If you had told me I could hate anyone the way I hated Tom before the summer of 2002 I would have laughed in your face. After all he had single handedly ruined my life. What else would you call it when a stranger not only drugs and rapes you, but makes you willingly let him continue to use you, in a twisted plot providing sex for money to total strangers. That was the price for his silence over ?what I'd done? the awful deal I couldn't risk refusing out of fear it would ruin my ******. I'll tell you my story... I'll bet parts ring a bell... some of it made national news.
Checking the viewfinder of the Nikon D2X piggybacked over a Pro-grade Sony camcorder, I zoom both in a bit, catching still & HD footage as Mrs. Chloe Sandoval opens her mouth & screams in orgasm. It isn't her first of the day, & it won't be the last. When she finds out that it is thanks to a little help from my friends... her new friends, to be sure now, there'll be some drama, but even that I'll get on film. Anyway, I met my ?little helpers? thanks to Tom, and the set up is thanks to some help from a shall we say a ?business partner? who reaped a bit of what he sowed. Barely forty minutes into my latest production & I'm well on my way to showing another prim, conservative, na've wife what it really means to have sex.
Don't think I'm doing something altruistic. Hell, I get hot watching these wives find out what they've been missing (most literally all their lives). I admit, I'm tempted to climb on the table & do a little girl on girl action?Chloe is a hottie?but none of these women (7 in the last 2 plus years) has enough... experience to offer what I'd need to really get off. If I get the itch too badly I can always count on one of the 'models? to give me a hand.
No, quite simply, I do this to make a living. I shoot still and video footage of married white women learning what 'taking cock? is all about. I sell a variety of products online. I supply other sites & sell through skin stores... we'll sell to anyone with cash or credit who can click that they're 21. If you think me evil for using hapless housewives in this manner, I can't argue. But trust me, my work is the result of a natural progression. You could say that I'm intimately aware of what happens to the poor women writhing & moaning in front of my camera. You see, it was not that long ago that I was in Mrs. Sandoval's shoes.
Do you think that makes me a hypocrite? Well fuck you; if you had lived my life maybe you would think differently. After my time ?on stage? so to speak (& no, I wasn't out trying to cheat on my husband & wasn't ?looking for thrills?), I found I had... shall we say limited options to make a living. So I used the tools I had on hand... but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Chloe cries out in surprise, as another cock spears her naked pussy. She groans her husband's name, David, the sound rising to a gasp with the next thrust. But it isn't David taking her so easily. David slipped out of the room looking a little green around the gills as the third strange man began to take his wife for a 'test drive.?
Trust me, though, he deserves the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach; he was one of the men who used me & others like me, pushing me indirectly into this life. In fact, my Johns are how I find my... subjects. Considering they had no reluctance to use me for their pleasure & did not stop to think about their wives while they were doing it, I figure turning those wives on to real sex is only fair, even if their husbands can't hope to match what they come to expect. After all, making me pretend to enjoy it was what got pencil dick off.
Sure, the women are no different from me... they fall into this without any awareness. But unlike my own experience, they get to decide for themselves what they want. & so far, every woman, when she has finally learned the truth (as if it'd be possible for hubby to suddenly be such a sexual god), even that they have been ?performing? on film for me... well, let's just say the thought of having a host of bigger, better lovers getting them off leaves them uninterested in going back to being a quiet mousy ?one man housewife.?
But I suppose you're shaking your head... Can't believe any of what I'm saying. Let me elaborate. For 22 months... well beyond the year he initially insisted I would have to ?work? for him, I let an endless string of strangers slather over my body, using me in all manner of vile, disgusting ways. In that time I watched a friend give in to drugs & let herself be consumed by the twisted depravity that had become our lives. I built an impossible web of lies to explain my new 'decorations,? my abrupt meetings, & the innumerable evenings & weekends away from home. I faced the terror of being revealed as a whore & the unsettling realization that even in my own bed, with my own husband, things had been forever changed. None of it was something I wanted to do, but I survived it all.
Truly. I was eventually released from the endless night of being an unpaid whore for men who delighted in using another man's wife. The end was terribly anti-climactic. As I tried not to consider my double life?loving, married woman by day & a pimp's meal ticket by night?while trudging up the broken brick walk to the dingy apartment where I would ?prepare? for another night feigning moans under some sweating, grunting stranger, the bitch Tom had left running his 'stable? in Denver stopped me. We didn't go into the apartment where the girls received orders & ?cleaned up? before & after ?work.? Instead, she led me toward the side, explaining that I had a 'special? appointment. She drove, leaving me to worry about whatever it was that I'd done wrong; what new horror lay in store. I could not even take comfort in the thought that the traitorous whore who 'managed? us would be involved; a month before she'd stood calmly watching as a rowdy bachelor party enjoyed taking turns with me as the ?party favor? without having to touch a single cock, herself.
So I was surprised into stupidity when she pulled up at an inner city bank. But hell, I was sure that bank presidents had used me... who hadn't, but in the bank? She led the way through the front door, like any other customer, & before I had thought about it, I had cashed a check she provided, opening an account in my name for $1142. Even as we left, I simply assumed it was temporary... Tom would want ?his? money back, as part of some money-laundering scheme.
Instead, Dotty pulled up beside my BMW. She popped her car's trunk, & when I'd done the same, she transferred an obviously heavy box to my car & casually thanked me for so willingly providing my 'services.? I blinked at her dumbly, & she went on, telling me my ?contract? with Tom was complete. She casually explained that the box contained any tape or photograph Tom had with my image. I knew better, of course, but I wasn't going to argue. I remember haltingly asking what I was supposed to do with it; the thought of someone seeing any of whatever was in the box was terrifying even if it was all just copies; there wasn't a chance I was taking it home. She shrugged, pointing out that the bank where we'd been had safety deposit boxes. Unsure what else to do, & still frightened the nightmare wasn't over, I drove back to the bank & locked the evidence of the last year & a half away, hoping it was forever.
I still didn't feel like it was over, but I threw myself into being just a loving married wife. Sure, I had to keep ?going out? to keep my hubby from wondering about the sudden change in routine, but I went to safe places: the library, the salon, even church. Each morning I got up, showered, assured myself I wasn't going to be a whore before bed, & went to work. The firm where I did drafting work was especially busy. Even so, my work was getting recognized; I was told I was on the way to a full time position. Having juggled work with my... other life for nearly two years, I was using use some of my ?extra time? to turn out better product.
After four or five months I stopped jumping whenever the phone rang or whenever new email arrived. I didn't cringe whene
Checking the viewfinder of the Nikon D2X piggybacked over a Pro-grade Sony camcorder, I zoom both in a bit, catching still & HD footage as Mrs. Chloe Sandoval opens her mouth & screams in orgasm. It isn't her first of the day, & it won't be the last. When she finds out that it is thanks to a little help from my friends... her new friends, to be sure now, there'll be some drama, but even that I'll get on film. Anyway, I met my ?little helpers? thanks to Tom, and the set up is thanks to some help from a shall we say a ?business partner? who reaped a bit of what he sowed. Barely forty minutes into my latest production & I'm well on my way to showing another prim, conservative, na've wife what it really means to have sex.
Don't think I'm doing something altruistic. Hell, I get hot watching these wives find out what they've been missing (most literally all their lives). I admit, I'm tempted to climb on the table & do a little girl on girl action?Chloe is a hottie?but none of these women (7 in the last 2 plus years) has enough... experience to offer what I'd need to really get off. If I get the itch too badly I can always count on one of the 'models? to give me a hand.
No, quite simply, I do this to make a living. I shoot still and video footage of married white women learning what 'taking cock? is all about. I sell a variety of products online. I supply other sites & sell through skin stores... we'll sell to anyone with cash or credit who can click that they're 21. If you think me evil for using hapless housewives in this manner, I can't argue. But trust me, my work is the result of a natural progression. You could say that I'm intimately aware of what happens to the poor women writhing & moaning in front of my camera. You see, it was not that long ago that I was in Mrs. Sandoval's shoes.
Do you think that makes me a hypocrite? Well fuck you; if you had lived my life maybe you would think differently. After my time ?on stage? so to speak (& no, I wasn't out trying to cheat on my husband & wasn't ?looking for thrills?), I found I had... shall we say limited options to make a living. So I used the tools I had on hand... but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Chloe cries out in surprise, as another cock spears her naked pussy. She groans her husband's name, David, the sound rising to a gasp with the next thrust. But it isn't David taking her so easily. David slipped out of the room looking a little green around the gills as the third strange man began to take his wife for a 'test drive.?
Trust me, though, he deserves the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach; he was one of the men who used me & others like me, pushing me indirectly into this life. In fact, my Johns are how I find my... subjects. Considering they had no reluctance to use me for their pleasure & did not stop to think about their wives while they were doing it, I figure turning those wives on to real sex is only fair, even if their husbands can't hope to match what they come to expect. After all, making me pretend to enjoy it was what got pencil dick off.
Sure, the women are no different from me... they fall into this without any awareness. But unlike my own experience, they get to decide for themselves what they want. & so far, every woman, when she has finally learned the truth (as if it'd be possible for hubby to suddenly be such a sexual god), even that they have been ?performing? on film for me... well, let's just say the thought of having a host of bigger, better lovers getting them off leaves them uninterested in going back to being a quiet mousy ?one man housewife.?
But I suppose you're shaking your head... Can't believe any of what I'm saying. Let me elaborate. For 22 months... well beyond the year he initially insisted I would have to ?work? for him, I let an endless string of strangers slather over my body, using me in all manner of vile, disgusting ways. In that time I watched a friend give in to drugs & let herself be consumed by the twisted depravity that had become our lives. I built an impossible web of lies to explain my new 'decorations,? my abrupt meetings, & the innumerable evenings & weekends away from home. I faced the terror of being revealed as a whore & the unsettling realization that even in my own bed, with my own husband, things had been forever changed. None of it was something I wanted to do, but I survived it all.
Truly. I was eventually released from the endless night of being an unpaid whore for men who delighted in using another man's wife. The end was terribly anti-climactic. As I tried not to consider my double life?loving, married woman by day & a pimp's meal ticket by night?while trudging up the broken brick walk to the dingy apartment where I would ?prepare? for another night feigning moans under some sweating, grunting stranger, the bitch Tom had left running his 'stable? in Denver stopped me. We didn't go into the apartment where the girls received orders & ?cleaned up? before & after ?work.? Instead, she led me toward the side, explaining that I had a 'special? appointment. She drove, leaving me to worry about whatever it was that I'd done wrong; what new horror lay in store. I could not even take comfort in the thought that the traitorous whore who 'managed? us would be involved; a month before she'd stood calmly watching as a rowdy bachelor party enjoyed taking turns with me as the ?party favor? without having to touch a single cock, herself.
So I was surprised into stupidity when she pulled up at an inner city bank. But hell, I was sure that bank presidents had used me... who hadn't, but in the bank? She led the way through the front door, like any other customer, & before I had thought about it, I had cashed a check she provided, opening an account in my name for $1142. Even as we left, I simply assumed it was temporary... Tom would want ?his? money back, as part of some money-laundering scheme.
Instead, Dotty pulled up beside my BMW. She popped her car's trunk, & when I'd done the same, she transferred an obviously heavy box to my car & casually thanked me for so willingly providing my 'services.? I blinked at her dumbly, & she went on, telling me my ?contract? with Tom was complete. She casually explained that the box contained any tape or photograph Tom had with my image. I knew better, of course, but I wasn't going to argue. I remember haltingly asking what I was supposed to do with it; the thought of someone seeing any of whatever was in the box was terrifying even if it was all just copies; there wasn't a chance I was taking it home. She shrugged, pointing out that the bank where we'd been had safety deposit boxes. Unsure what else to do, & still frightened the nightmare wasn't over, I drove back to the bank & locked the evidence of the last year & a half away, hoping it was forever.
I still didn't feel like it was over, but I threw myself into being just a loving married wife. Sure, I had to keep ?going out? to keep my hubby from wondering about the sudden change in routine, but I went to safe places: the library, the salon, even church. Each morning I got up, showered, assured myself I wasn't going to be a whore before bed, & went to work. The firm where I did drafting work was especially busy. Even so, my work was getting recognized; I was told I was on the way to a full time position. Having juggled work with my... other life for nearly two years, I was using use some of my ?extra time? to turn out better product.
After four or five months I stopped jumping whenever the phone rang or whenever new email arrived. I didn't cringe whene
