worst has yet to come and I already feel dirty, ashamed, humiliated like I've never experienced before. If word ever got out it would be the ruin of me.
Carl strides over with confident steps, his back straight and his eyes on me, and I ask myself why the hell am I doing this? The answer that comes back from the depth of my being is simple: because I need to.
We need the money so badly and, as much as I hate to admit, there is still the intense desire for revenge. Revenge on the man I married for letting me down like this, for even having the balls to suggest I do a vile and depraved thing like this. What was he thinking? Was he thinking at all?
"Can you tell me why my cock is still in my pants, girl?" Carl says, lifting my head up by my chin. My cheeks burn and my anger rises, but I force it back just as I swallow the bile that rises up my throat. What right do I have to be angry at Carl? He is just a pig being a pig.
Carl has always been like this with me. He has always made it perfectly clear he feels he is entitled to my pussy just because he is an alpha-male.
And now he's going to get his way too.
Now Sam is a different story, though. He should protect me. He should stand up for me, but he doesn't. He just stands there like an impotent fuck. That only fuels my desire for revenge, a desire strong enough to push back my revulsion and ignore my shame and hurting pride.
Strong enough to engage in a shameful fuck just to make my damn point.
That point being simple and sweet: show hubby what happens if he tries to fuck with me.
"I'm really sorry for having been rude," I force myself to say, my heart pounding away like crazy in my chest.
At least I could do worse, I tell myself bitterly.
And that is true.
Carl is tall and blessed with strikingly handsome features and a solid built. The kind of guy who attracts female attention wherever he goes.
But he still is thirty-two years older and this would still be whoring myself out no matter how I try to rationalize how I could do worse.
"Sorry isn’t sucking my cock, girl" Carl says casually as if a nineteen-years-old having him suck him off for cash, a married woman, is all just fine, not perverse.
"You know, Carl," I snap, nothing but pent up anger bursting to the surface. "You can at least be civil about this. No reason to be so crude, right? Or do you really have to be? Are you really enjoying turning your neighbor to whoring, Carl? Well, are you?"
But even as I have my little outburst, a pang of fear hits my chest at the same time as I think this might ruin the deal. Yes, we need the money that badly.
Maybe even more than I need my revenge, a possibility that hurts my heart.
"I reserve civil for those who’ve earned it," he says and his lips spread into a ear-to-ear grin that only provokes my hurt pride. Really, if I knew I'd get away with it, I'd knee the fucker.
Knee the cum-loaded nuts that he wants to unload deep inside of me.
"Fuck you," I hiss, my pride hurting in my chest.
"I thought I paid you to let me fuck you instead," Carl says and laughs, his face wrinkling up from the deep belly laughter. God, right now, I just really hate him.
And Sam, he just keeps staring at the floor like a fucking zombie. That only adds to my anger and growing contempt for him, and for the first time during our marriage, I'm starting to think that maybe I did make a mistake by marrying him.
Maybe, I can't help but think I deserve better than Sam.
And right now, seeing him stand there so damn spineless, it is easy to believe that I do deserve a lot better.
What I deserve, my hurt pride whispers from the edges of my mind, is a real man. The sort of man who wouldn't hesitate to kick Carl's nuts for even suggesting I should be his cute teen whore.
The kind of cash-slut who doesn't mind sitting down on his hard cock to rock his world, not stopping until his damn cum has painted to walls of her womb.
The kind of cash-slut Carl now is paying me to be.
That's what a real
Carl strides over with confident steps, his back straight and his eyes on me, and I ask myself why the hell am I doing this? The answer that comes back from the depth of my being is simple: because I need to.
We need the money so badly and, as much as I hate to admit, there is still the intense desire for revenge. Revenge on the man I married for letting me down like this, for even having the balls to suggest I do a vile and depraved thing like this. What was he thinking? Was he thinking at all?
"Can you tell me why my cock is still in my pants, girl?" Carl says, lifting my head up by my chin. My cheeks burn and my anger rises, but I force it back just as I swallow the bile that rises up my throat. What right do I have to be angry at Carl? He is just a pig being a pig.
Carl has always been like this with me. He has always made it perfectly clear he feels he is entitled to my pussy just because he is an alpha-male.
And now he's going to get his way too.
Now Sam is a different story, though. He should protect me. He should stand up for me, but he doesn't. He just stands there like an impotent fuck. That only fuels my desire for revenge, a desire strong enough to push back my revulsion and ignore my shame and hurting pride.
Strong enough to engage in a shameful fuck just to make my damn point.
That point being simple and sweet: show hubby what happens if he tries to fuck with me.
"I'm really sorry for having been rude," I force myself to say, my heart pounding away like crazy in my chest.
At least I could do worse, I tell myself bitterly.
And that is true.
Carl is tall and blessed with strikingly handsome features and a solid built. The kind of guy who attracts female attention wherever he goes.
But he still is thirty-two years older and this would still be whoring myself out no matter how I try to rationalize how I could do worse.
"Sorry isn’t sucking my cock, girl" Carl says casually as if a nineteen-years-old having him suck him off for cash, a married woman, is all just fine, not perverse.
"You know, Carl," I snap, nothing but pent up anger bursting to the surface. "You can at least be civil about this. No reason to be so crude, right? Or do you really have to be? Are you really enjoying turning your neighbor to whoring, Carl? Well, are you?"
But even as I have my little outburst, a pang of fear hits my chest at the same time as I think this might ruin the deal. Yes, we need the money that badly.
Maybe even more than I need my revenge, a possibility that hurts my heart.
"I reserve civil for those who’ve earned it," he says and his lips spread into a ear-to-ear grin that only provokes my hurt pride. Really, if I knew I'd get away with it, I'd knee the fucker.
Knee the cum-loaded nuts that he wants to unload deep inside of me.
"Fuck you," I hiss, my pride hurting in my chest.
"I thought I paid you to let me fuck you instead," Carl says and laughs, his face wrinkling up from the deep belly laughter. God, right now, I just really hate him.
And Sam, he just keeps staring at the floor like a fucking zombie. That only adds to my anger and growing contempt for him, and for the first time during our marriage, I'm starting to think that maybe I did make a mistake by marrying him.
Maybe, I can't help but think I deserve better than Sam.
And right now, seeing him stand there so damn spineless, it is easy to believe that I do deserve a lot better.
What I deserve, my hurt pride whispers from the edges of my mind, is a real man. The sort of man who wouldn't hesitate to kick Carl's nuts for even suggesting I should be his cute teen whore.
The kind of cash-slut who doesn't mind sitting down on his hard cock to rock his world, not stopping until his damn cum has painted to walls of her womb.
The kind of cash-slut Carl now is paying me to be.
That's what a real
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