Things Past

I walked away from the game, not exactly with a clear conscience but with a far less guilty one than I probably should have had. I know you want to hear tales of remorse, of gut-wrenching regret and eternal shame. I am sorry, you won't get them from me. On the whole, it had been fun; an interesting experience that opened my eyes to the bigger world. I am not saying I was proud to have worked as a whore. I am not that ridiculous. Lets just say I am not ashamed but I don't feel the need to tell people about it. Does that make sense to you?

Besides, this was my final year at university and I knew I would never see any of the people who had paid to fuck Terri ever again.

Until recently, I had been right, but now...

...I was brought back to the horrific present by a loud ringing beside me. I knew who was on the other end of that phone and I felt physically sick.

"Answer it," Frank goaded me, an evil grin on his face. He stopped humping away at me as I picked up the receiver. Of course, it was Jonathan; a rather angry Jonathan.

"Hey, Sam" he sounded tired. "Sorry to call you so late. What a waste of time this has been! I just got back to the hotel now."

"I am sorry to hear that," I tried to keep my voice calm, my breathing level. That bastard had started to fuck me again, clearly enjoying doing so as I spoke to my husband, miles away.

"Is everything alright?" Jonathan sounded concerned.

I assured him everything was fine and that I was just tired. Frank started fucking me faster, his fingers moving to my clit. As loathsome as I found this man, my clit betrayed me, the touch on it getting the desired response. My face flushed as I fought for control, listening to Jonathan explaining that he had been the only one to attend and they had gone over the same tired old ground he had gone through months before.

"Anyway," Jonathan sighed as I held my breath, trying not to moan as that bastard really worked at my clit. "I will be home tomorrow afternoon. Let's go out to dinner tomorrow, just the two of us. How about it?

"I like the sound of that." I said, less enthusiastically than I should have. I was still trying to restrain myself.

"You are really are tired, aren't you?" He sounded concerned. I almost cried. "I will let you get yourself off to bed. I love you."

"I love you too!" This time, the enthusiasm was there, the genuine love I felt for my husband while some other man was inside me, taunting and teasing my body. Jonathan hung up.

Frank grinned down at me, losing interest in my clit the moment the phone was put down. He continued to fuck me though, faster and faster.

Frank tensed inside me. I made the right noises to encourage him and then he jerked, thrusting his hips tight against mine. I felt his cock twitch, knowing he was cumming into the condom he wore. Thank goodness he wore that. I wasn't worried about getting pregnant. I wasn't particularly worried about catching an STD, although with someone this disgusting, I should have been. I just didn't want his rank seed inside me.

He grunted a few more times then slipped out of me, again sneering down at me. I watched in silence as he backed away, pulling on his pants, buttoning up his shirt.

"Thank you, Terri," he finally growled. "Not bad for a worthless whore."

He reached into his pocket and threw something on the bed beside me. I looked, saw two £20 notes and I just went numb inside.

"Not bad," he continued, putting on his jacket. "But not that great either so you only get half. You will get better, I am sure."

I looked up at him and I spoke at last.

"This was a one time thing, Frank." I pleaded with him. "Please, let it go. Let me have my life. I am begging you here, really begging you. Please don't do this."

He looked at me, his face a mask. I dared to hope he had gotten his little thrill and that would be the end of it. I dared to hope it. The hope died when next he spoke.

"No," he shook his head. "I like having my own private whore. When I want to fuck you, you say yes please. I also like knowing I will see Little Johnny at work with the smell of his wife's pussy on my cock. I like that a lot. You are going to be my private whore until I get sick of you, Terri. Simple as that. And I can't see me getting sick of that tight pussy in a hurry."

He laughed at himself. I did not join in.

"Unless you want to end it now. Up to you." He produced his cellphone again. "Now what's the number of that hotel in Liverpool?"

I turned my back on him, hugging the pillow tight, trying to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach.

"See you soon, whore," he snarled. "I will see myself out."

I heard him leave, the house plunging into silence. And then I cried. I cried and cried and cried until I had no more tears. I felt dirty, used, disgusted at myself. I felt... that's the word... I felt utterly degraded. More so than I ever did when I WAS Terri.

______________________________

I didn't move from our bed for hours. I lay there and cried. I felt so wretched; wretched for myself and wretched for my poor husband. He was now, God forgive me, a cuckold. He did not deserve that at all. He was a good man, a kind man. I kept telling myself I had no choice but it didn't help at all. It didn't change what had happened. Nothing could change that, no matter how much I wished it. I still felt so degraded, so dirty. I finally got off the bed and headed for the shower.

I scrubbed myself as clean as I could but I was not satisfied. I scrubbed and scrubbed until it hurt, trying to remove the filth of Frank Williams from every pore of my body. I was still not satisfied but I got out of the shower and put on my robe.

My next task was to go back to our bedroom and open the window wide, trying to remove the stench of the man, a stench I now realise was purely in my head. I tore the bedding off our bed, ran downstairs with it and threw it into a plastic refuse sack, taking it out to the bin. No amount of washing would clear away the sin embedded in that innocent cloth. I put fresh sheets on the bed, fell upon it and cried again. I cried myself to sleep that night. I would have said that was impossible right up to that moment.

I woke up chilly, the curtains billowing in the breeze from the wide open window. I showered again, still convinced I had the stink of shame on me. I went downstairs, flicked the switch on the kettle and almost cried out at the loud knock on the door. No, I thought, not again. Please no....

No. It was the postman with a package for Jonathan. I sat and nursed my coffee, wondering how I could possibly face the man I loved after what I had done, no matter how unwillingly. I work part time hours as a tour guide so thankfully, I had the day to myself. Enough time to at least try to collect my thoughts. I busied myself with housework that did not need to be done, vacuuming the living room carpet at least four times; anything to occupy myself, anything to keep me sane.

Jonathan arrived home shortly after 2pm and I was at least mostly back to normal. I rushed over to him as he walked through the door, clinging desperately to him. He was bemused by this excessive affection but seemed happy.

"Steady on, love," He chuckled. "I have only been gone a day!"

"I missed you!" I cried. It was true. I really did miss him. None of this would have happened if my Jonathan had been here.

"I missed you too," he said happily. He held me at arm's length, looking closely at me. "What's wrong?" he asked calmly.

"Nothing," I smiled, lying to my husband yet again. "Nothing at all. I am just so happy to see you."

We went out to dinner that evening, as promised. Jonathan talked about his wasted trip and I tried hard to listen. I was lost in a whirling storm of thoughts and regrets and fury, almost dizzy with the enormity of it all.

"Well?" Jonathan;s voice cut through. "Are you going to answer it?"

I frowned in puzzlement then heard the vibration of my cell phone inside my purse. I hurriedly took it out, looking at the screen. It was not a number I recognized and I answered it with some trepidation.

"Hello?" I said cautiously.

"Hey, whore, How are you doing?"

I groaned inwardly. How did this creep get my number? Did it matter? He clearly had.

"Hello Peter," I cursed myself for lying so easily now. "This isn't a good time."

"I don't care," said Frank. "I want to fuck you. Tonight. In half an hour."

"Uh huh," I nodded my head. "Tomorrow should be fine. Morning would be better. Around ten?"

"No, whore," he snarled. I turned away from my husband in case he overheard. "I said in half an hour. Time is ticking away."

"Oh no, " I said, giving a little chuckle. "That would be impossible. Not the weekend. You know that, silly. Ok, it really isn't a good time. See you tomorrow. Bye."

I hung up, switching my phone on to silent mode in the process. Of course, it rang again. I slipped it back into my purse and turned my attention back to Jonathan who raised an eyebrow at me.

"It was Peter," I explained, lying yet again. "He wants me to fill in for Stuart tomorrow. He is ill or something. I said yes, I hope that's ok?"

"Of course," said Jonathan, sitting back in his chair. He looked at me and I could see the calculations behind his eyes. "And he wanted you in over the weekend too? You don't do weekends. You could, you know, now and then. I don't mind."

"Weekends are ours," I smiled, reaching out a hand to him. "Just ours."

Jonathan made love to me that night. It was sweet, it was tender. It was how it should be yet it was all I could do to stop myself from crying my heart out the whole time. He sensed it but he said nothing.

The next day, I sat in the kitchen, watching the clock. Ten am finally arrived and the loud knock at the door told me that the bastard had took me at my word. I opened the door, resigned to it. Of course, it was Frank. He just pushed past me and marched into the living room without a word. I followed.

And then I saw stars as a vicious back handed slap almost knocked me off my feet. Then he was on me, ferociously snarling in my face.

"I fucking said last night, whore, not this morning. Don't you ever do that to me again."He raised his hand again and I flinched back. "When I say I want to fuck you, you drop everything and come let me fuck you. Got it?"

"I... I... I am s-sorry," I stammered. "I was having dinner with J-Jonathan. I couldn't get away. I c-couldn't."

He stepped back, looking me up and down. He started to undo his pants again. I sagged, my cheek stinging from his slap.

"Well, ok, " he said, reluctantly. "Makes sense, I suppose. But you have to be punished for making me wait."

His pants were undone, his cock springing out, hard and ready.

"Punished?" I asked, my vision blurred with tears.

"Yep," he grinned. "I am going to fuck that tight little pussy of yours and then, when I am done, you are going to get me ready to fuck your ass."

He grabbed me, pushed me over the back of the sofa, raised my dressing gown and entered me, roughly and painfully.

He didn't last long and it seems you don't forget old tricks. It didn't take me long to get him ready. The next part really hurt.

______________________________

Life went on. It went on horribly but it went on. Things were becoming strained between Jonathan and I. I tried hard not to let them but my mind was elsewhere. He asked me repeatedly what was wrong. I took the coward's way out and blamed my period. That usually shuts a man up. He wasn't buying it but he gave me space. I loved him for that.

Frank showed up two or three times through the week, once when I was at work. He phoned me, demanded I come home now. I told him I couldn't and that got me another slap on his next visit. The man was just totally unreasonable. Hell, he was a blackmailing son of a bitch. Could I expect him to be reasonable too? No, I could not. After two weeks of this, my health was suffering. I barely had any appetite and I was withdrawn, mostly silent.

"I want you overnight this weekend."

"I can't do that. You cannot ask me to that. Not the weekend and not overnight. I am married, for Heaven's sake! How could you possibly expect that?"

I could not believe the stupidity of such a request; no, demand. He just smirked and told me to find a way. I was becoming tired of the threat now. I considered just telling Jonathan all about it but by this point, things had gone too far for that. All I could hope for now was that this animal would get bored and move on... and pray he didn't make good on his threat anyway.

"I can't," I whined. "It's impossible. There is no earthly reason why I would spend the night away from home. None at all."

Frank gave me his meanest, angriest look. "Find a fucking way, whore. This Saturday, 7pm, or you know what happens."

I wondered just how far a heart could sink. It seemed mine found a new depth every time I saw this man.

Jonathan and I sat down to dinner, a meal I barely touched, in silence. He looked at me, concern on his face, but he didn't ask. He knew I would not answer. I know Jonathan. He was waiting patiently for me to tell him. He would be waiting a very long time, I thought bitterly.

"Remember Janine from work?" I began. "The young girl with red hair?"

"Yes," my husband nodded. "Nice girl, I seem to recall."

"She is getting married next week," I lied so easily. "A group of the girls are going out on Saturday, a hen party. You don't mind if I go too, do you?"

He reached across and held my hand.

"Of course I don't mind, love," he said. "It would do you good. You have been so down lately, a night out will be marvelous, I am sure."

I almost cried there and then. The night out I was going to have would be anything but marvelous.

"It's a nightclub sort of night, I am afraid," I went on. "So Janine has arranged for most of us to stay over at her place. I could get a taxi home if you prefer. Its no big deal."

I tried to sound offhand about it.

"A night with the girls sounds like just what you need. Stay with Janine. Keep an eye on her." He grinned.

I felt physically sick at the lies I had told my husband just so I could spend a night with a monster but it seemed to have worked. I had it covered.

"Oh God," Jonathan exclaimed. "Remember that Frank chap? The new salesman? Well, he made me sick to my stomach today. You wouldn't believe the things he was saying!"

I looked up sharply, perhaps too sharply. "Oh?" I said, alarm bells deafeningly silent in my mind.

"It seems he has found himself some poor woman and insists on telling us all the gory details of the things he does with her." He shuddered, a look of distaste on his face. "I mean, I am not a prude, or at least I hope I am not, but the way he was talking... it was disgusting. Why would I want to hear details like that?"

"Like what?" I asked, trying so hard to keep the tremble out of my voice.

"Like anal sex!" he said, looking even more distasteful. "And other things after that. You don't want to know."

"No," I agreed, shaking my head. "I do not. Did he, by any chance, say who the woman is?"

I tried hard to sound conversational rather than terrified. Jonathan gave me one of those cool. calculating looks of his.

"Yes," he finally answered. "Jerry....or Kerri...no, no. It was Terri. Some poor woman called Terri. Do you know anyone of that name? I am sure I don't."

I shook my head no, rendered quite speechless. Did this man have any limits to his depravity? He was bragging about me to my husband, giving him details of what he did to me. Notice I said to me, not with me? The detail the bastard left out was that this poor Terri woman had no fucking choice in the matter. None whatsoever.

Saturday came much too quickly for me. Have you ever noticed how time flies when you are dreading something? I packed an overnight bag, filling it with some of the things Frank had told me to bring, hiding them under normal, everyday things. Jonathan kept his distance from me, sensing my mood, no doubt. How I didn't cry that day remains a mystery I will never solve. My heart was breaking with every minute. I was going to spend the night with another man, not my husband and I had lied my ass off to make something I did not want happen. I wish I could describe the emotions I dealt with. Words cannot do it.

Jonathan had offered to give me a lift to the pub I had told him I would be meeting the fictitious girls in my fabricated evening out. I told him not to go to all that trouble and that I would get a taxi. He relented in the face of my determination, giving me another of those cool, calculated looks. I wanted to just die.

I looked back sorrowfully at our home, our once happy home, as the taxi pulled away, taking me to hell.

And it was hell. Pure hell from start to finish. I got to the hotel at 7, as ordered. I got to the room and found him there, wearing only a bathrobe that came off the moment I walked in. I was thrown on to the bed and he was on me.

"Oh yes, Frank, Frank, fuck me hard. Do it to me. I want your cock!" I shamefully lied, loudly, as he requested. My stomach churned, my brain rebelled but I was on automatic pilot by now, acting out his fantasies, feeding him what he wanted to be fed.

"I love how your hard cock feels in my tight pussy."

I lost count of how many times we did it over that long night. He called upon me to "perform my tricks" after each bout, getting him hard again so the torture could continue. He had me change several times into the outfits he had listed for me. Nurse, schoolgirl, maid. All of his putrid fantasies. Finally, he rolled off me and fell asleep, snoring loudly. I staggered to the bathroom and wept.

He woke up early and was instantly on me. No foreplay, no words. He was just on me and in me, just like that. He fucked me for about ten minutes then laughed.

"Dirty little whore dried me out" he sneered. "Good little whore. Now fuck off."

I looked at him questioningly.

"You heard me. Fuck off. Go. Leave. I am done with you."

"You mean," I heard my voice crack. "It's over? It's done?"

He threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"No, you stupid cunt. I am done with you for today. Now get your worthless ass out of my sight before I slap you around again."

I grabbed my things, dressed hurriedly and ran out of the door. I walked briskly down the corridor, to the lift. The lift took me to the lobby and I stopped, looking at my watch. 7.20am. Too early to go home. I went to the hotel restaurant where they were serving breakfast and got a cup of coffee. I sat by the window, gazing blankly into nothing, drinking my coffee, barely tasting it.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?"

I looked up into the cool, calculating stare of my husband, Jonathan. I whimpered.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, stunned at the sight of him. It was a stupid question and quite pointless.

"More to the point," he said, sitting opposite me. "What are you doing here? This is not Janine's home, unless she has moved recently. This is a hotel. So, again, what are you doing here?"

"I can explain," I wailed, uselessly. "It's not what it looks like. I can..."

"Are you having an affair, Samantha?" My heart sunk yet again. Samantha. He never calls me that. never.

"No" I told him, honestly. "I am not."

He cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Really?" he looked away and my heart broke to see the pain on his face. "Its funny. From what I heard outside that hotel room, I could have sworn you were. Or does Frank Williams keep chickens now?"

That confused me. I was already unstable and that just had me opening my mouth and closing it again.

"What?" I finally managed. "Chickens?"

Jonathan stood up.

"I want your cock" he said, flatly. "that's what you said, more than once. So if it's not chickens, I ask you again. Are you having an affair."