My Hubby Made me a Whore
by
Chastity Foelds
Copyright 2011 Chastity Foelds
Smashwords Edition
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I am my Hubby’s Whore
-1-
A Lunch Date
“He did NOT say that to you!”
Sarah had trouble looking her best friend in the eye. The three-bean salad, which Sarah normally loved, had been thoroughly mauled by her fork without her ever taking a bite. The food court swirled with activity around them; mall shoppers hurrying about their business. The shoppers’ business was shopping, of course. Sarah and Monica’s business was all about support—support that Sarah sorely needed.
“He did,” Sarah replied.
“How dare he!” said Monica. She popped the last of her mandarin chicken in her mouth and chewed patiently. “How long have you been married?”
“Seven years,” Sarah said, putting down her plastic fork. I surrender, she thought.
“And how exactly did he say it?” Monica asked.
“Tom said, and I quote, ‘Maybe we’d be better off if you had had more experience before we got married.’”
Monica gestured with her fork. “And he was talking about sex?”
“Definitely,” Sarah replied. “I had just finished going down on him.”
“What a jackass!” Monica ran her paper napkin over her fingers. “I can’t imagine how you could have had MORE experience.”
Sarah finally smiled. “Nice, call me a whore. Some best friend you are.” Sarah picked up her fork and flicked a kidney bean at Monica, which Monica easily ducked. Monica stuck out her tongue.
“Thirty-two years old and flinging food in a food court? Very mature,” Monica said.
“I get a waiver on maturity,” Sarah said. “I’m upset.”
“Waiver granted,” Monica said. “Did you ever think that perhaps you should have been more honest with Tom about your past?”
Although Sarah had thought about that, she paused to consider it once more, and then Sarah said, “No. I did the right thing. Tom is so straight-laced, and such a good provider. He’s traditional. If I’d told him the truth about how many partners I’ve had, he never would have married me.”
“Maybe that would have been better,” Monica said. Immediately, Sarah’s eyes welled up. Monica reached over the table and held Sarah’s hand. “I didn’t mean that, honey,” Monica said. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry.”
Sarah squeezed Monica’s hand and got herself under control—barely. There was no way she was breaking down in the middle of the mall food court. Monica’s hand was smooth and firm. Monica had a strong, comforting grip, but was also capable of gentle caresses.
“Tom only had three sexual partners prior to me,” Sarah said. “He would have totally flipped out if I told him the truth.”
“So he knows nothing,” Monica said, “about your groupie days? About the Limp Bizkit tour? The night of a dozen swallows?”
“No,” Sarah said, blushing slightly. “None of that. And I don’t want him to ever. Tom is a very vanilla kind of guy.”
Monica took both of Sarah’s hands in hers. “Maybe a little spice is what he needs. Maybe he’s too shy to ask,” Monica said.
“Maybe,” Sarah said, “but I doubt it. He thinks I’m boring and inexperienced.”
“Nonsense,” Monica said. “Want me to have a talk with him? Or better yet, as they say in my fiction class: Show, Don’t Tell. Maybe I should come over and we could relive our night in Boston after the Goo Goo Dolls concert. Right in front of him! That would spin his bowtie!”
“I’d LOVE that,” Sarah said. “Truth is, Tom is VERY boring in bed. But I couldn’t do that in front of him. He’d be mortified. Too bad, because it’s been ages, and I could use a wild fucking.”
Just at that moment, the mall Muzak was between songs, and it seemed like Sarah’s last word was particularly loud. The worst words always seemed to carry. “Sarah!” Monica said with a giggle.
“I don’t care,” Sarah said with a sniffle. “It’s true. But I’ve put up with it, because that’s what married people are supposed to do, right? For better or for worse, right?”
Monica stood up and tossed brought both their trays to the trash. When she returned, Sarah’s temple was resting on her palms, her elbows on the table.
“Come on, you,” Monica said. “I’m going to treat you to a pair of sexy shoes that do wonders for your legs and bad things for your reputation.”
Sarah nodded her head, stood up, and walked out of the food court with Monica’s arm draped over her shoulders. Sarah made it all the way to DSW’s window before she started bawling. Monica held her tightly and cooed softly. Sarah sobbed out, “I think my marriage is falling apart.”
-2-
Prepare for Seduction
Sarah parked the Lexus in her and Tom’s attached garage, gathered her packages, and tapped the automatic door closer before heading into the house. Monica’s shopping-therapy had proven fleetingly effective. Now that Sarah was alone again, in her big, empty house, gravity seemed to have redoubled intensity.
Once upstairs, in the bedroom, Sarah placed her shopping bags on the hope chest at the foot of their king-sized bed. She took the shoes out of their bag and box, and then plucked the pink tissue paper from beneath the toe straps. The black leather sandals had a five-inch heel and a narrow ankle strap. The heels did do wonders for Sarah’s legs, and the open toe highlighted her recent pedicure quite nicely. She wondered if Tom would even notice.
He didn’t seem to notice anything these days. Anything, that is, to do with Sarah.
Sarah got a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. Ugh. Hoodie, khakis, and crocs—a complete asexual ensemble! She’d gone to the mall a completely shapeless mess. I’ve become a frumpy, middle-aged housewife, Sarah thought. Oh, no wonder Tom doesn’t look twice at me. Do I walk around like this all the time? Monica was right—I needed some shopping-therapy. Hopefully, it worked. Sarah tore her eyes away from the mirror in disgust, and returned to her packages.
In the garment bag, Sarah found the black sequined cocktail dress that Monica had insisted she buy. It matched the shoes perfectly. The hemline was miles above her knees. Sarah hadn’t worn anything this short since her days studying graphic design at the Fashion Institute. Well, maybe it was about time she did. Sarah needed Tom to see her as a sexual creature, and the subtle approach had been a dismal failure. Holding the dress up in front of her, Sarah looked in the mirror. Whew! Good thing she wasn’t planning to leave the house in this. If she did, she’d have to be careful not to bend over. It was sleeveless, which Sarah liked. That would highlight her hours of aerobics. Sarah thought her shoulders and arms were nicely toned. The last thing she wanted was bye-bye arms, where the loose flesh at the back of one’s arms waved as wildly as one’s hands. So far, Sarah had avoided any hint of going to flab. It took more and more effort as the years went by, and Sarah didn’t mind, but she’d like Tom to notice.
So why didn’t Tom want her? He was always kind to her. That was never a problem. But Tom was a bit of a cold fish. Perhaps Sarah shouldn’t be surprised that an accountant was a cold fish, but she was. And there was zero chance that Tom had a woman on the side. He was too straight-laced for that, and besides, he lacked the sex drive. Add to that the little pooch that working at a desk had added to his body, and he wasn’t exactly philanderer material. Yet, it was a body that Sarah loved. They still had sex, but it was almost like a chore or a duty for Tom.
Sarah longed for the carnality of her youth.
She decided to opt instead for the safe haven of neglected at-home-wives everywhere—a soak in the tub. She drew the water for the bath, and then fetched the Bath and Body Works bag, with the Paris Amour bubble bath. Once it was in the water, the scent of apples and tulips filled the steamy bathroom. It was starting to feel a bit decadent. What was needed here, Sarah thought, is a nice bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, for utter decadence.
Sarah went down to the kitchen and pulled the cork on a bottle, filling a healthy glass for herself. Five o’clock. Good timing. Tom would be home at seven. She wrapped some ice cubes in a washcloth, grabbed the full wine glass, and went into the living room, where she lit the gas fireplace. Then she headed upstairs.
Sarah went up to the bedroom and pulled off her hoodie and khakis, then shucked her bra and undies. The mirror confirmed what had been hidden by her lumpy attire—Sarah had an attractive, desirable body. Who wouldn’t want to jump these bones?
Out of habit, Sarah opened the panel inside the hope chest that covered the hidden compartment. Her waterproof vibrator was right on top of the concealed trove. Sarah grabbed the wine glass, ice cubes, and the vibrator and walked into the steamy bath. The bare soles of her feet slid slightly on the warm, dewy tiles. She placed the glass, ice cubes, and sex toy within reach of the tub, and then slowly slid into the water. It was hot. So hot, she had to lift her tush and ease it down again, gently.
The bubble bath imbued the water with the quality of a silky caress. Sarah moved her knees up and down, enjoying the sensation of parts of her thighs rubbing together. Sarah slouched down and let the silky water close over her head. When she came up for air, Sarah felt baptized with new sexual energy. The wine and the bubble bath were doing their jobs.
Sarah’s mind drifted back to her days as a groupie, and being back stage with the band—whichever band—and feeling so sexual that a mere touch on her skin would bring new life to her body. It was as if she were made of electricity back then. The sweaty rock stars, and wannabe rock stars, oozed confidence and fire, and they wanted her. They wanted Sarah. And she had wanted them. Their cocks were hard and her pussy was willing, and she’d never felt more like a goddess than when she was down on her knees, playing a lead guitarist like the instrument he’d been playing on stage only moments before. Sarah would tease sounds out of them that were music to her ears. It was all so delicious, and so satisfying.
The water in front of her privates seemed ten degrees warmed than the rest. As she usually did, Sarah reached for the waterproof vibrator. She craved release. She needed release. The gentle whirring that accompanied her flicking of the setting switch was almost enough to arouse her to completion. Almost.
But Sarah turned the vibrator off, and placed it back down. No, she thought. Maybe it was her fault that Tom wasn’t all over her. Maybe it was her fault because she sought satisfaction here, in the tub, instead of with Tom. For once, Sarah was going to let the sexual tension build up, and see where it took her.
Shame on you, Sarah thought, for doing this to Tom.
Sarah took another sip of wine and looked out through the clouded windows that surrounded the tub. Their home was not an estate, but it was perfectly sumptuous. It was big, and the yard was professionally landscaped. Outside, by the pool, were two topiary bushes, etched into the shape of Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse. That was Tom’s idea. That was Tom’s vision of what he and Sarah were: Mickey and Minnie.
Sarah pressed the washcloth filled with ice cubes on her eyes, hoping to erase any trace of swelling from her crying. Her thoughts wandered.
Maybe it was his lack of imagination that limited Tom sexually. Sarah was a graphic designer by training. Imagination was her stock in trade. Tom was an accountant. When they’d met, Sarah had been very impressed that he was a vice-president of accounting. It seemed quite the accomplishment, especially since he wasn’t even thirty yet. However, now it was eight years later, and Tom was still a VP of accounting, and there were dozens upon dozens of VPs at the firm. Perhaps the title didn’t mean as much as Sarah had first thought.
Still, it was Sarah’s job to supply the imagination in this relationship. She was sure of that now. And shame on you for not stepping up, Sarah thought.
Sarah got out of the tub, dried herself off, wrapped a plush towel around her, and dried her hair. Once her hair was set, she worked lotion onto her legs until her legs glistened as if she were wearing the sheerest of stockings.
Undergarments were not desirable tonight, so she didn’t wear any. They wouldn’t be leaving the house, anyway. The dress slipped easily over her head, and with a bit of difficulty she managed to get it zipped up on her own. It was snug. Short and snug. The sexy shoes slid nicely onto her feet. Sarah noticed that when she sat down, the dress rode scandalously high. She sat at her makeup table and set to work on her eyes, which always took the longest. At least the puffiness was gone. Her eyes done, Sarah continued with her makeup, finishing with the Harlot Red lip-gloss that Monica had insisted upon. Once finished, Sarah got up and strode over to the full-length mirror. The elegant and sexy shoes lent her a confidence she didn’t have an hour ago. She checked herself out in the mirror, giving a quarter turn both left and right. “Oh yeah,” Sarah said. “I’d fuck me. I’d SO fuck me, hard.”
The garage door opener triggered, and Sarah knew Tom was home. She had almost forgotten about the vibrator! She quickly went into the bathroom, grabbed the sex toy, and unlocked the hidden compartment in the hope chest. Sarah tossed the vibrator on top of the dog collar, the leather brassiere, the strap-on, and the edible panties—all things she’d never shown Tom—and she locked them away.
Sarah heard the kitchen door open. She sauntered downstairs.
It’s go time, she thought.
-3-
The Seduction
Tom turned in the hallway. The click of Sarah’s heels on the oak stair riders seemed to pull his attention. “Whoa!” Tom said. “Are we going somewhere tonight? If so, I totally forgot. And I’m shot. I had a bear of a day at work.”
Sarah didn’t answer him. She locked gazes, and continued to descend the stairs. Tom was still holding the mail when she stood inches in front of him.
“You forgot to get the mail,” Tom said. “Are you feeling okay?”
Sarah took the mail from Tom’s hand and tossed it on the floor. Then she started untying Tom’s tie. Her eyes kept a steady beam on his, and she tried to send him a telepathic message: fuck me.
The flames in the fireplace danced a merry dance at the end of the living room. The fresh orchids Sarah had bought at the beginning of the week cast a sweet and sultry perfume about them. “Don’t you think,” Tom said, “that a wife should answer her husband’s questions?”
Ugh. What was he, from the nineteen-fifties? And why didn’t HE ever buy the fresh cut flowers?
Sarah ignored those thoughts as best she could, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his oxford shirt. “Who’s your wife?” Sarah said. “I’m Jezebel. Your boss called the agency and had me sent me over. He thinks you work too hard.” Sarah traced her nails down his chest. It wasn’t quite so sexy, because of his white tee, but what the hell?
“Well…” Tom said, “I do work too hard. And you do look very attractive.”
Very attractive, Sarah’s thoughts screamed. What was I, his Aunt Mamie from Iowa? Accountancy had neutered his language. Sarah needed some encouragement. Maybe she could draw it out of him. “Very attractive?” Sarah said. “I’m a sexy love bus, and I want to take you for a ride.”
Tom smiled and thought for a moment.
God, Tom, Sarah thought, take me in your arms and plant a passionate kiss on me. Carry me up the stairs in utter abandon. Throw me on the floor and rip my dress off. Do something!
“Won’t my wife mind if I sleep with a hooker?” Tom said.
Now that was more like it. Playful. Sarah put her arms around his neck and pulled herself up on tippy toes, brushing her breasts against Tom’s chest. “I’m an escort,” Sarah said. “An exquisite escort with mad talents. Hookers work truck stops and street corners. And your wife won’t mind. She’d like you to cut loose and get your freaky on.”