~Subject: STORY:"Jackie" By Dirty Dawg
~From: drambo@primenet.com (Dawson E. Rambo)

                          * * * * * * * *
                              "Jackie"
                           By Dirty Dawg

   Semi-Standard Disclaimer: As usual, this is your 'vanilla' type
of male/female sex/love story here. This is NOT a story about a
nympho teenage cheerleader naked skydiver having midair sex with
her coach before landing in a cucumber patch guarded by a horny St.
Bernard. Sorry. As usual, this is material of an explicit, adult
nature, and should only be viewed or posessed by adults of legal
age in whatever villiage, town, city, community, state, or country
you happen to harken from. Failure to safeguard this material in an
appropriate manner might result dire consequences. You have been
warned.

   Now that THAT's out of the way, let's get on with the story.

   As always, comments, questions, suggestions, flamage and so on
can be directed to drambo@cloud9.net, or drambo@primenet.com

===============================================================

   I sort of knew that my wife was screwing around on me, but I
couldn't prove it. When Jackie and I had gotten married, she had
told me that she didn't have a lot of sexual experience. Two
boyfriends in college, and one when she started working; that was
it. Then we had met, fallen in love, gotten married, and started
the rest of our lives together.

   Jackie has always been somewhat reserved, somewhat conservative
in her lovemaking. The most way-out thing she had ever done was go
down on me, and she had only done that after having gotten stinking
drunk at my office Christmas party. She'd told me that it was my
Christmas present, and had proceeded to give me sloppy,
ineffectual, amateurish head that showcased her inexperience. The
next morning, when I had brought it up, Jackie had broken down and
cried, making me promise never to bring it up again.

   In the six months since Christmas, however, something has been
going on. Jackie has had a certain...coolness towards me that I
couldn't explain or understand. Jackie is a graphic artist, and she
works at home. She has cilents visit her all the time, and I'd
never worried about her straying at all. Jackie is, or at least,
was, very straightfoward and direct. I thought that I would have
known if there was a problem, but her pulling away from me was so
gradual and subtle that I didn't notice it at first.

   But then I realized that something was going on. Whenever I
touched her, Jackie stiffened. She sounded different when she
talked to me; there was less passion in her voice, more
friendliness. It was as though we were settling into the middle
years of our marriage after only eighteen months. That's when I
knew, or at least suspected, that someone else was giving her what
she needed between the sheets, what she had started to deny me.

   Unlike my wife, I had a fair amount of sexual experience before
getting married, so I wondered what, if she was having an affair,
she was looking for in her lover. What was he doing for her that I
couldn't?

   I decided to find out. I told my wife that I had to leave on a
week-long business trip. Instead, I booked myself into a local
motel, and then started watching my house from a rental car parked
about five hundred feet away.

   The first day, nothing happened. I stayed in that car for almost
eighteen hours, until I saw the bedroom light go off. No one had
come in or out of my house, and I was beginning to think I was
crazy. The next morning, however, I discovered that I had been
right all along.

   About nine in the morning, a sporty little roadster pulled into
my driveway, and a man got out. He was young, tall, handsome,
and...well, sexy. As far as me looking at other men goes, I'd say
he was a damn fine looking dude. So that was it, I thought. I
wasn't handsome enough for Jackie anymore.

   A little cloud of depression settled over me, and I decided to
invesitage further. After all, this could be a client. There could
be nothing sexual going on at all, I told myself.

    Creeping around the back of the house, I looked in the window
to Jackie's studio. There was no one there. The back door was open,
and I entered the kitchen. Standing in the front hall, I cocked one
ear, and was slightly dismayed to hear the sound of lovemaking
coming from the upstairs bedroom. Judging by the sound, it was
coming from the guest room, not our bedroom. At least Jackie had
the class not to sleep with this guy in our bed.

   Slowly, quietly, I ascended the stairs. I wanted to catch her in
the act, so she would have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. I
rounded the landing and made my way down the hall. The angle into
the guest room was just right. I could see everything in the mirror
over the dresser.

   Jackie was standing next to the bed; her lover was behind her,
running his hands all over her breasts under her shirt. Jackie's
head was leaning back, her neck arched, as she kissed his throat
and face. Jackie was wearing a t-shirt and cutoff shorts, and the
man wasted no time in disrobing her. Naked, my wife dropped to her
knees, fished the man's penis out of his pants, and then eagerly
went down on him, sucking and licking his rod and balls. I was
astounded, watching my prim and proper wife suck and lick this
dude's jewls like she loved it. Her face was a blur as she took his
entire length into her face again and again, her hands on his ass,
pulling him into her for lunge after lunge.

   He came after ten minutes of what looked like superb head,
painting her throat with his cum. My wife stood, and they kissed,
and then she got on the bed, spread her legs, and started
masturbating for her lover. I was immediately annoyed and jealous;
I had asked Jackie a thousand times to do this for me, and she had
always refused. Somehow, this man had managed to convince her to do
the things I wanted her to. It made me feel like less of a man.

   Jackie brought herself to a wet, toe-curling orgasm in a matter
of minutes. Her lover had undressed completely while watching her,
and when she was done he climbed between her thighs and sank
himself inside her. I watched in detached amazement as this man
rode my wife for over an hour, in a variety of positions, all over
the guest bedroom. They ended up screwing doggy style, another
thing Jacke was reluctant to do for me. Jackie's face was a twisted
mask of pleasure and concentration as her lover moved in and out of
her. I found myself aroused (hell, I'd been hard almost the entire
time,) and I had to fight the urge to whip it out and stroke myself
off right there.

   Another thing that was making my annoyance mount was the fact
that Jackie had been very, very vocal during the entire encounter,
begging her lover loudly to do all sorts of nasty things to her
that I'd love to do if only she would ask me! The fact that my wife
was cheating on me was not nearly as annoying as the question WHY?
It wasn't like she *had* to go looking for this stuff; all she had
to do was ask, and I'd do it to for her as long as she could stand
it!

   That question was answered in the next ten minutes. Her lover
finished, jerking himself out of her  and drizzling his load over
her body. My wife giggled under the spray, rubbing him into her
body. They kissed long and lovingly, and then her lover stood to
get dressed, leaving my wife to watch him from the bed, idily
fingering herself. There was a smile of satisfaction and
contentment on her face, something that I felt I could put there,
given half a chance.

   Then it happened. The man reached into his back pocket, and
before my amazed and confused eyes, withdrew three one-hundred
dollar bills and placed them on the bedside table. He stooped to
kiss Jackie one more time, saying softly, "Same time next week?"

   "Sure thing," Jackie said, kissing him hungrily. Her lover...
customer...turned to leave, and I ducked into the bathroom,
shutting the door as softly as possible. I heard him go downstairs
and out the front door, and I followed him as quietly as possible.

   I returned to my rental car and sat staring at the house for
close to an hour. So many thoughts were whirling around inside my
head; had my wife been a hooker before I married her? Was I her
meal ticket? Her safety net for when she got old and couldn't get
any more customers?  What the fuck was going on here?

   I needed more information, so I continued to watch the house for
the rest of the week. I counted over fifteen different men entering
the house, and each time I checked Jackie's studio; only one was a
customer, and it was apparant that Jackie was trying to seduce him.
He might have been married, gay, or both, but he wasn't having any
of it. Jackie pouted, and he left.

   I returned to my car. Every night, I slept in the motel- room
bed, wondering if my wife had any evening customers. I called her
twice, around dinnertime, (when I usually called on the road,) and
she was bright and cheerful, and kept telling me that she missed me
and couldn't wait to see me again.

   Yeah. Right.

   I returned when I said I was going to, my mind made up. Long
nights, sleepless nights, spent thinking about the issue had
settled the thoughts in my head. There was no doubt that I loved my
wife. Perhaps more now than ever, since I saw what she was capable
of between the sheets. I knew that I had gotten turned on watching
her service one of her customers, and I knew that I wanted to watch
her with other men again. I also knew that the thought of being
married to a prostitute was in and of iteself arousing. All I
needed to do now was convince my wife that now that I knew, it was
OK, and we would have to make some adjustments in our marriage.
Like, I wanted some of the sex she was giving to her customers.

   And, I was willing to pay.

   Actually, that was my plan. I was going to pull a fake on my
wife, and see what her reaction would be. The night I got home from
my business trip, I was very warm and loving to her, letting Jackie
know that I was 'in the mood.' Jackie was friendly enough, but
still cool and distant, the epitome of the 'good wife.' That was
all about to change.

   After dinner and dishes and coffee in the living room, I took my
wife by the hand and led her upstairs to our bedroom. I sat her on
the bed, kneeled before her, took her hands in mine, and made my
pitch.

   "Jackie, sweetheart, I have a favor to ask. I've had this
longtime fantasy, and I want you to help me act it out." Her eyes
immediately got wary, and the firm set of her mouth worried me. I
waited for her response, but she just kept looking at me, waiting
for me to speak.

   "I've always wanted to visit a prostitute..." I started, and saw
something flash behind Jackie's eyes. I wasn't sure if it was fear,
recognition, or a combination of the both of them, but she knew
that something was up.

   "You...what?" she asked. Her hands suddenely were sweating. I
could feel her damp palms in my own.

   "I know," I said simply, softly. "I've known for a while,
Jackie."

   She looked crossly at me, and then her eyes went wide with fear
and surprise. Her mouth dropped open, and she tore one hand from
mine to cover it. I saw the tears starting, and then she was
pulling away from me, burying her head in the pillow, crying and
sobbing.

   I let her get it out, stroking her back as I lay next to her.
"It's allright," I kept saying. "It's ok..."

   After twenty minutes of power-crying, Jackie sniffled to a stop
and moved away from me, crossing her arms across her chest.

   "How did you find out?" she demanded, and I explained my
suspicions, and what I had done to confirm them. Jackie looked
angry and annoyed, and then the expression vanished from her face.

   "I suppose you think I'm terrible," she said. "A dirty, rotten
whore!"

   "No," I admitted. "But I would like to ask you a few questions,
honey." Jackie didn't say anything, but her expression told me that
I might not get the answers I expected.

   "How long have you been doing this?"

   A long pause. "About six months."

   "I see. And I guess, the big question. Why?"

   Jackie didn't answer for a long time. Finally, she sighed
deeply. "Remember the Christmas party?" I nodded. "When I...did
what you'd been asking me to?" I nodded again. The story came in
fits and starts, and over the next few minutes, I learned why my
wife had become a prostitute.

   "I was brought up to believe that nice girls didn't do that sort
of thing. Nice girls didn't fuck and suck like a whore. Nice girls
didn't do anything...fun. I was drunk enough at Christmas to try
it, but in the morning, I was afraid of what you'd think of me. I
wanted you to think that I was the perfect wife, the perfect mother
of your children.

   "But," she continued, "...I liked it, Robb. I really did. I
loved the feeling of your cock in my mouth." My 'prim' wife's use
of the word "cock" tickled my fancy, but I said nothing and let her
continue.

   "I really loved the feeling," she was saying, "...and I wanted
more of it. But not with you, not your cock. I wanted...strange
cock. I knew that it was bad and dirty and wrong to want to do
this, but I really wanted to know what it was like to suck a cock
and do some of those things you wanted me to do. So, I went
cruising. I went to the airport bar, hoping to meet someone passing
through town, someone who would let me practice on them. The first
time it happened, the guy took me to his room and made me suck his
cock three times.

   "And," she said, "he left me a hundred bucks on the dresser when
he left. That's when the idea of hooking started. You see, Robb, I
knew that being a cocksucker made me a bad girl...being a hooker
was completely opposite to everything I had been brought up to
believe in. It was the ultimate in being a nasty, slutty whore. And
you know what, Robb? I liked it. I *liked* being a whore for those
men. I really, truly did. I could let myself go, let myself become
who I wanted to be, instead of being some image of what a nice girl
is supposed to be. Do you understand?"

   I nodded that I did, and Jackie continued. "It just mushroomed
from there. Before long, I had ten or twelve regulars. Guys who
wanted uncomplicated, no-holds-barred sex on a fairly regular
basis. I could entertain them in the mornings, while you were at
work, becoming my slut-self. By the time you got home, I'd be
showered and changed, once again my good-wife self. And that's it,
Robb. That's the entire story."

   "One more thing, Robb," she said after a minute. "No matter what
you think, I'm not giving it up."

   I pounced. "I wouldn't dream of it," I said. "It turns me on."

   "It does?" Jackie was looking at me with huge, wide eyes. I
reached into my pants and pulled out my wallet, handing her three
hundred bucks. "What can I get for that?" I asked with a grin.

   Jackie pounced on me this time, covering my face with kisses. We
fucked and sucked for three straight hours, and I had my wife in
all three of her holes for the first time. She told me, as I was
forcing my cock up her ass, that she loved me, and always would.
She told me that my asshole belonged to her, that she would never
let another man in her ass ever again. We did things to each other
that night that you wouldn't do to a farm animal, and it's been
like that ever since.

   My wife has turned into a complete and utter slut, and I love
her for it. I've begged her not to wash after her last customer of
the day, and when I get home from work, she's waiting for me in the
bedroom, her freshly fucked and used cunt dripping with the cum of
her last paying customer. We screw estaticlly for hours, doing
everything we can think of to each other.

   I told Jackie that I wanted her to do something for me, and she
asked me what it was. I told her that I was having a bunch of old
Army buddies over to the house for a weekend at the end of the
summer, and that I wanted to watch her get gang-banged by them all.

   My wife instantly agreed, and to show her appreciation of my
understanding of her needs, she licked and sucked my asshole for
half an hour.

   Next time, I'll tell you about the Army buddies. It was quite a
weekend. 
