Hubby's Whore Ch. 03

Chapter Three

When I woke he was gone. I went into the bathroom to pee and there was a note with an envelope balanced on it against the mirror. The envelope was addressed to "Manager." The note said, "Patty - you were great. I look forward to the next time I'm in town. Your manager said to tell you to return this envelope unopened or you will face 'consequences.' I suppose you know what that means. Anyway, again, you were great, and thank you. Hank."

I sat and peed, then stood and washed my hands.

And as David and I had discussed, I just used the room phone, ordered an Uber, put on my underwear into my oversized faux Louis Vuitton, pulled on my top and skirt, and made my walk of shame to the front entrance looking exactly like what I was - a whore heading home.

On some level, I liked it.

As the Uber pulled up to the house I couldn't help but laugh. Here I was, coming home at 10 in the morning after a night spent with another man in exchange for money, and my husband was waving at me from his big lawn tractor, grinning and holding up one finger, the universal signal for "be with you in a minute."

So I went into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee with our Keurig. I was dying to see what was in that envelope, but I remembered that word - consequences - from Hank's note so I left it alone and sealed. To pass the time I turned on the TV in the kitchen, found the talking head on Fox News, and sat back to figure out who we were at war with today.

Several hours later, well, ten minutes later, it just seemed like several hours, David came through the back door. He was sweaty and jovial and greeted me with, "and how is my moneymaker this fine Saturday morning?"

I giggled and said, "strangely, I'm horny as hell."

He chuckled and kissed me and said, "do you have an envelope for me?"

I pulled the envelope and Hank's note from my bag and handed them to him.

"Make us some breakfast," he said, "while I look this over."

I watched, speechless actually, as he walked out of the kitchen.

I shrugged and thought for a second. Then I went upstairs, shed my clothes, put everything in the clothes hamper, and hurried back to the kitchen, naked. I put on my apron, one of those old-fashioned bib aprons with a string around my neck and a tie around my waist, and started making breakfast. I laid out a half-dozen eggs and bacon, a package of shredded cheddar cheese, put some bread in our fancy four-slice toaster, poured a couple of glasses of orange juice, and laid out napkins (well, paper towels), butter knives, and forks at the kitchen table.

I got out my cast iron frying pan and set it heating on the stove, broke the eggs into a bowl, added a splash of milk, and set to whipping them, pleased that I had the right color, buttercup yellow as my gramma had taught me.

David came in in a couple of minutes, and he was smiling.

He kissed me and said, "well, it turns out you're a pretty darn good whore."

The coarse word, "whore," for some reason made it even more real than actually taking Hank's cock up the ass had.

"So," he said, "here's your evaluation," and handed me a sheet of paper, still warm from the laser printer.

God, it looked so official. Across the top, centered, boldface, was the title - Performance Evaluation: Patty

Then it listed several lines with numbers. It appeared that I was being evaluated on a scale of 1 - 10.

Friendly - 10

Knowledge of the area - 10

Appearance - 10

Skill Level - 10

Conversation - 10

Entertainment - 9

Overall - 9.8

Comments: Patty is worth every cent. She's bright, witty, fun to be with, and very VERY good in bed. She needs to work on her entertainment skills. Her striptease was a bit wooden. But I WILL be in contact again.

There was also an itemized invoice, again, very professionally rendered.

Services Rendered:

Basic Package - $500

Spanking (light) - $250

Anal - $250

Premium for lost bet - $250

Subtotal - $1,250

Client authorized tip - $250

Grand Total - $1,500

Manager's Fee (@ 60%) - $900

Employees net (@ 40%) - $600

He was grinning as he laid six $100 bills on the table.

"I'd say," he said, still grinning, "that your trial run was a success."

I realized I was crying and felt stupid.

I eased off my chair, onto my knees, and knelt before him, my chin on his knee, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Don't hate me, David," I said, "please. But I LOVED it."

He smiled and patted my head. "I knew you would," he said, "and it's okay. I love you. Hell, every man's real fantasy is to marry a whore and make an honest woman of her. I just did it backward. Married an honest woman and made a whore of her."

I smiled up at him.

"A pretty damn good whore it seems," I said.

"Welllllllllll," he said, dragging the consonant for a solid five-count, "pretty damn good still leaves room for improvement."

I wiped my runny nose on his jeans and looked up at him. "Oh?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "I expect straight 10s and until you get there, well, lessons must be taught."

I felt a sudden adrenaline rush.

"Lessons must be taught," was the phrase he used when, from time to time, we would do BDSM play (Bondage, Discipline, Sadism, Masochism for those of you not in the know). That phrase was always followed by a spanking and his spankings were, well, SPANKINGS. They hurt and I cried but then I always came in a very special way.

"But for now," he said, and patted my head again, "get that big beautiful ass up and make me breakfast. I damn near starved waiting for you to get home."

So I did as I was told.

I liked that I knew he was watching me.

And I really, REALLY liked that he was thinking of me as a whore. I don't really know why, but it was getting to me.

I served the breakfast, fluffy scrambled eggs with a sprinkling of Cheddar cheese, bacon fried crisp, toast, coffee, and orange juice, took off my apron, and ate breakfast with my husband, making a little small talk, as another man's semen slowly leaked out of me.

With breakfast done, the dishes clean and put away, he kissed me and said, "tell me what you did with him."

I thought for a moment but realized, what the hell, he had seen me with another man's cock in my mouth, my pussy, my ass, between my tits, as he worked his way up the career ladder so I might as well give him the details if that's what he wanted.

I led him into the front room and had him sit.

"He wanted to see what he had paid extra for," I said, "so I showed him."

I stood in front of him, turned, bent at the waist, reached around and spread my cheeks, and backed up to him.

"Then he explored it with a finger," I said.

I felt him dip his finger into my pussy and then slip it inside my asshole. I sighed and backed up, pressing against his hand, holding him inside of me as I squeezed.

I pushed a little, deliberately filling my rectum, and then relaxed.

"When he was done he had me turn, kneel, and open my mouth," I said.

He slowly pulled his finger out and I turned and knelt and opened my mouth.

He put his shit-smeared finger in my mouth and I closed my lips on it. I used my tongue to clean it.

"Such a good whore," he said, and I grasped his hand, pushing his finger deeper, triggering my gag reflex, my body retching.

"Is this what you want?" I asked, pulling his hand away long enough to ask the question and then taking his finger back into my mouth.

I could see the change in him as he pulled his hand free and took my hands in his.

He took me upstairs, undressed me, and started the water in the shower to run hot.

In the shower, he washed me, very thoroughly, my face and hair and body in that order. He stepped out, leaving me to rinse, and then came back and held me as the water sluiced over us.

He turned off the water and when we opened the shower door I saw that he had the tub filling with water hot enough to steam.

He left me to soak and I could hear him puttering in the other room as I did.

After about 15 minutes he came back and helped me stand and get out of the tub. I needed the help, too. After that soak, I was so relaxed I was pretty noodle kneed.

He had me sit on the toilet and I was surprised to see that he had the rubber water bottle with the douche syringe at the end of the red hose. He grinned at me as he reached down and slipped the syringe in and opened the little chrome clip. The arm water flushing me felt soothing.

"Gotta keep that moneymaker in good shape," he said and kissed me.

"Now, I'm going to finish my chores, and you, my love," and he kissed me again, "are free to do whatever you want."

So I did absolutely nothing.

Well, I did nothing physical for a while.

But I WALLOWED in what had happened. It had worked. A successful man had wanted me, been willing to pay what seemed to me to be a lot of money for me, and had even tipped me for being good at what I did.

I googled "how to properly strip for your man" and then mirrored it onto the television.

I quickly realized that my dancing was okay, but could be improved. Mostly, I saw that I needed easily removable clothes. On the screen, she would pull a single tab and her bra or her panties would be free.

I set up the computer, my little Google Chromebook, so its camera was focused on a spot in front of the television, and I could see it. Then I ran one of the "training videos" on how to strip and watched my performance. I recorded it. I could see that I needed to work on my dancing.

So I practiced. It turned out, doing a proper strip is hard physical work.

When David came in I was sweating and panting.

I saw him stop and watch me and so I put on my best performance for him, pulling on the panties and the worn-out bra I had been practicing with, and then restarted the training video.

I started with my hips moving, just a little, catching each downbeat, and doing the thing with my hair that she did on the screen, my fingers combing up through it, fingers entwining and pulling a little, right to the edge of pain. Then I released my hair and pulled the tab that held my newly-modified bra together. I tossed to him and started my torso moving opposite my hips, my breasts swaying, not flopping as they could do if I moved too fast, but swaying, I hoped interestingly. I slowly turned then, bringing my body into his view, moving toward him, slowly.

I brushed my nipples with my fingertips, making them hard, lightly touching the love bumps that rose. As I did a slow turn I gave a sharp tug to the velcro tabs I had sewn into the hips of the panties and pulled them off, quickly.

As the music ended I was to him and I reached down, grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, and pulled it up over his head.

"Call me a whore," I said, brushing my breasts against his chest, breathing the words into his ear.

He grinned and said, "whore."

And there was the rush deep in my belly.

I suppose he could see, and smell, how he was getting to me. As my fingers went to his belt he said, "whore," and I knew if I reached down I would find myself slick.

I got to my knees and did his shoes and socks, one at a time, the foot in my lap, and then unbuttoned and unzipped the jeans he wore, working them down and leaving his boxer's on.

"Call me a cocksucker," I said, looking up at him, trying to look, well, innocent I guess.

He grinned down at me and said, "cocksucker."

"May I?" I asked, brushing against his cock, fully erect now, with my cheeks and my forehead.

His grin told me he was enjoying this.

"Tell me what you want, whore," he said.

I looked down, trying for a good submissive look, and said, "may I use my mouth to pleasure you?"

"Say please," he said.

I bent farther and kissed his feet and said, "Please, may I use my mouth to pleasure you."

"No," he said and the adrenaline rush left me weak. I was shocked. David had NEVER said "no" to me before.

I was surprised to realize I was crying.

"Please," I said, looking up at him. I had seen the word "beseechingly" written and I tried for a "beseeching" look.

"Wellllllllllllllllll," he said, obviously enjoying himself, "have you gotten your gag reflex under control yet?"

I looked down again and said in my softest voice, "no."

"It's a pretty basic skill for a whore, don't you think?" he asked.

"Yes," I said in that same voice.

"Look at me, whore," he said and I could imagine him talking to some District Manager in that tone of voice.

I looked up, surprised to realize I was crying.

"Open your mouth," he said, and I opened my mouth.

"Wider," he said and I opened it wider.

"WIDER!" he snapped and I forced my mouth open more until I felt those powerful muscles at the hinge started to cramp.

He pushed down his boxers and brushed the head of his cock against my lips.

"Put your hands on your thighs," he said.

I put my hands on my thighs, looking up at him, my mouth open painfully wide.

"Now listen very carefully, whore," he said, "if you try to close your mouth, or if you move your hands from your thighs, you'll be going on your first night out with a bruised ass. Understand?"

I said nothing.

"DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND?" he snapped, loudly.

"Yes," I said, trying for "meek."

He patted my head and said, "good girl."

His cock entered my mouth, the weight against my tongue something I had always enjoyed. But as he penetrated deeper it became more uncomfortable and soon he was triggering my gag reflex.

I kept my mouth open, afraid not to, and when I tried to pull away, my body rebelling against what was happening, his fingers entwined in my hair and I couldn't.

"Swallow hard," he said, pushing deeper.

I threw up, hard, puke coming out my mouth and my nose, that acids making my sinuses burn like they were on fire.

He eased the pressure on my hair enough to allow me to get a breath and I gasped.

And then threw up again as he pushed back in.

I was trying to swallow but couldn't, my body was just refusing, and he let me have another breath.

I could feel the vomit and mucus and saliva running down my boobs into my belly and my hands where there were on my thighs.

He thrust again and this time I got him into my throat.

He stopped then, holding still, his fingers still entwined in my hair, and said, "keep swallowing."

I felt him pushing in deeper until his pubic hair was pressed against my nose and then he slowly pulled out.

He let me breathe in great whooping gasps for a few seconds and then said, "again."

He triggered my gag reflex again but there wasn't much left in me. I dry heaved thick bile that burned my sinuses and tasted even more bitter, but I was swallowing and he slowly entered my throat.

I really have no idea how long that "training session" lasted. Nor, for that matter, do I have any idea how many times I swallowed his cock. But before he was done I could take it without even a little cough.

And I realized, I liked it. Hell, I LOVED it.

"Okay, Tricia," he said, kind of surprising me by using my name, "that's enough for now, Close your mouth and we'll get this mess cleaned up."

I cried out as I closed my mouth, the overstretched muscles fresh torture.

He said, "I'll be right back," and walked out.

I stayed on my knees, my hands on my thighs, working to get my breathing under control and return to something approaching normal.

He was back with a bucket and mop in just a couple of minutes.

"I'll mop," he said, "you grab one of our older bath towels and dry."

So we cleaned up the floor that way and then showered together.

Clean and dry I said, "okay, my love, after what you did to me I am starved. Take me to dinner and then I want to run by 'Naughty -n- Nice.' If I'm to do a proper strip for clients I need a proper costume."

He grinned and said, "dinner and costumes on me. Management expense."

I laughed and kissed him.

It felt kind of funny to dress in some of my old clothes, simple slacks, and a top outfit. I was already used to my role as a whore.

We stopped at Naughty -n- Nice on the way to eat. It's a, well, a clothing store I guess, but it specializes in naughty things. I had visited it a few times in the past, getting a sexy baby-doll nightie and see-through blouse, for example.

This time I was specifically looking for stripper clothes. Elaine, the immensely fat owner smiled, as always. I told her what I was looking for and then we spent an hour as I modeled things, accepting David's thumbs up or thumbs down.

By the time we were done, I was absolutely famished.

We went to a restaurant, one of those mid-range places found in strip shopping centers all across America. The name on the window was "Martha's" and the menu boasted of "Home Cookin' Like Gramma Made."

I was starving.

I ordered a double meatloaf, mashed potatoes, corn, and iced tea.

He watched me eat.

We hadn't said anything since leaving Naughty -n- Nice.

"What?" I asked between mouthfuls.

"You really like it, don't you?" he asked.

There really wasn't any question about what he meant so I said, simply, "yes."

"What is it that gets to you so much?" he asked.

I finished chewing and swallowed.

"David," I said, meeting and holding his eyes, "I don't know."

I took another bite and chewed.

"I honestly don't know," I repeated, "it's not the sex honey."

I took another bite and chewed. He waited me out.

"You have always satisfied me, David," I said, "you know that."

He nodded as I worked on another mouthful of mashed potatoes infused with corn.

"But there's something," I started and then took another bit of meatloaf while I got my thoughts in order.

"There's something about not knowing what he'll want," I said, "and knowing that whatever it is I'll say yes, smile, and encourage him."

I wound down and took another bite. I was slowing down by then, the pure hunger assuaged.

"That knowledge," I continued, "that there is NOTHING I won't do if the price is right."

I looked around and then reached down, getting my hand inside my panties and touching where I was wet.

I reached across the table and touched his upper lip with my wet finger, knowing my scent would linger there.

"Even talking about it is getting to me," I said.

"Well then," he said, speaking for the first time since we came into the restaurant, "we'll just have to make you the best whore in this city."

He said it so casually, but with no question in his voice, that I damn near came right then.

"If you'd like," I said, flashing my best grin, "I'll get under this table right now and prove how good I can be."

He looked around and I got that rush in my belly, thinking he might say "yes," but instead he said, "no Tricia, I don't think that would be wise."

We went home then, and I was feeling so damn horny I thought I would explode.

As soon as we stepped through the front door I turned and threw my arms around him. I was so damn excited, so perfectly aroused, I felt like I was in the throes of puberty again.

But he pushed me away.

"No, Patty," and his use of my, well, my whore name stopped me.

"You need to learn to let your client take the lead," he said, "not to be in such a damn hurry. It took you a long time to teach me that there's more to making love than just, as you used to put it, 'draining the old dragon.' Now you need to learn that there's more to being a whore than just draining HIS old dragon."

I took a step back, separating us by an arm's length.

He grinned.

"You know what all men like?" he asked.

I smiled and said, "tell me."

"We like to watch," he said, "so take off your pants and masturbate for me, right there."

I didn't hesitate at all.

I did that awkward two-step to take off my shoes and socks, unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed the pants and panties down, and started with my finger, standing there in the middle of the front room with him standing watching.