The Prodigal Slut

Darkness. Every light in the house was off, including the usual nightlight in the hallway. It was as if I had entered a tomb after the baleful glare of the street lights outside. Silent gloom dampened the sound of the door closing behind me.

I teetered on unsteady feet, the drinks I'd consumed conspiring to topple me on my stilettos with one light breath. I braced myself against the door frame and waited for my eyes to adjust, listening to the eerie quietude. Something groaned in the kitchen -- walls and floors settling in the old house. Windows creaked at the caress of the breeze outside.

Gathering my balance, I took a few more tentative steps toward where I expected the sofa to be. I had an urgent need to get the uncomfortable shoes off. They had served their purpose, drawing the random lust of men in the club, accenting the lean muscles of my bare calves and thighs under the short black dress. But now they were a threat to my life. I could break my neck and lie in my own drunken waste all night.

My knee thudded into the arm of the sofa. I exhaled with relief and began turning to sit when thick arms suddenly circled my waist, pulling so tightly they pushed the air from my lungs! He held me prisoner, his strength overpowering me as he lifted me off the floor.

"The prodigal slut returns," his voice growled fiercely in my ear. His breath was hot and ragged and as I struggled I could feel the ardent pulse of his bare cock, insinuating itself between the flesh of my thighs. My dress was too short to prevent it. I squirmed with renewed urgency trying to pull away.

"Stop it!" I protested, my fingers vainly trying to pry his arms from around my waist. "Stop! No!"

"I bet that's the first time tonight you've said 'no'," he growled, pushing me forward over the arm of the sofa.

Our momentum carried us forward together, pinning me face down as his weight bore me into the cushions so hard I couldn't breathe. My hips were bent over the arm of the couch and I could sense that my tiny dress had now ridden all the way up over my buttocks, exposing my intimate body parts to my lust-mad attacker.

Using his weight to pin me with one arm, his hand moved down between my legs. His knees forced my thighs open despite my desperate struggle and then his hand was pushing roughly against my sex from behind. Fingers probed, found the damp nest and pushed. "I thought so, slut," he grunted again, "What a wet and gooey mess down there. How many cocks did you take tonight?"

I bit my lip. I didn't want to confess my promiscuity. The evidence was coating his fingers, but I found myself deliriously seeking a palliative; some explanation other than the one he wanted.

"N-none!" I lied, squirming against his strength, trying to raise my head enough to breathe. "I didn't do anything! I just danced and drank!"

"Liar," he snarled again, stabbing three fingers into my gaping wetness, turning his wrist, violating me crudely as he sought my admission. "There's enough cum in here to populate a planet. One more chance, little whore: how many men tonight?'

To emphasize his point, he pulled his fingers out and struck my ass a stinging rebuke, the sound of the slap ringing in my ears. I screamed in shock and outrage. "How many!" he repeated.

"N-no," my voice was weaker now as I lost the battle of will under the burning embarrassment of his spanking. "No, please?"

Another swat, this one even harder. I felt the flesh of my ass welt and redden to a deep crimson. He was obdurate, relentless as he rewarded my refusals with more stinging blows. "Tell me, Halie! Now!"

"Ok! Ok!" I whimpered, surrendering my pride to the painful degradation he was inflicting. "Three! Just three, I swear!"

"I thought so," I could hear the smug tone of triumph in his voice. He pushed my thighs open wider with his hips, the throbbing heat of his manhood poking me with accusation. "Now you're going to tell me every little detail while I use you."

Before I could respond, I felt his white hot cockhead pushing against me. Effortlessly, it split open the soft, swollen lips of my sex and entered my wet cavern. My breath caught in my throat at the violation, my mouth opening in lust and surprise at how quickly he had forced his erection into me. My voice was strained and husky as he began thrusting, insisting that I begin my story.

It was a tale of unrestrained moral debauchery. A single blonde girl dressed provocatively, turned loose among the most voracious crowds of animalistic men, selecting her partners and urgently seeking quick couplings in club toilets, back seats, even dark alleys. I had been willing, even aggressive, making myself available to the men I chose. My embellishments in the story were minor -- I didn't need to add much to the tale of my evening. After all, my husband had ordered me to do it. And with an eager wantonness, I had complied. Now was the second part of our bargain -- he would have me roughly while I disclosed the depths of my wayward depravity.

Greg's thrusts were growing stronger as he shoved himself into me so hard I could feel my buttocks jiggle under his assault. The wet sound of his cum-slick cock pistoning in and out, the breathless grunts as he exerted himself and held me pinned to the sofa -- the ambience of this faux rape awakened my own desire. Before I knew it, I was unconsciously pushing back against his thrusts, sighing and moaning and encouraging him to take me harder.

"Here it comes, little whore!" he panted, his pace still fervently rapid; and then I felt him stiffen behind me, shuddering as his release overcame him and the flood of his ejaculation filled my body.

I didn't think I'd ever seen my husband that turned on, before. As he stood up and released me from his hold, I slowly rolled to my side and tried to catch my breath. I could hardly see him in the dim room, but I could hear his breathing. He began to talk about 'next time', already urging me to try it again with new variations. I raised a leg to unbuckle one shoe, still intent on releasing my feet from their agony as his hoarse voice detailed his fantasy. I would do it -- I always did. But for now I wanted him in bed with me and his glistening, satiated cock in my mouth while we made plans for our next game. I would be as wild as he demanded: it was our own secret dance of the forbidden and I was his Salomé.