Resident Slut

Mia Hogh—say it as 'Me-a-ho'—said, "I'm yours. You own me."

Worried, I replied, "Mia, I know you're in guilt mode. That's OK. But I just can't 'own' another human being. I don't want a slave, even pretend one just for sex."

She said, "I still love sex. If I can't be your whore, then I'll be your slut. I love to be penetrated by a hard cock ... yours. Love showing you my sexy body. Love showing you what your hard, thrusting, pumping cock does to me, moment by moment. I love to orgasm, to cum, to scream out dirty sex talk while I sex and then climax. I love to pose in between more and more demands to fuck me. That's what being a SLUT is. Since I'm your slut, that's what you'll get."

"We can talk and cuddle and just be us, together, but you let your hand lightly wander over one of my tits, grab my ass or caress across my leg and—POW—you'll have a sex-loving, erotic-stripping, cunt-displaying, tit-thrusting slut, beside, on or under you, ready to be used for whatever loving that both of us can come up with."

Post-sex, we both cuddled and fell asleep, there in my bachelor apartment, in the living-area bed. Later, after waking, a shower—a cunt clean-out for her—and a pick-up meal, we went back to bed and just drifted. We had sex again, slow, deliberate, powerful at the end.

Then she began to talk.

Mia Hogh went on, kind of musing, in a quiet voice, as she started to fill in the details of what led up to the night of my supposed alcoholic humiliation orgy.

"I'm your resident slut until you get tired of me. I did you dirty, so awfully dirty and wrong, back 6 years ago. I'll never be able to make it up to you completely, but now I WANT to try. I've still got free choice. I know I'm not your slave. My mind and spirit are my own. I can get up and leave anytime I choose."

"It's just that I'm choosing to be right here, staying here, at your side, naked, your jizz dribbling out of my cunt. I want to be your slut. Not just for guilt or shame. I'm your slut because, to me, it feels right, feels good. Feels sexy as hell, too."

"This is what I should have been, when we were married, but I was too focused on being a middle-aged, unfulfilled woman, looking for I-don't-know-what."

"Right up to that last year-and-a-half, I was a loving, faithful wife. Right after we decided to be exclusive, then through the engagement and our marriage, you were the only one for me. I never even kissed another man. You never had a 'mercy fuck'. My body was for you alone."

"But then, I started to change, so slowly even I didn't quite know what was happening."

"Oh, Ken," she said as she remembered, "I tried to hide it from you but I was feeling so un-fulfilled. So empty. You had your work, your creative, engineering work. My own audio/visual stuff was boring. I was out of sorts. I never could say just what it as that I was feeling, but all the passion, the excitement was gone out of my life, when you weren't making love to me or thrusting your so-excellent cock into me, making me cum. I felt something was missing from my life."

"But it was just too indefinite, a sorta, kinda, I-don't-know-what fuzzy, female type of feeling. Nothing that I could talk about with an engineer or so I thought. Maybe a mild depression. I started to buy the occasional bottle of booze (vodka, it was) and get a little high in the morning and evenings, especially when you were away on your assignments."

"That's probably what Hastings Royall ('call me Roy'), the top executive at my company, picked up on. He was really good at negotiations and business, and could pick up on the slightest hints of what a supplier wanted or what his people wanted. Right now, I think he picked up on my feelings, when he met me to discuss some training videos he wanted me to produce."

"Oh, Ken, you never met him. He was handsome, and he was powerful, forceful, rich and he was a horn-dog. All that came out, when he appeared in my little studio one afternoon. He closed the door, then walked up behind me—I knew he was there—and he simply reached around and lightly grasped both my boobs in his hands, saying, "Miola, I wanna fuck you like a whore-in-heat".

"What I should have done was screamed, slapped his face, ordered him out, filed a sexual harassment HR complaint, quit my job, and come home to you for caring, comfort and cuddling. My husband Ken would have taken care of me. I could always find another job."

"But I didn't. I was a little high, since I had a bottle there at work. But that's no excuse. What I really did was take a deep breath, pressing his hands harder against my suddenly aching-sensitive boobs.

"Then I said, 'OK, sure'."

"I said it between one breath and the next. I said it on a whim. Right there, I said the damning two little words that set me on the slippery slope down to total degradation, loss of my marriage, loss of my husband Ken and eventually loss of my self-respect, my spirit and my very soul."

"On a whim, in the space of a single breath, I separated love—love of you, of my marriage, of myself—from having sex for fun."

"Inside two minutes, I was bent over my desk, jeans and panties down around my ankles, blouse open and bra up around my neck, as Roy plunged his cock in and out of my suddenly-flowing cunt. No tit or nipple play. No licking. No foreplay. Just hard cock in-and-out, pressed between my ass cheeks and into my pussy, thrusting, grunting as he sexed me."

"I still remember, 'Oh God, it felt GOOD!' I was a pretend-whore. I was pretend-evil. I was having excitement. I was doing something nasty, sexy, getting over on my husband. Cheating on my husband, soiling my marriage. He'd never find out. Having sex with the boss, right there on the job, where anyone could walk in and catch me."

"Roy pounded into me, telling me I was a whore. A dirty, nasty, cheating whore. I loved it. He only lasted a few minutes, the first time, but I came twice, loud and shuddering, like you remembered I did at home. My tits were on fire. I told him that."

"He fucked me twice. Once from behind and then again, missionary, on my desk, all our clothes on the floor. Oh, Ken, he wasn't bigger or longer than you. Just different. For those glorious moments, though, I was his pretend-whore and I had my excitement back."

Mia dribbled a few tears, as she added, "I never—not once—ever thought that what I'd just done was gonna make you into a cuckold." Bitterly, she added, getting hold of her tears, "that came later, of course."

Mia went on with her tale, telling me, "He got off and we dressed. He left, after he said that he'd be back for more. After I said, 'Sure, OK' again. My next step down the slippery slope."

"Wrapped in a kind of golden glow, I continued where I'd left off, setting up another training video. The interdepartmental mail arrived, with a big envelope. Inside were some 'gifts' from Roy: a key to the executive's washroom, which was almost a self-spa. A key card to one of the small apartments in the tower that the company maintained for visiting execs. Q-10, it was. Inside was a nice bathroom, a chair, desk and a big bed."

"Right then, I knew Roy was gonna fuck me in bed from now on, no more bent-over-desks for him."

"The envelope also awarded me a company credit card and a company bank account, newly opened. The starting balance was $100. I didn't even put 2-and-2 together until a few weeks later, when I realized I wasn't a pretend-whore any more, but a real one. I'd just fucked a man for money. I was gonna have even more sex in bed, for more cash-and-prizes. I was a company-based prostitute. A real whore. More steps tripping down the slippery slope."

"The envelope also contained a terse note from Roy. First, I was told to make an appointment to begin laser pussy-hair removal treatment at an expensive clinic in the city. Roy said I was to have a bare pussy as soon as possible. Remember, he wrote, to make up an excuse for your husband. More steps down the slope as I lied to you."

"Finally, though, he demanded that I start wearing one of several whore's uniforms each day."

"Remember the off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and skirt I wore at your drunk humiliation orgy. Well, that was one of the outfits. Thigh-high fishnet hose. High-heel sandals. No bra or panties, for easy access."

"I was also to buy some short miniskirts coupled with a French-Cut, raw-silk sleeveless blouse. You know the type: wide open at the neck, tits all but on display, with the first button down by your navel. Little strip of bare midriff. High stiletto heels, so that I walked with a pronounced sway, side-to-side as well as front-to-back, tits peeking out and back inside again. No bra or panties permitted."

"Then a professional-looking pants-suit, but with 3 hidden zippers, so that in three tugs, off it would come. Kitten heels. Again, no panties or bra."

"Plus a front-zip little black dress, fully-lined, nude underneath."

"Net stockings. Pumps. Everything was Come-Fuck-Me. Tripping down the slippery slope with slutty clothes."

"The laser-treatment was my deliberate lie to you, my Ken, when I said I was going to start shaving my pussy bare. I remember you saying you liked the idea, but the reason for doing it was the laser pubic hair removal, which was Roy's demand. Strutting down the displayed-pussy slippery slope."

"Six weeks later, with 3 treatments a week, I was bald as an egg 'down there'. I'd never need to shave again. I remember you telling me you liked it, but you were sure I was shaving every morning, just for you."

"I was also having lesbian sex with the laser technician, because she kept telling me how lovely my pussy was, each time she did away with more of my fur. Halfway through the treatment, I was higher—that is, drunker—than usual, and I invited her to check me out. A minute later, her face was in my snatch, one finger in me and another finger in her own pussy, and we were both orgasming."

"That set the pattern for the rest of my treatment. When the rest of the executives and people from work saw my bare pussy, Roy got the technician to spend a year at the company and she did just about all the female employees, so I continued to have girl-girl sex with her. More steps oozing lesbian pussy-juice down the slippery slope."

"But now I'm getting ahead of things."

"Oh, Ken, you can guess what happened next. Of course you can. One by one, the other executives started showing up in Roy's office, to fuck me. First to watch, then joining in. Sometimes with him, in a double penetration. Then I started to fuck them in their offices. More steps down the slope, each one a little kinkier, a little more depraved."

"More money in my whore's bank account. Increasing number of shares of company stock transferred to my new brokerage account."

"I became the company's well-off corporate prostitute. You were a multiple-fucked-over cuckold, but I didn't let myself think much about that. Pretty soon, I wasn't doing much audio-visual training, just fucking and whoring and having a lot of sexy fun. Plus drinking and staying drunk a lot, at work."

"I managed to cut it out when I went home to my Ken, to whom I was giving out a lot more sex than usual, out of guilt. But I drank like a fish when you were gone on your trips."

"One of the execs had a smaller than usual penis, but thick. Roy and him fucked me in the Q-10 apartment. Roy put his finger in my ass and I erupted into multiple orgasms. But then the smaller-penis guy mounted me doggy, and screwed me in the ass. Oh, Ken, it should have been 'dirty,' like I always told you it was, but right them, I screamed with pleasure and came, over and over and over, until he shot his load 'way up inside."

"Later, I leaked jizz from both holes, while they watched, laughed and then took me again. Now I was an ass-fucking whore-in-heat. I tumbled down the slippery slope like a kid, rolling in a tire."

"Then, months later, Roy 'suggested' that I help out the company get a new contract, by 'being nice' to the representative on a dinner date with him, over at the expensive hotel downtown. I went, willingly. Being an out-call whore was a new experience for me. You were away on an assignment. I wasn't near bored, any more."

"I did dinner plus wine, a show, back to his room and we fucked 4 times until he passed out on the bed. He took videos of me and us. I slept with him all night, and we fucked twice more in the morning. The company got the contract."

"I got more company stock and money to my whore's bank account."

"After that, I did a new or continuing contract about once a month, usually when I was really high or even drunk. I made lot of money and got a lot of company stock transferred to my name. It was a rapid trot down the slope, some more."

"Oh, my Ken, you still didn't suspect a thing. I covered myself really well. I always douched and showered at work, and blow-dried my hair. I changed out of my whore's uniforms and back into my usual clothes, when I came home, even if you weren't there. I was careful and didn't leave any messages on my cell phone or land-line. I made no written notes or kept a diary at home."

"No condoms in my purse. I'd had my tubes tied months ago, again by Roy's demand, lying to my husband Ken about the bandage-covered 'bruises' from bumping into an A/V camera and falling on it. I gave my Ken all the sex he could handle, at home."

"More lying steps down the slope, so many I lost count, months ago."

END OF PART 4