My husband is forcing me to write this. Well, maybe forcing is too strong a word. Strongly encouraging me perhaps is better, much in same way he strongly encouraged me to fuck his boss. There, I wrote it down. He is also strongly encouraging me to call myself a whore, which is, essentially what I am. I fucked his boss to get him a promotion, there is no kidding myself; I am a whore.
"So what does that make you?" I ask my husband.
"What do you think? I'm your pimp honey" he replied with an evil grin on his face. He is so proud of himself.
I have to admit something else. I like him calling me his whore, it turns me on. Growing up a Catholic latina, the word puta,whore, is the worst insult you can hurl at a woman. I could have never dreamed that the word would one day apply to me, and that it would make me wet when my husband calls me his sweet latina whore.
I could justify the whole thing rationally, after all my husband got his promotion, which means more money for him and lots of gifts, such as jewelry, a new car and more for me, but that would really only reinforce the inevitable conclusion; I am a whore. I even like writing it as much as I like hearing my husband say it. He is now strongly encouraging that I end this confessional preamble and get to the sexy parts.
"The readers really do not care how much you like being called a whore, they want the sexy bits to jerk off to."
Even that idea, that someone reading this is going to masturbate to my adventures in prostitution (that word is too proper for my taste), is a turn on. Let me again state that it was my husband's idea, I had no desire, or even fantasy to fuck his boss. It all sprang from his evil mind.
We met when we were both in college and married in our early twenties. Bob is only the second man (not including my "john") I have ever been with, and after ten years of marriage, we still have a great sex life. He is a a Scott-Irish mutt and and I'm a Latina of Cuban and Colombian descent. No children yet, we don't feel ready, but we will someday. Although after what has happened, I think I want to put it off a bit longer.
I can't remember when or how he first brought up the subject of his boss's divorce--I'll call him John--and how he would talk about how difficult it was to meet women, how lonely he was, that sort of thing. All very casual, I didn't give it much thought, he was just making conversation about the guy he works for, nothing out the ordinary. Then he began talking about the promotion and raise that he deserved, that he was the hardest worker in the division, the most qualified and so on, but that John is so unhappy and lonely he just could not see up from down. He wished he could do something for the guy to help him out. Did I know any single women to set John up with?
"The guy has thing for Latin women, he told me he thought you are really beautiful."
I was flattered, but not suspicions.
I said, "All my friends are married, I really don't know anyone single."
"How about any married friends?" he replied very innocently, or as innocently as one can say something like that.
"Bob that's evil." I giggled.
"I'm just saying, a roll in hay to relax this guy and get me a promotion, it'll mean more money..."
My husband went on with this line of reasoning a bit too long, and my suspicions were aroused, but I played along.
He finally came up with the idea of inviting John over for dinner.
"Just the three of us?" I asked.
"Sure, wine and dine him, we've never socialized with before, maybe we can pitch the idea of my promotion together." he said casually.
"We? It's your job. What do you want me to say?" I asked.
"Just look beautiful and show lots of cleavage." he laughed not so innocently. "He's got a thing for latinas like I do."
"Just cleavage?" I replied mischievously.
"Well maybe lots of leg as well and wear something tight to show off your ass" he said ginning that evil smile of his.
"Oh I see, show as much tits, ass and legs as I can, anything else?
"Yeah, dress as sluty as possible."
It was at this point that I realized that husband was pimping me out, I thought figuratively, to his boss. I also realized that I liked the idea, it was a turn on. I didn't, couldn't, imagine that he was at this point thinking literally to turn his loving wife into a trick turning whore.
"Alright, invite him for dinner next Saturday night, I'll convince him to give you raise." I said jokingly.
He walked over and gave me a big hug, squeezed my ass and said "You're the best baby."
I went shopping that week for the most expensive sexy dress I could find, really slutty, just as he requested. It was black, very tight, low cut with a leg slit almost to my ass, it didn't leave much to the imagination. I thought to myself, this ought to teach him a lesson. It's at this point that I should describe myself, perhaps, I should let my husband do it:
"My wife is a super hot, petite, slim, big breasts, long black hair, great teeth, clear olive colored skin, and a killer ass, big, but not too big, just perfect. I love to watch it wiggle and shake as I pound my meat into her."
"Alright, you are getting off topic, you are just describing me for the reader."
"But honey, your ass shaking is a description of you."
Anyway, the night of the dinner, Bob had a chef come to our house and cook a dinner for us. It cost a fortune, but in his mind well worth it. He didn't want me tired or stressed out. I loved the idea. About an half an hour before our guest arrivedm I came out of the bedroom in my new slut outfit. It looked like I had been poured into it. Bob's eyes practically popped out of his head.
"Now that's what I'm talking about baby. You look fucking super sexy."