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Whore Wife

by VitalWalt 05/22/13

My husband is forcing me to write this. Well, maybe forcing is too strong a word. Strongly encouraging me perhaps is better, much in same way he strongly encouraged me to fuck his boss. There, I wrote it down. He is also strongly encouraging me to call myself a whore, which is, essentially what I am. I fucked his boss to get him a promotion, there is no kidding myself; I am a whore.

"So what does that make you?" I ask my husband.

"What do you think? I'm your pimp honey" he replied with an evil grin on his face. He is so proud of himself.

I have to admit something else. I like him calling me his whore, it turns me on. Growing up a Catholic latina, the word puta,whore, is the worst insult you can hurl at a woman. I could have never dreamed that the word would one day apply to me, and that it would make me wet when my husband calls me his sweet latina whore.

I could justify the whole thing rationally, after all my husband got his promotion, which means more money for him and lots of gifts, such as jewelry, a new car and more for me, but that would really only reinforce the inevitable conclusion; I am a whore. I even like writing it as much as I like hearing my husband say it. He is now strongly encouraging that I end this confessional preamble and get to the sexy parts.

"The readers really do not care how much you like being called a whore, they want the sexy bits to jerk off to."

Even that idea, that someone reading this is going to masturbate to my adventures in prostitution (that word is too proper for my taste), is a turn on. Let me again state that it was my husband's idea, I had no desire, or even fantasy to fuck his boss. It all sprang from his evil mind.

We met when we were both in college and married in our early twenties. Bob is only the second man (not including my "john") I have ever been with, and after ten years of marriage, we still have a great sex life. He is a a Scott-Irish mutt and and I'm a Latina of Cuban and Colombian descent. No children yet, we don't feel ready, but we will someday. Although after what has happened, I think I want to put it off a bit longer.

I can't remember when or how he first brought up the subject of his boss's divorce--I'll call him John--and how he would talk about how difficult it was to meet women, how lonely he was, that sort of thing. All very casual, I didn't give it much thought, he was just making conversation about the guy he works for, nothing out the ordinary. Then he began talking about the promotion and raise that he deserved, that he was the hardest worker in the division, the most qualified and so on, but that John is so unhappy and lonely he just could not see up from down. He wished he could do something for the guy to help him out. Did I know any single women to set John up with?

"The guy has thing for Latin women, he told me he thought you are really beautiful."

I was flattered, but not suspicions.

I said, "All my friends are married, I really don't know anyone single."

"How about any married friends?" he replied very innocently, or as innocently as one can say something like that.

"Bob that's evil." I giggled.

"I'm just saying, a roll in hay to relax this guy and get me a promotion, it'll mean more money..."

My husband went on with this line of reasoning a bit too long, and my suspicions were aroused, but I played along.

He finally came up with the idea of inviting John over for dinner.

"Just the three of us?" I asked.

"Sure, wine and dine him, we've never socialized with before, maybe we can pitch the idea of my promotion together." he said casually.

"We? It's your job. What do you want me to say?" I asked.

"Just look beautiful and show lots of cleavage." he laughed not so innocently. "He's got a thing for latinas like I do."

"Just cleavage?" I replied mischievously.

"Well maybe lots of leg as well and wear something tight to show off your ass" he said ginning that evil smile of his.

"Oh I see, show as much tits, ass and legs as I can, anything else?

"Yeah, dress as sluty as possible."

It was at this point that I realized that husband was pimping me out, I thought figuratively, to his boss. I also realized that I liked the idea, it was a turn on. I didn't, couldn't, imagine that he was at this point thinking literally to turn his loving wife into a trick turning whore.

"Alright, invite him for dinner next Saturday night, I'll convince him to give you raise." I said jokingly.

He walked over and gave me a big hug, squeezed my ass and said "You're the best baby."

I went shopping that week for the most expensive sexy dress I could find, really slutty, just as he requested. It was black, very tight, low cut with a leg slit almost to my ass, it didn't leave much to the imagination. I thought to myself, this ought to teach him a lesson. It's at this point that I should describe myself, perhaps, I should let my husband do it:

"My wife is a super hot, petite, slim, big breasts, long black hair, great teeth, clear olive colored skin, and a killer ass, big, but not too big, just perfect. I love to watch it wiggle and shake as I pound my meat into her."

"Alright, you are getting off topic, you are just describing me for the reader."

"But honey, your ass shaking is a description of you."

Anyway, the night of the dinner, Bob had a chef come to our house and cook a dinner for us. It cost a fortune, but in his mind well worth it. He didn't want me tired or stressed out. I loved the idea. About an half an hour before our guest arrivedm I came out of the bedroom in my new slut outfit. It looked like I had been poured into it. Bob's eyes practically popped out of his head.

"Now that's what I'm talking about baby. You look fucking super sexy."

Even the chef, a woman, gave me a second look when she saw me in that dress, and I don't think she was gay. She probably thought to herself, 'what a slut'.

When the doorbell rang, Bob insisted that I answer it. I wish I had a camera to capture John's face when he saw me. He gave me the once up, then down, then up again look, and I swear, licked his lips. John was another fair haired, white boy, but at least four inches taller than my 5'7'' husband. This was only the second time that I had met him, and on second look, he wasn't bad looking. He was in his late thirties, still had a full head of hair, and looked like he worked out, overall not a bad catch, I couldn't see why he was have trouble meeting women.

After the introductions, Bob played the host to the max, he loves it, and it seemed that he especially loved it when the guest is a man practically panting for his wife. He mixed cocktails for Bob, and poured me red wine whenever my glass was half empty. I didn't notice it, but he didn't drink at all. The conversation was all very proper and not out of the ordinary in the least, mostly small talk, although I did notice John stealing looks at my braless breasts throughout dinner. Our chef for the evening served us a delicious meal, as far as I can remember it, I was good and drunk by the time dinner was over and the chef went home.

We settled into the living room for some more drinks and conversation. John sat on the sofa, my husband and I, on two chairs facing him. I can not remember how my husband did it, but he very cleverly, somehow, steered the conversation toward sex. John began talking about how he missed sex with his wife, but not anything else about her, how he wished he could find a hot Latina woman "like your wife."

"Yeah I'm a lucky man right, I mean look at those tits on my wife, look at that ass. Joan stand up and let John have a good look at you."

At this point I was feeling very aroused having my husband talk about my body in front of a strange. I did as I was told, I stood about three feet in front of John.

"Turn around and bend over honey, show John that fantastic ass."

I turned around to give him the view, then bent over as far as I could in that too tight dress.

"You know John a woman like this deserves, nice things. I mean I buy her what I can afford. But if I got a promotion and a raise, I could buy her even nicer things. Joan would be very appreciative, wouldn't you honey, if got that promotion and raise."

Between the situation and the alcohol I couldn't for the life of me form a sentence, I just murmured a "uh huh."

"Joan take off that dress and show John your tits, he has been looking at them all night, let him have a real look."

I slipped off the two straps holding up my top and pushed the dress to the floor. I was only wearing a thong, and black high heels.

John sat up when my dress dropped to the floor his hungry eyes feasting on my body, his mouth open, he swallowed hard.

My husband was in hard sell mode, "John what do you say, do I have that promotion and raise? Joan would show you her gratitude, isn't that right honey. If John gave me the promotion you would be grateful?"

I made some sort of sound to signal my agreement with that statement. I would have agreed to anything my husband said at this point. Standing naked in front of a man who is not my husband made me more than a little moist.

Finally John said, "Yeah Bob, the raise and promotion are yours pal, whatever you want."

"Great John, I know you well enough to know you are a man of your word. Joan get on your knees honey and show John how grateful you are."

John was was on his feet before my knees hit the floor. I closed the distance to John walking on my knees. He quickly unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. In front of my face was a pup tent with a big pole. My hands were shaking as I grabbed the elastic of his shorts and quickly pulled them down. His cock popped out like a jack in the box and hit me in the jaw.

I let a little scream and said; "Jesus your cock is fucking huge."

My husband said latter that those words was like a knife to his heart. It never occurred to him that his six foot plus boss had a bigger cock than him. For a smart guy he can sometimes be dense, poor dear.

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