Whore Wife

You'd think watching several schoolboys taking turns on your beloved, faithful, loving wife for three days and nights might be enough to send you to a mental institution. Up until last year, I'd have thought so myself. Turns out however no one really knows how they will feel or how they will react until they are there, in the very moment ; and what they think likely aforehand isn't worth its weight in confederate dollars.

Ever since our honeymoon, my wife and I have always taken the very same vacation, year after year. And I do mean the very same : same motel, on the same date, the same suite in eight out of eleven cases even. I'm sure that sounds monotonous to the point of physical pain and beyond, but it really wasn't all that bad. We had a great time there as newlyweds on our shoestring budget. I was nineteen and entering my third month in a real job, not one of those dead end things you do over the Summer to get some scratch together but something promising an actual career! She was going to be eighteen in six weeks. It was a teenage wedding, and the old folks did wish us well, but neither of us was born with a silver spoon and so... there just wasn't that much money sloshing around back then. Yet we were so happy! Married! At last! Husband and wife! Forever! Looking back through the decades past, there is no greater feeling, our youthful bliss drizzling sparkle and glimmer over all things big or small.

This place had always been quite inexpensive, but not really short on amenities. It had everything we were looking for in a cheap Spring vacation; great beach, great food, quiet, all of it just outside the door. There wasn't anything to dislike, except perhaps the fact that it was becoming more and more popular with the Spring breakers. They're like locusts for those of us looking for down time, and as soon as they invaded Panama City Beach it was only a matter of time before the stragglers of the swarm stumbled upon Ft. Walton.

If you have ever been to Ft. Walton beach back in the late eighties, early nineties, you know exactly what I mean -- how it used to be that great little panhandle beach, visited by none of those "independent" young men whose independence consists of the hope that one day soon the government will give them a lot of money for doing jack shit in an office all day long. You probably also remember not having to worry about getting a good room. A week's stay always broke out to around three hundred bucks and you always had folks your own age to relate to. Over the last years we watched as our little sanctuary slipped into the hands of the mighty hordes.

Yet even after the Spring breakers discovered our little piece of paradise, we continued to go. It was our place; we had too many memories to give it up. We silently agreed that if we were going to keep it our little spot we had to live with it, like it's always the case in life ; and as it turns out they really weren't all that rowdy. At least not rowdy enough to run us off.

The last year however broke the mold in so very many ways. First off we found ourselves literally surrounded by Spring breakers. For some reason this particular year the place turned into a literal magnet for the college hellions.

It took them very little time to discover that we were both educators at a community college in our hometown of Columbus, Ohio. This seemed to interest them immensely, like they were absolutely fascinated by the fact that we were normal, cool, and otherwise regular people able to have a good time. Somewhere in their minds, I'm sure they must have believed that we spent most of our free time finding new ways to flunk them into oblivion, sharpening red pencils or somesuch.

Most boys were standoffish at first, treating us like some sort of unwelcome authority impinging on their vacation, but soon enough they figured out that we were actual human beings. Very soon into the second day, we found that the back porch of our suite was becoming the ultimate hangout for some of them.

This might of course have had something to do with the fact that we always had liquor. A few of the bright young folks they were soon discovered that storing and mingling their drinkables with ours stretched their supply a whole lot further ; but then again what's the big deal. I can remember clearly still a time when an extra quart'd have made all the difference yet there was no way in hell to get it.

Most were the likable sort anyway, so we just went with it. Besides we always overbought when it came to vacation alcohol. Funny thing, my wife and I only drink a few times a year, but you'd have thought us alcoholics by the amount we purchased for those occasions.

Soon enough it became quite apparent that several of the guys, a group hailing from the University of Georgia, were awestruck with my wife, Kitty. Can't say as it was surprising, Kitty's nickname where we teach is "Ultra MILF" though typically her students don't dare admit to it before graduation. It's not as small a matter as some think, over the years we both noticed that male students almost always made far better grades in her class than in anyone else's. A willingness to put in the work, and especially to go that extra inch, makes all the difference in the world.

To me it was obviously a case of them simply trying to gain her approval. Kitty always laughingly told me it was from her revolutionary teaching skills; to which the standard rebuttal came along the lines of "spectacular legs and a black woman's ass is not a skill". Then she'd correct my broken predicate, then I'd correct her collar and then one thing'd lead to another...

She really looks like the San Fernando valley idea of a female "teacher", but how can you hold that against her ? She really loves her job and she's good at it -- neither of which found in any kind of supply with the state education's in.

News of the "super sexy MILF" spread like wildfire, notwithstanding that we don't have any children, and it rapidly thickened porch attendance. Apparently finding ways past the limitations on drinking age is a heck of a lot easier for some of these kids than finding ways past the bra straps of their friends and colleagues, judging by the response. All youthful boasts and thin pretense aside, that there were almost no girls anywhere in sight clearly showed we didn't find ourselves in the eye of the swarm, but somewhere off the center of cool, into one of the rotating arms flung out towards the endless voids of loserdom.

I sometimes wish I were more ignorant of other men gazing at Kitty, but hey. I'm neither naive nor stupid when it comes to what they are staring at; it's not the bikini, it's what's under it. She truly is gorgeous and will be stared at, especially by her male students, and males in general for that matter. I much doubt the fact that she is an educator really makes much difference -- if she were a bottle washer, the testosterone-filled young men at this motel would have been attracted to her.

Coming back from the beach on the evening of our second day there we found some of the University of Georgia kids sitting on our back porch. They had a small table pulled out, playing some kind of drinking game. It appeared the loser had to down a shot, and it further appeared all the winners had left a considerable while ago.

As we passed by towards the door, Kitty threw their way a "Boys, that's a game where even the winner's a loser in the morning." They all laughed, giddy with the attention, and immediately began heckling us to join them in somewhat unsteady terms. I'm not really the type to enter a pissing contest over simple heckling, never have been never will be. But Kitty... Kitty's another matter. She can't help herself, that's her secret, not that it makes for a particularly well hidden one. She's hard-wired for it and doesn't even know it, or doesn't want to admit it, but even when she manages to rein it in the bitten lips, the darting eyes thoroughly give the reining all away.

She didn't even try, this time, but ferociously fired right back. "First of all, most of you lightweights are already buzzed ; and second, I'm not one of your little girly buddies who follows you around and fakes being tipsy after a shot. Oh, Brian, oh, Stan, that one shot made me a little dizzy."

That she said what she said would have been one thing ; that she slid her left shoulder back and then forth just as she was saying "little" however ... that was quite another thing. She's anything but little, and in a bikini it shows on all sides. Even from behind it shows, and as she turned on a dime right after shooting her dart, the guys were stoked.

Can't say as I could blame them -- her posterior is by very far her best asset, not that she's short in all the others. But I've never seen an ass like hers on a white girl before, nor did anyone else. She got it, that's all there is to it. So they uuuh'd and they aaaah'd and then she said something and then they said something else and back and forth the darts, slingshots and arrows flowed.

We must have been there for half an hour, before finally breaking the encounter off, of course with firm promises to soon settle the matter once and for all flowing from all sides. I must say I was trying my damnedest not to laugh throughout, because I knew full well what a lightweight she is in the drinking department. Yet there she was, trying to bluff guys who apparently majored in drinking.

We went in to shower and change into normal clothes. I went in first, and came out first. All the yakking and before all that sun definitely made me thirsty, so I poured myself a large vodka tonic out of their booze "to catch up a little" and we all settled in waiting for Kitty. They must have told me a hundred times all about how they were going to take her to school on drinking, bragging about what power drinkers they were, how many times they had played this, and how much they could hold.

It made an odd impression, coming from the farmed chicken bodies arrayed around my porch. When I was a kid, men looked like men, their bodies developing naturally into their god given shape by sun and wind and heavy loads ; but these kids looked more like a haphazard agglomeration of overcooked pasta. "Hold it" ? Hold what, where ? Muscle lets you hold it, but neither skin nor bone soaks all that well. I actually began wondering if anyone would be coherent by the time she came back out ; with every passing minute I was more and more convinced Kitty had called it about most of them ending up in the floor. They were pounding beer and shots with emphasis, but it was all so fake, so meta. Drinking for telling the story of how you drunk, seriously ? What's even the point in that ?

Just as I was about to call it good and join Kitty back inside, figuring she decided against coming out, she slid the glass door open and beamed.

She wasn't wearing normal clothes. She had instead changed into another bikini. This thing she had on... well for one thing she absolutely never wore before. I had bought it for her a coupla years ago, figuring I might be able to convince her to put it on when we're all alone, but she wouldn't hear of it. There was very little material involved, the bottoms consisted of strings, with a tiny patch in front maybe two inches, and so low cut it finished exactly above the snatch, exposing the pubic hair. She had shaved completely smooth however, something she very rarely does, though I enjoy it every time.

Incredibly enough, the top was the most scandalous part of the ensemble however. Nothing but strings again, with tiny strips of fabric covering the nipple strictly, a couple of inches on the longest side. The material was thin, and would become transparent if it got wet, but even dry you could distinctly make out her engorged nipples with their delicious Montgomery bumps. Her large breasts swayed freely, and altogether the ensemble left nothing to the imagination.

She winked at me, all smiles, and sat herself down opposite. The kids observed a moment of breathless silence, then the first one to manage collecting his jaw from off the floor mouthed "Mr. and Mrs. Arnett, please forgive me, but I have to say this, Kitty, you are positively the sexiest college professor alive."

She quickly giggled, and slapping him on the shoulder said "Don't try to soften me up, buddy boy, you'll be passed out soon and I'm gonna be laughing at you tomorrow. That is if you can eke your way out of bed in the morning after the hangover I'm gonna put on ya."

That had the effect of thunderbolt in an oilfield -- everybody was on fire. I just sat watching, cracking up as they played their drinking game with all the concentrated attention of a moon landing mission, as if doing it precisely right was the deciding factor in whether they'd get some. After several rounds, one of them said "Mr. Arnett, with the utmost respect, sir, I believe your wife is cheating so we might need to raise the stakes."

I simply laughed. "Yes, she does appear to be kicking your asses. What's on our mind?"

He immediately spit out "Strip shots." and then choked. The rest just hooter and hollered.

Kitty was only three shots in, and she cut him off "Oh, aren't we funny. For one thing I'm winning ; for the other thing you lot are overdressed."

I suppose this is where I admit that I'm not just a little aware when other guys look at her. I'm very aware, and I fucking love it. Always have, even since we were kids. We've had a game of our own we've been playing ever since forever, because I always enjoyed her purposeful flirting and told her many times over the years how much it turned me on. So in fairness her coming out the way she did was not exactly inexplicable but on the contrary -- she probably figured the kids for harmless, and knew how much I would cherish the moment for many years to come. She's usually a lot more conservative with these things than me, but still after playing our little game a bunch of times she did finally confess that it kind of turned her on too.

Throughout she always insisted that flirting was the limit though, that the naughtiness of it was quite enough. She'd say the only reason she went along with it was because of how it paid off in our bedroom, but I don't know about that. Still, she always emphasized this, perhaps in no small part because of the one and only time I ever told her about a wild fantasy of mine, a fantasy involving watching her fuck another man. It was a file her brain seemed to refused to process. She later told me that she thought the only reason a man would have such a fantasy would be because consciously or otherwise he just wanted to justify being with another woman, a case of "you fucked another guy, I'm going to fuck another woman." I understood what she was saying, but it really had nothing to do.

So flirting in front of me became our spicy compromise.

The young men magically got ever drunker by every passing moment, a strange sort of drunkendess, very obvious and demonstrative. Most men, and certainly most kids, shut down sooner or later, but these guys just got ever more obviously, complexly drunk. They also kept needling her, insisting that "Strip Shots" separated the chicken-shits from the real players. Somehow they didn't forget about that, drunk as they were.

God love her too, she was so into winning she didn't even see the setup being orchestrated. I knew full well that they were basically pretending, letting her win and carefully timing their moment for that great payoff where she'd be sitting there completely nude.

I can't say I disagreed with the plan, even if the difference between dressed as she was and naked as the day she was born was more a matter of definitions than anything. But the idea of having my wife completely naked, not a single stitch on her, standing on our back porch for all to see was simply intoxicating, and it made me drunker than any of the kids were. Perhaps even drunker than any of them even pretended to be.

It turned me on like all hell. I've seen Kitty bare a million times. Of course I have. But it was never in front of a pack of horny young men, and apparently it makes a difference. A huge difference. I hadn't been that hard in years and years. So I mostly kept my mouth shut, now and again blurting out encouragement like "awe hell, baby, you're cleaning their clocks" or "they'll be the ones sitting there looking silly" and so on.

She playfully put her feet up on the table and tightly wrapped her arms around her legs, almost like trying to completely cover herself. She giggled and teased them about how dressed they are, and how unfair it'd all be. Every guy there had his eyes glued to the crotch of her bikini, as she sat with her feet up and her arms wrapped around her knees. She would then lean back, and it was wildly teasing as her extremely tiny bottoms would ride ever so slightly down and show plainly what might well have been the top of her cleft, while tightly snuggling everything else. Then she'd wrap back onto herself.

She didn't seem to realize it but she was playing right into their ploy. I was definitely inching it along, pumping her up with whatever my mind could find in the frenzy of the moment. Ultimately I figured what the hell; I would love nothing more than to see her slip her bikini off in front of them. I had no clue whether she would go through with it or not, but either way what did I have to lose ? There's no doubt she was in rare form ; but in my judgement not nearly intoxicated enough to actually go through with it. A hard call though, I have been married to her for many years but in the unpredictable condition she was in I didn't know for sure what she would do.

After several more passes back and forth, negotiations ensued, and after lengthy and amply slurred deliberations it was established that everyone will have to take a shot at the same time ; that if any of the boys is slower than her she wins the round and the slowpoke has to take off one article ; that if any of the boys end up completely naked they all have to strip naked, throw all their clothes off the cliff into the ocean, apologize to her on their hands and knees for their impudence and walk back to their place as they are ; that if she loses a round she has to take off one article ; that her shoes -- she wore a pair of splendid, shiny gold heels, too high for any practical use but apparently perfect for drunken revelry -- do not count as an item of clothing and she can't take them off ; that her top is actually one item of clothing, all evidence to the contrary be damned, and counts as such ; that her bottoms is another, which gives her two ; that if she gets completely naked she will have to slow dance with each and every one of them ; that because she's the woman and so she makes the rules (her words) she gets immunity, in the sense that until one of them is stripped to nothing but underwear she doesn't have to take anything off no matter what happens.

At this point I added that, in order for it to be clear who are the kids and who are the adults they should take their shoes and socks off before they start and play the game barefoot. I was trying to discreetely suggest to her the nature of the trap, but she either didn't see it or didn't care to ; and their enthusiastic agreement failed to tip her off. So they piled their sneakers and socks under the table, then everyone pinky-shook on a final recital of the rules, and then within two seconds everything was done. I saw it in my head before I saw it with my eyes : the boys all as one dropped their khakis and shirts before her bulging eyes ; the shot was called, and they had all sucked it dry, each and every last one of them, before she could even lift it to her mouth.

Kitty was staring in disbelief at half a dozen kids in their underwear. A couple wore boxers, three wore briefs, closely outlining their adolescent package. She gazed at them for the longest time, until one finally offered "that's the bra, Mrs. Arnett, if you please".

Kitty looked at him, a tall boy with a very handsome mane of dark hair, and then murmured "Call me Kitty."

She then stood up and turned around, so as to let him undo her bra strap tied behind her back. He quickly stepped to her, and after undoing her bra he pulled her in, peeled the material off and fondled her breasts, forearms crossed on her chest, elbows pushing her closely into him. Kitty looked at me, in a stranger's arms, his fingers squeezing her left nipple by now engorged to a gargantuan size. She smiled sweetly, and her smile is forever burned into my memory. I smiled right back. I will never forget that moment.

The others hooted and hollered but were barely audible in the background. After what surely was a brief moment even if it felt like an eternity entire, she broke off his embrace, turned towards the rest and said "I guess we best get this over with, huh guys ?"

The place errupted into pandemonium, they were giddy with their triumph, thoroughly intoxicated by it. They mocked her playfully for being the little girl, that shouldn't have gotten herself mixed up with real men. Mouths writing checks asses can't cash were mentioned, though considering her gluteal endowment the proposition was pretty entertaining. Especially in those bikinis, Kitty looked like she could cash the whole Navy yearly budget. Twice.

One of them, a freckled kid with shortish red hair proposed that she'd better give up, apologize for her misdeeds and cut a deal, to make things easy on herself. This stopped them all in their tracks, and silence reigned. Apparently they hadn't considered the humiliatory angle of making her strip without even doing the second round before.

"What would that entail, Sir ?" Kitty asked in an incredibly meek voice, looking at him from under her eyelashes with a smile in the corner of her mouth. That sweet, delicious meek voice I know well, because after that day I had her do it so many countless times...

"You would have to admit you are no match for us" the red haired kid started, to a ton of "Yeah!" interjected from the others, "and admit defeat and take off your panties" the raucous group exploded and then settled down "and then dance with each of us like we agreed."

"But can we do it inside ?" Kitty asked meekly.

"Sure. However, if you don't do a good job dancing you will have to be punished."

"How will I be punished sir ?" she asked, intensely.

"Tickling!" I burst off from the side. Kitty turned towards me, her eyes open wide. She told me later she was expecting me to put an end to it any moment, not to sell her down the river. Because you see, Kitty has one true chink in her armor. It's not her heels like that Greek warrior, but pretty much everything else. Kitty is easily the most ticklish person I ever met, it's crazy.

Everyone thought this a fabulous idea, so without a word Kitty peeled off the remainder of her bathing suit -- in the process exposing to everyone just how exciting the night's festivities had been for her, in the shape of one long, thick strand that glistened in the moonlight. Her panties were entirely soaked through.

Once the tribe made it inside and settled down around the chairs and on the bed, I started fiddling with the alarm radio to find a blues station or something, while the immensity of her situation started dawning on her. Our room was overrun with strange boys, or strange men, or something in between. She couldn't even protest, she was in fact the one who had asked for this as a favour! She looked pretty confused and overwhelmed, but for some reason this translated into a very genuine submissiveness. She faintly inquired with the leader of the group how would she know when she's done a good job dancing ; and when he told her to speak up so everyone can hear she blushed an intense pink and repeated herself barely a shade louder.

They heard her alright, and a sandy blonde kid with buckteeth that had somehow ended up in possession of her panties shot out

"Well Kitty, see how soaked wet your panties are ?"

"Yes" she stammered, blushing deeper.

"That's how you know. When we're wet like that, you did a good job."

"Oh".

The atmosphere was getting incredibly charged, and for the first time that night I wondered if I will finally get to see Kitty being pounded by another man. Or five, as the case may be. Just as "Wicked Game" sprouted out of the radio, a shorter, pudgy kid that was the least loud of the entire lot pushed his way in, asking for the first dance.

Kitty, completely naked except for her heels, embraced the kid, his nose right into the nook of her neck. They took a couple of steps, her breasts swaying gently to the music, her hands clasped on his back. The kid's boxers, somewhat tented before, suddenly relaxed, and his face took up an expression of utter bliss.

"Are you done ?" she asked with a sweet, innocent smile

"Yes Mrs. Arnett." he replied sheepishly.

"Did I do a good job ?" she inquired affably

"Oh yes. Oh yes very good", the boy stammered.

She shot me a smile over the shoulder. Who knew Kitty enjoyed doing a good job so much.

Next up was the tall, muscular guy with black hair. She leaned her head on his chest sweetly, his respectable erection pushing at her belly, above her pubic bone. She slowly lowered her left hand, from his back to his buttocks, rubbing him softly at first, then harder. As her hand slowly made its way in between his cleft, and grabbed hold of his balls through his briefs his eyes rolled out and he tensed then went limp.

"Are your briefs all wet, Sir ?" she inquired playfully.

"Yeah. They are."

"So did I do a good job ?" she purred.

"Excellent job, Kitty."

Chris Isaak wasn't yet done when the third kid, with incredible blue eyes, hair buzzed short, found his way in Kitty's warm embrace. He was also shorter than her, but only by a shade, and otherwise in great shape. His penis, evidently very long, pushed his elastic briefs far away from his body. Kitty straddled it without visible hesitation, forcing it between her thighs and squeezing it hard there. A moment later, as she leaned way out to give him a good view of her great rack, he convulsed and that was it.

That song is only about four minutes long, yet Kitty had gone through three of the five kids and there was still plenty of time! The lawyery red head moved in, but instead of embracing him like the others she spun him around, and grabbed him from behind. He started to protest just as she leaned in to nibble on his ear, which stopped him dead. He was all tense and barely moving. As she whispered in his ear, her hands moved delicately towards his crotch, and she pulled his briefs all the way down, exposing him. She gently cupped his balls so all could see, looking at me the whole time, then grew her grip firmer by degrees. Her other hand moved to his shaft, and stroked him, equally softly at first, and then firmer, without touching the head at all.

Mere moments later the kid shot two strings of seed clear across the room, and dribbled some more, at which point the strangest thing happened. She didn't let go. On the contrary, she moved her hand further and further up the shaft, rubbing his head with every stroke, harder and harder. He ached and bucked but she held him firmly in place, still whispering in his ear.

Eventually he screamed "Yes you did! You did a very good job! You did the best job ever!" She let him go, and he collapsed in a pile, writhing.

The song ended, and in the brief interulde the last kid, a tall, slender fellow approached her smiling.

"You're screwed, Kitty." he declared, neutrally.

"I am ?" she inquired coyly

"These guys are virgins." came the retort, cooly. "I'm not. You can't get it out in a few minuntes. Nobody can."

Just then the music came back on. Do you know Bill Withers ? That song of his which goes something like "I wanna spread the news that if it feels this good being used you just keep on using me until you use me up" ? Great song.

She tried her best, but she couldn't get it. The best laid plans of boys and kittens do often go awry ; she had protected herself splendidly from the obvious threat of the red head, who was probably going to claim she didn't do a good job no matter what she did, but she was entirely unprepared for the sexually mature among the hollering lot.

She looked one step away from getting on her knees and honest to god sucking him off just as the song faded out. The boys all grinned, sheepishly but visibly, their erections starting to recuperate. Slowly, but visibly. Kitty looked at the boy that broke her despondently.

"How did I do, sir ?"

"Actually Kitty", came the friendly retort, "you did pretty great, considering. What do you think ?"

Yet she hung her head in pretended shame. "I think I will have to be punished." she said with a giggle. The giggle was contagious, and everyone agreed she will definitely had to be punished.

As she leaned back on the bed to meet her punishment, she said while inching towards me but without looking at me at all : "My husband will have to hold my wrists back though. Make sure I can't do anything about it."

I grabbed her wrists, her ass was kind-of on the edge of the bed, her feet resting on the ground. Within a moment the entire tribe was piled on top of her on the bed, and she was clenching and bucking spasmodically. They got her soles, which made her display her glistening crack every which way, they did her belly, her breasts, the sides of her body, armpits, everything. I kept giving them directions, which they more or less followed, as to how best defeat every position she'd try to wrap herself into.

Eventually, as she wrapped her knees tightly to her chest I let go of her wrists and grabbed her ankles instead. She turned to look at me as I separated her legs, and nodded at the slender guy. "Put it in right there". He didn't need any further encouragement : his underwear was off and his penis plunged into my well lubricated wife in the blink of an eye. The blink of her eye, as it happened. I briefly let go of her ankles to undo my own pants, and just as her mouth was opening to protest, or inquire, or just pant I lodged my cock right in there. She began sucking it immediately, with a hunger I've rarely seen.

She seemed to concentrate entirely into her mouth, and on my crotch, completely forgetting what was going on at the other end. I grabbed her ankles again, enjoying the backlash in her legs as the other guy fucked her in a steady rhythm.

Moments later I was finished ; and the slender guy pumping her hairless cunt looked at me questioningly. I motioned for him to come over, so he left her with a loud plop -- that's how hard she was squeezing him down -- and put his cock in her mouth. She started sucking him off without skipping a beat, and much later she confessed that she really wanted to taste that cock after it botched her dancing victory.

"Who's next ?" I asked, to muted silence. "Come on," I prodded them, "free cunt here! Who wants a go at my wife's slutty cunt ?" As I said that she pushed the cock in her mouth as far down her throat as it would go, and her left hand slid over and started rubbing her clit through the hood. Moments later she was bucking in the throes of a massive orgasm.

The redhead stepped up. "I'll fuck your wife, Mr. Arnett", he offered, "but on one condition."

"What's that ?"

"I'm not pulling out."

His words drove the other guy to come in her mouth, and got me hard again. "Go right ahead" I muttered, trying to catch my breath. The first, pudgy kid approached her, his tiny, boyish penis standing at attention while the slender, resilient kid stood by the side of the bed, looking around in a daze. Kitty swallowed the little guy greedily, and as I was admiring the view of my beloved wife with a cock in each end while a third was dripping overhead I let out a "Wipe your cock in her hair. Let her feel like the slut she is". He grinned and did it, and moments later, feeling he is approaching, she took the small cock out of her mouth and received its sticky bounty on her face and ear.

She then licked her lips, looking at me wild eyed, just as the red head unloaded inside her. He fell back practically on his ass, his semen oozing out of her. I immediately moved in, hooked her legs up my shoulders and gave her one hell of a trashing, the warm goo of my predecessor sloshing around inside her very dilated vagina. It was glorious.

I fucked the hell out of her, while she sucked off the other boys or they just jacked off all over her. Somewhere in between.

My fantasy was progressing in leaps and bounds. Many times in the past I had fantasized about another man fucking her while I watched, but the timing and right series of events never really fell into place. Oh, how they did when they finally did!

Even though these events transpired in only seconds, I missed nothing. The one thought in the back of my mind was that Kitty could have stopped it at any moment, yet she never did. That actually drove me more erotically insane. The fact that she wasn't merely pretending to be a slut for whatever reason, but actually was, in point of fact and honest to god a slut like any other, like a call girl or a stripper or any streetwalking hooker made me love her like dear life, and I drove into her like into concrete.

I was still fucking her like a maniac when the boys said goodbye. I could hear them scrape up their shoes from under the table while I drove into her ten thousand rpm, and then silence. I probably fucked her for half an hour, maybe more. When I finally came I passed out ; and only came to with the dawn.

She was right there, watching me sleep, playing with my hair. I smiled. She smiled back.

"My god, that was intense!" I blurted out.

"Wasn't it though..." she said pensively.

There was a silence, as the memories of the previous night came flooding in.

"Do you hate me now ?" she asked, like a child.

"No baby. I love you."

"But I'm a slut now." she offered, timidly.

"Yes, you are. You are the wildest slut ever, and you just got gangbanged in a motel room like an ordinary whore by like... six guys."

"Oh, you!" she swatted at me. "You made me do it you know."

"That's right, I did. Did you like it ?"

"Uhmm...." she started then broke into a giggle.

"Tell the truth Kitty. How great is it to be a total slut ?"

"It's fucking great!" she finally let out.

"And now that you're turned out, you're going to be doing a whole lot of this, aren't you."

"If you say so."

"That's right, I do."

She cooed softly "Anything you say, honey. Anything you say."

"There's a catch, though."

"What's that ?"

"Do you have your pills ?"

"Ah don't worry about that. I took one this morning, I didn't skip any."

"Bring them over."

"I'm telling you I took..."

"Just bring them over!" I said, assertively. She huffed and puffed, but took off and came back with the pill case. I opened up all the compartments, poured all the tiny pills in my hand, opened the window with the other hand and flung them out into the landscape.

"What the hell..."

"That's right Kitty. If you're going to be a slut you have to face the consequences." she looked at me with wide open eyes. "All the consequences" I underscored.

"But that means..."

"That's right."

"Will you still love me ?"

"I will still love you, Kitty."

"Even as my belly swells up with another man's baby ?" she probed, incredulously.

"How much of a total slut you are will be our little secret." I reassured her. "Nobody has to know, and we won't tell them."

"Oh Martin..." she cooed, wrapping herself tightly around me. We drifted to sleep.