Working Girl Wife

My wife is PTA president, a scout leader for my son's cub pack, works at the school library, is your typical busy housewife, a lovely lady who lives on a cul-de-sac, and who makes extra money at night hooking for a pimp in the city. I found out about her extra job when I found her book of addresses and "clients" in the back of her panty draw while looking for a pair of scanties I wanted her to wear for our anniversary party at a club in LA.

I read the list of names, addresses, and dates, and at first I wasn't sure what I was looking at. When it had the name and address of her pimp I didn't recognize it, but the address was in an area you wouldn't want to visit after dark without a police escort.

I was stunned. You think you know someone, but life can be a surprise that may leave you limp and overwhelmed. It became clear my little housewife was somebody else's little whore by night and opened her legs for money. My sweet Claire was Crystal when working the streets and it was clear I didn't know her like I thought I did.

The back portion of the book was accounting of income and expenses. Her yearly total to date was $280,000 and we were only in March She was making $100,000 each month, which was a treasure trove more than I make as a lawyer in a big-time firm in the city.

So, rather than PTA meetings and book clubs she was fucking for dollars at a prime rate in a sleepy part of town. My shy and proper wife, who was the picture of demure, was less shy and a whole lot less proper when being offered money for pleasing men with her genitalia. It literally shocked me.

I must have looked at the 'hooking book' for an hour, trying to see my devoted wife devoting long hours to fucking men for pocket change. Big pocket change that could buy houses and travel and cars I would be embarrassed to drive because they would be too ostentatious to even ride in.

Would I throw the book at her, accuse her of being a whore after hours, or would I pretend I hadn't seen it

and act as if nothing has changed? Could I treat our PTA president like 'mother of the year' or would I confront her with what I now knew and tell her she fucked strangers for a living and see what she said in her defense?

How did I not know her any better than it was apparent I didn't? She is intelligent, beautiful, a college graduate, and someone I didn't even know. I thought sex was enjoyable but just a little embarrassing for her. I had no idea she could lift her skirts for guys willing to pay for her pussy. I had no idea she could be, well, a whore.

For a week I walked around in a daze, stunned that my sweet wife could be someone's brazen whore one minute and my seemingly faithful and community-minded wife the next. Then I began visualizing her during 'working hours' and trying to see her as Crystal. "How was your night?" I asked her two nights after I found her book of clients. I had put it back where I found it, unsure what I planned to do. When I asked her how her night was, she simply shook her head and said, "Boring."

For two months I pretended I didn't know, treated her like the proper wife I 'knew' and went about our lives like nothing had changed. Our sex was what bothered me the most, in that I constantly wondered what she'd do for dollars, since there were many things she wouldn't do for love. She wouldn't do anal, but I wondered how much I'd have to pay for it. She had no interest in extramarital sex, swinging or mate swapping. She wasn't too keen on oral, but did she blow for bucks with strangers and repeat clients if they paid her to?

We were going out to a dinner party and I could not keep from wondering if any of the guests were paying customers who she knew biblically during business hours. She was the picture of proper as we chatted with friends and other guests during the night. I wondered if any of them knew her through her business dealings, and I couldn't keep my mind off of her book, off her secret profession.

We went to dinner with her friend Karen and her husband Carl, a doctor I did not know all that well. During dinner the conversation got around to the economy and Karen was amazingly naive about the state the country was in. She talked as if a second grade teacher made top dollar, and I remember thinking how naive could a person be.

Karen then started talking about a trip they planned on taking to Europe the next summer. I remember thinking that her doctor husband was certainly doing well for himself. Karen was wearing fur that had to cost in the six figures, and although he was a doctor, it was obviously more lucrative than I realized before.

Karen flirted with the waiter far more than I would be comfortable with, and I thought she was far more sexually playful than any second grade teacher I could remember.

I thought she was coming on to me and I began thinking my wife should pick her friends better.

Throughout the evening, my mind kept returning to the book I had found in my wife's panty drawer. I wondered if Claire had told her friend Karen about her secret career and if any of our friends knew about what she did as well.

When we got home I watched her undress and wondered how many men had seen her getting naked for them and if she included it as part of the price of admission. We made love that night and it was pretty hot, and I imagined she had been inspired by some activity with a client or two. Was I imagining it because of the book, or was she unusually aroused because of something that had happened "at work."

I pictured her, as we made love, in bed with a customer and imagined her doing outrageous things with her body that she had never done with me. I wondered how much she would charge for anal, or a threesome, or for bisexual so he could watch. Thinking of that actually worked to turn me on and I was a little sheepish that it worked that way. I wondered if she ever did two men at a time. I have to admit it got me hot to think of. I began to think of porn I had seen regarding hookers and what she did for money, what kinds of fetishes she accommodated in her 'job' and how they paid her. Did they leave the money on the night stand, or did they just hand it to her like it was for babysitting?

I began to obsess over thoughts of her fucking on the bed with her legs spread and her body laid out for her customers to ogle and pay to see. She was one very sexy lady, that was true, but I had never thought of her enjoying showing it off, never saw any hint that she even would let others see her nude. An exhibitionist? I just hadn't seen any sign of that before.

I started looking at porn and seeing her in the scene, substituting her for the women in the shots. I envisioned a hard penis sliding in and out of her as she stretched out on her back with her legs open obscenely. I imagined her with an erection in her mouth, her tongue curling around the tip wantonly and smiling as she drank his cum. I pictured her on her knees with a customer behind her pushing into her from the back, grunting and imploring him to go 'harder.' I could almost hear her begging for it, telling her 'John' to go deeper and faster. I masturbated to thoughts of her being fucked for money in a sleepy motel room with her clothes on a chair and the money on the night stand. It was nearly a nightly ritual for me, and I began to look forward to it every evening.

However, it still rankled me to admit I had not known and I had never seen any indication of it in her before. It was after six months that I finally broke down and let my frustrations come flying out. "I found your book," I said, deciding at that moment not to keep it from her any longer. She looked puzzled. "Crystal," I said. She began to laugh. It was hardly funny.

"You think it's funny?" I said, hooking on the side?"

"That's not my book. It's Crystal's, or I mean Karen's." Karen is her best friend from college, her ex-roommate. She is married to a doctor and teaches second grade. "I have been keeping her books for her. She is shit at math. You thought that was my client book. You thought I was a...."

"Whore? Yeah," I said.

"Paid escort. She prefers 'paid escort' over prostitute," my wife said, still amused I thought she was the one hooking. How did you think they could afford a home in The Heights?" she asked with a smirk.

"He is a doctor," I said.

"He is a emergency room doctor and barely made enough for that apartment they had in Palos Verdes. "So you were snooping in my panty drawer.?"

"Not snooping," I said. "I was looking for those silk ones I wanted you to wear to the anniversary party."

"So that's why you've been acting so strange lately," she said. "You thought I was selling it and not giving enough to you?" I blushed and could not admit the truth. "So where did you think I was putting all that money?" I said I didn't know. "Don't you know me better than that?" she said with a snarl.

"Why did you hide in your panty drawer?" I asked, trying to change the direction this had gone in.

"It's her business, not yours. I couldn't very well keep it in my desk, with the kids and you. She isn't ashamed, they regard it as a family business."

"Carl knows about this?" I asked.

"Since college. He had trouble with it at first, but a million a year can change a man's mind pretty quickly. A man gets liberal when he is spending her money," she said. Then once again she began to laugh. "You thought I was not giving you oral enough but was selling it to strangers?" she said laughing.

"No," I said.

"Yes, that's exactly what you thought. I know you. The first thing you thought about was, 'why am I not getting any?' right?" she said, so accurate that I would never admit it except under oath, even then maybe not. "You wondered how the woman you thought you knew was selling her pussy for pesos, right?"

The look on my face I was sure revealed all. She knew me better than I wanted to admit. My wife had me nailed. I had been poking around where I shouldn't have been and I jumped off the Grand Canyon of conclusions, only to fall into a shit pile of misinterpretations. I wondered how she could be a whore, but the real question was how could her friend be one, with her husband's blessing.

I felt totally stupid. If I had gone to her I could have avoided a great deal of personal distress. The wife I had been picturing with another man's cock in her pussy, was still the proper lady I had always thought she was. My imagination had turned her into a slut who took men's money to perform feasts of sexual recreation for them.

I had actually been seeing her fucking them and liking what I was imagining her doing. I had made her a whore in my own mind and I was beginning to really like it. I even began to start thinking of the money and what it would mean to us, what I could do with some of it. I started thinking of sex toys she owned and picturing her using them, seeing my wife sitting on a bed naked with her knees apart and filling herself with a dildo, her eyes closed and her teeth over her bottom lip.

She had started to get more interesting to me, seeing her as a mysterious lady of the night. If I really didn't know her, then I began filling in the blanks, and she began taking on personalities I had fantasized about for years, and I began substituting characteristics in the gaps with imagined personas I secretly dreamed about, even hoped for. If I had a whore for a wife, I wanted to make the best of it, to reap the rewards, so to speak.

"I think you are actually disappointed that I am not a whore," she said one afternoon. I denied it, of course, but she was completely correct. I had spent so much time accepting it, that I was sincerely disappointed that she wasn't. If anything had to be admitted, it was that. If it could be believed, I actually liked having a whore for a wife. That was undeniable, if I was honest with myself. Now, the question was, could I be honest with her? Was there anyway I could tell her I was actually disappointed she was not a prostitute, making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year.

We were in bed, having just had our obligatory Sunday morning sex, when I turned on my side to look at her. "When I thought you were a whore, you were right, I did begin to like it just a bit." She looked at me for a long time, then she smiled.

"If you want a blow job, put your money on the night stand," she said. "It is two hundred dollars. Crystals tells me her prices. If you want more, it will cost you," she said with a saucy grin. Maybe I did have a whore for a wife, after all.