My Way To Cope

My Way to Cope

A Short Story by HungryKiss

I

Life was a rough ol' bastard.

Then I met John.

He was about twenty-four, six foot three, blonde-haired, slim, square-jawed, and barrel-chested with thick biceps and veiny arms covered in tattoos. And that attitude. God damn. He walked into the room and commanded it without parting his lips. He had an icy stare that scared the shit out of the guys who needed to hide behind gangster shit to look tough. He didn't take an ounce of their shit or mine as I resisted him, showing my loyalty to terrible men who didn't deserve it. On the outside, I was nasty, but secretly, I was fantasizing about the tall, strong, soldier who saw something in me that no one else did, especially not me.

He told me I was too good to be wasted by drug dealers and gangbangers. He was right, but I didn't know it. I knew I was sexy, beautiful even, but years of abuse at home told me I was worthless. His obsession with me made no sense, but I couldn't help but enjoy it.

At night, when my fingers found my wet pussy, it was John I was fantasizing about.

He told my boyfriend, Jared, that I didn't belong to him anymore. He said I was put on this Earth for him, and he for me. He sounded crazy, but romantic too.

They came at him, but he was a marine fresh from the war. Two armed guys from the crew went to visit John and they never came back. That night, Jared woke up with a Glock stuffed in his mouth. John laid out the terms, and Jared wisely accepted.

I was done resisting. I gave myself to this beautiful, powerful man who got me clean and far away from my crazy, drunken mother and the men who made me a plaything for their amusement and satisfaction.

It was a whirlwind romance, but it was simple as pie. He thought I was the most beautiful girl he ever saw, I thought he was the sexiest man I ever saw, and we loved every moment we spent with each other.

We were quickly married. It was a small ceremony. He had no family either, so it was just his few friends from service and their wives who welcomed me like kin, God bless them.

John refused to fuck me until we were married. He was old-fashioned. It drove me damn near insane, but that night it was all worth the wait. He stood there, naked, his hard cock standing tall and strong as he stared at me in my wedding dress. I shivered with excitement as he slowly walked over. I was unbuttoning the back of my gown when he took my hands and placed them on his turgid dick. He took over the unbuttoning, and he took his time. My pussy was dripping in anticipation. God, I was never so turned on. The gown fell and I stood in the lingerie I was wearing beneath it: a white lace, open-crotched teddy with garters and stockings. I felt so sexy in it, and I knew he had a thing for lingerie. When we fooled around, he always treated me gently, but for our first fucking, he did

not

, and I was delighted!

He pushed me onto the bed flat on my back and rubbed his hot, hard cock on my vulva, making my clit tingle. Normally, I'd have been down for foreplay, but that night I didn't need it. I practically creamed from the cunt-rubbing.

My pussy ached for him. It was like a deep itch I needed him to scratch. My vagina felt like it was gaping open just behind the lips. I needed to feel that delicious pressure, that presence inside me. I almost cried I wanted it so badly. I begged him not to make me wait. I begged him to fuck me.

He stared at my vagina, framed by the white lace, and sighed. He looked like he might cry.

"Gat dang, baby. What a perfect, little, pink pussy. Lord, it is so beautiful. It's the most beautiful pussy I've ever seen."

I could have died right there. That was an important compliment for me. From that day on, I took a lot of pride in my perfect, little, pink pussy.

"Fuck me now, John.

Now

!" I begged.

When his manhood finally slid into me, I could feel his heartbeat thumping through it. Its soft, luxuriant head parted my sopping-wet labia and stretched my vagina so satisfyingly that my legs began to quiver. He started nice and slow, feeding me bit-by-bit until he was completely inside me. He groaned and I couldn't help but giggle with joy. I finally got to make him feel good this way. Handies and blowjobs just weren't the same. I had dreamed of that pleasure for weeks. Then, he got to work.

He hoisted my legs up and wide open, lifting my ass off the bed. He slid a pillow under it, then plunged his dick deep into me. It went in so deep that his velvety soft head pressed into my cervix, dabbing it gently, like a makeup sponge on a cheek or a brush on a canvas of watercolors.

It was a beautiful moment, but I have to laugh because I was definitely less than dainty.

"Oh, fuck...ohfuckohfuckofuckofuck...OH FUCK! Ungh! YYYYEEEESSSSS!"

I came. I came so fucking hard I ruined the pillow.

Some of the other wives told me they hated their cervixes getting touched. Whenever they got poked by a doctor, a toy, or a dick, it left them irritated. Hell, Mary told us it made her want to vomit. I could

not

relate to that. For me, it was the height of pleasure to get a deep dicking, tickled by a tender cockhead gently kissing my cervix.

I gasped for breath and moaned from the depths of my soul. In moments, another orgasm, this one not as strong as the first, but somehow more enjoyable. My pussy squeezing his shaft was more than he could take. With a roaring groan, my big, strong husband's cock jerked up and down inside me, filling me with his hot, sticky man milk—another sensation I could never get enough of.

I was sure I was pregnant, but no. After trying for years, we figured it just wasn't meant to be. At least we never once had to use protection. As it turned out, infertility was probably for the best because a month after our tenth anniversary, the fairytale came crashing down hard.

II

When the doctor said cancer, I nearly fainted. My big, strong man had cancer. He sat there stoically while I made a scene. I screamed at the doctor. I bawled my eyes out. John just nodded.

It was far along. It was too far along. They offered procedure after procedure as glimmers of hope, but in the end, admitted they were all the longest of long shots. Hospice was recommended, and John shook his head.

"If I gotta go, I'm going with my boots on. No chemo, but no hospice either."

I wanted him to fight. I wanted him to try everything. John knew better though. As a kid, he watched his mother try everything when she was diagnosed, and all it did was make her last months on Earth a misery.

John could no longer do his job, so we cashed out our savings and traveled across our beautiful country as much as we could. We made love on beaches and shared a sleeping bag in the mountains. He was worried about the money, but I didn't care. If this was going to be my last few months with him, they were going to be incredible. I owed him that and a load more.

At last, the day came when John could no longer make love to me. It broke his heart. I assured him I didn't care, but he cared. It shattered him. And shit, he knew me too well. I missed it so much it gave me heartache. We held each other and kissed each other, and he'd still slap my ass or squeeze my tit to remind me those were his, but when it came to sex, we steered clear of the subject.

Plagued by pains that killed his appetite for both food and life, he slowed down dramatically. He lost his will to exercise, which he always loved. Everything hurt him. Those beloved biceps withered and he could no longer carry himself with strength and confidence. I was crushing.

We hired live-in help, a thick and burly Jamaican nurse named Hyacinth. She was strong as an ox, which was very needed. Even reduced, John was a big man. She was kind and sharp. She helped me figure out the finances that John always took care of, and I realized that we were just about broke. In days, we wouldn't be able to afford Hyacinth or his insurance for pain meds.

I needed work, but I barely got through high school, so college wasn't even a thought. Finding a good-paying job quickly was not going to happen. Fuck work, I needed money, a lot of it, and I needed it fast.

I was in my late twenties, but never having kids and adopting John's workout regimen, I remained strong, slim, tight, and perky. I knew men would pay to see my body. The good Lord blessed me, and it was time to cash in those chips.

The manager of The Wiggle Room—a gray, chubby ol' flirt named Carl, half ugly and half cute—wore a white cowboy hat he removed like a gentleman. Champing at a thick cigar, he looked me over approvingly.

"I say, Sugar, you might just be the best-looking gal who ever walked through them doors."

"Aw, now, I bet you say that to all the gals," I smirked playfully.

"True," he smiled, "But this time I mean it!"

I smiled girlishly. Heck, I think he did.

"Alright, now," he commanded, sitting by the stage. "Peel."

I didn't know what he meant until he pointed at the pole on the stage behind me and wiggled his pointer finger, adding, "C'mon, sugar. Let's see the goods."

I always loved to dance. I had a natural drive to move to music, and people said I was good, but I only ever did it for fun. Now, I would do it for profit.

The DJ was off, but there was music playing over the loudspeaker, some new rap song at the time, but it had a good beat. I girated, I grinded, I spun and I swung around that pole like a pro. Shit, I impressed myself!

I prayed Carl wasn't a total scumbag as I arched my back and slowly slid my shorts down. My ass cheeks popped out like two scoops of peach sherbert. The shorts fell to my ankles and I stepped one foot out, using the other to kick them over to the manager and they landed on his big belly. He laughed.

In my black thong, I strutted around the stage, swishing my hips, grabbing the pole, and swinging around it, lifting my leg high up to flash my barely clothed pussy at my singular audience. I was sure to wear my heels, which made my legs and ass look inhumanly good.

I whipped off my white T-shirt to reveal a lacy black bra holding up my C-cups.

I worked the catwalk in my black lingerie, and when I reached the end, with my back to Carl, I unhooked my bra and let my gorgeous tits fall out. My left arm covered my nipples while I turned around to face him again. I could tell he liked that tease. He nodded his head like I just checked the right box on my application. I strutted back to the fore of the stage where he sat and turned to shake my ass in his face. When I turned back around my round, pink nipples took over. I jiggled them playfully in his face.

"Yee-ha! Do it, sugar!

I hoisted each breast to his face, as if serving them up for supper. "Ooo, you naughty thang!" he cheered delightedly.

I walked backward to the pole and nearly tripped on my heels, but I caught it in time. Could you imagine?

"You got the moves, darlin'," the manager shouted over the music. "But this is a bottomless club, so, you know how to finish."

It felt like my wicked teenage years when my body was public property. John saved me from that world, and now here I was returning to it as he faded away. I pushed away those thoughts and remembered the money. That kept me going. Besides, maybe it was just this adorable old country boy's enthusiasm I was feeding off of, but I was having actual fun.

I hooked a thumbs under the thin strings holding my thong on and stretched them away from my as I turned away. I bent over, slowly peeling them out of my ass and wiggling them down to my ankles by working my legs up and down, shaking my ass. Like the shorts, I kicked those off too, just not at the guy.

I grabbed the pole and arched up my back. My pussy was on clear display now. I was waxed bare, so there were no mysteries left to my body. I shook it playfully like dick bait, my legs spread well apart. I could feel the lips of my labia slowly peel apart and knew I was completely exposed, curtains open. I was also a little wet. Fuck, this turned me on. Yeah, I felt a little fearful and vulnerable, but that was the thrill of it. I missed the thrill I used to feel, dressing up sexy for the teenage boys way back, stirring up their desires, daring them to take me from whatever tough guy I was clinging to that week.

The song ended and Carl was clapping.

I snapped out of the spirit I was in, remembering this was a job interview. straightening up turning to face him, and suddenly feeling naked.

"That pussy is a work of art, darlin'! The most beautiful I've ever seen, and I've been running strip bars since my twenties."

He noticed my perfect pussy!

I blushed.

"Thank you."

"I run things on the level. I pay my security, the cleaning staff, and my girls what they're owed, and in return I expect them to keep the club a lovely, little den o' sin that boys just love to spend paychecks in. No drugs, no side hustles, no bullshit, just good old-fashioned tits and ass for cash. You want in?"

"Hell yeah, boss!" I answered, and he whooped a cheer.

"So, where'd y'all work before this?"

I shook my head. "I been one o' them kept women for the last ten years, Boss. A marine-turned-engineer's trophy wife. This would be my first ever job."

"No shit?" he grinned. "Well, baby, you must be one o' them naturals."

III

I was exhilarated. Carl gave me Fridays and Saturdays, prime earning hours, so I guess I was good.

Old Carl was good to us girls. He didn't take advantage, take liberties, or fuck with our pay. He used to say it was easier to run the place on-the-level than take advantage of anyone. Besides, the place was a cash cow; why mess with success?

The Wiggle Room was well-known in the area, so it had a good nightly draw, even during the week. Wednesday pulled a decent crowd. I didn't dance that night. Carl made me stand back and observe, so I did. I shadowed a veteran, a fiery redhead with bolt-on tits named Tina, and watched how the girls danced and conducted business. I reckoned I could keep up, although one or two performed some acrobatics I didn't trust my body to pull off anymore. The most acrobatic I got in the last ten years was when John fucked me up against the walls of our house. God, I missed that.

I found that being a stripper was not hard for me at all. I listened to the other girls complain about this or that, but I liked working at the club. I started on a Friday, and it was a baptism by fire. I only danced on stage that night and I still brought home a peck o'er a hundred. Saturday, I took the stage three times and did a couple lap dances. I liked that. It reminded me of how I used to seduce John, writhing around on his lap. Feeling his cock get hard in his jeans. Mmm!

The guys were cool.

One was a handsome, blue-collar, older fella—say in his fifties. His name was Phil, and he was just looking to get worked up a little before heading home from work. I could feel his impressive dick in his jeans under my ass and teased him about it. He was smiling, but turned red, the cutie. I must've done the job because he zipped straight home to his wife right after paying me and adding a generous tip.

The other guy was Jeff, a chubby, balding dude in sweatpants. He seemed kind of young and definitely kind of weird, but he was cute in his way and nice enough. Afterward, he walked straight over to the ATM and came back to buy another dance. About halfway through the next song, he jizzed in his sweatpants. He apologized, but I didn't care. None of it got on me. He gave me a huge tip and left. Maddy, one of the girls, said he did that a lot. They called him Jizzy Jeff. I h'yuked at that like a cornball. I say, making a fella jizz his pants, even if he's prone to it, is a hell of a compliment.

The take-home that night was nice, but I hadn't seen anything yet.

I changed into my black T-shirt and long black pants and went home. I found John out of bed, sitting at the kitchen table. Hyacinth was asleep in her guest room.

"Well, hi!" I chirped, truly happy to see him. "What're you doing up, handsome?"

He smiled warmly and shrugged. "Pain. Decided to wait for you. You're like the sunrise before the sunrise."

I smooched him good for that.

"How was work?" he asked.

"It was fine," I answered. "I doubt anyone has a fun night waiting tables."

"I'm sorry you have to—"

"John, dammit," I replied, softer than my words. "You took care of me all them years. Let me take care of you for a spell. Y'all earned it, and I'm glad to do it."

He quieted, but the sour look on his face spoke his mind.

"Ain't so bad at all, baby," I reported. "It feels good to be earning some money."

"That's good. But you know, you can't waste your life doing that forever, baby," he said. "I want you to save up for school. Go and get a degree and get an easier job with better pay. Something you can retire at when you're old. You don't want to work on your feet when you're old and sore."

"I will, baby; don't you worry. Now, I'm going to shower. You better be in bed for a snuggle by the time I'm done."

I washed off what I did for money before being with the man I loved.

I snuggled up beside him and gave him some kisses, realizing I was horny. I hadn't been in a long time, but I was thinking of Phil's big dick and my ass rubbing on Jeff until he creamed his pants, and I was purring. I felt so sexy. I crawled up over John. He smiled so warmly at me. The love in his eyes was precious to me.

I let my tits droop onto his face and he chuckled. All night men had been staring at them, but John was the only one who could have them.

"Well now," he smiled. "I remember

this

gal."

It occurred to me we hadn't been intimate since things got worse. I assumed he just wasn't up to anything, but I guess that was foolish. Maybe he thought I wasn't attracted to him anymore, but I'd want him even if he turned into a piece of jerky.

He hungrily sucked on my titties until I was boiling between my thighs, which were straddling his. I began to rub my clit softly on him. He lay there smiling with tears in his eyes. He loved it, but longed for what he used to do to me. I longed for it too, but I was grateful for this. It was nice. It kind of made me feel like a teenager. I had to finger myself to climax, but I stayed on John's thigh so he could feel my pussy clench. A wonderful ease washed over me. He told me he loved me and I felt it so deeply, and it felt so good.

The next morning, I paid some bills and felt even better.

I returned to work Wednesday.

IV

The Wednesday crowd was much smaller than the weekend, but Carl needed coverage. That was the deal we made: I got Fridays and Saturdays—the big nights—but I'd also work Wednesdays and/or Tuesdays as needed. It was a good deal, but I couldn't afford to waste my time, so I decided to step things up.

Every club has a separate area for the big money. The Wiggle Room had two: The Champagne Lounge and the VIP Loft.

To sit in the champagne lounge—a big, open mezzanine draped in white taffeta lit with Christmas lights and purple lamps with soft, leather couches—you were going to wind up paying a few hundred bucks. It loomed over the main floor. You'd get cheap champagne, decent wine, or beer, and you got to go farther with the girls. No pussy or penis play, of course, but you could grope ass or tits under the watchful eye of Duncan and his boys, our security staff of beefy ass-kickers. I knew Duncan and at least another couple were ex-military. I knew that look intimately in John and his friends. Duncan made it easy too with his

Semper-Fi

tattoo on his arm. John had one too, and I mentioned that to Duncan. After that, we became fast friends and he always asked after John's health.