Resident Slut

Alcohol! This was the trigger that started the cascade of my marriage destruction. Not excessive drinking by me—Kenneth J. (for Jerome) Hart, 6' 6" tall—or my 5' tall brunette wife, Miola. No, nothing alcoholic crossed my lips that night. It's just that I can't drink, and she knew it.

Somehow, I'm missing a gene or something, because one beer, or small glass of wine or a light mixed drink and I'm off, talking nonsense, wild, free and often inappropriate. I've lost friends and business contacts because of having a single drink and then talking off-guardedly. Two beers and my speech is slurred. Three beers and I start to stagger. Four or more and I'm quickly passed out, like a sodden old drunk on skid row, not to awaken until the next day.

Miola knew I couldn't take alcohol in any form, and yet she and her friends from work, there at our evening house party, whispering and laughing behind my back, and, giggling, kept pressing me to drink and down the vodka often.

Early in the party, with everyone else getting a little tipsy, I was handed glasses of expensive vodka-and-lemon-tonic and encouraged to drink it down. My manhood was challenged. Social pressure mounted to follow their lead. Keep up with the rest of the crowd, they said.

Even Miola was chugging down her vodka-and-lemon/lime mix, whispering and laughing with the crowd of her friends, as she encouraged me to take just one more sip.

Something was up. This was so unlike my 35-year old wife of 7 years, her jet-black hair flowing and bouncing off her bare shoulders, there in her off-the-shoulders peasant blouse, bare midriff and pleated skirt. Tonight, unusually, she wore 3" heels and fishnet stockings: what the hell, all that made her look sexy, a little slutty and desirable. Maybe I could get her to keep them on until tomorrow, so I could bang her in the morning?

But pushing me to drink? What the merry hell was going on? These were her friends from work. What were they all whispering about?

Due to being a self-employed maintenance/lubrication robotic engineer, I only had a few friends from my work and the people I did know were scattered around the country.

Lubrication? Maintenance? Robots? OK, think about one of those robotic assembly lines you see on YouTube. All those whirling, dancing machines, working in total darkness. What keeps all that whirling, 27/7/365 masses of electronics and metal moving? Bearings. Hinges. Sliding parts. All of which need a regular few drops of specialty-lube delivered to the one exact place, which just happens to be buried inside the mass of whirling metal. Move one centimeter in the wrong direction and whack, you've lost a chunk of skull or a fingertip.

There has to be a better way. That's what I do, design and find the better ways. I get paid well to do so.

I make a good living. Enough to support Miola well. She didn't have to work. But I'm away several time a month, and she got bored, so she got a corporate job involving audio-visual production of training films. Now she knows video production work backwards and forwards, and sometime acts in front of the lens as well as behind it. More power to her.

But, tonight, here I was at the party with Miola and her friends, trying to be social but not drink. I mixed up a pitcher of sparkling water with lemon, then added a couple drops of bitter and only drank that, but pretended to get bombed.

Suspicious? Hell, yes, I was suspicious.

Just like I'd gotten suspicious when I came home from a recent trip, to find the living room subtly re-arranged. Two previous trips, two times re-arranged. Nothing major, but little things done. My reading lamp on the right side of my chair instead of on the left. The clock moved from 'there' to 'here'. Chairs that didn't fit the mashed-down imprints of the legs on the floor. Plus a vague smell of disinfectant, masked by a stronger scent of lilac or lavender. That sort of thing.

So, while Miola was at work one day, I installed a motion-activated video cam, covering the living-room. I fixed it so that it would only record longer term motions and not just walk-throughs. The cam would record to memory but also make a DVD, from a tray of 5 blank disks. That was 2 trips ago, and I'd almost forgotten about it, thinking I'd check on the video memory later, since there didn't seem to be any hurry.

After all, I knew-for-sure that my Miola loved only me and only wanted me to have her, alone, for sex and loving.

Thus, there I was, still cold sober, but acting seriously drunk, and being helped to my easy chair by two of her friends, Ahmed Mingo and Warren HungLo. I let my last 'drink' fall from my fingers and slumped into my chair, where the two guys positioned my loose head so that everyone could see my face, bolstered by carefully-placed pillows. As they stepped back to the group, I watched any future action through slitted eyes.

Then my married life and my love for my pretty wife shattered.

I watched my Miola take her last gurgling drink straight from her bottle of vodka, gulping it down. She staggered a bit, then strutted to a position in the center of the living room and called out, "OK, gang, hubby's down for the count. Let's get this party started."

Her friends all put down their drinks and loosely surrounded her. She moved over to Warren and he kissed her. Kissed her deep, with lots of tongue. Then Warren passed her over to Ahmed, where he did the same thing, his hands roving all over her still-clothed body. Round the group of 13 guys and 2 girls she went, getting kissed, ass-grabbed and felt up. Someone started the stereo speakers, with music having a low, slow beat. Next, she slowly, teasingly stripped off her peasant top and flung it aside, revealing that she had no bra. She was bare from the waist up, with only her small pain patch on her lower flank visible, the rest being heaving, bouncing, sweating woman-flesh ... a lot of it now exposed.

Round the group she went again, kissing but also getting tit-feels, nipple twists and tugs. It was pretty clear from her gasping and hard breathing that her blood was boiling. Next she peeled off her flowing skirt, revealing no panties and a bare bald pussy, plus close-mesh, thigh-high fishnet stockings and heels, so she was nude—no, nude is artistic, but my Miola, my wife, was stark naked—in front of the loose group of 15 now-naked people.

Round she went again, kissing and being felt up, with hands all over her body, plus on and inside her pussy, too. Pumping her cunt in and out by hand, as she stiffened and had orgasms. Stiff cocks were being revealed, which she grasped and stroked. In a voice utterly unlike her everyday purr, she rasped, "Oh, yeah, that's it, now we're cooking. Get yer junk out, guys, 'cause here comes Cookie." Miola went around a 4th time, but now on her knees, sucking each cock presented her. Not just a quick cock kiss, but a full-fledged deep-throat suck with tonguing, lapping up the pre-cum driblets.

Four of the guys went out of the living room, after being sucked, and they dragged the mattress off our marital bed into the living room. Miola was picked up by six other sets hands and placed on this mattress, laying there on her back, breasts pointed up by the pressure of her upper arms, legs up and stiff, spread wide, with her hands under her buttocks, fingertips spreading her pussy-lips open, so all the men and women could see the wetness evolving inside, now flowing out. I've heard the pose called the Whore's Salute.

I heard her shout, in that raspy voice, that they were getting for free what her boss, the company executives, managers and the guys whom she 'serviced' for contracts paid for in cash and stock options.

The men started to fuck her. She humped in missionary position. She took them in doggy, ass up, while other guys and one girl took her anally with a strap-on penis. She screamed that she'd been doing this since she started to fuck as the company whore for the last year-and-a-half. That she loved it. Loved being a whore. Loved getting dirty, rough sex.

She called out that she loved getting a cunt full of jizz, then coming home to her hubby for more nightly loving, making sure he had 'sloppy seconds'.

Shattered? My love for Miola was shattered but my marriage was incinerated.

No condoms were in use for any of this sexing, as I watched in mounting horror. Miola had her sex first by ones, then by twos. Double penetration. Cum slimed over her body and face, as her 'friends' shot their loads over her body while she ate out the other woman. Got squirted on. Bare tits bouncing all over her chest, nipples erect and distended, protruding. Cum dripping from her lips and off her neck and tits. Dripping out of her ravaged pussy. Dribbling out of her well-used ass (the one she never let me enter or use, calling it 'too dirty'). Her whole body slimed with semen.

At the last, I watched the gang-banging whore that I believed had been my loving wife, as she was made 'airtight', a man in her cheating cunt, another in her mouth and a third in her ass, all talking to each other and her in dirty language, trying to cum all at once, as my whore-wife Miola screamed dirty-talk encouragement and orgasmed continuously.

All this went on for more than an hour.

They and she were still group fucking but I don't think anyone even noticed as I quietly got up from my chair, looked at the pile of sexing, thrusting human-animals on the floor and walked out the living-room door. I opened the cabinet where the video-cam disks were stored, turning off the system and took the three full disks that were present. I got my laptop and backup flash drives and then my coat. In no hurry, not looking back, I walked out the back door, into the garage, where my motorbike was stored. I donned my safety gear, helmet and motored away from the house (not my home, any more) where my ex-wife-to-be was still rutting on the mattress from our bed, now on the living-room floor ... still sexing with her 'friends from work'.

In my motel room, in a cold, unemotional daze, I re-watched the sex orgy, which included her and them doing everything in front of my supposedly comatose body. Then I watched the other 2 disks. Surprise, surprise, they also contained previous videos of my soon-to-be ex-wife, pain-patch in place, drinking heavily, staggering a bit, but then followed by unsuspected sex orgies in our living room. The videos also showed the arrival of a professional clean-up crew from work, which explained the out-of-place items and the cleaning aroma that aroused my suspicions in the first place.

The next morning, I found a lawyer practicing 'family law,' a euphemism for filing divorce. He watched the 3 time-and-date stamped DVDs with me and immediately started on a filing for Dissolution of Marriage. On his advice, I filed for 'irreconcilable differences' in our no-fault state instead of the 'serial adultery' I first wanted. I did insist that she be 'served' at work, so she would have an audience of her 'friends' from work. I gave her the house and the car, plus all but a little traveling money for me, as I wanted a clean break.

I duplicated the DVDs of her sexing. Then, with a lot of thought and a couple days editing, I composed, then sent a letter, with the copied DVDs to be mailed to your house. I enclosed my now unneeded wedding ring. I also enclosed a copy of a magazine article, which detailed all the rationalizations, justifications and excuses women make about having sex with other men during marriage.

END OF PART 1