Going on the Game Ch. 03

This is not a stand-alone story and should be read after parts 1 & 2.

To all those who have taken the time to read the previous 2 chapters of the story so far, I would like to thank you and hope you have enjoyed it. However, if tales of slut wives offends you then why are you reading this? I suggest you go and read a romance novel.

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It was just after 10am when I eventually woke up to find myself alone in our bed, although listening to the sounds emanating from downstairs, I could tell Liam hadn't gone very far. As I lay there the events of last night came flooding back into my mind reminding me of just how wanton and shameless, I had been.

Had my husband had changed his mind about me in the cold light of day? What if he hated me now? What if I had been seen by someone who knew me? Where did his strange obsession with prostitutes come from? Numerous questions tumbled through my brain without any answers and I knew I needed to talk to Liam and try to comprehend what had taken place.

But first and foremost, I needed to try to understand why I had been so turned on by the things that had happened to me the previous evening. Originally, I had agreed to do it for my husband, to please him and to fulfil what had seemed to be just a long-held fantasy but it had quickly turned out to be much more than that. So, having done it once what had made me go back onto the street after that first time?

Confused by everything I lay in bed, not wanting to get up and face my husband, just staring at the ceiling trying to work out what was wrong with me.

My mind drifted back to my childhood and my parents.

When I was young my childhood had been a happy one, I was especially close to my father, and it came as a complete shock to me when, aged six, he left us. At the time I didn't understand why and it was only when I got older that I found out he had been having an affair with one of my mother's friends and had, eventually, run off with her.

After that things changed. My father wasn't allowed access to me, something I didn't find out until I was an adult, and I always wondered if it was me that had driven him away.

The happy atmosphere at home disappeared almost overnight and I suddenly found myself becoming the recipient of my mother's bitterness. When my father had been at home we had gone to church on a Sunday and had a very Christian lifestyle but now there were just the two of us everything seemed different. My mother had always been strict but now she was tyrannical in her attitude and as I didn't know any different, I simply accepted the unnecessarily firm guidelines she placed upon me.

Over the years as her strong religious and moralist attitudes grew and became almost fanatical and I started to notice how much more controlling she was compared to the others kid's parents. Especially the way she dictated what clothes I wore, where I went outside of school and who my friends were, not that I was ever allowed many close friends.

My mother deemed all boys to be the spawn of the devil and only interested in satisfying their disgusting needs with whatever slut they could find. She constantly reminded me that I should keep myself pure for marriage and, even then, sex was not something to be enjoyed. I was there just to conceive children for my husband.

It was a message preached to me by my mother with religious fervour, on a daily basis during my teenage years and went a long way to influencing my attitudes. The only saving grace for me was my time at school and the other girls there. Talking to them, seeing what clothes they wore and generally having friends, albeit not close ones, showed me the extremism of my mother's radical views.

As much as I was able to, I rebelled, talking to boys at school, rolling over the waistband of my long skirts to make them a little shorter and even, on occasion, putting on a little make-up when I was outside the house. Of course, I tried to be careful and not to let her see me doing something forbidden but I wasn't always successful.

I remembered once, I forgot my mother was meeting me after school to take me to a dental appointment and she caught me talking to a boy as we walked out of the gates. The look of pure disgust and anger on her face told me I was in for a very bad time when I got home and I wasn't wrong.

She remained tight lipped for the rest of the afternoon but as soon as the front door closed behind us, she angrily laid into me, reading me the riot act and repeatedly telling me what a little slut I had become. I took her irate tirade timidly, tears rolling down my cheeks, until she called me a slut for maybe the fourth time. Then I reacted and snapped back at her, telling her I wasn't a slut, I was a good girl and we had only been talking about our school work.

From the look of unadulterated fury on my mother's face you would have thought I had committed a crime and not just standing up for myself. She went a shade of puce and screamed at me, telling me that I was an ungrateful little whore, then slapped me with such venom that I literally staggered backwards. Stunned, my cheek red and stinging I fled up to my room with her words ringing in my ears.

After that I had resolved to leave home at the first opportunity. If I was such a corrupt and debauched character, perhaps I should be as far away from my highly straitlaced mother as possible.

However, there were more than a few years between deciding I was leaving and actually going and I was regularly reminded of what she thought of me during that time. There was the constant barrage of abuse, of being told I was worthless and that I had been the reason my father had left us.

As much as I tried to ignore everything she said, her comments, over time, had the effect of completely undermining me, of destroying my confidence and apparently after the events of last night turning me into a slut that craved humiliation.

The final straw had come when I told my mother I was going away to university. Her first reaction was to forbid it but, at 18, I knew in my own mind that if I didn't go, I would be under her influence forever. When that approach failed, she disowned me but not without a final flurry of vehement criticism during my last weeks at home.

That had to be the reason.

Satisfied that I had at least partially answered some of my questions about the previous evening I slowly climbed out of bed. I was still naked so I grabbed one of the large baggy t-shirts that comprised my usual night attire and made my way to the bathroom. Seeing my reflection in the mirror gave me a something of a start, my eyes were ringed by black circles and my face looked several shades of smudged foundation. Then I remembered, with relief, that I had left my make-up on when I had gone to bed.

A few minutes later, the ruined cosmetics removed, I took a deep breath and nervously descended the stairs. Still wondering what my husband's reaction would be I found Liam, sitting in the kitchen, with a coffee mug in his hand.

"You're finally awake. I thought you were going to sleep all day," his grin and friendly demeanour going some way to re-assuring me that things weren't as bad as I thought.

"Do I get a coffee to?" I stood in the doorway and enquired.

Liam laughed and reached for another mug.

"For you anything," he promised as he poured my drink.

For a couple with so much to say to each other we sat in silence for the next few minutes, eyeing each other apprehensively, as we slowly drank our coffee.

"You were amazing last night," Liam eventually broke the uncomfortable quiet that had enveloped us. "Especially when you went back after that first time."

"Ah yes, about that." I blushed and looked down at my coffee as I considered for a second or two how to start this conversation with my husband.

"You see the truth of the matter is that I enjoyed it. I wanted to go back and stand on the street. I wanted to be fucked like a whore!" I stopped and looked up to see his reaction to my words.

Liam looked at me thoughtfully, "You did! That's amazing but why, what made you act like that?"

Slowly, carefully, I recited the thoughts and conclusions I had come to while lying in our bed, trying to ensure I didn't leave anything out while my husband listened without interrupting.

"So, what does that mean?" once I had finished, he questioned me.

"I don't know. Maybe I've opened Pandora's box, maybe it's something I need to do. I really don't know." I couldn't give an answer, at least not one that he wanted.

"Will you do it again? For me if not for yourself?" he implored me.

I shook my head, "I don't know. It scares me. What if I do it and it takes control of me again or, even worse, someone I know recognises me?"

For the next hour or so we discussed our desires and concerns without coming to any real conclusion. Liam, without a doubt, wanted me to reprise my previous night's adventures as a streetwalker but I still had a number of substantial reservations that I needed to resolve before committing to it again.

"What about your obsession with prostitutes? Where does that come from?" I asked, hoping perhaps his answers would shed a different light on our predicament while leaving the question of me repeating my time as a whore unanswered for the moment.

"My mother!" the response took me completely by surprise.

Admittedly I knew little of Liam's early life other than the basic details he had told me. His father had died when he was just a baby and his mother had passed away a year or more before he met me at university. I knew where he had lived, gone to school and who his friends were but very little else.

"Your mother?" he must have noticed the incredulous look on my face as I repeated his words.

Liam nodded, "My mother and some of her.... friends." He emphasised the last word.

"I don't understand?" the puzzled look on my face said everything. "How did your mother and her friends?"

"She was a prostitute!" he interrupted, "and so were her friends although I never knew until I was older."

My open-mouthed look of disbelief, as I struggled for something to say, made Liam smile, "It's the truth. I've never told anyone about it though."

"How? I mean what.... where... who?" I stammered trying to put together a coherent sentence.

Now it was my husband's turn to recount his story while I just had to sit back and listen.

Liam's father had died shortly after he was born leaving him and mother virtually destitute. With a baby to care for and no one to help she had been desperate and when her landlord had threatened her with eviction due to unpaid rent, she had resorted to the only option open to her. She had exchanged sex for a roof over their heads.

Within a short space of time, she had progressed from just fucking her landlord to prostituting herself to other men who he found for her, just to earn money to buy food and other essentials for her baby.

Of course, Liam knew nothing of this while he was growing up, whether she had been very discrete or he was very naïve, she ensured he didn't know anything of her secret life until he was 18 years old. By then they had moved a several times, not always willingly, before settling in a small apartment located in a somewhat less than wholesome area of the town where, unbeknown to Liam a couple of their new neighbours here were also in the same line of business as Maggie, Liam's mother.

Being the sole of discretion Maggie had kept her business hours to those times when he was at school and all Liam was aware of was his mother always being there to collect him at 3.30pm and on the odd occasion she wasn't, one of his 'Aunties', Maggie's friends, would be there in her place. He never minded, he enjoyed their attentions, they always spoilt him and made him feel special whenever they saw him.

In his naivety and innocence, he never realised what was going on around him until, when he was 18 and just about to head off to university, a young prostitute named Diana took up residence in one of the neighbouring flats. She was just a couple of years older than Liam and he very quickly developed something of a fascination for her.

Despite her profession she was quite a friendly girl and enjoyed Liam's attention, even going out of her way at times to encourage it. Not realising she was on the game, he eventually had asked her out only to be rejected and told in no uncertain terms, by her, that she was a working girl. Undaunted by this Liam had remained friends with her, hoping that at some point she would change her mind.

Which is how, just a week before he left home to continue his studies, she took pity on him and took his virginity, without charging him.

Over the next year and a half or so, despite her being a prostitute, Diana had continued to let Liam fuck her without payment whenever he came back to visit his mother, until the situation finally came to an end when, on returning home one week-end, he found she had moved away without telling anyone. He had been heartbroken, even though Diana had never accepted him as a boyfriend, he had thought he loved her, and always wished that one day she might.

Then a few months after that particular week-end Liam had experienced a major tragedy in his life when his adored mother suffered a heart attack and sadly passed away. He had gone back for the funeral and to clear out the flat which was when he had uncovered his mother's secret life. Gripped by this shocking discovery he had done some investigating including speaking to her friends and was stunned to learn that they were also prostitutes.

It was from these surprising revelations that his interest in working girls began. Of course, disposing of his mother's flat meant he no longer had any reason to go home and so ended any connection with the prostitutes he had grown up with. However, it didn't stop his fascination for them and he continued his fixation, albeit from a distance. Films, books, articles, he devoured them voraciously, building a collection of material that would sustain his interest through the years.

At this point in his narrative Liam paused and looked across the table at me, "More coffee?"

I nodded and waited while he took our mugs and refilled them.

"So, what happened after that?" my curiosity was well and truly aroused now and I wanted to know if there was more to his life.

"After that our stories came together," Liam replied simply. "I went back to university and in my final year I met this pretty young fresher who changed my life completely."

"Almost together," I responded with a smile.

Prior to meeting my husband to be I had dated a couple of fellow students, neither of whom stayed on the scene for very long, and had lost my virginity in exactly the way my mother had said I would, to someone who simply used me for their pleasure and then walked away.

There was nothing more to add after that, we both knew how the rest of our story had proceeded. We had dated for two years, me studying and Liam taking a job with a local media company before in my third and final year he had proposed and I had accepted. Our next step was to move in together although we waited until I had graduated before marrying.

After university I had taken a teacher training course and eventually a job in a local primary school while Liam had continued to enjoy a steady, if not glittering, career progression.

Of course, I knew about my husband's collection of erotic memorabilia even before we were married and although I was initially a little perturbed about it, I quickly came to disregard it, to my eventual detriment. Over time Liam had involved me in role playing his fantasy with him, albeit in the sanctity of our bedroom, at least until the previous evening's adventures, but that had been all. What I hadn't known, until now, had been his deepest, hidden, desire to have a prostitute for a wife, to re-create with someone else, the love he had felt for Diana.

"Where do we go now?" Liam interrupted the introspective silence that had descended on us with the ending of our individual narratives.

"I know you want me to go on the game for you," I answered quietly after pondering his question, "but I'm scared. Last night I wasn't in control of myself, of how I felt. I behaved like a complete slut."

"Yes, you did. And I loved it!" taking my hand he grinned at me across the table. "You really are everything I could want."

For the next few minutes, I sat in silence, watching my husband and considering everything that had been said between us. It was plain to see his desperation to pimp me again, to watch me being picked up by a stranger and selling myself. What was worse was the fact that I wanted it to happen as well, despite all my deep-seated fears and concerns, I wanted to experience the shame and humiliation again.

"I.... I'm not... sure that I could.... go back to the street... yet!" taking a deep breath I managed to voice my thoughts. "It scares me, how I might... you know... be."

"Maybe there's another way we... could..., " Liam's voice trailed off as he left the sentence unfinished, unsure if he was pushing too hard.

"Oh, OK. I'm listening," hesitatingly I replied, wondering what my husband had in mind now.

Now that I had at least agreed to consider taking another step down the road to whoredom my husband leaned a little closer and explained his latest idea to me. When he finally finished, I nodded my assent and all that was left was to agree the when and where.

Which was how, one evening a few days later, I came to be standing in the foyer of a large four-star hotel, situated close to the airport. Ahead of me was the hotel bar where my husband was waiting. He had gone in before me and I knew from the text message he had sent that the lounge was reasonably busy, mostly with businessmen relaxing after their day at work. I paused for a moment, the familiar nervous knot forming in the pit of my stomach, before taking a deep breath walking in through the entrance.

I could feel several pairs of male eyes on me as I entered the room, slightly relieved to note I wasn't the only woman there, and headed across to an empty bar stool. Carefully, easing myself up onto the seat, I tugged down the hem of my little black dress to prevent it riding up to reveal the tops of my stockings, and ordered a drink from the barman who had quickly positioned himself to peer down at my rather exposed cleavage when I sat.

Crossing my legs, I allowed one high-heeled shoe to swing gently on my foot as I sipped my drink trying to ignore how naked I felt in the tight little dress Liam had suggested I wore. The hemline came down to the middle of my thighs and ensured that the dark bands at the top of my hose were frequently on show while the thin straps and low-cut front only served to emphasise my modest, firm breasts. However, it was certainly guaranteeing that I was drawing the male attention that Liam had wanted for me.

"Are you waiting for someone or can I buy you a drink?" I had been at the bar for no more than 10 minutes when a voice at my elbow made me turn my head.

"No one in particular and thank you. A white wine and soda if I may." he was probably in his early fifties, I guessed. Slim and grey haired, he looked reasonably fit and quite distinguished so I accepted his offer and turned towards him to make conversation easier only pausing while he spoke to the barman.

"I stay here quite a lot and I haven't seen you before," his opening line took me a little by surprise.

"Do you remember all the girls who frequent the hotel bar then?" I let my hand rest lightly on his forearm as I answered.

"Only those who are working," he grinned at me and took a large swallow of his drink. "You are working. Aren't you? I would hate to have embarrassed myself."