This is part two of my story No More the Soccer Mom. You should read part 1 first. If you don't want to read about a wimpy husband and a hotwife, don't read this.
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Chapter 5
The limousine pulled up in front of my house at 5:30 in the morning. Everything was still dark. The coach lights were not even on. It felt like an omen or, more precisely, it seemed to exemplify the state of my marriage.
With a sigh, I opened the door and stepped out. I stared up at the house I had loved for years, the place where we had raised our children, the place I had shared with the love of my life.
Now, that person, who had been my husband, had sold me as a sex slave. He had turned me from a soccer mom into a high-paid prostitute, a slut, a kept woman. What did my Judas get with his bag of silver?
I walked up the sidewalk, slid the key in the door and stepped inside this empty shell of a home. The only saving grace was my children, my two beautiful girls. I dropped my clutch and keys on the table in the foyer and kicked off the slutty, come-fuck-me heels I had worn to the "interview."
I climbed the stairs in silence and walked down the long hall to the back of the house. The door was open, and I could see my girls asleep in their beds. Chrissy, the older had the top bunk and her sister Maggie the bottom. I approached the pink bunk beds and stared at my angels. I wanted to touch them, to hug them, to kiss them, but I felt dirty, unclean and tainted. Tears ran down my cheeks as I turned and left them.
I made my way to the kitchen and with shaking hands, poured myself a half-glass of orange juice, then filled it with Vodka. I drank it rapidly, nearly choking on it. The juice did little to lessen the burn of the alcohol. I was not an alcoholic; I just needed something to calm my nerves and to make me feel better about myself.
I left the empty glass in the sink and felt an overpowering urge to get clean. I stripped off the whore's costume, the dress, the bra, the thong, and walked naked through the house to the room I shared with my pimp and husband, Dave, my betrayer.
He was there. Asleep. Snoring.
I stared at him in the half-lit room. I bet he was so happy now. He had everything he wanted, everything he had worked so hard for. A price had been paid for him to get it all. A price that he didn't have to pay. He was not the one who was fucked repeatedly and forced to submit to the dominant will of his boss. He left that duty to me, while he was rewarded.
I felt a wave of nausea and I ran to the bathroom. I failed to vomit. Somehow that saddened me more. If I could purge myself, could I purge myself of this new life? Could I go back and undo it all? Could I be free again? But no, the bile subsided and I was still a whore.
I turned on the shower and climbed in, gasping as the icy water hit my body. The shock took my breath, but could not take my pain. Gradually, the water warmed and then became scalding. I felt it searing my flesh. I grabbed a loofa and began to scrub. I wanted to clean the scent of infidelity from my body and my memory. I tried to wash away my sin, my guilt, my humiliation, but most importantly I wanted to cleanse myself of my desire for more.
I washed and scrubbed until the water became cold again. Finally, shivering, I turned off the shower and got out. I dried, looking at myself in the mirror. Had I changed? Visibly, there was very little sign of my transformation, only a bruise here and there from when Steven had been too aggressive. The mirror lied and hid the reality. I was no longer the Julie that had looked into this mirror twenty-four hours ago.
That old Julie was gone. In her place was this new Julie, the Executive Assistant, and sex-slave to Steven Andrews. I put on a robe, pulled my hair into a scrunchy and walked out. I was who I was. It was too late to go back now.
Fifteen minutes later, I was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. The scent of bacon filled the house and must have attracted the resident carnivore. Dave stumbled in, wearing only his boxers, his hair a disheveled mess, and looking as if he had been drinking hard all night.
"Hey," he said, and his voice made my stomach turn. "When did you get home?"
I glanced up at him, my face displaying none of the hatred and disgust I felt.
"Half an hour ago," I said, adding nothing more, not even a greeting.
"I'm starving," he said, walking over to steal a piece of bacon.
"That's for my girls!" I snapped, striking his hand with a wooden spoon.
'Ouch!" he exclaimed, shaking his hand and staring at me angrily, "What the fuck was that for, Julie?"
"I didn't cook anything for you," I explained, "If you want to eat, fix it yourself."
I started plating the pancakes. "But, first, go wake up the girls and get them down to eat."
He stood without moving. "Julie, can we talk?"
I turned to him. By the look on his face, he must have seen the look on mine. He stepped back, alarmed.
"Yes, we'll fucking talk, but not now!" I snapped, "Get your ass upstairs and get our daughters down to eat. After they go to school, we can talk. Your boss said for us to take the day off, so we will have plenty of time for talking."
He nodded his head slowly, backing out of the kitchen, then turned to go and get the girls out of bed. A few minutes later, my two cherubs came in all sleepy-headed and grumbling.
"Hey, Chrissy!" I said, turning to them with a big smile, "Good morning, Maggie!"
I knelt and gave both of them as big a hug as I could manage.
"I missed you two last night," I said, fighting back the tears. "I'm so sorry the Mommy had to work."
"It's okay, Mommy," Maggie said, hugging my neck. Chrissy sat down and started eating, grinning ear-to-ear.
"If you make us pancakes every morning, you can work overnight any time you want," she said, pouring Aunt Jemima's syrup all over her short stack of pancakes.
I looked at Dave, who was still standing there. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I'll have to work overnight often. I will miss you girls terribly, but will do everything I can to make it up to you."
Dave left the room. I guess he couldn't take the heat in the kitchen. When the girls finished eating, I gathered up their plates. "Go get dressed; I'm driving you to school this morning. I'll be at the school to pick you up today too, so don't ride the bus."
They seemed pleased by that news and ran upstairs to get ready for school. I cleaned up the kitchen, and a few minutes later, Dave showed up.
"Did you make coffee?" he asked, trying to smile.
"No," I said, then walked out of the room. I needed to get dressed and didn't want to look at Dave's face. It made me want to vomit.
Chapter 6
I arrived home from dropping off the girls at school and found Dave waiting for me at the kitchen table. As soon as I came in from the garage, he held up the glass I'd used for my emergency screwdriver.
"You're drinking this early and driving our kids to school?" he asked with an angry look on his face.
"Fuck you," I said stoically, "I needed something to calm my nerves after what you put me through."
My reaction seemed to surprise him. He swallowed hard and looked down. I poured myself a mug of coffee and sat down across from him at the table.
"Can we talk now?" he asked nervously.
"Yes," I answered, "but I don't think you're going to like the conversation."
"Look," he declared, "I did this for us! I was trying to help us!"
"Bullshit!" I shouted, "don't you ever say that to me again! You did this for you! You got a big bonus and a big pay raise. You got the job you've always wanted. You pimped me out and made a whore out of your wife for a promotion!"
"I didn't pimp you out!" he protested, trying to defend himself. "It was just a job interview."
"You knew!!" I snarled, "You knew what kind of person Steven is! You knew what the job was really about! You knew he'd make me his slut! And you did it anyway! You're a white collar pimp, and your wife is nothing more than a high-priced prostitute."
'It's not like that!" he countered, "Really, not like that at all!"
"Really?" I asked with total disdain on my face. "Did you know that to get the job I'd have to suck his cock?"
He looked away.
"Did you know that for the interview, I had to be completely naked and that he would fuck me?"
He refused to meet my gaze.
"You knew your boss would fuck your wife. You knew that as his new assistant, I would be Steven's complete and total sex toy. Didn't you?"
He shook his head, "Not exactly."
"What the fuck does 'not exactly' mean, Dave?" I demanded.
"I mean, I had an idea that you might have to do things for Steven," he said, his voice breaking. "I didn't ask what he expected."
