Resident Slut

"I reached my limit, though, when Roy suggested that he and I have sex in our home, him fucking me on our bed, while you were gone on one of your business trips. This seemed awfully disrespectful of you, which it was, since it was mostly a power-over-you-as-his-cuckold play. I initially said, 'no way'."

"But then Roy produced a little adhesive skin patch and he even told me what it was. A 'sexy-juice patch', with the dose delivered through the skin. He said it was a light dose of GHB, Molly and Meth and would make sex better. I let him put it on my bare flank, trusting him instead of my husband."

"You remember, Ken, when I came home wearing it. Roy told me to tell you it was for pain."

"I got all warm and really sexy, wearing the skin patch. Suddenly, I just stopped thinking and fucking my lover in our home bed sounded like delicious fun. Then, when you went out on an overnight assignment, Roy and I had sloppy sex on our home's marriage bed, like Roy wanted, and he really did laugh about cuckolding you in your own bed, with your own wife. I laughed with him."

"Another lie to my thrown-aside, cuckolded husband, but I was so far gone, down the slippery slope, it didn't seem to matter much, anymore."

Angry at what had been done to Mia, even though she was my cheating ex, for the first time I interrupted Mia, saying, "A couple years ago, I had a girlfriend who suicided after being given GHB + Molly + Meth, then gang-raped. I hated this stuff so much I studied it."

"Your 'sexy-juice' was a mix of 3 very illegal compounds, each a stand-alone date-rape drug. Together, they made you into a drugged-out super-whore."

"Start with Gamma-Hydroxybutyrate Acid, or GHB. In a mild dose, adjusted to your specific body type, age and weight, it causes euphoria ... removes inhibition ... enhanced libido ... acts as an aphrodisiac ... boosts sexual drive a lot ... promotes increased sexual perception and impairs specifics of your memory, so that the patch-user doesn't know details of what happened—just the general sexing and orgasming—when it wears off."

"Then add a light dose of MDMA, which is 3,4 methalenedioxy methamphetamine. Otherwise known as Molly here in the USA but also ecstasy. Taking it gives a mood lift into euphoria ... an increased sense of energy ... an ego softener ... decreased fear, anxiety ... enhances feelings of comfort and closeness to others ... feelings of love ... Increased awareness of the senses, especially touch ... urge to hug and kiss people, including complete strangers ... a strong urge to want to strip naked and display your body ... increased sexual participation when fucking ... increased genital area sensitivity ('making your pussy tingle')."

"Next, because each of the other drugs had an effect of making you drowsy, they added a light dose of Meth, which turned you into a hyped-up sexual animal for 4 to 6 hours at a time."

"The real effect was that each of these drugs acted together as stronger than any one alone."

"Finally, they put this hell-mix in a transdermal patch and mixed in DMSO, which caused the drug to pass right through the skin and into the bloodstream. You remember the DMSO craze, years ago. A person would mix lemon extract with DMSO, then put a finger in the liquid. In a couple of minutes, you'd start to taste lemon in your mouth. So your mix of 'sexy juice' drugs would flow into your bloodstream within a couple minutes of putting the patch on your skin."

"Taking all of this, even in a minimum dose and you'd become a mostly mindless, uninhibited, sex-loving, fuck-crazy, hyped-up nympho whore-slut, wanting to strip naked, hug everyone around you and make love and have penetrative sex with any person, male or female, present, even with all of them at once, in a gang-bang."

I went on, relentlessly, "But—and here's the true kicker—you said you were drinking pretty heavily by this time, mostly vodka-and-lemon/lime soda. I'll bet Roy and the executives knew all about this last effect."

"Add alcohol to your 'sexy-juice' and lots of blackouts happen."

"You'd be having many booze-induced blackouts. While 'out,' you're still speaking and behaving—still sucking, fucking and taking it up the ass—but you're operating strictly on the basis of your subconscious, right down at the basest level of your mind. Everything becomes only I, I, I, and Me, Me, Me plus I want, I want, I want, but doing it Right now, Right now, Right now."

"Your voice changes, becomes raspy. No morals. No inhibitions. No caring. You're barely human. Just Fuck me, Fuck me, Fuck me. You become nothing more than a total mating animal, screaming, grunting, and moaning, for hours and hours."

I finished, saying, "You'd have absolutely no memory of what you said or did, either, while you were blacked out. A complete memory wipe. You'd wake up, hours or even a night later and not know anything about what you'd done or with who or how many. You could have wound up sold to an African brothel, in chains, and never have known it until you waked, a sex-slave prisoner for your likely shortened life."

Mia literally screamed and rolled herself into a ball, now knowing what kind of a completely-used, drugged-up super-whore she'd become, the last few months, up to and likely beyond her last 3 'parties,' before I left her.

She cried and whimpered, sobbing out, "Oh, Ken, I didn't remember. You've got to believe me. I didn't remember any of the orgies I must have set up, that you sent me on those damning 3 DVDs. I don't remember taunting you to take drinks or get drunk. I don't remember the orgy on the floor. I especially don't remember the two people picked up in a bar and brought over to fuck me. I don't remember the kissing, sucking, stripping or sexing. I don't remember putting you in the living-room chair, apparently drunk, while we all had sex on the floor. I DIDN'T ... DON'T REMEMBER!"

"No, no, no, no. I looked at the DVDs and I saw myself sexing everyone, as you said, grunting, moaning and talking filthy dirty, while you were in your chair, seemingly drunk and unconscious. I heard myself admit I was a paid corporate prostitute. I heard myself wanting to wear my whore' s clothes on the job. I heard myself demanding to be sucked, fucked, ass-fucked and sexed by 15 people. But no, no, no, I don't remember any of it. Obviously, I did it and I humiliated you ... made you into a gang-bang cuckold, again and again. But I was blacked out."

"I didn't remember giving you 'sloppy seconds.' I'd never disrespect you like that, even if I was the company whore. I always bathed and douched at work before I came home. But I must have done it to you many times, while I was blacked out."

"Oh, God, Ken, I'm so sorry, now."

"The next thing I remember was waking up in the morning, covered with dried jizz, with more jizz coming out of my cunt and ass, there in a pile of sleeping people. A couple were awake and they fucked me ... I let them, feeling nothing, just fuck me and get it over with."

"I got them all out and called in sick. My Ken was gone and he didn't leave me a note, like he always did before. It was another business trip, it had to be, he'd just forgotten, this once. I drank more booze. I ate something and took a long shower, getting all the jizz out of my hair and off my body. Out of my cunt, too. My pussy ached. My tits burned."

"My Ken, my rock, the one solid thing in my life, wasn't there. He'd come home and love me, he had to. I'd had all the rough sex I could ever want. Now I needed my Ken's arms, his body, his cock and his gentle, powerful loving."

"Monday came around and I went to work. I donned one of my whore's uniforms and had sex with Roy and a lot of the execs. I went home early. I drank more booze. Ate something. Waited for my Ken's call, like he always did when he was away. But no call came. I fell asleep, feeling lost."

"Back to 'work' the next day, this time assigned by Roy to 'service' an overnight 'date' with Peter Bouykin, who I had to impress to win a major contract for the company. We fucked and sucked in a luxury hotel for two whole days and nights, him video-taping everything, while I put myself on the sexy-juice patches."

"Peter awarded the contract to my company."

"I, whoring alone, got the contract and I earned a lot of money to my bank account, automatically transferred there and more company stock, transferred to my brokerage account."

"My whore's earnings."

"We were celebrating, there in the executive cafeteria, patch on my flank, me all but nude and posing on one of the tables, when I was asked my name by a bubble-gum-chewing little blonde twit. I said I was Miola Hart."

"Then my world collapsed, when she handed me my divorce papers, said, 'Mrs. Hart, you've been served,' and left."

"I took a drink and blacked out, screaming denials."

"I came to at my house. Not my home, ever again. I'd obviously had a lot more sex, because cum was still leaking out of my cunt and ass. The mail had arrived and your letter was jammed in the door slot. I read it, found your wedding ring, drank more vodka and blacked out again."

"It was night when I came to and for once, I was sleeping alone. I re-read the letter and looked at the divorce papers again."

"I watched the three DVDs you enclosed. I didn't—couldn't—believe what I'd obviously done, but there it was, in vivid color, with audio."

"I cried the next whole night through."

"My rock was gone. My Ken had divorced me. He now knew I was a prostitute. He thought I'd always been a whore, even when dating, engaged or newly-married. Now I had no married center point, around which I could orbit and cheat upon. I was alone, with no love to crawl back to."

"I'd fucked away my man, my marriage, my love, in exchange for rough sex from anyone who could reach out and feel me up."

"I'd truly separated my sexing from love for my husband, then thrown him away for cheap sex and now my loving man had divorced me and had gone."

"The next few months were a blur. My patch went on and, renewed often, stayed on. I fucked the executives. I fucked my friends. I had sex with the women I knew. I fucked the guys on the loading dock. I fucked the sales force, often as a reward for good performance. I fucked the police, the county sheriff and his deputies. Hell, I fucked everybody."

"I wore my whore's uniforms sometimes, but other times, I was bare-breasted or even naked, cum trickling down my thighs, ready to fuck anyone who asked."

"I did more orgies in my house. I ate and slept wherever I was. Other people kept me clean and ready for the next fuck. Hands and arms reached out from rooms and corridors and I had sex with them all. No condoms. Hard cocks. Always bareback. Sexy-juice patch always on. Bottle ready and often drunk. Grunting, moaning, dirty talking, fucking sex. Blackouts."

"I had more dates for contracts and to reward the sales people. More money in my account and more stocks transferred to my brokerage account."

"My whore's savings."

"I even displayed my bare boobs, pussy lips and cunt in the executive cafeteria and washroom, lying on a table, legs spread, yelling for someone, anyone, to cum fuck me."

"Many did, right in public."

"Blackouts were welcome. Many blackouts. I was sexing during the blackouts."

"Eventually, I threw a major Gran Mal elliptic seizure, right there in the main corridor of the company entrance and I was taken to the emergency room of the hospital, where they diagnosed me as having an acute alcohol poisoning episode."

"After I was stabilized, I was transported to an expensive and very private rehab facility for celebrity alcoholics. There I lived for 6 weeks, while I dried out and got therapy for alcoholism."

"That was where I found out I'd made myself into an alcoholic. I couldn't ever drink any alcohol again."

"I also got therapy for being a drugged-out sex addict, too, after I was told that I couldn't take any more sexy-juice ever again or I'd become permanently addicted, unable to ever stop sexing. I'd likely fuck myself to death in a month, sexing 24 hours, day and night."

"But, in the mean time, I'd had blood work and was diagnosed with a long-term case of gonorrhea. Symptomless, I had the Clap."

"Treatment is usually with ceftriaxone by injection and azithromycin by mouth. As it turned out, it was a really resistant strain and didn't respond to the usual therapy. It took repeated treatments, supplied in a drip, of the heavy-duty antibiotic Methicillin to finally cure me of this STD."

"Despite the HIPPA privacy paperwork, word spread of my diseased state and I discovered just how many friends a diseased whore had— which were none."

"I was fired. My health insurance continued, under the COBRA acts, but my former company fought every billing, tooth and nail."

"My money was secure, having been moved from the company to a national bank and the stocks were in a separate brokerage account, under my name and number, alone."

"Apparently, during the blackout orgy where my not-drunk Ken video-recorded me, along with the other 13 people from work, I had sex with two random guys, recruited from a bar. They were picked up and invited to the orgy. They both fucked me, at least 3 times each. I think they both gave me the bad, drug-resistant Clap."

"Then I gave it to everyone who fucked me afterward. Roy got it and gave it to his wife, his other girlfriend, both his daughters and his son. His gay son retaliated by giving him active AIDS."

"Roy died within a year, in screaming dementia."

"But the cases of antibiotic-resistant gonorrhea went sky-high in the company and then in the new contractees and the suppliers that I'd 'serviced'. They, in turn, gave it to their girlfriends, wives and sometimes, their daughters's friends. A few gave it to their daughters. They sued my company. It spread all over town, then into the corporate headquarters. The townsfolk sued the company, too."

"I infected everybody who fucked me, directly or by proxy."

"So, after putting the house on the sales market, when I got out of the rehab hospital, the sheriff and deputies were waiting for me. I was escorted to the house and given an hour to pack. Then I was re-escorted out of town. I was taken out to a dirt road, just inside the county line."

"There, all four of the deputies and the sheriff pulled me out of my car, stripped me bare, threw me on the ground and raped me. They made me suck them all, kneeling in the dirt and then came in my mouth. I had to swallow all their loads, while they laughed and called me filthy names. They stuck the barrels of their revolvers up my cunt and into my ass, while I had to fake liking it and cumming."

"Then they all had condom-wearing sex into me, there on the hood of the patrol car, as I 'pulled a train,' my body reacting to the sex, orgasming, as it always did. They slimed me with more cum squeezed from their rubbers."

"At the last, they all pissed on me and rolled me around in the mud, animal-and-human piss, car grease, oil and cow-shit. They pissed on my hair and my face. I had to crawl back to my car on my knees, the last 10 yards on my belly, naked, tits dragging and sobbing, as they laughed and kicked at me."

"When I finally got in the car, still naked, bruised, crying and hurting, I was told never to come back, or I'd be arrested as a habitual, diseased prostitute and sent to state prison."

"As I drove across the county line and away from town, slimed with cum, piss, mud, oil and manure ... kicked, bruised, naked, crying and humiliated, I knew—down deep in my soul, finally—THAT I WAS A PROSTITUTE. That this was the way diseased prostitutes were treated, at the end, and that I'd made myself into one."

"I drove a few hundred yards and then got out of my car and threw up, over and over, to the dry heaves, kneeling in the mud of a scummy pond."

"This was the way a woman who separated sex from love—who gave up her loving man for drugged-out, drunken, blacked-out rough sex—ended things."

"I was at the absolute lowest point I'd ever experienced. A verse from the Joni Mitchell song, Big Yellow Taxi, kept going through my mind: 'Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'till it's gone. Pave paradise to put in a parking lot'."

"I didn't know what riches I had with my loving husband, my working reputation, my self-respect, until—DOING IT TO MYSELF—I lost it all."

"I drove a couple hundred miles, then found a Mom-and-Pop out-of-the-way motel and cleaned myself up, with the soap and shampoo I'd bought. A haircut from a local barber cut all of my piss-scented hair, making me bald right down to the scalp. I even found a day-spa and got my entire body exfoliated."

"I found a used car lot and sold my almost new car, getting an older, pre-owned pickup truck. I discarded all my clothes and even my purse, buying 2nd-hand stuff from a little store somewhere: the owner, a Lebanese woman, showed me how to wrap my bald head with scarves in a couple of turbans."

"I pitched my phone."

"I kept out only my driver's license, social security card and my credit card plus the papers concerning the house. Everything else went to the trash."

"I remembered what my husband had told me, just before he left, that the 'economy' was 'over-heated' with all the sub-prime mortgage mess and that a Recession was coming. Operating out of various motel phone-lines, I sold off all my company stock and took a 'cash position'."

"I re-verified my bank was separate from my former company. I sold the house for cash and deposited the money there."

"I did have a lot of money that I earned as a company whore, on my back and knees, now available through various ATMs, as I traveled."

"It's a good thing I did, because, a few months later, the Great Recession of 2008 hit and my former company went bankrupt within a few months. Overwhelmed with lawsuits and unable to get new contracts or keep the old ones without their corporate whore, their earnings went to zero and their stock became worthless."

"But I also swore to myself that once I got back on my feet, exercised, fit, working, earning and independent, I'd somehow re-find my Ken and then I'd crawl back to him on my belly and beg to be taken back as his slut."

"I'd never marry him again—that was too much to hope for—but I knew I could slut-sex myself so that maybe, just maybe, I could see him, even date, now and then. Maybe he'd even rape me, which is what I deserved."

Mia Hogh looked up at me, from her relaxed position, in the crook of my left arm and said, "So here I am. Just as soon as you finish finger-circling my left nipple, while I moan and cum, I'm gonna be a mostly mindful but uninhibited, sex-loving, fuck-crazy, hyped-up nympho-slut, wanting to strip naked (oops, I already am), hug you and make love and have penetrative sex, day or night, anywhere, any time. Cunt, mouth, hands or ass, all yours."

"I know I have free will. It's MY choice. So I choose to be your own personal, private slut. I choose you to own me. I freely choose you to own my body, my spirit and my soul, because that's what I want."

She added, "What I need!"

I looked down at my new occasional porn-star girlfriend—my former corporate-whore wife—and quietly said, "I accept!"

Then, grinning, I added, "You're now my resident slut. We'll talk about a wedded-lease later. Count on it. But now, hold up your lovely bare tits so I can tweak and kiss your nipples. Then do the Slut's Salute for me, so I can see all of you, on your back, in heat. We need to start making love again."

—THE END—