Wife's Pro Past

Wife's Pro Past

I knew my wife, Claire, had a sexual past, of course, who doesn't, she was just so good at it, but what I didn't realize was that it was as a professional sex worker she'd spent that past. I got a hint of it when a fellow we met recognized her from somewhere, but he couldn't remember where. He called her Rose, and she had reacted kind of strangely to being called by another name. At first, I just figured it was a case of mistaken identity, but I began to think maybe he did actually know her.  

It was when the second fellow at the education conference called her Rose that I began to get suspicious that there may be more to it. Then when at the state PTA convention another man again called her Rose, asked if she was still working, and she became so flustered by the whole thing that I could see for sure it was no coincidence. It seemed clear at that moment that my wife, Claire, may have actually once been called Rose.  

Was she still working, he had asked. She taught second grade. Working? It was clear his calling her Rose had really upset her, agitated and shaken her quite a bit. "Rose?" I asked her. She said he obviously had her confused with someone else. "What about those other two?" I asked. She dismissed it, saying she clearly must look like this Rose person, but it was evident that being mistaken for this 'Rose person' had her off balance and upset.  

At home that night she was undoubtedly still shaken by the experience. "You obviously look like this Rose person," I said, but my reassurance didn't help. Later, just before bed, when I saw the tears I was convinced it wasn't just a coincidence. "What's going on?" I asked as I tried to comfort her as she sat on the side of the bed. "You okay?"

She started crying harder and I sat down next to her. She had kept her clothes on, which was unusual in itself that late. Slowly, tearfully, she began to undress, and without a word she slipped into bed and turned to the wall. I turned off the light and we just lay there, side by side. Sometime later it was clear she was still not asleep, her breathing did not have the easy quality of sleep, but neither of us spoke.

"I used to be Rose," she finally said quietly, her voice trembling and soft. "When I lived in LA, back right after junior college." I just listened. "There wasn't much work, we had bills, there were three of us in that small apartment with no money coming in, no jobs, and things got desperate. We met a man, Manny, who offered us a way out."

She was quiet for a long time. Then she began again. "We started working for him and the money was good. He didn't like the name Claire, thought it was too girl-next-door, so I became Rose. I worked for two years for him, finished college, then I moved here to Denver and went to grad school, got my degree, and began teaching. That's when I met you."

I was quiet, just letting her speak, or be silent and reflect, deciding what to tell me. "I thought I had left that world behind me," she said, almost in a whisper. "Until... I was recognized. It is... awful," she said. "I am so embarrassed. I thought you would be so ashamed to find out your wife was a... "

"A person who went through a rough time?" I said.

"A whore," she blurted, a self-deprecating harshness in her voice. "Sex workers, we called ourselves. We were whores: Streetwalkers, call girls. We had sex for money," she said, the tears and pain obviously were back.

"There are worse things," I said, trying to reassure her.

"Like a serial killer?" she said sarcastically.  

"Like a person who is not kind, who is thoughtless and insensitive, a person who others don't care about," I said, listing the things I knew about her. "Claire, I don't care who you used to be," I said. "I care about who you are. You are not a 'sex worker.' You are a teacher and a mother, and the person I love," I said. I cannot conceive of anyone not liking you. Rose doesn't exist anymore. Not here. You are not Rose."

For a long time she didn't speak. Finally, she said, "Seriously, how does it make you feel? You're not ashamed of me?"  

Without hesitating I assured her I was not at all ashamed. She asked again, how does it make me feel. "Makes you kind of interesting," I said into the dark. "Gives you some character," I added, "like you have actually lived an interesting life. I don't care what you've done before I met you, and I still just don't care."

"What if other people recognize me?" she asked with alarm in her voice. I could not see her, but I could hear her panic. 

"They would only see someone they think they might recognize, unless they have your fingerprints," I said with a chuckle. "You are a different person," I said. I turned on the light. "Except for having sex, you didn't do anything wrong. Sex is not wrong. It is good."

I could hear she was still upset. "Did you kill anyone?" She gave me 'the look.' "You didn't hurt anyone, right?Sex is not evil," I said.  

"You don't hate what I did? You're not ashamed of your wife?" she asked with that troubled expression. "Really, how does it make you feel?"

"Seriously?" I asked. She nodded. "Kind of turns me on."

She looked at me, skeptical I was serious. "You know I like porn?" I said. "I don't hate the women in those videos," I said. "They probably have husbands, families, children, mothers, aunts. They might just be nice people, like you. Just because they have sex for a living, doesn't make them bad people," I said. "Not them, not you. Tell me," I said, "about how you got into it, and was that with Maria and Julia, your roommates at UCLA?"

Again, she was quiet, considering whether to tell me the rest of the details. Then, she nodded. "Maria got into it first, started bringing home lots of money she had earned, bailing us out of debt, paying the rent when Julia and I could not. She said, 'It's easy. You just swallow a little pride, smile and make them feel important and interesting and sexy,' she said laughing. I asked if she would tell us how to get work that way, and she introduced us to Manny." 

"So you tried it?" I said.

"I did, and I found it wasn't so hard," she said. "You just smiled, like she said, laughed at their jokes, and sometimes the sex was even good. Sometimes. Usually it was just work. Like doing anything. You just did it. It was playacting. It got easier," she said.  

"Any that you remember, that were particularly enjoyable, or even awesome?" I asked.

"I had some regulars that were outstanding," she said almost shyly. "Yes, sometimes it was good sex. Some of them I remember well."

"Can you remember the names of any of them in particular?" I asked. "Would you tell me about some of the memorable ones?" She smiled, then laughed.  

"You want that?" she asked almost bashfully. I nodded. "Okay," she said. "Well, I remember Mario." She grinned. "I really remember Mario."

"Tell me about him," I said. "Tell me about Mario."

She got a dreamy look in her eyes and began to smile. "Well, he was a football player who had a girlfriend back home, but he needed a little love to get him through football practice and homework. He was... well, big in a lot of ways," she said wistfully. 

"So he was gifted?" I said.

"Oh, yes, truly gifted," she said with a grin.

"So, how gifted was he?" I asked.

"I don't know. I never measured, but," she held her hands about a foot apart.  

"Wow," I said. "That gifted?"

"Easily," she said. "And Mario loved oral. He was gifted there too," she said nodding. "Oh, how he was gifted."

"So, he was a regular customer?" I said.

"Every Wednesday and Friday night," she said, obviously thinking back nostalgically to those nights spent with the memorable Mario. Claire was becoming more relaxed talking about her professional years, and she started to enjoy telling me about her time as a 'working girl' during her college days.  

"When you ladies were not working, the nights you didn't have customers, well, did you ever... " 

"Get together?" she said, anticipating my question. "Well, there were not many nights without 'clients,' but yes, we did play around on our days off," she said with a grin. "Especially Julia. She loved the taste of... well, other ladies. She even had some female clients. Julia was also 'gifted' if you know what I mean."

"She could really eat pussy?" I replied with a lusty grin. Claire nodded in agreement. "You ever eat your roommates?" I asked. Smiling again, she nodded. "Do you ever long for those days, sweetheart?"

"I do think of Mario, and Maria and Julia," she replied, again seeming to drift back to the best of those days.

That night we made love, and it was absolutely wonderful. The next morning we stayed in bed and talked about our conversation of the night before. Our sex was always good, always innovative and intense, but imagining her as a professional escort somehow made it hotter. Thinking of Claire as Rose, fucking for money as a college girl put a new dimension to our lovemaking that added to my excitement. Imagining my little second grade teacher wife with a stranger's cock in her hand, her mouth over the tip, gave a new feature to our fucking that made my orgasms more powerful and incendiary.  

When she told me that Maria and Julia were coming to visit, I got an instant hard on. The only thing better would have been if they were bringing Mario with them. I had not thought of myself as a voyeur, although I have enjoyed my share of porn, but the thought of her lovely roommates coming made me think of her lovely roommates coming, for real. Pun intended.

I began thinking about watching them. I started thinking about seeing my wife with her pretty head between the thighs of either or both of those ladies. I started to picture them having powerful, marvelous sex. When they arrived, it was together and I instantly began thinking of what they had done before leaving wherever they started from. I imagined they had a little feminine snack before getting on the road.  

"Dave knows about our working days," Claire revealed to them. Julia then said she still 'works' on occasion. The ladies kissed when Claire's friends came into the house and the kisses were not just friendly pecks on the cheeks, they were long and passionate soul kisses that had my pulse racing as I watched.

The four of us went to dinner at a steakhouse in town and got a private room in the back. The roommates all sat together and they fooled around, entertaining me throughout the meal. Claire had told them on the ride to the restaurant that I may like to watch them together, and Maria said, "You mean he wants to watch good sex?"

"That is what I mean, yes," Claire said. "Some pussy eating sorority sisters would make his day," my wife said with a gleam in her eyes. All her reservations about admitting her past had gone out of her voice, all of her qualms about once being a call girl had vanished and she was comfortable and open about her hIstory, especially when sitting with her former roommates. We had sent our children to their grandparents, who would have died had they had any idea what we wanted the children away for.  

When we got home from the restaurant, and our sexy dinner in our private room, the girls told me to follow them and led the way to our bedroom. The three women undressed one another and when naked crawled on the bed and motioned me to the chair in the corner. It was not their first time in front of an audience, as they had performed on two occasions for fraternities at the college.   They were extremely comfortable together and naturally moved into a ball of naked female flesh on our bed. I imagined it was not their first time in our home either, or in our bedroom. Later, Claire confessed that it was not. I watched them share Julia between Clare and Maria, the two of them spreading her legs and taking turns sucking on her pussy.

While one of them focussed on her lovely splayed slit, the other concentrated on her mouth, kissing her like sex hungry lesbians at a LGBTQ convention. I was fascinated at how much my teacher-wife knew about bisexual sex. Not only had I discovered she had been a professional sex worker, but I had also learned she knew her way around a pussy and knew it well.  

I must have watched them suck, lick, kiss, and probe one another with dildos for over an hour, and I had never seen better sex on any porn video I had ever watched. Claire's two friends stayed a weekend and I watched them on three occasions, and each time was wonderful.  

The only thing that could have made it better would have been if they had brought in Mario and have him fuck each one of them so I could watch. Yes, since learning my wife was once a whore I have learned I am a devoted voyeur and just love seeing my wife having sex with others. She was once a pro and she still fucks like one. Not only am I not ashamed of her, but I am so very proud of her ability to please someone with her pussy and her mouth. She is, simply, a consummate sex professional.