One day, towards the end of lockdown, Emily Richards marched into her husband's home office and said, "I want a divorce, John."
There was, perhaps, a brief flash of guilt in his eyes. "Honey," he said soothingly, "you're overreacting. We can work this out."
"Don't 'honey' me," she snarled. "I forgave you the first time you cheated, and the second, but I'm so very tired of all the lies. The only reason I've waited this long is Darcy and Peter. But Peter's twelve now, and Darcy's ten. They're old enough to understand that this marriage is a sham. That I deserve a husband who doesn't take me for granted."
John sighed. "Maybe you're right," he said. "Something needs to change." He picked up his iPad and started tapping and swiping. "Just give me a few seconds... okay." He raised the tablet and took a picture of her.
"John!" she hissed. "What are you -" Emily fell silent as she lost her train of thought completely.
"Close the door and lock it, Emily," her husband said. Once she had done so, he sat her down opposite him. "I do love you, Emily. But I have needs. Sexual needs. And you were never interested in satisfying them. That is going to change." He pressed some buttons and the fog confusing her thoughts lifted away.
"I have no intention of satisfying your perverted whims," Emily said.
"But you do wish to make this marriage work, don't you?" he asked gently.
To her surprise, Emily realised that she did in fact want it to work. Yes, she was frustrated with her husband and was tired of his lies and cheating, but it really wasn't fair to Darcy and Peter to take them away from their father. "I guess," she said reluctantly.
"I'm like every married man, Emily," John said. "I love you as the mother of my children, but in bed I want a whore. A woman who embraces her slutty inner self. A woman who adores sucking cocks and swallowing cum. A woman who begs me to fuck her ass because the dirtier the sex, the more she loves it."
Emily stared at him in horror. How did he dare to talk to her like that? How dared he ask her to be a dirty whore?
She shook her head. No.
"If you won't even try it for one night," John said, "then maybe you were right. Maybe we do need a divorce."
"No!" she cried, dismayed. How had their failing marriage become her fault suddenly? "Fine. Okay. I'll be your whore. For one night."
Something felt very wrong with her logic, and honestly there was no way she'd do half the things he had suggested. But she could dress up slutty and suck his cock for a bit, which was a lot more than she usually cared to do.
Throughout the rest of the day, the idea bothered her. On the one hand, she didn't see why she had to cater to her husband's perversions just to save their marriage, but on the other... Something about it stirred her arousal. Sitting on the loo mid afternoon, she was startled by just how wet her pussy was. She had shaved it once, many years before, and during the early years of marriage had made an effort to keep it trimmed, especially before beach holidays, but lockdown had put an end to that.
Sitting on the loo, she brushed her fingertips through the dark curls that were slick with her natural lubricant, and her pussy was so wet she was able to slip a finger into her vagina without it hurting. An abrupt and demanding need to make herself come had her rubbing her clit frantically, ignoring for the moment the almost painful fullness of her bladder.
There was something very dirty about the idea of masturbating while on the loo. Certainly it wasn't hygienic, but her need to come was too great. She had been tense for days, not helped by the argument with her husband that morning and the riot of her imagination since. But Emily had never felt comfortable masturbating - at all, let alone in the middle of the day while on the loo.
It took a real effort not to cry out with the intensity of her climax - and again in dismay as she lost control of her bladder, so that she was both peeing and coming. The sense of being out of control of her own body was dizzying, but the combined relief was so profound she wondered why she had never done it before.
Troubled by what she had just done, and feeling vaguely dirty for multiple reasons, Emily climbed into the shower and washed herself thoroughly. She started trimming her pubes, but on a whim decided to shave completely, figuring she could use it as proof that she cared enough about the marriage to act like a whore.
*
That night, after the boys were in bed and fast asleep, John embraced her unexpectedly from behind and kissed her neck. "It's time, my love," he murmured. "Time to bring out the whore. Are you ready?"
Emily really wasn't. "Give me ten minutes," she said, and hurried upstairs to wash and dress and mentally prepare herself. She picked out her highest heels and her shortest skirt, and a pair of hold-ups that were quite torn. She decided that whores did not wear underwear, and found a T-shirt that stretched nicely over her chest, showing off her breasts nicely and making sharp, visible points of her nipples.
It was, she decided, a very slutty look, and one she would not dare to wear outside the bedroom. She finished it off with the brightest shade of red lipstick she had, and decided that if it wasn't slutty enough for John, then he was the one being unreasonable.
"Ready," she called.
"Come downstairs," John called back.
