Resident Slut Ch. 03

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She returns from being the company whore to his slut.
2.2k words
3.35
40.8k
30

Part 3 of the 5 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 04/17/2018
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TheKeith
TheKeith
500 Followers

In my letter to my former wife, I finished: "Raised Quaker, I cannot allow myself to be consumed by hate, but I am deeply disappointed by the you-that-is-now, who was and is a gang-banging corporate and private whore. I still love Miola, the you-that-maybe-used-to-be, who I stupidly believed was a loving wife, but those feelings will fade as time passes.

Goodbye. We'll never meet again.

Kenneth Jerome Hart".

Then I packed up my few belongings in a rented car and left the mid-west for the West Coast, to re-start my engineering career, away from charges of being a long-term cuckold with a serially cheating corporate-whore wife. Luckily, I had a modest separate stream of income, which I'd laid aside for a financial emergency. I tapped this to live on.

It took the usual year or so to get re-established, particularly with the onset of the Great Recession in late 2008, but being self-employed, with my expertise between my two ears and in my hands, I made money again. While I dated some and hooked-up other times, I never bought a house or condo again, having been 'burned' severely, nor did I ever permit myself to even think about marriage.

I had no long-term trust in women partners nor in men friends.

It turned out that, within the general Los Angeles and San Diego areas, there were several clusters of small and mid-sized robotic-using manufacturers and fulfillment groups and I determined that I could establish myself within some of those clusters. I looked for a block of apartments centered to these clusters and found a place to live, eat and just exist, about equidistant all the places where my engineering worth would be rewarded.

Here I lived from my marriage incineration in 2006, through the financial crash of the Great Recession in 2008 through to my present in 2012. I had hobbies, such as riding my motorbike (now a Suzuki Burgman motor-scooter), sailing a little sabot alone, now and then, plus learning to play the hurdy-gurdy (a musical instrument sounded by turning a crank and fingering a keyboard ... really weird sounds coming out) which I played at local festivals.

I joined the local tall club, which also provided me an entry into a discreet local swingers group, as well, for sterile but satisfying, no-strings sex.

I can't say that I was happy or content but I was comfortable in a large 1-bedroom apartment. Just lonely, as would be any long-married man, once deprived of his wife by divorce or death. Again, I had a few close friends but these were scattered around the LA/San Diego area.

Since I couldn't drink alcohol in any form, I had no 'drinking buddies.'

The last thing I expected early that evening in October, 2012, was a knock on my apartment door. I wore only a bathrobe and slippers (why bother to dress when one is completely alone). Opening the door, I saw my six-years older ex-wife standing there.

Holding the door open for what seemed a long time, she looked up at me and asked, "Can I come in, Ken?"

I gestured her inside my apartment, right now a bachelor messy/neat place, and motioned her to a chair, while I sat on the bed.

Yeah, I know, the bed should be in the bedroom. I was never one for social convention. The 'bedroom' was my 'home office', workroom and exercise area, while the actual bed was in the living area of the apartment. So sue me! I made it up each day, so it fitted in with my bachelor decor, what there was of it. Dinette around the corner. Two extra chairs, a table for walk-in things like wallets, cellphones, etc. Bookcases for books, DVDs, a large screen TV. Semi-pornographic picture—a couple of Miola, from her DVDs, being penetrated—as usual, wishing I was the one fucking her—on the wall. That sort of thing.

So Miola sat on a chair and I sat up on the made-up bed, quietly waiting for her to speak. She looked around the apartment—especially at the large pics of her fucking on the walls—but didn't say anything.

She was wearing a gauzy off-the-shoulders peasant top, almost sheer, that outlined her breasts and let me see the deep-brown, protruding nipples. The top was bare-midriff, almost a bandeau top. The same went for the long, pleated, flowing skirt, also gauzy and sheer, which let me see the outline of her woman's 'Y' between her legs, although her muff was no more (not that I missed it, as I came to like her bald pussy, before her final sexual betrayal). Again, as I could see, she wore long, thigh-high net stockings but low-heel sandals.

When nothing was said for a minute, I offered her a social drink. Unable to drink alcohol myself, I still had a small selection of items for my occasional visitors who did imbibe. So I offered her vodka-and lemon, rum-and-coke, white wine or a craft beer.

I was taken aback when my memories-of-drunken-orgies Miola said, "No, thanks, Ken. I can't drink any alcohol. I'm a recovering addict, an alcoholic. Do you have any soft drinks?"

Wordlessly, I handed her one of my specialty soft drinks, a sarsaparilla. Almost unknown in the USA now, it was THE soft drink of the late 1800's. I made it myself, from an extract and sugar, and a natural carbonation. She sipped it, tasted it, and spend several minutes drinking it down. Raising her eyebrow, she said, "What?"

I replied, saying, "It's sarsaparilla. I make it myself. Maybe 1/4% alcohol, but mostly natural yeast carbonation. Almost unknown, any more. Tastes good. What do you think, Miola?"

"Nice," she said.

She finally looked down and in a small voice, said, "I'm not Miola any more. I changed my name. Legally. I'm Mia Hogh, now. That's spelled H-O-G-H, but it's pronounced, 'Ho'. So say it, 'Me-a-ho'. That's because I still am. A ho, that is. Only now-and-then and only when I have to be, but I do take money for having sex on camera, when I can't find the right talent, so I'm still a prostitute. It's sex on film or videotape, but it is good, penetrative, spurting creampie-inside-me sex, my body loves it and I get paid for it."

"So I'm still a whore. I don't do it often. Only about a couple dozen times these last three years"

I said, "Twenty seven".

Mia said, "Huh?"

I replied, grinning a little, "You said you'd performed sex on video a 'couple of dozen times'. Actually, you've done 27 milf/mature-sex scenes on camera that were published commercially."

Mia gapped at me, saying, "How can you know that?"

Wordlessly, I went over to my entertainment center, under the TV and pulled out my special collection of jewell-cases, housing DVDs. I showed it to Ms. Mia Hogh (pronounced 'ho'). She fingered through all 27 of the cased DVDs, then looked up at me. A little smile played at the corner of her mouth, as her eyes filled with tears and her mouth trembled.

She cried, through her forming tears, "You have all my sex scenes. You've watched them all. One of the cases is sticky. It smells like spilled jizm. You jacked off all over it. You've watched me fuck on video-cam. You pervert. I love you. I'm gonna ... gonna cry. I wanna fuck you. I wanna be your slut. I swore to myself I wouldn't cry, and now I'm gonna ... gonna ... oh, god-damn fuck you, damnit, I'm gonna ...".

My long-ago ex-wife launched herself from her chair to the bed and knocked me backward, then pinning me there, as she screeched, cried, clutched at me, sobbed, humped and burbled out half-formed phrases.

"WAAAAAA ... BWAAAAAA ... I cucked my Ken. I didn't think, didn't wanna know ... WAAAAAA ... Whore, I made myself inta a ... BWAAAAAA ... SNERFLE, GASP, BWAAAAAA ... Hundreds of men. Fucked 'em ... WAAAAAAA ... Came thousands of times. BWAAAAAAA ... Sex patch. Drugged nympho-whore. WAAAAAAA ... Hurt you, didn't think about it. Your soiled reputation, my fault. WAAAAAA ... Sloppy seconds, I didn't wanna. Yeah, I did, but blackouts happened first. BWAAAAAA ... Slippery slope. Had sex on our home bed. WAAAAAAAA. GURGLE, CHOKE, SNERFLE ... Laser snatch treated me. He demanded a bare pussy. Lied to my Ken. Girl licking, then me doing her. WAAAAAAAAAA ... Bank account. Company stocks. Money for sexing. BWAAAAAAAAA ... Make nice to salesmen. Get, keep contracts by sexing. Money. Whore. WAAAAAAAAAA ... HACK, COUGH, GURGLE, BWAAAAAAAAAA ... Drugged patch, applied by me for me. Vodka too. Made me into a drunk blackout nympho. WAAAAAAAAAAA ... Blackouts while I fucked. WAAAAAAAAAAA ... 15 people. You found out, left, divorced, it got worse. WAAAAAAAAA ... Seizures, rehab, the Clap. Fired. No friends. BWAAAAAAA ... sheriff, raped, had to swallow, pissed on, dirt, filth, thrown outta town. WAAAAAAA ... Only cheted last two years, but then vodka, drinking, patch, fucking, public. WAAAAAAAAAA ... Dates to sex for company. Execs. Then everybody. WAAAAAAA ... COUGH, SNERFLE, SNERFFF, GWONNNK ... Up my ass, down my throat. WAAAAAAAA ... Lesbian. Strap-on cocks. Fucking cocks. A pretend whore, then real. BWAAAAAAAA ... Tubes tied. Lied to my Ken. Whore. Fucking whore. Lying whore. Cheating whore. WAAAAAAAAAA ... Sex for money is a prostitute. Then a super-whore WAAAAAAA ..."

I heard all this, while Mia snatched at my body and humped, involuntary though it was or may have been. I was starved for air, and grabbed at anything I could, her gauzy top first. It shredded under my grasp and released Mia's boobs into my face. Suddenly, my long-tamped-down hatred erupted, combined with equally-surging lust and grasp for my lost love made me hugely erect. I struggled, bathrobe forgotten, grasping at this frenzied, all-but-naked woman, ripping at her skirt, which came apart as well.

Her hips thundered into mine and suddenly my straining cock was surrounded to the base by hot, womanly flesh, liquid and slippery. I was inside this woman, and by God, I was gonna fuck her, even if was gonna be rape. I thrust hard as I watched her eyes suddenly grow wide.

Mia screamed. I cringed, but still continued thrusting in total lust. She re-screamed, crying, "Oh, yes. YES. YES, YES, YES. Rape me. Fuck me. I want it. I deserve it. I hurt you. More rape. Deeper, harder. Own me. Your whore, this time. Fuck me. Own my body. Soul too. I'll do anything. I'll fuck anybody you say. Yes, yes, yes. Pound inta me. Fuck my bare pussy. Hurt me. Good. Good. Fucking whore, what I deserve. Your fucking was the best, ever. All the rest were just good sex. You were always the best: first slow and deep, then hard and powerful, but never rough. Do me. I'm yours. I'll never be able to make it all up to you, but I'll damn-well try. Fuck me!

I did. I thrust into this twisting, screaming mass of liquid lust, until I couldn't think and then came. Pumped for many seconds, as I emptied my long-delayed hatred, love and lust into her willing, naked body.

Then slowly relaxed, as I held my former whoring wife, while she went through several minutes of orgasmic aftershocks, half my jizz leaking out of her ravaged vaginal lips and soaking into my bottom sheet. I knew the other half was slowly transferring through her ravaged, blood-engorged, swolen cunt walls and into her bloodstream.

At last, Mia's moaning and shaking slowed and stopped. Looking down, I saw a long, lazy smile appear on her lips. She looked down to the floor, where her shredded, useless clothing rags were piled, and then smiled even wider. "Looks like I'm gonna have to stay the night. You can can loan me a robe, so I can shop for a new outfit tomorrow. Lucky I like to be nude. Like to pose for you. Wanna get you up again. Wanna get fucked again. Get fucked up my ass. Wanna be your whore. Stand up, I wanna clean your cock, down my throat."

My cock was never so well cleaned as she did, with her lovely mouth.

Mia Hogh said, "I'm your whore. You own me."

Worried, I replied, "Mia, I know you're in guilt mode. That's OK. But I just can't 'own' another human being. I don't want to be the owner of a slave. Even a pretend one, just for sex. As for being a whore, well;, OK, you were one for everybody else, but when we were together, right up to the end, you never made me pay for getting married sex. Not once. Your pussy was always flowing for me and the subject of money never once came up when you fucked with me. You were never MY whore."

Mia giggled and said, "Yeah, I remember. I was a whore for everyone at work. Now we're apart, so I get to be your SLUT! Your own personal, private slut. I still love sex. I love to be penetrated by a hard cock ... yours. Love showing you my sexy body. Love showing you what your hard, thrusting, pumping cock does to me, moment by moment. I love to orgasm, to cum, to scream out dirty sex talk while I sex and then climax. I love to pose in between more and more demands for you to fuck me. That's what being a SLUT is. Since I'm your slut, that's what you'll get.

END OF PART 3

TheKeith
TheKeith
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9 Comments
NicealloverNicealloverover 1 year ago

It’s a bit too dispassionate for a reunion. I would have thought she show more.regret of how she hurt her husband.

deblackbusterdeblackbusteralmost 6 years ago
Lol

After ch. 01 I skimmed this authors other stories. Not surprised by this at all and actually this was A LOT better than I thought it would. Expectations were so low though.

That paragraph were she was crying, it was so bad that it was funny, seriously. Interested to know what's next.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 6 years ago
Disappointed.

The previous chapters spelled out what she did and what he did, actually semi-duplicating each other. So why he'd even consider taking her back makes no sense. 2 stars.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 6 years ago
Another "male" character

And yet another man without a shred of self respect just aching for an STD and willing to play Russian Roulette with a disease ridden whore.

bruce22bruce22almost 6 years ago
He has a problem.

She is the problem.

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