine continued.

"Will you please have another and let Arthur father it?"

Becky was visibly pained. Roy whimpered at her breast as she shifted position.

"I'm so sorry. I truly am. But I have had enough," she said sadly.

"I...." Trudy said. She was shaking. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Oh, sweet Trudy," Becky said. "I've been so selfish in not thinking of you. You must want a baby of your own and you've never said a word. Why don't you have Mr. Williams' child?"

"I'd like that very much," Trudy whispered. She looked at me, seeking my approval and permission. "Do you mind?"

"Trudy, I love the idea," I replied.

"I like the idea, too. Can we come visit, come see you delightful women and your wonderful children?" Christine asked.

"Any time, Christine. Any time," Becky replied.

It hadn't occurred to me that Trudy wanted to have a child. I kicked myself for not thinking of it. All women want children. And if Trudy planned to spend her life with us, I wasn't going to give her a child because I was sterile. That's what started Becky and me down this path.

Five months later, I was sick with worry about Becky. I had hoped Trudy's pregnancy and Christine Williams visiting would have helped pull her out of her blue funk. But it did not.

Trudy was happy, bubbling, floating, her belly extended with Mr. Williams child. It was a boy child according to the sonagrams. We had already decided on a name: Robert Arthur Jones.

But Becky was still depressed. She only picked at her food. She refused to laugh, or dance, or party, or even go to the mall shopping. All she did was nurse, care for her children and look out the window. She slept in the nursery with the children. She refused medication since she was nursing.

She had not had sex since that time with Horse, the time when he had his heart attack, which was now six months ago. When you think about it, for a woman who loved sex as much as Becky to go six months without it indicated something was terribly wrong.

I love my wife, my slut wife. All I wanted when she first became my boss' slut was for her to have children and be happy. She had four children: two boys, two girls; four ethnic groups; all healthy and happy and wonderful.

All I wanted now was for her to be happy again. I wanted my wild, giggly, happy, hot, sexy, slutty Becky back.

It was my idea, not Mr. Williams or anyone elses. I knew my Becky better than anyone. I knew what I had to do. I talked to my boss and he agreed.

We got it all set up for a Friday evening.

Becky was sitting in her rocker in the nursery when I entered. Listlessly, she followed me into the bedroom.

"I love you, Becky," I said, holding her.

"I love you, too," she replied, her voice emotionless.

I slipped her arms behind her and handcuffed them together before she realized what was happening.

"Bobby! No! Let me go!" she barked. I shoved a gag in her mouth eliminating further conversation from her. Mr. Williams came in just as Becky kicked me trying to get away. He held her as I tied her legs together. We carried her to the car kicking and twisting.

At Mr. Williams' club, the other fathers were gathered: Basil Li, Jose Martinez and Lee Jones. Becky fought us every inch of the way as we carried her into the club house and put her on the big bed in the bedroom where she had fucked all the club members at one time or another. She fought as we tied her wrists to the headboard. She kicked as we slipped a rope around each ankle and bound it to her thigh, locking her legs in frog fashion.

"Let me go!" she screamed as I ungagged her.

I did something I had never done to my Becky. I slapped her. Startled, she stared at me.

"Becky, you're a slut, a world class, big titted, hard fucking, baby dropping slut. Sluts needs to be fucked. We're going to fuck you long and hard and constantly until you realize that is what makes you happy."

"No, Bobby. Please! No! Don't you understand? Someone will die! Don't do this!"

Mr. Williams turned her head to look at him.

"Becky, every man dreams of dying while fucking a woman like you, of dying while his chest crushes your tits and his cock fills your pussy. We all want to die while fucking a beautiful, slutty woman who loves us. It's the final male fantasy. You gave him that fantasy, Becky. He died a very happy and satisfied man."

"Really? You really think so?"

"Yes. We think so," Mr. Martinez said.

"Most definitely," Mr. Li replied.

As I crawled between her legs, her lower lip quivered and a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Don't die on me, Bobby," she whispered.

We went twice each, ten long and hard fuckings. I know she didn't orgasm with me the first time. I don't think she orgasmed until Basil took his second turn, which was her eighth fucking of the evening. By then, she was moaning and twisting and covered in sweat. We untied her and left her on the bed. She was either unconscious or asleep.

A hour later, all the other club members had assembled. They were visiting or playing cards or shooting pool, waiting to see what happened with Becky. They all cared about their club slut.

The bedroom door opened. Shyly, slowly, Becky, naked and with dried cum on her legs, came to me, folding her arms around me. Finally, she looked up at me.

"You do know what is best for your wife, for your slut, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my darling Bobby, you make me feel so loved." She kissed me softly.

"Can I have one more child, Bobby?"

"Of course. If you want to."

"I do. Lets go potluck."

"All right," I laughed. I knew exactly what she meant.

She looked at all the men standing around watching her. She knew they were her friends, her lovers, the fathers of her children. She squeezed my hand before walking toward the poker table. A man extended his hand to help her stand on the table top. She looked at them all, a smile on her face.

"I want one more baby," she said. "I'm unprotected. Let's go potluck and see who the winner is. Everybody game?"

A roar of approval came from them. She teared up again, bathing her face and those massive tits with her tears.

"I love all of you," she said.

"I love you" came floating back to her from them.

She gave a wide, happy, super slutty, grin.

"Or maybe I just love your cocks. Pull those cocks out, lovers. Becky the slut is back and she's horny as hell!"

The End

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