Banker's Slut Ch. 01

Twice, after the fucking started, Anitra got up on the table and did a lust-filled dance, gyrating her hips and thrusting out her cunt, while bouncing and playing with her tits, with her body soiled with ropes of cum in her hair and on her body, even seeping from her well-used cunt and ass. She was laughing, flashing her 100-watt smile, as she enjoyed posturing for her cheering and freely insulting crowd.

Anitra went over to a portable 'station' at least half a dozen times, and had her overfull cunt and ass douched, cleaned, anointed and then went right back to her crazed fucking. She kept screaming, "fuck me fuck me fuck me, I'm cumming and I can't stop, FUCK ME!!"

That's as much as I could stand, watching this petite woman sex herself insane with dozens of cocks and other women's cunts, humping and I cried huge tears for the rest of the orgy, barely able to watch my ex-wife, who'd become a 'working girl,' fucking and sucking her way up The Bank's corporate ladder.

Toward the end of the performance of about two hours or so, Anitra was pulled off all the now-exhausted men and women, and half walked, half-carried by Ahmed and Harriet back into her office, cunt and ass still oozing and running down her thighs, after many multiple ejaculations.

She was taken back to her bathroom, and I heard the noises as she pissed. The two people exited from the bathroom alone, talking as they crossed the room. Harriet was saying "She'll have to be in top condition to service the Board on Friday, so we're outta luck until the next Monday, unless we can get her over to our place for more ... fun." Then they went out.

I retrieved the high-capacity data chips from the camera feeds and put them into my case, as well as a couple of big double handfuls of the skin patches, a couple of bottles of clear liquid, and from one of three large boxes, a DVD from each.

Over in the bathroom, I found Anitra passed out on a massage table, which explained the lack of sex-evidence on her skin when I saw her at the house (not our home, any more). She had sex-cum drooling out of her mouth, cunt and ass. Most likely, she'd be treated and massaged, bathed and medicated, getting her ready for another sex session with a group of horny old men, the Board of Directors within The Bank.

Even with a loud voice and shaking, I couldn't rouse her. But I did video her with my own little camera, lying there, semen drooling from all of her holes, hands, arms, in her hair, on her face and all over her body.

So that's where I left her, there in her executive office, to sleep, eat, exercise, tan, work at investing money for long hours and then sex any man within sight, as long as she advanced her way toward the top position with The Bank.

The slut-whore for The Bank's pleasure.

I went back down the stairs, left the building, hailed a random cab and went back to the house. There, I did all the usual stuff that pre-divorcing men do, changing my name off credit cards and bank accounts. I emptied the savings and checking, knowing that her six-figure income was at least triple what had been mine on the best of months. I left the stocks and investments alone, as they were all done with The Bank's brokerage services.

I did pre-pay the taxes on the house, ahead a couple of years. I also downloaded, filled out and submitted an on-line application for the Dissolution of Marriage On A Non-Respondent Basis, and carefully forged her name with her rubber stamped signature, then sent it off as a scanned document, with fees paid. She be divorced and free of me in a year. She could have a stable full of boy-toys, as many as she wanted, while enjoying a vice-presidency within The Bank, in the twilight of her career.

I just didn't care any more.

[Liar, liar, pants on fire!]

I carefully wrote and edited a brief note to my newly-minted slut ex-wife-to-be, giving a broad hint as to where the DVDs were, packing it with the high-capacity high-def DVD that I'd made from her orgy performance earlier that day, making sure the date and time of the orgy and my departure was noted.

I printed out:

—————————-.

To my gang-banging slut-hotwife Anitra,

I'm gone and out of your life, with intent to loose myself. You can bang as many men and women as you want from now on, as you sex your way up The Bank's corporate ladder. You already make a lot more money than I'll ever earn, so you can buy a whole stable of boy toys, when and if.

But, please—at least once—look at the DVDs I've date-marked and left here, and try to imagine the pain and anguish I felt when I saw you 'performing' for your research team, some of the Directors and other random men ... about two dozen, if I've counted right.

It wasn't forced sex, not even close. You were loving it all. You loved every screaming, orgasming minute, every cock, every penetration, every drop of ejaculated semen of the orgy recorded live on September 22, 2006, from 10 AM to 2 PM.

OK, I get it, My single cock wasn't enough for you. I wasn't good enough either. Tough shit for me.

Back 8 days before the orgy that I watched and recorded, when your pager beeped and you pulled off my hard about-to-cum cock and ran out of the house, to 'fulfill your purpose and duty to The Bank,' I knew I'd lost you. I tried to make a marriage with you work, but you chose your fucking men and The Fucking Corporate Bank for your lovers.

Here is my ring. You can put it away somewhere, to have a good laugh now and then with your fuckers about the clueless chump you screwed and conned into believing you loved me more than you loved screwing them and your precious financial institution.

Welcome to your new life.

The property taxes on the house (not our home, any more) have been paid for the next three years. That's about all I afford to do. I've gone ahead and filed for a Dissolution of Marriage, Non-Respondent, because I won't be around anymore for you to cuckold me any further. I've paid the filing fees and submitted it under your rubber-stamped signature. You'll be officially free of me in a year's time.

The power's off in the house because of the damned cameras—disguised as smoke detectors—all over the house, especially in the bedroom. Some perverts from The Bank got their rocks off regularly interrupting us on your pager every time we started to get close. Your Bank has a lot of power and influence, it seems, even for illegal home invasions and privacy-breaking spy observations.

Watch out for STD's. None of your fuckers (not lovers) used condoms during the 'performance' I watched that time, or on the other DVDs. By the way, neither your Ahmed nor Harriet is your friend, as they just want to exploit your body and soul (that is, if you still have one).

I doubt if 'll ever trust another woman or friend again, but that's my problem, not yours. I probably still love you some, but I expect that to dim as the years go by.

Now get back on your knees and take some more squirting cock in your cheating mouth and more up your still-tempting ass or cunt, while you make more money for The Bank.

I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your precious fucking time with this note.

Casimir E. McCorkindale, B.S., M.S.

Forensic IT Specialist & Free-Lance Consultant

(a name I expect to change, very soon)

——————————.

I packed up my own few possessions, professional library, tools and electronics, loaded the small pickup truck I owned, put a brief note about the electricity being off due to the cameras, which I posted over the light switch at the front door. I closed and locked the front door, and left, to lose myself.

I stayed lost for 3 years.