Fantasy Out Of Control Ch. 07

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the seventh chapter of this story. It's best if you read the first six chapters.)

James had just left after dumping two loads in my slut wife. He was big and black and had a massive cock. He checked every box for Susan. Her sex life just went from busy to hectic and although she didn't know it, she was just getting started. Did she have capacity for even more? Horny women will do almost anything, and my wife seemed now to be in a continuous state of arousal.

I was away trying to salvage a project my boss Doug and I had been working on. A sent a few texts to Susan during the ten days I was gone, but received only a few replies and mostly they didn't make much sense. I knew William and Randy were fucking her, but I didn't know about everything else that was transpiring day to day in an evolving manipulation that my wife barely tried to resist.

You see, the thing about sex for women is that sex begets more sex. Susan started out horny the day before. She was fucked maybe a dozen times, orgasmed who knows how many times, and though she was exhausted, she was still horny. And her hand found her leaking pussy, her fuck juice and James' cum spilling out, and she thought about William saying he'd be there at eight o'clock. She had three hours to recover, clean up, sober up, and have something to eat.

Her legs were like rubber. She stumbled to the stairs and crawled up and dragged herself to the bathtub and soaked for half an hour, little whisps of James' second cum load drifting out of her and floating around in the water. And while it may have looked gross, the idea that the sperm in a Black man had been milked from his balls, into her pussy, and was now floating around in the water after leaking out of her fertile cunt was a major turn on.

"I'm now a prostitute," she said to herself as she sat there. "I just got fucked by three men in the past 24 hours and they paid me a total of eight-hundred dollars for my services. For the use of my body. No, prostitute is too good of a word. I'm a whore."

Of course she knew she wasn't really a prostitute or a whore. Right? It was easy to rationalize. There had been no negotiation over price or planned payment and her intent wasn't to get paid for fucking. So she sort of rationalized it and figuratively shrugged her shoulders. The money was incidental.

She saw herself more as a slut. A woman who lived to fuck and whose inhibitions were almost completely peeled away. She long ago got over feeling any guilt about satisfying her carnal needs. She had a body that was insatiable so she was always fucking. She was addicted not necessarily to cock, but to orgasms. But the risky and taboo nature of what she was doing was a psychological spark or ignition that fueled the desire. Once she felt her first orgasm as a teen, she was firmly on the path that led her to William and then to prostitution. She asked herself if she was too old, but the answer, even if it was yes, didn't matter. Sex was all that mattered.

She'd had the three drinks and was still feeling the effects by the time she got out of the bath and was getting dressed. She wore another sundress and as was her custom, nothing else except sandals and some jewelry. She loved the feel of a bare cunt, and the friction of the material on her nipples kept them hard and her horny. She liked the idea that her most private parts were not really private and were easily accessed.

If she wasn't fucking, she was edging. She had no responsibilities in life and I always encouraged her toward depravity at every turn, creating a sex machine of sorts -- always aroused, always on edge, always thinking about the next partner, always planning towards the next coupling.

But at that moment she wasn't even thinking of William arriving in a couple of hours. She was just getting dressed so she could make a quick sandwich and drink some coffee to get rid of the effects of the hard liquor. She needed hydration. Water.

William had said he was dropping by at eight o'clock, but he showed up an hour earlier as my wife was finishing her second cup of coffee. And so confident was William, he didn't knock. He just walked in, found her in the kitchen, put his arm around her and gave her a quick kiss. And then a longer one, his tongue snaking into her mouth and igniting a fire in her pussy.

"James said you were amazing," William beamed after a couple of minutes of heightening her arousal. "I'm really happy you decided to service him Susan. He's a great guy and you'll really like him once you get to know him. He has a place in Jamaica that is out of this world. Maybe he'll take you there. He's got tons of money, so he can afford your, um, pussy. He was really smitten by, um, ah, well this."

He indicated her body, running his hand down her and stopping at her pussy, which he stroked through the thin material of her sundress.

She moaned at his touch. Any thoughts of refusing him were long gone.

She didn't know what to say. She had no plans of getting to know James, but if that's what William wanted, she knew she would. And she had no idea what William's plans were right then and there. As far as she was concerned, any plans to decide about William's 'Black Owned' idea were on hold until I got back home.

"Totally," William said as he held her around the waist and slid a hand up and down her body, pully the sundress up and back down again as he played with her. "And we don't even have to do that if you don't want. We can go day by day and just act on urges."

"I told him that might be best, at least for now," she later told me. "It kind of put my mind at ease that I wasn't being pressured about something I wasn't too sure about. I mean I wanted the sex, but I wasn't sure about bein 'owned' by him. And when he said 'owned' it was exactly the way you would own a boat or a car. I'd be a possession."

They each had a fresh coffee and as they sat, Susan very conscious of her tingling, bare pussy and her aroma now obvious to both of them, William suggested they go out, maybe get a late supper and a drink.

"I, um, guess that would be okay," Susan said, fully aware it would end in her getting fucked again. Her nipples stiffened at the idea. Her cunt flowed. "Just let me go put something else on."

But William stopped her.

"What you have on is fine," he said. "You look amazing."

"But, um, people will be able to see, um, everything," she said. "I'm not wearing anything under this and it's practically see-through."

William laughed. And Susan was being a bit difficult because she was an exhibitionist by nature and often wore similar attire out in public purposely so people would see her most private parts.

"All the better. I want people to see you," he said. "What you've got is worth seeing. But just to ease your mind, we'll go to a place with low lighting. How's that?"

He convinced her. She did her hair and makeup and quickly used a warm washcloth to clean her moist pussy, hoping she wouldn't embarrass herself at the restaurant with her juices soaking the back of the dress as she sat. Her clit tingled as she rubbed the warm cloth over it.

She joined William at the bottom of the stairs and in a minute they were headed for downtown. She texted me as they drove. A simple message that she was going out to get supper with William.

"We went to this nice place, " she told me later. "It was the two of us at a booth across from each other. By the time we ordered, this guy comes over and sees William and stops to talk like they haven't seen each other for a while. The guy sits down next to me and William introduces me to Max, yet another big Black guy."

Before long the waitress came back and asked Max if he was ordering. Max looked questioningly at William and he nodded. So Max joined them. It was all preplanned, as William told me a few months later.

When Susan had sat down initially, she pulled the back of the dress up behind her so she wouldn't be sitting on it. Her pussy was now on the bare vinyl of the seat and William had told her to pull the dress up on the front so her most private parts were almost visible. With Max beside her, he had access to her bare pussy.

Their meals came, they ate, they had a drink. They had another drink. There was some suggestive conversation about Susan as William overtly shared some details of her promiscuous lifestyle and willing and quite able body. Max had his hand on her knee, then her thigh. She spread her legs a bit more and then Max was playing with her leaking twat.

William used a foot under the table to spread her legs as wide as possible and Max had fingers in her and she was wet all over the booth seat. She was breathing funny, moaning. Her aroma was wafting up and noticible.

It was getting late so they had a final drink and it was past eleven-thirty. Just as the check arrived, William pulled out his phone and read a text message, frowns. Replies. Sighs.

"I got to go, Susan," he said, feigning regret. "There's been a break-in at one of the businesses I'm involved with and they need me to see what might have been stolen."

Susan had just finished her third drink. Max hadn't had anything alcoholic to drink.

"You can come along," he said to Susan. "But it's a long way in the wrong direction."

That's when Max jumped in and offered to drive Susan home.

"You'll be nice to Max, Susan," William said. "Entertain him like you did James. Max is really looking forward to getting to know you. Every bit of you -- inside and out. I'll call you in the morning."

So in no time she found herself, now quite tipsy, escorted out by Max. She gave him directions. Ever the gentleman, he helped her into the house. She politely offered him a drink, had another one herself.

"He asked where the bedroom was," Susan told me. "He grabbed a bottle of Scotch off the sideboard and told me to get up there. He grabbed a shot glass and I was on the bed with another drink in me, and then another. Then we started fucking. I was drunk and did whatever he wanted. Oral, anal, cunt. I rimmed his ass. I know he did video and took photos. I didn't care. I just kept cuming and cuming."

I wasn't there, so it's difficult to describe it, even though Susan did her best to fill me in on how this new Black man lowered her already-low defenses and had her in bed within 20 minutes and used her off and on until it started to get light out.

"I remember he had a big cock and he was maybe forty years old and I know I sucked his cock quite a few times," she said later. "And he came in my pussy at least twice. I don't know. I just kept cuming and he just kept fucking me. I was so swollen and loose at the same time."

Susan heard the shower at about six o'clock and his car start a bit later. She went back to sleep and didn't get up until noon. She found $400 on the kitchen counter by the coffee machine. Again, she thought of the money as incidental.

I think you're starting to get the picture. William was turning Susan into a prostitute and she wasn't resisting because she wanted the sex. It was physical but also psychological. The thrill aspect, the taboo nature of it, had her brain sending out hormones and pheromones and all the things necessary to cause her body to go into carnal overdrive. The pheromones drove the raging sexual need of the men who came within range of them. She loved getting fucked by these big Black men, and while the money annoyed her, she deposited $1,200 in our joint account that afternoon.

I won't waste time describing the next nine days. That's how long it took for Doug and I to sort out the project problems and get a flight back home. So we were gone 10 days and Susan was cajoled and manipulated by William, and while he didn't fuck her all that often in that period, he kept introducing her to guys in a seemingly innocent way, they would get her to have a few drinks, fuck her either for a couple hours or half the night and leave anywhere from $300 to $500 on the counter -- always by the coffee machine.

And the sex was dirty. It's not like in the porn movies. Nothing's clean. Soiled and dripping ass and pussy. Sheets soaked. Blankets in heaps. Cocks covered in all her juices from her pussy and ass. Her sucking it all off. Bodily fluids all over her tits, stomach, pussy, ass crack, thighs. When she squirts, the sheets are soaked. Ass lube covers everything after a while. Drool on the pillows. And it all smells like sex. Mostly like her pussy. She puts extra sheets on to protect the mattress.

The day before I got home she'd fucked two guys in the afternoon and a guy named Gerald fucked her several times through the night. In fact she was still in bed when I got home, with Gerald's plentiful fluids still draining out of her.

She made $1,100 that day.

One afternoon when William fucked her, maybe Day 8, he spelled it out for her. She could get all the Black cock she wanted and he could provide it for her. These guys were rich and would basically pay whatever William asked through some Internet app.

"You've been paid almost $8,000 in eight days," he said. "That's your cut. I already took my cut before you got paid. It works out good all around. You're a whore. I knew that the moment I met you. You look and smell like a whore. You've got three or four more clients in the next two days. I've got a motel room booked for those. I'll give you the place and times when things are confirmed."

He didn't ask. He said.

Susan lay there with William's cum both in her stomach and pussy. She'd just taken a shower after a guy named Alex fucked her for almost three hours. So she wasn't really surprised at William's announcement that she was a whore. She had realized that on about Day 4 despite her earlier dismissal of the notion. But she was a little concerned when this time he didn't give her a choice.

"There's a lot of interest," William had told her. "I've got requests coming in, especially around a couple of upcoming conventions. So, this is good practice."

Was this her new life? Was this what she was going to do for, what, the next ten years? Would she do it? Could she do it? What would I think? What if friends and family found out? Could she get arrested? Where did the Black men come from? What if she got pregnant? Was there any danger?

She later ran all those questions through her head and when the phone rang and William told her she had to be at the Star Light Motel at eight o'clock for her first trick (he called it a trick) she just took the information, got ready, and arrived at Room 21 at the correct time. She was nervous, anxious, excited, and so horny she was was vibrating. A big Black man knocked on the door and was sunk into her within three minutes, sliding into her steamy, wet baby tunnel in a single thrust.

"Whore," he said. "Fuckin' white bitch whore. What you're made for."

She was fucked for two hours like that and never found out his name. He treated her like meat and easily tossed her around and played with her, using all her holes and not gently.

After a shower my wife was ready for the next guy.

At midnight she was so tired and worn out from fucking she just fell asleep naked on the sheets, her pussy swollen and sticky and oozing cum -- but she wasn't done. She still had to pay for the room. The manager took her cunt as pay and she just passed out with his cum flooding out of her pussy.

"I remember hearing the door close as he left," she said. "The next thing I know it's morning."

She knew her next customer was later that day in the same room and she expected the forth trick would be that evening. She was in a commercial part of town so she cleaned up, went to a fast food restaurant and had brunch in her see-through dress and attracted a lot of attention. That didn't bother her in and of itself. She liked when people saw her pussy lips back lit through her dress, or her large nipples poking through the material. But normally I was with her, or one of her regulars, and was her protection. She was getting looks from less-than-savory guys and got out of there as quickly as possible.

She found the nearest bank she could find and deposited another $800 in our account.

Back at the motel, she was ready for a customer at two o'clock and when he finished in her at four o'clock, her bedside phone rang and William said she had a fourth and even a fifth -- at seven and nine o'clock.

The next morning she deposited another $1,200 in our account before arriving home to soak in the tub for an hour with the motel manager's cum leaking out of her.

The morning I arrived home, Susan had just woken up. She was still in bed and furiously listening to somebody on the landline phone and scribbling down stuff on a notepad.

"Yup, okay. What time? Sure. And then?"

She jotted down a half dozen lines, each a date and time as I later discovered. She nodded to me as she talked. A welcome home and a 'just a second' sort of thing.

"Okay, William," she said. "How many more? Three? Just a second. I've got to write that down. No, on paper. My phone's downstairs."

She wrote three more lines and then after some brief chit-chat she hung up.

Then she flew out of the bed, hugged me and burst out crying.

"I'm a whore, Jack," she sobbed. "I've been selling my pussy to Black men." She grabbed a handful of hundred dollar bills off the dresser.

"This is $2,000 and I already put $8,000 in the bank."

She was naked. She hadn't showered yet and she smelled like pussy and cum and it was all over her from her belly button to her knees -- and it was still dripping out of her swollen cunt.

"I, I, I um, couldn't stop myself at all, Jack," she said. "I'd tell myself no, have a couple drinks and tell them yes. I got maybe ten Black guys to fuck in the next four days, Jack. My mind says stop but my body says go. I just don't know. I don't know what to do. You got to help me."

I had received a half a dozen texts from Susan over the past 10 days, but not really enough to know what was going on. She was apparently too busy to let me know what was happening. I was hard almost every minute of that time, not knowing what she was doing and imagining her in different scenarios. I never imagined that when I came home my wife would have been transformed so easily into a Black cock whore. At first it was just to try Black cock. That was less than two weeks ago.

I watched somebody's cum spilling out of her. I saw the little red hickeys on her tits and even on her inner thighs. Her nipples had very obviously been sucked and nibbled on. They were diamond hard, but swollen and rough looking from teeth. Her pussy mound was bald and swelled up and her lips where thick and seemed stretched out way beyond their normal length.

"Clean me out Jack," she said. "You know you love to eat cum out of me. And you said you would, remember? Cucks do that for their wives."

She was right. I'd eaten her bulls' cum out of her many times. It wasn't that I liked the taste, although I didn't mind it, but the thrill of the taboo and the idea men had deposited their loads in my wife. She was used hard by other men and I got the dregs. The sloppy seconds. The leftovers. And many nights when she was fucking other men, she was just too worn out to let me have my turn. She'd give me a hand job or just tell me to jerk off in front of her and the guy who just put two loads in her.

So I started cleaning her up. The slime of a Black man's cum coating my tongue and then my throat, a pungent, salty and sour taste that I could still taste hours later. That day it was everywhere, even coating her ass and little anal rosebud that looked swollen and loose.

"A couple of them did my ass, Jack," she confessed when I hesitated with my tongue at her back door. "I know I've never let you do it, but, well I was doing it before I even realized. His big cock was sliding in I was so wet and loose. I'm so, so sorry Jack. I know you want it. I know I gave it up to a lot of guys and you've begged me for it. But well, we've had this conversation. You're a cuckold. I'll give it up to Black guys and even let them come in my ass. William praised me up for doing it and said I was worth more being a three-hole whore."