Once a Slut...

Author's Note: This is my 20th submission to Literotica.com. I have submitted stories under a variety of Lit categories. The story below can best be categorized under the "Loving Wives" genre. I have found writing within the LW category to be both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, LW has by far the most engaged and responsive readers of any category – a true joy to authors who value feedback on their creations. On the other hand, I have seen strong evidence in the postings on many LW stories (not just my own) that some LW readers will read a few paragraphs, assume (often wrongly) that they know the story, and go straight to the end to register a vote and provide comments.

I can virtually guarantee that you've never read a Loving Wives story quite like the one below. It is neither a willing cuckold fantasy nor a "torch the bitch" revenge rant. In addition, it is neither excessively long nor tantalizingly short. If you're going to vote and provide comments, please take the time to actually read it – then feel free to heap either praise or scorn as appropriate. Best regards, Average Bear

"ONCE A SLUT..."

Nothing could have adequately prepared me for what I saw. I watched as the sexy woman on the screen was undressed by one of three men within the camera's view. The men all wore gold chains around their necks.

The woman stood naked and smiling, breasts jutting out, as the first man began to paw at her body. The other two men circled in closely and began touching and rubbing her while the intro music played. The words "Workin' on the Chain Gang Bang" flitted across the screen.

The startling realization hit me that the beautiful actress in this cheesy porn flick was indeed Jennifer – my lovely wife of just over seven years. A strange mix of fear and anger welled up within me, threatening to explode my calm demeanor.

"See – what'd I tell you, bro?" said Neil, my lifelong buddy who had delivered the offending video for me to watch.

He seemed like such a tattletale. Neil had a knack for seeking praise for distasteful events, as if he'd cooked them up deliberately and was proud of it. I was beginning to wonder why I chose to have a friend who finds joy in the misery of others.

My eyes remained fixed on the video display. Though the woman's hair was longer and darker than Jen keeps hers now, I would have known her anywhere. I noticed that the ends of her long hair curled around her nipples, occasionally obscuring them from the camera's searching view. Jen's hair nowadays was just barely shoulder length.

The actors were no longer just circling and groping Jen. They had moved her over to the bed and were stroking their erect cocks in front of her face. She quickly grabbed one in each hand and began giving them hand jobs.

The third actor awaited something more. Jen looked into the camera and then up at him. She stuck out her tongue and playfully took tentative licks at his massive pole. She then opened her mouth and took half his length down her throat. Her head began lurching back and forth, pulling his cock deeper and then shallower in her mouth.

Jen's face and body seemed gaunt as the camera captured her giving a blow job. Her skin didn't exhibit the healthy glow of our marital years. The film seemed to give her a sickly look, despite her youthful beauty.

As I watched numbly, it became obvious to me that this video had been made some time ago. Now, at age thirty-one, Jen was still lovely, but in a different way than before. Her figure had matured, with feminine curves where there had been angular breasts, skinny ass, bony hips, and a flat pelvis on the video.

The pubic region immediately below that pelvis was in the process of being violated onscreen. The men had switched positions, and Jen was giving a blow job to one of the hand job guys while the other one slurped at her pussy. The third guy, the one with the massive cock, was watching and waiting for Jen's vagina to be vacated. He stroked his cock with one hand and pinched her nipple with the other.

As the cunning linguist (in James Bond terminology) brought Jen to a writhing and screaming orgasm (or at least a simulated one), the guy with the big prick brushed him aside. He stroked his cock one more time, then pressed it against the moist flesh of Jen's labia. The camera zoomed in and caught the first penetration in slow motion, then stayed fixed on their juncture as the stud began pumping furiously in and out of Jen's snatch.

I thought I was going to throw up.

"Turn that fuckin' thing off," I said gruffly to Neil, "you've proven your point!"

Neil used the remote to switch the DVD player and television screen off. He popped the video out of the player, stuck it in its box, and handed it to me.

"I don't want it – burn the damned thing!" I shouted.

"Sorry, man – I know this must be hard," he replied.

My temples were throbbing. My teeth and hands were clenched. I felt like hitting something. I was tempted to make Neil the target, but I knew he was only trying to look after me. Or at least I thought so.

"It's okay, Neil," I said. "It's not as if I didn't know this sort of thing exists."

"You KNEW? What the FUCK, dude?" There was no disguising Neil's shock and horror. He was always as easy to read as a John Grisham novel.

"Yeah, I knew. Jen told me about her past before we were married. She said she had made some porn flicks when she was younger," I confessed.

"Then why in the hell would you have MARRIED her?" Neil demanded, the disbelief plainly displayed on his face. "Why didn't you just pork her as much as you wanted, and then move on?"

"She wasn't like that when I met her," I answered, "she had changed from the girl in that video."

"If you say so, dude," Neil offered weakly.

"I DO say so." I struggled to make myself sound believable. "She had only done the porn to earn money to save her mother's life. Her mom had leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant, but didn't have health care insurance that would cover it. Jen was only nineteen and didn't have any marketable skills to earn the kind of money that takes. At least, not more than one marketable skill..."

Neil shifted in his seat. It was obvious he was still uncomfortable. He knew exactly what skill I meant. He'd just seen it displayed onscreen.

"She made porn flicks until she was twenty-one. She'd earned enough money to pay for the transplant and was ready to quit. But more importantly, she met a woman at her mom's hospital who reached out to her day-by-day throughout the ordeal."

"So what?" asked Neil.

"So, this woman had a story to tell," I said. "She knew a lot about pain and suffering – some of it physical, some of it emotional and mental. And she talked about the need for forgiveness. It resonated with Jen. She became a born-again Christian and walked out on the porn industry."

"So did you meet her at church, or what?" queried Neil.

"No, I haven't been into the church thing or any sort of organized religious crap ever since I was a kid. I haven't really seen the need," I answered.

"So how'd you hook up with her?"

"We met at work. I was in private legal practice before I joined the bank, and she came to work as a receptionist in the law firm. I was impressed with her smile, the way she positively glowed. So I started talking to her every time I got a chance, and eventually asked her out. But we didn't 'hook up.' We never had sex until after we were married."

"What the FUCK, dude? Why buy the freakin' cow when you can get the milk free?" Neil asked with an annoying laugh. "Especially with a hot babe who knows the ropes like SHE does?"

I counted to ten to keep myself from bitch-slapping Neil. He truly didn't know what he was saying, I was sure. He didn't realize how he was twisting the knife in my gut.

I spoke slowly and deliberately enunciated each word. "She was SERIOUS about her new-found faith. Despite her past, she wasn't 'giving the milk away free.'" I wanted to add the words "you stupid mother fucker" at the end, but I resisted the temptation.

"But you said she told you about her porn background BEFORE you were married. You could have pushed the issue, gotten her in the sack for a trial run," Neil chortled, obviously convinced of his own hilarity.

"Neil, she didn't tell me until we were pretty serious," I recounted. "In fact, she waited until I proposed to her. She wouldn't accept my proposal until she told me EVERYTHING, and gave me as much time as I needed to make sure I still wanted to marry her. I think she expected me to bail on her."

"So what'd you do?" Neil asked, standing up to take a stroll around the room. He'd been a bit hyperactive ever since we were kids.

"I knew she didn't need to dangle in the wind. She needed assurance. I told her that I loved her no matter what, and that what she'd done before we met meant nothing to me. I really thought I believed it, but I guess it's always been niggling in the back of my mind."

"For good reason," asserted Neil.

I really wanted to punch him. "For more than seven years, she's given me no reason to doubt her," I said.

"But NOW you have good reason – if not from the video, surely from what I told you about where I saw her on Friday night," Neil chided.

"The video means nothing," I stated emotionlessly, although it indeed troubled me greatly, "it only confirms what Jen already told me when we were engaged eight years ago. But your story about the Pink Kitty – that's totally disturbing..."

"Yeah, like I was saying," Neil fairly chirped, a gleam in his eye, "I saw her car parked behind the Pink Kitty last night. Only girls who work there park in the back."

The Pink Kitty was one of several notorious massage parlors on our side of town. These parlors had begun to dot the shopping plazas, much to the chagrin of homeowners and school board members alike.

But they must do a booming business, I thought to myself, in order to sustain the rapid growth trajectory they've been on over the past couple of years. Exactly what their business WAS seemed shrouded in mystery. At a minimum, they provided some form of sexual release for clients, flaunting their message of "Maximum Pleasure" on their gaudy and bawdy signs. I strongly suspected they were havens for hookers, with some form of controls in place to avoid police intervention.

I couldn't imagine what Jen was doing there – or, unfortunately, perhaps I COULD imagine it. It didn't take much imagination after witnessing the video.

"You're SURE it was Jen's car, and not just one that LOOKED like it?" I asked hopefully.

"Man, I even checked the license plate. It was hers. I wouldn't steer you wrong, dude," Neil answered gleefully.

My heart sank. I didn't bother to ask Neil why he happened to be at the Pink Kitty, or how he knew where the girls who worked there parked. His past pattern of irresponsible behavior with women made the question unnecessary.

I still felt stunned and stung. Jen did not seem like the type of woman to do this to me. I wasn't sure I was convinced about the truth of Christianity, but I had seen serious faith in Jen and a life consistent with that faith. Now, after watching the video and hearing Neil's tale, I had reason to doubt.

And there was another reason to doubt. Jen's mom was experiencing a relapse of her leukemia. The bills were mounting, and her treatment wasn't covered completely by Medicaid. She needed salvage therapy, and I had been worried about how we were going to be able to afford it.

Maybe Jen had the same worries, and was trying to earn some extra money on the side. She'd worked her way up from receptionist to legal assistant, but her job still didn't pay all that well. I could see her taking a second job, especially since we were unable to have kids, so she wasn't subject to the time demands of motherhood. But I hadn't pictured her taking a job at the PINK KITTY...

Neil interrupted my contemplative reflections by clearing his throat. "You know the old saying, Bill," Neil quoted to me, "once a slut, always a slut."

I nearly decked him right then and there. But the onscreen sight of my beautiful Jennifer getting fucked by a group of three studly men had left me reeling, as if I'd been punched in the gut. Neil's revelation that Jennifer was now working at the Pink Kitty took the fight completely out of me. My body felt like it belonged to someone else, as if I were just a ghost haunting its empty shell.

Neil grabbed his DVD and his jacket. He was ready to take off and leave me to my thoughts. He was apparently satisfied to have had the last word, no matter how spiteful it sounded. "Once a slut, always a slut" resonated in the recesses of my mind.

* * * * *

I decided I needed a stronger validation of Jen's infidelity than fuck-wad Neil's simple word. I made plans to follow Jennifer on one of her many evening excursions to various places around town. Her jaunts were always under the guise of going to the gym or to some church activity or other. Until now, I'd had no reason to doubt or ask questions.

On Tuesday night, I followed her to the gym. I stayed outside in a distant part of the parking lot when she went inside. I figured that with a workout and shower, she'd take at least an hour. I considered leaving to go pick up a drive-thru burger while I waited.

Just as I had made up my mind and was putting the car into gear, Jen came back out the front door of the fitness center. She was carrying a DIFFERENT gym bag than the one she had carried when she entered. This one was pink; the one she had brought from home was black.

"What the fuck?" I thought. She had only been in there for five minutes, and she had switched gym bags and was now leaving. I was baffled.

I continued the pursuit and followed her car at a safe distance. My heart began to sink as I realized what was in the plaza up ahead. As Jen turned on her right blinker, I saw the gaudy sign up ahead on the right: "THE PINK KITTY MASSAGE PARLOR – Experience Feline Frivolity: Maximize Your Pleasure, Feel the Snug Tug of One of Our Cute Pussies." The sign was adorned with a drawing of a well-endowed girl wearing a Catgirl mask and little else, ready to rub down the next client.

Oh, my God! I thought as Jen whipped her car into the back parking lot. I circled around the side lot, where I could see her car but wasn't likely to be seen by her.

She parked her car, looked around, and grabbed the pink gym bag out of the back seat. "She must have her skimpy working outfits in the bag," I thought to myself. "She doesn't want me to find them at home, so she keeps them in her locker at the gym."

She went over to the building and knocked on the back door. Momentarily, the door opened and she disappeared inside.

I was coming completely unhinged. I needed to scream, to punch something, to hurt somebody the way I was being hurt. But I kept it bottled up inside.

I picked up a six-pack at the convenience store on the way home. I drank myself to sleep.

* * * * *

All the next day, I was seething inside. Jen was still asleep when I left for work. I decided that since Jen would be at Wednesday night prayer service for the evening, I would check out the goings-on at the Pink Kitty myself. I needed to know just exactly what Jen had gotten herself into.

As I drove to the Pink Kitty, I thought about my plan. I didn't want to raise suspicions by asking a bunch of overt questions. I decided to pose as a prospective client and discover what I could find out on my own about Jen's new job.

I parked in the far section of the plaza parking lot. I didn't want anyone who might know me to realize I was visiting the Pink Kitty.

The door chime sounded as I entered. The front desk was empty, but momentarily a young woman emerged from an interior office. She was a platinum blonde, in her early twenties, and built like the proverbial brick house. She was busty and wore a nurse's uniform, complete with white hose and a red cross on her white nurse's cap. She wasn't just hot – she was on FIRE! It was obvious that her costume was intended to engender fantasy. I wondered whether Jen had a similar costume in her pink gym bag.

"Um – I've never been to one of these," I said haltingly.

She smiled and batted her eyelashes, then looked down demurely. "What were you looking for?" she asked.

"Um – I was just wondering, are your services limited to therapeutic massage? I mean, is this kind of like going to the chiropractor, but just a very pretty chiropractor?"

She smiled again, this time with warmth in her eyes. I was pleased that she seemed to appreciate my humor. "Well, it's not quite like that," she teased, "the experience here is a little more – sensual..."

If Jen was working there, I wanted to know just EXACTLY what the girls there did and how far they'd go. "So, HOW sensual?"

"It depends," she replied, "on how much you're willing to spend."

I decided to push the envelope. "Suppose money is no object – the sky's the limit," I said.

A spark came into her eyes. "You a cop?" she asked.

"No."

"Prove it," she commanded.

"How can you expect me to prove a negative like that?" I queried.

"Show me your penis."

My jaw dropped. "WHAT?" I asked with genuine incredulity.

"You heard me," she said, "show me your dick. No cop is going to show me his dick, or he's up shit creek for entrapment, among other things. You said the sky's the limit, so it's obvious you're looking to go as far as I'll let you. Show me your dick and I'll tell you."

I hadn't intended for things to get out of control. I had just wanted information. I thought I'd pose as a client, ask a few questions about what the girls generally did, and then pretend to get cold feet and leave. But now I was going to have to show her my penis if I wanted the answers to my questions.

I hesitated, then unfastened my belt. Pretend like she's a real nurse and it's a medical exam, I told myself.

I pulled my pants to my knees and hesitated again. She was watching me carefully. I saw her tongue trace a path around her lips. It seemed so erotic, as if she were telegraphing to me that I need only show her my cock and she'd take it joyfully in her mouth.

I should have heard the alarm bells going off in my head and stopped things right there. The growing erection in my boxer shorts was all I needed to tell me that I had lost control. But somehow, I couldn't back down from her challenge.

"Don't do it right here," she said. "Come to the room at the back, just in case somebody comes in the front door."

I followed her to a poorly lit room at the end of a narrow hallway. It had an easy chair in the center, a table in the corner, and a mini-stage area at the front.

She shut and locked the door behind me. "Now, show me your dick and I'll tell you what I'll do for you," she commanded.

I was mesmerized, hypnotized, unable to resist. I hooked my thumbs around the waistband of my boxers, and pulled downward. My rigid, throbbing cock sprang forward and upward.

The girl smiled and reached out to give it a tug. "Nice to meet you," she laughed, shaking my love tool up and down as if in a handshake, "I see you're not a cop. My name's Amber. And I'm here to do whatever you want, however you want it – no boundaries. It's a sliding scale that starts at fifty for a hand job, a hundred dollars for oral, another two hundred for straight sex, another two hundred for anal. I might give you a discount on the whole shooting match, IF you're willing to go down on me before you stick your cock inside my pussy. You know, just for lubrication..."

HOLY SHIT! Is this how Jen greets her customers? I wondered silently.

She could see my eyebrow go up, I'm sure. She also could feel my cock stiffen in her hand as she spoke of such erotic matters. She hadn't bothered to let go after the initial greeting.