Graham Ward sat. He had been sitting in the same position; eyes fixed straight ahead, for the last thirty minutes. The sounds of sexual excitement from the next room were disturbing and distracting and he half wondered if he would ever get used to them. He believed that his choice in this matter was limited. Every few minutes he would close his eyes, trying to block out the voice of his wife, Sandra, as she howled out her lust at the hands of yet another man. But it wasn't really Sandra, he knew this. Krystal was here now.
Krystal was the entity that took over his wife's body on occasions - and these occasions seemed to be becoming more and more frequent these days. Krystal looked like Sandra, sounded like Sandra, but she didn't act like Sandra. Sandra Ward was a sweet, innocent woman in her forties that had been married to Graham for more than ten years - ten years that, in the main, seemed to make some sort of sense to him at the time. Krystal was, to put it succinctly, a whore.
All the doctors had tried to treat Sandra; psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, they had even tried a faith healer, but all had so far failed to stop the materialization of Krystal. The medical profession all had names for Sandra's condition but none of them made much sense to Graham - he knew she wasn't crazy, but he thought it didn't take a team of quacks to work out that she had a split personality, an Alter Ego.
When Krystal was in residence, Graham was treated as if he were her pimp or caretaker; greeting her customers and mixing pre-copulation drinks. He accepted his task wearily but with the hope that sooner or later, Krystal would disappear back whence she came.
Graham's reverie was suddenly broken by an male orgasmic groan from the next room. He stood and, as if by rote, collected the large overcoat that the man had deposited with him on his arrival. Graham knew that now the man had finished, he would be leaving soon.
Within a few moments the door opened and a large black man appeared zipping up his fly. Wordlessly, Graham opened the front door and handed the man his coat who, equally silent, took the proffered garment and disappeared out into the street without a backward glance.
Graham sighed audibly as he closed the door and returned to the apartment. The door to the bedroom was open and he walked inside. He nodded at "Krystal" dejectedly.
"You okay?"
"Fine, but shut the fucking door there's a draught!"
Graham closed his eyes. Sandra would never have used such language. He doubted that she would even know the meaning of some of the profaneous language that Krystal used.
"Why do you do it?" he asked for what must have been the hundredth time.
"Look, man. You do your job and I'll do mine, okay? I fuck for a living and you watch my back. It works fine, my cunt's like gold and it makes us plenty of cash! Stop fucking complaining, I give you your share of the money, don't I?"
Graham shivered as he looked at his wife's body sprawled out on the bed. She hadn't even bothered to close her legs and he could see her wet, open vagina in all its just-fucked glory.
Krystal loved to tease. She knew with her legs spread so wide that Graham could see all that she had to offer and, as always, the thought of a man staring at her body excited her. She arched her back and pulled her thighs wider, her fingers pulling at her labia and opening it to reveal her pink, moist pussy. As her hands began to pull on her nipples, stiffening them and preparing herself for her next customer, she immediately noticed the bulge in Graham's pants.
