Dark Rescue Ch. 03

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She was infected by a boyfriend, he by his wife.
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Part 3 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 01/20/2018
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TheKeith
TheKeith
499 Followers

Despite all the sex and sex talk, you can't build a loving relationship on screaming, orgasming sex alone. So I cooked for Shayla. Retrieved her single, pitiful suitcase from storage and washed everything in it for her. She slept in our bed, made up daily by her... made up several times, as we screwed on it as often as possible. I took her shopping for replacement clothes. Paid her annual dues to keep her nursing registration alive. Helped her write grant applications for a proposed Woman's Clinic. She folded and put my clothes away. We watched TV, cuddling on the love-seat. She did 'dress-up' in scraps of clothing she found, left over from my ex-wife. Taking trips in the car. Looking at news on TV or on the Internet.

Often, just doing nothing together.

After a few days with me, she volunteered the details about how she acquired her health status.

Apparently, her ex-boyfriend, an educated black man, had been dangling hopes that he'd marry her. So she let him screw her, in increasingly kinky ways. Then, one afternoon, after spraining her ankle and getting off her afternoon/evening shift early at the local metropolitan hospital, she went home, only to find her boyfriend 'in action,' bareback, with another man... one she knew had an advanced case of active disease, from work at the hospital.

The boyfriend was bi-sexual and having man-man sex on the 'down-low'.

She walked out on him but then made a major mistake. Shayla got a full STD blood work panel, but had it done at the hospital where she worked, since it would be paid for under her health policy there.

She trusted the HIPAA rules of non-disclosure, which turned out to be about as secure in her own hospital as carrying hot water in a colander.

Oh, she got the results back, which revealed her as having a case of chlamydia, gonorrhea and virus antibodies in her blood. She just had time to get a prescription of antibiotics and antiretrovirals from the pharmacy before being summarily fired.

Her boyfriend cleaned out her checking, savings and maxed out all her credit cards before disappearing with his new lover.

When I found her, she'd been living hand-to-mouth in a series of cheap, low-end motels and, at the end, women's shelters, picking up odd jobs for a little money and begging.

The clinic was her last resort for more antiretroviral meds, but had to wait out a period of 60 days to 'qualify'.

Then I showed up and rescued her. I shared out my HIV-medication without being asked.

That night, I just held my lovely, dark black woman and cuddled her into a deep sleep, in our bed.

In the morning and into the day that followed, Shayla raped me repeatedly, demanding (as usual) that I use her dark black body for sex, as she was my loving slut, now and forever.

A few days later, Shayla asked me about my background and how I got to have the virus. I warned her that the story would take a lot longer than the one she'd told me about. To which she just settled into the crook of my arm, my hand caressing her right boob and demanded, "Fess up! Gimmie!"

"I met Abbie—short for Abigail, which name she hated—at a party hosted by her own company, to which my company sold adhesives. I specialized in cryo-adhesive engineering (which just means that I devised and proved out sticky stuff for cold environments, ranging from freezing all the way down to liquid oxygen temps).

I liked her, later fell in love and we married in a year. I thought she was a good, faithful wife, during the time we were together."

"Turned out I was really wrong."

"We'd been married for 6 years when everything came crashing down."

"My job was well-paid and I got to have a lot of fun with it, including doing presentations and getting to travel to some pretty exotic locations. The trouble was that I traveled about one week in two. I suppose you can tell what came next."

"However, Abbie became the poster-child for the bored suburban housewife, wanting 'a little danger, a little excitement' and more big cocks in her so-alone time, when I traveled on business. She started getting invited to parties and 'meetings' arranged by her boss. She was promoted from secretary to an executive personal assistant, which meant that she was in her boss' presence 90% of the time. She was encouraged to start dressing slutty-sexy."

"I suspect it didn't take long until she was 'putting-out' for him on a daily basis, as his every-other-week mistress."

"She covered her tracks well, though, and I never suspected, until—while I was away in Alaska—she arranged to 'service' a lot of guys and a few girls at a Christmas party. I had the usual thing happen to me, in that I came home a couple days early and went to the Christmas party, held in a local Holiday Inn, to surprise her."

"I was more than a bit floored when I watched her dancing with her 'guys,' where she danced so close and so sensuous that she all but had intercourse on the hardwood dance floor. Then I heard her mention that she'd be in Room 216 and to just knock 3 times, to have a 'good time with Abbie'.

"I moved to the hallway outside the room 216, and stood, back in the shadows."

"It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes later that she got off the elevator... along with her boss and her boss' wife. Abbie's blouse was open down to about 'there'. She wore only a quarter-cup bra. Her boobs were barely supported, leaving her distended nipples exposed."

"All three of them started up the hallway. Just about where I was hidden by the deep shadows, Abbie paused and her boss ripped open her last two buttons and pulled the blouse half-way off, imprisoning her arms and causing her all-but-bare tits to jut out. Then his wife pulled Abbie's skirt up around her waist, revealing that Abbie was bare under that skirt. All three of them disappeared into the door of room 216, laughing and talking."

"Another couple of minutes later, my own company's boss came almost trotting down the hall from the elevators and also went into the room. Then a steady stream of men started to go in, too. Guys from her company and from mine. I hung back for several minutes, in shock, until her boss, his wife and my boss came out, the men doing up their pants and looking sleepy. The wife looked flushed and horny, like she was ready to take on the surplus of men downstairs."

"When I knocked 3 times, the door opened and I was gestured in. Hanging back, I saw my lovely Abbie having full penetrative sex with one guy after another, grunting, squealing and making sex-talk. She was laughing and joking about her having me as her cuckolded husband.

In a couple of my agony-filled minutes, she was mounted by three men and made, as they say, 'airtight,' with cocks in her cunt, ass and mouth. They all came more or less at the same time and left her with cum leaking from her ass and cunt, and with smears of cum around her mouth, face and dripping down over her generous tits.

I took videos with my phone of her performing as the 'company whore,' as did several other men. I lost count of the number of guys that had her, over the course of a couple hours, leaving ropes of cum on her face, neck, tits plus oozing from her cunt and ass.

"I knew my marriage was tgoast and it probably had been over for some years in the past."

"I also knew—due to the presence of my boss and some of my 'friends' who'd been buried inside my soon-to-be ex-wife, Abbie—that I was gonna have to resign from my job as the cryo-adhesives engineer for my company, due to my boss and a lot of my co-workers fucking my wife, probably every week I was gone, traveling for the company."

"I waited until most of they guys had had their fuck-fest with Abbie, then went over to stand above her, as she wallowed in sperm and slime, there on the bed, legs spread open, cum drooling out of her mouth, pussy and ass."

"Looking down at her, I said, 'Well, smitten-kitten (my pet name for her, at home), it looks like we have to talk. See you at home, whenever you can get cleaned up, that is.' "

"She opened her eyes fully, saw me and screamed, "Nooooo... no, no, no... you were never supposed to know... no, no, no."

"I walked away, leaving Room 216 and got in my car, to leave for home, and wait."

"Of course, she didn't come home. Not that night, nor on the Sunday that followed the Christmas party. I really didn't expect her there, anymore. While she was gone, I explored her written diary (under the bed) and her computer files, which password I'd cracked some years before."

"No, Shayla, I won't bore you with all the gory, sordid details as to what I found. Just in summary, Abbie started with a single, guilt-ridden 'fling' with her boss, only about 2 years after our marriage. But within a few months, she morphed her fucking into regular parties during the weeks I was away. Sometime 2-3 parties in a given 7-day period. The guilt disappeared, replaced by lust for cocks.

She easily separated her 'love' for me from her increasing needs for more and more lusty—and well-paid—orgasmic sex.

Abbie had become the 'company whore,' giving out sex to seal various contracts and keep executives happy. Apparently, she got 5% of each contract she rewarded and took much of her reward in company stock, with the cash directly deposited to an offshore account and credit card.

She often played 'hands-on hostess' to a swing-sex group in the Houston suburbs, at her Boss' wife's instigation."

"I was, of course, the clueless, cuckold laughingstock of two companies. I remembered a phrase I'd read in a story: 'You never know who your friends really are until you give them a chance to screw you over'. On this basis, I had no friends."

"What I was most concerned about was a bout of the 'flu' she'd had, about a year ago. It resolved itself after a week of taking over-the-counter cold meds. The 'flu' was pretty severe, with vomiting and a fever. But, I remembered, we'd both had our flu shots regularly, each year. I also remembered that I came down with that episode of 'flu,' a couple of weeks later, and had to take a week off work."

"Given all her unprotected sex that I saw, that scared the shit outta me and I nearly ran to the private clinic (the one where I found you), to get a complete STD panel of blood tests. I paid in cash, to keep the clinic visit off our checkbooks or credit-card records."

"Shayla, you know the results of that blood test. No need to go into the horror of discovering I was now HIV-positive and probably had been for several months. It was really hard to recognize that the only person who could have given it to me was my wife, because I didn't 'play around' when I was out, traveling."

"My own wife had handed me a death sentence, without even knowing about it."

"Back to the original plot. I resurrected a motion-activated 'nanny-cam' from my at-home junk room and set it up, concealed as a stuffed bear, sitting on the dresser in our apartment's living room, and set up another one in our master bedroom. Then I just waited out the two evenings and the one day, doing some drinking and having some stupid revenge fantasies."

"Next morning, which was Monday, I got an early call from my boss, directing me to take my own car and drive from Houston to College Station, to handle an emergency with The Plavics Company, as a new account. Plavics was supposed to be located on Steinbender Road, just outside College Station, which was a good 4 hour drive from Houston, Texas, where I lived."

"A quick data search revealed that there was no such company in or around College Station and that Steinbender road was in Waco, Texas." "Obviously, I was being set up to be away from home for many hours, probably overnight.

So I drove away, got a quick meal at a Micky D's but was waiting, sitting of a bench, with a newspaper to cover my face and body, when Abbie and my boss, plus a couple of muscular hunks from the loading dock area showed up at our apartment (not our home, anymore).

They were inside for a couple of hours, getting Abbie's things out and—after I reviewed the two nanny-cam flash drives—each knocking off a quick piece-of-kinky-sex from my cheating slut, in our living-room and bedroom. The video cam revealed that Abbie was laughing and giggling about having sex—including anal—with the men in our apartment home, in our marriage bed, while cuckolding me."

"She cleaned out all our emergency cash, plus checking and savings. Then all of them drove away, in the company van they'd arrived with, laughing and still feeling out her half-dressed body."

"Abbie had taken all the emergency money, plus drained our checking and savings accounts. Since we each had our own credit cards, she couldn't touch that money. I'd taken out half of the checking and savings on Sunday, electronically and the small amount of in-house emergency money was lost, anyway."

"Not being stupid—just in love—I'd previously established a cash reserve in a safe-deposit box at another bank, as a travel account, so I wasn't destitute. Later, I cashed in on several patents I'd taken out, in my own name."

"I wrote a brief resignation letter to my boss, detailing that I was sick-and-tired of having him, my supposed friends and co-workers cuckold me with my well-used wife. I sent it by regular mail. Not wanting any more contact with the firm, I directed him to give my severance pay and last check to the 'cheating slut'. No need for references or letters of recommendation."

"I saved the images from the two nanny-cams in case there was blowback from her or my boss' but nothing came of it. I never saw or heard from anyone associated with my former job again, wife included."

"While in the apartment I once called home, Abbie had written me an incoherent letter on our computer, then dated, printed and signed it. Without going into the gory details, it was essentially all about I, I, I... me, me, me... I want, I want, I want... fuck-me, fuck-me, fuck-me... right now, right now, right now."

"She started out with the usual 'I'm so sorry,' followed by the 'need to scratch an itch between her legs' while I was gone... that I was never supposed to know... and that she hoped that, after some vague time in the future, we could 'still be friends'."

"Fat chance! Abbie was living in some kind of a hot-wife fantasy-land by this time, it seemed."

"She gave the usual excuses, justifications and rationalizations: "It was just sex, honey... just some recreational sex... no big thing... because I was soooo bored at home... wanting a little excitement, a little danger in my life... to spice up our relationship... you want me to be happy, don't you?"

"Then she shifted into a false radical-feminist mode: "A woman's body is made to take on more than one man at a time... my body, my choice... outmoded social conventions and morality... no one man can fully satisfy me."

"Finally, she moved into bragging mode, telling me about her new job as a 'personal assistant' to the boss... as his mistress... him better, longer, thicker, longer-lasting than me... and a lot richer... that she was 'responsible' for the company acquiring many contracts... that she was 'in charge' of being a hostess to a gentleman's club as a hostess... and that she got more and better money—plus stock options—in a couple days of fucking for her company than I brought home in a month."

"It was clear she didn't need or want me anymore."

"Sending off my resignation letter by regular mail I spent the rest of the week stewing in my own bitter juices, until I got my letter from the private diagnostic clinic, indicating that I was permanently diseased and that I had to come see them to start antiretroviral treatment ASAP."

"Talk about devastated. I never 'played around' while I was traveling, being faithful to my wife, but now finding that the only person I could have been infected by was by that same wife, who was 'playing around' regularly."

"I didn't do a divorce. Why bother? We didn't have much money other than what she took. She had her own car, her own job and she got her own luxury apartment within a day after she left our home, I later discovered."

"I discarded all of my divorce-revenge schemes. I finally settled on doing nothing. It was all water—and spunk—over the damn dam by now, anyway. I had more important stuff to concentrate on, like getting used to taking antiretroviral drugs and staying otherwise healthy."

"Abbie had been having steady unprotected sex, laughing and giggling, with all her 'sealed-down contracts' work, and including my so-called 'friends'—and some women—over the course of many months, even years, within both her company and mine. She'd probably infected them all, like she'd done with me."

"I never heard from Abbie again. I read her obituary in the newspaper late last year. The final time I checked, just before I met you, both companies had gone bankrupt, with the State and Federal public health organizations trying to contain the 'Houston Outbreak'.

END OF PART 3

TheKeith
TheKeith
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