Fluids In My Body

I staggered to the window,lurching in the unorthodox shoes and grabbed the window sill to avoidfalling.Outside I saw my car - the car I'd followed the whore home in. Throughthe front windscreen I could see a blur of white - my son's newspaper.Then I heard the front door of the house slam and gaped down at thefigure that emerged and walked out to the car.The figure didn't rush or stagger and it didn't turn back or look up towhere I stood, but I knew it was me.The figure got into the car and I watched it pull away. I watched ituntil it was out of sight and it was only really then that it hit me -that I was left here in this squalid little room by myself. I was lefthere because I didn't belong in that car with a teenage son and a nicebig house in Wilder's Pool. I belonged here amid the grime and damp. Ibelonged in this cramped little prostitute's den.Because I was a prostitute now.I had become the whore that lived here.5It felt so good.In her filthy little shower room I looked at my. She rested for a bit, enjoying the afterglow of her orgasm before continuing with dinner. This was a daily ritual. It didn’t always happen in the kitchen. Might be the laundry room, or the guest room beds, or even the backyard. They always took her from behind and there was no overt affection displayed. The whole intent was to provide regular sexual relief for the exchange students they were hosting.This current arrangement was mostly her husband’s idea. Last year they hosted an Australian boy who needed less than a month to get his pecker inside her. She was approaching fifty, slightly chubby with dirty blond hair, average looks and tits, and a pale complexion. She was an introvert who had little sexual experience besides her husband. The outback charmer was taught a lot by older women at home and knew how to make her feel desirable again. With marital copulations only once or twice a month, she was subconsciously quite horny. They screwed every weekday and when they could manage it.
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