Chapter 1

This story is true, as strange as it seems, and probably explains my attraction (obsession?) with stories about wayward wives. It happened several years ago, in a city in the Midwest. I was living in a rundown part of town because I couldn't afford anything better. While the duplex I lived in wasn't too bad, the neighborhood itself was very seedy. A lot of liquor stores, adult book stores, check cashing operation, and cars up on blocks (or stripped). There was a Denny's restaurant, one of the nicer places actually.

I was in the Denny's finishing breakfast and leaving my money on the table when I noticed a woman walking along the sidewalk. Not too tall, perhaps 5'2", very well built. I mean very very well built. Perfect actually, with nice breasts and slim hips. Blonde hair and a red dress, high heels, hell, she looked like a fashion model.

She wasn't walking straight and when she looked in the window of the Denny's she had a glazed expression on her face. Her face, oh god, perfect features. But her eyes were a little wide, her mouth open, her lips looked swollen. She looked dazed actually.

There were several tables of guys in the Denny's, working guys mostly, a lot of the city workers hung out there. I could hear their comments as I looked at her, and she looked at me through the window.

"Holy shit! Look at that one."

"You think she's selling it?"

"Woman looks like that, she won't have any problem finding a buyer. Probably too rich for my blood."

"Oh hell Harley. Thing like that drain the blood right out of ya anyway."

I stood up, keeping my eye on her, and walked to the door. She watched me the entire way. Outside I walked to her, I could tell her age now, no more than 25 was my guess. She looked even better close up, but her lips were definitely swollen, and there were some red blotches on her face.

"Can I help you?" I asked her.

Her eyes left my face for just a moment and looked back at the Denny's. I followed her gaze, the men in the restaurant were watching us, smiling.

"I think I need help," she said. Her voice was soft and she sounded confused.

"OK," I said. Inside I was slapping myself, fucking brilliant, 'OK, ' that's the best I could come up with?

"I live near here," I said. "I have a telephone you can use." This was before cell phones became so common. A few people had the old "brick" phones and a few more had them in their cars. I was lucky to have a telephone at all.

"OK," she said. It sounded much better when she said it.

We walked across the street, a busy commercial street, skirted the auto body shop and the adult book store, and walked to my apartment.

"What's your name," I asked.

"Marcy," she whispered it.

I told her my name and we walked up the stairs to my place.

My living room was relatively clean, filled with cheap furniture, a couple of couches and a small second hand TV. I had a fan in the window because the weather was in the 80's and upstairs it got much hotter.

She stood quietly just looking around. For the first time I noticed that she didn't have a purse and it was obvious from the dress she was wearing that she didn't have any pockets. While she looked around I looked at her, there had been a few women in my apartment, but never one that looked like she did.

She was swaying a little and when I looked at her eyes I could see that they didn't quite focus properly. "Our girl is a little toasted," I thought to myself. "No, our girl is a lot toasted," I thought as she momentarily lost her balance.

"I don't have anything," she said looking up at me. I was at least a foot taller than her and as I looked down I could see that her dress wasn't on right. It was gapping in the front and I could see the top of her breasts. Her perfect breasts. I tried not to stare.

"What don't you have?" I asked, reminding myself that breasts make me stupid.

"Anything," she emphasized. "No money, or credit cards," and her voice started to break. "No nothing, they took everything," she was starting to sob. I moved toward her and put my arms around her, and as she collapsed against me she said, "They even took my underwear."

Every man knows the sensation, the one where you go from a normal soft cock to immediate full erection. Absolutely no time passed, I was just throbbing hard when not even one second before it had been my normal, flaccid, size.

I moved her so that we could sit on one of the couches; I did this mostly so that she wouldn't feel my erection.

She leaned against me and cried. She cried for a long time while I stroked her hair and held her. My erection subsided somewhat, but it didn't go entirely away.

Finally she pulled back and sniffled. I got up and walked to the bathroom, returning with a box of Kleenex. While she wiped her eyes she smiled at me.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was so soft and sexy, old mister hard-on was back.

"Tell me what happened," I asked.

"You'll hate me," she said. Than she laughed a little, "You don't even know me and you'll think I'm awful." She actually looked a little concerned about that.

"No," I said frantically searching my mind for something intelligent to say. "Things happen to people, doesn't mean that they're awful people."

I know, I know, it was the best I could do. I was young, horny and not at my best. But it worked.

"OK," she said. "I need help and you're it, but you'll probably regret it," her words were just a bit slurred.

She went to the bathroom first and when she returned she sat on the couch opposite the one I was sitting on.

"Well," she said. "First of all, I'm married." My eyes immediately went to her hand but there was no ring.

She noticed my look. "I'll explain that," she said.

After a big sigh, she looked into the corner of the room, above my head, and started to talk.

"My husband is out of town on business. He travels a lot and he works a lot but he doesn't make much money. In fact, we're barely getting by. We got married right after high school." She mentioned a town where they had gone to high school and gotten married. I recognized the name, a small town in the far corner of the state.

"So," she continued. "I decided that I'd get a job to help out, I know that we have a lot of debts that he hasn't told me about. I've been looking in the want-ads and interviewing, but nothing has worked out. My stupid degree isn't worth anything except to make me over qualified for regular jobs.

Well, I saw this add for models. I don't know the city very well yet, we just moved here a few months ago, but I called them and they said to come over. Pretty pathetic isn't it?" she said. She made one of the rueful faces, like 'how stupid can one person get? Me? A model?'

"When I first saw you, I thought you might be a model," I said.

She laughed. Her face was even more beautiful when she laughed.

"What happened?" I asked.

Her face became instantly serious. "They raped me," she said.

I know I reacted, I was shocked. She looked at me carefully. "Well, maybe it wasn't exactly rape," she said.

"Maybe we should call the cops," I suggested.

"No. I'll tell you the whole story. I won't leave anything out," she said. "And then you can throw me out because I know I'll disgust you.

"I should have known by the address, a plain door just down the street. No signs on it or anything. Just a plain door on the side of a plain building.

"I had taken a cab so I had no choice, I knocked, but nothing happened. Finally I just tried the door, it was unlocked. Inside was stairs. I just walked in and up the stairs. Finally at the top I said, 'is anybody here?' and a guy yelled at me to come on in.

"The guy was in a big space that had been set up like a studio. There were cameras and video recorders, and lights. There was a big bed in the center that everything was pointed at. When I saw the guy I almost ran away. A big black guy. Big, bigger than you.

"I don't know any black people. I mean, African-Americans. There certainly weren't any where I grew up.

"But he was real friendly, welcoming me. Saying how he was looking forward to taking pictures of me. Telling me I'd make a great model for him. Pretty soon I felt at ease you know? He even offered me some white wine. I don't usually drink because I get a little funny when I do. My husband says that I get 'frisky.' Doesn't take much either!"

She was smiling at the floor now. Sitting forward with her arms on her legs, her head down.

"Can I get you anything," I asked. "Some wine?"

She looked up at me and said, "Oh christ." But I was smiling so she did too. She surprised me when she said, "Sure, why not."

I went into the kitchen to get her a glass of white wine from a cardboard box of wine I had in the refrigerator. Hey, I didn't have much money, cardboard wine was all I could afford. It just a good thing that "two-buck chuck" wasn't in the stores yet.

"It starts to go bad here," she said in the wonderful soft voice as she drank her wine and asked me for another one. "Are you sure I should go on?" The window fan was blowing on her, making her hair and dress move. It was getting hotter as the sun got higher, I could see little beads of sweat on her forehead.

When I returned with her glass, she was still leaning forward, her arms on her thighs, her legs were spread a little but I couldn't see anything, her dress draped. But her position made the top of her dress gap even more and I could see most of the top of her left breast. But it didn't look right.

"He started taking my pictures, moving me this way and that while I drank wine. He shot a lot of pictures. He asked me if I'd ever taken any 'art' pictures. When I said I didn't know what he meant he asked if I'd ever taken any 'sexy' pictures.

Well, the wine was getting to me I guess. And he was appealing in a strange way; big guy, rugged looking, wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt. So I asked what did he have in mind?

He said something like: maybe with fewer cloths on.

OK, I said I'd tell the truth, so here it is. The wine was making me a little horny, the picture taking was exciting, I mean, there I was on display and it was turning me on. And, my husband and I haven't..."

Here she kind of wiggled her hand in front of her. I got the idea, they hadn't fucked in a while. She held out her wine glass for a refill.

She gulped some of the wine before starting again. "I tried a few things first," she continued. "I pulled up my dress so he could get pictures of my legs," and she pulled up her dress to show me what she had done. She had perfect legs, but most importantly, she wasn't wearing any panties! I knew this of course, she had told me that they took her underwear, but still the quick view of her pussy sent a jolt through my system. Again, though, like the quick view of her breast, something wasn't right. In a few minutes I'd know what that was.

"Finally, I took off my dress and posed in my bra and panties. It was then that his 'assistant' arrived. Another big black guy, I didn't hear him or anything, he was just there all of a sudden.

I couldn't cover up, I couldn't find my dress and I fell down jumping off the bed. I guess I was getting drunk.

Well, the big guy picked me up and dropped me back on the bed, and sat down beside me. He started to touch me and rub me while his friend continued to take pictures. I tried to get away, I kept telling him to stop, but he wouldn't and before long he had my bra off and was playing with my... breasts," as she said this she looked down the top of her dress at herself. She brought her free hand up, the one not holding the wine glass, and squeezed her own tit through the material of her dress. To show me what he had done, I guess.

My cock was making a tent in my pants and I know I was leaking pre-cum into my shorts. When she took her hand away her nipple was hard, poking through the material, pointing right at me.

She gave me a sly smile. "You like that don't you?" she asked looking at my crotch.

"Of course," I said.

She nodded and drank the remainder of her wine. When I returned from the kitchen with a full glass her breasts were bare. She had pulled her dress down to her waist and was sitting with those beautiful breasts bare in the warm room. Her body was swaying slightly from the effects of the wine.

She was spectacular. Her skin was clear, unblemished, and pale, like most blondes. Her areolas were a dark pink, her nipples hard and erect. Above her perfect left breast somebody had written with a magic marker: "SLUT." That explained what hadn't look right when I'd peeked down her dress.

"Well," she continued. "He pulled my panties off too, ripped them off really. Then he started rubbing against me while he held my arms so I couldn't fight. When I felt him rubbing I kinda stopped fighting anyway." She looked a little embarrassed as she told me this. I might have noticed more except that she had started to play with her own nipple and to squeeze her own breast while she talked. She was working the tit that had SLUT written on it.

"Why did you stop fighting?" I asked.

"Because his cock felt huge against me and my cunt was flooding," she stated. She looked embarrassed again before adding, "I've never said the word 'cunt' before last night. They made me say it a lot last night."

Chapter 2

She giggled as she looked at the tent my cock was making in my pants.

"Maybe you should take that out before you hurt yourself," she said.

She was still playing with her tit, squeezing hard, pinching her nipple. From time to time her eyes would close as she lost herself in the sensation.

"I was a bad girl last night," she said, her eyes still closed. "Marcy was a very bad girl."

Her eyes opened and she looked at me as I slid the zipper of my jeans down. My cock sprang free, hard and purple looking.

"Oh," she said. "So you do like me." She kind of laughed at herself then.

"He made me suck him, the first guy. Well, all of them made me suck them. The first guy though, once he had me naked he pulled off his own clothing and pulled my head down to his cock." She was licking her lips and mauling her left breast as she said this, her eyes were fixed on my cock.

"His cock was bigger than yours and black of course. I didn't want to, at first. I cried and yelled, tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let me. It was different once his cock was in my mouth. Oh he was soooo hard. And big. His balls were huge too. I gagged at first, it was like he was trying to shove it all the way down my throat.

That was when I felt something touching my cunt. Do you like it when I say the word cunt?" she was looking at me when she asked that, before taking a big drink of her wine.

"Look," she said and pulled up her dress again. This time I could clearly see her pussy and the words "CUNT FOR BLACK COCK" written across her stomach in magic marker. The words where not written as neatly as the ones on her breast.

"I had to write that on myself," she said. "If I didn't write it they said they'd stop fucking me."

She had pale blonde hair on her pussy and her labia were bright red, swollen.

She stood up and the dress fell to the floor, pooling at her feet. I'd never seen a body like that before not even in a magazine. It was perfect except for the magic marker writing, and there were more of those.

She walked over to me and reaching down slid her soft hand over my very hard cock while she took a drink of her wine.

"You're not going to cum, are you?" she asked. "There still a lot more I have to tell you."

I couldn't speak, my throat was dry, all I could do was watch her walk over to the fan. Facing it, she spread her legs and put her hands behind her head, letting the air wash over her body.

"Turns out that the guy who had been taking the pictures had turned on the video camera and was licking my cunt," she continued. "And he was hitting all the right places."

"I guess I lost control. Suddenly that cock in my mouth tasted pretty good. All I could think of was the feeling in my cunt, and how deprived I must look naked between these two black guys. It felt sooo hot, and I was sooo horny."

She turned around then, her legs still spread, the air from the fan hitting her in the back. One hand trailed down her body. I watched one pale slender finger slide down the crack of her pussy then start moving in slow, lazy circles over her clit.

"My husband was only the second man I ever slept with, and there's been nobody since him. At least until last night. And I've only had my mouth on his cock maybe twice in our whole marriage."

"How did they get you to say the word 'cunt?'" I asked. It seemed a straight forward question, one that was driving me crazy.

"When I refused to say it the first time they dragged me down the stairs to the door that led to the street. I was completely naked and I had just been fucked. They told me they'd throw me outside with nothing on. I could hear people out there, and I could hear the music from the bars. I was really afraid. Begging them not to do it. Finally I agreed to say cunt.

I told them that I loved what they did to my cunt. I told them I loved to have my cunt fucked. I begged them to fuck my cunt again. I told them I was nothing by a whore cunt for black men."

She was rubbing her clit harder now, panting as she spoke. My cock was visibly throbbing.

"That was before," she continued, "the rest of their friends showed up."

I took my jeans off as I stood, my cock bobbed as I walked to her, she watched me intently, her finger moving fast on her clit.

I reached out for her breast, the one with the word SLUT written on it. She moaned as I ran my finger over the word, and over her erect nipple. She stopped stroking herself, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the sensations my hand on her tit where giving her.

"What happened next?" I asked.

Her hand reached for my cock, soft perfect hand, she didn't stroke me exactly, just held my cock and occasionally ran her hand over it, very softly.

"He made me beg to be fucked," she continued. "He was licking me from behind, my husband hadn't done anything like that since we were married, and never from behind. I was losing all control, not that there was much left to begin with. All I knew was the taste of that cock in my mouth, the sound of my mouth slobbering on him, and the feeling of that wonderful big tongue licking me.

'Beg him to fuck you' the man said, the one with his cock in my mouth. I shook my head no, but he just pulled my hair and lifted my mouth off his cock. It hurt when he pulled like that, and I didn't want to give up that cock.

'I said, beg him to fuck you slut, and don't forget to tell him that you're a slut.' I was afraid of this guy. He'd been able to do anything he wanted to me. I was naked because of him. And he was big, strong, I knew he could hurt me.