The Price of Pussy

by qhml1

Tags: Ma/Fa,

Desc: Romantic Story: What price Pussy? Our protagonist, a researcher, researches a way to put monetary value on sex and betrayal

I was in the dining room, my 'office'. When we leased the house, it came partially furnished, and the table could eassily seat eight, ten in a pinch. It was perfect for my haphazard filing system, and often you couldn't even see the table. When Cindy was offered a promotion, with a considerable pay raise if she located, I was all for it. Michigan winters were starting to wear on me.

She hated my job, for some undefined reason. I think the fact that it was actually a business, with me as owner, and the fact that I didn't have a commute, could eat breakfast and go to work in my underwear if I wanted, irritated her no end.

I was a researcher. Give me a subject and I would dig until I got as close to everything you could about the subject. I didn't do a lot of science or mathematics, because iIdidn't have the technical skill it needed, and I didn't like to do people, because it wasn't really research, it was a search for dirt.

Doing a favor for a friend while I was laid up with a broken leg started me off. When questioned by his company as to when he had time to do such an in depth report, he gave them my name. Soon I was doing work for that company, which led to another company, which led me to having to pick and choose assignments, because I didn't have time to do everything.

It paid very, very well. In fact, I made roughly three times what Cindy made, even after her promotion. She never knew it though, because after she made fun of me not being the main breadwinner, I stopped talking to her about what I did. I made sure I put as much as she did into the checking account, keeping the rest in a business account. She said she didn't care what I made, but my security cameras catch once every month or two, looking through my stuff. I treated it like a game, even once 'accidentally' leaving a password where she could find it. She logged on immediately, but I had filled the file with so much junk she gave up after a while.

Part of her promotion included a country club membership, and she insisted we attend events, mostly sponsored by her company, but some purely social. I thought I cleaned up pretty well, but it seemed it was never quite enough. It didn't take me long to realize it didin't matter what part of the country you were in, assholes are universal.

The guys bragged about how much better they were at everything than everybody else, in business, sexual conquests that included the wives ir their friends often, and sports. I grinned wwhen they talked about golf. Before taking one of the three academic scholarships I'd been offered as a high school senior, I'd had two more for golf.

The women bragged about how much their men made, their latest body enhancements, how the husbands of their friends ranked in size and skill as lovers. Cindy loved the whole scene. It bored me to tears, but I went when she wanted me to.

Then, three months ago, Cindy started changing. Skirts and dresses with higher hem lines replaced the pants she usually wore to work. Sensible shoes were replaced by heels. She cut her hair and changed the color. And she was short tempered and snappish, while our love life all but disappeared.

Talking to her resulted in slammed doors and sulking. Doing what I do best, I invested a little time, hired a couple of experts, and it led me to where I was today.

I heard the door slam, the clacking of her heels across the floor. I called out to her. "Cindy! I need you for just a minute, please."

She stood at the door, boredom all over her face. "What? I've got a business dinner in forty-five minutes, and I have to change."

"Ten minutes is all I ask. I need your opinion on something, from the point of view only a woman can provide. I'll even get you a consultancy fee."

Ah, money. She sat down.

"All right, I've got a client who's preparing a lawsuit. This research should help him quite a bit. It's about the price of pussy."

Her eyes grew wide and she started to say something but I stopped her. "Hear me out. I got my friend at the police department to provide an introduction to some hookers. I paid them, as a consultant, I didn't have sex with them. Three of them, ranging in age and looks. Seems blowjobs are the cheapest, followed by straight vaginal sex, and anal drawing premium prices. Again the price varied according to age and appearance. Plus, if there was role play or kink involved, the price went up considerably. Time also played a part, after all, thier pay is determined by turnover."

"Next, I hired two escorts, also as consultants. The interviews took three hours, and included dinner. I mean after all, escorts were meant to be seen, unlike hookers. Pretty expensive, even without sex. But there again, looks, wardrobe, the ability to excel in most social situations, they all have as much value as skill at sex."

"So I established a low end and high end baseline. What I need from you is a middle pespective. You're not a whore, and you're not an escort, but you are an attractive woman, so you're right in the middle."

All right, I flattered her a little to get her more responsive, but it was true, she was an attractive woman.

"So, if you had to, what would you say would be a fair price for oral, vaginal, and anal if you had to break it down? Would your price factor in time, role play, that sort of thing? Be honest here, I need solid information."

She smirked a little befor giving me her estimates. Well, well, she certainly had an inflated opinion of her worth, but I wasn't going to say so.

"Thanks, Cindy. Bear with me for just another minute or two while I collate this. All right, using your numbers, you're at your peak right now. We're both twenty-eight, and barring health factors, we can reasonable expect to stay sexually active for four decades, more or less. Right now, up until recently, we had sex four times a week. I got a blowjob, maybe once a month, and tapped that tight ass of yours about every three months. Now, as we age the frequency will probably go dowm, so let's drop one sex session every decade, that should be reasonable. By your own estimation, that would make you worth about a million two over time. That's a reall impressive number."

She actually glowed, so I burst her bubble a little.

"Now, as we age, libido and looks fade, children factor in, your value would naturally go down. If we factor in say, a sixty per cent drop, it still stays over half a million."

Curiosity got the better of her. "What's this research for?"

"Cindy, remember now, we live in North Carolina. They still have alienation of affections laws on the book. This research will factor heavily when the lover gets sued in the final monetary rewards. I hope it does, anyway."

She still didn't get it, and I had to explain the law. "In this state, if a married person embarks on an affair, or leaves the spouse for someone else, the offended party can sue. Up until now, it's been more or less a nuisance suit, mostly to embarrass the players. A case of the bitch broke my heart, and somebody needs to pay. But with this report, we can actually quantify the value of what the plantiff will be losing. Since almost all affairs are based on sex, we made pussy the determining factor. The price of pussy, defined. I've got a whole other report on the emotional impact, the damage to any children affected, damage to social standing, that sort of thing."

"Who's the report for?"

I looked at her and grinned. "Me. I intend to sue your lover. It will embarrass him and his family no end, and according to my lawyer, with this research we have a pretty good chance of actually getting something."

She did a pretty good fish imitation for about a minute before going on the attack. "Damn it! How many times do I have to tell you Jamison is just a friend. We've never..."

She went really quiet when I lay the pictures out. "You might as well stop lying now. I've got it all, for at least the last five weeks, on video. And Jamison. Really? His name is James. Did you know most of his old friends call him Jimmejam? Seems he wanted to be a rapper while he was in high school."

"Thaat's not true. Stop calling him that!"

"Jamison, Jamison, Jamison. Jimmiejam, Jimmiejam, Jimmiejam. Has a ring to it, doesn't it? Jimmiejam Jamison, Redneck Rapper. He could bust rhymes about getting drunk, huntin', fishin', FUCKING OTHER PEOPLE'S WIVES! Give it up, Cindy, you're caught, and no revisionist explanations are going to change the facts. We're through, girl, so give up any spin moves you may have rehearsed. The papers will be served on you and Jimmiejam by noon tomorrow. I was gonna have you done here, but screw it, everyone in the company knows anyway, so you both get them there. Wonder how Daddy is going to react when he gets his very own shiny set, for not enforcing the morals clause of the company? I bet the home office will be really interested."

"But I don't want a divorve! It was just a fling! Please Jer, please."

"I'm leaving now. I've got an apartment the next town over. If you decide you don't want the house, I'd like to move back. I love the place. And I'm not moving back home, ever. I love it here! How many people can say they played gold in the last week of February, and it was seventy-two degrees? I hereby renounce my Yankeeship. You might want to move, I know for a fact that motel charges by the hour. You've already pissed in twelve ninety five, plus tax."

I walked out, I had a business dinner with my lawyer and Mrs. Jimmiejam to attend, at the best barbeque joint in town.

I had a moment of sadness, for what I had lost. Then I mentally shook myself and listened as his jilted wife told yet another embarrassing story about little Jimmie.

" ... so then I asked him how he came to have his little pecker stuck in that pine knot anyway."


The divorce took a while. Cindy fought, demanded and got counseling, and when that failed tried everything else she could think of, until her lawyer told her she was tired of taking money from her for nothing. She finally conceded and the divorce was granted. I think she was really, truly sorry, but the damage had been done. I could still love her, I just couldn't trust her ever again.

She transferred back home, taking her old job back. It was a demotion, but she still had a job.

Jimmie did not fare as well. Mrs. Jimmie nailed his balls to the wall, with maintenance and child support. Then they heard my suit. The judge was a crusty old coot who had divorced two cheating wives. Luck of the draw, I guess. He walked out of chambers holding my report. It was at least an inch thick. He lay it down on his desk, and sat, fingers steepled, for a second. Then he started talking.

"you know, I hate these cases. I usually get three or four a year, and I cringe every time. It's usually a bunch of whining and finger pointing, and most of the time I throw them out for wasting my time. It's because everything is so intangible, so objective, tht there's no reasonable way to put a dollar figure on it. Until now."

He looked over at me and my lawyer. "I have to say, Mr. Walls, this is one of the most interesting things I've ever read. You've managed, with this report, to put a price on infidelity. It's reasoned, well researched, taking in factors most would never consider, based on hard numbers. I understand how your business is so successful."

He grinned. "As you know, the defendant has also submitted a report, disputing the prices you used. It's his opinion the sex wasn't nearly that valuable. Lack of tightness and entusiasm being the main topics (I bet that hurt, when Cindy found out she was descriped as loose and boring). And I appreciate you asking for only half the projected amount. However, I tend to agree with some of the things the defendant reported, even if he has no hard facts. So, I'm cutting your number in half. My judgement is for two hundred thousand dollars be awarded to the plaintiff. If the defendant cannot pay the full amount, then he's ordered to pay at least half up front, the rest to be paid monthly, at the interest rate of prime plus two per cent. Have the paperwork on my desk no later than the end of the week. Next case."

It was one of the highest awards every given in an alienation of affections suit. They started to fight it, but settled at the last minute. I used it to buy my house.

As soon as we got the check, three other men sued over their wives having an affair with Jamison at the same time. Another blow to Cindy's ego, knowing she was just one of the many. She couldn't wait to leave, especially after Mrs. Jamison filed alienation of affection suit against her, using a mirror report I'd made for her. She had to declare bankruptcy.

Jimmie was reduced to living in a one bedroom apartment in a less than desirable neighborhood. If it hadn't been for the deep pockets of daddy, he would have been homeless. He too, declared bankruptcy, but I was lucky enough to get my settlement first.


I buried myself in work, and I had plenty. I worked eighty hours a week sometimes. I was lonely, but all told, I'd rather be lonley rich than lonely poor.

The law office I used and I formed a loose partnership, and after I brought in a private investigator, things went pretty smoothly. He was retired CID, with two tours in Afghanistan. Errant husbands and wives would pale when they saw our letterhead, and I became a pretty proficient forensic accountant, following the money.

In fact, it was my private investigator that snapped me out of my funk. He'd married late, and had two kids, eight and ten, who loved soccer. The director of the summer league had resigned, moving out of the area. Barry had spent two years in Scotland, and I'd worked in Newcastle for two years. The friends I'd made quickly started trying to convince me that real 'football' was the only game worth playing. I played in a few pickup games, and they liked how I played that when their goalie quit they offered me the spot, because they could never break me from trying to use my hands. I was pretty good, too. My second year, our opponents only scored two goals. They called me The Wall. So Barry knew I had knowledge of the game.

"Help us out here. If we don't find someone soon, they'll shut the program down. You're perfect, knowledgable and most important, available. You're not married, so you don't have to worry about the time you spend with them. Everybody wins."

I thought about it, met with the city to see what the job required, and agreed to try it, for at least the season. One condition was Barry had to coach too. There weren't that many kids coming out, so we had to have mixed teams, boys and girls. I took the five to seven group, and the eight to ten year group. Barry and another guy we recruited got the teens.

Turns out I loved it, and was good with kids, breaking things down to terms they could understand. A few of the Moms were drafted as assistants, and we did pretty well, after a rough start.

I had two brothers, one six, the other eight, who worked really hard and the eight year old was starting to develop leadership skills on the field, exceptional at that age. I tended to work with him a little more, intent on getting him to develop the skills that would help him in all aspects of his life as he matured. Their mother was a short, stacked redhead with a hair temper and an interesting vocabulary. You could hear her yelling three fields over. A widow, she was extrenmely protective and demanding of her children. I'd heard her berate the older son several times for what she thought was poor play. It was starting to affect him, so I asked if I could have a few words after the game.

"I don't know how to say this, so I'm gonna tell you flat out. Stop riding Donnie. He's a great kid, and you're making something he loves torture. If you kill that spark he'll never be the same. So do me a favor, shut up and let him play."

Her face turned interesting colors before she gained enough breath to answer. Her ed hair seemed to puff out and writh like pissed off snakes. "He's my Kid! Not yours! I think you need to mind your own fu..."

That's all she got out before I grabbed her and pulled her farther from the children. "Mind your tongue! And you know what? They are my kids, all twenty six of them, when they're on that field. You need to let go a little. You never let them stay after practice and socialize, or go out to pizza with them. That changes today! Now, you ARE going back to that field, and you ARE going to smile and cheer, and you're NOT letting one negative thing come out of that mouth."

"And win or lose, you're getting you ass in that minivan, and taking them to the pizza parlor. There, you'll smile, help the other parents, and have a good time! Understand. One more thing, no more cussing? You get all that?"

I had leaned down until we were eye to eye. Well, I thought, that went well. But something about her really pushed my buttons. She took several deep breaths, and then she started crying! Didn't expect that, not at all. I patted her back awkwardly, giving her my hankerchief to dry her eyes. I told her tot ake a few minnutes to get herself together, and went back to the field.

She came back, and was pretty quiet until Donnie scored a goal, ther only one of the game. Then she let loose, cheering, telling every one he was her kid, and he was gonna be a star someday. Donnie smiled, the first time in a while, and didn;t fight her when she hugged him. She showed up, helping the other moms wrangle the crowd, even sat beside me as she ate.

The truce lasted until the last game and I ambushed her, asking her boys if they'd like to go out to dinner and a movie Friday, if their Mom would come along. Her eyes blazing, her mouth set in a hard line, she barely got out that she'd think about it.

I got the call Thursday night. "Golden Corral, pick us up at five thirty. After dinner we'll go see that superhero, unless it's too mych for for Danny. if it is, we'll pick something else. Don't be late."

I showed up at five, with an age appropriate car seat for the little one, courtesy of Barry. The kids were out the door almost before I stopped. I held the door for her, and she snorted. The meal was pretty good, for a buffet. I wrangled Danny, at his insistence, trying to keep him from overloading his plate. Mom was trying to help Donnie at the dessert bar, and he snapped at her, telling her he wasn't a baby. She sighed and went back to the table.

"Donnie, do you remember when we first started playing, and what I said about respect?"

"Yeah, Coach. You said eveyone deserves respect. Your teammates, your opponents, the coaches and referees. Everyone deserves respect."

"That's right. Now, do you think you were respectful to your Mom just now?"

He turned a little red. "Well, I ... no, Coach, I didn't."

"Then you need to tell her. Of all the people in the world, she's the one who deserves your respect the most. She gave you life, raised you, kept you warm and safe. She would die before she let you come to harm."

I know, most of it was a little too advanced for him. but he got the message. He picked out a dessert he knew she liked, and carried it to her. I'll never know what he said, but she burst into tears and almost suffocaated him with her hugs. Showing wisdom beyond his age, he hugged her back. I'll carry the look in her eyes to my grave.

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